When more of the same becomes a rooted philosophy, one that is mildly predictable and mercurial wedded, its time one turns his task(and attrition) toward those jogging gleefully on the sidelines.
So, I’m at the office, listening to Massive Attack’s “Girl I love you..”, and I’m steadily trying to ignore the two inevitable tasks I have to complete before week’s end: my HTML5 project outline and a new short story.
Both tasks, overwhelming; vermin in the crawlspace of my complicated mindset, and yet, are doubly necessary to my creative procreation. I’ve found that with any immediate onset of inspiration or radical thinking(in terms of a storytelling or narrative), one must either succumb to these often rewarding impulses or suffer calamitous regret.
I have a tendency to be a histrionic at times.
The underbelly
I’ve finally met the underbelly of Tumblr. I’ve met the other side of the warm handshake, and found a cool to the touch robot on the other end. I’m a victim of my own naivete, of my own incredulity. Tumblr is a wellspring of native commentary, political and social blogs, and imagery rarely seen elsewhere. But I would be remiss if I didn’t relate that, though aware of the darken corners of Tumblr, it’s underbelly, felt this aspect would never cross my path.
One doesn’t regale in the light without wandering into or across the path of the dark.
The underbelly, usually unseen by me on a regular online basis, rears in another form: Reblogging. You see, I rarely post personal pictures of friends or family members on Tumblr. If I do share images I limit them to images of myself(masturbate to that, sickos!) or areas I’ve visited or the items I’ve purchased(masturbate….to that?).
However, during a lapse in judgement, a personal image found its way onto my account. Before I knew it the image was reblogged and favorited by users. Users who, upon research, have their dashboard inundated with pornographic images and sexually depraved gifs.
This can’t be where my picture has been reblogged to?!
Why is my image crammed between the image of a naked teenager(oh god no!) and the two male pornstars having sex (heaven’s no!!)
I immediately took action, as any seemingly sentinel person would. I sent these people a correspondence, asking that the image was posted in error, and would appreciate it greatly “…if you removed/deleted the image from your blog.” Suffice to say, there’s a mix of Tumblr users that are either forthright and literate and diabolical and self-aggrandizing. it was my luck that I ran into the latter crowd. The teenagers users I wrote to were assholes; equally asocial and sexually depraved. There’s a fine line between sexual exploration and sexual exploitation.
I won’t clump all pre-teens/teenagers into this classification, but it should be noted that when teenagers are reblogging a personal picture, and posting it amongst the menagerie of pornography on their own profiles(pornography that would make their parents recoil in disgust) something has to be said about that individual’s mental acuity and otherwise intent.
Like I said, assholes.
I’ve learn a valuable lesson about Tumblr: come for the commentary, leave nothing private behind for someone to use for their deviant enjoyment. And if I feel inclined to share, know your followers and the environment in which follows them. This being said, I’ll be posting images of locales and objects/clothing. Nothing more.
I know this logic flies in the face of the basic tenets of social media, but the current underbelly of many social networks is concerning. The underbelly often appears in the form of “friend invites or a follow” from people who hide behind stolen or emotionless profile pictures. It’s difficult to discern intent initially. Is it friendly? Is it social? Business related…or worse.
I’ve learned that many users on Tumblr, perhaps the site’s bread and butter, have their hand in pornographic imagery, child or otherwise, and use Tumblr as a perverse outlet or a business card of sorts to attract and find other like-minded users.
Well, not on my dime.
2013, thanks for the reminder
Thanksgiving Weekend Aftermath
An epiphany appears in the stark of night or in the midst of a chore. It doesn’t present itself or acknowledge, by rapping on the door or sending a letter detailing it’s time and date of arrival. Not at all. An epiphany emerges on its own, and regardless of recipient’s frame of mind or condition, what it has to say will be heard.
My own epiphany has been coming to a head for the last 10 months, and though I had an idea what it had to convey, under calm tones and a soothing voice, I personally didn’t want to embraced it. However, it was the weekend following Thanksgiving Day, that my philosophical muse re-emerged, putting me in a DDT( wrestling reference), and whispered softly in my ear: Admit it, you really don’t like beef.
I don’t know if it’s because of me changing my diet, or because I’ve been enjoying more from the vegetarian side of the menu flap, but I now, more today than yesterday, revolt from the scent of fried or grilled beef. I shouldn’t go as far as to say disgusted by the visual or redolence that comes from cooked meat. No. What I’m saying, or realizing as of this morning, is that my tastes have modified to the state where I can only enjoy(tolerate?) red meat every few weeks(more or less a 3 weeks apart).
