Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Daily dread

Once I had a place in dread; the daily movements of life inspired fear within my head.  I could never justify my existence and thus lived in a semi-constant apprehension that someone would decree my unworthiness fair grounds to exact the death penalty. To blur this knife edge I took to distractions- television, books, sleep, intoxication- anything and everything to numb the sensation of nettles in my skin.  It has finally faded somewhat, but with it, a portion of perception has also departed.  What is it worth, I wonder, to lose the pain by gaining a loss.  Sick, sick, the price of medicine- the cure has become worse than the disease.  The most galling aspect of the situation has become a lack of concern; a measured indifference to destruction.  Now I wonder what was so terrifying; what prompted me with such due diligence to unmake the essence I possessed.  I can't remember what I wanted to forget; I don't recall that which I tried so hard to put from my mind.

All I want sometimes is rest, but the rest that looms ahead darkens any illumination that might enlighten me.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

The sight of blindness

What is observed is not always what is seen.  In fact, the perception of the world through sight can obscure reality; overwhelming the senses with an immediacy that precludes more complex comprehension.  Like a flash dims vision, certain images can conceal the meaning that lies beyond; evoking an awareness dulling blindness brought on by fear and hatred.

When we are trained to react to certain stimuli with revulsion, our perception of something fitting the pattern evokes a visceral  response; clouding our judgement and leaving us vulnerable to instinctive reactions.  Thus, the homeless person asking for money incites anger, and prompts a harsh reply to a simple request.  The ethnically  dressed individual moves us to scorn their attire as disruptive or disingenuous.  Protestors become ungrateful children, whining pathetically or shouting dangerously at a system they should respect.  Those with whom we disagree morph into deplorable creatures deserving contempt and punishment.  What we think we see precludes an objective analysis of who stands before us, and allows condemnation to flow uninhibited.

This self indulgent diminishment of our moral judgements cripples us. The less we see clearly, the darker the environment becomes, and the less likely we are to act appropriately.  Monsters arise from the dimly lit shadows of our fading vision, threats that trigger the lighting of torches and the raising of pitchforks.  The mentality of the mob pervades our mindset, even when alone, triggering deeds that  even the coming darkness can not obscure.  The sight of blindness is lost.

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Slubdigulible found itself bewildered by the lack of difference after his courageous vote to reestablish  its privilege.

where's my free lunch?                                                                              


Saturday, October 8, 2016

did ya see my podcast of ritual infant disemboweling?
Awesome, amirite?

Slybob's appalling lack of discretion was only matched by the depths of his moral depravity.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Filled with hollow

There is a great emptiness that fills this world; a lack that drains human uniqueness.  The suppression of the incompatible by the destruction of individual nonconformity exacts a terrible price; it creates things that work together, no longer fully human.  The greater good sought by this process, a functioning society, is eclipsed by the destruction wrought.  The blocks of human potential become altered to more easily fit together; but with the internal integrity lost, it renders the structure unsound.

People stand astonished at the carnage and mayhem collapsing about them, but never seem to consider that strength can't be built from weakness.  The maimed bear the double burden of such injury; a loss that can't be acknowledged, and a support removed.

A foundation filled with hollow will not stand.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015


What goes down, must come up-a least in some instances.  Creating rather than regurging seems increasingly difficult; the head full of hollow echoes resoundingly.  Mental ruts run the mind down paths beaten into muck, arriving at destinations long before the trip begins.  Is this just aging, or something more insidious, a harbinger of debasements to come.  It's not as if the work world requires conscious thought on a regular basis; one of the hallmarks of my gainful employment is the lack of creativity afforded.  Still, better to strive for such, than lapse into the mental withering that beckons from the void.  Even slightest works bode better than abandoning effort.  Hence, the smell of effort in sweat, rather than the sweet stench of idleness.