LoveSolution

A post about the most fucked up movies I've ever seen.

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 17:28:31 -0600

A post about the most fucked up movies I've ever seen.

Colorado fire smoke near sunset through dirty windshield.

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 15:26:43 -0600

Colorado fire smoke near sunset through dirty windshield.

An Open Letter of Warning to Beyonce Knowles, Re: Rihanna Trying To Bone Jay-Z

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 14:48:24 -0600

An Open Letter of Warning to Beyonce Knowles, Re: Rihanna Trying To Bone Jay-Z

The difference between love, romance, and romantic-love.

Thu, 14 Jun 2012 19:29:43 -0600

The difference between love, romance, and romantic-love.

Here's what I think about acid.

Wed, 13 Jun 2012 23:54:26 -0600

Here's what I think about acid.

Organ donation saved my father's life. Read about that here.

Thu, 07 Jun 2012 18:37:18 -0600

Organ donation saved my father's life. Read about that here.

If I Won That Lottery...

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 22:34:42 -0600

I’d buy a dump truck full of weed, a small house in a warm climate, and a give the rest to the people of Palestine. ;-)

My Thoughts on Kony 2012

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 22:21:42 -0600

My Thoughts on Kony 2012

For anyone wondering where I went to...

Tue, 27 Mar 2012 15:19:53 -0600

For anyone wondering where I went to...

Photo

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 13:14:13 -0700

Transitioning

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 16:29:13 -0700

Here’s a piece I just turned in for a class at school. I don’t know that I expect a fantastic grade or great feedback on this. It’s a little surreal and experimental and… well… weird.

————-

Everyone’s life is falling apart, I guess. On my part, it may be mere vanity to suppose that my falling apart, here and now in the quiet middle portion of my third decade, is any different than the way anyone else’s world is crumbling. My vanity is to pretend that I am not vain and to play as if the destruction inside of me has been my own decided course of martyrdom. My vanity is to say, again and again, that everything will set itself into place in the world and in the ether and between the neurons in my head, if I just live for a moment longer. St. John hypothesized a special step along any truly spiritual journey, which came to be known as The Dark Night of the Soul. It is an interval during which a cosmic seeker realizes that he is no longer making progress by doing what had previously been the things that availed him all progress. The Dark Night is a crisis of conscience and of faith. The terrifying moment when neither prayer, meditation, love nor chemical oblivion help to jar the suddenly immobilized inner-self. I consider John of the Cross and imagine him, in those “dark” moments, teetering on the brink of suicide and wondering why he couldn’t explain in words how suicide would be a progression to the divine and not an escape.

My charge, given by those surrounding me, is, of course, to march forward through what I will bill with vanity to be my Dark Night. My desire, though, is not to move forward now but to sink. John had his faith, at least. I’ve known no steadfast God to whom I may appeal. I’ve no ambition to participate in the economy of the world. I’ve no ambition to abide by the law nor to capitulate to the social norms and mores of the human race. I have done my best to purge physical excess from my life, but feel ashamed at all that I have still and all that I eat. I am writing little things here and there and waiting for someone to grab my hand and cry with me and tell me “I know exactly what you are going through, my brother,” but when I’m out in the world all I can see is economy and its constituent slavery. I am writing little things, and they could be called non-fiction, meditation, pandering or pondering, but, peering out from inside the night, the one thing that is clear is that all is truly fiction and nothing is verifiable as real. I grasp onto the Cartesian truth. I think, therefore… therefore…

From the fiction of my life I recall clearly my second memory. I existed in a trailer-home that my parents shared with my mother’s brother and I was perhaps aged two and one half years. There was a white dog of which I was wary, and white dollops of cottage cheese. I sat one day staring out the back doors, which were made of glass or some transparent plastic substitute, across the New Mexican desert landscape. The sky was of pristine azure, and my mother sat with me, young and perfect. In my second memory, which I consider to be fiction, mother was all of my world and she showed me things in the clouds. There a soldier, and there a dog. Spanning the sky wider, above the soldier and the dog, was a tremendous ship suitable only for an ocean, which I had no concept of at the time. A lumbering ship of cotton, cloudy nothing floating above a soldier and a dog and my sweet mother resting on the floor with me, fully embracing her life, which was also fiction. “The shapes will change, Charles,” she said. She spoke to me as if we were even and that I hadn’t stolen from her nine months of vibrant youth, or after that, countless hours of peaceful sleep. We watched and the boat became a nothing. “The shapes will change.”

Relearning now what I had learned that day is proving to be the most violent and painful experience of my life. More painful than all the cold jail cell floors, the rehabs, the detox centers. More painful than those lovers lost and the ones I never gained. More painful than hallucinating the faces of the devil in dim blue for want of drink. My mother hadn’t meant to, but had been teaching me that all is fiction and that life is transient in nature. The cloud ship and the mercenary and the mongrel had been morality, the self and God, all three shifting, drifting, and struggling not to be burned up by the southern sun. All three figures disappeared. Today, as I’ve detached myself in subtle ways from the senses that define and the language that separates, I’ve seen that my Dark Night consists of watching morality, the self, and God shifting, morphing and then pulling away from themselves until they’ve evaporated into the canvas of spirit, a sky of brilliant blue.

I am so vain, even through it all, even as the world burns. I say on the one hand that I seek the destruction of the ego, and then on the other that my ego is wonderful enough to deserve its own destruction. I have bisected the ego, in this sense, and hidden a portion of it away from the exacting eye of whatever God is today. This is a vanity and a need to impress God or to become closer to that thing we call God. St. John of the Cross, perhaps, wanted that greatest of theological treasons: to merge with God. This might have caused his depression. He might have seen that his life of devotion and prayer were not bringing him any closer to forbidden intercourse with the Almighty. Perhaps prayer stopped working for him when he realized that what he wanted more than anything was to be God or even to transcend God. This would have made him an infidel and this makes me an infidel because, watching the cloud called “God” disappear in the rays of the sun, all I can think about is how to take its place.

