Regardless of whether or not you voted the opposing party into office (no judgment, well not too much anyway, ok, you got me, maybe just a smidge), it’ll be tough to deny the great presence Obama leaves some pretty tough shoes for the President-“elect” to fill right away too. had that will now be void. His successor typically tries to fill said void
Just so long as he doesn’t attempt to fill the void left by Obama’s exit and lack of presence with more of his own…his presence is what I’m referring to in this case. It would just be nice to hear the void be filled with “goodness” and words like honey instead of the vitriol or venom we’ve grown accustomed to him spewing at us. Nothing more than (white noise I guess you’d call it…though I wouldn’t call it much of anything, late for dinner, a monkey’s uncle, or rumpelstilskin,, nor would I touch you with a 10ft pole. Something about it’s just, just grimy, trust me. h
I’m just including his farewell address here because who knows how long it will take Donald Trump to prepare and get ready for me personally, dd
I’m just including his Farewell speech here for my readers, if I still have any at least, because he truly will be missed….and who knows when we’ll see someone class up the office the way that he did. I’m unwilling to accept that 8 years of progress is now going to go up in smoke as a reign of blatant greed takes over. I hope my worries are as unfounded as they are unsettling.
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Note, the following was one of many started but not finished pieces of writing I seem to have accumulated over the years. I merely finished it recently. This one I started over one year ago on 12/5/15 and can only guess what it was a response to.
Survival of the Fittest:
I’m not gonna lie, or try fronting. Today got a little emotional for me. Out of nowhere, I started to uncontrollably sob, the hysterical kind where after a minute or so, you realize how ridiculous you must look to anyone and everyone else if they could see you at that moment, and that thought makes you laugh, and you spending the remainder of your diva moment alternating uncontrollably between the two, until eventually it just stops out of the blue, for no apparent reason, and with as much advance notice and fanfare as it first came on with, which is none.
Maybe it finally got that snickers bar.
I’ll be the first to admit that I have this nasty habit of never allowing myself to feel proud or to be excited or to admit fear or many of the other basic emotional responses to various environmental stimuli.I don’t know why I do this, or what it is I’m afraid of to where my instinctual response is to downplay my interest level or to not ever let on just how much something truly means to me, but it must somehow be tied into my survival as all instincts naturally are.The only thing I do know is it often has the opposite effect in my life, stunting my growth as a person and alienating me from people and situations that I would otherwise stand to benefit from in the long run.
Maybe I’m afraid that by letting on the fact I’m excited about something will in some way influence the universe in delivering it to me or me to it, because there are many times I feel like the universe and fate, (if there even is such a thing), is out to get me. It’s because those times I do show any outward exuberance towards something all I’m ever left with is a sense of disappointment when it doesn’t measure up, or deliver in the end, which it never does.
Just Who Do You Think You Are?
After allowing myself to feel dejected for a while, I start to think to myself, who do I think I am to have the audacity to feel I deserve anything from this world, from this life, from the universe?
I am nothing, and no-one.
Nothing’s guaranteed except THIS very moment you’re currently living in, and even then the only thing you know is that this too will end, though you know not when.Time is not a linear thing in this regard, all moments were not created equal, some last only an instant and some moments go on for longer like the energizer bunny. How much of that is dependent on the individual, how much is by design, and how much would have happened the same way irrespective of who it happened to?
I’m not fooling anyone, am I?
What is it that makes me think not letting on about whether there exists a softer side of myself in any way makes me less vulnerable?A soft underbelly is a soft underbelly, just ask Churchill.The immobility this fear and these questions leaves me with cripples me, and leaves me paralyzed, at least from the brain down because my mind is constantly racing and working in overdrive, which acts as a counterweight to everything else about me.
The more effort it exerts, the less I’m able to do. Classic cookie cutter example showing the pitfalls and dangers of overthinking, purely textbook.In extreme cases, if left untreated, for long enough, a death of sorts is possible, even likely.
A slow and painful death, arduous to reach, immobilized with fear, laying at the bottom of a kiddie pool slowly being filled with Piranha from the Amazon which would be easy enough for you to escape from if not for being paralyzed from the brain down.All you would have to do, is stand up, step out, and voilà, crisis averted.
Instead, you just lie there, slowly dying from the inside out, one tiny bite at a time.I know no physical pain remotely comparable to the psychic pain this causes and I wouldn’t ever wish it on another human being because it’s a pain I’m all too familiar with, having experienced it to some degree for my entire life, or at least as much of it as I can remember.
That’s what I get, for thinking the universe owes me jack diddly shit when it doesn’t, or maybe it does which is why that’s what I get and that’s another thought that terrifies the shit out of me.What if I’m not nearly so good, or so decent, as I thought I was?
What if the universe has long since moved off of the gold standard, and the dollar, and now paid it’s bills using nothing but Karma?How fucked would I be, would you be, would we all be? I’d be in debt up to my eyeballs either way and maybe that’s why my life has taken such twists and such turns as to make “move over murphy” become my new mantra?
