Posts Tagged ‘Relationships’

Famous People

February 6, 2017

This is a famous guy you see all over shit. His name is Ryan, and I could care less, I only want him for his role in The Place Beyond the Pines.

I used to be one of those kids that worshiped famous people and dreamed about being one. There I was, watching rewards shows in awe, fantasizing about being on that stage; hanging out; rubbin’ elbows. It was ridiculous. I was like the white, suburb kid version of Precious.

That chimera has expired.

Now, I wouldn’t mind meeting famous people, but I wouldn’t mind meeting anyone – not really a big deal one way or the other. It’s because famous people are just regular people. There’s literally no difference, except more of us know who the famous ones are. They have money and adoration, but when it boils down that shit just isn’t substantial enough.

They still have physical boundaries, emotional relationships where they don’t always have all the leverage. A famous guy should wash their hands when they take a dump, and so should a regular dude. Ladies love shoes: Famous, check. Regular, check. I could go on, and on, but it’s not only non-profound, everyone already get’s this.

We all know famous people are famous. Pfft. But, do we really appreciate it? A quick look at the internet would tell me, “Not really.” Why do we lionize these people if they’re just like our boring assess?

This is a good question, but this isn’t about anyone else, it’s about me…

Today, I can’t watch a TV show without wondering what that actor is experiencing, for real, in that moment. Is there underwear riding up? Did they just get some bad news in between takes? Maybe they ate a burrito that fucked they’re shit up! Could someone on the set absolutely hate this actual, regular, vulnerable, insecure person. This so called famous person?

Sure I hold some in regard for their talents, however, there are people I’ve known that I can totally give them props for their talents/skill/fortitude, and that person is still a giant douche. And that’s okay. I just don’t want to have dinner with him any more than I do with someone I’ve never even met based on an illusion of who that person is.

It sounds cynical, but it’s not like I’m bummed out about it. I focus on who I’m with, people I can meet serendipitously just going out and being the regular person I am. I love my loved ones, prizing humility over honor.

Then I start to wonder how that would make them feel. To be ruled out simply because they are to well known. That is sort of fucked up. And why don’t I use the word celebrity more often. Probably because I have to spell it 5 times before I get it right…

Oh, well. I just think way to much.



Synthetic Sentiment 2.1

February 3, 2017


Anxiety is something I deal with on a daily basis. Okay, I’ll be honest, it’s more like I avoid it on a daily basis. I mention this because we now live in a time of accessible yet often confusing communication. Anxiety is one of those things that those who suffer have a hard time convincing those who don’t know exactly what it is, yet access to attempt communicating it is infinite.

Communication is instantaneous today, obviously, yet flawed in its impressionability; lacking in the whole of its sum parts; inelegant; deprived. But, plugged-in every nanosecond of the day, we can instantly be affected by media, opinion, and facts that fall directly in line with our own belief systems, or what we believe those are. And that’s a problem.

Let me explain…

Many entities in our world like seek out our behavior in everyday life. They entice our buying behavior, sleep patterns, and driving routes. They graph and chart our analytics and deliver us exactly what we want, when and how we want it. Every day. So, we don’t have to explore outward to terribly much. When we think that we are, we don’t even realize it was fed to us. We just follow whatever they dangle just within reach.

There is no mystery, and we don’t dig deep enough to get past those planted desires and desperations. When we consume important information we no longer examine it, we offer little perspective in processing that material. The worst of all, our brains have been programmed to believe this binary perversion is a matter of our existence. Our survival mechanisms kick in at the drop of a hashtag.

I’m not saying anyone is stupid. It isn’t something must of us are even realizing as time and responsibilities transpire, each of us believes we are doing “our” thing, maintaining our own lives. We have lost our ability to zoom out and look at things with a wider lens, and even the things we do to “help” are really just us doing something for ourselves.

This doesn’t mean every effort is futile, it’s just become very hard to discern what is a cause and what is marketing. Maybe they have merged together, but we hardly have the time let alone the tools to dismantle it all. There is so much information it’s like the whole of civilization is committing a giant file dump just to keep us stuck in contention. We are at odds with mass-produced, synthetic sentiment.

Even if it isn’t by design, it’s really quite sinister. But, what if we began realizing it? Our communication has always been evolving, after all, systems fail over time. These systems are then replaced. What if we began choosing that change on our own? We could change the narrative and start writing our own which opens up depth locked within us and expands our perceptions of the world outside.

To be continued…

On How to Not “Fit In”

March 22, 2014

So I don’t always listen to my own advice. I’m going to blame it on inevitability instead of my own amount or lack of self-control. I know that I have the ability, it’s where my real focus lies at any given moment, not some cap on my strength or potential. My potential is huger than I am cognitive of.

I think that may be why people take such a confrontational stance against me. I want to convey that just because I’m smart, talented, and straight to the point with my input to others, it doesn’t mean I am free of flaws or incapable of screwing up. Quite the opposite. It takes a lot of work to stay balanced with the perception and insight that I do have.

The way I was programmed into the person I am today is quite in opposition to my actual desires or goals of whom I want to be. But, I can’t make people change their minds. There is no magical phrase or easy in – no matter what anyone tells you is possible. I’m the one that has to realize how different I am from the “average” way people view the world and people in it around them. I must keep stepping forward even if it is a little to the side sometimes.

It must remain a forward progression.

The things that bother me about people I need to be able to brush off through relating or forgiving by means of progressive meditation. This is meditation that I use in real-time. There just isn’t enough time to sit around and deeply meditate about every little thing that irks me about society and it’s individuals. I need to make snap judgments as I interact and progress. By the minute, by the second – constantly. If I fail to make a connection at some level, I must default to forgiveness.

Because I need to feel comfortable being me in a world full of people who are not.

