Thursday, December 27, 2012

On Telling the Government to Fuck Themselves 2

It's a royal pain to link my smartphone up to my laptop and find this blog- let alone write an entry. Unlike the first blogs, there is no way for me to effiencently fix spelling mistakes, open other pages, or be certain this computer with a very chewed up cable (my cat ate it) connecting the laptop to the smartphone will hold steady while I try to overcome a few years of writer's block.

Anyway, in the spirit of Catcher in the Rye when I went to get squared with Humboldt's financial aid, I had to read my profanity laced letter outloud. There I was, long line behind me, talking to the head of the financial aid office at Humboldt about a letter I honestly do not remember writing. I had $8,000 in cash to get back into school. But in my file was a paper I wrote, with a conclusion highlighted that the office head not only pointed to, she made me read it with an apologetic terror.

"After carefully consideration of your request to give you the eight grand I walked away with for total debauchery, I have come to my final conclusion: which is to please go fuck yourselves."

They highlighted the sentence and double underlined the last three words. She didn't go gagsta on me, like the first blog of this title, but I had to write an apology letter for all employees in her office.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

2012: The Year of the Dragon

Today I graduated with a B.A. in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing at Humboldt State University. Before I moved up to Humboldt I was a Junior at San Francisco State with a major in Creative Writing. I attended three community colleges to get an A.A.in Biology, which I switched to Lit.

My first University Professor was named, "Chet Wiener" and his class: Writers on Writing, was where I found my first fiance: Sean Labrabor. He wrote a poem about me that won the 2004 San Francisco Poetry Award: The Dark Continent. Years later my friend Ami changed her e-mail name to 'Chet Wiener' (it sounds better in French) and when I checked my e-mail I thought, "My God, for years he has been stalking me!"

I lived in Austin as a piece of lettuce for a year. A lion in heat. Luckily I kept my mind limber with what chemicals nature provided. And experience.

Yes, I had a red phase. Ended in a green phase. I'll begin with a clean phase, like a this page. The cycle is whatever you desire.

This year was forseen by a friend as "The Year of Good Fortune." I worked hard for what I have and for that I am grateful.

Somewhere in between here my heart legally stopped. I drank gallons of coffee. Bought half a Redwood tree in paper. Walked many miles to get to campus.

I took 70 units above that to graduate. Today is a day to celebrate. I dedicate this degree to my family, who believed in me in spite of my flaws.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

The Importance of Luck

So the virus in my smartphone connects to my laptop and makes writing even more difficult. But I need to write.

Hearing the medocrity of my upstairs neighbor playing Aaaaa,Eeeee,Aaaaa,Eeeee: For two months is enough to make me realize an outpouring of thoughts is needed. That and I read an awuful blog about a stupid dream. If I ever write a dream blog that uneventful I should stop all together.

These people come out with their copied Vogue fashions, copied musical trends, copied art played off as a homage to a greater artist. I don't want to be those people. I want to be fresh.

Art is inspired by the politics of our time. Wisdom coming from the depth of an acid trip. Our cosy bubble of Facebook news and photoshopped bodies of what is in vogue are killing me. Right now there is a band in jail named Pussy Riot. People will run with that until they get bored. And they always get bored. Bored with compassion. MoveOn.org waits for their Wave of bullhorns.

The artists of our time wait to get a "Like" on Facebook when they show their work while clinging to people asking them, "What should I do to be relevant?" The circle is always there. But in every Shakespear play there is the circle, and one who stands out. That is the perpetuation of life. I stand out and observe. But I am not a critic.

One hit wonders can't guide a movement. They are the buzz of a fly caught between a window and a curtain. People are loud, and often empty. The Ego wants it's day in court. To swear on the bible which is no longer capitalized. To swear what is beautiful to them. Like a love story written by a balding short man. I too love walks on the beach.

I knew a man who said the ocean was his only fear. He had been to war. He killed men. Men with families. He changed the name of murder to suit his nightdreams. The ocean represented Eternity to him. That concept terrified him. For me too as a child. Wondering what we would do together in heaven with nothingn but whiteness surrounding us. Hearing the ticking clock on Earth knowning the alarm is set in this domain.

I looked at my face in the relection of a clock. Then I ran. To the North of ice cream and granite rocks. Bridges and warm hot choclate. But love was not there and the clock said to wander more. I chose the calender poster of California's oceans. Colgate smiles on bronzed bodies. Pills- blue (sleep) red (social) white (memory erasers)...
Too many personailities in a bottle. So I ran.

Some words in a diary are my Bible. I ran to Texas, where people bury guns in the clay ground because Obama is coming for their liberities. The standards of beauty are interupted with what the Western World taught me to love. And everyone wanted me to ride an electric bull while drunk on attention. I never sold my sexuality. Never was a whore.

