The elderly man continued with his attempted proselytizing of the youth.
Upon reaching true consciousness, a being faces judgment every three years. God or whatever ethereal representation of God comes down from the other worlds and galaxies to exact judgment. Through careful observation for a period of no more than a few days, judgments are made. Based on these judgments, the being's future fortune is determined for the next three years, be it full of malice or full of joy. The being will have another chance to receive a greater fortune after the next three-year interval. Sometimes the judgment is so overpowering that beings crack under the pressure and find themselves in prison or institutions for having committed atrocities or unorthodox behaviors. Keep in mind that reaching true consciousness sometimes takes an entire lifetime. This is why final judgment is often viewed as something that takes place in the afterlife. I wish you all the best as you seek your true consciousness and judgment.
Once again, fortunately, his words fell on deaf ears.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Insanity's Cure: Thoughts on 27
There are many things I've wanted to do that I have yet to attempt. But there are even more things I have done that others have only dreamed of doing. In my heart, I still feel like I'm a little older than 21, waiting for my bright future to start. The truth is that future started a long time ago and now I'm just waiting for another set of dreams and plans to be devised and enacted.
Accomplished
As I approach this 27th year, I think about how far I've come and how much things are going to change from what they were like over the past three years. My life is going to be simplified. My budget will be smaller. I won't spend frivolously. I won't cling to material possessions. There was a time when what I owned was of great value to me simply because it all kept me entertained and proud; now I realize that the things that are of the greatest value are the intangibles, such as my health, my family and friends, my spirit. As I begin this 27th year, I'm going to be sure to focus on those intangibles.
Of materialism
Last year around this time I hosted a book release for my fourth book which was a collection of stories recollected from my youth pertinent to friends, family, and lovers. While such a grand gesture was beautiful, it wasn't entirely authentic in consideration of my materialistic tendencies and isolationistic behavior. Indeed, there were times when I lived my life with zest, honoring every person in my life; however, there were also times when I kept to myself, and it was during these times that I found myself sickened to the psychological core. When I held that book release last year, I viewed it as the death - and the memorial - of my first 25 years on earth. So, where could I go from there?
Lamenting a lonely existence
I once had it all figured out and then everything changed on me; now, nothing makes sense anymore. I suppose this is what happens when you grow older. While you do grow wiser and gain knowledge simultaneously upon aging, you must realize that it is best to never presume to know more than you truly do understand. Perhaps this is something I've neglected to comprehend these last few years.
Socrates says, "Wisest is he who knows he does not know"
In consideration of my current situation and my past ignorance, it is difficult for me not to feel some sort of regret or responsibility regarding my recent difficulties. I consider myself a smart person, but I didn't live smartly. I guess I could say that I have no regrets because everything I did was out of joy and bringing joy to others, but then why does it seem like I'm being punished? Have I made the wrong decisions? It's difficult to decipher the difference between right and wrong when you're trying to cure insanity.
Life is rarely fair
As I approach this 27th year, I think about how far I've come and how much things are going to change from what they were like over the past three years. My life is going to be simplified. My budget will be smaller. I won't spend frivolously. I won't cling to material possessions. There was a time when what I owned was of great value to me simply because it all kept me entertained and proud; now I realize that the things that are of the greatest value are the intangibles, such as my health, my family and friends, my spirit. As I begin this 27th year, I'm going to be sure to focus on those intangibles.
Last year around this time I hosted a book release for my fourth book which was a collection of stories recollected from my youth pertinent to friends, family, and lovers. While such a grand gesture was beautiful, it wasn't entirely authentic in consideration of my materialistic tendencies and isolationistic behavior. Indeed, there were times when I lived my life with zest, honoring every person in my life; however, there were also times when I kept to myself, and it was during these times that I found myself sickened to the psychological core. When I held that book release last year, I viewed it as the death - and the memorial - of my first 25 years on earth. So, where could I go from there?
I once had it all figured out and then everything changed on me; now, nothing makes sense anymore. I suppose this is what happens when you grow older. While you do grow wiser and gain knowledge simultaneously upon aging, you must realize that it is best to never presume to know more than you truly do understand. Perhaps this is something I've neglected to comprehend these last few years.