I’m sure I’m not the only one this change in cosmic currency would affect in such a way either, because the universe, by it’s very name and definition, is universal.
You wanna talk about a global economic crisis; try that shit on for size; then we’ll talk.
Karma, yeah it can be a real motherfucker and it always has a funny way of coming back around and biting you right in the ass when you least suspect it.But if that truly is the case, by that logic, to have the string of shitty luck I’ve had I must have done something truly horrific.
My whole life I’ve felt singled out, picked on, targeted, taken advantage of, or had shit started with me because for some apparent reason, one I’m unfamiliar with, I look like I make for an easy target or something.Sometimes I catch myself searching for the sign or the target that must rest right between my shoulder blades and paints a bullseye upon my back when I stretch my arms, which I do often on account of my bad shoulder, to no avail.
Maybe it’s the fact I don’t feel the need to puff out my chest, mark my territory, inflate my ego, or brag about how I’m the man in bed, in the head, or anywhere else (save work), and that was only because work was more about effort than anything.If you wanted to get better, you would, if you didn’t, you wouldn’t.Simple enough concept really, or so I thought.
Maybe it was my general stature which is small, or my demeanor which is and always has been of a much larger variety because I always try to carry myself well through this world (and sometimes I fail at it miserably), because I’ve always believed that while it may not be about the destination, how you undertake the journey matters, the way in which you go about getting there really fucking matters in the end.
In this belief, as with many others, I’m left feeling all alone in sticking to my guns and my morals and in all those things which I believe develop ones character in the long run it always feels like I’m the sole person standing up for myself, or for others in a room full of people sitting down on those things.The only sane person in a world of insane people…now doesn’t that sound crazy?
At which point do I stop being the sane one?
But I know I’m not crazy and I feel it in my heart that I’m not wrong either, that a lot of things that go on which people have conditioned themselves to accept are in fact wrong, in such a blatant way, and with such wanton disregard for the very basic principles of human decency that it serves as a damning condemnation of society today and begs the question whether we humans still have any decency left within us.
We should all be ashamed of ourselves, and I say with intentionality because while I may not subscribe to it, there is more that I could be doing to change it as well and therefore my own inaction makes me just as guilty as anyone else.
The only recourse which prevents me from adopting the cold and callous attitude of my immediate surroundings, and not to have already said, “fuck it, I take what comes next”, flipped the switch and turned the lights off for good, which I’ve already tried to do once (though that’s a different story for another time), is to adopt a devil may care attitude, and give off a general aloofness to the happenings of the world, both of which are just as much evolutionary adaptation as they are a conscious choice.
How else could I exist in a world so filled with hate, and with such reckless disregard for the wellbeing of others when I have so much love in my own heart and care more about others than I do myself?
A major complication this presents me with, is the extremely small number of people I allow to get close enough to see me past a very superficial conception which, on account of my aforementioned defense mechanisms, and natural tendencies is at odds with the real me, and with my true self.
Due to my poor track record with those I have allowed to get close enough to hurt me, this path has now become littered with booby traps and other hazards and one must overcome obstacles which are daunting if nothing else.
Anyone in their right mind would rather have a family picnic in the middle of Korea’s demilitarized zone during the height of the tensions between the North and South, or would prefer an honest answer to the question about whether that dress makes them look fat or not, I know I would.
Needless to say, more often than not, my dinner plans consist of a standing reservation for one followed by light drinks, some quality time with me, myself, and I; maybe even dessert, we’ll see how everyone plays their cards first.
Judging by what I’ve seen from this world, I’m content with that, though sometimes even I get lonely and feel hopeless, and even I can only do that whole me against the world routine, carrying the world’s woes upon my back like Atlas, before I’m eventually forced to either shrug or be crushed under the sheer weight of it all it’s just too much pressure.
Look I’m a little embarrassed in my lackluster performance this past year, I really screwed the pooch and missed out on delivering some solid material on a lot of issues near and dear to my heart such as #BlackLivesMatter, and the general push to de-militarize what has quickly come to resemble an occupying force; being the most glaring example that just jumps right out at me.
I’d also in that same vein, have to say that I missed out on the main events which kicked off the 50th Anniversary of the Black Panthers for Self Defense founding in Oakland California by Bobby Seale and Huey Newton as a direct response to many of these same issues surrounding police tactics and increased presence in communities of color.
It’s so striking to me the many similarities between the Black Panther Party’s mission and that of the #BlackLives movementi from today’s day and age; And I’m not talking they vaguely resemble one another (some real fraternal twin shit), I’m talkin that two peas in a pod, I share your thoughts, and whatever other weird “ness” known only to those who share every last thing in common, including their DNA, you know, the identical variety. Essentially the issues being raised could have been lifted straight from 50 years ago and plopped down right here in the middle of everything else.