Now I am without a rosary in limbo. At night I wake up in sweat. I put the calender back up and clench my fists. Green life surrounds my stand for acceptance. Let me play. The clock did not harden me. I live with golden light in my thoughts. May be just a wave in human construction. But I'll never say the word 'try' or 'worry'. Nor will I play only two notes. My dreams are of colorful police states. Battons. The Howl of the Circle. My Ego says I am more then the sum of two notes. A photo of me with lovely mounds under thrift store clothing, and a painted on face. A mirror on my reproduction roar. To the crowd I will observe and say: I am out of the race and like it that way.

Saturday, June 2, 2012

June 2nd, 2012/Ninja's/Guidance

Yesterday I had more nervous energy. Only a week before I move. Until I take the two classes I need to move again and start my Teaching Credential, I am at a loss. There were a few beautiful lines I found while organizing yesterday. I'm sure I'll put them in here just as much as I'm sure I'll look back at my older blogs to fix their spelling mistakes.

Yesterday the results came back on my father's DNA tests:

family_finder_population.pdf

I wonder if that will open. No, it won't.

If not, I'll like to point out to the few stalkers in my life, that you should read my ethnicity (before you kill me) because I am 7% Mayan (on my father's side). So believing that we were Cherokee for how ever long my family did- generations- was incorrect. And killing me would be a lot like wipping out an endangered species. There should be a law against that. On top of murder. And the food in jail is supposedly not nutritious, so you'll never be 100% to top Don Quijote's jailed author:Cervantes', which I'm sure you'd want to do with all that time on your hands in jail.

No, I can't control who reads these blogs, and I've covered everything from fascism, to DC comics verus Marvel, to the importance of happiness, a good stylist, Alrerd Hitchock's lovely chin, Sergei Rachmaninoff, extreme grief, my three year engagement, my rubber chicken conspiracy theory, and sometimes a random personal blog (like this, completely aimless) comes in.

But I did not cover my Kawasaki Ninja 250. The 250 stands for CC's, which does not alway correlate to speed. Since I was introduced to motorcycles, I never wanted to ride on the back. My discovery to motorcycles happened at 20, although I've had dirt bikes (and know second gear well!) since my early teens. At 20, a Born Again named Mike lived across from my roommate and me. In exchange for going to Church on Sunday (and Churches of that nature in Redding, California are insane) we (roommate included) got to travel California's back roads.

I was assigned Kevin, and no one with the name Kevin is a bad ass. Still, I was nervous around him until getting on the back of his bike, with the rebel yell: Let's go to where the wildflowers are boys! Kevin would often take the Jesus stance with his arms (why intentionally assume a crucifixion pose when happy?) and yell, "Thank You Jesus! Praise Your Name!" He was sweet, and I did get along with him for a long time. My many moves made us lose touch.

Back to my Ninja 250. I'm going to buy one, probably used, just to travel the 1 in California, and the 101 before that. Although I'm selling my puny bike now, I'm keeping my brain bucket. In Austin, I saw a man with a long rope attached to his right hand's throttle, and a big spike on the end. My friend pointed out that one swipe of that rope, which is designed to gain momentum, and a windshield would crack right open. They are given to paramedics. Not bikers.

At the moment, I'm stalling completely in doing anything productive. I don't think I'll be able to keep these personal blogs after I leave this complex, because my lease is almost up.

Here is a wonderful story about when I lived in Arcata, and an unsung hero came into my life. At 26 I overdosed. This was the day after I did the graduation walk, and I was frazzled that a intimidating man had showed up, unanounced. Vodka and being as unattractive as possible solve these problems. After he left, I know I asked for some heroin. I've never hid that I had a problem with drugs when I was 26 years old. That was close to a decade ago

Side Note: I spent a year in Nebraska drinking Redbull, researching and detoxing. During the end of my stay, a friend from college in Arcata met me in Disney Land and asked me to move in with him. I have not touched hard drugs since I left Arcata the first time. Just Ambien, which is doctor prescribed.

Back to my wake up call. I woke up in an ambulance to the words, "We just saved your life." I thanked them with a "Fuck you!" and passed out until much later in the hospital. I knew what was coming. I was in trouble. My younger brother later told me he came back into my bedroom on a whim to find me blue and not breathing. My roommate and a random friend I would not even know to thank if I saw him helped with rescue breaths until the paramedics came and Pulp Fictioned me. After giving me two of the wrong adrenaline shots, someone there finally said that I may have opiates in my system. I don't remember any of this, and I never found out how long I was out to know how many brain cells are gone. Let's blame this incident on my spelling these days.

After the nurse gave me a speech on how lucky I was, and how many calls my brother had made to check on me, a letter was given to me. I still have it. A break-up note. The timing was ugly. I understand why, but tact would be to wait until I'm out of these IV's at least.

That is the premise of this story. Later I was in a bad fire, which destroyed everything important to me. My Spanish book was half gone, and I used duck tape to bind it. So many classmates asked if I had gotten frustrated and thrown the book in a fire place. NO. The Spanish partner behind me was one such person. I explained the fire to him.

