Wonderings and Wanderings|
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|Friday, January 17th, 2014|
|Oops, I Forgot To Add A Title
Oh my, it's been about a month since I've posted anything on this blog. That's a month that went by really fast. And now it's the new year, and this is the first posting of the new year. I wonder what the rest of this year is gonna be like. I drew the first page of my new comic book that I'm making. It's actually Page 2, but I wanted to draw it before Page 1 cuz I'm not all-the-way sure what Page 1 is gonna look like.
I still have to figure out how to get the quality of the images better on the first comic book, though. I think my scanner makes crappy images; I think that's what it is. I think it all comes down to that. I don't know what the next step'll be in trying to make it look better. No I have some ideas. I'm determined to make this fucking thing work, dang it all.
I'm teaching myself to draw. I mean, I already know how to do it, to some extent. But I'm tryin' to learn how to do it better. I learned how to draw 1-point perspective last week, and that's what I used for that page I did for the new comic book. I wanna learn 2 point perspective now. And I've been drawing a picture of a guy on a poster of mine over and over. The pictures are getting better and better, as I draw them. It's odd to not have an art teacher, though. I gotta use my own eyeballs for feedback. But that's okay, cuz eyeballs give good feedback. 'Course an art teacher might be able to say why this particular thing looks long, or whatnot.
Whoops, I mean to say "wrong." Why this particular thing looks "wrong."
I keep on forgetting about the thing I wanted to write about. I keep on writing other stuff instead. But now I remember the thing I wanted to write about. It's the word, "unique." I wanted to write about the word, "unique." "Unique" means "one of a kind." As a result, something can be unique, but it can't be "very unique." Because you can't be very one-of-a-kind. You either are or you aren't. When people say "very unique," I think they mean "very original." It made me realize, the other day, that you can be unique, but very unoriginal. "WHAT?????" you might ask. Lemme explain.
Say, you write a song that's really derivative. It sounds a great deal like another band. Say, it sounds like Linkin Park. Like, you might say, "Oh, say, this song sounds just like Linkin Park." But it's actually a whole new song. It's a song that's never been written before. Thus, it's unique, cuz it's a new song. Or, as an even more extreme example: You could have a song that's a total and complete plagiarism of another song, but you put a different bridge in it. The bridge makes it unique. But the song, itself, is unoriginal.
I guess that's all I really had to say about that. It's kind of funny, though. It's a funny distinction. Every person is unique, too. Even identical twins aren't all the way the same as each other. They have minor differences. Every person is unique; but a lot of them are boring. I guess that's just the way of things, I guess. You can be unique and boring and unoriginal all at the same time.
|Wednesday, December 18th, 2013|
|Coincidenting and Hypochondriasis
I think this virus I have is an African Sleeping Sickness variety of flu-bug. No, I guess not cuz that's meningitis and I don't have that (no stiff neck). But all I want to do is sleeeep. The malaise has passed, so I no longer feel sick. But I'm just so damned sleepy!!!!! Oh, my! I thought, what if there's some lurking health problem that's making me sleepy, that's just coincidenting along with the virus? What if it's some awful thing that's got nothing to do with the virus and it's making me sleepy????
But then I talked to somebody else who has the virus, and they're sleepy, too. The virus is making them sleepy, too. That's good. Not that I want this person to be sleepy, but I'm glad I'm not the only one.
It's not like I'm a hypochondriac or anything like that. It makes me wonder why I started thinking the worst. Oh, well. Maybe my sleepiness is making my brain malfunction and this brain malfunction is giving me the hypocondriasis. Ha ha ha.
No, I'm writing about nothing particularly consequential right now. I just wanted there to be some verbal-ness and scrawlings posted above the picture I just posted down there, down below. I wanted there to be a buffer there. Don't ask me why. I just felt like there should be some nice buffer between those 2 characters down below and what people first glance at when they come across this blog.
Dang, though. I'm not sure what motivated me to post that particular picture. If you were to ask me what I like about it, I dunno what I'd say, except that it's funny to draw characters who are all paranoid, almost as if they've smoked a bunch of weed, and now they're suspicious of each other, even though they're actually best friends.