I’ve got a lot of other really great ideas and nowhere near enough time for me to possibly flesh them all out in as much depth as I’d like to or that they deserve to be treated with, but giving it an honest go never hurt anyone (at least anyone I can think of) other than ego and pride should we fall flat on our faces, but such is life right? The act of simply showing up and trying is more than most do on a daily basis, and those unwilling to leave it all on the table and risk overextending and belly flopping aren’t trying hard enough, period. So they should zip it as far as I’m concerned, there’s no room for idle talk.
I almost forgot to mention
Last but certainly not least, I should explain why it is I have so little time and availability with which to maintain this thing… Your boy made moves, of the epic life altering variety and let me tell you the struggle has been real.
I know I had allueded to wanting to pursue the profession I had known I wanted to do a long time ago, I jsut decided to take a year off of school in order to work full-time, get out of my dad’s place he was kind enough to let me live in, just not very peacefully, or without any sort of tension.
Well, it took a while, and things got off to a rather rocky start, but I finally shook them damn cobwebs off; I’ve taken and passed both the CBEST and all three subsections of the CSET for Social Science, a lot of which, such as Economics I had to either do a major refresh or teach myself entirely from scratch. It was a lot, and I do mean a lot of hard work, and it’s not nearly done yet, not by a long shot. In fact, this party’s just barely getting started.
In order to do justice to this most priveledged of professions with so much potential to affect our youth, and one I have such deep respect for, I had to really give it my all, and be committed, and let me tell you, I gave up everything to ride this one out until the wheels come off. I’m in it to win it.
I guess I should start with…THANKS
And I definitely need to give thanks to all those I’ve encountered who’ve also heard its calling, especially those who had the grave misfortune of having me as one of their students, because they helped shape me into the person I am today, gave me their unwavering belief and support along the years, and having given me a love for learning that’s given me so many gifts in such a short timeframe that I will forever be indebted to them.
If that’s not enough, they did it in a way that not only let me be me, and do things in my own way, but actively encouraged the process of finding those things in the first place despite some of my poorer choices along lifes continous pathway of trial and error.
And let’s just say, mines had more than it’s fair share of errors along the way, but my decision to pick this dream up, dust if off, and bring it out of deferrment will never be one of them.
It’s the first thing I’ve done in my life that just felt right, which begs the question, “what took you so long?”, and while I may not be able to ever truly answer that fully, in a way that does the question, or my path up to this point any degree of justice, what I can, and will do, is respond in such a way that makes up for lost time, and says “I have arrived”.
Stay tuned, cuz baby, you aint seen nothin yet!
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I’ve never had a book hit so close to home as this one did; it felt almost as if Dr. Mate had looked into my innermost self and mirrored back at me many of the experiences and the feelings from my life that have gone unspoken of because I never quite knew how to explain them. I felt like he could have been talking about me in many of the scenarios he described.
I found this book to be really easy to read in the sense that it wasn’t overly technical. Dr. Mate’s moving and heartfelt narrative on ADD does a solid job of introducing a controversial topic in a way that is equally as appealing to someone completely unfamiliar with the condition as it would be to someone who has been living with it for their entire lives whether diagnosed or not; and he does so with empathy and compassion.
The examples he provides, including the example of himself, as an accomplished medical practitioner and author as well as an adult living with ADD, help to dispel many of the misconceptions concerning who can have ADD or what it may look like. I was also able to appreciate his balanced explanation that genetics and environment, are equally responsible for its existence; and found his assertion of the disproportionate role that the first several years of a child’s life, its relationship with its mother/caregiver, and the mental/emotional state of the mother/caregiver has in determining who will develop ADD, regardless of genetic predisposition to be fascinating.
Most importantly, Dr. Mate warns against placing too much emphasis on treating ADD with medication only and offers us his common sense recommendations for healing one’s relationship with their ADD child, or ADD selves, the most important of which being to create an environment of unconditional positive regard without which it is impossible for the person living with ADD to fully heal emotionally.
Without first beginning to heal their “self” first and foremost, the person living with ADD will find themselves continuing their present pattern of strained relationships lacking intimacy, tasks left undone, and unmet potential; regardless of whether they are being prescribed any sort of pharmacological treatment or not.
Do yourself a favor and read this book, you won’t regret it.
Like many people, when I have a random question I want to know the answer to Quora.com is one of my first stops. You never know what kind of gems you may stumble across if you play around on the site for long enough.
I came across this one as I was perusing Quora a while back. Something about his response to this very personal question really blew me away. It’s visceral and in your face real and unapologetic and I applaud him for it. I recommend you read it, you won’t be disappointed.
If you like his response as much as I did be sure to stop by Quora and show him some love. Without further ado, I give you Dan Holliday’s killer response to the question “what it feels like to be an addict?”;
Answer by Dan Holliday:
Stages. Everything comes in stages.
I was always such a prude. No, not a sex prude, but a drug/alcohol prude as a kid. My best friend and I (in fact, my entire circle of friends) were pretty snooty about any addictive substances. I made it through high school without ever touching tobacco or any “street drugs”. I remember refusing to take pain killers after surgery. I didn’t drink that much (though, I don’t ever deny having drunk alcohol in high school). Generally, I was well focused in that regard.