Later in the semester I asked for a ride home. During the ride, I was asked some strange questions about drugs. Drugs lead to STD's, AID's, Hep-C. Did I have any? I thought that was strange to ask me (and for the record, NO. None of those, no criminal record, nothing. I almost died though.) The guy blurted out, "You don't remember me do you?" He was one of the paramedics who saved my life.

He did not drive me home either. He took me shopping, telling me to get anything I wanted, under the condition that I never told a soul that he had anything to do with my new clothes. So half my new waredrobe is from him. And that's the story. He was just a kind person. No motives. Nothing. He saved my life and helped me after that fire. So I gave up being cynical.

That's enough for the day. This photo (below) was taken the day of the fire. That lamp is the cause. The comforter on me was one week old organic silk, costing nearly one grand.

The fire in a nut shell: It was 9:30pm. I thought my ex-fiancee's duck tape had fixed the sparking. I'm incredible intuitive. Never in my life have I said: [fill in the blank] could cause a fire. I told two adults this. My ex used duck tape, not electrical tape. The lamp was from an head shop, which I'd been eye-ing for over a year. So this freak accident was inevitable to happen when I initially moved in, or not at all. The move jostled the lamp, which was very old to begin with.

I plugged the lamp in, was annoyed that someone seemed to be going nuts with the fire place way down the hall (smoke was hitting the bathroom celing), walked out of the bathroom and saw this massively engulfing image of fire. A wall of heat and flame. Two minutes was all it took. The fire is public record, and for five dollars, you can know exactly what I told you. I'll add that the fire department estimated that I lost $9,000 to $10,000 dollars in belongings, from most of my clothes to family heirlooms, to money burned in half. The next day two truck loads of clothes, pictures, purses, bedding, etc where dumped into the local junk yard. I dressed my best and took photos, because I knew I would beat this in time.

Another unsung hero was a woman who got me out of the house and immediately called 911. Notice the rubber chicken? That was at the point of origin, and if there is a God, he has a warped sense of humor. Rubber chickens are fireproof. No one was hurt. Even after the fire, acquaintances bought or brought me clothing, bedding, even money. The Red Cross was awesome. That fire could never have been forseen. I don't believe in religion, but guidance. If you look for guidance, and count your good luck, life is a word that beautiful does not cover.



Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Cool Ideas in Theory (Like Batman Comic Book Mythology)


"But He knows the way I take; When He has tried [pressures] me, I shall come forth as gold." (Job 23:10). If you've been living under a rock, here is a link to the trials of the famous Job:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_Job

Here we have my favorite Saint: (other then animal fanatic St. Anthony), St. Michel The Arch Angel. He's is almost always portrayed holding a shield and/or a sword. He has his feet on a dragon, or a snake, or something that symbolizes something evil. The mighty at heart crushing the wicked at heart. I'm beginning to attach myself to the idea that mythologies are in everyone's head, their "world view", is all an illusion. However I love to think there was some kind of truth, instead of subscribing to beliefs that came in strange miraculous forms.

I love the center of the universe in his chest. He kind of looks like he is launching off to space in a space suit, while stabbing an alien; all with the strength of a super hero minus the muscles. All sarcasm aside, his story is one of my favorites, as far as mythology goes. Now if we could just apply some of this fantasy stuff to the real world....

Synthetic Emotions

While reviewing the novel "The Day of the Locust" by Nathanael West, one of my favorite professors gave a lecture on authenticity and the birth of television. Nathanael West would be more known if he had not died in his early thirty's in a car crash. He death was around the advent of sitcoms. He predicted that emotions would mirror the sentimentality of television shows.

Sitcoms have to 'speed up' emotions to fit the frame of a half an hour time slot. To interest the large American (and world) audience, you have to agree upon emotional responses (nothing risky or too edgy) and unify emotional response. T.V is not meant to instruct it's audience. It's aim is to pacify a work worn viewer; to zone out, stare, and enjoy.

The moral code for these emotional responses is always clique. Take a hallmark advertisement for example. The Christian happiness of a child receiving a puppy for Christmas. Heart warming, feel good emotional responses that make a person at ease in the world we live in day to day.

Unified emotions, sped up to fit their half hour time slot, watched continuously, might infect the viewer enough to 'borrow' socially agreed upon emotions as our own. You break up with your boyfriend, as a crass example. Borrow the emotional response from a popular show. In our society, everyone is so frantic to fit in and be considered normal (plus we are lazy) it is safer to borrow emotional responses from television then to create your own. And by this point you probably are so brainwashed with these contrived, synthetic responses that you don't know what to feel anymore.

Remember in Camus "The Stranger" how the protagonist was unsure if it was okay to drink coffee at his mother's funeral? This was before t.v. infected our lives. But still there was a moral stalling: wondering if it was socially acceptable to drink coffee at a funeral. We are so uptight about what is right and wrong that it seems only normal to live complacently through the television screen.