I have a lot more that I'm thinking of saying about those 2 characters down below, but I think I'll keep it to myself. Yeah, I think I'll keep it all to myself. That's right.
Okay, I should probably do some dishes.
|Monday, December 16th, 2013|
|Rich PPL and Nature - Fuckpoopshitfartfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckturdfuck
I was driving around the other day, looking for places to run in this dumb area I just moved to. I remembered that the house I used to live in - when I lived here before - was near some really pretty foothills. I thought, cool, I'll look and see if there're any places to run in those there foothills. Cuz, like, nature is a nice place to run in.
I mean, I could just run on the streets here, in LA-poops, but I'd rather run in nature. So I drove to those there hills in Altadena to take a look and see where I could run.
I drove up this 1 street, and I was almost at the hills. Yay!!!!
I thought. But, wait, no. I came to this gate. It was this guarded-gate-thingy that looked like it was the barrier between the regular-world and a rich-people-housing-complex. Dang, I said.
So I drove up another street. Dead end.
Then I drove up another street. Dead end at an ugly-looking park.
Then I drove up another street. I was just about at the foot of the foothills, and I thought, Yaaaaay!!!! I'm almost there.
Wait, no, it was another gate to another rich-people-housing complex. It seems that, if you want to get near nature, these days, you have to be rich enough to own property in nature. All the rest of us have to settle for looking at it from a distance. (Okay, I'm exaggerating here, just a bit, but the absurdity of it all makes me want to um, I don't know. Laugh and cry and rip things apart all at once).
Like, back in the day, before humans thought it was a good idea to build ugly buildings ontop of everything, like back in the Tribal, Hunter-Gatherer-Days, or whatever-you-wanna-call-it, like, all there was was nature. We were surrounded by it. Because it was the world. Right?
And then humans decided to put ugly buildings on every square foot they could get their hands on. But then they realized, oh shit
. There's something about nature that we miss. it's really sad.
So they decided that people with millions of dollars who could afford to live in these gated communities were privileged enough to be in nature. All the rest of us must consign ourselves to these concrete jungles that look like shit and are filled with carcinogens and all that poopystuff.
Okay, yeah, I'm exaggerating a bit. But there's still a bit o' truth in it. I mean, anybody can go to a national park if they have the leisure time to be able to get there. But, like, it's odd that the WHOLE WORLD used to look like nature, cuz that's just how the regular-world is/was. And now in order to be able to see things the way they used to look, you have to drive a long distance, and be met with a stupid gate. Or be rich enough to be able to afford it. Poopywipes. Fuckpoopshitfartfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
|Thursday, December 12th, 2013|
It's been about a month since my last posting, or, well, it's been a month minus a week. I thought I'd post something cuz I'm in between things at the moment. Oh, dude. I feel like I'm fighting something off, some kind of illness. I'm just getting more and more faded over the course of the day. I dunno what it is I have, though. I really dunno what it is. But it gave me funky dreams this morning. This morning's dreams were funky. I keep on dreaming of a male person sleeping on the ground or on the floor (the exact person it is varies from dream to dream). It always seems rather expected that he's sleeping there, even though it would be odd in real life. But, at the same time, there's an expectation to get him up off the floor.
If you were to ask a Gestalt therapist what it all means, they might tell you it means that part of me is asleep. I wonder which part it is. I was gonna say "the male part" but for some reason that doesn't fit, all-the-way. It's more like there were different aspects to these male figures that made them not-just-general. Oh, my I don't know that this writing is making very much sense at all. Oh, man, I'm tired.
My disky thing is in the next room, though, and the room is closed, and I can't go through the closed door until someone opens it again. The disky thing is called a "thumb drive" by some people and a "jump drive" by other people. I always forget the name of a thumb or a jump drive, and in my state of anomia, resort to saying "disky thing."
I think that's cuz "disk" is the archaic term for a data storage device. And somehow I'm stuck in archaic times, or disk-times.
The same thing happens when I try to think of the name, "DVD." I say, "tape," even though I haven't regularly used a video tape in about 10 or so years.