In consideration of my current situation and my past ignorance, it is difficult for me not to feel some sort of regret or responsibility regarding my recent difficulties. I consider myself a smart person, but I didn't live smartly. I guess I could say that I have no regrets because everything I did was out of joy and bringing joy to others, but then why does it seem like I'm being punished? Have I made the wrong decisions? It's difficult to decipher the difference between right and wrong when you're trying to cure insanity.
Listening
The music reverberated
down our spines -
filling our hearts
with amplified ecstasy,
busting our bellies
with boisterous beats,
stilling our spirits
with transcendental tunes.
And then we heard the lyrics -
a chill breezed across our necks,
a bee buzzed between our ribs,
a cat clawed at our brains.
Everything made too much sense.
down our spines -
filling our hearts
with amplified ecstasy,
busting our bellies
with boisterous beats,
stilling our spirits
with transcendental tunes.
And then we heard the lyrics -
a chill breezed across our necks,
a bee buzzed between our ribs,
a cat clawed at our brains.
Everything made too much sense.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Out of the Garden
The children rested their heads against their desks, bored by the many tales the elderly teacher offered. None of them were listening; none of them cared to listen. Some of them preferred the music on their digital devices - they didn't have to think if they didn't want to; they could just be passive receivers of whatever it was that sold in this superficially saturated market. But the old man went on, wiser than even he knew.
Some say this is all just a game and that when we die we're all one so what happens in this life will not affect the afterlife. Some say this is a play on the grandest stage and everyone has their part to play with all the theatrics of a traditional stage play. Perhaps that part to play is one's destiny. Were some of the most wicked people in the world playing their part in this grand play? Of course they were because, if they weren't, the grandest play would be far too boring. So, what part are you going to play?
It's good that the kids weren't listening.
Some say this is all just a game and that when we die we're all one so what happens in this life will not affect the afterlife. Some say this is a play on the grandest stage and everyone has their part to play with all the theatrics of a traditional stage play. Perhaps that part to play is one's destiny. Were some of the most wicked people in the world playing their part in this grand play? Of course they were because, if they weren't, the grandest play would be far too boring. So, what part are you going to play?
It's good that the kids weren't listening.
Insanity's Cure: Concise is Nice
Did you see that? Did you really truly see that? It was as if two birds were communicating with one another, saying, "Look what has happened to our beautiful home." And we just continued with our destruction.
The rainforest
I tried to build something with my hands but my mind kept interfering. Then it occurred to me: Why don't I just create something with my mind and let my hands do the interfering?
The architect
There is no excuse for a person who believes in a lie. Except, of course, if they were deceived or tempted into believing such things, in which case I offer nothing but sympathy.
Theology
The beast lumbered forward, licking his wounds as the villagers retreated. Surely this would be the last chance the two lovers had to embrace one another before they were consumed by the fiery creature.
Love in war
I tried to explain it all to you, but you just wouldn't listen. And now look where we are - in the middle of destruction with no means of creation. I had warned you so many times, but you just didn't care, did you? Now you see the consequences of your inaction.
The seer doesn't believe his eyes
I tried to build something with my hands but my mind kept interfering. Then it occurred to me: Why don't I just create something with my mind and let my hands do the interfering?
There is no excuse for a person who believes in a lie. Except, of course, if they were deceived or tempted into believing such things, in which case I offer nothing but sympathy.
The beast lumbered forward, licking his wounds as the villagers retreated. Surely this would be the last chance the two lovers had to embrace one another before they were consumed by the fiery creature.
