Comma Poem

I’ve been given a lot of shit for my use of commas over the years, so here is my response in the form of a poem.

 

I use commas where I would verbally pause

I don’t give a shit about your grammatical, clause

I own english just as much as the dictionary

At least I acknowledge that my rules are fictionary

So If you can depart from the elitist horse crap

Please join me in the real world where all the food’s at

Mindfulness: Fill your mind with thinking about your awareness

Somehow it has happened that I am now a believer in the limitations of the conscious mind.

There seems to be this underlying belief in the western self-help wave that with discipline and determination and repetition and some good ol’ fashioned elbow grease anything is possible. This is very apparent in our approach to medicine, our psychoanalytic heritage, our general attitude towards diet and health, and our general obsession with the majority of our behaviors being “habits” that you can etch into your stony robotic circuits after 21 days of repetition you metal robot you.

Strangely enough the mindfulness fad, when it came from the mysterious and wise East, was supposedly the “antithesis of the short-sighted industrial Western approach” (I am quoting no one) to health. In the service of not being completely one-sided: yes, it did bring in a new body-centric dimension to traditional purely rational/analytical  understandings of the human organism, and in this way did represent a step forward towards a more complex and accurate understanding of the human experience. However, it also fit nicely into the little cubby cut out by the western paradigm.

I’m gonna take a step back here and say: what the hell is the “Eastern” perspective anyway, and why are we so wedded to the idea that its more wise and advanced and without flaws and whatever?.. Could that be a Western idea of linear human-advancement-leading-to-eventual-perfection sneaking into view on the horizon?

We act as if we can just cherry pick whatever cultural novelties interest us and use them in our own paradigm and that somehow is us acting out that culture or something.. We can take our shoes off when we go into the house and how Japanese that is of us.

Let me ask you this, have you ever met China, or Japan? Do you feel like you actually understand the important nuances and angle and all that bullshit of the perspective? Let me tell you, you probably don’t. From just a practical standpoint I would argue that it is nearly impossible for one human to have both these worlds vibrantly alive in their mindscape at the same time – even if you have spent significant time in both, they kind of have to.. take turns. Furthermore, if you have any experience with how vastly complex these constantly evolving different worlds can be then you will likely also have an appreciation of how this Baby’s First Cultural Narrative between East and West can’t be anything other than some gratuitous mythologizing.

With that said, I’m not even going to try to address the role that Mindfulness plays in “Eastern culture” because I have no fucking idea. Also, even if I did magically have a brain full of enlightened understanding, I don’t intend to throw around the “Eastern credibility” card as if that automatically makes whatever the argument is “more correct” and “authentic”.

Back to my experience here in this western culture that surrounds me, there are some fishy-smelling discrepancies.

Here it is. The idea that in order to be in ourselves or to inhabit ourselves, we have to exert a constant conscious effort of our conscious minds. We have to do it 30 minutes a day, 5 times a week; 15 minute intervals, two times a day, seven days of the week. We have to go to yoga classes or meditation retreats. We have to schedule it into our lives and get “on the wagon” to “reprogram” our brain circuitry database filing access systems. In another popular model, we have to “cultivate” a “practice” as if we are managing an agribusiness of chemically modified corn whose seeds cannot self-reproduce.

Get it? All these shitty analogies aside, the fact that this what-ever-it-is only works as long as we are consciously pushing ourselves towards it, and seems to eventually completely revert if we leave it alone hints to the fact that something may be amiss in the way we are viewing what is really going on here.

I see some eerie parallels of this “mindfulness” movement and the diet movement. Maybe whats going on here is a failure of imagination.

(To be continued, and edited)

 

 

A day in the life

Hey what up folk its about that time I should go to sleep but instead I’m going to write about going back to school.

I’m going back to school, to an elite institution on the side of the hill of the mountains of the inlet of Great Beautiful Canada. Maybe I will become so saturated with knowledge that I will puke it out of my eyeballs and never have to work a minimum wage job again.

I’m most excited to go and feel superior to people while talking about how I don’t think I am superior to people.

The most great thing, is that I won’t be working in food service anymore. No more fucking beet salads or cappuccinos. Instead I will begin my grand forray into adulthood, by continuing to live in a way that by myself is totally financially unsustainable and requires my continued dependence on a provider (love yall tho).

I’m going to start putting my stuff in bags again, although most of it is already in bags which is kind of helpful. But its in the wrong bags! and I don’t know why I still have the same underwear from 8th grade, when I definitively do not have the same butt… But also it is about re-arranging my priorities, and re-prioritizing my arrangements. A big part of that is also deciding on and defining my image. I have spent the majority of my adolescent life onward afraid to make an intentional and personal statement with my style, and the time shrinks by by the moment. No time like the present to punch a bunch of metal in the ol’ face.