I don't have problems saying "CD" or "MP3 File," though, or at least not that I noticed. I think I started using CD's instead of tapes before my brain became all petrified and stopped learning how to use new names for things. I think that's it. CD's replaced tapes before DVD's replaced tapes and jump drives replaced disks. I think the period of time during which the video tapes and disks got replaced was after my brain stopped being able to learn new facts. But CD's replacing tapes was before that period of time.
You know, I never thought disks would go obsolete. They use disks on the old Star Trek, and all that. Like, their view of the long, distant future had disks in it.
'Course, as a kid, growing up, my view of the future was a lot like Star Trek. I dunno how many years ago it was that that view changed dramatically. Now, when you see documentaries and stuff that say, "...if our species is still alive in 200 years...." that sounds all normal. I have to keep on reminding myself that not-so-many-years-ago, it seemed like the future would have robots and stuff in it. And now the future seems like it won't have any people in it, at all. Or if there are any, like, they'll be living differently than we do, cuz we're all living so unsustainably.
But most people already know we're living unsustainably (or at least I'm assuming that - I could be wrong). It's not big news that we're living unsustainably. It's not like anybody's changing that, though. I dunno how I, even, would change that. Ride a bike to work, I suppose, except that would increase my chances of getting hit by a car. I wouldn't like that. No, I wouldn't like that at all.
|Tuesday, November 19th, 2013|
|More Writing About Writing
The thing I like about NaNoWriMo-poopy-poopy-ones is the fact that it forces you to write a lot in a day. I forgot how much 1667 words was, in terms of how it compares to how much I would usually write in a day, under normal circumstances. I like the 1667, cuz I've been finding, as of late, all these crazy-ass, weird, cool ideas come out near the end of the writing - during maybe about the last 1/4 of the day's writings. It's like, whoah, I think writing past the point where I even give a crap what it sounds like opens the door for all these cool ideas to come through.
Oh, my. No I know what I'll do. I'll post my NaNoWriMo excerpt on here. In it, there's a moth fluttering on the table between 2 characters.I’m not looking directly at George, but I can see that he’s looking at the moth, too.
“Why can’t it fly?” I say. “It’s just fluttering.”
George says, “It’s too fat.”
“Oh,” I say. “Why’d it be too fat?” That’s confusing. I didn’t think there’d be moths too fat to fly. That seems like an evolutionary disadvantage.
George says, “I think it’s a girl moth – it’s got eggs and all those eggs make it fat.”“Oh,” I say. That sounds really boring, to be a moth that’s so full of eggs that it can’t fly. That sounds like a boring life.
And here's the cover of the NaNoWriMo book:If you've seen my song blog, you probably know that this is the illustration for a song in there, as well. This structure really is what the story's about - it really is! It's just a very abstract representation of it. Although if I wanted it to reflect, more accurate, the pisspoor poopy landscape that the characters go through, it would be more dark blue-ish in color.
|Wednesday, November 13th, 2013|
Okay, I wanted to post something more positive after that last blog entry.
I went to this thingy about a month and a half ago. Or, no, it was 2 months ago. I brought an excerpt from my comic book to this thingy cuz some of the people at the thingy had requested that I bring an excerpt to show them.
I did so. The first girl who looked at it totally flipped out cuz she loved it so much. She's all the way ready to buy the comic book when it comes out. The next 3 people were very polite about it. I could tell it wasn't their thing.
The weird thing is, the me of the past would have walked away from that gathering remembering the 3 people that weren't into it, and I woulda beat up on myself and tell myself how bad it was and all that.
But it was different this time, in that I walked away, saying "if 1 in 4 people likes this, then that's pretty fucking good, man." Cuz, like if 1 in 4 people like it, like that's a quarter of the world's population. There's lots of people in this world. That's a lot of people. That is good.
|A Blog Yes
I remember now; I keep on forgetting I have a blog. How strange is that? I don't know how strange it is. I've lost track of all time, and it's so odd to have such a fractured personality these days. How strange. I can't decide if a poltergeist is in my apartment, or if it was me that turned on the stereo and pushed play and then forgot about it.
I think I'd prefer the poltergeist because the other option means I might be crazy. I mean, not crazy in the traditional sense of the word, where one's grip on reality has completely flown out the window. I mean, no hallucinations of that kind of shit. But a level of dissocation where you can't remember doing stuff, yeah, that's more like, well, not crazy in the traditional sense of the word. It's crazy in the sense of um, uh, I don't know. And it's hard 4 me 2 decide what to do next.
