Let's take a moment to talk about Sin.
I think sin is a great word--it's powerful and it invokes a very singular feeling, a feeling of something "bad"--the definition of which you can decide for yourself. Religions have a pretty solid stance on sin, and most of us take the word in a religious sense, but putting aside Dogma and God for a moment, there are practical issues with sin. My definition of sin is "a flaw that negatively affects or influences your life."
There are seven deadly sins--Pride, Sloth, Lust, Wrath, Greed, Blasphemy (we'll prolly ignore this one) and Envy. Everybody experiences all of these sins to varying degrees throughout their lives, but it is certainly not difficult to see that there is usually one or two of these seven that really embody a person's "flaws". A man who is too proud may refuse to back down or accept any other ideas or philosophies or ways of life besides his own. A greedy man will take as much as he can from as many people as he can, regardless of how it may affect them. Sins take a variety of forms, but the important measure of sin is this--a sin, one of these seven at least, is something that you do, either actively or unconsciously, that brings sadness, discomfort, suffering or pain into your life.
For me, my sin is sloth. A pretty common sin amongst my generation, right up there with greed and lust. My sloth is that I generally dislike doing anything that I don't want to do. Even if it is something I HAVE to do, a responsibility--cleaning, researching a paper, studying--my slothful nature makes me drag my feet in doing so, and my procrastination oftentimes results in negative effects--my house becomes dirty, I get a bad grade on a paper or a test, I fail a class. I know what my sin is--I accept it, which is a good first step that, I find, a lot of people don't reach.
Identifying and accepting your sin is just the first step, though, and if you want to move forward at all, you have to follow a first step with a second. The second step is overcoming your sin, and THAT, my friends, is the real kicker. Overcoming a major flaw is time-intensive, requires work, dedication, and the solid, single-minded desire to NOT cave in to your...desires. You don't do what you want to do, you do what you know you should or have to do. To overcome my sin of sloth, I would have to actively refuse to do what I want to do--play video games, surf the web, sleep, stare at an interesting discoloration on my wall--and instead do things that do not neccessarily bring me pleasure: clean, pack, study, or, in general, work.
We are sinful creatures, and strangely, we're the only ones in nature who are. You don't usually find beavers or magpies starving to death because they were too lazy to go out and get food or chew on trees or whatever it is that beavers or magpies do. Nature doesn't allow for sin, because indulging in it oftentimes results in a quick and unpleasant death. Even wrath has its downsides--viscious animals will almost always end up getting killed because of their viscious nature, and even the Alpha wolf doesn't indiscriminately go out and bite the shit out of some nearby camper. There's temperance in nature, a temperance forged by uncompromising rules and boundaries that all wild things must adhere to under pain of death.
Human beings don't have this--well, we do, but not to such a degree. We've insulated ourselves in a dazzlingly complex societorial "safety net" that catches us and allows us to take time to NOT focus on surviving or breeding. We have spare time, in other words, and that's a rather curious thing. Given the opportunity to NOT do what we must to survive means that, more likely than not, we WON'T constantly strive to follow the hardline rules of survival, because we don't have to.
My slothful nature could only be fully cured if I completely isolated myself from any possible distractions--if I unhooked my internet, threw out my video games and DVDs, closed all the windows and focused solely on the task at hand. Then, with my sin purged, I would be productive, reliable, successful--and pretty miserable.
Yes, isn't it a sad irony that, without a modicum of sin, we're left feeling rather unhappy. If you don't sin at all, your life isn't exactly glamorous or exciting. Yet, if you sin too much, your life is chaotic and stressful, or unfulfilling or frustrating. As much as we are told to NOT sin, our mental well-being hinges UPON sinning. Its a catch 22, and it rather sucks.
What can we do, then, but find that happy medium? Sin once in awhile, then penance yourself through hard work and responsibility or charity or whatever it is you need to do to address your specific sin. Its not a terribly new or even surprising conclusion--its the "middle path" if I may indulge my self-righteous inner Buddhist. All in moderation.
That's the lesson, really, all I'd have to say that's useful. I wonder, at times, whether the only reward for abstaining from sin is a material one. The religious say that living a fruitful, fitful and sinless life will bring you eternal glory in an afterlife, but we don't know if that's true or not. We do what we must--but what MUST we do? Have we truly reached the point in our evolution that we no longer know what we are supposed to do, what our global niche is? Where on the universal totem pole does humanity factor? What are we put on this planet to do? Maybe we don't have a purpose--we don't need one, some would say. But, hang on a second. Nature has roles. The wolf fulfills its role as a population controlling device. The magpie eats seeds and invariable spreads seeds around, allowing new plantlife to grow and expanding the scope of life to other areas. The beaver...makes dams.
Yeah, I don't really know what beavers do, but frankly, it makes me feel better to know that humanity isn't the only race that has a vendetta against trees and takes every opportunity to brutally chop them to bits, so I'm satisfied with beavers giving my conscience some peace of mind.
So, reflect on this, O my brothers--what are we, as a race, DOING? What is it that we accomplish, do or don't do, perhaps, that benefits the world? Why do we exist? Its all well and good to try and abolish flaws and sins in our lives, but without a reason, without a GOAL or a cause to believe in, what's the point? If you want to solve a problem, solve it holistically--figure out what the human race is here for, and then make sure that you can help it accomplish that goal as much as you can.
That's all. Good Evening...and Good Fortune.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Poetry Night!
Here's a poem I wrote after watching some lightning on my balcony.
---
Lightning shrieks across the sky
Poetic glee crackling
in the heavens' silent scream.
Creation dazzles against so great a backdrop
sparkling with inspirational light.
Who says that there is no God?
When the world so clearly is born
of the brush of a gleeful universe
creating art for art's sake
and rumbling contended laughter
as its creations writhe in cognizance.
An artist does not seek to control their art
but rather to birth it, separate and whole
and let it revel in the joy of its existence
with a brush dipped in the ink of dreams
threaded by stars and constellations
it splatters matter upon empty soil
and so great is its design
that the art becomes an artist
and births its own splendorous works
forming a perfect circle
of karmic brilliance
unending, and unrestrained.
---
Lightning shrieks across the sky
Poetic glee crackling
in the heavens' silent scream.
Creation dazzles against so great a backdrop
sparkling with inspirational light.
Who says that there is no God?
When the world so clearly is born
of the brush of a gleeful universe
creating art for art's sake
and rumbling contended laughter
as its creations writhe in cognizance.