I don’t foresee my dietary swap affecting my workout/training regimen at all. There are many supplemental products out there that provide me the protein my body needs to sustain my activity levels( as for testosterone, I leave that up to genetics).
Hangover
It’s the morning after the 2012 Presidential Election here in the United States, and while many are celebrating another term for President Barack Obama or commiserating his victory, I’m more or less looking at the carnage left behind. Not the political flotsam discarded on the floor, left for joyous or embittered hourly waged workers to clean up, but more the mood of the people. It’s been a tried and true battle, if you will, with beginnings going back as the 80′s(to my present knowledge. A political genesis that has pitted the Democrats against the Republicans(sorry Green and Independent parties, you guys don’t factor into the pitfall…yet) through panels of mudslinging, derision tactics, and racial, often times despicable propaganda.
I should take this time to share with that I too don’t necessary trust the current model of politics. Instead of the constructed criticism in place, I prescribe to similarly popular notion that the engine which drives this two party system monopolizes off the maladies in society(health, economics, race, and employment). Today’s politics is a mellifluous diagram that placates to the real world concerns of the populous by rewarding their effort(i.e. signatures and votes) by giving them NOTHING. The promises often petitioned by elected officials are given to them by the Corporate entities that created them.
I don’t think the entire system is flawed, ruined by Man’s need to appease his one of many deadly sins, but I’ve watched the nation split into delineated groups. These groups are inspired(or bequiled) by their political figureheads to do what is right to ‘maintain’ or ‘reclaim’ “their country…”. In fact, I can’t help but notice the rise in social toxicity before and during every Presidential or State election in this country.
But, I’m drifting off track.
I noticed today a malaise in attitude, an exhaustive unhappiness if you will, that reminds me of the losing team’s locker room after the Super Bowl. This visual discomfiture, shared through hushed tones and vacillating eyes by colleagues and friends . I’m not paranoid, not to the extent that my mind will conjure up a Albert Camus-esque tabloids that probably do not exist.
But, I recognize a sourpuss when I see one.
What amazes me is, regardless of who occupies the White House for the next 4 years, why can’t this two party system for the first time since my inception work together to repair, upgrade, and innovate the United States? Why the fecal slinging? Why the segmentation between “Us” vs” You”?
Squatting through
I can’t believe how sore my legs are. Yesterday at the gym I employed, and went through a stanza of, various lower back, thigh, hamstring, and calve exercises. I workout my legs in pairs, and then individually. I kid you not, I soaked through my sweatpants.
What’s strange is that I’ve always worked my legs(twice a week)and been able to walk the next day with almost no discomfort. Well, times have changed. I attribute this morning’s pain, coupled with my inability to flex, to yesterday’s Spartan Run-eques leg workout.
In 2 days, i’ll be back at my legs again. My plan is to strengthen, tone, and then shred my legs for this summer’s beach-combing and swimming adventures. Not to mention I bought the coolest pair of trunks(complimentary based on my legs and height) a few month’s back in anticipation of building out my legs.
But for now, I’ll let my legs recover, and turn my attention to not limping like a zombie this morning.
Brief interlude
In terms of using technological gaming or casual devices, I think I might have crescendo. I pre-ordered a PS Vita last week(AT&T gets no love from me, so I opted for the WiFi only version), and having received my an iPad on Tuesday, and playing with that thing for about 6hrs, I’ve come to the enlighten downturn that technology is a drug. It’s an addictive, chemically inducing drug, that needs to be stimulated…constantly.
My home office looks like a swatch between a novice writer’s nook, a teenager’s unapologetic bedroom floor, and an Apple store. If you were to see my desk, and dare to sit in my comfy chair, you would remark over all the things I’ve collected, purchased, and received throughout the years–each item attached with a story or three.
But back to my crescendo. After reading my third book on my iPad, and staggering into the kitchen to get a cup of apple sauce, I had this repressive feeling that I was missing something. Something moot, but important. It donned on me, no sooner than I lied down, that I had in my book bag a few Gamestop giftcards and a new PS3 wireless controller. My world is such an orgy of techno this and device that, that I forget the things I purchase. In fact I’m so enamored by gadgets, that my culture has created in me a pseudo gadgetry fixation—and I’m not talking spasmodic purchases either. I like to see and study new devices or terms; one would be remiss if he or she didn’t see me in Bestbuy comparing specs or correcting the Sales staff on a terminology or update coming down the line from company A.
