Posts Tagged ‘life

03
Jan
20

Life Is Not Short, 1-3-2020

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A rather common expression these days says life is short or even too short. I strongly disagree and get upset with anyone who says this. [So, if you happen to interact with me in person or online, please refrain from using this line.]

Life is–as I prefer to say–as long as it is granted to you, as long as the Fates allow.

You get what you get and really do not have any sensible, genuine idea how to prolong it, though certain lifestyle choices DO enhance the quality of life and may offer some minor extension…but there’s no proof. Surprises never cease, and those who think they are perfectly healthy can suffer some sudden shock to the system which blows the whole outlook.

So, don’t count…anything. Don’t count the days. Don’t count the calories. Don’t count the steps or miles you run every day; what are you? A hamster? Just live and do your best to let others live; be cooperative but not a doormat. And, if you find yourself in a position to dominate, don’t revel in it; don’t stomp on the competition. You could just as quickly be under the other foot when you foolishly overstep your bounds. And, you project a terrible example to others who could easily replace you.

I’ve recently been discussing the sensitive subject of drugs with my very little nephews. Their parents have “no time” to talk about such things. But, from my childhood experience, I know how little adults (in my family, anyway) make an effort to discuss serious topics and prepare kids for what’s ahead, rather than let some PSA or school program drill a single phrase and some silly video into their heads. I can still see the cartoon donkey telling me to avoid strangers, the YUCK face warning me about hazardous drug bottles and the owl advising me not to pollute. Ya know…those were all cute and fun in their prime. But, real kids either wise up fast or go a long time before something shocks the crap out of them. Guess which one I was? The kid who got the crap shocked out of him when “reality” presented itself. B-But, the school was exceptional with its education system!…or so reputation says. Whatever. Parents and other adults need to be the education system…and not scare the kids.

Just the other day, I tuned into a TV show about social animal species which gave considerable focus to dolphins, elephants and a few types of monkeys. I became irked every time the narrator said an insect’s brain was far too small to compete with that of a dolphin. Does anyone other than me grasp the concept of size being relative, the idea that the physical size of the creature does not determine its intellect? We already should know an ant can lift an incredible amount of weight; can it not be just as possible for an ant to have more intelligence than we currently possess?

What if even the creatures with a “hive mentality” simply devote their massive brain power to that collective instead of dividing their “gifts” on all sorts of meaningless economical concerns and mindless entertainment, as humans do? Maybe our measily ten percent of brain power would grow or achieve more if we were not so…distracted and divided. It would not surprise me if, years from now, we discover plants having brains and a language we simply did not notice…and countless vegans suddenly turn ill with guilt for consuming yet another intelligent life.

[We humans, as far as I know, are the only species to become conflicted with what seems to be primal nature. We are so withdrawn from nature that we are foolishly, blindly destroying it. The “perfume” is so thick, we can’t think clearly.]

As much as it agitated me to hear the repetitive talk about the sizes of brains, I was finding myself emotionally drawn to the elephants and dolphins. In a strange way, I envied their social structures. I wanted to embrace them and say, “Let’s go have fun, together. Let’s go have a picnic at the beach.” I felt the urge to book a trip to some far off place where I could ride an elephant or swim with a dolphin, become the creature’s friend and make sure they were treated properly. [I get very unfriendly when I see an animal mistreated by “the system.” I’m not the best zoo visitor and go crazy when I see so many scientists trying to use technology on other animals, hoping to make them more like humans or give up all their secrets to the insatiable probing of humankind.]

And then…I thought about going home, leaving those animals I just befriended…and how sad it would be, not knowing what became of them or having any say in it, really. I’d be lucky to get a letter from someone who knows the creature. [It’s not like my elephant pal Boris can keep in touch, himself. And, so far, even when people nod and tell me they will keep in touch, it rarely comes true, sort of like parents who promise to take you on some trip to give you a summer worth talking about with your peers or just to shut you up so you don’t drive them bonkers all year, trying to pass off a hamburger and fries as a substitute for Disneyland and summer camp.]