An artist does not seek to control their art
but rather to birth it, separate and whole
and let it revel in the joy of its existence
with a brush dipped in the ink of dreams
threaded by stars and constellations
it splatters matter upon empty soil
and so great is its design
that the art becomes an artist
and births its own splendorous works
forming a perfect circle
of karmic brilliance
unending, and unrestrained.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Alas--my dilemma
Hello everyone. It's been awhile since I last posted here. Been dealing with school and the insatiable and irresistable laziness associated with summer. It's been a balmy 105+ degrees here in Arizona, and with the heat as soul-crushingly bad as it is, I find it quite displeasing to go outside, as sweating in so dry a climate makes me dehydrated quite swiftly.
As for other news...well, there isn't much worth reporting to the vast public eye of the family at large. I'm alive and well. My health is (hopefully) decent, and despite a need to get more exercise, I'm doing well enough.
College life is a bit...barren at times, akin to a dystopia, where the once marvelous and enchanting artifacts of a futuristic world no longer hold sway over me, and my sole entertainment lies in the sad, labyrinthine passages of the World Wide Web, where Wikipedia and Youtube offer fleeting glimpses into a larger, more entertaining world. A brief escape from the monotony of existence, where I may, as many have, enjoy seeing the results of men applying Mentos to Diet Coke, British Television, clips from popular cartoon shows, and additionally learn all about the likes of Truman Capote, Jainism, Hinduism, To Kill a Mocking Bird, Audrey Hepburn, and throat cancer, all in one convieniant location. Indeed, with the Internet riding high as the world's number one communication medium, there's nothing better to distract one from the woes and miseries of the outside world, where things such as heat and car exhaust choke at the body and spirit, much like a suffocating blanket stitched in the promises of progress and manifest destiny.
While I hold onto my sanity with steady hands, I can't help but panic in my own silent, frantic manner as responsibility and education break into my seclusion, pulling me away from my networked nest of necessary nuance, demanding that I step outside and embrace this burning, unapologetic world. So, with a heart heavy and eyes bleary from a lack of sleep and poor diet, I trudge sadly the short, but arduous distance from my apartment complex to the classrooms, where I will sit idly by a computer, typing notes with the speed of a secretary, finding that paying attention to the words spoken is almost optional, as my body can work on automatic, and my mind can operate at the speed of light, distancing itself from the tedium of school, life and learning, casting itself adrift across the vast seas of dream and fancy, imagining worlds far better than this, carving monuments and histories out of thin air, and splattering this worlds, like paint upon a canvas, unto the fabric of my inner conscience, where in the privacy of my own thoughts, I can bask in my creations for as long as I like, soaking in the infinite flavors that only the imagination can produce, and when I walk out of that classroom, shouldering textbook laden bag carefully, I can stare out at the even, unchanging stone and steel and glass world around me, and in my mind's eye it changes, twisting into something more beautiful and yet far more terrible than anything reality could possibly produce, and in the nightmares of my sweetest dreams I set forth upon my journey home, the hateful sun casting deadly hubris upon my weak and feeble body, draining away the comforting worlds of imagination and dream from my pleading, panicking mind, and when I do return to my air-conditioned apartment, I find my thoughts and ideas have left me, have been burnt to cinders in my mind by the harshness of the world outside, and sitting upon my unkempt bed, I look back to the computer at my side, where once I did cast my dreamworlds into written form, breathing life into them like the great literary authors of old, and instead of opening my tired and broken word processor to pain this dreams anew; instead of opening the college's website, where I may begin my arduous and doldrum homework, so mind-numbing that to compare its effects upon my soul to anything less than a heroin needle dipped in cyanide would be a disservice to its unflinching tedium, I open my internet browser, and click.
And that, my friends, is when the internet takes hold once more, delighting me in an artificial dream, abstract and foreign, yet comforting in its petty, shallow delights, and there I sulk, melting away into the primordial pool of networked communication, where I lose my self, my mind and my spirit, to an ever flowing stream of noise, discord, and madness.
As for other news...well, there isn't much worth reporting to the vast public eye of the family at large. I'm alive and well. My health is (hopefully) decent, and despite a need to get more exercise, I'm doing well enough.
College life is a bit...barren at times, akin to a dystopia, where the once marvelous and enchanting artifacts of a futuristic world no longer hold sway over me, and my sole entertainment lies in the sad, labyrinthine passages of the World Wide Web, where Wikipedia and Youtube offer fleeting glimpses into a larger, more entertaining world. A brief escape from the monotony of existence, where I may, as many have, enjoy seeing the results of men applying Mentos to Diet Coke, British Television, clips from popular cartoon shows, and additionally learn all about the likes of Truman Capote, Jainism, Hinduism, To Kill a Mocking Bird, Audrey Hepburn, and throat cancer, all in one convieniant location. Indeed, with the Internet riding high as the world's number one communication medium, there's nothing better to distract one from the woes and miseries of the outside world, where things such as heat and car exhaust choke at the body and spirit, much like a suffocating blanket stitched in the promises of progress and manifest destiny.
While I hold onto my sanity with steady hands, I can't help but panic in my own silent, frantic manner as responsibility and education break into my seclusion, pulling me away from my networked nest of necessary nuance, demanding that I step outside and embrace this burning, unapologetic world. So, with a heart heavy and eyes bleary from a lack of sleep and poor diet, I trudge sadly the short, but arduous distance from my apartment complex to the classrooms, where I will sit idly by a computer, typing notes with the speed of a secretary, finding that paying attention to the words spoken is almost optional, as my body can work on automatic, and my mind can operate at the speed of light, distancing itself from the tedium of school, life and learning, casting itself adrift across the vast seas of dream and fancy, imagining worlds far better than this, carving monuments and histories out of thin air, and splattering this worlds, like paint upon a canvas, unto the fabric of my inner conscience, where in the privacy of my own thoughts, I can bask in my creations for as long as I like, soaking in the infinite flavors that only the imagination can produce, and when I walk out of that classroom, shouldering textbook laden bag carefully, I can stare out at the even, unchanging stone and steel and glass world around me, and in my mind's eye it changes, twisting into something more beautiful and yet far more terrible than anything reality could possibly produce, and in the nightmares of my sweetest dreams I set forth upon my journey home, the hateful sun casting deadly hubris upon my weak and feeble body, draining away the comforting worlds of imagination and dream from my pleading, panicking mind, and when I do return to my air-conditioned apartment, I find my thoughts and ideas have left me, have been burnt to cinders in my mind by the harshness of the world outside, and sitting upon my unkempt bed, I look back to the computer at my side, where once I did cast my dreamworlds into written form, breathing life into them like the great literary authors of old, and instead of opening my tired and broken word processor to pain this dreams anew; instead of opening the college's website, where I may begin my arduous and doldrum homework, so mind-numbing that to compare its effects upon my soul to anything less than a heroin needle dipped in cyanide would be a disservice to its unflinching tedium, I open my internet browser, and click.