Every Worst-Time-In-My-Life that's come along, I remember as not being as bad in retrospect as it was at the time it was happening. I think it's because eventually things got better, so I'm seein' those bad times from the perspective of a person who knows what was gonna happen next. It's really odd, you know. I just pray that there is a Better Thing That Happens Next. I'm praying really hard for that. Oh, my. It's hard for me to imagine, myself, but maybe whatever God I pray to can imagine it for me and make my prayers come true. It's hard for me to imagine, though. I dunno, man.
But if I do survive this, I'll be much better at being able to understand people who have PTSD.
No, I mean, there's stuff I can do about this situation, I know that. I mean, I'm not saying I'm helpless or anything like that. It's just that I'm having trouble deciding what to do. So I'm laying low and seeing if my mind gets clearer eventually, man. Clearmind. Clarity o' mind. And a big back yard with, perhaps, some chickens in it. That sounds good to me.
|Monday, October 28th, 2013|
Every time, in the course of my internal discourse, I come upon a word I can't think of right away, I just fill in the blank with "fartknockers," "poopshit" or "poopfarts." It's kind of a nice solution, in terms of being able to talk to oneself fluently and without pauses in the succession of words. It is worrisome, though. I mean, like, I hope I don't slip and say "poopshit," "fartknockers" or "poopfarts" in a professional context. That might suck. But only if the people I was with weren't cool.
|Saturday, October 26th, 2013|
|Thursday, October 24th, 2013|
Oh, crap, I just wrote this big, long entry, and then some fucked up thing happened and I ended up erasing it all. Fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe it's okay, cuz it wasn't that good an entry, anyway. I was just writing about all the mistakes I've made in my life recently. And I was just about to write about how maybe the hell that I'm inhabiting now, as a result of my most recent mistake, is something of a - I dunno - transformative process? At least I would like to think that. Like the alchemists who used really hot ovens to turn lead into gold, like, maybe this horrible experience is my own tranformation. Maybe I'll turn into gold. In the meantime, I'm going to have to wear earplugs all the time because the fucking assholes who live above me are lead footed dumb elephant wannabes.
|Wednesday, October 16th, 2013|
|G'Bye, Meditation, and Really Dumb Energy
I dreamed of saying goodbye to one of my grandpas. It was sad, but in the dream, even though I was sad and crying, I didn't feel like I was sad enough. It's weird when you dream about people that already passed on, but in the dream, they're getting ready to pass on. And in a sense, you know they're already gone, and somehow it sorta makes sense that they're already dead, but now they're alive again, and they're getting ready to get dead.
I wrote a profile in this professional marketing thingy at the encouragement of the place I work for. It's hard to write an advertisement about how wonderful you are when you have no mental energy. It's like, "whuh?" "Huh?" "Wait."
Okay, I've been promising myself that I'm gonna meditate 20 minutes 3x today all to add up to 60 minutes. So far I've done 0. Whoah, wow, way to go. That's great!!!!!!!! I figure, okay. The people at the place where I learned meditation basically insist that the type o' meditation they teach should be able to help me with the really-bad-thing. I dunno, man. I dunno, myself, cuz the really-bad-thing is still there after doing their type o' meditation for a year. And, yet, I have noticed some subtle shifts in the-very-bad-thing. Some loosening up of the badness and freeing up of the goodness. I'm impatient, though, cuz I need a lot more goodness. But then again, I haven't been very practice-y about that meditation. I haven't done it to the extent that I told myself I wanna do it today. I've done it in dribs and drabs, although sometimes more than that, too. I checked off 4 things on my to-do list. I guess that's good, too. I still feel like shit, though.