I remember seeing the stoners in high school and laughing at them and calling them losers. I remember wondering what, WHAT!, in the hell were they thinking. How fucked up can you get?
I made it through early adulthood. I passed my 21st birthday and still only drank (“only” meaning that I drank on weekends, but not much beyond). Never drugs. I watched some guys do drugs and just wondered what the hell they were thinking. Seriously, one time I watched guys smoke some weed and I got all nervous and had to leave a party. I just didn’t touch any drugs.
21st year. 22nd year. And then my 23rd year. I was living in Key West. I started drinking heavily. See, KW doesn’t really have that much to do beyond ocean stuff and night life. I really partied a lot. And tons of guys were popping these newish pills called “Ex” (they called it that in Key West) and it seemed so easy and they really seemed to enjoy the stuff. But the thought of it just made me shudder.
I didn’t do drugs.
And damn, I kept thinking about how much fun it looked like they were having. So, my friend at the time (a lady I still talk to who, herself, has moved well beyond that era) was sort of in a relationship with some French Canadians living in the Keys who had a whole “business” going that was focused just on ecstasy. And you have to remember, the US Federal Government at this time hadn’t even caught up with the stuff; it was still something like Schedule 2 or 3. It was not a high priority.
And given how it didn’t seem to have any weird side effects, I finally gave in to the curiosity and asked to buy a pill†. That was a big deal. The big night came and I took it. Tick tock, tick tock. Nothing. Another hour went by and nothing. Damn, and by the time we realized that it was not going to happen, there weren’t anymore connections. Fuck. What a waste of 15 bucks!!! Worked for everybody else, just not me.
So, the next weekend came and we were prepared: TWO PILLS!!! We did that shit right and popped the pill right as I got to the club (I’m actually getting jittery thinking about it now). Tick tock. Tick tock. Nothing. “GODDAMN MAN! You must have an iron metabolism. No worry. We came prepared. Second pill . . . CRUSHED! Now open up. This’ll be a little gross buddy, but it’s sure to . . . .”
Alllkkkkk! Splattt! Clakk! Grulp. Ugh. Oh, holy motherfuck, there’s nothing that can describe the horror, the absolute gag-reflex-inducing, hellish, bitternesss of a crushed up pill of ecstasy in the mouth. Aspirin doesn’t even come close. Fuck me sideways that shit was horrible.
Then suddenly after swallowing the crushed-up death-tasting powder, it hit me. “Wait a second, even a crushed-up pill of Ex can’t hit you that fast. Oh SHIT! That’s the first pill kicking in. OH GODDAMN DAN! You gotta hold on buddy because when the second dose kicks in, you’re gonna be in for a hell of a night.” —–
This is why I’m still an addict. This is why I will be “in recovery” for the remainder of my life. As I type this answer, an answer I’ve had marked to answer for a while, my eyes are dilating and my hands are shuttering so much that I have to get up and take a break. My right leg has been bouncing on the floor so hard and so fast that my boyfriend had to walk into the office to find out what the pounding was . . . . . He knows. He knows me well. He knows this emotional force emanating from me right now like coronal flairs. He hates it and wisely fears it because conversations about this subject should induce horror or shame or fear, but this specific drug and conversations thereabout always inspire poetic, fantastical, whimsical language in me of joy and excitement that aren’t in line with the reality that was, with the reality that I make myself remember in order to remind me that the reality and the memories were always worlds apart. NOTHING about this isn’t exciting right now. That’s something he rightly fears, though having never seen the addict. I’ve been clean for 11 years.
—- From that moment in time, from that moment forward for the next four years and four months and three days, I was an barely-functioning (and rarely functioning) drug addict. I didn’t stop. Every weekend for the next four years was spend on some kind of drug, culminating in the last year of my life spent endlessly on drugs and at times without a home. But we’re not there yet. We’re at the fun stage where no problems seem to be caused by the drug.
Only good times. And that night was a really good time. The intensity of pleasure and joy and connection I felt with those people in that minute was profound. That’s what MDMA does. I know it’s history. The Dan Holliday who spouts proudly his knowledge of history existed back then as well as today.
3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methylamphetamine was invented a long time ago. In fact, it’s celebrating it’s 100 year anniversary this year, 2012. Invented in Germany as a test drug for treating psychological issues, it is highly “empathogenic”, meaning that it just makes you a happy, cuddly, loving person while you’re on it. I’ve witnessed, live, many closed, shy, homophobic, hateful, angry people turn about and confront their inner hangups about things and become the happiest people I ever knew. Ecstasy just has that affect. You cannot hate on that shit.
And I used and used. I burned through thousands . . . oh so many thousands of dollars over the next few years. Night after night, week after week. The intervening two-ish years are unimportant because they were all repeats of the same night over and over again.
Until I met Luke.
