Posts Tagged ‘Drugs’

Welcome back everyone,
hello-cute

Hey there 😉

As you know, on this blog I generally do my darnedest to keep things whimsical. I like to try and make intellectuality fun — at least as fun as someone bereft of said topic can make it — and that’s because I understand all too well that pretension will only get in the way of communicating what ideas I may have and would genuinely enjoy hearing others honest opinions about.

For that, I need you all to be smiling.

I require your guard to be down.

(But not your fly… XYZ, reader)

Now, some may call this peevish, and if you do I have a special place for you, (Just click the “X” on the upper right hand side of your web browser, and I’ve got the whole thing set up to redirect you exactly to where you belong on the internet!) but I believe in everyone’s opinion being valid. As I see it, we all have differing life experiences, which lend themselves to differing insights about the reality of being. Each of us alone is only a piece of the puzzle, only together can we see what is. Thus, you may have noticed, across the four some-odd-years that I’ve run this blog, (Say Thank-Ya!) that I’ve always made pains to refer to you all as one. Never referencing color, race, location or gender (unless that’s the topic in question), while addressing you all in these jaunty little introductions, or, in this blog’s previous incarnation, throughout the entire proof of my theorem.

"Humans"

“Humans”

Today though, as you may have already guessed, I’d like to assume a more sober tone. Today I’d like to discuss something that happened to me personally (don’t worry I’m FINE. It merely led to this week’s inspiration), which helped solidify the mere fragments of thought on the topic I’d had, up until it’s occurrence. At first I was going to obscure the introduction, being that the person who did this may well read this blog, but I quickly realized that I am no coward, and that relenting in such a manner would be tantamount to “Do as I say, but not as I do” — which is decisively Un-Cool. And so, without further ado, here it is…

(Wow, can’t quite find words which won’t elicit a giggle….)

(Well, whatever… You’re a mature audience.)

😛

I got my junk grabbed — like full on, a full handful, for a full second — and this was done by someone I work with. A Woman, no less. Now, as you may or may not know, I once worked as a topless waiter at a strip club. There this type of thing was routine, and I was able to shrug it off as the nature of the beast. However at my current job, working for CBS on a television show, this type of behavior, even with a flirty coworker (whom I certainly reciprocate with, just never to this extreme…), was, frankly, unacceptable. And so, with a heavy heart, and plans to kill the buzz, I approached her in a clandestine manner, asking for things to never again go to where she took them. She then responded vocally, amidst a large group of others — people without any knowledge of the aforementioned affront — saying, and I quote,

“Oh, be a man. You know you liked it.”

……

Now, it took me some time to process all the emotions — admittedly, mostly negative — that coursed through my mind at this moment in my life. I’m not going to lie… at first I wanted to smack her, but logic quickly argued against that. Then I wanted to wail vocally, explaining to the entire gymnasium full of our film crew that she had, in fact, sexually harassed me… but my days at the club popped in my mind and it all felt like a rather flat argument. The best reason I could find within for feeling so wronged was that, somehow, a power struggle had been breached… and quite unjustly. Finally I found a healthy way to deal with my feelings on the occasion — I’d write about it. And the story today, after three manifestations that I’d scrapped for being far too blunt, is the result of it all.

I’m not going to mince words here: Equality is a blanket term, it has NOTHING to do with entitlements or supremacy. If you truly wish to see yourself as an equal — a just contributor to modernity — than privilege becomes a slight. It’s abhorrent, as it assumes the same role of the oppressor which you, or (more likely) the brave people before you, had once fought so direly to be free from. You may or may not see how, but this piece is my way of confronting the racism I’d been subject to as a child, the class warfare I’ve bore witness to all my life, and the general ways that mankind has tried to keep his brothers and sisters down. It should also serve as warning to movements of equality, Feminism, Racial equality, First, Second, and Third world conflicts amongst each other, and any people who strive for their fair share, that sometimes we can take things too far. Equality, true equality, is blind to Gender, Race, Color, Size, and shape — and perhaps may someday include Species, Race, Planet — and even Galaxy and Universe.

Everybody’s on a journey throughout this life, one unique to them, and so every point of view is valid — and certainly deserved of a listen by the rest of us.

~J

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Ordinary Extremities

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“Ticket, please”, Bade the Conductor, approaching the squatted pile of rags at the far corner of the car.

The woman beneath didn’t stir.

“Hello Ma’am?” He said politely, “Sorry to wake you, but I need to collect your ticket now.”

Still the enshrouded figure remained nonplussed.

The Conductor bent, waving a translucent blue palm before the hooded cave of the woman’s visage, before kneeling and tipping his face in for a better look.

The fact that this man was, in actuality, a hologram — a mere segmented sliver of the conductors waking mind, present here only due to clever camera and speaker placement — was not lost on me. So at this thought, despite myself, I snorted a laugh.

From his hands and knees the man inclined his head in my direction, before craning his neck to peer under his arm’s nook at the wall of passengers which had built up across the car. The Conductor then got up, dusted off his knees, and approached me.

“Ticket Please”, he said, an accusatory lilt staining his custom level tone, seeming to imply some connection between myself and the vagabond across the way.

Casually I removed a balled fist from the pocket of my well pressed Sports Coat, never bothering to take the sole of my fine Italian loafer away from the door on which I leaned, thrusting it out then for the man to see, before hinging each finger out, slowly and in turn, to eventually present him with a bare palm. From the transparent ceiling above, at a point indeterminate due to the setting sun, a green laser light fanned out, sweeping my palm first in one direction and then the other before blinking out extinguished.

“Thank you.” Said the man, eying me suspiciously. Shooting a thumb over his shoulder, he soon added,  “How about you help me out? Go wake your little buddy over there so I can scan her ticket too.”

“Little buddy?” I scoffed, failing to stifle a second snort, “I don’t know that person.”

The man dove his face in toward mine, searching my eyes, darting erratically back and forth from left to right, before melodramatically stepping back to indicate the crowd.

“Tell me than, what’s this? Why is it you can stomach this woman’s clearly quite pungent odor, when the rest of my passengers huddle and cower like frightened livestock?”

I regarded the crowd, noting that easily three yards separated me from the next nearest paying customer. A singular huddled mass, the people all breathed as one; through sleeves, scarves, and hats — anything that might help stave off the offensive aura being generated by the woman just across from me.

“She’s harmless.” I asserted. “Besides, my desire to be left alone presently supersedes any musk this individual could possibly produce.”

And it was true. I’d hastily purchased a ‘standing room only’ ticket, knowing full-well the risk, and had accepted this unfortunate condition as mere penitence for my retreat.

The Conductor scrutinized me thoughtfully.

“Well then, friend” He began afresh, clearly changing tactics. “Give a guy without a hand, a hand, eh? This form may have function, but it has no form — if you’re picking up what I’m projecting down. Be a pal and, well… just tap her on the shoulder for me, would ya?”

I unfocused my eyes, looking straight through the shifting veil of blue before me to examine the mysterious figure just across the way. Indeed it seemed that the thing beneath the ratty pile of garments was, in fact, a woman… though without removing her thick and pungent wrappings it would be impossible to tell for sure. Long, dreaded hair flowed out from under the dark recesses of her cavernous hood, which then weighed down the loosely stacked garments cosseting her chest to detail two modest, though distinctly feminine, mounds. Carelessly crouched in the corner as she was — wrists rested on bent knees, back strait, shoulders level, with some indeterminate rigidity protruding diagonally underneath her thick vestments — the woman seemed more pious sentinel, particularly in this shade of divine azure, than penniless freight-hopper.

Malodorous scent or not, queer as it may sound… I soon found myself drawn to her. Something was brave and bold beneath that hood. Something new. Something I’d never encountered in all my worldly travels, and someone who the other people of this train would never dare try comprehend… I stared intently into the void cast by it, that hood. Searched every impregnable inch methodically, earnestly seeking but a single point of light being reflected back by flesh… but only found its darkness to be absolute. Just as I was ready to give up, prepared to simply walk on over as the Conductor had asked, a dual burst of slits flashed alight within the gloom, each punctuated by an iris of burning red. Their appearance, though brief, was married to a nearly imperceptible incline of her head, and the collective gestures combined to culminate as a simple yet strikingly vivid message; ‘Stay Away’.

I faltered. My composure shattered. Fear gripped my heart, and my easy lean slipped from the wall. My palms pressed firm to the doors behind me, unconsciously searching for a place to flee, and I found myself flat against the wall standing on tiptoes. The Conductor regarded my change, glancing over at the woman — who only appeared as she was — before whipping back around again to me, scanning my eyes for any sign of a ruse.

Eventually satisfied, he pressed a heavy weightless hand into my shoulder.

“Forget it,” He began, his voice imbued now with genuine care, “I thought you knew her”. He then added, dimming his speaker volume to a decibel only audible to my nearby ear, “I’ll just let the Staties deal with her once we pass Forrest Squarewood. That’s their jurisdiction, you know? They hate Planet Hoppers. Such a shame, too. Hate to hand over someone who’s fallen on tough times. But… a job’s a job. Word to the wise? Beware that woman, friend. She’s likely strange; wily. The type that can’t be trusted even for a second. You keep your distance, now.”

Abashed, staring absently through the clear floor at a tempestuous river we raced above, I nodded stupidly in response.

Then, I was alone. The conductor walking straight into the adjacent car, unperturbed by silly things of matter, like tangibility or mass.

“Get out-of-the-way, Moron!”, came a voice amidst the crowd.

“Move it, Jerkface!” echoed another, seemingly headed my way.

Then, all at once, the hermetically sealed line of average passengers burst, spewing forth, before the wound quickly healed, two attractive young ladies; one a petite Brunette, and the other a voluptuous Blonde.

“Jesus, Tria, you said she didn’t smell so bad. It smells like a Whorehouse’s Outhouse out here.” Exclaimed the Blonde, quickly masking her face with a jewel encrusted hand.

“No, Lo-Lo, that is not what I said at all.” Proclaimed the Brunette, exposing her pierced navel as she yanked a low neck line up over her nose. “What I said was, and I quote; ‘How bad could it be, that guy’s standing there?’ Answer: really, really, really, freaking bad. Wow. The last time that thing took a shower, John-John was on ‘Mercury House’. Am I right?”

