Nietzsche-Peachy

To me, the most life-affirming thing is to have soul conversations with similar human spirits. Makes you feel a little less insane and maybe validates your existence and what you're about, just a little.

For instance, sheeple. You know, the unawakened, unenlightened. Those who go about their sleepy existence thinking that this is it, this is as good as it gets and this is how things must be everywhere. Television becomes a deity worshiped on asscheeks around the world. I'm not saying everyone has to share my disdain for how spiritually retarded we've become as a human collective, I just want questions to form in your mind when faced with authority or social injustices and I don't want you to just go along blindly with the popular opinion. Have one of your own! Even if it's not to have one.

What is it that causes one person to wake up, and another remain asleep? Is it choice? Or something else? A condition of the heart, perhaps: A hardening, a great constriction of the thing to hang on to what it holds so true, so dear; a defense mechanism for a world out of sorts.


  I've gone back to reading Nietzsche lately, so you'll have to excuse my recent philosophical bent. The man is my idol, however, and not only that but my literary guru, to boot. Most everything I learned about myself, I learned largely in part thanks to him. No bullshit. Reading him changed the course of my life permanently and I am ever so thankful for this world that produces such people who open our eyes and inspire us, especially when we're bombarded incessant;y every day with the mediocre and inconsequential. Nothing matters. Nothing we're told does, or should, anyhow.
  What matters is going home at the end of the day to something or someone you love, and doing what you do for the betterment of yourself and others, not just wasting away on a little cloud of consumerism and fantasy everyday that everything is just ok. Denial gets tricky, best not to mess with it.

  Mr. N and I disagree on a lot of surface things but it's never the surface I'm really concerned with. Something as simple as having a conversation with someone is enough, sometimes. Some study the words spoken, others the tone and timbre; still others, myself included, lose sight of the words immediately in favor of what lies behind them. It's very much like deciphering code.
  Well, in a way it is a code. Our psyches are so efficient and skilled at erecting our grand defensive archetypes that many times we aren't any the wiser about it until one day we are. A lot of times, I don't even listen to what's being said; I space out studying the space the words are coming from and the feeling behind it. It stands to reason then that this is why I've never been a "lyrics person", when it comes to music; for me, what strikes me first and foremost is the feeling driving the piece. What the group is saying, because each member (provided these are real musicians and not some poppy piece of bubblegum shoe shit no talent ass-clowns) is telling you a story.

  This is a huge digression but the nature of my writings have always been a bit rambling and more akin to something conversational (believe me, if you've ever gotten me into a conversation of something I'm really passionate about, you'll hear my neediness assert itself proudly), so they never really have a clear destination most times anyway. But I was talking about music, and for the aforementioned, this is probably the reason I always aligned myself so readily with metal music, though I truly love all types. Like attracts like, and I am attracted to intensity of thought and feeling, to speak to my own. Not saying The Eagles lack this but I'm a true junkie and metal has given me the only fix strong enough to give me that little taste of death they all go for.

  There is no logical conclusion to this entry, but there never was one intended. I just wanted to write a few things and talk about something I was fired up about and inspired enough to write myself (publicly) out of the funk I've been in. Any of you who read me regularly will probably notice it's been a little while since I've posted anything. Well, yeah. For me, the creative process is very cyclical, and just as the moon and our own biorhythms go, my creativity is largely at the whim of waves and mercy. But, it is most importantly a craft, and as such, should be practiced ad nauseum, until it's like breathing.
  I also wanted to mention the actual web site I'm working on (that I largely procrastinated on for months, it seems) is in the works (really) and is beginning to take on some form. I don't know if perfectionism comes with being of a creative mind but it really does get terribly frustrating sometimes, and very unproductive but shit's getting done, and I'm getting excited about it, most importantly. This blog was ultimately just a starting point, a dip of the toes to test the water before jumping in head first, and it's gone amazingly, thanks to you.

Thank you,
Shane

short thoughts.

Ed. Note: Just a smattering of random shit that's come out of my brain at some point, splattered on notes and scribbled outside of the lines. Enjoy the insanity :)

Frequency-

  I don't think of them as emotions so much as rogue frequencies I've picked up, either from someone else or some thing, some place; I am but a terminal for their velocity.

On Creativity-

to walk the path between chaos and cohesion is not an easy feat. of course, it's wonderful to be original and bursting with raw talent, yet you want people to be able to read and connect to it, otherwise the whole thing was in vain and you're left stroking the flaccid ego in your hand; not an enjoyable or fruitful experience. 

it is my belief that art and creativity are best when they're at their rawest and most emotionally pure form, though that's not always such a marketable trait. when it is, you put yourself at risk of falling into a pretentious pit of despair.

I cannot speak for anyone but myself when I say that this is not really where you want to be. ideas are great, and i love brilliance, especially when it teeters on the verge of lunacy but one has to be ready to accept their own martyrdom when embarking on this path. I respect it but the more practical, logical and reasonable side of me rejects it as immature horse shit; having to prove something to someone, anyone but mostly yourself. I still struggle with it, that's probably why I've not completed anything yet.

/

there's a television on that no one is watching. a light on that illuminates no sentient life forms..

/

car sex is a way of life. 

come, be a sex nomad..

/

WWIII should be the least of anyone's concerns, especially considering we've been in the trenches for years already; it's just that the battlefield looks a little different this time. Its internalized, fought in the hearts and minds of the millions of dead and dying souls in this once great nation, world even. 

