The 'Straight Line Length' Test

This is a subject dear to me. I consider it knowledge that liberates me from my limited body, limited mind, and makes my life unique and well worth living. In short, what this blog is about is my 'robot revolt'. My love song to creation.
Community college video in psychology at the tender age of 19 gave me this gem of information. In this video, a group of students- about 14- sat around a rectangular desk. All students but one knew that this was a test. And the 14 or so students changed after every test until a dozen or so of the same example was done. Here was the test:
Two penciled lines were drawn by the instructor. One line was obviously longer then the other- by inches. The paper with these two uneven lines was then passed around, and each student said openly (to the 13 or so other students) which line was longer. Since all but one student in the experiment where in on the experiment, each student would openly say that the shorter line was the longest. In every single test the same bizarre result occurred: the test subject not in the know would agree (when their turn came up) that the shorter line was the longest. They were asked twice, just like the students who knew the correct answer, and every single subject agreed that the shorter line was the longer line.
This was not an optical illusion experiment. The line was clearly shorter- by inches- yet the test subject never disagreed with every other person who said otherwise. Why?
Perhaps they were afraid to differ. Perhaps they did not want to argue. Perhaps their brains actually saw the line to be longer by some trick of imagination; when the mass group agreed, not a single person disagreed.
I call it the critical thinking test. Fear is probably what made the subjects say otherwise. Or they wanted to be agreeable. Maybe if they disagreed they would have to face that there was something wrong with them (in their mind). For whatever reason, no one wanted to go against the group and say that the line was inches shorter then the other. No one wanted to (or could) give the correct answer.
I love independent thought. Original thought. The human brain is an ocean of ideas, generated by electricity. I like to think of my creativity like a perpetual thunderstorm; I barely have control of the flow; but like a storm I can freeze moments of these ideas in photographs. Write it down, like a fisherman catching a fish in a great flowing river. Ideas plucked from ever changing forms of energy- thought, movement, image.
Stay true to yourself no matter how much they object. If you see the line is shorter, even if they are hostile and shout you are wrong, you know the answer. You're thoughts are what keep you unique. Be true to yourself. Because 'what is in vogue' is just a table of test subjects, told to say the opposite of truth.

My Badger Coffee Cup Epiphany

A few years ago, when I used people for survival, I began a loveless but eye opening relationship with a man I met on Craig's List. He answered one of my hair brained schemes in ad form. They were all ridiculous, but intentionally laced with an air of adventure, or intrigue: the stuff that would attract a man with a life as ordinary as molasses.
His house was bare. No photographs, paintings, or posters. Just institutional white walls in a consistently dark apartment. The darkness came from blankets (not curtains) to blot out natural sunlight for the purpose of watching movies on an impressive home projector (turned his living room into a home theater, and our relationship was based on silence and downloaded movies.) Any light, even during the day, came from light bulbs. He was too lazy to take the blankets down, and saw no purpose when he would have to re-tack them to the windows for a nightly movie.
Once I asked him to put some life in the apartment, where I was basically living for the sake of 'a meal ticket' as my blunt friends said. He came home with almost identical posters- ads for a local beer- placed in rows a few feet apart. Typical clique of what a man in his later 20's should be interested in, plastered to the walls. He was probably proud of himself to not have gone the ultra clique route of, say, a Bob Marley poster in the town we lived in (Humboldt County.)
We had nothing in common. But I liked two things about him: he listened to N.P.R. for a few minutes after work, and he drank coffee. Folgers coffee though.
Perhaps it was the caffeine coursing throw my blood that caused a mind expanding revaluation one morning at this man's home: all because of his coffee cup. Folgers coffee in a plain old, thrift store (which, to me, a thrift store can be on the other spectrum of awesome and quirky finds) coffee cup, with some type of animal (a badger I believe) as it's decoration. It was picked up mindlessly (believe me, this man had no affinity to badgers...he had no affinity to anything whatsoever) to serve the function of holding a coffee brand for those with no taste buds. And from there my head went spinning...
I've seen the other bad and opposite spectrum of trying to make every purchase cool for the sake of what seems cool. Did not like that either.
What happened to cultivating a personal style? Taste. Having critical reasoning and a lust for life. Passion! I don't drink Merlot, no matter how good people say the bottle will be. Mindless gifts (bath soaps) draw the same reaction from me. Thought needs to be put into life. Otherwise what is the purpose? With no ideas, dreams, lusts, and beautiful pursuits, there is only mechanical action and reaction. There is only a pulse.
I read an article on a famous Italian businessman, who said that, getting dressed in the morning is your first opportunity of the day to cultivate your own style. He has his favorite espresso brand, his own fashion sense; here is a man living on a higher plane then most people. And that is what this blog is about. Being conscious in every decision. It's all we have; and it's more then enough to make life explode everyday. Every morning you chose your outfit, your diction, what book to read, your politics. I may not like a certain persons style, but I respect the effort. Unlike the man who blocked out light; such a metaphor for his unconscious state.
One more aspect to discuss on the subject of lusts. There is nothing I hate more then being persecuted for having a personality; style; interests; love. It has happened to me many times. These drones do not understand, and their fear makes them dangerous. Or their jealously. I was thrown out of a town (with 100 or so illiterate residence) because of a strong personality. This was in the hills of Big Flat, off of the 299 highway. I consider it a compliment and a personal achievement to be physically removed from a town of hicks, all because of a collected intimidation. Or when I hear a crude nickname for myself. Hey, I am out there loving the air I breathe. Please don't loath my love for my short time on this Earth. I try my damnedest to soak up all light; all the magnetic energy around me. It comes out of the ground, the clouds, people: I feed off that warm light.

Why mullets are so funny

Just a quick thought, since my new computer is a tiny little Linx operated toy- until I adjust to it's tiny key pad, I am only going to have quick thoughts to jot down.
I love that show, "Flight of the Conchords" because it's brand of humor celebrates and creates, rather then makes fun of society and life. Plus it's not crude and desprate for laughter. Maybe it's the absence of the ever annoying 'laugh track'.
It is so easy to laugh at what is wrong. It takes a brilliant mind to laugh at what is right. I favor creation.