You know what is short (in my life)? Time with those for whom I care and who I grow to like. Time with people who, at least, seem to truly understand and sympathize with me. It’s so rare; it’s like finding a unicorn in the forest. And, just when I think I’ve found some gem of a person, something seems to snatch them away.

It’s no wonder I have such a delusional outlook on life, in general. I’m obsessing with fantasies instead of taking what is given to me in a content manner. And, even my fantasies can’t sustain me because I still desire some tangible piece to ground my thoughts and feelings. I still want a body to hold and love, not a cartoon or mannequin.

And, though it is a common driving force to pursue a single warm body for primal needs, I know, deep down, it takes a bit more than that to achieve the grander sense of happiness; it takes a circle of friends and good relations with family. Well, I can pretty much wrap up that last one as a failure; even if I kissed the ground my family walked upon and did everything they wanted me to do, I would not be happy with them…and I am sure a few would continue to be unhappy with me, which is probably where my perfectionist vices originated. As a student, I couldn’t cope with less than a perfect grade but didn’t understand why; I just assumed others would look down upon me somehow. Less than perfect became almost sinful, forcing me to seek the means to atone.

I don’t see great or even good options for paths to take. I don’t see the multitude of good people with whom I am to surround myself nor the means to cast out the negative few. The negative outweigh the positive and, in turn, cause me to emit negativity, apparently. My anger, frustration and despair from what I see and hear is giving me a stink as it stews in my pores. If my social anxieties don’t spoil things for me, I make a fool of myself when I think I am in the right and cross a line with someone I just met. All my lessons in manners and respecting other cultures goes out the window once I open my mouth.

As a child, I was raised to dress properly and sit quietly while adults were in the room. I was a trophy child, someone the adults talked about but rarely with, other than the occasional comment about how I was performing in school or my interests, particularly art which few adults indulged in, thus they had little to say. I was complimented and encouraged to perform better and better than better. It was only when I reached my teens that my mind advanced beyond what my body was doing and became highly self-conscious. At my lowest point, I found my voice and used it to save myself from premature death. I thought speaking out was a valian effort. But, what did it get me? What has it gotten me all these years? A few more compliments about my sense of humor, a few more bits of praise for my wit…and a ton of complaints from the majority of negative spectators who find my words foolish, unpleasant and/or excessively self-righteous.

So, I say it, again. What is truly short? The time I have with those who satisfy my spirit (and body). Not life. This life of mine goes on and on, prolonged by a higher power who has some greater…or worse…plan for me. It began abnormally and continues to survive abnormally. Thus, I can never call myself “normal.” I have come close to ending it myself, but some tiny flame resides in me which continues to believe all is not lost, even if time takes its toll on the mind, body and worldly resources that seem to be so important to having this life (when they have so little to do with nature and life itself).

If you outlive someone who literally loses their mind, the ability to speak sensibly with you and recognize your face, you may be discouraged and join the chorus who sing about life being short. But, realize you are still living; your life continues with the knowledge of someone else losing their full potential for life. You still have time. Do you use it to compare lengths of lives? Or, do you simply live it and understand loss of ability and death are part of it?

Cherish what you have. Don’t quest or chase for what may be too much. Take care of good friendships and other relationships. These should not be labors but natural constructs that you merely maintain and thank the heavens for having in your life.

And, breathe.

16
Sep
19

Who Was Forced Into This World at Birth?

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Just a quick/simple question…

Who here was a forced birth? When you were born, did your mother go into labor?…or was labor induced before you were plucked from the womb? And, did you suffer in any way from the forced birth?

[Okay; maybe not very simple.]

I ask because I was a forced birth. And, I was subject to some “birth defect” as a result. And, looking at how my life has unfolded and continues to unfold, I keep getting this rippling, echoing feeling like I should never have entered this world, or this dimension. [Yet, another part of me pulls me in a different direction and tells me I am here for some special purpose that is written in the numbers and stars. It’s an on-going game of tug-of-war inside me.]