I tried to explain it all to you, but you just wouldn't listen. And now look where we are - in the middle of destruction with no means of creation. I had warned you so many times, but you just didn't care, did you? Now you see the consequences of your inaction.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Bringing the Fantastic to the Big Screen
Quirky Israeli writer Etgar Keret wrote the screenplay for a film adaptation of his short stories - some from the critically acclaimed "The Nimrod Flipout" - called "$9.99," directed by Tatia Rosenthal whose technique is enticing stop-motion claymation, a movie which will debut in Manhattan today. To learn more about it, here's a review of "$9.99" from the New York Times. Though the review suggests that the movie leaves a bit to be desired, I think anyone who can manage to bring Keret's whimsical tales to life, stories which already leap from the page with curiously magical wonderment, is worthy of fair recognition. As this feature about $9.99 affirms, it took Rosenthal nine years to get everything just right in the movie - she deserves some sort of lauded acknowledgment for such a successful undertaking. I look forward to seeing "$9.99," featuring the voices of Geoffrey Rush and Anthony LaPaglia, among others.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Effect of Imagination on Memory
In the article "Out of the Past" by Kathleen McGowan from the latest issue of Discover Magazine, the latest studies into memory are considered. Apparently, as we remember memories again and again, we continually alter them to the point of the original memory being no longer present. Scientific evidence highlighted in the article proves this and suggests that it could help with the treatment of various psychiatric conditions including post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and addiction. Indeed, this is a great breakthrough, and it's nice to know that the link between imagination and memory has finally been substantiated. It reminds me of the title chapter in my most recent book, a finalist in the short story non-fiction category of the 2009 National Indie Excellence Awards called WHAT MY BRAIN TOLD ME. Here's a pertinent excerpt:
Awhile back, I started writing personal stories as gifts for people. At that time, I was fully cognizant of the fact that my memory wasn’t always accurate. What my brain told me to write always seemed to differ from what actually happened. And yet writing these stories – some more fictional than others – has helped me remember the people, the places, and the times that comprise who I am. I decided to write about some of my favorite moments in life up to this point because I never want to forget any of this, because I want something to look back on during my dying days to remind me of the life I’ve lived well and the world with which I’ve been blessed. I want to show my gratitude to those who have inspired both me and these stories. Most importantly, I want to share myself with the rest of the world through this memorial of, and tribute to, my most youthful years. And so I present to you what my brain told me. Hopefully, my brain recollected what matters most and filled in the rest with the best of its excited imagination.
Awhile back, I started writing personal stories as gifts for people. At that time, I was fully cognizant of the fact that my memory wasn’t always accurate. What my brain told me to write always seemed to differ from what actually happened. And yet writing these stories – some more fictional than others – has helped me remember the people, the places, and the times that comprise who I am. I decided to write about some of my favorite moments in life up to this point because I never want to forget any of this, because I want something to look back on during my dying days to remind me of the life I’ve lived well and the world with which I’ve been blessed. I want to show my gratitude to those who have inspired both me and these stories. Most importantly, I want to share myself with the rest of the world through this memorial of, and tribute to, my most youthful years. And so I present to you what my brain told me. Hopefully, my brain recollected what matters most and filled in the rest with the best of its excited imagination.
Insanity's Cure: Impersonified
When I woke up this morning I felt like I had been run over by a truck, my body left lifeless and drained, my head aching and burning as if my brain were oozing out. It was such an odd feeling, especially considering the fact that I hadn't really done enough the day before to merit such fatigue. I suppose I did a lot of walking; I guess I did a lot of reading. I must be in really poor shape to have that be the cause of my exhausted body. Someday I hope to change this, but right now I'm too unmotivated.
Obesity in the average American
We were on the road and I was slipping in and out of consciousness, mediating between what's real and what's really real, trying to figure out how my dreams informed my life. She was there in them; she was always there. She represented everything I had given up upon being too cowardly to try anything different. My comfort zone protected me, and I wasn't going to let some beautiful young woman ruin that by her being attracted to me.
History of breakups
The rain distorted the trees with all the power of snow on television. I heard no thunder; I saw no lightning. But I did feel so very sullen upon seeing the rain come down in slow motion, the trees barely moving with the breeze, the sunlight hidden by numerous cumulous clouds. This was a world without comfortable silences. This was a world without meaning. This was a stormy day in the summer.
In the wake of restless sleep
There was something better than life, but those that have the privilege of knowing it never live to see the day of celebrating it, at least not with everyone else. Someday we would all be resurrected like some sort of savior, chewing away at caramel eggs and jelly beans, asking ourselves why we were brought back if just to eat these novelties. Then the services would start and we would remember everything - how we only memorized prayers and never truly understood them, how the only person capable of forgiving you was yourself, how your dreams interfered with reality. It would be then that we could finally love again.