I am merely pointing out that t.v. shows do speed up emotions, unify them, and present them to us for our amusement. It's detrimental when we chose not to go with our natural emotions and instead borrow from what's in vogue. It's more detrimental when our subconscious does the borrowing, without us knowing. The next time you are forced to feel, make sure you feel from deep in your gut- and it's fine to be slobbering, hysterical, and beside yourself. We are living for an all too brief time on this planet. Our emotions are all we have to make us human. Not the automatons zoning out to the boob tube after a long day of robotic labor.

The French Know Things

The French Know Things About two years ago I sat down with a Guinness and one of my favorite professors. He had a logic test on his syllabus which had not been solved in his 15 years of teaching. The prize was a beer. My brother solved it, I took the credit, I won a free beer. This professor was such a beautiful soul; lusty and clever and honest. Directly wired in life I thought. We talked about jazz. How Frank Sinatra gave an olive from his martini to one lucky fellow he really liked every night. Then the subject turned to personal drama. Turmoil for him. His daughter was dying of cancer. I was fighting bad vices that anyone who knows me knows about. We could only talk about intellectual barriers because what we were going through was unspeakable. He mentioned that out of all the things that can happen in life, being happy is not important. He referenced Cathrine Deneuve, the gorgeous French actress (so French!) who was asked in an interview at the height of her career if she was happy. She sat with a cigarette and her long blond hair (which that professor said reminded him of a cocker spaniel's mane), sultry accent and replied, "Happiness, what is that?!". Ah the French. In my own life I have to ask myself that a lot, because I'm not happy very often. I get angry, jealous, resentful- just frustrated with people in general. But I love them so much- hold such high standards- that if they let me down it stings. They usually do though. But I still love them- just from a great distance apart. Happiness is only one emotion of the broad spectrum of feeling that passes through me every day. And I don't want to group emotions into black and white categories anyway. Happiness is a hard one. I take it when it comes.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Mathematical Rock Stars and Coffee

Maybe it's my east coast-iness. Coffee, bagels, and the daily paper at the breakfast table equal happiness to me. Yesterday I had two cups of coffee for the first time in about a month. Coffee consumption comes in three stages for me:

Stage One: Universal love. This is when I think, "I wanna rock! Gotta call some old friends. I knew there was a brotherhood of man. Get yer done! etc".

Stage Two: Detached criticism. In this stage I am best at thinking analytically. Not too much emotion. Super rational.

Stage Three: Apocalyptic Brain Hemorrhaging. In this final stage I realize that the first two stages were not worth the finale. "I live in a war zone/ fragility in human nature..." It's sucks.

At some point combining all three stages yesterday I remembered this extreme genius mathematician that my older brother told me about: Paul Erdos. It was said that he came up with the phrase, "a mathematician is a machine for turning coffee into thermos". He was also a meth addict. During WW2 he would knock on the door of friends of his (he was Jewish and had to escape the Nazi force then) and say, "My brain is open, let me in". Then he would work on mathematical theory for a few days and move to his next house. He carried just a suitcase around, drank tons of coffee, and changed the world of mathematics with this sort of lifestyle. A friend bet him that he could not go one month without coffee consumption. Paul Erdos won the bet but said that the world of math was set back an entire month because of his lack of caffeine. As a really horrible side note (and also a testament of his genius), because of the fragile and war torn time he was living, he could calculate the lifespan of his family members down to the second when he was only four years old.
Actually there are a few in the math world that are like this guy. And I have much more respect for them then many other disciplines. I'll do some research and expand this blog. It's green tea time. Coffee was a bad idea yesterday....

Okay two more. I'm tired and want to get this out. Plus these stories really interest me, hopefully you as well.

Evariste Galois. He was a math genius who was challenged to a duel at the age of 20. He knew he was going to die, so he wrote down everything he knew about mathematics the night before the duel. I don't quite understand what his contribution was to the math community (I'll ask around) but I know his theories are still being built on today.
Finally, my favorite, Kurt Godel. Godel proved (in complex mathematical terms) that nothing can be proved in mathematics. Afterwards he went insane and locked himself in his bathroom and starved himself to death. Now there is a man who wants to understand it! (think the lead character

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Rolled Trousers (for that rude fella with this email in my poly-sci class based on Profrock's Poem...Yes, I have to Spell it out)

(Written last year. I am switching up my blogs due to a mixing of my thoughts)

Saturn Galaxy, you are not big enough
to swallow the entire World.
There are blocks between the stars.
I could excuse myself and walk off the map of the galaxy.
I could stay home drinking wine and crouch down, tiger-like.

Saturn Galaxy, your hair is gone.
Your humor is dry.
Yet dripping sweat like a ripe peach.
You don't attract love.
Is that why you ramble about consciousness?