“Hell, yes you are.”

“Am I right?”

“Oh my God, bitch, I already said, ‘Yes’. Can’t we just spark? That thing’s making me sick, already.”

“What am I, your mother, you whore? You need permission? Light it. Danm. Light that shit up already.”

“Shut-up, slut.”

“Hoe.”

“Bitch.”

Then, in tandem, they both concluded, “Whatever.”

Flashing each other a vicious pair of smiles somehow seemed to settle the exchange, and soon both were digging through their respective golden handbags, extracting, before long, a pair of Electronic Cigarettes.

The Blonde unscrewed hers at the center, peering inside. “Shit, I’m out. You got any left?”

The Brunette then unscrewed hers, turning about in circles while trying to find an angle for the overhead light. “I can’t tell, I think I need a refill too. You got any more on you?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Said the one called Lo-Lo, juggling her effects, balancing her bag on a raised knee and struggling to keep her balance. “Somewhere in here…”

“Hang on.” Said Tria, tugging her friend violently by the hand, nearly toppling her over, and then dragging her by me. “Hi there, Mister.” she began, long lashes fluttering, salaciously brushing my arm, “Hold this for me, would you?”

Before I knew what was happening I found myself clutching a clutch, supporting a shoulder bag with my shoulder, and palming hand lotion — amongst other unidentifiable effects of superficiality — in my palm. The two young women, for their part, each held a strap of Lo-Lo’s Bag, and were both digging voraciously through its contents, stopping only to toss out bits of garbage onto the train floor.

Finally Tria produced a small container with a sealed lid.

“Is this it?” She asked, presenting it to Lo-Lo between two raised fingers and a thumb.

Lo-Lo snatched it unceremoniously, raking her friend harshly with manicured nails bearing a collection of tiny circus animals.

“Ah, you bitch”. Shouted Tria.

But Lo-Lo was lost in the vial. She eagerly popped the lid, hurriedly raised the opening to her nose, and huffed the noxious scent therein deeply. The display was for show. Once opened, even from back where I stood, the smell was sufficient to stifle even that of the transient’s across the car. Reaching inside they each pinched off a small amount before plucking their cigarettes from my open palm and stuffing their devices full. Within but a second, the gadget was reassembled, the girls pressed at the ignition, and each was inhaling deeply — leaving me as a forlorn baggage handler at the airport, and without any tip to boot.

From somewhere at the back of the crowd a man’s voice could be heard “Hey, you can’t smoke in here. It’s illegal. Some of us have an allergy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Challenged Tria. “Who’s gonna stop me? Not you. I do what I want.” And to punctuate this apparent fact, she took a long drag, deep down into her lungs, before exhaling a mighty vapor cloud toward the group.

A wheezing, raspy cough was the crowds only retort.

Lo-Lo then took a lungful in all her own, before breathing it out into my face, asking “So… what’s wrong with you? You enjoy smelling like ass or something, Mister?”

“I just want to be left alone.” I insisted, extending the clutch toward Lo-Lo, “I just got back from this long, pointless ‘inter-office relations-trip’ that my boss sent me on, and…”

“That’s not mine.” Lo-Lo interrupted, stepping back from the handbag disgusted.

“Yo. Don’t give that hoe my bag.” Interjected Tria, swiveling her head around like a snake. “She wouldn’t know what to do with one that’s not a fake, anyways.”

“Please, girl.” Pleaded Lo-Lo. “It’s been a long, hard day, and I don’t have the energy left to teach you the difference between a ‘Carl Mongoose’, and whatever it is you’re calling a ‘Petera’ Divine’ over there.”

“Oh, don’t you start with me, Miss ‘I-Don’t-Buy-From-Little-Persia-I-Only-Like-To-Look’.”

But Lo-Lo did start…

And then Tria continued…

And so, as the girls continued to debate the laurels surrounding the question, “Which one of their bags was better suited at holding things?”, I quickly grew weary of acting out the role of impromptu living mannequin. Thus did I proceed to place all of their loose effects into whoever’s shoulder-bag it was I was presently shouldering, to then merely lay the weighty satchel down on the clear floor at my feet, noting, as I did, the first patches of trees springing up on the ground far, far below.

It wouldn’t be long now. Soon I’d find out exactly what type of woman it was buried underneath all that dowdy patchwork.

Lo-Lo seized her bag from the floor with a huff, and shoved me harshly against the wall, saying “What the eff do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh-My-God” Chimed in Tria, slapping my shoulder. “I know that you did not just put her Ten Thousand Dollar, ‘Carl Mongoose’, Winter collection bag on that dirty-ass floor, with that filthy… thing… sitting right there.”

“Girls.” I began, tenderly as I could manage. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Demanded, Lo-Lo, as sprightly green tips began whizzing past her ankles.

“Don’t talk about another human being like that.”

“I will talk about whoever, however I want.” She insisted, the thickening wood growing steadily to overtake her height.

“Look, it’s clear this person has fallen on tough times. You don’t know her story.”

“We don’t care.” Insisted Tria, clapping her hands for emphasis on each word, all while massive shadows painted darting streaks across her form.

“Yeah, well… either way. You shouldn’t add to her problems. Just… leave her be. I’m asking you a favor.”

“Come-on mister. What, you in love? Bitch ain’t even got no clothes.”

“Hoe don’t have no money.”

“Trick smells like ass.”

The tips of the monolithic pines were now beyond the reach of sight, their numbers surging greater by the second still.

“Yeah, well… She’s a person. She get’s to live how she wants. What if this is what makes her happy?”

“What? You serious?”

“No makeup. No friends. No class. Smells like a dirty-ass construction worker that just tipped over in the Pora-a-John. Sitting here, doing nothing but stinking up the train for the rest of us normal, god-fearing, folk. Man, please: that ain’t even a lady.”

Suddenly light inside the car was squelched out entirely, as the encroaching tree line had finally grown bold enough to steal the setting sun.

A mind trembling scream rang out from somewhere amidst the crowd.

As the lights of the cabin pulsed slowly to life, and my vision oscillated between states of pure blindness and mere hazy shadow, I found the crowd was moving toward me, reeling back from some bewitching scene unfolding near its center.

It was then when I caught my first glimpse of the thing. Circumscribed by the ever swelling circumference of screaming and frightened passengers was a beast not quite human, with a wide drawn out squamous face, and a lithe lolling tongue — one which defied jagged rows of impossibly sharp teeth as it danced along their precarious peaks and valleys — actively tasting the air. It held a redundant dagger in each of its two claws, as all of it’s five fingers were adorned with vicious, corkscrewed nails, while it stalked through the crowd of lambs — slaughtering any and all without the sense or wherewithal to run.

Calcified as I was, agog from the massacre unfolding just before my eyes, I nearly didn’t feel the nagging pull of the two wildly wailing women persistently scrabbling at my back. However, when I nearly lost my footing while stepping on a familiar golden bag, the initials ‘CM’ forming a gaudy pattern all along it’s every facet, reality finally came home, drunk and crashing into the garage, and I became instantly aware of the two girls urging me to glance over to my left. There, at the epicenter of the car and just beside where we stood, a luminous pinprick wisp was floating, unaided, and steadily gaining in girth. The wormhole rapidly gained mass and began to pull at me, and, were it not for the frantic women holding firm at my arms, each demanding I, “Be a man and save them!”, and weighing me down, I may have even been engulfed by its mystical allure — cast to frightful plane. Then as the otherworldly draw began to ebb, and just as the brilliant vortex, hollow at its heart, had reached a sizable three yard diameter, another set of scaled and corkscrewed claws braced themselves at the lip of the dimensional rift, to then vault their master whole into our place in space.

The Reptilian beast landed to the floor of the car with a weighty thud, as the wormhole neatly cinched up behind it, sending a splintering shock-wave throughout the reinforced plastic at its wake, compromising integrity engineered to hold a hundred men. It spent but a moment in the throes of nausea before its slitted eyes were trained on us, and the women redoubled in their efforts of shrieking as it slavered and ambled serpentine our way.

Lo-Lo shoved me toward it with one hand, and held firm with the other, bellowing, “Fight it, Mister. Protect us!”

Tria wept, and held firm at my arm, wailing, “Make it go away. Tell it to leave.”

“Girls, let go.” I pleaded. “I can’t move.”

“Do something”, they screamed in unison.

Like lightning the creature was on me, effortlessly shifting its easy gait into a terrifying pounce, clutching then at my coat, arching me overhead, and slamming me down hard onto the floor. The ground groaned and quaked beneath the hammering of my mass, and all the air was stolen from my chest. As the room spun, and the light-show played, my whereabouts grew dubious, and my mind clouded. Sleep beckoned.

Somehow through the hypnagogic haze I felt the light playing on my face dim. Gathering my wits through great focus of effort, I synched my wayward eyes and fought to look out strait from my helpless supine form… only to discover forthcoming doom. The thing was upon me, mighty fist raised high overhead, blotting out the cabin light, and prepared to slam down into my skull. With a greater effort than my body had left to give, I rolled hard to the left, feeling the whipping air thrash my necks nape at the wake of its mammoth fist as it narrowly missed my face. Already undermined, the car yielded to the tremendous power of the things assault, and left me dangling through the floor, hanging precariously by the tips of my weakened fingers.

It seemed the end was near. The creature wasted no time in reeling back for a second strike, this one aimed at my fingertips which clung desperately at the lip of the opening, promising to cast me into an impending free-fall many kilometers long, either to be impaled on a tree, or to shatter my every bone against the distant terra. Resigned to my fate I turned my face toward my attacker, determined, at the very least, to go with my dignity intact. I matched his wild eyes with a level gaze, wholly free from fear, merely patient, and found myself in admiration of the speed in which it’s limb was capable of traveling — that is all before a warm spray misted my cheeks, and the hapless arm cascaded clear beyond me, tumbling freely into the open air beyond my dangling feet. Armless now, the beast hissed in pain, whipping about furiously then to confront its assaulter, only to be diced, just at the hinge of its jaw, by the returning upward swing of a Katana.

And there, flared by the wildly luminous cabin lights, stood a proud silhouette which wielded the brilliant blade — the lowly vagabond from the far corner of the car. Shed now of her outer layer, camouflage from the very start, she shucked her sword free from the serpents blood, highlighting, as she did, bountiful curves of dense musculature beneath an elite black and silken armor. She then kicked at the chest of the thing, still writhing even without a head, shoving it out beyond me and into the open air below, before dashing off, and out of view, presumably toward the panicked crowd at my back.

