saml

December 2007 - Posts

  • The case for G-d By Sam L

    My final conclusion is that I believe G-d exists. Not that he does for certain, but that I certainly believe. Why? Well first of all; I need to. I have to believe that I exist beyond nature’s intention; that I’m not here to simply make babies and die. I must believe I have a purpose because I can’t carry an imaginary one out. I can’t do this just for myself. I don’t have enough “power” to believe my work is revolutionary and genius and the whole world must be made aware of my intimate understandings of life.

    I can’t flesh out an entire religion, I just assume that G-d’s schemes are divine and beyond my comprehension. This logic gives me permission to believe. Aside from that, there still remains one fundamental argument in favor of G-d. Why does man know he is a man? What intelligent design, what evolutionary purpose explains the need for an animal to know specifically what kind of animal he is? Why did Homo sapiens evolve into a species with instincts as well as complex thoughts? I am under the assumption that a two-legged mammal can survive without being at the top of the food chain? Must we have the neurological ability to reach close to full comprehension of our surroundings in order to continue to survive? I don’t think so. I think we could physically function as a species with half the knowledge we contain. We can climb trees, we have bodily defenses. So what is the answer then?

    Somewhere along the line the primate was metaphorically or for all we know literally cast from Eden? G-d said, “Do not eat the forbidden fruit or you will surely die.” Guess what? All animals will surely die, but man is the only animal who knows this because he “ate from the tree of knowledge.”

     For whatever reason G-d thought it would be kind of cool to see if he gave an animal the option of G-d-like comprehension for the price of death, would he take it? He said to himself, what if I created an animal who knows he’s an animal? I believe the storey presents the idea of blissful ignorance, but bliss isn’t life. Life is crazy and complicated and cool. Totally overwhelming but totally worth comprehending…

    What is bliss then? A coma basically, one we should not exist in but access every once in a while. For now, we have this curse/gift. Take note of this irony: Though this g-d-like comprehension is capable of solving most of life’s problems it will surely never solve one. Of all the things we can figure out, we will still never know why man obtained this higher consciousness. And so I am only left to conclude that G-d gave it to us for some abstract purpose and he/she/ it is watching. Imagine what G-d knows... I mean, we don’t know everything, but we know that we don’t know everything. So the creator must have the answers to our questions as well as information we can’t even think to speculate about. The creator must have some kind of multi-dimensional system of thought. The creator must be very creative.

    Ooo, here’s a nice thought. Maybe I’m not crazy; maybe I’m just creative which is just another way of saying closer to G-d’s multi-faceted level of comprehension. Not to be conceded, everyone is creative. Think about how your creative outlet gives you an entirely different understanding of life. I perceive experiences in words, in images, and in emotions; musicians might register experiences in sounds, scientists in internal structure, mathematicians in numbers or volume or angles... There are certain things in life I put little emphasis on. I pay certain objects or concepts no mind; I do not question them further. Other people though, they value the things I don’t; they understand the things I don’t even notice. The creator must have all these perceptions; G-d must comprehend every known level of truth and then some. Imagine how complex…

     

  • Who wants to demystify sex? … I do.

    Forgive the delay, but the topic of sex often evokes extra-lengthy rants.

     

    Do not misjudge, I’m not a complete and total exhibitionist. I am a fan of keeping private matters somewhat private. But that’s the beauty of writing; there’s no one else here but me and my shiny red laptop. Writing is my pornography, my Avril Lavigne- my guilty pleasure.

     

    Nothing should be held sacred in creative expression. Creative expression is sacred enough.  

     

    So who wants to ponder the actuality of a guy plunging his sharp erect *** (I can’t believe I just wrote that) into a tender and wet ***, followed by heavy thrusting in succession? Who wants to talk about how that sentence alone makes it sound powerful, graceful, and erotic, when really it’s sweaty, clumsy, and awkward? This of course depends strictly on your state of mind at the time.

     

    The goal is to be too caught up in the pleasure to think anything but “Uh Uh Uh.” (Sorry that’s the best I can do in terms of simulated sex noises) But we should all know by now that this is not always the case. Here’s how I see it.