No, his name isn’t Luke. It could be Tommy or Jake or Omar or Juan. But we’re calling him Luke because his name really isn’t important. Luke was a good guy, I mean it. A heart of gold, but just misguided as I was at that time. Luke was, well, he was my dream guy: very attractive, friendly, gay friendly in fact, and totally straight. We were instantly friends. Luke was well ahead of me in self-destructiveness and he’d had a love affair with meth and coke for a while.
Ever wonder how a person who “fears” a thing can instantly break down their barriers stopping them from doing that “thing”? Lust. I don’t know a single person on earth who hasn’t engage in the stupidest shit over lust, and I lusted after Luke. Luke’s all I thought about. On our second night hanging out we went to a gay bar and Luke did something that utterly melted my heart and — from that moment on — made me completely infatuated with him . . . addicted to him in ways more powerful than drugs.
At the club I could see that he was a bit loopy. Heart beating faster than it should. The pulsing being visible in the way he was breathing and the veins in his neck. I was curious, so I asked. Without a second thought, he grabbed my hand and put it on his chest to feel his heart. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. Nothing about that powerful of a heartbeat is safe. A goddamned battering ram pushing through his rib cage.
It’s been 13 years since that day. Humans have been born and entered puberty. A global war on terror has come and nearly gone. Millions of lives have entered and left the Earth. Regimes have changed and taken the course of history with them.
13 years is a long time.But I remember.
I remember every person in the bar, what I was wearing, what he was wearing, the music, our drinks, the looks (Luke always got lots of looks), the conversation and his face. I call that a “crystal moment” (appropriately coincidental considering the subject matter). I felt his heart through his chest, and every muscle on his chest. Luke didn’t think about what he was doing and had no clue what I was really feeling. He was just a guy, but my hand on his chest feeling his heart beat made me completely enslaved from that moment on. Luke, beautiful Luke, was on meth that night.
I wasn’t far behind.
The next day, we snorted crystal together.‡ A week later we did coke. Within a few months I had lied to my wealthy grandfather and convinced him to send me a sizable chunk of change. All of which was spent on drugs. Huge Christmas gifts came in from the same grandfather (by “huge”, I mean: new car or down payments on houses, big). All of it spent on drugs. All of it spent on Luke.
And then the money started running out and I’d lost my job and I’d moved out of my one stable friend’s house (who was, himself, extremely worried about me). I’d stopped talking with my family. I’d stopped eating right. I started losing weight. Weeknights and weekends were spent “casually” using meth, while spending the entire weekend at raves or after hours night clubs in Phoenix that catered to drug users.
I was there, and it was so exciting. Then, somewhere along the way, the ecstasy stopped being as fun and I’d switched to “just coke and meth” (because I didn’t want that drunk feeling). And along the way I’d stopped parachuting meth (putting a few grains in a wad of toilet paper or napkin and swallowing it like a pill). I’d switched to smoking it out of a pipe. And along the way I’d begun using (not going to spell it out) alternate methods to make income and pay for my addiction.
And I wasn’t one of those stupid drug addicts in denial. I knew full well I was addicted and admitted and talked about it. I laughed about it. I made art about it. I wrote poems about it. I was never in denial, I just didn’t care.
And then I lost my house. And then I lost my car. And then I had to start sleeping on a buddy’s couch because I had nowhere else to go. My friend, Luke, stopped being my friend and like a shot in the head, I spiraled out of control. It took YEARS to admit that I was in love with Luke, but not then, I was in denial (about a great deal). I started completely numbing myself with more and more meth. I smoked a full 8-ball a day (8th of an Ounce — enough to keep an ordinary person strung out for a week). I’d lost all my friends.
My apartment had been robbed long ago and all my good shit was stolen so I couldn’t sell that. And everything, EVERYTHING was just completely lost. FUBAR. I was fucked and even my last friend, the guy who’s couch I’d been sleeping on, had had enough of me. I was so emotional (drug emotions are like being severely bipolar — indistinguishable, in fact). I was up and down. I was insane and incorrigible. I was alone and on the verge of just killing myself. It was so painful. I remember wanting out and not knowing how; trapped in a world of drugs, drug selling and the caramel river of one pointless day oozing into the next, without enough velocity to crush me against the rocks, but not solid enough for me to get a grip and swim to shore.
People were looking for me. I owed money. Goddamn, I owed so much money to so many people. Death was the quickest and easiest way out. I’d spent my last relationship. I had nothing left and the years that I should have spent doing something of value were spent doing nothing of any worth and so, having no recourse, I’d decided that I was just going to kill myself.
And I called my dad to say goodbye.
We hadn’t spoken in years. Three-ish years, but our relationship ended long before that. I was certain he’d written me off. I was always more than the black sheep; the pink sheep, of the family. I never fell in line. I never ever feared being different and I didn’t have a problem making other people suffer for me being different; so what would he care if I was gone?