The drama then unfolded in screams and gasps, while I struggled and flailed, and failed, in extracting myself from my tricky predicament. Before long the cacophony, blind to my eyes, fell to stillness. Not a sound could be heard. Visions of an all-encompassing massacre filled my mind…

Finally then, after a silence of interminable length, where I never ceased in my struggle to re-board the racing car, it was the shallow voice of an elderly man which broke the strange repose.

“Thank You.” He said, voice quavering with emotion. “Thank you so very, very much, young lady.”

Then came another, quick on his heels, a woman this time. “Here, take this. Please, I insist. And… Thank you.”

Before long, another chimed in, a little boy, “That was really cool! Here, strong lady, it’s my favoritest… I want you to have it.”

And then came another, and another…. and another.

And so it continued, as my fingers quaked, from all the voices, of all the people in the car: gratitude. Thanks being showered on one who, only just a few minutes ago, the entire lot had all but condemned.

I felt the dimming of the overhead light once more, and, fingers trembling, strained to look skyward… and there she was, bearing a halo of light — and was she ever beautiful. Long dreadlocks framed an angled face that belonged on the cover of a magazine, were it not for the jagged scars and random battle-won maladies which gave it its fierce character. She had her rags back on now, and from all the errant, random, and poorly sewn pockets, people’s valuables jutted out. Precious necklaces, rings, jewelery and just plain cold hard cash overflowed the paupers clothes, creating a jaunty juxtaposition embodied in the sight of this mighty warrior woman.

She regarded me, as she drew her hood back over her head, sightlessly cleaned her blade on a rag, and sheathed the sword, asking, “You’re the one who defended me in my rags?”

I swallowed hard, saying all I could think to, “Yes…”

“You shouldn’t have done that…” She chided, a bright smile shining out from under the hood. “Look, times are always hard. People will have their opinions. All that really matters is how you react to the ordinary extremities of everyday life.”

I merely nodded, the wisdom of her words failing to presently pierce me in my condition — I was simply praying she’d help me up from my hole.

“Hey!” Came a voice, I knew to be Tria, “Take this. It’s worth alot!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Chimed in Lo-Lo, “And these. They’re yours now.”

“No.” Said the warrior woman, severity back in her tone. “I want you to keep them. After all, they’re all you have.”

She turned back to the hole, regarding me with pity.

“Pull yourself up.” She ordered. “You’ve done it before. I have no doubts that you can do it again.”

And then, without hesitation, she leapt through the hole — never to be seen or heard from again.

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~ FIN ~

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I sure hope you enjoyed this.

It’s 4 days late, and that’s because I took some more time with it — and it still feels like I could’ve taken another week or so to get it right.

Please leave your thoughts below, on the topic and the story, and I’ll add edits to this as time permits.

Thanks

~J

Happy New year, Everyone!

Good_News_Everyone_by_martynasx

Hey there, everyon… Woh!

Heh. Sorry about that. You caught me off guard. No offense intended here, but… you sure put on some weight over these last few weeks. (I barely recognized ya’!). I mean, you’re still dead sexy, Readers… My readers ARE the sexiest group of readers on the planet… but come on! Let’s get with it! It’s time to kick this thang off right!

Anywho, no matter really — we’re all allowed a bit of leeway around the holidays. In fact I believe I’ve missed two weekends worth of stories, myself.

(Tsk, Tsk…)

And so, I thought I’d make up for it today.

This story needs little to no introduction, as I’ve written it, re-written it — and then deleted everything I had because it was crap and re-wrote it yet again!

And now I think I’ve finally got something of merit.

🙂

WARNING: For those of you that live with ADD (like myself) you may want to break this story up — it’s mostly why I add the pictures FYI… ‘Virtual Bookmarks’.

This story was inspired by three splinters that, despite how many times I’d removed them from my thumb over the course of a week, continued to appear. So, as inspiration goes, this was… queer… but I really had a lot of fun with what i came up with here, and believe I nailed the syllogism I was after in the end (if I do say so myself)…

Let’s see if you can catch it!

Please enjoy.

~J

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Evolution

Ominous_Mist_by_clacier

He felt it wake up…

He always did…

It wouldn’t be long now…

Hurriedly, abruptly, Hickey threw out excuses, ended conversations, and broke away from the gaggle of foreign nurses and technicians which had congregated around him.

It knew. It surged within him, flaring up from the nape of his neck and growing quickly around his shoulders to embrace his chest and ribs. His eyes watered, blurring his view, as he made his way, serpentine, toward the Janitor, entrusted today with keys that had never before been used.

“I’d like to be let in”, requested Hickey, meekly. His face down and his hands jammed far too deeply into his pockets — feeling more vulnerable than an assistant to a post op, carpel tunnel knife-thrower on a spin-wheel, he told himself.

Wait, what? Where did that come from, he wondered frantically…

Fanning the flames of his fear…

Unknowingly Feeding his demon…

Far too slowly, the Janitor raked a suspicious eye across Hickey from head to toe — it took hours. This is insane, he thought. It was calling again — of course it would, once awake it never stopped — and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to resist. He needed to get away. Now. It didn’t know what today was, and Hickey didn’t know what it was, to be fair… not for certain at least. But he simply couldn’t let his peers see him like this; in this sad, weakened state. No way he could let this ruin him. It was a cutthroat industry they worked in, and he remembered well what it had taken to get himself to the top — and he was now, undoubtedly, at the top. He’d arrived. The big dog, chosen alone for this special patient. Looking over toward the crowd of his contemporaries, Hickey thought, All they’d need is a little leverage, and all my life’s work

“You alright, Dr. H.?” finally, the Janitor spoke, “Normally you’re the last one in the OR.”

The overly familiar tone hit a chord within Hickey, making him tic, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly… before something behind his eyes snapped. Suddenly, with deft, explosive speed, he reached out, seizing the man’s Adam’s apple in his fist — gripping it with tremendous force — before proceeding to tear his entire esophagus out through his throat with a violent jerk. He hoisted it then above his head, his slick and throbbing trophy, while letting its fresh, warm blood trickle freely down and across his wildly grinning visage.

Seriously_Scary_by_steelgohst

It’s not real, Sam… It’s your imagination…

You know that it is…

Fight it.

He snapped back to reality, “I’m fine, thanks. Maybe it’s the locked door, George.” He said, selling the ersatz politeness like a veteran used car salesman, motioning toward the door. “It’s… unnerving. Would you mind?”

“Of course, Sam. Of course.” Said George, expertly fishing a weighty, triple-decker key-ring off his belt loop in a smooth and well-practiced motion, before beginning to rifle through the keys. “Hey, did you catch that Re-run of, “House” last night by any chance?”

“No, George” replied Hickey, far more edge to his voice than intended. “I’ve told you, I don’t watch T.V.”.

George tried a wide, bronzed key in the knob — no good. “I know what you say, Dr.H… but everybody watches T.V.”.

“Well… not me”, Hickey answered, saddened somewhat by the prospect of this simple normalcy which had always eluded him.

“That Dr. House, he reminds me a lot of you. You know?” George continued as he tried a dull silver key in the handle to no avail — and as Hickey saw a flash of himself gutting him with all the subsequent wrong choices. “He never gives up, that House. And, like you,” he glanced back at Hickey, “He’d rather be good at what he does, than be healthy”. Finally, his third try, George got the right key. He stepped into the prep room, holding the door for Hickey, and used his custom key to flip the light switches on. ” You look like you need some sleep, Dr.H…”, he concluded.

“I’m fine”, said Hickey, abruptly — before slamming the door shut in George’s face.

Violently, without hesitation, Hickey clawed frantically at his neck, eventually quieting, for but a moment, the crippling familiar which now resided therein. How much longer can this possibly last, he wondered. What have I done to deserve this? Fuck that damned rat, he thought, punctuating each word in turn within his mind… before beginning to feel a familiar warmth radiate from his chest. Returned from their charge, and speedily en-route to engage their fresh one, his hands came back from behind his head contorted, crooked, and, to his great horror, bloodied — which stopped them dead in their tracks before awestruck eyes.

Just then the light in the adjacent OR flipped on, and through the semi-transparent waved glass, just beyond the gap between his stained, seized-up hands, he saw the silhouette of the mystery man, the man who was to be his patient, being wheeled into the room.

Running to the sink, his demon momentarily forgotten, Hickey flushed his hands under the cool water, liberating them from their red coat… only to unearth a brass substrate beneath.

No… It can’t be.

Not today!

His demon laughed at this, and swelled.

Now, visible throughout the tips of each of his fingers, were tiny, filament like shards of browned steel. Most lay flat beneath his flesh, glimmering under the surface against the pulsating fluorescents above, but some jutted out straight, little daggers planted firmly in his skin — their tips sharp, foreboding, and now fairly obviously the reason behind all the blood. Without much thought, he jammed his fingers into his mouth, clamped his eyes shut, and felt about with his teeth and tongue for anything protruding… before yanking them out one by one as they were found, and spitting them into the basin.

Ting… Bing… Splat…

He had to hurry.

Ting… Bing… Splat…

They’d not be far behind…

His humanity was fading. This, perhaps, was the only bit of higher reasoning that remained with him — that he was losing his mind. Whatever he had been, prior to the Rat invasion only two weeks past, he now no longer was. Doctor, Leader, Boss, Friend… The best at what he does… These titles meant nothing to him now. Now, he was nothing but a rabid animal — cleansing himself with his teeth, and using the finished bits to slake away tiny increments of his primitive, senseless urge. God, did he itch! It was nary unbearable. But he had to hold out just a little bit longer. After all, he could always stop the bleeding on his neck, but he could never take the hue out from his scrubs. He just needed to finish the extractions, wash his hands, and put on the gloves. Then, none would be the wiser. Nobody would know. He could finish the surgery in half the time he’d quoted, rush off home to be alone, as he always was, and then calculate his next step.

Just one step at a time, he assured himself.

Just one thing, and then the next, and then… eventually…

…I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of this.