     

    Though biologically sex is strictly fertilization, the act obviously holds much more meaning to humans. We want it beyond our biological cravings, or at least our cravings are strong enough to extend into our thinking. And so because we want Sex with more than just our bodies, it cannot be treated as a mere physical act. There are psychological precautions one has to take in order to ensure that intellectual desires are not sacrificed in the name of bodily ones.

     

    The general rules as I see them:

     

    If you don’t know your “lover” well and you choose to *** them because they’re hot (or along similar lines), you get too caught up in trying to please them. If you don’t care about them enough you will feel detached and become starkly aware of how un-sexy humping really is. But if those things aren’t even in question, you’ll get into it. You may be unsure and nervous in the beginning, but you guys will like each other enough not to let that turn you off.  Eventually, if not immediately, you’ll like it. You might love it. You will crave it.

     

    Good sex Cums (sorry, I couldn’t resist) from the equilibrium of wanting and working to please and be pleased.  Not too much chase and not too much being chased after. It’s that interest, the flirting, the flaunting, that subtle playful putting out, followed by that animal claiming and conquering. There is nothing more pleasurable than the simultaneous satisfaction of “getting off” and the ego boost of getting your “special friend” off.  You’re a slave to and master of sex at the same time.  But this idealistic way of looking at sex ain’t gonna happen unless you love your relationship enough to make sure you both enjoy it. You want to be able to trust the person isn’t faking it and that you’re actually good at what you do. And you want to be comfortable enough to not settle for being a mere sex receptacle.

     

    This is why, casual “no-strings-attached” sex, especially among youth , is complete and total bullshit. I mean you’re a fucking teenager, you hate yourself.  You’re either too self-serving or too much of a fucking sheep to really care about your sexual needs. And so engaging in the promised act of pure pleasure is not executed correctly. What is the result? Rejection, guilt, shame, a tainted reputation…  These things negate half the fun (quick math quiz: what is half fun + -half fun?)

     

    I guess you can argue that some sex is better than no sex. And I would argue that this depends thoroughly on your gender. You would be hard-pressed to find a slutty girl beaming with self-confidence in anything but her body/ general sexual skill. She may think she is a confident girl because she finds pride in her anti-conformist pleasure seeking lifestyle. But this is a fallacy and she will soon see that it is wishful thinking to believe that self-esteem is as easy to achieve as screwing as many people as possible. But why should she not be entitled to this thoughtless behavior, if it is allowed, encouraged even in her male counter-part?

     

    Well, part of it for that very reason. She’s stuck with a reputation he is not. She is shunned while he is revered. I also think it does come down to simple biology. I think girls have maternal instincts that burn with more vigor then the less-necessary paternal ones. I think she inescapably values sex more and in different ways.

     

    But I think promiscuity takes a psychological toll on all genders, hero or filthy whore. It is just girls have to pay a higher price for their foolishness.  Is this fair? No, but it’s realistic. It will always be a man’s world because women will biologically and sociologically strive harder for monogamy. Racism will be removed from this earth before misogyny. Look, I don’t like this dynamic, I’m all about role-reversal. But that is a game that has to be played with strategy. Bottom line ladies, no one is going to support your “cause” if you are mimicking the behaviors you detest in men.

     

    Moving on, I had sex irresponsibly.  I started too young. Taste it and it becomes a craving; another potentially addictive substance to be managed for those of us who have problems with the concept of “too much of a good thing.” There comes a point when you realize, because it becomes true, that nothing in life is free. We live in a world where pleasure reaps its psychological benefits but not without a tinge of guilt and the looming threat of potential over-indulgence. The fact that there exists an act that has the ability to satisfy both mind and body is truly a gift. But it’s a curse, a temptress who calls to us softly and seductively at all hours of conscious and unconsciousness.