Let’s hope I don’t get sucked away and forget all this Perspective that I have gained here in the real world. It already feels farther and farther away from me. Some fucked up fever dream.

 

Also… I am Appreciative that I am boosted on and up out of this grind for now. It is a really good opportunity to have…

Empty Rebellion?

Apparently this is the age of conformity, the generation who grew up with helicopter parents micromanaging their children’s lives and playdates. Gone are the days where young children were allowed to freely roam the streets of their city or town. Instead, the people’s consciousness became saturated with media hysteria and fear and peer pressure to anticipate every sneeze of their offspring, and the youth have suffered. We, the feared Millennials, grew up in the age of cell phones and GPS tracking, and fear! and what a shame it is.. according to most of the older adults of previous long-forgotten times.

I have heard stories of parents once being the stern, out-of-touch, Authoritarian figures. There were generation gaps so vast, that the possibility of communication and mutual understanding was hopelessly sucked into the endless abyss. There was a fight then! A real fight. A stone pressing down upon the youth that they could throw off in an explosion of light and expression. The light was so bright hot that they etched into the world around them their identity.

So what is Rebellion, when taken not in the context of genuine resistance against systemic oppression? You know, I’m talking about privileged rebellion.
…actually, come to think of it.. maybe I’m not giving the rebels enough credit. Maybe these things are not so isolated from each other.

Because who are we to say that when something becomes commercial it is stripped of its authenticity? Why do we look down on the ravers and hippies and punks and other sub-culturists who came “late to the party”, after the style was already sold for $12.99 at Hot Topic?

Even the hipsters! Remember how the hipsters were supposed to represent an absolute rejection of consumerism, which has now become conveniently purchase-able from a forever 21 near you?

It’s about Spirit. Its about heart and soul and individuality. Its about living out of social recklessness, not social conservatism. Whatever form that takes. And most of all it’s about exorcising the Fear that has worn away our mental landscape, and finding community in that. The anxiety, the mental diseases that have become rampant in our generation.. We are the victims of pages of diagnoses from the DSM, categorizing our afflictions, defining us, and drugging us out of the truth of our own intuitions. The many pressures of good intentions squashing out the fire of our souls.

When will we find the bravery,
not only in alcohol,
not only in drugs,
not in dampening,
but in awakening!
to express ourselves, to find a voice for ourselves, to find a space for ourselves, to hold the space for others.
And how will we find the courage to not judge ourselves with such a veracity, that we become free from the prison of our own expectations for ourselves. And only then will we be prepared to accept the consequences of finding our own voice in a complicated world.

Update, and missing sports bra

Hello again reader,

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything at all, I intended on putting more of whatever the hell up here soon. Maybe there will be some recent reflections on my life and learnings. But in the mean time I have some rando documents that I discovered in the bowels of my computer…

(The bra did magically apear on the table a few days after posting this sign)

Wanted: MISSING BLUE SPORTS BRA

It began one day long ago in a big 5 sports store. I saw her hanging on a rack with her friends, their acrylic blueness glistened in the fluorescent light. I reached out and took her gingerly by her hanger (from the others). For a long moment I held her there, staring into the depths of her label. Next thing we knew, we were in the dressing room together. When the white inline of her blue polyester-nylon fabric first touched the pinky-whiteness of my boobs, they erupted into song. They sang of the morning dew in spring, of the setting sun in far off lands. I knew at once that it was meant to be. A true soul-connection had been forged, the likes that only comes about in centuries.

For a year and a day my boobs and that bra remained stalwart companions, braving the most vigorous of workouts. We formed a bond unlike any the world had seen before.
That was… until this afternoon.

The spirits have taken my bra away from me. Without her support my boobs have sagged into an inconsolable dejection, and my muscles have begun to atrophy. Please! Return my beloved breast-holder to me if it has somehow ended up in your possession. I will not assume that you took it on purpose, seriously, who intentionally takes someone’s old sports bra? Please leave it right here on the table and I will come get it. Thank you! Thank you!

I don’t mean literal socialists

Socialists Unite!

We travel the world with book in hand and word on lips
Banishing our guilt to the far reaches
we don’t run away
we chase it
Excavate with fire and knives
The deep crevases of our souls

We track it by the rasping of its breath
by the scuffed imprints it leaves behind
In the shadows we smell it
We wrinkle our noses
Turn our gaze away and move toward it

Soon we can see it soon
It sqirms and shutters under our boots
It heaves and haws, we can feel it’s heart beating
The last of its life comes seeping out
and we
we are the conquorers again

Who the Fuck Am I?

(This is a poem I wrote 4/2/2013 that I recently exhumed from the depths of my external harddrive. Here is it to shed light for the lovely living beings of planet earth)

 

Who the Fuck Am I?

Who the fuck are other people? Who the fuck am I? I hope that I can understand before I fucking die

I hope that I solve this and get out of my head 'Cause self-awareness isn't useful if you're fucking dead