In busy pursuit of paradise
I tried to offer you comfort but all you could do was cry in my arms. You said it was all your fault, this predicament we were in now, and how could I ever forgive you for letting this happen. But I already did forgive you; you just weren't listening to me when I said so, and now we're just two miserable souls searching for a reason to stay together in this tumultuous world.
After dusk
We were on the road and I was slipping in and out of consciousness, mediating between what's real and what's really real, trying to figure out how my dreams informed my life. She was there in them; she was always there. She represented everything I had given up upon being too cowardly to try anything different. My comfort zone protected me, and I wasn't going to let some beautiful young woman ruin that by her being attracted to me.
The rain distorted the trees with all the power of snow on television. I heard no thunder; I saw no lightning. But I did feel so very sullen upon seeing the rain come down in slow motion, the trees barely moving with the breeze, the sunlight hidden by numerous cumulous clouds. This was a world without comfortable silences. This was a world without meaning. This was a stormy day in the summer.
There was something better than life, but those that have the privilege of knowing it never live to see the day of celebrating it, at least not with everyone else. Someday we would all be resurrected like some sort of savior, chewing away at caramel eggs and jelly beans, asking ourselves why we were brought back if just to eat these novelties. Then the services would start and we would remember everything - how we only memorized prayers and never truly understood them, how the only person capable of forgiving you was yourself, how your dreams interfered with reality. It would be then that we could finally love again.
I tried to offer you comfort but all you could do was cry in my arms. You said it was all your fault, this predicament we were in now, and how could I ever forgive you for letting this happen. But I already did forgive you; you just weren't listening to me when I said so, and now we're just two miserable souls searching for a reason to stay together in this tumultuous world.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Who are you, God?
If we treated each other with the same reverence we held in worship services for our gods, might we live in a better world? If we set out to find the divinity in every living being, might we no longer fight one another? If we believed in love at its sheerest simplicity - nothing more, nothing less - might this world be peaceful? If only we could learn about the virtue of tolerance before the nature of difference.
Journalism + Technology = A Beautiful Friendship?
In another interesting article from TIME Magazine called "Can Computer Nerds Save Journalism?", Chicagoland's own Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University is highlighted for its relatively new program that combines computer science with journalism. Rather than complaining that technology is killing journalism, programs such as these are viewing collaboration and cooperation between traditional journalistic methods and cutting edge technology as a great way to resuscitate an endangered industry. This is probably a good sign for the preservation of journalism; it may require adaptation on the part of the current industry standards, but at least its aims are to maintain journalistic integrity despite the reliance on technology.
Twitterific!
In this week's edition of TIME Magazine, the feature article "How Twitter Will Change the Way We Live" describes the ramifications involved with the "Twitterification" of our world. The article is interesting and it got me to thinking about how my life has changed as a result of Twitter. I'm on Twitter for a few reasons: 1) to let people know about my latest writings and also what I'm up to these days and 2) to keep up with what's going on in my friends' lives, both in terms of what great new music and links they come across and also what they're up to these days. Then it struck me, the most direct effect of Twitter on my life: I realized that I don't really keep in touch with friends who I follow on Twitter; we just presume to already know what's going on in one another's lives that letters, phone calls, instant messages, chatting, and e-mails are almost nonexistent. I must admit I miss the intimate conversations we could have outside of Twitter, but at least I always know what's going on in their lives, even if everyone else in the world knows too.
Insanity's Cure: Letting Go of the Sadness
I'm so dramatic with all the tears and all the sullen words. I'm so melodramatic with all the self-analyses and self-deprecation. I'm nothing more than a canvas cluttered with graffiti from the street, cleverly created by an adolescent with no objective other than disrupting the peace. My life is inconsequential and insignificant to the universe. The sooner I realize that, the easier it will be to let go of the worries in this modern age and embrace a better world.
A child in a man's body
It has been quite some time since I've smiled silently for any reasons other than politeness. It has been quite some time since the universe has smiled upon me and made me feel rejoiceful. It has been quite some time since I had anything to discuss other than my woes. It has been quite some time since I felt inspired, alive, joyous, passionate. It has been quite some time. What did I do to deserve this long duration of time without comfort?
Why are You doing this to me?
