Back in High School when I was wheelchair bound after corrective surgery on both my feet (an absolute failure honestly) I was assigned a student to assist me. She was very zealous non-denominational Christian. We had lots of talks. At one point she told me I would make a good Saint. Their use of that term was not the same of the Catholic Church, it was grounded in an entirely different church culture, one that was probably just as mystically inclined, but less hierarchical in organizational structure. Anyway, I took it as a compliment, and considered what it would require of me to pursue it as a goal, but to quote a classmate I thought highly of, "I Ain't No Nun Willie!" and I knew then I wasn't a Saint. I wanted to be, but I was a sinner moving towards the light.
One of the most troubling things that came out of our talks was Profanity and recordings. She said that every time a recording of someone cursing was played, they sinned again. For me this had staggeringly profound implications. I was an MC, rapper, whatever you want call it, and deeply invested in Hip Hop culture, which wasn't a place for the easily offended. I'd thought about getting rid of all my music with profanity in it, not using profanity when I freestyled (which was probably the easiest thing for me to do given I was in control of what I said), but at that point (early 90s) if you stopped listening to rap with cursing, edited out or not, you would ultimately not be listening to rap as a genre, you would be listening to a handful of rappers. The culture dictated the language, image, and in many cases, acceptable behavior of it's young, impressionable practitioners, and I was one of them. I would reason with myself that I could reach more people to share the positivity in my life if I could relate to them through our shared culture. I also remember my elation when a few "polite" artists got a little break now and then which allowed me to feel a sense of solidarity as part of a semi-vocal minority of Conscious & Courteous Hip Hop Heads. But, given the household and community I was raised in, talking like a sailor was something I still held with a little regard in certain company. Colorful language appealed to me in a direct and undeniable way. It had power, added zest, when used for affect in the right context.
Eventually I got into scripture, and not just the IDEA of being Christian and moral in action, understanding the philosophies behind the faith, and their spiritual origins. One of the more challenging ideas for me was that all sin is the same in the eyes of God. I'd heard of the Seven Deadly Sins, learned what they actually were thanks to a movie. In my mind and heart, they couldn't be judged the same. Then I really tried to wrap my head around the Eden scenario, through scripture, and even Gaiman, who's own use of Eden as a backdrop for some of his Dreaming stories, got me to revisit Genesis. I began to understand that the Original Sin was Self-Mindedness in principle, and Disobedience in action. Death entered the world by way of Sin being introduced to humanity. If you could have paradise, eternal life, companionship, and dominion over your domain, so long as you simply follow one rule, given to you by that which made you, and all you know, why would you risk losing it? Well, the answer was simple: The Belief that you could be like your maker, which creates a scenario where you have no need to adhere to the order that was set forth for you.
The Fruit of the knowledge of good and evil wasn't something that Adam and Eve needed to partake of, they were not starving in the Eden scenario, they were simply tempted. They did not know right from wrong, or what would they gain from the fruit. At best we can say they knew God's Will, and their Sin, the original Sin, was Rejecting it. That said, to go against God is to invite Ultimate Death/ non-existence into your life with open arms. We are born into Sin, perhaps in part because we are aware of such a choice, the gift born of that fruit that each subsequent soul has harvested in the core of their being? We are born putting our perspective before all others, pursuing our own intellectual satisfaction rather than receiving and adhering to the direction of those who know better and preceded us.
Those are just some of my ruminations on the subject of Sin, which I learned means "without" in some languages, which is perfect given that all Sin is to act without/ apart from God, and Hell is described as separation from God. I guess that begs the question. "What is God?"
The source of life
The essence of truth & righteousness
Love incarnate
Infinite & beyond comprehension
Basically TBR (Toilet Bowl Reading).
Through 2014 each post was named for a song, which is linked in its title. click to listen (preferably launch in a new tab or window though)
2015 onward: I have no clue what will inspire my rambling, as if I needed anything in the first place? The reigns are off, and the rambling truly begins.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Servitude
Who of us isn't a cog in the great societal machine, a facet of the all powerful "Market" that corrects itself? Markets can't run without vendors or customers, so aren't any corrections made a collaboration between the actors, not the location/ circumstance they are interacting in?