Licking his fingertips once again reminded him of the devolved state he’d been forced to adapt, but also proved to him that he was now, finally, finished with his task. And as soon as this realization hit, like a green light after a year and a half of sitting at an intersection, he jammed on the gas, succumbed to his need, and worked himself into a tizzy — scratching this way and that, up and down, left and right, and turning about while contorting his shape in order to reach more and more exotic locations… feeling, all the while, like the Tasmanian Devil he’d loved so very much as a child.

What a stupid thing for a kid to idolize, he thought. A mindless, spinning, inexhaustible appetite with eyes. A creature of pure instinct, with no situational awareness whatsoever…

“Sam, what are you doing?” Demanded Ann in a whisper from behind his shoulder — shattering his thoughts, ceasing his motion, and causing him to leap from fear and land on the Moon. Her voice continued on then as an omnipresent echo, a hushed thunder that rang out all across the surface of the great cheese ball where now he stood, agape and staring up at a half-lit Earth, “You’re bleeding…”.

At once, the room he’d forgotten came back into focus, and Hickey soon realized, much to his chagrin, that he’d been doing the ole’, “Hokey-Pokey-Tasmanian-Devil-Itchy-Dance” right before all his contemporaries while they washed in the sink and prepped for surgery — precisely what he’d been planning to avoid.

Well, you got your leverage, he thought morosely, closing his fists to hide his shame, now let’s see if you spineless invertebrates will do anything with it.

“Come here”, insisted Ann, her hand spinning him by the hip to face the crowd, hiding the blood behind his neck as she wiped it tenderly with a paper towel. “What did you do?”

He faltered. “I, uh. I had an itch…”

Gently she grabbed his wrist, as she simultaneously conducted her blind cleaning, saying softly, “Stop. Sam, we don’t have to do this. You look like shit. We don’t know any of these people. Hell, we don’t even know the patient! What are we doing?

“We’re doing the surgery, Ann.” He said plainly, noticing an eavesdropping technician over her shoulder, holding the door for the bulk of the flock as they migrated into the adjacent E.R.. His gaze darted as it met Hickeys, but he was sure he’d sensed a healthy modicum of self-pity in those eyes before they had. Likely trying to justify why it was Hickey and not him — or at least one of their own, this supposed celebrities’ entourage — chosen to perform the surgery.

Because he was the best, he assured himself.

Not anymore, came his unconscious response.

His demon cackled heartily.

“What, were you up all night working on your book again?” Ann inquired as the room finished clearing out, successfully fishing him from the void once more.

“No. I just…. I can’t sleep at all anymore. I actually finished all three a couple weeks ago.”

“Edits and all?”

“Edits and all.”

“So… What is it?” She inquired rather tenderly. “I am so proud of you by the way, Sam… I mean, Doctor Hickey. Truly.”

Her eyes penetrated him thoroughly, leaving him somewhat dumbfounded. Proud? Who was she to care about him? He returned her direct gaze with one of his own, and their eyes began a waltz, chaperoned by dueling smiles. “Well, actually, that night… the night I’d finished, that’s when this all started. I finished typing in the final edits, clicked save, stretched back into my chair — the most relaxed I’d felt in months, honestly — and that’s when I saw it. A rat. A big, brown, bulbous-assed rat, scurrying across my kitchen floor, right in my peripheral vision.”

“Sounds like you need a woman’s touch around there.” She teased.

“I maintain a VERY clean home, thank you” He defended, quickly staving off the worst of his demanding flesh as he rubbed hurriedly at his thigh, hoping not to be noticed.

paranoia-melissa-dzierlatka

The demon was starting to win.

He had to get this going.

…But, what of Ann?

“I meant no offense, Doctor.”

“Never fear.” He assured her, feeling her draw away some. He picked up the pace of the story now, to try and win her back. “Anyway, I did a bit of quick research and found a simple solution: Steel wool. So, I bought a few cheap boxes up the block, scoured my home for any tiny passages, and shoved a ball or two of the stuff into all the spaces.”

“I don’t understand. So… What happened to you, exactly?”

“That’s just it… I’m not really sure.” He distractedly scratched at his belly,  “I woke up the next morning itchy, with a shard of steel sticking out of my thumb — so I figured it must’ve been the steel wool, right?”

“Sure.”

“Only this shard… was brown. And also… there were more.”

“More?”

“Yes. Many more… More buried in my palm. More stuck into my thighs, and my legs, and neck… and even certain… delicate areas. I mean, I did a bit of juggling at one point as I wandered about from room to room, stupid in hindsight, but this seemed… strange. Obviously. To say the least…”

“I’ll say, but…” She trailed off, noticing his balled hands held firm against his waist. “Wait, it’s happening right now, isn’t it?” Hickey didn’t answer, but his skittish countenance said all she needed to hear. She laced her fingers tenderly about his hands. “Sam, let me take a look…”

“No. It’s… it’s nothing. I’m fine. Let’s just head in and get this over with.”

“Sam Hickey,” she began, in a tone which mirrored that of his mothers when he was in trouble as a boy, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you choose me… correction, you fought this celebrity douchebag tooth and nail to have one of your own in the room with you, and you made that person me… and you don’t trust me?” Verily, heartily, Ann was offended. “I trust you…”

Gazing into her thoughtful, deep emerald eyes Hickey felt an immense sense of guilt wash over him. He desperately wanted to relent, but the urge was reaching critical mass within him. Besides, this issue was no simple matter, not that she knew that, or even could know — and time was of the essence.  At once, he broke away and crossed the room, headed over toward the box of sterile blue gloves, saying simply over his shoulder for closure, “After surgery”.

The other side of the room fell cripplingly silent.

She hates me… He thought.

Well… What else is new?

Without looking back, Sam Hickey threw on his gloves, entered the OR, and left Ann behind in the prep room… as she silently began to weep.

In the room, everything was prepared. The patient was drugged, unconscious and entubated, and the impromptu staff had taken their proper places around the patient’s table. The head laparoscopic assisting technician was extending a scalpel in his direction, and Hickey could sense the sneer aimed at him even through the surgical mask.

Well no matter…

Let’s get this done with…

Time to begin.

Looking back over his shoulder, hoping that the soul vestige of his team would soon be at his side, Hickey saw the shadow of Ann grow through the dense and waved glass. Slowly it moved toward the OR door, placing a tentative a hand on it’s flat face, before hesitating, and then slowly retreating back away from it… eventually leaving the prep room entirely to head back out toward the hall. He sighed, and, after a long beat of hesitation, reluctantly accepted the scalpel… just as the sole of his right foot began to flare.

This surgery was going to be a test of will he wasn’t sure he’d pass…

His foot, engulfed in flame, beckoned him…

The demon was growing inpatient.

In his distraction, he never noticed the patient sit up, nor plunge the needle into his neck.

Before he could react, the group of strangers leapt at him, arresting his limbs.

He suddenly grew tired…

His demon assuaged…

Then… Reality grew dark.

Hickey slumped to the floor.

Businessman laying down on white background

The next thing he knew, Hickey was strapped to a massive, upright rotary sander, the pad wildly spinning, wobbling off axis, and making him vomitous. Across from him, on a belt sander, stood Ann, chucking scalpels at him underhand in a windmill softball fashion and missing repeatedly by mere millimeters. Then the queer, detached, markedly unenthused voice of a Man neatly broke his stupor, saying levelly, “Sam? Sam are you there? Wake up, my friend. there is much to discuss.”

Hickey’s eyes cracked open in a flash, his illusion neatly rippling into reality while fear slowly washed over him — as he soon realized that he recognized nothing of his surroundings. He sat limp, exhausted, and cotton-mouthed on an ultra modern, cloyingly adorned, white chaise lounge, amidst an expensive, well furnished, wood finished office, and just before an impossibly wide, somewhat garish, highly polished oak and birch trimmed desk. Behind the desk sat the man who he was scheduled to operate on, a man who had only gone only by the pseudonym, ‘Bojangles’.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” spoke the mystery man from behind his small fortress. “How are you feeling?”

Groggily, he pushed himself up easy on the sofa, and then swung his legs off to the side to sit upright — and he couldn’t help but notice that his palms hadn’t stuck to the lounger as they sought comfort to lie in his lap. Turning over his palms confirmed his suspicion: there, at the end of his wrist, was bone, blood, dermis, epidermis, nails and knuckles and hair… but no steel. Not one single fiber... He shot a wary, frightened look across the room to the man behind the imposingly wide desk.

“We’ve given you a drug that can stave off the metamorphosis, but only for a little while. You’ll likely need more soon.”

“metamorphosis?” Said Hickey weakly, with a voice around three pitches below the one he was accustom to.

“Yes. Congratulations, Sam Hickey. You’re evolving. And, very likely — if you’re anything like the others — dying. Rather painfully, I’d imagine. I’m so sorry.”

Hickey’s brow knotted.

Dying…?

Evolving…?

Others…!?

Hickey was at a loss. What was he to make of all this? Could he trust this man? This imposter, who’d drugged him, and kidnapped him, and brought him… here. Wherever the hell here was.

His lip twitched…

No. He had to get away. Surely his life was in danger. He shot a glance behind him, discovering the door, and sprang to his feet to dash toward it, quickly finding the floor — which was a surprising outcome…

Speaking relaxed and unhurried from behind him, the man said, “Try again in about ten minutes, the drug is an intense muscle relaxer. You’ll only hurt yourself otherwise.”

Though he couldn’t move to look, Hickey heard the voice of the man grow, and visualized his approach from behind the desk. Soon there was an easy hand snaking its way under his shoulders, which then helped him back up and into the comfort of the Chaise lounge. The man dragged a simple steel folding chair over from the corner of the room, and set it up to sit next to Hickey now.

“Here’s the deal,” Began Bojangles, an older, silver-eyed, bald-headed man, with liver spots and tired sunk-down eyes, wearing a sad, simple smile, “You can never go back to the world.”

Hickey’s eyes went wide, quavering.

“Now you’re a doctor, so I’m going to explain this under the assumption that you know the terms I’m about to use. Have you any questions, let me know at the end, and I will answer them with complete candor. I want you to know, that I am on your side. Alright?”

Hickey eased some, and nodded — knowing that without motor function, he didn’t have much other choice.

At least my mystery has a solution, he thought, …or at least an explanation.