Pick up a microphone and whale baby.
Put your tears in a jar like the wives of Navy officers.
Wear a color and act that color out. Pink, blue, green.
Sex, Spirituality, Life.

Purple, Red, Gray.
Supernova as you talk.
Melancholy, mysterious, blood passion.
Smell the white jasmine flowers.
Wear an elephant mask and fuck
because no one would make love to you.

Saturn Galaxy, why don't you sweat your fears out?
We will carry you like Jesus in a mosh pit.
Hear my words and you will be saved.
No one gives a fuck if you try to save a tree
from a logger when you have no heart for the World.

Like the Tin Man it's hollow inside you.
Jump on that latter of consciousness
Like dropping a rock into a wishing well.
Hearing a splash echo after forever in five seconds.
The fairy who gathers coins for wishes knows dreams.

It's hard to believe that you
could have had a mother who
wrapped you up in a warm lambskin blanket
soft as cotton clouds,
And rocked you to sleep with whispers.

Maybe that is why you call yourself
Saturn Galaxy. Because you dreamed the
stars and the sun and the moon, and the
planets in your head. You only have the name now.
And a shiny bald head.

The silhouette of you alone against a sunset-
Makes me want to give you the permission to
Fetch me a shooting star.
I'm made of the same star dust as you.
Lasso the stars cowboy.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Sparrow's Song

For me to accept that there is no afterlife was hard, having spent my golden childhood hearing stories of God and Heaven. I am God-God created me as a mirror of himself, from stars and color, and told me to shine; for I one day I will be dust. My brother had a super nova of a life. Now I am responsible for containing his star in me.

I'm going to die, and there is no Heaven afterward. Just a lullaby from DMT, our last dream before an eternity of rest. I'll be laughing about bills while wishing my family strength in my last breath. I'm a strong star. Bathe my body in music. In love. In rooms with flowers and lit candles with colorful pictures and jewels on Japanese silk. Open windows for fresh night air and for my soul to wander out in it's dream world. I am a star generating my own heat, brighter then the sun my body needs.

William Blake believed that God created man first. Man got bored so he created himself, but in the image of a woman. The image was so ethereal and stunning that God dropped to his knees and shattered the woman with himself. God as a man and God as a woman became star dust on Earth, forever trying to repair themselves to be together. Beauty created Blake's world view. The beauty of the female form.

I am a star. Music, love making, sweat, swimming, oceans, blue sky days, clouds like cotton balls, running my fingers over flesh- to eternity in a tear drop- I'll take my role till I super nova. My heart beats for love and to music. There was one day out in nature and in deep love, when I realized that I'll never have enough time to enjoy all the beauty in this world. But I'm trying.

Batman as a Sadist?

Below is an e-mail exchange between my friend Alex, who equally loves Batman, and me:

Alex,
Someone gave me a different take on Batman yesterday. They said he was an aristocrat that owned Gotham and controlled most of the corporations there through Wayne Enterprises. By day he hob knobs with young, beautiful woman, and at night (when the corporations are shut down) he beats the shit out of anyone who threatens the status quo.

This person told me his motives were far from moral.

He even said Batman was a sadist, the evil one, the one that picked on the misfit, etc. What do you think of this?

Rose,
I've heard that. The Republican take on
Batman. Certainly makes sense in a way. I don't agree with it, but it taps into a vital question: Is everyone who wants to restore order to chaos authoritarian, even dictatorial? Can one establish order without the brutality, force and singularity of mind that Batman represents? I dunno. It's interesting to see that V FOR VENDETTA (the book) was Batman in reverse: the main character was the Joker (down to the smiling mask and sense of levity and absurdity) and he was fighting to tear down totalitarianism with the only tools he had: brutality, force and anarchy. (The movie waters everything down on the assumption that we can peacefully win back rights taken from us, the Velvet Revolution model. The book made no such argument: if one is to escape totalitarianism, one must tear everything down.) So could Batman be the opposite argument: in order to destroy anarchy, one must be resolute to a fault?

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Anarchy Paralleling Christianity

A quick note before I write. I'll expand this later, because I had to meet my old friends a Yelp to discuss this constant harassment I've been getting due to their insecurities as good stylist. I know they don't know what irony is (I found out the hard way) but if they stopped harassing me then maybe I'd stop standing up for myself. I could get my friends to create fake accounts to give them pages of one star reviews, but that is incredibly unethical and hypocritical. They keep trying to get my review removed, and I just rewrite another one because people need to know that you can't bully your customers. I'll loosely tie this into anarchy as something not representing my reviews on how a anarchy should go into an ugly chaos, but that is reaching. Maybe not.

Anyway, I'll make this quick. My problem with Christianity is that, in its doctrine, one must convert other people. I feel so bad for those people walking door to door, getting insulted. But they are following the rules of the religion (their parents probably brainwashed them with). Maybe I can manipulate (Lord knows what a terrible manipulator I am) my selfish agenda with this salon (I'll call them Babylon the Whore) with Christianity.