And that, my friends, is when the internet takes hold once more, delighting me in an artificial dream, abstract and foreign, yet comforting in its petty, shallow delights, and there I sulk, melting away into the primordial pool of networked communication, where I lose my self, my mind and my spirit, to an ever flowing stream of noise, discord, and madness.
Friday, July 4, 2008
DVDs and the flu
I'm suffering from a terrible bout of the flu at the moment, resulting in bits of dizziness, light-headedness, and other various -nesses. Hacking out phlegm from my nose that seems to be dead-set on making its way into my small intestine has had me questioning how valuable my current lease on life is. Bloody disease is driving me off the wall, and its like a sign from a vindictive, mean-spirited God that I am not allowed to have any fun this 4th of July. Clearly, the influenza virus is un-American, and I think our next failed attempt at a war should not be a war on drugs, terror, Iraq or Gays, but rather a war on Influenza.
It'd be real easy too--all we have to do is find one of those countries suffering from the Bird Flu and drop bombs on them until they accept democracy and free, ineffective vaccines. Our flu shots may not work, but by god, we give them anyway, and they're guaranteed to be just as effective as our current military strategies in the Middle East have been.
In conclusion: fuck the flu.
Changing gears, you know how when you buy DVDs--especially those Special Edition DVDs that run about 25 dollars and have their own useless little DVD sleeves that will likely end up crushed and bent and broken within a week of purchase--they are wrapped up in about layer upon layer of plastic wrap? I mean, first you have the first layer, over the sleeve itself, unwrapping it being the easiest task of the procedure, which is a bit morbid considering how badly abused that DVD sleeve is gonna be. Then, you have to spend two minutes, shaking and tugging and worming out the actual DVD itself, from the sleeve (A task almost requiring personal lubricant, as those fucking things are stuck in there tighter than Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit's House), and then, after all that toil, you have YET ANOTHER bit of plastic wrap to take off. This one is considerably more difficult, and requires careful plucking, tugging, and chewing of the tiny, barely-visible and nigh-ungrippable slip of loose plastic designed to help you in the unraveling process. It can take almost five minutes to slip the plastic wrap off as if it were a two-sizes-too-small T-shirt on an exceptionally fat woman, bunching at all the wrong places and requiring vengeful, violent tugging motions just to continue the slow, arduous journey down and off the case. Finally, once that is off, your first instinct may be to yank open the DVD case and salivate over your prize--but, of course, attempting this is foolhardy, as it will only reward you with frustration as the case refuses to budge.
The cause of this obstruction comes from these seemingly innocuous bits of white sticky paper along the top, bottom, and sometimes even the side of the DVD case. These papers prevent the case from opening, and the only service they provide is to helpfully tell you the name of the DVD and that it IS a DVD--a service that might have been useful, had the name of the film not already been typed in large letters in the front of the fucking box! If you need reminder that this is, in fact, a DVD you are opening, well, then, frankly, you have failed as a human being and should eliminate yourself from the genepool at the nearest railroad crossing.
These white sticky papers are even more difficult to get off, because, unless you are lucky, you will likely botch up the ripping process and only partially tear off the sticky paper, leaving 75% of it remaining on top of your DVD case. This means you'll have to spend yet another ten minutes picking feverishing at the white paper as if it were dead skin on the bottom of your foot, gasping and groaning in almost orgasmic, feverish glee as slowly, but surely, a flap of membrane lifts free and allows you to continue ripping, only for you to have to cry out in frustration as the paper rips prematurely again and you are forced to swallow your anger and with saintly patience resume picking again. This process will repeat itself up to THREE TIMES, depending upon how many white sticky papers are on your DVD case.
Finally, wrapping, sleeve, more wrapping, and our trio of white sticky papers are on the floor and, with childlike glee, you are able to seize the DVD case and wrench it open as if it were the Ark of the Covenant--or, you would, if not for the fact that, after all this, you find that there are these two handy little locks that keep the DVD box securely fastened until you flip them open. That's right--a DVD case which has been double-wrapped, sealed inside a cardboard cover, and then fastened with up to three(!) sticky white pieces of paper, is also LOCKED.
This begs a question from me:
At what point is it that the packagers of this DVD should have decided that enough was fucking enough?
Do we really need this many layers of protection? Is there something more valuable than a film inside these cases? Maybe DVD cases are all imprinted with secret, invisible codes to launch the United States' arsenal of nuclear weapons, codes that only have a fifty-perfect chance of being disintigrated by exposure to open air, leaving every DVD case being in a Schroedinger's cat-esque quantum flux, caught between being mild entertainment or world-destroying tools of the Apocalypse!
That's my theory, at least. What else could explain it?
Happy 4th of July everyone. Unless you're not American. In which case, happy future 4th of July, because sooner or later we're likely going to be invading and taking over your country, so you might as well start practicing your Star Spangled Banner now.
It'd be real easy too--all we have to do is find one of those countries suffering from the Bird Flu and drop bombs on them until they accept democracy and free, ineffective vaccines. Our flu shots may not work, but by god, we give them anyway, and they're guaranteed to be just as effective as our current military strategies in the Middle East have been.
In conclusion: fuck the flu.