But they say you're not supposed to fight it when you feel like shit. You're supposed to accept the shitty feelings. It's just energy. It turns into a Jetsons' age star-ship, I suppose. Or some slimy-blob-thing. That's depression for ya. It shifts into all sorts of boring, dumb shapes when you take a closer look at it.
|Sunday, October 13th, 2013|
|Worse and Worse and Worse and Worse
About a week ago, I found out that the time of my birth was 12:34 pm. I'd always thought it was 12:35, but, no: it's 12:34. I was born on 1-23, and the time was 12:34. I'm like 123-1234-person. Not that it necessarily means anything. I drew an almost-half-way-decent picture of Chief Running Dog today. I guess that's a good thing. No, it's not bad, actually. I feel like if the picture started talking, it would be in his voice, so that's a good sign. Hmmm, it's like I've drawn 15 or 16-ish good-ish pictures o' him. That means I have 16-ish pictures I can use for the new book, whenever it um, decides to draw itself. Or write itself. Or write and draw itself.
Fuck, what the fuck? I'm realizing some symptoms of depression are hanging about. I don't really care that much, cuz I already knew I was depressed. Actually, it's like depression on crack. It's hyper-drive, warp-speed depression. When you get so depressed you can't feel anything, that's like, The King of Depression. Oh dear lord, that's the worst. And then, when you end up crying, it's such a relief to know you still have feelings.
It's probably cuz I made one of the worst decisions of my life. I dunno, maybe not. Maybe this is the doorway to a better life. Maybe. Maybe. But when life gets worse and worse and worse and worse, you gotta wonder. You gotta wonder, I mean, you gotta wonder. It's like hmmmm.
No, it's odd. Cuz during July thru early August, my life was getting better. It's like things were all falling into place, except for, of course, the job-thing. And then I ended up moving in order to get the the job-thing. I suppose, on paper, it's the bestest thing I coulda done, right. I mean, yeah, I guess so. But of course, that means all the good stuff that was falling into place? You know? All that good stuff? That's the stuff I left behind. Great. What the fuck do you do when you have to move outta necessity, but it just leaves you an empty shell? It just seems so pointless. It just seems so fucking pointless.
|Saturday, October 12th, 2013|
I decided to write just now, but I don't know what to write about. I'm thinking of recording a song today. I'm not sure which one to record cuz there're 2 right now that are in the cooker. I just wrote one today. Maybe I'll record the older one cuz it's more depressing. Actually, the new one is depressing, as well, but it's got a more upbeat feel to it. A more upbeat flavor and all that.
Dang, man. What is it about this stupid move that's really fucking me up? I feel like an insect that got all its wings pulled off of it or something. Like some kind of bug that's been pulled apart. Pulled apart in my new apartment. APARTment. Poopy-headedness.
Fuckity fuck, dude. I guess I dunno, I mean...er...you gotta go where the work is and all that. I must say, it feels nice to be engaging in an activity that brings some money in. It's nice to actually have the credentials that enable me to carry on activities that are not totally aversive to me and that bring in money. Aversive? I thought that was a word, but this is making it red and underliney. AVersion. I have an aversion to poopyheadedness. No, it liked "aversion" just fine, but not "aversive." Fuck, am I losing my mind? I thought that was how it was spelled. Whoops, I typed "slept" instead of "spelled" (but then corrected it). Okay, no, dude. I'm going to go record me a little song. I wonder if it'll come out sounding stupid.
|Wednesday, October 9th, 2013|
It's been happening for about a year now. Intermittently, I'll have these earthquake-dreams. Usually, I'm with my family in the dream, when it happens. This time I was, as well. The shaking started, and we all got in different doorways, but we were all in sight of each other. The earthquake kept going and going (also what happens in dreams). I wondered when it would stop. I started telling the earthquake it could stop now, that it was alright to stop. But it kept on going. I wondered if a really long earthquake would measure higher on the richter scale than a short one (although I think it's just the intensity of the shaking, in real life).
Finally, the earthquake stopped, but when we looked outside, everything was different.We weren't sure what it was. But we realized the building we were in was suspended in mid-air, and upside down. Then I saw on a news report that everything on the whole northern hemisphere of the world was suspended up in the air, and hanging upside down over the southern hemisphere.