“Very well.” Began Mr.Bojangles, before pausing to clear his throat from what sounded like a golf ball-sized lump of phlegm — which Hickey then involuntarily visualized kicking clear out of his mouth to land a Hole-In-One out the window, which didn’t exist, on a golf course he didn’t know was there.

It had awakened…

The demon yet lived…

It was merely coping with the soporific drug’s effects, itself…

Reaper_155

Bojangles continued, wholly ignorant to his own death and rebirth that had just transpired in the last second, “Lamarckism is true, and it stacks with Epigenetics. Your father, Ron, was a very hard worker, indeed… as was your mother, Diane. As a matter of fact, we followed your genealogy back to the middle ages, and found mostly scholars along the way. Long story short, you’ve tripped an evolutionary trigger. Something you did recently, I’d say about a week ago, maybe more, filled your RNA to capacity. The reaction you’re experiencing is your body’s response to a need for more storage space. An updating of the brain, as it were, which seems to uniformly take place in its oldest region: the Medulla Oblongata.”

Hickey just stared in awe, rapt at attention.

Feeling it was OK to proceed, Bojangles forged on ahead. “Psychologically speaking, who you are is not a single entity. You are the manifestation of three — well, mostly three — distinct personalities: each arising in the major regions of the brain. This happens in any sufficiently interconnected system, given enough time and exposure to the world; consciousness forms. Here is where the problem arises. Feeling itself falling into a death spiral… The brain stem has begun fighting back. The effects can normally be felt as psychotic hallucinations, paranoia, withdrawal from society, and extreme discomfort. Without fail, these symptoms will continue to get worse, and worse, until one day you will snap… and likely go on a killing spree. This is why we must remove you from society.”

Hickey blinked… Then blinked again. Nodding then, ever so slightly, for the man to continue.

“Right.”

Here, Bojangles took a deep breath. To Hickey, he seemed redolent to dive into this next bit. He steeled his mind as best he could to accept what was to come…

Bojangles went on, holding out his fist, “Here’s the deal.” slowly, he upturned his palm and opened his fingers in turn to reveal a tiny purple pill in his hand. “This is the medication we gave to you. It has the power to stop the changes. But there’s a catch. Ultimately, it’ll be your decision whether or not to take it.”

Summoning the whole of his lungs volume to formulate his words, Hickey took the bait, “What’s the catch?”.

“The medication will insure your sanity, granting you the ability to exist without all the pain and mental torture you’ve endured as of late. However, the way it does this is by attacking the culprit at the source… it will erode your Brain stem.”

“Meaning my heart…” Hickey ran short of breath.

“Will eventually stop, yes. And you will perish…. Years from now, though. Probably twenty, maybe more… I don’t know. It’s different for everyone.” He paused here, letting the last bit catch up fully, before moving on. “Moreover, and if I’ve extrapolated properly from your case file, the bit you’ll find most pertinent… because the drug is engineered to pass the blood brain barrier, the other regions of your brain will be subject to the same fate. Basically, your brain will deteriorate. You’ll be alive, yes, but you wont be yourself. We’ll take care of you, we’ll feed you, house you, clothe you, clean you — permit you endless entertainment — but what you must know before agreeing to taking this pill, is that you will cease being who you presently are. But, from what I can gather, this option is far preferable to the alternative; remaining who you are, yes, but being all the while trapped in your mind, as your reptile brain tries to take over, and you journey along the hellfire on a spiraling journey to certain madness…”

Again, all Hickey could do was blink. This was unacceptable. Inconceivable. How could he, or anyone for that matter, willingly give up their humanity just… to be alive. Some lump on a couch with a TV… All that had ever mattered to him was improving himself, and helping others — he’d never even invested the time in someone else to have a meaningful relationship — his brain had always taken precedence… and here he sat, numb, lost, and facing nothing but a choice to give all that up… Meanwhile, in this perspective, he still had so much living to do.

He’d left so much undone in his life…

Ann’s beautiful face flashed before his eyes…

A single tear rolled toward the tip of her attractive, aquiline nose…

His ire at the prospect gave him the strength to speak, “You said I had a choice. This… this is no choice. Nobody would take that offer.”

Bojangles looked to the floor, rubbing at the back of his head with his free hand, “Everyone has taken the offer. Give it time… The pain will return, and you’ll remember why it is that you’re here, speaking with me.”

And it was true. Even as the air passed his lips, a meager flare-up, no larger than a pimple, was forming at the base of Hickey’s skull. Already he could feel it grow. Had all the others actually chosen mental suicide, he wondered? It seemed rather hard to believe, being that these individuals, like him, had reached this end due to a generationally passed down passion for knowledge. Could he really take the comfort of death, over the pain of living?

His mind was made up.

He reached out for Bojangles, lithe, arthritic hand…

And closed the man’s delicate fingers back around the pill.

“I refuse” Said Hickey plainly. “I choose knowledge. I choose myself over some lifeless husk. Even if that means constant torture…”

Bojangles looked up from the floor, and searched throughout Hickey’s eyes for even the briefest glimmer of doubt –smiling broadly when he found that none existed.

“We’ll have to cut you off from the world — you know that don’t you? If you continue learning, you’ll only accelerate the process.”

“All I require is paper, and pen” Explained Hickey, “I will make it to the other side of this… if even that place exists.”

“There is no evidence to that fact…” Explained Bojangles, the hope in his eyes and inflection to his voice mismatched to the words implication.

“Regardless… I want you to observe me. I believe that, over time, being that I now know what it is that ails me, I can conquer this…” And, as he made the claim, almost as a test, a fresh hallucination was unfolding before his eyes — Bojangles made for a very uncomfortable trench-coat, as it turned out… however, Hickey moved on. “I will do my best to document my experience, and I hope, over time, you may come to trust me enough to permit me back into society.”

Now it was Bojangles who could only blink… And with the heavy crease at his eyes, it was nary unnoticeable. Eventually, he said “Very well. The choice is yours, after all.”. Suddenly light poured in from the now open portal behind them, and two imposing men carrying shackles came to stand behind them. “You’re a braver man than me, Sam Hickey. You may always change your mind…”

“I’d like that option to be taken off the table.” Said, Hickey, cutting him off. “Who knows what I’ll say under duress?”

Bojangles looked him over, saying eventually, “Fine. That’s fine. Of course you’d say that. It’s not protocol, but… I’ll make certain that it’s so.” The both of them stood, and embraced, like old friends, before the security detail began to gently bind Hickey’s limbs.

“And… Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks” he said, while being escorted out the door. Adding, beyond Bojangles sight, while walking down the hall and toward a padded cell. “It’ll never win you friends — but somebody’s always got to be the first, before anything can ever move forward.”

Bojangles wished for something to say, something that may carry this brave man through the harrowing years that were sure to come, but failed before the sheer intimidation of what this all represented. Instead, here merely fell to his hands and knees, knowing this to be all too true.

"Thank you..."

He whispered, “Thank you”, just before hearing the bolt of Sam’s cell drive home.

“Thank you…”

“Good luck…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for your time, everyone.

Hope you enjoyed the read.

Opinions are relished.

Have a great day.

~J

Salutations, superb supercilious simians!

How’s it hanging? Short shriveled and always to the left?

(I know, I know — a monkey throwback joke AND a “Liar, Liar” reference — 2 jokes in the first 10 words..! There, there *hugs you into my bountiful bosom* I know. It’s going to be all right. I know. Welcome home…)

I had been reading a wonderfully thorough, thoughtful, and honest account of a scientists changed perspective, surrounding whats happening to the brain while on psychedelic drugs, over on Reddit recently… hang on, lemme find the link… — HERE — and it really got me to thinking about all the unique compositions that our brains must take, enabling us to perform certain complex tasks. That line of thinking led me down yet another rabbit hole, circumscribing a series of questions surrounding one central idea, I.E.: what exotic and unique combinations of neuronal activity have we, as a species, yet to stumble upon… and what might these altered states allow us to do. Think of functional autism… Know how some days you’re the man? While others may find you boulder shouldered with a clipped tongue? What if you had a choice? The ability to shift gears, as it were — at will.

What else may you gain control over..?

Taking all this to its logical end, (and if you’re following my insanity at all up to this point, you deserve a gold star), I began my daily writing… and worked my way backwards from there…. I sure hope you enjoy.

~J

“The Day her life began”

Time retreated back to the unknown depths from whence it came.

The very fabric of the universe was undone.

God had been slain…

“BLAM”

"..."

“…”

The barrel rolled. The tension released. The hammer flew. Somewhere nearby, a universe sprang into existence which would support a host of tinkerers, gunsmiths, and engineers of myriad persuasions.

Slowly, with holy reverence, she lifted the pistol which now lay by her side, and greeted the frigid barrel with rattly, unsure teeth. Her tongue, acting of its own accord, probed the metallic stranger before reeling back frightened — arched as a hissing cat back in the furthermost recesses of the uncannily parched cavity. Tentatively she squeezed at the trigger, observing, with silent admiration, the hammers smooth and precising draw: a simple, momentary, accidental homage to the beauty of design.

No, this she couldn’t handle. This was the domain of wiser people, not her: some drug-addict waste of a life. She knew what had to be done…

There was no other choice. She’d never even wanted a child, (even when it easily could’ve changed her life with any one of over a dozen men…), the responsibility, she knew, would simply be more than her fragile psyche could support. The very thought of it paralyzed her — let alone pondering the mothering of full fresh galaxies, worlds, and people… Even now new forms of life, from the accidental warblings of her imaginative mind, sprang up all around her as her thoughts raced — neatly bifurcating into both matter and antimatter before disappearing into the thin ether all around, phasing down into their proper dimensions; the only stable places where they could grow, evolve, and prosper. Somehow, intrinsically, she knew all this.

……. I AM GOD!