Now, after you answer that question, if you care to walk with me, be warned. It gets a bit “heavy.” And, you may feel the ground crumble from under your feet.

As I touched on in a previous post, I see so much in this world/dimension that is wrong and conflicts with my spirit. I’ve endured so much “crap” and see plenty of others suffering even more, at least, in ways I don’t even want to imagine much less see. I see plenty of people living in delusional ways at great expense while plenty more unseen or badly rendered faces get dragged through messes with authorities and militaristic policing forces. And, I start to wonder if the stories we write, so many that have been “dystopian,” aren’t unfolding as we write them…or if certain stories written long ago, perhaps predicted by ancient people, aren’t weaving into existence.

I am divided between the world around me which lacks friendship, self-esteem, cooperation and a little discipline, which settles for and offers little for slavery, lacks glamor/style and divides people like cold fish in a processing plant…and the world I see on TV which is either on the verge of destruction, even total annihilation, or “living the high life” of risk, wealth, drugs, marriage and lust. I see dreamy possibilities but no real and/or pleasant path to achieving them…nor do I comprehend what I would do once I reached that dreamy plateau…which makes all creative efforts fairly worthless, like building a house of cards just to see it fall. If there is a way to reach the “golden city,” it seems paved with traps, deception and torture; is it any different than being lured into biting an apple from a tree you were warned to avoid?

And, while all of this–and more–passes through my mind, I am sure some may breeze by my words and shake their heads or laugh at their foolish nature. You may tell me all I have said makes no sense or isn’t true. But, maybe, that’s just how you perceive this world/life. And, maybe, we each experience it differently. Maybe, no matter how we connect, we are each experiencing this existence separately and only seeing virtual reactions from the bodies/minds around us…isn’t that a terrifying thought?

So far, my only “saving grace” has been to be mindful of the good stories from long ago, of figures like Jesus being of service to others. I tell myself to help others when and where I can; so even if the rest of this life sucks and the world goes up (or down) in flames tomorrow, I can die knowing I did some good.

But, even that feels somewhat sad and empty…or, rather, I feel sad and empty when my thoughts shift to what seems to be missing in this life…love and friendship…comfort and acceptance…being in tune with the natural world as nature intended and feeling the fullness of my spirit as it was created, not simply repeating the words of some fabricated religion, telling myself it will get better. Talk is cheap, as some say. And, I am growing tired of talking. My spirit burns and yearns for something greater. It wants to sink my toes in warm, wet sand and let the symphonies of crashing tides and whispering woods fill it to the brim of zen/blissful completion. But, if this world is so crappy…if everything is polluted and some risk to my being…why? Why do I burn this way inside? Is it a mad trick to torture me?…like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse?

16
Sep
19

A Fatal Choice -Which Do You Choose?-

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Let’s say you enter this life and have two choices of how to live.

A) You survive until you are 60 to 110 years old but are doomed to die from a plague sweeping the planet which ultimately touches nearly every person like mold on pumpkins. Your life expectancy is a blend of genetics and whatever man-made products you put into yourself which keep you going as long as you can…as well as bringing you down in the end.

B) You sign a contract or invest in the necessary equipment (sort of like paying for college and all that goes with it to get a degree) to transfer your “doomed” human identity into a machine supplied by a monopolizing company already spreading its financial cloak of dominance over the planet. However many years and however you live those years as a human being are inconsequential; as you will join the collective hive/mind of billions of other robots who bought into this “life insurance plan.”

Which would you choose?

Or, do the prospects of both make you wish you were never born?

[More on that philosophy in a near-future post.]

Just answer the question. Don’t LIKE or star this for later and forget about it or pass it on. And, if it’s not too much trouble, explain your answer/decision; what makes you choose that path?

06
Sep
19

What’s Left to Write About? The Fate of Creativity

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It’s all been done…said the Bare Naked Ladies long before the Big Bang.  They weren’t kidding.