Everyone’s life is falling apart in this way, I think, torn between belief and atheism. Sense and spirit. The self and love. Most people have an aptitude for ignoring these crises. I’ve used up all of my mechanisms of preservation. Prayer and meditation are availing me nothing and I sit here ashamed of my station and of my cheap garb, which is too rich, while simultaneously imagining myself wearing the crown. All things are transient, and every thought I have separates nature from God, making the world appear before me as hell. Each life is falling apart while I rest here waiting patiently to be recycled back to that good moment, sitting on the floor with my mother looking for shapes in all that is, which is simply fiction.

Photo

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 12:06:42 -0700

Photo

Sun, 12 Feb 2012 09:08:10 -0700

I'm so glad you followed me and I found your blog. This is exactly what I needed tonight, you have a beautiful mind and such a unique perspective. I'll be up a while reading through your posts. Thank you.

Sat, 11 Feb 2012 21:17:38 -0700

Well now you made my night! :-) Thanks, brother! Let me know if you dig what you read.

I'd say your blog is badass, but that doesn't begin to cover it. Your blog is downright inspiring.

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 09:23:03 -0700

:-) Thanks!

stay rad brother

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 09:22:37 -0700

Will do. :-)

Photo

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 09:05:22 -0700

Dude, your blog is so legit!

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 21:09:08 -0700

Thanks! Would you say it’s too legit to quit?

I feel extremely honoured and at the same time, humbled that someone as amazing and eloquent as you is actually following my blog. Everything that you write about just somehow resonates with thoughts that I can't articulate well. Thank you for actually being in tumblr and creating such a wonderful blog! (Sorry for sounding a tad creepy, but I immediately followed back after reading your first post haha)

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 21:08:41 -0700

This is too flattering. Let’s talk more. I’m glad you dig my writing. It’s the thing I want to do forever, but it is way easier to do when people tell me that they resonate with it like you do. :-) Thank you.

Status Check: I'm Going Crazy

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 01:24:08 -0700

I don’t know what else to do but to keep writing and keep smokin’ these cigarettes and keep eatin’ these caffeine pills.

Greater awareness of my basic nature is what I crave. I’ve taken various steps toward this end. The general theme of my thoughts is that there is something growing inside of me that needs to be released. Something inside that is screaming to be heard. Between those screams, the thing is sitting patiently, waiting for the right person to be told to, and the right way to be expressed. I wonder if the screaming will dull itself over time so that I will find myself capable of just living out the span of my life quietly, laboring humbly and finding love wherever I can. Or perhaps the scream continues to grow until it can either be thrown forth out of my soul or until it consumes my spirit fully and prompts me to end my physical life before my body has reached its natural expiration date.

I am not afraid to die. I am, perhaps, more afraid of living than dying, in some moments. I should very much like to know what it is like to fully be separated from this body. I believe that, given enough time, humanity could become technologically astute enough to allow transcendence from the physical form. But the catch is that we would have to stop killing one another immediately in order for us to achieve this capacity. I think that this is possible, but sometimes it seems very improbable. I believe psychedelia can point a mind in the direction of transcendence, but I don’t believe that complete transcendence can be achieved fully through such brute-force mind hacking.

I believe that self-denial in the physical realm is likely the best shot at transcendence during life, assuming the world will continue down its path toward destruction by violence.

It’s difficult to deny oneself when others expect or demand so much. The state demands payment. The creditors who coerced me in younger and dumber times demand payment. People who say that they love me and only want what is best for me demand much of me as well. I am made to fit into so many molds, none of which bring me satisfaction. I feel as though I am, in some ways, expanding too rapidly to ever fit into any mold ever again.

I feel like a hostage when I am between walls. I feel like a hostage a lot of the time. I’m not unwilling to move forward. I am even capable of seeing most of this as physical sacrifice that I ought to make quietly in order to subdue my ego. But, sometimes, to suffer the inane chatter or the jealous, lusting and angry spirit of some folks is a burden that seems unbearable. I miss solitude often. I need to find communion with other people who are attempting to de-rail themselves from the destructive tracks of Western society and consumerism and tradition.

I feel compelled to a monastic life. I think I would enjoy being a monk. Being quiet most of the time. Reading. Writing. Working with my hands and meditating with people who are doing the same. I would find the occasion to get better at fasting and at quieting my mind. I would have a tiny room with some books and some paper and some pens and a picture of my family on the wall next to my little bed. It wouldn’t matter what faith the monastery was associated with. I would be happy exploring the monastic tradition of any faith.

I sometimes believe that I’d enjoy a long sentence in a county jail, as well. Time to sit and read and think. To learn how to meditate. I very much enjoy the company of criminals, as well.

I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t tell if I am speeding up or slowing down. I have tried, here and there, to mentally reverse my course, but have found it impossible. I think it’s impossible both because, despite all this, I feel happier and more loving now than I have ever felt in my entire life, and because I think that once some things are known, they cannot be un-known.

This, my friends, is a wild ride, if nothing else. I guess I should just sit back and revel in the fact that I have no idea what could be coming around the next corner. I know now that all of my knowledge is completely subject to revision at all times. Nothing I know or think can be considered objectively real. This makes each day novel. I should be excited about that.

I am excited about that.

Love to all.