Wednesday, December 23, 2015

The Lovestruck Fool

The lovestruck fool goes where Seduction calls –
Tasty game for the One who enthralls.
Easy prey for the necrotic heart,
Of a predatory feline acting a part.

He's a squirrel lured to nest on the open sea,
Love is a sleek fin that encircles hungrily.
But the squirrel isn't made to endure the ocean's rhythm and roar,
He must be enticed to leave the safety of land and shore.

Pulled by the temptation of undulating tides,
His flesh prickles with wanting as Love collides.
The squirrel swoons at the glint of a sharp tooth,
Love continues her courtship lithe and couth.

He yields his mind to appease a primal urge;
Love sees her chance and closes in with rapturous surge.
She lunges and thrusts to capture her helpless feed –
Just another fool consumed by his own lovesick need.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Existential Crisis at 7-Eleven

It feels like I am faced with rude, not particularly observant, condescending zombie-people in all aspects of my trivial existence. No doubt some of this feeling can be attributed to my own hang-ups, but my insecurities do not account for EVERYTHING.

For example, I was recently asked to get a pack of matches from the local 7-Eleven.

I agreed to get these matches even though I am opposed to the reason these matches were needed in the first place, but whatever. I have my own vices to direct my judgment towards. I will try not to be a hypocrite.

On the other hand, hypocrisy is sometimes a necessary evil, like little white lies or the mildly despicable  things one resorts to when the circumstances of her life force her to live in survival mode. Live or die is also a choice.


“Don't call me crazy.I'm a survivor. I do what I have to do to survive.” 

― The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

Besides, the particular vice in question, smoking, is one I myself was able to overcome cold turkey over a decade ago through mindfulness (before it was a trendy catch phrase) and will power (probably a bit of divine intervention thrown in there too, but who knows).

It is therefore a challenge for my brain to be empathetic to the 12-step addiction dogma that says you are powerless – it’s a challenge because I know it’s not true. To be clear, this is not to suggest there is no such thing as transcendence or something bigger than us; only that it is false to believe we are utterly powerless. We aren't. We still have the choice to, for example, light a cigarette, put it to our lips and inhale. 

Granted, if you are addicted to cigarettes, it can be a very difficult "choice" to quit, especially with so many biological, psychological and cognitive factors involved, factors most are not aware of, which further complicates the issue. How does one fight an enemy he or she does not realize exists?

Even so, it is still amazing to me what you will believe is impossible if you let your mind be led solely by outside forces, such as pop psychology, cultural "norms" or my pet peeve, the "celebrity class" (why people would ever want to emulate these freak-show celebrities, who belong in a zoo and have the intellect of a finger-puppet is beyond me). Grant those outside sources your consideration, by all means. Contemplate them, think critically, but if they don’t align with your intuition and sense of humanity, REJECT them. For the love of GOD.

You can quit an addiction whether to a substance or behavior and you can manage your emotions, thoughts and beliefs without pharmaceutical drugs or “therapeutic” brainwashing. But obviously you have to want to and be willing to endure a little suffering, knowing “this too will pass”, in order to achieve inner mastery. Not easy but still possible.

Try and convey this message to the average conditioned drone around here, though, and you’re met with a blank stare.  Still, I do understand why this is – the crutches of addiction, carnal indulgence, egocentrism and faulty belief often provide a far better quality of delusion or I mean life than facing the panic of this bizarre reality stone cold sober.




If you do attempt to go it alone without all the worldly baggage and chemical smokescreens, you risk having an existential crisis, and possibly losing your mind trying to make sense of the absurdity – the big fucking mystery of it all.

So forget it. I’ll get your stupid matches for you – enjoy your denial-encapsulated black lung. Me? I’ll take my chances with the existential crisis, perhaps with the occasional crutch because I too am mortal like everyone else, prone to injury, disease and hypocrisy, and in need of assistance from time to time, but ultimately I’ll come to my own conclusions about the nature of my reality.

Thus, with the above dissonance resonating in my head, I asked the cashier behind the counter at 7-Eleven for fuel and some matches.

“Do you want a book of matches?” she drawled, utterly uninterested in the human being (me) standing in front of her.

“Um…whatever you have is fine,” I answered, a little unsure of myself, “how much is a book of matches?”

She handed me an unopened box of 50 packs of matches and said, “Five cents”.

I took the box from her in that slow, hesitant way one does when confused that she has misunderstood something, but also simultaneously suspects it is the OTHER person who has it wrong.

“Do you want ME to open the box?” I asked, double-checking that I wasn’t indeed the one labouring under a misapprehension.

Now for the first time since this unpleasant interaction began, the woman looked directly at me and rolled her eyes, “Ahh, nooooo…you can open it yourself.”

She made a kind of snorting sound like I was the idiot and not her.

“So it’s five cents for this WHOLE box of matches?” I checked again.

The middle-aged woman sighed heavily, like a frazzled single mother of twelve with few options left, forced to work at a convenience store for minimum wage and snapped, “That’s what I said isn’t it? Duh.”

Well, isn’t SHE a bundle of hostile joy. But life has clearly dealt her a shitty hand, so I’ll try to remain calm. It’s okay, World, you can continue to use me as a fucking punching bag. The lifetime beating has hardened me, I can handle it.

“Yeah, okay, just checking,” I answered, feeling inexplicably chastised (okay, maybe I can’t handle it) by this dopey woman who evidently did not know the difference between an individual “book” of matches and an entire box of them.

That’s when the customer behind me, who had been listening to everything, eagerly chimed in, “I’ll get a couple ‘books’ of those matches, too!”

In the end, four of us left there with multiple unopened boxes of matches for 5 cents.

Normally I would still be suffering with guilt over “benefitting” from this woman’s ignorance, even with the way she treated me, but the matches weren’t for me. I did not benefit in any way and thus am exonerated of all guilt. 

Okay, I still do feel guilty.