Changing gears, you know how when you buy DVDs--especially those Special Edition DVDs that run about 25 dollars and have their own useless little DVD sleeves that will likely end up crushed and bent and broken within a week of purchase--they are wrapped up in about layer upon layer of plastic wrap? I mean, first you have the first layer, over the sleeve itself, unwrapping it being the easiest task of the procedure, which is a bit morbid considering how badly abused that DVD sleeve is gonna be. Then, you have to spend two minutes, shaking and tugging and worming out the actual DVD itself, from the sleeve (A task almost requiring personal lubricant, as those fucking things are stuck in there tighter than Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit's House), and then, after all that toil, you have YET ANOTHER bit of plastic wrap to take off. This one is considerably more difficult, and requires careful plucking, tugging, and chewing of the tiny, barely-visible and nigh-ungrippable slip of loose plastic designed to help you in the unraveling process. It can take almost five minutes to slip the plastic wrap off as if it were a two-sizes-too-small T-shirt on an exceptionally fat woman, bunching at all the wrong places and requiring vengeful, violent tugging motions just to continue the slow, arduous journey down and off the case. Finally, once that is off, your first instinct may be to yank open the DVD case and salivate over your prize--but, of course, attempting this is foolhardy, as it will only reward you with frustration as the case refuses to budge.
The cause of this obstruction comes from these seemingly innocuous bits of white sticky paper along the top, bottom, and sometimes even the side of the DVD case. These papers prevent the case from opening, and the only service they provide is to helpfully tell you the name of the DVD and that it IS a DVD--a service that might have been useful, had the name of the film not already been typed in large letters in the front of the fucking box! If you need reminder that this is, in fact, a DVD you are opening, well, then, frankly, you have failed as a human being and should eliminate yourself from the genepool at the nearest railroad crossing.
These white sticky papers are even more difficult to get off, because, unless you are lucky, you will likely botch up the ripping process and only partially tear off the sticky paper, leaving 75% of it remaining on top of your DVD case. This means you'll have to spend yet another ten minutes picking feverishing at the white paper as if it were dead skin on the bottom of your foot, gasping and groaning in almost orgasmic, feverish glee as slowly, but surely, a flap of membrane lifts free and allows you to continue ripping, only for you to have to cry out in frustration as the paper rips prematurely again and you are forced to swallow your anger and with saintly patience resume picking again. This process will repeat itself up to THREE TIMES, depending upon how many white sticky papers are on your DVD case.
Finally, wrapping, sleeve, more wrapping, and our trio of white sticky papers are on the floor and, with childlike glee, you are able to seize the DVD case and wrench it open as if it were the Ark of the Covenant--or, you would, if not for the fact that, after all this, you find that there are these two handy little locks that keep the DVD box securely fastened until you flip them open. That's right--a DVD case which has been double-wrapped, sealed inside a cardboard cover, and then fastened with up to three(!) sticky white pieces of paper, is also LOCKED.
This begs a question from me:
At what point is it that the packagers of this DVD should have decided that enough was fucking enough?
Do we really need this many layers of protection? Is there something more valuable than a film inside these cases? Maybe DVD cases are all imprinted with secret, invisible codes to launch the United States' arsenal of nuclear weapons, codes that only have a fifty-perfect chance of being disintigrated by exposure to open air, leaving every DVD case being in a Schroedinger's cat-esque quantum flux, caught between being mild entertainment or world-destroying tools of the Apocalypse!
That's my theory, at least. What else could explain it?
Happy 4th of July everyone. Unless you're not American. In which case, happy future 4th of July, because sooner or later we're likely going to be invading and taking over your country, so you might as well start practicing your Star Spangled Banner now.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Things that amuse/annoy me
Amuse: Refills of Circle K's interestingly universally priced fountain drinks are, after tax, exactly three cents cheaper than the pre-tax new fountain drink. The only useful aspect of this is that it would conceivably allow one to literally just hand a dollar to the cashier and, with casual cool and calm, tell him to "keep the change", a term which can be delivered in the same tone as "go fuck yourself" for even cooler effect, as the change would only amount to three cents anyway.
All this, of course, is useless to me, as I live off a credit card.
Annoy: Elevators in my building--or, specifically, the ones that I take to ascend the five floors to my dorm/apartment thing--have their button sets on different sides of the door, making it so that each time I enter the elevator, I have to pick at random which side to turn towards, and if the correct buttons aren't there, I have to do a robotic, chicken shuffle motion to turn around with some amount of grace and dexterity so as to face the proper side and press the correct button, feeling all the more self-conscious because there is this convienient little security camera in the upper corner of the elevator, making me feel as if I have a constant audience to my shame.
Annoy: My room mate's habit of remarking on things he finds displeasure/aggravation with in a manner both subtle, yet annoyingly direct, making it unsure whether he wants me to do something to fix a situation, as well as making me simply unwilling to cooperate, if only out of the principle of demanding people address me with blunt, direct and forward commands.
Amuse: Women all make the same sort of sounds during sex. At first, I thought that porn just used three voice actresses for every video, or there as a standard class or seminar on erotic noise, but no. Turns out, it really all sounds the same. Fancy that.
Amuse/annoy: Fanfiction, both conceptually and literally. As a writer myself, I can't help but identify with the creators of whatever anime/video game/book (I.E. Harry Potter) that is being fanfictioned, as any particularly empathetic writer will tell you that his or her literary creations are like children to that person, with all the surprises and predictable traits inherited from their parents built in. Therefore, fanfiction, by its very definition of being "fiction written by fans", is effectively like a person's children being borrowed for a few hours by a lonely, pre-pubescent twelve-year old girl, radically brainwashed to fulfill homoerotic fantasies or else forced to play with the fanfiction writer's own, slightly more semi-retarded children, before uncerimoniously being dumped on the original parents' doorstep, usually smeared with lipstick and having to explain burning pain in their anuses.
Amuse: My room mate thought the size of our monstrous air-conditioning unit (some fifteen feet tall, towering over the dumpsters outside) is worth commenting on.
Amuse: Today is his last day here.
Annoy: Flaky people. In a non-literal way, people who don't come through when you expect them too, or don't every fully commit to anything, despite being asked or expected too.
Annoy: Flaky people, in a totally literal way. I mean, yuck. Seriously? Yuck.
Amuse: Tenacious D.
Amuse: Marlboro has these buy one, get one free cigarette packs of their less-than-classy blends, but the catch is that these cigarettes are about an inch and a half shorter than a typical cigarette. This ought to annoy me, but they're so damn cute that I can't stay mad. Awww. Lookit you! You're a cute leading cause of mouth, lung, and throat cancer aren't you? Yes you are! Yes you are!
Annoy: When your bed sheets get tugged off your bed during sex. YEESH. Its like one EXTRA hassle.
Annoy: Having no plans for the 4th of July.
Amuse: British Accents. Really, I can listen to just about anything if it's said in a British accent.
Annoy: Overactive guilt complexes, as well as hypocondria. Both of which, of due note, are products of nurture and nature respectfully. THANKS PARENTS!