That's just one kind of alienation I see these days, one of oh so many. The things we invent become the things that shape our lives. The things we own dictating our actions, owning us. The conveniences we embrace begin to feel like necessities, and denial of them produces outrage. People are weird that way.
But of course, the one caveat when trying to predict or describe human behavior is this: once they know you're looking, some people change their behavior, just to manifest their need for control, and desire to determine their own fate. Meanwhile, they let the creations of man steer the course of their lives. But that's old news, people have known all this for years, they just weave a more elaborate web, repeating the same pattern ever wider.
That's just one kind of alienation I see these days, one of oh so many. The things we invent become the things that shape our lives. The things we own dictating our actions, owning us. The conveniences we embrace begin to feel like necessities, and denial of them produces outrage. People are weird that way.
But of course, the one caveat when trying to predict or describe human behavior is this: once they know you're looking, some people change their behavior, just to manifest their need for control, and desire to determine their own fate. Meanwhile, they let the creations of man steer the course of their lives. But that's old news, people have known all this for years, they just weave a more elaborate web, repeating the same pattern ever wider.
Hell Bent
Okay, The song in question is a personal favorite to the Nth degree, the Video as well. What's tricky is the emotional state the song evokes in contrast to the title, at least in me. I think more than I act, even when I'm acting like a manic obsessive compulsive (usually happens when I'm building/ assembling, amassing, or organizing things). That said, whenever I feel Hell Bent on doing something or another, it's a self-conscious effort because I'm so aware that I'm going beyond what would be reasonable in that moment.
Am I one of those people who just gets in moods? Am I persistently melancholy? I can't really say, and yet I tend to relate to people who seem to be the latter. But I have a sardonic sense of humor about that. The older I get, the more truncated my emotional range seems to become, if only because the stuff of life becomes more transparent, and it's harder ( and often naive) to have unfettered reactions. Am I as callous as I or others think myself to be? I don't really know. I probably don't think about it as much as I should, or question it. That sense of humor of mine is a handy dandy coping mechanism that lets me coast through at times where it would be more appropriate to turn to faith or some reserve of conviction and hope. Instead I settle for some low-grade existential resignation in place of genuine humility. It's a cheap substitute, which is appropriate since I've become so miserly with my emotional attachment. I don't think that's going to earn me my wings, and if I'm content to go on like this, I truly am hell bent, and that's a shame.
Am I one of those people who just gets in moods? Am I persistently melancholy? I can't really say, and yet I tend to relate to people who seem to be the latter. But I have a sardonic sense of humor about that. The older I get, the more truncated my emotional range seems to become, if only because the stuff of life becomes more transparent, and it's harder ( and often naive) to have unfettered reactions. Am I as callous as I or others think myself to be? I don't really know. I probably don't think about it as much as I should, or question it. That sense of humor of mine is a handy dandy coping mechanism that lets me coast through at times where it would be more appropriate to turn to faith or some reserve of conviction and hope. Instead I settle for some low-grade existential resignation in place of genuine humility. It's a cheap substitute, which is appropriate since I've become so miserly with my emotional attachment. I don't think that's going to earn me my wings, and if I'm content to go on like this, I truly am hell bent, and that's a shame.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Back to the Future
Things have been getting interesting for me this Winter. I've had time to work on the domestic side of life. Making my house homey, or as homey as my tastes can allow. having the winter break helped. I also had time to watch a few movies, and listen to a lot of music, from artists I'd lost track of over the last 10 or so years, only to find I'm really pleased with their development. It's strange to grow up, and realize just how young I was when I got into a lot of this stuff, and the weight of the things I was into, that the artists I took and interest in spoke on. It seems so foreign now, that person I was. I used to write about how Memory was the cornerstone of Identity. To forget was to lose yourself. In a way, to learn is to augment memory via perspective, and in a way, leave your old self behind. And then like acid reflux that old self resurfaces, and you can totally see it coming.