I feel that periodic urge to pose like that Thinker statue, right now.   Deep Thoughts…by Jack Writingbolt.

I am not a man of few words, yet, even now, I am finding it hard to put into words the panic, dread and frustration I feel at the thought of lacking originality and creativity in this world.  As a creative spirit myself, I feel like a dryad about to lose his tree/forest and evaporate into nothingness…but the world won’t let me.  I’m still here, whether it’s to watch the world decay around me and slowly turn me toward the dark side…or to make some impacting, positive change yet to rock the world (at a time when the average person who rocks the world seems to be a guy under 30 with a huge chip on his shoulder that is never quite explained before he is “dealt with”).

Just the other day, a thought came to me…and this isn’t about one particular gorgeous songstress I admire.  What would song writers write about if they didn’t write about past or current relationships of some kind?  If they didn’t write about how a boss or partner/spouse wronged them or “did them right,” what would fill a CD?  It’s as if the air is so thick with lust and disgust that we can’t think any other way.  I, myself, have heard more than enough talk of sex and material ambitions that mean little to me; I can’t tune out enough…I can’t tune into anything better and am quickly losing my ability to be a good listener/therapist.  [Though, my back massages remain legendary.]

When I think of all the CDs I’ve sampled, I realize, too, what few songs make it to radio and how many more seemed doomed to only be heard by diehard fans.  Is it intentional to disregard the majority of an artist’s work to either sell CDs (and disappoint later) or discourage creativity?

Imagine being an artist hired to fill a gallery with your work.  But, when you present your year’s work, the owner of the gallery says “no” to two thirds or three fourths of it, forcing you to take back some pieces you thought were better than the ones given the “okay.”  How would you feel, after thinking you were free to fill the space with whatever you could do?  Now, imagine how that might affect your output over time.  Would you still make as much?  Change the type of output?  Scrap your whole portfolio and never go to art college?

Now, imagine being a songwriter and putting all of your energy into releasing a new album in time for some not-so-important-but-crucial release date only to milk crap from your teats…and one “hit” song.   [By the way, non-related note, I “love” how Spell Check just checked “teets” and offered “tweets” but nothing closer to teats.]  Tell me I am wrong.  [I’m not wrong.]  You fill the CD with songs about passing fancies with B- and C- list famous names; maybe you get a thrill from flirting with emotional danger.  Maybe it fuels your creativity (because nothing else in this smog-clouded world will).

Then you go about performing these songs at concerts to promote that recent album…and let fans know you still remember every song you ever wrote, just in case one or more wants to hear that song which is personal to you but meant something else to them at a time in their life.  “Oh, sing that song you sang about person A because that was playing when I had sex with boyfriend C last winter.”

Or, tell me concert goers, do these performers NOT sing these songs about past relations years later?   Are they eventually forgotten?  I say this because I know certain groups, like the Rolling Stones and Linkin Park, would perform a wide selection of their work, from start to…well, ultimate finish, in some cases.  I would like to think a performer could just forget some of the work they put out, even if it was made for therapy or just to fill an album.  But, can they?  I mean…it’s out there, in abundance.  It really makes you think about what some say about the internet.  When you put it out there…here…it’s never going away.

So, then I think…

Do these songwriters enjoy reliving every good and bad moment they had in life through their songs?  Or, are they chugging back bottles of acid relief to keep themselves from puking misery every time an unpleasant time replays with the song in their minds?