Amuse: Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe, as well as reading other people's blogs.
Annoy: Not having published an award-winning comic book. I have tons of ideas, why aren't there people begging me to write for their rich companies? Eh? EH!?
Annoy: Feeling bad for not updating my blog, as well as not having anyone outside of my immediate family reading it.
Annoy: I burnt my tongue and cut the side of my mouth on a tortilla chip. Now, the next two days will be spend idly wondering if I've contracted a terrible disease and am only blaming the tortilla chip as a scapegoat, which will result in me feeling bad for the tortilla chip and thus offering to take it out for a relaxing day on the town, visiting all sort sof exciting shops and restraunts and museums and picnicking at the lakeside, laughing and singing songs of our childhood, relishing in the sheer joy of just being alive before, in a fit of passion, I'll forget the good times and greedily shove the chip into my mouth, mentally providing agonized screams of terror and pain as I crush it between my teeth.
Annoy: The temperature is 109 degrees. Fuck. That. Shit.
Annoy: My sandals bite into the back of my foot.
ANNOY: My fan is too small.
ANNOY: MY KEYBOARD KEEPS GETTING STUCK.
ANNOY: EVERYTHING! BWAAARHATEHATEHATE!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Amuse: Pictures of kittens with funny captions written on them.
All this, of course, is useless to me, as I live off a credit card.
Annoy: Elevators in my building--or, specifically, the ones that I take to ascend the five floors to my dorm/apartment thing--have their button sets on different sides of the door, making it so that each time I enter the elevator, I have to pick at random which side to turn towards, and if the correct buttons aren't there, I have to do a robotic, chicken shuffle motion to turn around with some amount of grace and dexterity so as to face the proper side and press the correct button, feeling all the more self-conscious because there is this convienient little security camera in the upper corner of the elevator, making me feel as if I have a constant audience to my shame.
Annoy: My room mate's habit of remarking on things he finds displeasure/aggravation with in a manner both subtle, yet annoyingly direct, making it unsure whether he wants me to do something to fix a situation, as well as making me simply unwilling to cooperate, if only out of the principle of demanding people address me with blunt, direct and forward commands.
Amuse: Women all make the same sort of sounds during sex. At first, I thought that porn just used three voice actresses for every video, or there as a standard class or seminar on erotic noise, but no. Turns out, it really all sounds the same. Fancy that.
Amuse/annoy: Fanfiction, both conceptually and literally. As a writer myself, I can't help but identify with the creators of whatever anime/video game/book (I.E. Harry Potter) that is being fanfictioned, as any particularly empathetic writer will tell you that his or her literary creations are like children to that person, with all the surprises and predictable traits inherited from their parents built in. Therefore, fanfiction, by its very definition of being "fiction written by fans", is effectively like a person's children being borrowed for a few hours by a lonely, pre-pubescent twelve-year old girl, radically brainwashed to fulfill homoerotic fantasies or else forced to play with the fanfiction writer's own, slightly more semi-retarded children, before uncerimoniously being dumped on the original parents' doorstep, usually smeared with lipstick and having to explain burning pain in their anuses.
Amuse: My room mate thought the size of our monstrous air-conditioning unit (some fifteen feet tall, towering over the dumpsters outside) is worth commenting on.
Amuse: Today is his last day here.
Annoy: Flaky people. In a non-literal way, people who don't come through when you expect them too, or don't every fully commit to anything, despite being asked or expected too.
Annoy: Flaky people, in a totally literal way. I mean, yuck. Seriously? Yuck.
Amuse: Tenacious D.
Amuse: Marlboro has these buy one, get one free cigarette packs of their less-than-classy blends, but the catch is that these cigarettes are about an inch and a half shorter than a typical cigarette. This ought to annoy me, but they're so damn cute that I can't stay mad. Awww. Lookit you! You're a cute leading cause of mouth, lung, and throat cancer aren't you? Yes you are! Yes you are!
Annoy: When your bed sheets get tugged off your bed during sex. YEESH. Its like one EXTRA hassle.
Annoy: Having no plans for the 4th of July.
Amuse: British Accents. Really, I can listen to just about anything if it's said in a British accent.
Annoy: Overactive guilt complexes, as well as hypocondria. Both of which, of due note, are products of nurture and nature respectfully. THANKS PARENTS!
Amuse: Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe, as well as reading other people's blogs.
Annoy: Not having published an award-winning comic book. I have tons of ideas, why aren't there people begging me to write for their rich companies? Eh? EH!?
Annoy: Feeling bad for not updating my blog, as well as not having anyone outside of my immediate family reading it.
Annoy: I burnt my tongue and cut the side of my mouth on a tortilla chip. Now, the next two days will be spend idly wondering if I've contracted a terrible disease and am only blaming the tortilla chip as a scapegoat, which will result in me feeling bad for the tortilla chip and thus offering to take it out for a relaxing day on the town, visiting all sort sof exciting shops and restraunts and museums and picnicking at the lakeside, laughing and singing songs of our childhood, relishing in the sheer joy of just being alive before, in a fit of passion, I'll forget the good times and greedily shove the chip into my mouth, mentally providing agonized screams of terror and pain as I crush it between my teeth.
Annoy: The temperature is 109 degrees. Fuck. That. Shit.
Annoy: My sandals bite into the back of my foot.
ANNOY: My fan is too small.
ANNOY: MY KEYBOARD KEEPS GETTING STUCK.
ANNOY: EVERYTHING! BWAAARHATEHATEHATE!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Amuse: Pictures of kittens with funny captions written on them.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Do as Thou Wilt Shall be the Whole of the Law
I've got a problem.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. On a quest of searching for spirituality, I've becoming even more increasingly frustrated at the inherent hypocracies in religion and life itself.
Every religion in the world proclaims the notion that there is something larger than yourself, and that's a philosophy that's readily agreeable, because no matter who you are, what you do, or how much you do it, you are never the most powerful force in the universe. You are only a part, miniscule to the greater scheme of things, and ultimate only important to yourself.
Every religion has an extra addendum though. There is a right course of action, there is only one right way to live, and if you do not live by that, you are wrong and shall be ultimately punished. If you don't sacrifice to the Gods, your crops will die, the rains won't come. If you don't believe in Christ, no matter how much good you do, you shall still be condemned.
Every time I hear this philosophy, I'm thrust into inner turmoil, because no matter how logically it's placed, there's a problem with it. That problem seems to be that if there's only one way of doing things, then there's little point in having the ability to do anything else.