Here is a crass example of why you can't shove your opinions done the throats of others (like this salon does with their fake Yelp reviews to gather people, like moths to a flame, and take their hard earned dollars (I'm a prostitute, I work hard for my money...at least that what I'm told I do for a living.) Ok, my anger is showing. Calm down diddly-diddly. Skiddily Iddly Iddly. Okie dokie....

Oh, crass examples. I'm sure heroin feels good. It's a good thing their are no known heroin cults (maybe what the U.S.A.'s military is doing in Afghanistan could be called one giant heroin collecting cult?) A heroin cult that forces it's remembers to push heroin on other people. So children, if you're approached by a big bad heroin dealer just say that you don't join cults.

Christians experience a emotional feeling that keeps them happy. The way my cousin, who is a wonderful person and also a Christian, described her conversation to Christianity, it was like she had taken ecstasy. She said she felt that there were scales falling off her eyes. That colors felt brighter. Smells more pleasant. She underwent a physical change because her beliefs somehow upped her serotonin uptake.

But that is her deal. I know she wants to share this beauty with others, but where do you draw the line in sharing your feelings with pushing your feelings to aggression, which has ultimately happened with all religions that preach conversation in their doctrine.

Anarchy is simply a rejection of government. From there, anyone can flesh out what they want to do with that definition. I have two books on anarchy and they are very different. One really turned me off. It talks about jumping over private fences to swim in private pools in people's backyard. In Texas, they would shoot you. To me, that book was completely immature. It demonized the rich and condemned hard work.

This blog is about the other book I read on anarchy. A book on responsibility and peace. This is a personal experience, not aggressiveness. So rather then make this blog a superficial, less then 101 guide to my love of anarchy, I'll use the book as what I draw my quotes from. Tomorrow after highlighting.

Label "Crack Whore" and Ship to Reno

Despite the crude title leading into the blog, the subject is about labels in modern psychology and popular culture and my disdain of them in general. The idea of a label being assigned to a person as a method of dismissing their entire character is not new to me. No two human beings are identical. A lazy or inarticulate person would do well to label. This blog should explain how unfair, dangerous, and plain stupid labels came be, both as adjectives and as diagnosis in the field of psychology.
The idea that I had to write this blog came to me today after work. My job is to watch two people: one is a bright six year old, the other a 23 year old man with an unknown disability. He can speak fluent Japanese, has a heart of gold, and seems to have a secret universe inside of him, but there is no label to diagnosis him and from there, give him proper treatment. His mother has all the money to buy a team of good doctors. After years of seeing his behavior go from vibrant and social to unresponsive and erratic, the only comfort of an label given to his mother is, "general thought disorder with degenerative traits".
So today I wikipedia-ed the term "Thought Disorder". The definitions were so broad I began to diagnosis everyone I knew as having some degree of the disorder. Rhyming too often in a sentence can be considered a thought disorder. Beginning a sentence and doing what I refer to as, "a call waiting thought" and interjecting the thought, sandwiched in the sentence is a thought disorder. Some were extreme, but about half of the list were everyday conversations with fully functioning people.
The human brain is a mystery. Psychology is not an exact science. Medical science is still searching for cures to cancer, HIV, Hepatitis C, and the list goes on. When these medical labels mix with mainstream culture the results are dangerous. People become doctors and dismiss others over what they read as a disorder on the Internet, or hear in a movie. These labels get muddled, and soon they become insults and tools to dismiss the entire person with one word. Can a humans brain really be summed up in a word, a label, a diagnosis?
I believe we humans are on different levels of consciousness, bumping into each other. Depending on the endorphins in your body, the oxygen in your brain (quit smoking, it does take oxygen out of the brain and make you dumb) what books you have read, what stress level: All of this combined in extreme complexity puts you on a certain level. You can expand your level of consciousness, move up on the totem pole. It takes work. It takes time, but each day one can see more clearly.
Obstacles include anger. Anger seizes up the body. Yet we are human, and whether we know it or not I believe we want to feel, even in anger.
Not too long ago, when I was living a life I can not believe was my own, I lived on emotion more then silence and free will. In retrospect it felt like I had a blind on my eyes, and I was feeling in the dark. Swinging at nothing. It was a dead life. During this time, with my eyes in a blindfold, I wrote an e-mail in which I told a girl she was known as a whore. Yes, she slept with lots of people. Yes she did lots of speed. And her response was blind anger back. In retrospect it was beautiful- the exchange of heated anger, but stupid. Who am I to judge this person? Who is she to judge me? I was on a low level at this time in my life.
The biggest complaint I heard when I attended a rehabilitation group for former drug addicts was that no one believed they had changed. That is to say, no one from their past, when they were addicts, could believe they were different people now. Even after years of the complete opposite behavior. People still saw one moment in their long lives and froze that moment.
When a body is full of toxins the brain and body are poisoned. There are people on that level. It's not a high level of consciousness. But it is what it is. That is their life and it is ever changing. People change. Life fluxates like the ocean tide. We evolve in our bodies if we want to do so. Take off the blindfold.
I respect people too much to call them anything. In a moment in time, a pin point in a life, they can be called many things by their actions. But no label sticks. Even an idiot will become wiser in time. If you shock yourself on an electric fence, you stop touching the electric fence. The greatest shift I made to higher understanding and peace was when I let go of all the negative emotion holding me back. Also, toxins. Food can fall into that category. I am a Scorpio. For my own journey, letting go was like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. My senses are heightened. I want to experience so much. You can't fully enjoy anything with a hateful heart. And you must respect the unique nature of each person. From there, the blindfold comes off, and you can not help but feel free.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Funny Bible Quotes