It had all begun innocuously enough. Another night fleeing in desperate fear from her potential — she had come to terms with this cold reality some time ago, a brief silver lining to her staunch and stubborn nature, which otherwise had only served to deliver her precisely where was — chasing the bottom of an aged oak stock, paired with much smoke, and, the real culprit she’d now realized, the psychedelic mushrooms… Without that particular happenstance catalyst, she peevishly postulated, the seed of that thought would never have taken root in her. Sulking now, she wished she’d attributed, like all the others, that feeling of, “oneness with everything” to lend undeniable credence toward the thought of an all-encompassing God. But, no. Evidently her troublesome mind, and its own meddling realization here, was destined to grasp a truth so potentially devastating in its scope, that it threatened to destroy everything and everyone

Realizations, echoed on hollowed, tinny voices from ever-changing corners of her skull, began relaying a rapid fire series of truths directly into her psychological matrix. “The mind cannot exist in a state that the machinery itself cannot manifest, or support.”, They began. “Thus, every human experience hinges on all the exotic, common, and influenced ways that the brains neurons fire. It follows than, that reality starts between your ears, and extends to a world made up of nearly nothing. So why, if the potential exists, could not ones own thoughts manifest into the physical?”

So now, drawing on her studies of satellite imagery and maps of late, Melissa exploded upward on a rocket, quickly traversing the rotted roof over the abandoned squat, effortlessly accepting the house, block, town, and, before long, the entirety of New York state into her very being, just as soon as these things came into view. States seamlessly became Countries. Countries rapidly swelled to Continents. Continents yielded to the oceans, and jutted up once more upon the opposing shores. Before long, the entirety of the planet itself was in her game. She lived in it for a time, patiently breathing and letting her soul expand to fill the void. Finally now, as the full soul of the planet, she conceived a beam of energy, originating from the earths molten core, flowing outward as an explosive band — outward in every direction, out into the furthest regions of space… pulsating… feeling… expanding far beyond distances her human mind could ever hope to grasp… until, of its own accord, the feeling eased to a stop, draining her mind completely. Then, after an indeterminate amount of time had passed, one whispering thought, peeking its head into the whitewashed room of her mind and then passing the threshold with its head held high, tiptoed graciously, comfortably, across her state of zen: “If the theory she’d designed, in lieu of the divine line of reasoning, were true, and she could think her way into the proper mindset while sober, the true configuration of the universal fabric would become her reality”. Surely there would be answers there to glean.

Breathing solely through her nostrils, attention focused only on her breath, Melissa attempted to embrace the air flowing across her exposed flesh. She languished over the sensation, imposed only at first, that her skin had begun to radiate at its edge — blending with the world around her in the strange, love imbued way she could still vaguely recall from the night only just passed. Suddenly, somehow, she felt she’d accepted the surprisingly plush, tattered and stained red terry-cloth carpet as part of her expanding aura. She accepted its blemishes, they became endearing. She accepted its limitations, and became its friend. Imagining that each and every fiber, each and every strand, had now become an extension of her own body, made it so. Then, moving on, she perceived the tangible breeze licking heavily over her corporeal form, and the wind too became part of her energy, its trajectory acknowledged and absorbed by her creeping, steadfast awareness. It danced through limber, forest-like woolen passages below, darting to and fro, and tickling freshly raw and delicate nerves by the million. Before long, she found she was both aware of every distinct object in the room, and also, without a glimmer of doubt, certain that they were also an intractable part of herself.

She sat down, neatly crossed her legs, upturned her palms, and began to make her best attempt at meditation.

Melissa’s eyes cracked open, panic-stricken in her post sleep drug induced hypnagogic haze, deeply frightened, and ailed by amnesia as to where she was. Quickly scanning the dilapidated room, she soon identified the three lifeless bodies slung over the random bug infested, water-rot, furniture they’d together dragged into the squat from the curb the night before — fellow junkies, people she was calling, “friends” these days. Her heart went back to base from snare, and, as the vice subsided, the memory of the night before flooded back in full. Immediately she knew, the feeling had remained after all. Today was surely the day she’d have the strength to face the one thing that frightened her most — her own mind. Finally she could begin fresh. At last she’d stare down her demons, one-by-one, determine their vulnerabilities, and strike without mercy. This time, without fail, she would move on. This time she could get to the core of it all, her own subconscious, and finally address the fear. Whatever it was, fortified in the back of her mind, it couldn’t hurt her anymore. No, not today. Today, she would live — really live! — believing in her own potential to be great, and ability to achieve whatever she truly desired from life. By the time she got up, her life would truly begin…

Hey, Creative peeps! — It’s sure been a hot minute, hasn’t it?

Not to worry, the insane brain possessing all this flesh and corporeal tangibility has not gone away for good, but has rather been in a bout of writing hibernation. And, as it should never logically follow, the snows of New York’s bitter winter have taken me out from my own literary hibernation — and here I am: Fresh from the cave, unkempt, unshaven, and slightly gassy…

(For instance, and for proof of purchase, ever wonder if the phrase “hot-minute” is an unexpectedly clever twist on the Einstein “theory of relativity”?? Oh to dream…)

Yeah, that's the one!

Yeah, that’s the one!

 

Methinks this site needs a makeover. And, in due time, that’s precisely what she’ll get, but for today I’d just like to begin anew.

To post SOMETHING, to get the proverbial log-rolling. The hypothetical hypodermic plunge onto its descent. The meteorological transpermia action impregnating forlorn rocks, so that worlds may flourish anew. So, with all that in mind, I began free writing. Just once a day, stream of consciousness stuff — and I’d love to share it all with you. So, and without further adieu, I give you what I’m calling (after a team of wildly untrained organtuans flung poo at a poster board full of words, selecting the vehicles for the prose, leaving the leftover for the title.)

Influence

I could smell, but not taste. Feel, but not see. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Yet, I was alive… Wasn’t I?

How long had I been this way? What was the cause? Now, it’s obvious that those two particular lines of inquiry were fruitless — yet it was all my beleaguered mind was willing to offer up. So there I was, slung from my achilles, dangling prostrate, inverted, inert, numb, and left betwixt the cages of parroting inquiry that shut out possible rational thought by endlessly squawking at my ears in turn: “Why”, and “How long”.

I find now that it’s embarrassing to admit…

My training should’ve here kicked in… manacles could always be undone — blindfolds removed, Gags spat out — all things I’d done, and studied, and committed to muscle memory, things I shouldn’t even have to consciously think about to do. Somehow they’d removed my instincts… That’s what they’ve achieved. They’ve engineered a poison to sneak past the blood brain barrier… something that we’ve proved impossible. Or so we thought…

Wait… THATS IT!

I know what’s in the pill! It’s not a medicine, or a drug, or some natural additive… Nothing of that nature could’ve done this. There is however, another, rather sneaky, way to achieve these detriments; sensory deprivation, memory fragmentation, recall haze, non-responsive motor function.

God, it’s so obvious now…

But, with this insight, surely we can win the war!

The only way to do this, to effect all these regions of the mind, without surgery, is to make a placebo… but here’s the twist — the sugar is merely fuel. Or rather food… You ready?

What’s really in the pill is…

is…

Oh, my…

They’d even thought of this too.

The agent hinges forward, crashing hard onto the desk

— dead–

office-killing-desk-dead

Once again — no hesitation — here we go!

“Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it.” ~ Mark Twain

In honor of this — here’s ten reasons why our Government doesn’t deserve our support lately 😉