Today I watched something on http://www.pitchfork.com on their tv channel. Daytripping with GZA & Son. If I did the math right, GZA's kid is 20 or 21! He looks a lot younger than that. GZA hasn't really aged, just a stray gray in his beard. They played tracks from Liquid Swords, and I still get geeked up off those tracks. They played a few tracks off Wu-Tang Forever, and it was right on time, cause for the last month I kept thinking about GZA's Shout-Out in the liner notes of that double CD. I loved it, and of course, and was feeling it during the holiday season. Of course his shout out was coarse & succinct, "F a Shout Out!"
Maybe this is what happens when I don't have to put on my big boy clothes and go to work for 2 & a half weeks, stay up all night, or starve myself all day while I work on music or home improvement projects? Revisiting all those contemplative and angsty artists I vibed with, that are still angsty and testing my comfort zone and ability to justify my convictions may have the effect of reviving those things in myself, or at least reaffirming the choices that compelled me to remove those voices from a position of influence on me. Time will tell, but I can feel the angst. I might just have an Occupy MY Street Protest, where I go work on my yard and rake up all those dead sticky gumballs the wind blew down the other day.
No matter what, one thing that has changed above all is, now I am in a home I control, subject to my debts and whatever ordinances apply to me at any given time. That changes everything. What I do there sticks, until I or some force of nature changes it. It's a surreal feeling to not be transitory any more, to actually settle into my surroundings (i'm notorious for waiting months, if not years, to hang art/ decorate) and know, God willing, I will be there for me, and by the grace of God I won't be moving once I'm done with whatever it is I'm in the process of doing. I'm just living these days, and that's Hella Good.
Today I watched something on http://www.pitchfork.com on their tv channel. Daytripping with GZA & Son. If I did the math right, GZA's kid is 20 or 21! He looks a lot younger than that. GZA hasn't really aged, just a stray gray in his beard. They played tracks from Liquid Swords, and I still get geeked up off those tracks. They played a few tracks off Wu-Tang Forever, and it was right on time, cause for the last month I kept thinking about GZA's Shout-Out in the liner notes of that double CD. I loved it, and of course, and was feeling it during the holiday season. Of course his shout out was coarse & succinct, "F a Shout Out!"
Maybe this is what happens when I don't have to put on my big boy clothes and go to work for 2 & a half weeks, stay up all night, or starve myself all day while I work on music or home improvement projects? Revisiting all those contemplative and angsty artists I vibed with, that are still angsty and testing my comfort zone and ability to justify my convictions may have the effect of reviving those things in myself, or at least reaffirming the choices that compelled me to remove those voices from a position of influence on me. Time will tell, but I can feel the angst. I might just have an Occupy MY Street Protest, where I go work on my yard and rake up all those dead sticky gumballs the wind blew down the other day.
No matter what, one thing that has changed above all is, now I am in a home I control, subject to my debts and whatever ordinances apply to me at any given time. That changes everything. What I do there sticks, until I or some force of nature changes it. It's a surreal feeling to not be transitory any more, to actually settle into my surroundings (i'm notorious for waiting months, if not years, to hang art/ decorate) and know, God willing, I will be there for me, and by the grace of God I won't be moving once I'm done with whatever it is I'm in the process of doing. I'm just living these days, and that's Hella Good.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Flood Gates Are Open
So, the time off has worked wonders for my Domesticity and Musicality. Two new Ideas on the 2nd, and I've got a pretty inspiring waltz I'm sussing out at this very moment. Gotta love Drop D and airy arpeggios. Gonna record it full out after work today. This isn't a music blog, but Lord knows this is a blog about finding perspective, and mine brightens when I can do something creative and evocative, even if it only pleases me and no one else.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Bitterness
Been trying to stave off the carpal tunnel inducing activities, so I've been off my typing game as of late. But I'm back and had a lot on my mind as I recovered from a nasty sinus infection and a nastier reaction to the antibiotics I was prescribed. I'm happily improving thanks to Singulair and Corticosteroids.
I think a lot by some people's standards, but my awareness of that puts me in the mind to intentionally avoid thinking at all. For that reason I've had periods of my life where I identified with people with serious drug problems, escapism and desperation being the common threads that bind us.