All my life I've carried myself with an intrinsically loving, curious and tolerant stance regarding other people's belief systems and lifestyle. I am peaceful, but when a person aggressively judges me or suppresses my freedom by ramming their Gods down my throat,
(what I call critical thinking for an authentic identity)
I will fight for independence. Religion is poison. I've seen it brainwash people I love. Thank you to my brother for the text.

Here are ten examples where biblical morality/ethics differs from my views:

  1. Matthew 25:31-46

    This passage describes the judgement of the righteous and the unrighteous. It describes how the unrighteous will be condemned forever to eternal fire (Mt 25:41, 46) for the lack of compassion they displayed during their lives. This is my biggest complaint with Christianity—that people are given an infinite punishment for a finite amount of wrongdoing.

  1. Matthew 15:21-28

    This passage describes the interaction between Jesus and a Canaanite woman. You can clearly see the discrimination that Jesus displays toward the woman because she is not a Jew.

  1. Numbers 25:1-18

    This passage describes how God commands Moses to kill people who had worshipped a foreign god. It then goes on to describe how Phinehas, the son of Aaron (Moses’ brother and a priest), drove a spear through an Israelite man and into a Midianite woman. For this God commends Phinehas, and makes a covenant that Phinehas’ descendents will have a lasting priesthood. God then commands the Israelites to kill the Midianites because they were deceiving them with false gods. I think any modern, rational person would find this passage morally deficient. I find it particularly odious because of the lack of proportion—death for consensual sex and participation in foreign worship.

  1. Psalms 137:1-9 (Psalms 136:1-9 Douay-Riems Version)

    This passage is a lament for Jerusalem by someone in exile in Babylon. Notable is verse 9, “Happy are those who seize your infants and dash them against the rocks.” (New International Version). Even if this sentiment is in response to a similar action by the Babylonians during the siege of Jerusalem, it is inappropriate. Why should innocent children be punished for the crimes of their parents? An in any case, it is inappropriate to take pleasure in the execution of the punishment, even if it is deserved.

  1. Deuteronomy 20:10-20

    This passage describes how the Israelites are to conduct sieges against other cities. My reading of it is that if it is a distant city, they first make a peace offer. If the city accepts, the inhabitants of the city become the slaves of Israel. If they refuse, the Israelites attack the city and kill all of the men. The women, children, livestock and other items they can keep as plunder. If the city is a nearby city, then no peace offer is made. When the city is taken, everything in the city—men, women, children, and livestock—is killed. The fruit trees, are spared, though.

  1. Numbers 15:32-36

    This passage describes how God commands the Israelites to stone to death a man found gathering sticks on the sabbath.

  1. Luke 9:59-62

    In this passage Jesus commands a man to follow him. The man says, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” Jesus replies, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God." I think Jesus’ response is callous. The request is reasonable, but Jesus denies it. Jesus tells another guy that he is unfit for service in the kingdom of God because he wants to go say goodbye to his family.

  1. Luke 14:25-26

    Jesus says that we must hate everyone close to us if we want to be his disciple.

  1. Acts 5:1-11

    This passage describes how a christian man and his wife sold some property and gave some of the money to the church. The thing is, they both lied and said they had given all of the proceeds of the sale of the land to the church, when in reality they had kept some of the money for themselves. For this, they both died (or were killed).

  1. Numbers 31:13-18

    In this passage, the Israelites have just finished a battle against the Midianites. Moses is angry with the officers of the army because they didn’t kill the women. He commands them to kill all of the boys, and all of the non-virgin women. He allows them to keep the virgins for themselves, though.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

How to Win an Argument

Of course I'm not going to show you how to do this. In my world, arguments would be solved in two ways: Dance Off (see Michael Jackson's 'Beat It'), or Rap Off (8 mile...he chose not to fight).

But if you are an insecure assnard and want to win a regular argument because you don't have the moral ground to speak from the heart, I will say a few things to help you remain a cowardly person. When you get into the mood where, winning an argument means knowing these strategies, you don't give a damn about that person's feelings. You just want to show how intellectually superior you are to that person. The person you are arguing with may be arguing because of something serious. Please take this into consideration.