So many people make so much of biology. My dad who raised me was not my biological father. At something like when I was a month old, my mother left my biological father. At something like when I was 9 months old, my mother met my dad and as far as both of them tell me, I instantly considered him my dad. The other guy wasn’t around and when he finally showed his face I’d already bonded with my dad. The other guy was just a sperm donor.
My dad was there through it all. When I was attacked by dogs, he stayed with me through the surgeries. When we were in a car accident and my mother was killed, he was our rock. When I struggled in my early teen years with letting go of my mother, he held out and gave love to this irascible, splenetic teenage boy. And while he wasn’t a perfect dad (and who the hell gets to put that kind of pressure on father? How dare I make that demand as a kid, as if I could ever do better), he was a great dad to a less than great kid.
And so much is made of biology, like our connections are defined by chemical similarities within our cells and not by shared experiences and shared pains and time-well-spent together. In my head, I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t “really one of his”, that he’d written me off. He wouldn’t care. Why would he, after all I’ve done? He had his “real” kids (and never did he ever, EVER make that distinction between any of us).
None of you have any fucking clue what it means to know what a dad is until you’ve pushed that relationship so far; sullied it; cursed it; insulted it; belittled it; lied to it; used it; pissed and shit on it; defiled it in ways that rightly IT SHOULD NOT BE THERE, that rightly you should have been left rotting in a ditch for what you’d done . . . only to turn around and find a granite block of unmovable, unbending, unstoppable love . . . and arms wrapped so tightly around you that for the first time in years, you realize you were never alone and that you’d never fall.
And my dad caught me before I hit the ground.
†I kept a journal for a period of four years of my life throughout my drug use–yeah, VERY Basketball Diaries–and I tracked with intricate detail the pills I took. First pill was a “Pink Elephant”.
‡Burn? BURN!? Oh my. You have no idea.
Maybe know it’s a little more clear why it resonated so much. Don’t forget to stop by and check out and like his original post using the link above, if you liked it. You may find something of mine buried deep in the recesses of his comments section if you had half a mind to look.
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John Greene was recently asked to deliver the commencement speech at Baylor University for the graduating 2013 class; and the result was pretty awesome. The lessons of humility, happiness, learning to be a nobody; and learning to not be a jerk are just as valid for the person who has long since graduated from college as well as the uneducated.
I really appreciated his wit and his humor and I would urge the same as he did;
Always allow for the possibility “Have a nice birthday sir, despite everything” being the translation for those things we don’t understand in life; whether it’s graffiti in another language, or a person or situation you’re having trouble wrapping your mind around.
Bill Maher Needs To Spend Some Real Time Considering Misguided Stance Toward Muslims:
I have a lot of respect for Bill Maher and I agree with him on many points, enjoying the way he delivers his points with acerbic humor and sarcasm. In that sense he’s a man after my own heart, but his hardline stance on the religion of Islam is as confusing to me as someone who’s pro-life but advocates war and the death penalty; a walking contradiction unto itself sitting down, making no more sense than many of the conservative policies he’s enjoyed so much commercial success poking fun of.
For someone who’s clearly intelligent, and claims to be an atheist on top of that to suddenly begin singling out one religion as being worse than all the others is somewhat ludicrous. I mean his documentary movie “Religulous” was all about poking fun at the craziness that’s secretly all modern religions if you look hard enough or as I like to say; each organized religion is as bat-shit crazy as the next; they just take a different flavor Kool-Aid is all.
I feel Chris Mathews made an excellent point when he was recently on the show when Maher went on one of his anti-Muslim tirades, saying things like
“most Muslims-at least half of them, I think, around the world-think it is ok to kill someone if they insult the prophet. And that is a big problem. That is a clash of civilizations.”
It does make him sound like he’s giving the late Osama bin Laden everything he wanted by way of inciting a damaging and costly holy war or at least the perception of one between the United States and those of the Islamic faith; too easily dismissing people of the Islamic faith as being terrorists and alienating them in the process.
Although he typically possesses more free thought, or so I thought, than he has exhibited on this subject; it would seem he chooses not to use it, blindly accepting the Obama administration and the Bush administration before its weak rationale for the reasoning behind curtailing our civil liberties, the murder of US citizens overseas as in the case of Al-Awaki, the indefinite detention of suspected terrorists as happens at Guantanamo, and the aggressive prosecuting of whistle blowers to proportions unseen before the current administration, most notably with Bradley Manning, or the recent AP incident.
Maybe it’s the fact that he donated a million dollars to his campaign this past election and has a refusal to accept that it’s been a bad investment for him.
When I first heard him say some blatantly anti-Muslim shit on his show, I thought to myself, surely I must have misheard, he misspoke, or I missed the punchline to his joke. Maybe my overactive imagination was at work yet again, making mountains out of mole hills. Surely he would go on to vindicate himself through saying something to the contrary, maybe even a “gotcha”, or that it would be put into context, but this was not the case.
Nothing was to come in the form of rebuttal; strange given the fact I typically agree with nearly everything this guy says; it’s witty, it’s funny, it’s honest in making fun of our political reality in all of its absurdity; it’s butter.