Me and We. That's what a pastor at a church I went to was upset about. People are encouraged to live selfishly, materialistically, and turn away from more fundamental aspects of early Christian thought, which is that we are all together, we should support each other and strive to build a community amongst ourselves.
This is a black and white argument that is inherently on the right course, but it makes a point of saying that living for yourself is inherently wrong. The problem is, the only person that anybody can and should 100% agree with is yourself. Live for yourself.
Aleister Crowley lived by the mantra "Do as Thou Wilt", an almost anarchistic statement that emphasizes complete freedom of the individual, and it's easy to misconstrue that statement as petty selfishness, but doing as "we wilt" is not the same thing as being selfish.
A person feels guilt. Guilt is a natural byproduct of life, our minds telling us that what we are doing or have done is, in some way, wrong. But people don't feel guilty about the same things. A person living as he or she wilt isn't neccessarily going to go about being a total dick to everyone--they're going to pursue what makes them happy. Crowley's mantra is taken from a slightly longer Buddhist philosophy, which states "Do as Thou Wilt and do no harm."
Do as thou wilt and do no harm. At first, it seems to be contradictory, but it really isn't. Living true to yourself means that you do what makes you feel good, what makes you feel right, and your feelings, your mind, your perspective, they're all you've got. Everything else is less than that, cheap constructs to distract you from your mind and your own personal journey. A person who does as they wilt and does no harm is living a perfectly acceptable life, and I'll tell you why.
If a man spends all his life praying to God, lowering himself to the level of "God's Servant" and begging forgiveness isn't neccessarily wrong, if doing so makes him happy. If spending time with your friends just goofing off and enjoying each other's company makes you happier than spending an hour at church--or, if church makes you feel more full and fullfilled than being with your friends, then do it. Do what makes you happy, what makes you feel good, and do no harm. Your life is dictated by you and you alone, and no matter how they present it, how they argue it, ultimately there is no religion that actually knows what's really true or not.
The only absolute and ultimate truth is right there, in your head and your heart, and its your conciensce. It dictates what you believe to be wrong, what you believe to be right, what you want to do, what you ought to do. You are your own god, of your own world, and the only thing larger than that is pure speculation, because while the universe and the world are indeed larger than you, they are not you, they are not the determining factors in your own life. And, if you are doing as you wilt and you are concerned that you may be doing wrong, the second part kicks in "and do no harm." If you are harming somebody, anybody, anything anywhere and you cannot fully justify that harm to yourself, then that harm is wrong.
I've been looking for God for 18 years, and every time I try to go out and find it, I'm struck with a brickwall notion that no matter what I or anybody does, I am ultimately wrong. I cannot swallow this, because ultimately, in all our lives, what we do, how we do it--those are the things that shape our lives, and it is by our actions that our realities are determined. Do as thou wilt, because you know--you all inherently know--what it is that you must do, what you ought to do, and if you live your life in accordance to yourself, living true to yourself, you are not wrong at all--you are doing the only logical thing that can ever be right, because it's YOUR idea and nobody elses.
Living your whole life by somebody else's standards isn't right. Letting somebody else dictate what you can and cannot do is not right--it's not exactly wrong, because there are times when good advice can be a very handy thing indeed, but ultimately, it is YOUR choice. Your idea, your decision, and your life.
Live for yourself, because your personal happiness, your personal satisfaction is the only true thing in your world, the only bit of spirituality that you can grasp, that you can feel. Living for yourself is actually not easy, because living true to yourself is going to ultimately bring you sadness, grief, strife and the like. But, unfortunately, life is like that, and you're going to end up being miserable either way. You're not going to get divine intervention, you can't ever fully depend on another person 100% of the time, and when you pray, you are thinking to yourself pleas for help. The answers to these pleas you may see, some time later in something you witness while crossing the street, and that's not neccessarily because God is showing you them, but because you are seeing them.
Living for yourself is not living selfishly, because there is a difference. Every single person has an individual journey that they undertake over the course of their lives, and that journey--the experiences we find on that journey, the decisions we make, the actions we take--they determine our true selves. Finding God and seeking Enlightenment are the exact same things, different methods but all leading to the same answer.
Do as Thou Wilt and Do No Harm.
Don't listen to your televisions. Don't try and become the unattainable dreams that culture shoves down your throats. Don't let the fear of death drive you away from your dreams. Nobody can make your decisions for you. You always have a choice, no matter how dire the situation may seem, and no matter what, no matter what anyone else says, you are the ultimate decider of right and wrong in your life.
If there is a god, then there is a judgement. If there is no god, then there is no judgement, save for yourself, save for your own sense of right and wrong, and your own sense of happiness. Do what makes you feel good. Help a man across the street, pray if it makes you happier--there are no wrong decisions save one, and that is if you decide to do harm unto somebody else. Your life is your own, and their lives are their own, and it is the most profoundly sacred thing in the entire world--the human being's capacity of choice.
Don't live life as a drone. If you find you have to constantly apologize, that you are in constant sadness and guilt, reevaluate your life. Seek out what makes you unhappy and stop it. The source of every man's suffering is born from their actions, and every single person makes mistakes, some mistakes they may not even notice.
Prayer and meditation are extremely potent things. If you find yourself suffering, or you find yourself constantly concerned that you are doing the wrong thing, stop for a moment. Don't make excuses--there is a bottom line, there is a nagging doubt, and the time will come when you will sit and stare upon what you have done, and even as you try to justify it, that doubt remains. Embrace that doubt, don't delude yourself, don't take the easier path. The high road is the road that you have determined for yourself, and as difficult as it is, that is the only road there can ever be to salvation.
Do as thou wilt and do no harm.
It shall be the whole of the law, and it is the only law that truly matters.
Think about it.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. On a quest of searching for spirituality, I've becoming even more increasingly frustrated at the inherent hypocracies in religion and life itself.
Every religion in the world proclaims the notion that there is something larger than yourself, and that's a philosophy that's readily agreeable, because no matter who you are, what you do, or how much you do it, you are never the most powerful force in the universe. You are only a part, miniscule to the greater scheme of things, and ultimate only important to yourself.
Every religion has an extra addendum though. There is a right course of action, there is only one right way to live, and if you do not live by that, you are wrong and shall be ultimately punished. If you don't sacrifice to the Gods, your crops will die, the rains won't come. If you don't believe in Christ, no matter how much good you do, you shall still be condemned.