I contemplated the crosses I bare, some heavier than others, and how they are weightless more often than not. The joy I've felt recently when leaving my Mother's home after visiting with her, my Stepfather, and this weekend, my Great Niece and Nephew, isn't defined by the family I've lost over the years, it's based on what will eventually happen. My regrets and lessons of the past aren't informing my decisions as much as my desire to embrace what I have presently.
On the other hand, I've been reminded of those losses, my Cousin Martez being killed 20 years ago, my niece Bugsy dying 16 years ago, who would have been 21 this year, and so much more. Thinking about the quirks my family has and our lack of outwardly affectionate gestures through most of my childhood. Our ambivalence to each other, and how this has reflected on my Warm/Cold tendencies, and comfort with physical and emotional distance/ superficiality. The impact of that on my life can't have been a positive, but it has been self-serving in its own dysfunctionally practical way.
When I start to acknowledge my baggage, so much when I was just a child, and out of my control, that made me a jacked up kid: neurotic, obsessive, and selfish, the frustration I feel over my missteps, and failures as a friend, or just as a moral human being, really bother me. I thought I couldn't hold a grudge when I was at the end of my teens, but it was because I was in denial of the grudges I had borne for so long, to the point where I ceased to acknowledge them. But out they come, and as is the case with family, it's fine to bare them, but it's a crime when someone else makes light of them or casts a stone. My biggest regret, the biggest plank in my eye, the deepest grudge I bare, the bitterest I have ever felt, is directed squarely at the one person who chastised my relationship with my family, how I treated them, how they treated me etc. I took it in stride, realizing she was reacting to one-sided venting on my part. She gave my family the benefit of the doubt, and ultimately I did likewise with hers. We truly held each other accountable on that part, up until we got fed up with each other.
The catch is, we didn't remain friends, and the lackluster excuse-ridden rambling phone-calls and emails we exchanged only highlighted the animosity we held towards one another that wasn't going anywhere. I'm still bitter over what went down in that relationship, and it permeates every bit of romantic advice I give, or perspective I share on " certain types " of personalities and world views. The circumstances of that train wreck of a relationship are something I can never look upon bereft of disappointment and unpleasant resignation. It helps that I wasn't a stupid kid in the relationship, and after a certain amount of time, I was hoping she wasn't either. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't, at least in how she chose to relate to me and that particular part of her life. Oh well, it happened, it sucked, and THANK GOD, Life Goes On, and it's been pretty good because I've been free to value what I have on my own terms, and still remember all those times that young woman harassed me about not being kinder, gentler, nicer to my loved ones. We're still rough and tumble bunch, so what if the hugs aren't free flowing, and we can say some things to each other that will make others blush. But we KNOW there's love in it. That comfort and familiarity of family let's us let our guard down.
I think a lot by some people's standards, but my awareness of that puts me in the mind to intentionally avoid thinking at all. For that reason I've had periods of my life where I identified with people with serious drug problems, escapism and desperation being the common threads that bind us.
I contemplated the crosses I bare, some heavier than others, and how they are weightless more often than not. The joy I've felt recently when leaving my Mother's home after visiting with her, my Stepfather, and this weekend, my Great Niece and Nephew, isn't defined by the family I've lost over the years, it's based on what will eventually happen. My regrets and lessons of the past aren't informing my decisions as much as my desire to embrace what I have presently.
On the other hand, I've been reminded of those losses, my Cousin Martez being killed 20 years ago, my niece Bugsy dying 16 years ago, who would have been 21 this year, and so much more. Thinking about the quirks my family has and our lack of outwardly affectionate gestures through most of my childhood. Our ambivalence to each other, and how this has reflected on my Warm/Cold tendencies, and comfort with physical and emotional distance/ superficiality. The impact of that on my life can't have been a positive, but it has been self-serving in its own dysfunctionally practical way.