I realized last night that I'm completely lost. I know who I am, I know what I love, and I know what I want to be doing with my life, but I have no idea what my true beliefs are. It seems the creative process and subsequent open-mindedness has led my spirit astray and I no longer know what to have faith in. It's difficult to have faith in a God that seems fictive; it's tougher still to have faith in a world that disappoints; and it's most difficult to have faith in yourself when you seem to fail at everything you attempt. I don't know what to believe.
Lost to be found
I thought all was well in his world, that nothing would ever bring him down, but it seems that he too suffers from the dreadful realities of a world without truth. Nobody is perfect, and that's what makes me so very angry, because some people seem to be perfect, appear to be the pinnacle of all that is good, true, talented, and under control, and yet the reality behind all of this is that their lives are falling apart bit by bit, just like me.
Thirteenth hour in an imperfect world
The other week I wasn't eating food because it wasn't worth making. The other week I was pacing back and forth for no apparent reason other than my own frustration with how my life had turned out, as if nothing would change it now, as if this life was fixed and set to be forever tragic. I slammed my palm against my forehead hard enough to leave a red mark; it didn't hurt. I knew there was something wrong with me, so I called everyone I could think of who could help me, but nobody answered. Nobody would answer me.
Foreshadowing
It has been quite some time since I've smiled silently for any reasons other than politeness. It has been quite some time since the universe has smiled upon me and made me feel rejoiceful. It has been quite some time since I had anything to discuss other than my woes. It has been quite some time since I felt inspired, alive, joyous, passionate. It has been quite some time. What did I do to deserve this long duration of time without comfort?
I realized last night that I'm completely lost. I know who I am, I know what I love, and I know what I want to be doing with my life, but I have no idea what my true beliefs are. It seems the creative process and subsequent open-mindedness has led my spirit astray and I no longer know what to have faith in. It's difficult to have faith in a God that seems fictive; it's tougher still to have faith in a world that disappoints; and it's most difficult to have faith in yourself when you seem to fail at everything you attempt. I don't know what to believe.
I thought all was well in his world, that nothing would ever bring him down, but it seems that he too suffers from the dreadful realities of a world without truth. Nobody is perfect, and that's what makes me so very angry, because some people seem to be perfect, appear to be the pinnacle of all that is good, true, talented, and under control, and yet the reality behind all of this is that their lives are falling apart bit by bit, just like me.
The other week I wasn't eating food because it wasn't worth making. The other week I was pacing back and forth for no apparent reason other than my own frustration with how my life had turned out, as if nothing would change it now, as if this life was fixed and set to be forever tragic. I slammed my palm against my forehead hard enough to leave a red mark; it didn't hurt. I knew there was something wrong with me, so I called everyone I could think of who could help me, but nobody answered. Nobody would answer me.
Poetry Jams and Poetry Slams
In Larry Rohter's article from the New York Times called "Is Slam in Danger of Going Soft?", he discusses how far poetry slams have deviated from their original anti-establishment philosophy. When you've got the White House hosting a "poetry jam," you know there's something not quite right with rebellious street poetry. In the article, Chicago's own Marc Kelly Smith, who founded the poetry slam movement, discusses his disgust with how things have changed in the world of poetry slams, saying that now it seems like people are more interested in fame than they are in lending their voice to an excited audience. While I see where Smith is coming from, I still think that any way to get people more interested in poetry is fine with me even if it does not meet the standards of the original grassroots movement.
Corky St. Clair Responds to the Recession
Here's an interesting article from TIME Magazine about the effect of the recession on the art world. I'm most shocked with the closure of the Las Vegas museum and the cancellation of various playhouses' schedules. It makes me wonder how Christopher Guest's character in "Waiting for Guffman" would react to the recession:
So what I'm understanding here - correct me, if I'm wrong - is that you're not givin' me any money. So now I'm left basically with nothin', I'm left with zero, in which, in which, what can I do with zero, you know? What can I... I can't do anythin' with it! I need to, this is my life here we're talking about! We're not just talkin' about, you know, somethin' else; we're talking about my life, you know? And it's forcing me to do somethin' I don't wanna do. To leave. To, to go out and just leave and go home and say, make a clean cut here and say "no way, Corky, you're not puttin' up with these people!" And I'll tell you why I can't put up with you people: because you're bastard people! That's what you are! You're just bastard people! And I'm goin' home and I'm gonna... I'm gonna bite my pillow, is what I'm gonna do!