Every time I hear this philosophy, I'm thrust into inner turmoil, because no matter how logically it's placed, there's a problem with it. That problem seems to be that if there's only one way of doing things, then there's little point in having the ability to do anything else.
Me and We. That's what a pastor at a church I went to was upset about. People are encouraged to live selfishly, materialistically, and turn away from more fundamental aspects of early Christian thought, which is that we are all together, we should support each other and strive to build a community amongst ourselves.
This is a black and white argument that is inherently on the right course, but it makes a point of saying that living for yourself is inherently wrong. The problem is, the only person that anybody can and should 100% agree with is yourself. Live for yourself.
Aleister Crowley lived by the mantra "Do as Thou Wilt", an almost anarchistic statement that emphasizes complete freedom of the individual, and it's easy to misconstrue that statement as petty selfishness, but doing as "we wilt" is not the same thing as being selfish.
A person feels guilt. Guilt is a natural byproduct of life, our minds telling us that what we are doing or have done is, in some way, wrong. But people don't feel guilty about the same things. A person living as he or she wilt isn't neccessarily going to go about being a total dick to everyone--they're going to pursue what makes them happy. Crowley's mantra is taken from a slightly longer Buddhist philosophy, which states "Do as Thou Wilt and do no harm."
Do as thou wilt and do no harm. At first, it seems to be contradictory, but it really isn't. Living true to yourself means that you do what makes you feel good, what makes you feel right, and your feelings, your mind, your perspective, they're all you've got. Everything else is less than that, cheap constructs to distract you from your mind and your own personal journey. A person who does as they wilt and does no harm is living a perfectly acceptable life, and I'll tell you why.
If a man spends all his life praying to God, lowering himself to the level of "God's Servant" and begging forgiveness isn't neccessarily wrong, if doing so makes him happy. If spending time with your friends just goofing off and enjoying each other's company makes you happier than spending an hour at church--or, if church makes you feel more full and fullfilled than being with your friends, then do it. Do what makes you happy, what makes you feel good, and do no harm. Your life is dictated by you and you alone, and no matter how they present it, how they argue it, ultimately there is no religion that actually knows what's really true or not.
The only absolute and ultimate truth is right there, in your head and your heart, and its your conciensce. It dictates what you believe to be wrong, what you believe to be right, what you want to do, what you ought to do. You are your own god, of your own world, and the only thing larger than that is pure speculation, because while the universe and the world are indeed larger than you, they are not you, they are not the determining factors in your own life. And, if you are doing as you wilt and you are concerned that you may be doing wrong, the second part kicks in "and do no harm." If you are harming somebody, anybody, anything anywhere and you cannot fully justify that harm to yourself, then that harm is wrong.
I've been looking for God for 18 years, and every time I try to go out and find it, I'm struck with a brickwall notion that no matter what I or anybody does, I am ultimately wrong. I cannot swallow this, because ultimately, in all our lives, what we do, how we do it--those are the things that shape our lives, and it is by our actions that our realities are determined. Do as thou wilt, because you know--you all inherently know--what it is that you must do, what you ought to do, and if you live your life in accordance to yourself, living true to yourself, you are not wrong at all--you are doing the only logical thing that can ever be right, because it's YOUR idea and nobody elses.
Living your whole life by somebody else's standards isn't right. Letting somebody else dictate what you can and cannot do is not right--it's not exactly wrong, because there are times when good advice can be a very handy thing indeed, but ultimately, it is YOUR choice. Your idea, your decision, and your life.
Live for yourself, because your personal happiness, your personal satisfaction is the only true thing in your world, the only bit of spirituality that you can grasp, that you can feel. Living for yourself is actually not easy, because living true to yourself is going to ultimately bring you sadness, grief, strife and the like. But, unfortunately, life is like that, and you're going to end up being miserable either way. You're not going to get divine intervention, you can't ever fully depend on another person 100% of the time, and when you pray, you are thinking to yourself pleas for help. The answers to these pleas you may see, some time later in something you witness while crossing the street, and that's not neccessarily because God is showing you them, but because you are seeing them.
Living for yourself is not living selfishly, because there is a difference. Every single person has an individual journey that they undertake over the course of their lives, and that journey--the experiences we find on that journey, the decisions we make, the actions we take--they determine our true selves. Finding God and seeking Enlightenment are the exact same things, different methods but all leading to the same answer.
Do as Thou Wilt and Do No Harm.
Don't listen to your televisions. Don't try and become the unattainable dreams that culture shoves down your throats. Don't let the fear of death drive you away from your dreams. Nobody can make your decisions for you. You always have a choice, no matter how dire the situation may seem, and no matter what, no matter what anyone else says, you are the ultimate decider of right and wrong in your life.
If there is a god, then there is a judgement. If there is no god, then there is no judgement, save for yourself, save for your own sense of right and wrong, and your own sense of happiness. Do what makes you feel good. Help a man across the street, pray if it makes you happier--there are no wrong decisions save one, and that is if you decide to do harm unto somebody else. Your life is your own, and their lives are their own, and it is the most profoundly sacred thing in the entire world--the human being's capacity of choice.
Don't live life as a drone. If you find you have to constantly apologize, that you are in constant sadness and guilt, reevaluate your life. Seek out what makes you unhappy and stop it. The source of every man's suffering is born from their actions, and every single person makes mistakes, some mistakes they may not even notice.
Prayer and meditation are extremely potent things. If you find yourself suffering, or you find yourself constantly concerned that you are doing the wrong thing, stop for a moment. Don't make excuses--there is a bottom line, there is a nagging doubt, and the time will come when you will sit and stare upon what you have done, and even as you try to justify it, that doubt remains. Embrace that doubt, don't delude yourself, don't take the easier path. The high road is the road that you have determined for yourself, and as difficult as it is, that is the only road there can ever be to salvation.
Do as thou wilt and do no harm.
It shall be the whole of the law, and it is the only law that truly matters.
Think about it.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Of Pigeons
As you are likely aware from the sweltering heat (unless you live in some remote research base in Antarctica) summer is finally upon us, in all of it's brutal, energy-draining, laziness inducing glory.
As such, my dorm chose it wise to kick all of its occupants out for no readily decent reason, and rather than living on the street, I've taken up residence in a rather nice little apartment complex run by my school (and paid for, like most of the things in my life, by the charity of my parents.)