I dunno if I wanna interpret this dream or not. It seems like everything I could say about it sounds rather trite. Yup, my world has been shaken up, and it does feel upside down. Oh, yeah, and I moved from north to south, as well. Strange-o when a dream can have such a literal interpretation to it. But I'm also guessing there're additional layers and dimensions of meaning underneath the stuff I just talked about.
|Monday, September 23rd, 2013|
|Sad, more sadness
It's the second to last night in my old apartment, oh my. Strange-o. This place has been my home for over 4 years now. It's the place where I wrote my graphic novel and everything. Dang, man. I decided to keep the stuff on the walls until the last possible fucking minute, so the place can still look like it's mine for as long as I can keep it that way. But I can tell the energy has already changed in here. When I got back from running errands and stuff today, I came in, and it felt different. Like, I've been attributing a lot of my different-feeling-feelings to my own weird internal processes. That's definitely a lot of it. That accounts for a large proportion of the variance. But, I realized, it's not just me that's making me feel weird. It's how it feels in here, too.
When I got here this afternoon after being out, I could tell the energy in here felt closed in. I feel like the apartment's sad that I'm leaving. Or nervous about who the next tenants will be. Or maybe the apartment is feeling something totally different from my little anthropomorphic interpretations and whatnot. It's strange. It looks the same (with the exception of boxes piled everywhere, a great deal less clutter, and no books on the shelves), but it feels different. It feels sort of like how my grandparents' house felt after all the furniture got moved out and it was getting ready to be sold. There's this closed in feeling, this tension, this tightness about the place.
I wonder what it's like to be an apartment. I mean, houses have people move in and out, too, but it's not as often. With apartments, there're new tenants every few years. It must be weird to have to get used to someone new, get all settled into that person's energy, and then have to up and get used to a whole new person.
When I first got here, there were ghosts in my bedroom. They came back on and off. I think the ghosts were annoyed that I did all these clearing rituals and whatnot to get rid of them. I wonder if the new tenant will be less aversive to these ghosts. Or maybe the ghosts have moved on and will leave this place alone, altogether. It doesn't feel like the ghosts are in my bedroom right now, no I don't think they're there right now. Unless they're just bein' more tricky about hiding themselves.
I'm trying to remember what it was like when I first moved in here. I know it took me a while to get used to this place. I remember being a little spooked out at night when I first got here, and one of the first nights I was here, the smoke detector fell off of the ceiling. And light bulbs kept on burning out real fast. That all seemed to calm down after a while.
I remember it was probably around November of 2009 that this place started feeling homey to me. See, I'd moved in in late August, and then in November, there was this friend o' mine who suggested that me and her and her sister all move in together to this really huge place they found on the east side of the bay. It was cool, that other place, but it also had creepy, dark energy. I finally decided to stay put here because I didn't wanna back outta my lease, and it might strain the friendship, anyway. Not to mention the creepy, dark energy.
When I came back here, after visiting that creepy-dark-energy place, it was like, oh man. See, at that point, I was still trying to decide whether to move out, and I realized, whoah, I actually like this place. The living room had this nice gold energy to it, y'know. Like, the contrast I felt between this place and that other place made me realize all-the-more just how nice it felt in here. That night, I started making macaroni and cheese, and the weather had turned cold, so I turned on the furnace. When I looked, well, it has this glass pane thingy on it, right? And behind it, behind that glass pane thingy, there were these big flames. At first I thought, whoah, is it supposed to look that way? But when I looked closer, I saw these glowing shapes inside it. They were little fake logs! They glowed when the furnace turned on, so it made it look like it was a little fireplace!
That made me sad cuz I was considering moving out at the time, and I was all, no, don't be all charming, apartment! Don't make me wanna stay! But I did decide to stay.
Man, what a wild couple years this has been. Like, I know my apartment complex has a lot of noise in it, from time to time, often coming from neighboring complexes. I know there're things that're not perfect, but at the same time, I'm really thankful for my little apartment. Thank you, little apartment, for being a home to me for these last 4 years. You've been a good friend. I hope your next tenants are really nice to you and have good energy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
|Saturday, September 21st, 2013|
|It makes me sad.
I looked at the weather forecast cuz it's been raining today and I wanted to see how long it would rain. I saw that the 10 day forecast included days where I'll no longer be here. I'll be, like, in my new place. Dude, I fucking hate moving. You get so used to a place, and even though it isn't perfect, it's home. I don't like being uprooted. It sucks. I think, in a past life, I was not a nomad, because I don't like nomadic existences. I'd like, someday soon, to find a nice place to settle down. Just plant my roots; just set down an anchor, and be there for the rest o' my life so I don't have to go through this shit anymore.
|I wonder if there are types of music that're bad for you.