Till Death Do Us Part

March 7, 2014

Spring 1867 Utah Valley

She went about her business while scolding him. Her multi-tasking skills honed to a painful proficiency. She folded the starchy clothing with vigor and stacked them neatly with force. Her stride to the large cedar dresser was with purpose and communicated her displeasure with the interaction thoroughly as she committed the clean apparel to its lightly varnished confines.

“I’m not asking you to move mountains Sebastian…” His name escaping her lips upset her. “What I don’t need is another child. Especially one stuck in a grown man’s body.”

His face tensed. Something like a draft of fury settled in on his lean muscles only releasing his tightened jaw to take a short, hard drink of bourbon. He moved the glass away from his mouth and rolled it in his fingers sliding the moisture away and wiping it across his brow. He knew deep in the logic center of his brain that he had already lost this argument. His eyes tracked her unavailable frame as she tamped about her duties.

His go to strategy was to inflict grief. “Thank God, I didn’t marry you for love. Your cold heart is only tolerable alongside the voluptuous warmth of your father’s bank account.” He said. “And your mother, bless her, warned me about your self-entitled nagging and fruitless tantrums. She hardly fell short of calling you a bitch straight away.”

“Most likely due only to some insubstantial maternal responsibility.” He added after no volley was returned.

She did not immediately respond. Instead she let his words fizzle unanswered in the air of the room as she continued with her chores. This, she knew, would impact a greater force than any quarrel she could deliver him. She had words for him indeed. Instead she chose to simply exhale, sealing them in.

His anger was transforming into regret, which would ultimately become self-pity. The free hand he had clenched up in a fitful knot now untangled and found itself fidgeting around the top buttons and collar of his shirt. The fingers moved nervously to his husky, multicolored mustache. He mashed the bristly chunk against his top lip once, twice, three times. It wasn’t the guilt of his foul projectiles, but more so how the lack of response diminished his authority.

Like most who spend so much time together, Margaret had developed a fifth sense regarding Sebastian. At the peak of his vulnerability she broke the wake of silence.

“If I took you seriously I would surely have been committed to an imbecile asylum by now.” She said.

Under normal circumstances he could out-intellect most opponents in verbal combat – even in the depths of inebriation. Not here. Not with this woman. Beyond matching his own capacity, she knew all his tricks and compulsive quarks. If he jabbed, she evaded. If he threw a hook, her defense was impenetrable. Cheers to twenty-odd years of marriage and a stockyard of his shortcomings.

The only option he could figure on was retreat. So he spewed out a fabricated sort of compassion. “What you need is some leisure. Some time away from all this. Maybe, you weren’t cut from the country cloth. It’s not a negative trait. Just who you are.” He paused, “A break away from the children and the chores of a valley wife perhaps?”

Everything was quite. More so than before. Then, only the sound of air escaping liquid as he poured the last of the bourbon into his sweaty glass. Margaret cringed at the sound of his nasty lips pushing away from the cup rim with a moist smack followed by a deep swallow. She knew what he played at. Unfortunately for him she had run completely out of guilt.

“Oh, you fancy yourself the boss, don’t you Sebastian?” She sent his name back at him like an arrow. “The reality being contrary to all your vast intellect and superiorities. You are in fact an oversized child whom chases after fairy-tales. Dreams you are incapable of achieving.”

The constriction of muscles returned and made its presence visible along his jawline and the expanding veins on his forehead. He took an angry swill.

“Suffice it to say you fall short of sustaining even an endeavor funded and laid out before you in charity by an actual man.” She continued, “Gallivanting about, pointing your finger around and scolding, impressing neither woman nor man with that parcel between your legs you swing about so freely.”

She hadn’t noticed in her flare that he had taken stance just behind her. And though her words were earnest, she regretted the very vibration of them off her throat. She felt his warm breath. Inhaled the scent of bourbon and trembled.

She had lit a fuse that could not be stamped out.

Supporting Character: Clara (Young Wife)

February 28, 2014

Clara is under-educated, and grandly naive, but her intentions are mostly pure. She takes directions and follows the role set in front of her, mostly for lack of being able to make her own. She is very submissive, and susceptible to suggestion. She is a worker bee. She most commonly responds to stress with tears, which she knows will likely get her out of trouble, and spoiled with something frivolous. Her mother was a Ute Indian and her father an Irish immigrant who came to Utah to seek labor in the mines and settled in Provo, where natives that lived along Utah Lake had recently been displaced. Her mother was raped and murdered, along with other Ute women who took up residence with white immigrants, by Mormon’s disguised as Paiutes, stealing horses, and even going as far as kidnapping some of the village children to shroud their savage theatrics. Her father, his brother, and sister-in-law raised her, so she grew up along-side cousins who took a dominating role. Her father drank heavily but was kind, though he became withdrawn more and more over time, showing her little affection. She fancied adventure but lacked the courage to find it. She wishes secretly for a whole new life, but when confronted about her involvement with Sebastian, she becomes vehemently defensive of her role within the family.

She reminds Sebastian of a girl he grew up with that was younger than him, whom died by trampling of horse and carriage in Penn. He was always protective of her as she had an abusive father, and though they never did anything about it, they would talk about plans of running away to some far off, exotic place. He was shocked to see how much pain the loss of the daughter caused her father – this made him ponder on the duality of man, and how people could destroy what they held so dear. This angered him deeply, and as an abused child himself, it darkened his soul and embittered his future endeavors. He is a rescuer to satisfy his own loss and loneliness, while creating a hierarchy of sub-ordinates to help his ego battle his super-ego. Her presence in his life depicts his lack of control and his attempts to grasp at it through manipulation. If he is scorn or rejected by Margaret (who he seeks approval from desperately), he always has Clara to fall back on, or abuse emotionally to boost his own self-esteem.

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