One would remiss greatly.
But back to the matter behind this lengthy, inspired-to-be-written-because-I’m-caffienated post. Reading up on, purchasing, and exploring new devices is intoxicating, and only after the intoxicant has wore off do I realize that there’s a whole world moving around me. A living world, of living things, living people, and living stories.
I have PS Vita coming(I mentioned this already, I know), and I’m not too excited by it. I mean, my hats off to the minds, designers, and markets who created the thing, but I’m reminded of my 3DS, PS3; my PSP, and my iPhone. Technology gives me a boost, in it’s infancy, because of what it can do or help me achieve, but after the endorphins have gone back to bed, I’m left with this cold-shower feeling of “man, now what do i do?”
Spalding
At any given time, in any part of the country or the planet, there exists a group of fathers who constantly teaching their sons or daughters the finer points of basketball. They’re educating them on how to shoot accurately, how to defend viscerally, and how to pass strategically. At the same time, there’s another group, a sempiternal group of fathers who are teaching their sons and daughters the mediocre points of basketball.
In this group the benchwarmer is born.
Christmas, 2006
Editor Notes: This post was originally written on Facebook, in and around the Christmas Season in 2006. Enjoy.
I am pretty much going to tone down both my demeanor and thoughts on this one, as I am too invested into listening to music right now. I am well aware of the calendar month right now, or I should say aptly the “Holiday Season”, but I always seem to play Radiohead more instead of listening to festive carols and that like. I’m taken aback by one track in particular( as this shouldn’t come as a surprise to those close to me), titled Pyramid Song. I try not to dissect its meaning, not even when coupled with the visually soft and palate invigorating music video from a few years ago. I am personal with my interpretations of Radiohead’s ballads and lyrics; in the same breath as a congregation is to the Sermon’s word or passages, and share them with almost disinteresting flare.
I’ve always said( or did I borrow this from someone else?) that we as human beings; as living creatures more so, possess with us, omnisciently, a soundtrack. I know this accord to be true, and as such, I know that the many vignettes in my life, the many serious and immersing conversation have been accompanied by Radiohead’s harmonic period glimpse. I won’t say that they inhabit my every waking moment, but “being a reasonable man” I will say that when I listen to one or two cds, I can immediately insert a track or ten behind a situation in my life.
At the moment I am listening to the aforementioned Pyramid Song, and the words, as well as the staggered piano melody, resonate Christmas memories from years long past. Regrettably, I insult myself as I write this, to pretend that this music can only can exist in a vacuum of holiday lights and sale pursuing zombies is sacrilegious. I remember many things when I listen to Radiohead, recalling people, fears, times and landscapes. The words invoke an ancient semblance tied to me and this gift of life—and it does not diminish over the years nor waver in acknowledgment. Music should do that I think. I don’t think we should make music as remedial or repetitive as a television commercial and dumb down its message into something current(i.e recent break-up; current relationship,etc). I feel music should stir the soul thoroughly, whipping from its wooden spoon memories of dreams, other lives, future lives, and the question of eternal sleep( or transition).
I’ve heard from family members and friends, the coined atheists, that my brand of music is depressing and too melancholy for someone of my “ilk”. But I disagree, I’m such a sullen boy; such an excitable child; such a dark angel, and music of this magnitude plays right to my heart’s tidings. If not to help me remember those thoughts that are dear, and dress my writing skills, than to remind me that life is a period thing; a momentary wish, that remains the same, even as time changes, but flourishes when we dare to let it—outside the vacuum .
Keyboarding, from across the room
Its been a great while since I’ve signed onto WordPress, so much so that I can’t recall the last time I uploaded a queued blog, let alone composed an original. I’m not going to say, almost pre-programmed, that “with a New Year comes a New slew of thoughts from the Monochrome.”
No.
That’s not a part of my makeup at all. I will say however, that the prime impetus behind this post is to admit that I’m writing it from across the computer room on my wireless keyboard.
Yes, I’m certain many of you have wireless keyboards or have used such paraphernalia in the past, but this being my own experience(and blog) I’m happy to relate…it’s different.
As for me, as for my career, life, and recent events, this will all have to take place in another post.
Forthcoming of course.