So what I'm understanding here - correct me, if I'm wrong - is that you're not givin' me any money. So now I'm left basically with nothin', I'm left with zero, in which, in which, what can I do with zero, you know? What can I... I can't do anythin' with it! I need to, this is my life here we're talking about! We're not just talkin' about, you know, somethin' else; we're talking about my life, you know? And it's forcing me to do somethin' I don't wanna do. To leave. To, to go out and just leave and go home and say, make a clean cut here and say "no way, Corky, you're not puttin' up with these people!" And I'll tell you why I can't put up with you people: because you're bastard people! That's what you are! You're just bastard people! And I'm goin' home and I'm gonna... I'm gonna bite my pillow, is what I'm gonna do!
Insanity's Cure: The Right Pills
He walked through the labyrinthine wooded pathways, following the soothing drips of a nearby stream. It was morning before the sun had risen and all was dark. He could feel the coldness of a world without light; he couldn't escape its frigid grasp. Some day he would walk this path with sun rays to guide him and a companion to accompany him, but today he would trudge through the forest in solitude - it was better for him that way, at least for now.
Rehabilitation
Everything was upside-down; everything was backwards. It all only made sense when reflected in a mirror. Too many times had he felt like he was to live backwards and offer no apologies to the universe he had condemned. Too many times had he left his mark on the world under false pretenses of truthfulness and revelation. Now is all he would ever know regardless of how often he pretended to understand the past and its impact on the future. He would make it up to the world somehow.
Blood rushing to the brain
She had driven him out of her life by simply being herself. When they first met, she was everything he wanted her to be and he was everything she wanted to be. As the curious romance progressed, the two found themselves engaged in verbal bouts about nothing of significance. They were so exciting apart and so very boring together. When she finally gathered the courage to actually be herself in front of him, without shame and without fear of being criticized, he lost interest. She wasn't anything he wanted her to be anymore.
The chameleon dances alone
It's the greatest game ever played, taking place on the grandest scale ever witnessed. The only people who get to play are the ones who don't know it's a game. All the others - they just sit back and regret the choices they've made. Either that, or they howl at the moon. This is the greatest game ever played, taking place on the grandest scale ever witnessed, and yet we're all so afraid to enjoy it.
Religion
Clumsy is the hand that forgets it is attached to a nervous system monitored by a brain. It shakes and shifts; it drops mugs of coffee on the floor; it sweats and has trouble shaking hands. If only it could be free of its master. If only it could fly away and never have to feel obligated to exhibit the normal traits of an average hand unaffected by nerves. Forgetful is the hand that is nervous enough to break free from its system.
Thoughtless grip
Everything was upside-down; everything was backwards. It all only made sense when reflected in a mirror. Too many times had he felt like he was to live backwards and offer no apologies to the universe he had condemned. Too many times had he left his mark on the world under false pretenses of truthfulness and revelation. Now is all he would ever know regardless of how often he pretended to understand the past and its impact on the future. He would make it up to the world somehow.
She had driven him out of her life by simply being herself. When they first met, she was everything he wanted her to be and he was everything she wanted to be. As the curious romance progressed, the two found themselves engaged in verbal bouts about nothing of significance. They were so exciting apart and so very boring together. When she finally gathered the courage to actually be herself in front of him, without shame and without fear of being criticized, he lost interest. She wasn't anything he wanted her to be anymore.
It's the greatest game ever played, taking place on the grandest scale ever witnessed. The only people who get to play are the ones who don't know it's a game. All the others - they just sit back and regret the choices they've made. Either that, or they howl at the moon. This is the greatest game ever played, taking place on the grandest scale ever witnessed, and yet we're all so afraid to enjoy it.
Clumsy is the hand that forgets it is attached to a nervous system monitored by a brain. It shakes and shifts; it drops mugs of coffee on the floor; it sweats and has trouble shaking hands. If only it could be free of its master. If only it could fly away and never have to feel obligated to exhibit the normal traits of an average hand unaffected by nerves. Forgetful is the hand that is nervous enough to break free from its system.
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