1.)Start your argument by saying, "I'm sorry you are so upset..." Someone kept sending me e-mails starting with this sentence. At first it baffled me, because I was not upset. Then I looked up, "How to win an argument" and found that it's a formula. Saying this sentence once, or more, is a chess move because:

a.)First, it assumes that the person speaking (or typing) has a moral high ground by apologizing for your behavior.

b.)This places the "apologetic" person in a attack position. Because it assumes that you are upset, therefor out of control. Anyone who is out of control with emotion has no credibility. That one sentence puts you in a defensive stance because it shifts the topic to your state of mind, rather then the facts of the argument, so you instead must defend your emotional state, not your reason for the argument.

When you're assumed to be the loose cannon here, deflect this dirty tactic by ignoring the comment. In Judo you win by moving out of the way of an attack so the person's momentum becomes their downfall.

Also, if you want to be a jerk, never answer the person's questions to you about the argument in question. Instead, attack their credibility. If you ignore all that was said of you (no matter how true it is) then the other person is really in control because they have the floor to go for your perception of reality, as opposed to facts. So, assholes, ignore the person's complaint and attack their credibility.

Another argument winner is to say that every problem you have with the person was seen with your own eyes, not hearsay. I knew a man vaguely who, in nearly a decade, talked to me about three times. But his friends don't like me. Rather then ignoring me or saying, "Hey Rose, I barely know you", he brought up this one instance where he did talk to me in my early 20's while I was so drunk, to point out that could not remember what was said. One drunk event that I can't even defend does not make me anything but a drunk woman needing a good night's sleep.
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Enough of this talk. I believe adults need to solve all their squabbles with a dance off, or a rap off. Or something creative and bad ass. I almost put a CD on skip with "Now You're Messin With a Son of a Bitch" to these men after lots and lots of my money.

Can't dance? Or rap? Hire a lawyer. Bring up Michael Jackson from the grave, not Johnnie Cochran. Or maybe search the ally ways for a break dancing god. In grave trouble? Import someone with moves like the Chinese imported Chuck Norris to fight Bruce Lee in "Game of Death" (was it Game of Death?)

And if you really don't like the person, ask for Fame type dancing moves. You'll exhaust them to death! Or just keep your pockets full of Oxycotin, 80 milligrams, for Eminem to follow you around.

'Beat It' was an awesome music video. I learned half a air spit because of that man's moves. No Harvard for Michael. Just worry about what outfit to wear. You can hire Don King to promote you.

I suppose we can have trainers in your corner too. Bottle of water, towel, advice. "He did a kip twice, so you counter his move with a slow robot! Got it?"

A Rap Off is important, but you can't use those sentences I mentioned above before the break. You will lose! Just carry a diary around of rhyming words. Either way, you'll have so much rhythmn, no one would want to mess with you.

The world according to Rose. Still no spell check. But when words are sacred to me, they deserve to be capitalized.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Ron Paul

I hope to cut and paste my entire conversation. The response is from a very passionate University Professor.

However, my computer is not letting me. He had two good e-mails on Ron Paul. I disagree with one point here, but will not say what that is because it will ruin the purity of the text.

First, I asked who "Anonymous" is, because a friend of mine said, "Anonymous for President". Then I asked about why people tear him down so much when in reality I believe people would love him. The first e-mail is lost (on my g-mail). Here is his second, very thoughtful reply. Please read with an open mind, and heart.


"Anonymous is the hacker group that works anonymously to bring accountability to both government and corporations. They have hacked into government files and released tons of info from corporations. They would seem to have a lot in common with Ron Paul and his distrust of unlimited government power. The trick with Paul, is to value his values that you agree with and agree that he is not perfect ( his views on rape and abortion etc). The question is does Paul have more in common with your core values and can you accept that he is not you. People seem to think that Paul is supposed to conform to their agenda or he is not right, but he is not trying to conform to the perfect agenda of the left ( he is pro-life), he is trying to be consistent to his own particular values. People seem to have difficulty understanding that a person can be moral and not agree with them on every issue. Paul is a conservative REPUBLICAN, he is not a leftist and therefore when the left attacks him they miss the whole point...he is a REPUBLICAN with a consistent set of moral values. Republicans tend to be white and they tend to not care about issues of race and class. This should not surprise intelligent people. Paul represents a white district in a rural part of Texas and Texas is a racist state...so of course Paul is going to evolve his views over time when it comes to poverty and race. Lyndon Johnson was a Texas racist who got the civil rights act passed and the voting rights act passed. It is not where someone comes from, it is where they are now and where they are going that is important. I think the fact that Paul was a racist in the past is fairly meaningless if he has evoloved his view over time. Change, thoughtful change is good. On abortion Paul is wrong. But he is morally consistent."