When I start to acknowledge my baggage, so much when I was just a child, and out of my control, that made me a jacked up kid: neurotic, obsessive, and selfish, the frustration I feel over my missteps, and failures as a friend, or just as a moral human being, really bother me. I thought I couldn't hold a grudge when I was at the end of my teens, but it was because I was in denial of the grudges I had borne for so long, to the point where I ceased to acknowledge them. But out they come, and as is the case with family, it's fine to bare them, but it's a crime when someone else makes light of them or casts a stone. My biggest regret, the biggest plank in my eye, the deepest grudge I bare, the bitterest I have ever felt, is directed squarely at the one person who chastised my relationship with my family, how I treated them, how they treated me etc. I took it in stride, realizing she was reacting to one-sided venting on my part. She gave my family the benefit of the doubt, and ultimately I did likewise with hers. We truly held each other accountable on that part, up until we got fed up with each other.
The catch is, we didn't remain friends, and the lackluster excuse-ridden rambling phone-calls and emails we exchanged only highlighted the animosity we held towards one another that wasn't going anywhere. I'm still bitter over what went down in that relationship, and it permeates every bit of romantic advice I give, or perspective I share on " certain types " of personalities and world views. The circumstances of that train wreck of a relationship are something I can never look upon bereft of disappointment and unpleasant resignation. It helps that I wasn't a stupid kid in the relationship, and after a certain amount of time, I was hoping she wasn't either. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't, at least in how she chose to relate to me and that particular part of her life. Oh well, it happened, it sucked, and THANK GOD, Life Goes On, and it's been pretty good because I've been free to value what I have on my own terms, and still remember all those times that young woman harassed me about not being kinder, gentler, nicer to my loved ones. We're still rough and tumble bunch, so what if the hugs aren't free flowing, and we can say some things to each other that will make others blush. But we KNOW there's love in it. That comfort and familiarity of family let's us let our guard down.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Every Day is Exactly the Same
I just don't get into Holidays, but as I've aged I've gotten more into Family days. Any extended time I have to spend sharing my favorite activities with my kinfolk really makes me appreciate them and feel love in a way that I otherwise am devoid of. So, with my off time, beside medicating to get over my Sinus Infection, and seemingly worse allergic reaction I had to the Levoquin generic, I have been stuck on repeat.
I have slept in, ate one meal a day (my mom's delicious Turkey-less Thanksgiving fixins) and watched movies at her place. It's funny how I went through phases of intense animosity towards both my parents after their divorce and as I became more aware of their human faults. I also had times as I got older where I developed intense respect for them as certain other traits resonated with me. So taking that time to watch some popcorn movies and one head scratcher has taken precedent over house work and other endeavors. There wasn't a whole lot of that in my childhood, so to have that time now really puts me at ease. I can see how some folks I've known can resent their parents so much, cause maybe just maybe, they shared that kind of time with their parents a lot when they were young and have been denied it as they grew up and fell out of favor with their parents for one reason or another? I'm just speculating.
Anyways, I did a little brainstorming, as I always do, but I had more time to do it these last few days, and it'll be that much easier to move forward and start putting things into motion, at least as far as blogging and journalism are concerned. I have a title for the Interview Project, and I think it's a good one, all that's left is the logistics of publishing the content online, and uh... getting content. Oh well, no one's getting paid, so no need to rush.
I have slept in, ate one meal a day (my mom's delicious Turkey-less Thanksgiving fixins) and watched movies at her place. It's funny how I went through phases of intense animosity towards both my parents after their divorce and as I became more aware of their human faults. I also had times as I got older where I developed intense respect for them as certain other traits resonated with me. So taking that time to watch some popcorn movies and one head scratcher has taken precedent over house work and other endeavors. There wasn't a whole lot of that in my childhood, so to have that time now really puts me at ease. I can see how some folks I've known can resent their parents so much, cause maybe just maybe, they shared that kind of time with their parents a lot when they were young and have been denied it as they grew up and fell out of favor with their parents for one reason or another? I'm just speculating.
Anyways, I did a little brainstorming, as I always do, but I had more time to do it these last few days, and it'll be that much easier to move forward and start putting things into motion, at least as far as blogging and journalism are concerned. I have a title for the Interview Project, and I think it's a good one, all that's left is the logistics of publishing the content online, and uh... getting content. Oh well, no one's getting paid, so no need to rush.
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