It's a rather nice apartment--made for four people, I'm the only person currently living here, which makes it perfectly grand as I have limitless space to recklessly throw all my crap, and I even have a miniature kitchen where I can attempt to cook things and become frustrated at my lack of ingredients, forcing me to eat at Wendy's in shame.
I also have a balcony, which brings us to the subject of today's post--Pigeons. Specifically, two pigeons, a male and (presumably) a female, who have taken residence upon my balcony for reasons as of yet unclear. They built a nest under two plastic chairs that were lovingly placed out there for me to sit on, but I am unable to do so because they've shat all over them. Making the best of the situation, I've embraced my pigeon brethren, and have thus named them Jim and Juliet.
They live in general fear of me, as I am five times their height and far superior to them in every possible way, but in the name of good fellowship, I've taken to trying to strike an alliance with the pigeons, in hope of one day facilitating an army of feathered creatures to divebomb my enemies and strike fear into the hearts of all those who oppose me.
The alliance has been sealed with Ritz Crackers, of which I have a nigh-limitless supply, and are easily broken into crumbs and scattered about my balcony, where the pigeons may feast upon them with glee. Jim is the one I see--a big, fat pigeon who is slightly silver in color and has some weird gray thing on the bridge of his beak that looks like somebody choked up a piece of gum, left it in the sun for a few weeks, then glued it to him. The female pigeon is slightly thinner, more greenish and black, with a longer neck and is a lot shyer than Jim is--though both have a healthy fear of me, as they should because, as you all should know, I am TERRIFYING.
The fact that they have a nest under my chairs actually has made me pause and consider pigeons to be actual animals, birds even, that hatch out of eggs and do all sorts of other birdy stuff that we think of when we think of owls and sparrowhawks and vultures--the most prominent of the latter category being Hillary Clinton, who seems to regard all whom she sees as a particularly appetizing rotting gazelle carcass. I doubt that I shall see actual eggs in this nest, as summer doesn't seem like a season for mating, despite what Tijuana advertisements may lead you to believe, but the fact that pigeons do in fact make nests is all the more intriguing, as I had previously assumed that pigeons bred themselves through a form of parasitic mitosis, rising like the shambling undead from heaps of rubbish and garbage and the like, their eyes red and empty, devoid of compassion or the capacity for love, and their only single-minded goal in life to wander about parks and look at you placatingly, waiting for you to drop your crackers on the ground through some accident (or sabotage--who knows what those pigeons are really capable of) so that they can descend upon the shattered snack treat in a manner quite Hitchcock-esque to consume to their hearts content.
Jim and Juliet, compared to some room mates I could have, are quite pleasant company. They make no noise, they stay outside, they rarely move from their designated section of the balcony, and if i really desire for them to leave, I can simply wave my arms at them and they'll disperse. Pending the success of my attempted alliance with the lower rungs of the bird kingdom, I have begun to ready plans to lead a revolution for pigeons everywhere, overturning the harsh oligarchy formed by sparrows and mockingbirds, and as they feast upon their sundered carcasses, I shall stand supreme, King of the Pigeons, and soon, the World.
As such, my dorm chose it wise to kick all of its occupants out for no readily decent reason, and rather than living on the street, I've taken up residence in a rather nice little apartment complex run by my school (and paid for, like most of the things in my life, by the charity of my parents.)
It's a rather nice apartment--made for four people, I'm the only person currently living here, which makes it perfectly grand as I have limitless space to recklessly throw all my crap, and I even have a miniature kitchen where I can attempt to cook things and become frustrated at my lack of ingredients, forcing me to eat at Wendy's in shame.
I also have a balcony, which brings us to the subject of today's post--Pigeons. Specifically, two pigeons, a male and (presumably) a female, who have taken residence upon my balcony for reasons as of yet unclear. They built a nest under two plastic chairs that were lovingly placed out there for me to sit on, but I am unable to do so because they've shat all over them. Making the best of the situation, I've embraced my pigeon brethren, and have thus named them Jim and Juliet.
They live in general fear of me, as I am five times their height and far superior to them in every possible way, but in the name of good fellowship, I've taken to trying to strike an alliance with the pigeons, in hope of one day facilitating an army of feathered creatures to divebomb my enemies and strike fear into the hearts of all those who oppose me.
The alliance has been sealed with Ritz Crackers, of which I have a nigh-limitless supply, and are easily broken into crumbs and scattered about my balcony, where the pigeons may feast upon them with glee. Jim is the one I see--a big, fat pigeon who is slightly silver in color and has some weird gray thing on the bridge of his beak that looks like somebody choked up a piece of gum, left it in the sun for a few weeks, then glued it to him. The female pigeon is slightly thinner, more greenish and black, with a longer neck and is a lot shyer than Jim is--though both have a healthy fear of me, as they should because, as you all should know, I am TERRIFYING.
The fact that they have a nest under my chairs actually has made me pause and consider pigeons to be actual animals, birds even, that hatch out of eggs and do all sorts of other birdy stuff that we think of when we think of owls and sparrowhawks and vultures--the most prominent of the latter category being Hillary Clinton, who seems to regard all whom she sees as a particularly appetizing rotting gazelle carcass. I doubt that I shall see actual eggs in this nest, as summer doesn't seem like a season for mating, despite what Tijuana advertisements may lead you to believe, but the fact that pigeons do in fact make nests is all the more intriguing, as I had previously assumed that pigeons bred themselves through a form of parasitic mitosis, rising like the shambling undead from heaps of rubbish and garbage and the like, their eyes red and empty, devoid of compassion or the capacity for love, and their only single-minded goal in life to wander about parks and look at you placatingly, waiting for you to drop your crackers on the ground through some accident (or sabotage--who knows what those pigeons are really capable of) so that they can descend upon the shattered snack treat in a manner quite Hitchcock-esque to consume to their hearts content.
Jim and Juliet, compared to some room mates I could have, are quite pleasant company. They make no noise, they stay outside, they rarely move from their designated section of the balcony, and if i really desire for them to leave, I can simply wave my arms at them and they'll disperse. Pending the success of my attempted alliance with the lower rungs of the bird kingdom, I have begun to ready plans to lead a revolution for pigeons everywhere, overturning the harsh oligarchy formed by sparrows and mockingbirds, and as they feast upon their sundered carcasses, I shall stand supreme, King of the Pigeons, and soon, the World.
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