On this issue however, it smacks of being off brand margarine, devoid of it’s fancy packaging, or any flavor, it’s easy for me to believe this shit’s not butter.
What most pisses me off, and gives me added cause to worry about is the likelihood his bigoted stance will encourage those already of a more hard-line persuasion that they are being moderate or reasonable even; in addition to potentially misleading others who have come to place faith in his political commentary as being relatively on point (just delivered comically), as is the case with myself.
I can hear their argument now, “see, even Bill Maher believes Muslims are the problem”; using it as a justification for their continued xenophobia, their discrimination, their hatred and their desire for persecuting the Muslim population.
By using his show to air these misguided and mistaken beliefs, he effectively joins the ranks of the Rush Limbaugh‘s and Glenn Beck’s and all those like them; a shock jock like Howard Stern and nothing more. Just another talking head blatantly opining without any regard for accuracy, or quality in his opinion or its contents. By choosing to spread anti Islamic hate speech, Maher only gives comfort to those who would say we truly are in the midst of a jihad.
Exceptions Rather Than The Rule:
Yes, there are concrete examples of Muslims desiring to cause us harm. Unfortunately, both 9/11 and the recent bombing of the Boston Marathon were carried out by those who professed to follow Islam.
This in and of itself does not serve to prove or to justify Mahers point as being a valid one anymore than the Westboro Baptist Church is evidence that Christianity is intolerant, or the molestation scandals involving priests would imply that all who practice Catholicism like to diddle little boys, or that it stems from their religion.
Where Maher fails, as do many of us, especially in these times of fear, is in making the effort to see the situation through the eyes of another, placing yourself in their shoes for a moment (if its possible for yourself); doing this allows us to see that deep down we aren’t so different underneath it all.
One opposing view that it would be reckless and folly for us to ignore is that of the people we have consistently rained down death upon since the year 2001. What do you suppose it is they see when they see us? Are we not Christians? Is that not violence? In terms of sheer death and destruction, the massive body count and pile of rubble we leave behind us solidify us as being the most violent and destructive society in history. period. end of point. We are more destructive than anything that has existed on this earth before us. How eager are we all to be judged by world or by god (if you believe in one) on the merits of actions we played no direct part in?
For the first time I could remember, I couldn’t help looking at Bill Maher like he was at least semi-retarded… The degree to which he attempted to defend Christianity against those heathens who practice Islam was baffling and sickening to witness in someone who supposedly flat-out doesn’t believe in it at all.
(Did Bill suddenly decide to eat the poison apple?)
I’m not sure who exactly he desires these brownie points for, or with, but I just hope his high ass knows that they’re not actually brownies or made of chocolate (I’m not sure that anybody has told him this, he must have the munchies).
I really still can’t get over how belligerent he insists on being in his new pastime of being an ignorant fuck…. he sounds just like most of his more conservative contestants who like an addict hide their guilty pleasure of racism from themselves; oblivious to it’s existence despite it being as plain as day for everyone else to see so clearly.
That very same fuck, or those very same fuck(s) I’ve heard him rail against time after time after time on his show; easily making them out to be just plain ignorant or dumb, and now it turns out he should be doing it into a mirror.
Casting a blanket characterization that all people of one religion, Islam, have a greater propensity towards violence than others is just plain retarded, especially for someone who loves talk about how they’re an atheist, and thinks that all religions are stupid.
This view is no less racist and no less discriminatory than those views of black people he looks down on as being backwards, and intolerant. Why would something apply in one instance, or fit on one hand and not fit on the other?
Prejudiced, is prejudiced, hate is hate; fear is fear; backwards is backwards; right is right; and wrong is wrong, one equals the other no matter how you slice and dice it.
That is why I was especially glad Glenn Greenwald happened to be the guest on his show this last week; checking Maher hard into the boards just as he started to get out of line.
Glenn Greenwald is the only person I’ve seen really stand up to him and challenge his views when he gets on this tangent. When it got brought up this past week or so, Bill Maher looked like he had just got owned over the entire issue having the fact he knows nothing of what he speaks laid plain before his entire audience as he got his tongue twisted and nearly had himself a little shit fit; looking notably flabbergasted from the experience.
Finally Something About the Muslim Population That Makes Sense on Real Time With Bill Maher: Glenn Greenwald
I don’t know how it is that I just really became acquainted with the work of Glenn Greenwald, but I have to say he easily offers one of the best assessments of the situation we now find ourselves in; both in terms of our eroding civil liberties and congressional and judicial oversight and the continued growth of executive power here at home as well as the increased anti-American sentiments within the Muslim world; both of which are a result of our War on Terror.
(You can follow that link to see what else I have to say on that)
If you don’t already subscribe to his RSS feed, you should and I don’t recommend that lightly.
I would like to know where you all stand on this issue; I know it’s a sensitive one which is by no means agreed upon by everyone or even most people;
So let’s get this party started and found out where everyone and their opinion is currently standing.