(Sidenote: WE BEAT SOPA TODAY!!!!! Now, help keep it that way.)

~~~~~ This Final Post is in 3 Parts — here’s part-1 to get you properly started! ~~~~~

Here’s my Top Ten — cause who doesn’t like a good list 😉 !?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remember; Of the people, by the people, and for the people — makes no mention of government or business…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1- Overturn corporate personhood, or “Citizens United” ruling: Why should corporations be granted the same rights of a citizen under the 1st amendment? This is the Bill of Rights, it’s for people — not businesses! Do I really need to list the differences? Also, in the meantime, how about we force our elected officials to wear a sewn on brand name logo for each of their sponsors — just like NASCAR drivers — so that we really know who’s pulling their strings!

2- Overturn Buckley VS Valeo: Money is not speech. Because if it were, those with it could talk, while those without — like myself — become mute. It’s an insane loophole, and wholly nonsensical.

3- Stop allowing patents that limit invention: Company’s are currently allowed to make faulty products, and control their competition, through buying up patents that would allow competitors to gain a leg up, and/or invent something that would do the job better. This is insane! How can we allow a patent to be placed on a product, so that it WONT be built!? This is backwards logic! With the goal of creation held above all else, this is completely against progress! Ideas should be free — take any of mine if you wish, I offer them freely — as only the best end product should rule the day. Heck, I have half a mind to outlaw patents all together, due to their ability to stop others from using an invention to create something better for us all. Perhaps a residual scale would be more prudent, like in my acting world, as a way to better promote innovation, and acknowledge inventors, than disallowing use of their invention altogether.

4- Congressional seats cost Millions to run for, Presidential races — Billions: NO!, no wayyyy! You want to call yourself a Democracy America, and you want to spread this “pure and perfect philosophy” of yours around the world, yet this can happen? We better perfect this method at home first, before we go spreading it around the Globe. What if I wanted to run? How could I possibly finance my way there? Beg borrow and steal, and owe allegiances to those 400 people mentioned before? No thank you! Limit the amount that can be spent, to — oh i don’t know — nothing… Nothing but what you can prove comes from your own pocket? How awesome to see You-Tube videos of the possible nominees…

5- Abolish the 2 party system: As I’ve mentioned before, uniting under a banner prevents organic thought. It’s like the Yankees VS the Mets, but this isn’t sports! Nobody agrees with EVERYTHING that either party stands for, and if they do, than they aren’t thinking hard enough, nor for themselves — nor divergently, which is the most important of all. I suggest that we disallow candidates from announcing their party whatsoever, and make the people vote not on individuals — but issues. The person who is most aligned with the answers to this, “Voting test”  that people will take, on current issues around the world, will in turn place a vote in the name of the candidate who is most closely aligned with your beliefs. However… if we can’t abolish it, lets add to it! — If we can’t remove the two-party system, I suggest a new party — “The Intellectual party”; who will make smart and just decisions that have only the people’s needs at heart.

6- Balance the budget: Look, a government should not be able to live beyond its means — just like a person. We can’t get credit lines when we don’t pay our bills, and a nation should be no different in this regard — particularly when we, the people, foot the bill. We need to pay off our national debts, and eliminate the FED and this debt-built system once and for all! Let’s get, “in the green” again. How? Make a new currency that we own, that is OURS, “The Peoples Paper” perhaps, whatever, and make it more valuable than the old Federal Reserve Notes, and then — simply pay them off! Thank you — please (don’t) come again!

7- No more hiding the truth: No more lies, no more clandestine plans, no more making decisions without our consent. Everything we do needs to be made public. We need to be able to know, quickly and coherently (and without lawyer babble), what’s going on with us as a nation, and why we are doing the things that we do. And, if we don’t agree, we should have the right to a public veto which could even overrule the president/monarch him/herself! All this should be a part of the new Data.gov proposed governmental website!

8- Limit insane lawsuits, a type of tort reform: People these days are being rewarded for not thinking and acting the fool. If you cut yourself while breaking into a building to rob the joint, how is it OK that you can then sue the business? How about a, “Common-Sense Law”! Also, much like our friends across the pond, the person who’d dragged everyone away from their jobs to sit on a jury, for this BS case, so that they could try this ridiculous money-making scheme (which will surely pervert the bill of rights to their greedy whim), should have to pay everyone present for their time — after being kicked out! The Judge, the lawyers, the jury, the bailiff — EVERYONE! We’ll see if that wont make people think twice about this type of malarkey!

9- Legalize it: Legalize all drugs. Seriously. We’re still consuming them, people get them when they want them, and by having them be Illegal, A) we’re forcing people who want them, perhaps for just an experiment, to become part of a criminal syndicate to do so, AND, B) We’re causing a war in Mexico, as the cartel has come about as a direct result of our undying need for all things illegal and druggy. I hate to sound callous, but choosing your own destiny is an inherent right of a truly free and sovereign people, and if an adult chooses to live his/her life in the dregs, just for that next hit — well, than, I’m sorry… but that’s their prerogative. If everyone’s truly equal, than we can’t assume ourselves “Better qualified” to tell others how to lead their lives. If they die, they die, and it was meant to be… However, I have a feeling that family and community will take personal interest in these lost souls — especially when there isn’t a criminal factor involved — and with the right support, and the right conditions in the world, these people wont want to live life this way at all.

10- Stop bailing out businesses with our money, abolish wall street: It’s legalized gambling… with our money… and it’s unessential! How is it OK to have enough of our money tied up in this, that it can affect our very economic strength/stability — when these people are merely placing bets on how a Company will do within the next few seconds? Do all the research you want, it’s a guess. And research has proven that outside factors can influence these people on “The Floor”, which can alter their practices, and cause them to influence markets around the world. It’s too much power to be placed in a silly gambling hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NO -- I will not Pay! (OK maybe I will, I don't like prison. Bullies.....)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These changes are a start, but let’s remember our ULTIMATE GOAL: that high fiving, free society, that’s been smart in its investing, and has permitted its people to “Retire”. There’s a funny thing about retirement though, people don’t just stop living — they finally find a passion and pursue it. Imagine what this World could be, if people could do that from birth?

Let’s get back to the ways of the founding fathers: of, by, and for US — THE PEOPLE!

Protests in the US are not low-level terrorism!

OWS protests in the UK are not part of a terrorist regime!

The “Detention bill” is INSANE!

Our governments influence has grown far too large in some regards, and has shrunk far too small with others, particularly with what really matters — serving the people! This is not a Democracy we have here — it’s a corporate dictatorship; only concerned with the bottom line. Again I’ll say — Surely we can have a loftier goal for mankind than amassing stacks of greenbacks. The game’s rigged people, and we’re all playing as the away team –whilst somehow still being on our own turf…

EVERYBODY MATTERS, EVERY VOICE SHOULD HAVE IT’S CHANCE TO BE HEARD!

So, Surprisingly, in the end — maybe the Mafia had the right idea. Perhaps giving power to individuals voices to effect change is the right way to go. Maybe we should have a leader on every floor of an apartment, on the corner of every street, and have them alternate to avoid corruption. These people can then have two meetings, two times a week, where we can address our needs, if we have any — and if they can’t handle this issue of ours, they can pitch it up the chain of command either as our representative, or if we’re more knowledgeable, we would go ourselves. From the block, to the town, to the city, to the county, to the state, to the time-zone, to the country — and right on up to the White houses door, should this individual and his/her question go, if it can’t be solved along the way. And in this way, they can finally hear about, and efficiently deal with, the bastards who are slashing our tires!

But who knows….

Certainly not me.

I’ve written over a tenth of a novel on this subject by now,

and am confident that it COULD be done…. But will it?

That, my friends, is the question that truly needs answering.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Well that, and will anybody ever read this?)

Who knows, but I’d guess — probably not 😉

~J

Hey there, my intuitive and thoughtful folk — Welcome back!

What are you thinking about, Readers?

Thinking about thinking?

I hope so.

Oh… Don’t you worry, I know precisely what you thought as you read the title,

“What in Cotton-Pickin, Tar-Nation is Jared thinkin‘ bout writing on today?”~ You, just a moment ago

(And, by the way — what was that Reader? A Yosemite Sam reference? Anyone else ever notice that he’s kind of… A little racist? Tar nation… Cotton picking…?)

But I digress…

Now, if you’ve been following along thus far with my whole, “Great Reset” project, you might already know what today’s blog is all about. So far, of my original list, I’ve covered; Energy, balance, conservation, the environment, and sustainability. Most of these were covered in the last post, when I gave all of NYC a modern makeover (did you see the final reveal? Wasn’t Lady Liberty simply STUNNING!? OMG I know!), but I also touched on the ideas here, and here as well. And today, in case you haven’t figured out as such yet from all the annoying underlining I did up top, I would like to talk about Education. And, more specifically, the way that our current system cultures us to think.

So, to be honest about my own thoughts today, der Yosemite,

“I keep trying to think, but nothin’ happens” ~ Me, my whole life

My Mentor

Got a headache yet?

That’s what I thought 😉

For many of you; I’m sure you’re wondering what is wrong with the current education system at all? Understandable. After all, it taught all of us — and we’re here reading this — So… Where’s the beef? Right? Well, for us to really understand what’s going on in the education system today, and why it needs to be reworked for the “Great Reset”,  we need to first understand why it works the way it does in the first place.

Time to set the Way-Back machine to the mid 19th century!

But -- why the 19th century Mr. Peabody?

Elementary, my dear Sherman — Because that is when and where our system of education was conceived.

You see, Sherman; before the 19th century, most people were educated through life itself. There were no standard schools for everyone to attend. Sure the Jesuits had been schooling people long before this time — but the financial requirements necessary to buy your way in to these schools left most exempt from wonderful world of knowledge at large.

At the time… This was not seen as a problem

School was not for everybody. It was for the Elite. The Scholarly. Those with Potential. And, to be any of that, either you were born into money (and could afford the Jesuits way), or you were lucky enough to know someone who owned the classic novels, and would let you read them — that is if you could read at all. Knowledge of the classics — The Iliad, The Bard, and the like — were, in the opinion of the time, an indicator of a person with scholarly potential. It was believed that as an individual, you were either born with the capacity to be intelligent, or — simply — not…

Intelligence, and our view of it, has changed radically over the years — However — this view of potential has not. And to me, that’s quite sad.

Me too kitty.... Me too

On to, “The Industrial Revolution”

When you hear the term, “Industrial Revolution”, What do you think of? Assembly lines? Batches of boxed and manufactured goods? Lots of rust dust, face filth, and poor hygiene? If so, than good — because you now have an image in your brain of where our education systems roots are grounded.

Think about it, we manufacture “Batches” of kids — shipping them through Grade School with the only grouping restriction being their age — on standardized, “Assembly lines” of required classes. We grade them all on the same standard — the, “Industry standard” of either right, or wrong. There is only one way to be — one right answer — and any child that winds up with a differing conclusion is promptly labeled “defective”, fails, and is left behind to take the Ole’ whirly-bird for another spin…

Do we really want our kids to think that the most important aspect about them is their Born-on-date? Is there really only one right answer to problems? Sure, maybe in math, but overall?

No.

No!

A hundred times, NO!

There are MANY ways to look at any given situation, and many potential outcomes for each, to be sure. This is called “Divergent Thinking “; finding many ways to answer a single question — Ahem, creativity.

What we teach today however, is not divergent, but rather “Convergent thought”; where all the facts converge to the only answer that exists. This is how the revolution of industry, and the inception of interchangeable parts, had us thinking, and this is the way we built the education system….

Those concepts, along with the dangerous notion that standardized testing would sift out the “Scholars”, from the “Dunces”, has been the honing stone which would prove to “sharpen”, the minds of the millions educated under its auspices.

Today though, I’d like to ask you all, avid readers — is this a good idea?

If the goal of education is to aid in people learning — to not only teach them, but to help them figure out things on their own when they’re finished — than, being that we know well about individuality, how can we honestly expect the same system to benefit everyone under it equally?