It's weird, man. I've been thinking about music on-and-off because every once in a while, I hear some idiot's stereo off in the distance.
See, this dude in Japan, named Masaru Emoto, did these experiments on water, where he looked at the ice crystals that formed when it was frozen, microscopically. I'm not really describing it that well - that's sort of a simplification. Anyway, he tried exposing the water to classical music, and it formed these really pretty crystals. Then he tried heavy metal music, and the crystals were all malformed and asymmetrical and fragmenty.
I dunno, man. I listen to a bit o' heavy metal music, myself. 'Specially when I wanna get out some emotions by singing to the music at the top of my lungs in my car. Is that music bad for me? Is it? Hmmmm.
But, when I hear idiots' stereos off in the distance, where all you hear is this gross, malformed version of a rhythm section (by virtue of how sound waves travel, I guess), I totally understand how music can be bad for you. There's something so creepy and gross about it. I can't describe it. It's like a foreign presence. It's like having a sliver that you haven't taken out yet. It feels like it gets in there and jumbles up all your molecules and makes 'em all confused and disorderly. It's actually physically painful.
Is it cuz I'm aware o' how the water I'm mostly made up of is reacting to the music? Hard to say. I know other people're really sensitive to that shit, too. It's funny, though. Cuz I know of just as many people who are not sensitive to it at all.
I mean, if certain people're all sensitive to these dumb vibrations cuz of how water is reacting to the music, then I wonder why other people're so oblivious to it; cuz you'd think if it was bad for you at that fundamental level, that those other people would feel pain when exposed to it. You'd think everybody would feel pain when exposed to it.
I dunno, man. It's some food for thought, I guess. Or maybe not.
|Friday, September 20th, 2013|
|Uhhh, Wow, Shoot
I'm, like, procrastinating cuz I should be putting stuff in boxes right now, but I'd rather procrastinate instead. I decided to look up sweat lodges in the area I'm gonna be moving to. So I found one, and I'm all, okay, this is different than the one I usually go to - let's see if it has any reviews. So I googled "____ Sweat Lodge reviews" and a site came up that was called "Don't Pay To Pray." And it was this blog that was inspired by those sweat lodge deaths that happened a while back. It listed a bunch of sweat lodges that charge admission, sayin' that they're bad, cuz you're not supposed to pay for a sweat lodge. I could get into a whole discussion about that, but I won't right now.
Cuz, like, the site added a layer of confusion to my already confused world. It looked like it was written by a Native American person, and the person talked about how it was bad for white people to go to sweat lodges cuz it's stealin' spirituality away from the indigenous people it came from.
It made me sad, cuz I wonder...do all those sweat lodges I go to actually do violence, in some way, to Native American people? Fuck, dude. I don't wanna do violence to 'em, cuz they've already been crapped on enough. I dunno. I mean, I can understand how people might think it's all tacky and New Agey for a buncha white folks to do this stuff. It's almost like they're pretending to be Native American and stuff. And like, you're getting all these benefits from Native American spiritual traditions without givin' anything back, I suppose. On the other hand, it doesn't seem like you're doing harm by just doin' something that's nice and spiritual and that resonates with you. And if it does the purification it's supposed to do, maybe you emerge from it more clear-thinking and able to make this world a better place.
But, I dunno. I feel bad, cuz I don't wanna be some big asshole cuz I go to sweat lodges. But, then again, I know there're some Native American people who encourage white folks to learn Native American spiritual traditions cuz it promotes a way o' thinkin' that benefits the earth and all that. So I guess maybe I can just agree with the ones who think it's alright for me to go to sweat lodges and keep on going to sweat lodges.
But, I wonder. Can a certain group o' people own a type of spirituality? So nobody else can use it? Huh. Maybe. Hmmm.
Then again, it seems like all different kinds of spiritualities meet in the middle and have a lot of similar things to say. Whatever tradition you use can just be a doorway that opens you up to universal truths and wonderful cool stuff.
I dunno, man. I don't wanna do violence to Native American people by going to sweat lodges cuz that would suck. That would really suck.