You can dress it up any way you like, put any positive spin to it that will help you sleep at night but the fact remains that we're fucked. Those in power and those with money have had us by the balls and throats as long as anyone can probably remember, and we've given in. Revolutions are too time-consuming and tiresome, dangerous even, so let's continue to over-indulge in slow poisons to numb the pain we all see too clearly but refuse to accept. It's painted on everyone's face like a mask of death. 

Be careful with dreams and fantasies and do not for one second underestimate the inherent evil in man. True, for all those born with evil in their hearts are just as many as their opposition but these numbers do not have the same totalitarian control over the masses. Most of these numbers have given themselves up to fairy tale and prophecies, waiting for someone else to come and save us all from the wretchedness. I'm here to tell you that you're wrong. No one is coming, it's just us. 

/

far, far away I would love to live outside the boundaries of this infernal death machine, this rat race march of lemmings off unspeakable fucking cliffs to impale ourselves on the spires of greed.

/

if only there was a way to genetically pre-determine whether or not someone was bound to become an asshole we could promote sterilization at an early age, before they're any the wiser. 

/

It’s an unfortunate circumstance as the result of a bad temper but I’m a firm believer that sometimes you just need to break shit. Material items are just that, and can be replaced. In fact, it’s probably good to destroy something that’s only meaningful because you attached meaning to it to relieve yourself of one less crutch. Dependence is not sexy in regards to anything, but especially to inanimate objects.
Was it always like this? Or is it just more apparent now? Imagine the Earth being stricken with a massive solar flare, knocking out the power grid across the nation, or even world, then imagine the reaction. Needless to say, people would freak; myself included, but how would that be any different from day to day life? It’s no mystery that we, as human beings, can be the most unruly creatures on the planet, but only blind optimism would try and tell you otherwise; another matter entirely.
Regardless of how bad it could ever get, what would be worse is if we still felt this aversion to being comfortable within ourselves as if it’s a sin; it is to some, I suppose, but it’s best not to take anyone’s word to be the absolute unless it’s your own, and not just the result of some kind of influence or promise you’ll only cash in on after you’re dead.


/

"You're still alive, huh?"

She wasn't thrilled. I was, but thought I caught the faint glimmer of a smirk in her eyes.

"At least you still have a sense of humor"

"Yeah", she said. 

The conversation was red hot. 

I hadn't seen her in about two years, the last time being in a picture she sent me of her sugar daddy and her; cuddling in bed, taken by the reflection of the mirrors on his ceiling. That was an interesting day. I thought of our bodily fluids combining; we might as well have had sex together, him and I; we have been the whole time anyway. 

When i think of cheating, I think first of the deception and second of the bodily horror; just which one is worse I'm not exactly sure, as both are equally appalling. I thought of David Cronenberg.  Blood, semen, fecal matter from shopping cart handles.. I thought about the bacteria that collects on your dick if you don't wash your hands BEFORE taking a piss: all these things just hanging out in a warm little incubator that we both penetrated, probably within hours of each other.  He knew about this the whole time.

I wanted to tell her she was a bitch, that I hated her more than the smell of vomit but I didn't. I wanted to drive two hours to stalk her house, looking for two shadows eating each other so I could get really inflamed and the bile would creep up and I'd use the combination she gave me to the front door lock box and creep up the stairs and burst in the door saying, "A-HA!", and proceed to kicking the dick off the guy and the shit right out of him, then I'd drag her by her hair and throw her out the window or down a flight of stairs and I'd sit there and smoke a cigarette because I quit so I can have one and I think I fucking deserved it.  

I didn't do any of that. I think of Hollywood's influence on my mental state.

Hold on, back up here a minute: she started it. Real mature, I know, but the truth is often stranger than fiction anyway so let's build a bridge here quickly and I'll get on with it. Better? Good. 

It was the worst thing to happen to me since the last worst thing that happened to me, which was actually a girl, too…

I think it was Facebook but I don't remember; all that matters is that she found my best friend whose name isn't important because you don't know him anyway.  Well, it was the day he and I were leaving for Tennessee for a music festival. She shows up, lookin' all good with her nice hair and her nice nails and tan legs and short shorts and large fake breasts and, wait a minute... She has breasts? When did that happen? It's not important because I figured she was there for for him, but she wasn't. Gulp. It usually doesn't take long to get awkward between three high school friends when the girl your best friend had a crush on all through high school but never did anything about takes a shining to you right in front of said friend. Not that it was that obvious, but it was that obvious. She hid it well though, considering we had actually been corresponding for about a week before that via email; at the time, I just felt sorry for her. Towards the end, I just wanted to help her put herself out of my misery. 

Weeks go by with daily text messages and e-mails that were getting increasingly more intimate and personal, and it was unknown to all but us. The thing about a dirty little secret is it's incredibly sexy. It's also very dangerous. Maybe that's why people cheat but hell if I know; I was always the sap on the receiving end of that particular misfortune.

 

She was a Gemini sun/Scorpio moon and her eyes were abysses I just couldn't help but dive headfirst into. Miles Davis had the same configuration; the two became one in my mind, it was my personal soundtrack for emotional demise. I thought of Bird. 

It's always been the weird little things that caught my greatest attention. 

Don't sweat the small stuff. 

Right.

…and it's all small stuff.

Exactly.