Is every person the same? Do we all have identical propensities toward learning? The same interests? The same Hobbies? The same passions? Is everybody alike?

Certainly NOT!

Haven’t we have all known children who’ve shown interest and potential in things and subjects far beyond their grade level? For one reason or another, these things make these people — these future adults who will one day run our society — happy. These things are their passions. And, as you know, here on this blog, we’re all about people finding their passions and becoming the person that they’ve always wanted to be! This path of interest and passion leads, not only to lifelong satisfaction — but also a lifelong journey.

If you’re always interested, you’re always learning. If you’re always learning, you’re never bored. If you’re never bored, you’re content! And content people, (even though they have to work hard), actively advance the fields they’re involved with — and when you do that, you push the very evolution of mankind (for all those unfamiliar with this concept, please catch up on this series 🙂   )!

Think about how amazing the world is today — and also, how distracting…

When our kids are caught distracted from their lessons, lessons that we’ve already established might not be “Right” for them, they are chastised, lectured, belittled, their parents are called, and — all too often — medication is prescribed. We’re forcing our kids to sit through school, through things that they find boring (and rightfully so), WITH DRUGS. Is this what we want? If we had a choice, is this how we would set it up again after, “The Great Reset”?

Looking at it now — I highly doubt it.

Did you know that most children, some 98%, are at the GENIUS level when measured for divergent thinking? But here’s the thing; as we re-test these kids after years of “schooling”, we find that this ability atrophied, and eventually dies. We need to rework the system to reflect the goal of education — to not only educate, but to teach someone to learn on their own. Give a man a fish and all that…

We teach logic, which is all well and good — but its only half the picture.

We should instead teach creativity.

“Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere”
~Albert Einstein

How do we do that? How do we teach Imagination? Well, mostly, with subjects we’ve been ignoring.

The Arts — teach a person about what it’s like to live as someone else — an unrivaled thought experiment, and extreme reflection of the self.

Philosophy — more in that same vein, and even deeper, Philosophy helps us understand the current matrix that is our personal understanding of the world. Once we know our limits, we have the ability to supersede them. However, you can’t jump over an invisible hurdle…

Less standardized, more personalized — I remember a science teacher of mine running into class once, simply overjoyed at some breakthrough in his field he’d heard of over lunch, but he couldn’t tell us what it was, because it wasn’t part of his lesson. Here we had a person willing to share their genuine passion with us, something that as a child could have imbued us all with a real sense of wonder, and yet — he couldn’t share because of “Standards”… What a world… This needs to change!

Stop, Stop, Stop with the assembly line — I say, toss it all. Let teachers teach what they want. Let them talk to each other, shuffle students between classes to look for the right fit. And be able to freely and actively try to make the kids happy, and interested.

I understand that this will all be very difficult, and that it will make the job of educators infinitely harder — but this isn’t necessarily bad. It will draw in those who are best suited for the job, rather than pension seekers and lazy care-nothings. People would not join the field unless they positively loved it, especially when we’d expect them to spend their summers (if we can even afford summers off, with all there is to know about the world these days…), re-work their entire years lessons, to properly reflect our changing world….

Starting to get the picture?

Children are not the only ones effected here

How many people do you know that hate their jobs?

Plenty, I’d bet.

How many others would be grateful to have that “hated” job, but hate the one they’re in themselves?

This is a serious problem. People aren’t happy. They’re going through this antiquated system blindly, like they’ve been told to. They’re getting their degrees, their leaving college (with HEFTY debt), and they’re miserable… So what do they do?

Nothing…

They don’t know anything else to do. They’ve forgotten how to think divergent, so they’re trapped, in a very real sense of the word. Problem is, their subconscious still wants them to be great! It still nags them, insisting that there’s something left to do, something left unattended — and that can drive a person mad, depressed, and — mostly — just very, very confused. So they distract themselves to drown out this voice…

They wind up pouring themselves into things like TV sitcoms, Reality TV, Movies, Sports, Innocuous trivia (Say Thank’ Ya), and a million other distractions — but they are not living up to their potential. They’re not doing what they love. They’re not — not truly — happy. Maybe in fleeting moments of drunken debauchery, or drug addled hazes, but I believe that a lot, maybe even most, feel lost and confused with the question, “Who am I”?

This leads me to my conclusion;

As we engineer our own future, we must recognize that mankind’s greatest gift is his creativity — creativity is passion, creativity is invention, and thus, creativity is evolution.

Everybody wants to matter, to be important, and they all can. Each and everyone on the planet has a piece of the puzzle to the great mystery of life, and by not culturing this — by telling them that they simply can’t because of genetics, socioeconomic status, or place of birth — we are shooting ourselves in the foot!

Always remember, don’t just aim to better yourself — that’s selfish. Attempt to better all those around you. Because, in truth, we are all as one living organism — Earth. And when the world is viewed through that lens, by giving a leg up to a stranger, your also helping yourself — not to mention all of mankind.

Martian Luther King Jr. Once had a dream that mankind would at one point see each other not by skin-color, but by the virtue of an individual. We may be growing colorblind these days, but we are not yet culture blind — and that needs to change!

~J

P.S. A lot of ideas in today’s blog were inspired by Sir. Ken Robinsons TED talk, of which i’ve mentioned plenty of times in the past. You can check out my favorite version of his talk here!

Oh, the Power of prayer,

That’s right, take it from me; probably the least religious person you’ll ever meet.

~But I pray~

Some men of Science take an adamant stance against something like organized religion, and everything surrounding it. And naturally so; being that they’re the philosophical nemesis to the world of belief at large. They feel the pressures of religious restrictions on a daily basis. But in their great haste to push aside all that is religion, is it possible that they might be missing out on something good?

There is great merit in what i know of the Bible’s teachings, and it doesn’t take a devout to benefit from some of its lessons, and it’s habits. Namely: prayer. Trust me, your brain will thank you.

If you’ve ever read this blog before, you might know that I’m obsessed with the brain.

It fascinates me to look at the daily operating of my body as resulting in part from the fantastic mix of cocktail drugs that my brain has cooked up in order for me to get through the day. That pint-sized thing between our ears is simply amazing, and it’s true modus operandi is likely to elude our prodding of its secrets for years to come.

However some of its behaviors are already known…

One important thing that you might want to learn about your brain, and anyone more versed on the subject should feel free to add in a comment here 🙂 , is that when you are building a skill, i.e. walking on your hands, hustling in cards, doing math, playing a video game — really when you are doing anything that you can learn, and get better at — a new “Neural Pathway” is being built within your mind.

Imagine it like a paving a road through a sprawling jello landscape. This “road” is really just a system of beefed up nerves running through the brain, but they are important in that all the areas all around it will also benefit from the newly improved infrastructure. So all around the nerves that carry the very thing that you are actively learning, while you’re “Doing it”, new connections are being forged, and your capability to deal with the task at hand simply get’s better and better.

I ran into an old buddy, Charles on set this week and he kept talking about this book, “Conversations with God” he’d recently read (I’d never heard of it). It is… Well basically what it sounds like: Conversations with God. I would imagine some throwaway protagonist meets the Almighty in his fortress of solitude hovering above the house of the Jersey Shore, and he proceeds to spill out the elegantly simplistic truths of Existence.

Turns out, at least according to Charles (who is not to be confused with Scott Baio),

every one of your waking thoughts is somehow tied into this giant karmic energy, which he referred to as “The Universe”. From what i could tell, the Universe is God, and the God is the Universe. I say pick one 🙂 . Anyway what it implies is that if you have something now, anything, it’s only a result of your own past thoughts and actions which led you to it, and if you want something new, well then you have to think about it; thus putting your energy towards it. Thought and energy put toward something will lead to the manifestation of an opportunity, the universe, he says, wants to see you do well and is always ready to proffer one. When this opportunity is matched with action on your part, it can lead you to realize your dreams.

However, he mentions, thought projection is a double-edged sword. You can just as easily project a negative opportunity through unguarded negative thoughts. Basically don’t think something’s possible if you don’t want it to be. When projecting future events only project things you want to happen, as the projection is the way things will inevitably play out. Again I’m not sold on the religion behind this, and it’s always prudent to think about things thoroughly; so I’m at odds with some of its basic philosophy, but some of its ways, much like prayer, are sound.

To teach yourself something new, to do it well, and to become in essence smarter — you need only to do it. Doing something not only entails physically moving, it also entails thinking, namely projecting for future events. That’s common sense (Catch the ball. Where will it land?). Thinking, therefore, is one half (at least) of the critical process of doing, and an important step toward talent, progress with the skill, and eventually: skill mastery. Things i believe everyone can value, Science and Religious worlds alike. And remember, all this personal betterment starts with the new neural pathways within the mind, and benefits not only its own region of the brain but all the others around it.

Through both prayer, and the power of intention, things begin to happen. literally. Like vines climbing a wall these new and powerful pathways crawl through your mind, making it more efficient, more active, and happier…

Groovy 🙂

Amazing game btw! Earthworm Jim.

A normal prayer, from what i can remember… can be rather formal.

I’d always start mine with a good ole casual, “Dear God”;

As if God were the writer behind a “Dear John” column in the Daily post. 

“Dear God”, I’d say, “Awesome job on the universe, and mankind, and existence and all. It’s freaking amazing. I sure hope that mankind wasn’t too much of a hassle for you today. Hopefully not to many people were killed, and less bad things went down than normal. We can really be a bother i bet. Hopefully you had some time to kick your feet up too!”

“Anyway, i won’t take up too much of your time cause I’m sure that you have to help people in Japan right now and all… Did you know that the initial title-wave traveled at 500 MPH ? Do you know how quick I would poop my pants if I saw that coming at me on a beach somewhere? That’s awesome! Woh, sorry big dude, I kinda ran off on a tangent there, anyway to get to the point, thank you for my Mom, Dad, Step-Dad, My mom’s brothers, Uncle Barry, Uncle Jeff, Uncle Dave, and their kids (when i had the energy, I’d list everybody one by one. My whole family! Everyone I know!)… I really hope that i land a nice commercial Principal so that I can have more free time to create and experience life… Maybe it would be nice if I went and visited grandma. I hope that I can be strong enough to properly edit this novel of mine, and one day green-light its inevitable movie!… Etc… ”

Regardless of how you pray, the process still follows a format;  “Always be thankful, Love, Wish well, Spread good will, Imagine Hopes and dreams,” and personally “Never ask for anything materialistic”. If focusing our thoughts on these things systematically creates new pathways, which in turn becomes the basis of possible things we might “Do”, than just by thinking about them we make them more likely to happen.

In my prayer I thought about my grandma. If this is something that a pray about often, it’s likely that I’ve forged a neural pathway about the subject. A Pocket of clipped facts now lies in one of my brains folds: “I Love my Grandmother. She lives alone. I should visit. I should bring flowers and the makings of dinner. I need to be nicer to her. All older people in general actually…”. Come tomorrow, with my Friday still not booked, and being faced with the legendary “Day off”, I might not order that pizza and kick my feet up, I might go visit granny. Because I thought about it, it became more likely to happen. Now that i think about it, Duh…

But how revolutionary…

If we remove the stigma associated with prayer, (as if we do not believe in something how might it do us harm?) it can obviously be quite beneficial.

It can center you.     Focus you.     Organize you.     Prepare you.     Enlighten you.

Just a new thought on an old habit

Perhaps a moment of “Prayer” might not be the worst thing for our kids in school after all. I only must advocate that they know what is happening. Call it Prayer, call it thought time, or call it honing the cerebrum, whatever you please, just make sure that they are told the truth, and levelly. Let them decide. Prayer, or active thoughts as I’m coining it, will eventually make them smarter, and hone them all to better equipped to deal with this ever-changing world. And in this time of immense pace and ubiquitous attention thieves, what better idea is there than to stop — and simply think for a moment?

~J