Nows your time to chime in if you’d like to, I know I’d like to know whether your opinions fall more in line with the host Bill Maher, or with the journalist for the Guardian, Glenn Greenwald?
You Remember How Every Year We Have This Very Blah, Very Very Vanilla Dinner For The Correspondents;
But For Some Reason, This Year One Sarah Palin Took Offense For Whatever Reason And Raised Something Of A Stink In The Process
Good, hold that thought;
That video above was one of the “offending” culprits; from this most recent White House Correspondence Dinner; I must say, I’m somewhat stumped on this one…. I know it’s not the only skit that was shown during the course of the dinner; but I just can’t see anything wrong with it, like at all.
While I’ll admit I hardly watched any of the most recent installment of this awkward dinner for awkward people, lovingly dubbed “nerd prom”, I feel fairly certain there wasn’t much going on in terms of the “edge” factor.
There exists a fairly well established modicum of respectfulness where while the line gets flirted with it’s never crossed; which is why the former Governor of Alaska’s response to it seemed so bizarre.
I’m Confident It Was Uneventful and Awkward; Just Like The Last One & Every Other One Before It
Yet, for some strange reason; as I mentioned before, Sarah Palin decided that now was as good a time as any for a wig out moment of epic proportions.
Oh the humanity! This is the last straw!
I can’t stand this stupid “nerd prom”, it’s a waste of time;
but only when I’m not invited; when that happens it’s actually quite funny.
She was wound up SO tight and seemed so passionate about it when she used the term “ass clowns” to describe those in attendance, I had to make sure it wasn’t the porn star that played Sarah Palin in the movie “Nailin Palin”; doing a double take.
Why else would the former Governor of Alaska only show this moral indignation over the practice right now? More importantly, how did she settle on “ass clowns”?
What could possibly have offended her so much as to draw such “wit” from such an unwitty person?
Could they really be jilted lovers and the reason shes upset be she wasn’t invited; she wanted to be Obama’s ass clown too?
[duh duh duh! and the plot thickens]
I thought that maybe for at least a second, it really was her in that porno that came out bearing her name and likeness right around the time of the campaign; “Nailin Palin” I believe the name was; [shrug]
It was lookin like all she needed was “Obama“, or at least a kinda sorta look-a-like; a few cameras;
then it’s lights camera action!
That must have been where the potty mouth came from, right?
Sadly enough, my investigation informed me my theory was wrong. Palin and the pornstar from “nailin Palin” are not one and the same; the porn star is still currently employed.
On A More Serious Note:
At least she’s taken something akin to the back burner for herself lately; been able to keep her stupidity relatively cordoned off via a precautionary quarantine.
No need to dumb up everyone else’s otherwise perfectly healthy polluted air on her account now is there?
This approach is in stark contrast to the mistaken hands off approach during her failed VP bid in ’08, operating under the belief “how bad could she possibly be?”
It turns out if we had tried to answer that rhetorical question, the answer would have been pretty fuckin bad man.
dumb shit she said in ’08, still haunts us to this day, threatening our continued survival; or ability to learn anything new from this point on; and that’s not factoring in any random words of “wisdom” she’s offered the world since then; like the recent rant about the correspondents dinner (it was about time someone stood up to those “ass clowns” and their annual dinners; it’s only so obvious they’re at the root of our problems….).
Sadly, it wasn’t just those coming into direct contact with her stupidity who began to notice the effects;
In offering her an open Mic and a podium to stand on, we ensured the effects would be felt far and wide;
Shit Went Viral
Before the sequester was even a glimmer in Paul Ryan or Eric Cantor’s maniacal eyes; Sarah Palin promoted deep and long lasting reductions; they were just of our standards.
At an alarming rate, many American‘s can do nothing more than sit and watch themselves lose more of their brain function with each passing hour; not just the typical television induced brain rot either; this is something else.
Hour by hour they stand helplessly by as the lose more and more of their brain function through no fault of their own; they’ve been victimized, by the steady influx of Sarah Palin’s retarded ass comments.
Unfortunately, knowing it is not themselves to blame for their leaky and shrinking brain. It would appear that we have a first rate case of second hand dumb, (also known as “contact” dumb); in fact it’s the worst one ever recorded.
Once you’ve contracted it, the knowledge it wasn’t your own stupidity so much as your general vicinity to the stupidity of others that damned you won’t be a comforting thought.
I’d imagine it still feels pretty fucked up; kinda like getting lung cancer when you’ve never smoked in your life, but slightly less fucked up on a scale of 1-10 .
I think both parties can agree on something for once; they’ve both adopted the catchphrase “friends don’t let friends get second hand dumb”
On a personal level, I do kinda gotta giver her props for using the term “ass clowns” not only in a complete sentence, but outside a fraternity setting (But I also have something of a potty-mouth as well, routinely making truckers blush).
Well played Palin, well played; now if you could only work on your likability, you wouldn’t have to dish these jabs from the political sidelines along with the rest of yesterday’s news.