And then I think…

Imagine getting into a relationship with a musician and having to relive all those past relationships in song and public functions because your “date” is a walking billboard, YouTube channel or “Alexa” for a long list of steamy and heart-break-turned-bitter-revenge creations, like ugly, mean-spirited kids they are forced to tote around in the process of a painful divorce.  It’s like the thought of pairing up with a single parent or “separated” individual.  I’m sorry if I sound cold when I say the oxygen suddenly leaves my body, and I want to pound a table for more air just to breathe, again.  I’m just not that guy who wants to dish about past relations (unless it’s the topic on the table for an inevitable date discussion) or step in as the dad to someone’s kids.  I like to think I am stronger…

And, breathe.  No mas.  ‘Kay?  [‘Sorry if I don’t “hyper-link” that to a previous post of mine so you can read over a string of past thoughts that somehow connect through my blog.  You’ll just have to read backward and be amazed when something connects…or try key word searches.]

Food for thought.  And, on that note (which is quickly becoming my regular phrase and should go on a T-shirt), I have a post about food and how it plays with our minds, coming soon, if I don’t second guess it.

07
Jun
16

Do I Still Like to Collect Feathers?

*****

Every autumn since maybe 2010, I’ve encountered wild turkeys passing though my neighborhood.  And, if I am lucky, they leave a feather or two where I can find it/them.  I also have hawks that fly overhead and very rarely leave a souvenir.

I have yet to find a good project for them, but I like collecting feathers (just as I like collecting leaves, acorns and seashells).

But, recently, I found a trail of gray feathers on the driveway.  Initially, I thought, “What luck.  An array of feathers.”  Then, I found the rest…of the bird that lost those feathers.  The hawks I’ve been watching so earnestly have been picking off chickadees and sparrows to feed their young.  And, the remains just happen to land on my path.

I know it’s the circle of life and all that.  But, I don’t need to see ants eating half of a sparrow’s head and feathers with bits of blood and whatnot on them.  It kinda takes the joy out of finding feathers and makes me think of the Greek god Apollo who used different feathers to make different arrows.  I imagine these scattered remains of dead birds would be used for arrows of death.  Just a thought.  [Bleh!]

06
Oct
15

Women Are the Shijo Koji of My Art

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Why do I think of women so much?  And, why are thoughts of complete nudity and sex so offensive or discomforting?  I’ve discussed theories before.

But, after watching a little Japanese cooking segment, this came to me.  Perhaps, women are like “shijo koji,” Japanese rice exposed to koi enzymes for various cooking processes/dishes.  They are a versatile source of inspiration that add flavor to the pot of life…and, particularly, to many if not most of my artistic creations.  [I suppose, if I was a woman, I might say the same of men.  Personally, I don’t look at men the same way.  :)]

It seems women are a form of meditation for me.  I just have to insert the word into the bowl of water in my mind with an adjective, and all sorts of shapes, colors and patterns can appear.  I would like to focus on other subjects for my art; but women are infinitely diverse and intriguing.  Maybe if sparrows wore sweaters and boots, I’d give them a closer look.  😛

What of the sexual aspects?  Well, I AM a rather solitary guy (but not an asexual geek).  I think about women and sex often enough.  But, too much sex, like an excess of bacteria or salt with the shijo koji, spoils the “flavor” of all a woman has to offer.  She is more than a sex object.  In fact, I’d rather not think of the sex.  [But, it seems to radiate from other sources (like television and movies) and infect my thoughts.]  I also do not care for nude artwork.  That is something artists should do privately with those they love…and keep private…if they create nudes, at all.  And, if all you think about is sex, that gets boring…and it sounds risky of any number of infections and other ailments.  So, men, handle your shijo koji, women, in a variety of subtle ways.  Dress her up nice and speak sweetly when possible (not just to lure her out of her clothes).  But, feel free to express all emotions to diversify the spice of life she provides.

Just a random thought.  You can go on with your day, now.  And, try not to lose your appetites.  😛  We all have someone or something we desire to put on a pedestal or hang on our wall…or in our hearts.  🙂

Happy creating.  And, may divine inspiration guide you wisely.

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12
Jan
15

Profound Thoughts: I Choose Neither

And now, it’s time for more Profound Thoughts with Writingbolt…

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If my only options are “reckless and stupid” or “suicidal,” I choose neither…

…You know, til I feel reckless and stupid on the verge of suicidal.

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