     

    I am pro-fucking. But like alcohol, drugs, chocolate, and the like… it has its repercussions. Once it is in your life, you will never want it out, and so it has to be managed mindfully and with caution. You will inevitably feel deprived from too little and distracted from too much. Consider the other problems in your life. Do you have your school work, your mental and your physical health under control? Can you afford to tip the balance by adding on another weight?

     

    If you can… go on, taste the forbidden fruit. After all what is the joy of Eden if you can’t appreciate that you’re there.

     

    But remember, it is still not simple. One of the fundamental desires of us humans is to be accepted even if we only admit it in secret. We want to be adored unconditionally for who we are. Having a sexual relationship is being accepted and understood in your entirety; Mind and Body. I have lots of relationships where I am mostly mind, that doesn’t scare me because to me, I am my mind. My body feels more like an extension of me, a projection of who I am, if you will. So to be only a body to someone; well that’s so strange. Why would my mind want to be only a body? Actually scratch that. I don’t think that’s a good way of putting it because we all want to escape our minds sometimes. I think the question is; how can it be good for a person to abandon the securities their mind craves in order to fulfill their bodily desires? How can it be good to *** and be fucked, completely detached from the fact that you are both intellectual people who have intellectual desires? One can never be just a body, so wouldn’t it be self destructive and deceptive to act as though one were?

     

    Sex is cool, for sure, but it is my understanding that it is terribly over simplified in its cultural presentation. Now you may say, “Sam, stop being such a girl.” I am often told that not everybody assigns meaning to sex. Not everyone views trustless fucking as an anticlimactic move toward ultimate closeness. Some people crave pure, uncomplicated, sexual sensation to fill the gap now occupied by boredom. And do that I say “Bullshit.” Plainly and simply, if you’re bored, you play some fucking solitaire. If you’re bored, horny, and want some company, you ***. But you are left quite literally screwed if the company is fleeting. Wanting companionship is always tied to an emotion, it could be about feeling abandoned or it could be about wanting gratification. But either way, it is an intellectual desire, one that cannot be met by a mindless act.

     

    See, I can’t tell you if it’s worth it; if the pros of sexual satisfaction and cultural heroism outweigh the cons of the emotional bullshit attached to self-deception. All I can tell you is that sex without trust and attraction is not worth it to me. And I say this as a highly sexual human being. I would rather go six months without any form of “getting off” than six months with even one unfulfilling sexual encounter.

     

    Granted it was not thoughtful advice that led me to the certainty of my conclusions. Perhaps my words are still empty and ring absolutely false to some? But that I cannot know for sure either, because no one ever did talk to me about sex honestly. No one did care to inform me that there was a middle ground between the societal motto of “Use a condom” and the religious “Premarital sex= damnation.” Actually, I take that back. From time to time I did hear “Don’t have sex until you’re ready.”  Great … what the *** is that supposed to mean?

     

    Had anyone cared to elaborate, had anyone cared to shake me from my stubborn naïveté and say “Sam, don’t be such a retard, there is no such thing as purity on earth, if at all, nothing pleasurable is without consequence; not chocolate, not alcohol, not drugs… Even masturbation holds the potential for addiction, taste the forbidden fruit and you are forever cast from the blissful ignorance of Eden. “- what would I have said?

     

    Would the light have suddenly come one? Would I have understood and bowed out gracefully from my curiosity? Or would I have said “Thanks for the non-sequitur Saint Marry, but you’re wrong. I, unlike most stupid children, am emotionally unaffected. Sex is [supposedly] fun and fun is fun; like playing on swing sets or petting a kitty.”

     

    But those things were only fun because we were told to stop before we got nauseous and threw-up or before we killed the poor Kitty with our greedy puerile fingers. Our limits and responsibilities were taken care of then, and when we reflect we see those blissful moments as pure pleasure because we were sheltered from the personal struggles of life.

     

    The truth of the matter is when it comes to sex, we have only a vague idea of what we’re getting into. (If you can even call the cultural concoction of the Hollywood sex scenes, the porn, the pretentious boasting, and the blurred biological/religious education vaguely representational) How smart is it to let your curiosity get the better of you at this moment in time? To “put out” with only the guarantee of sexual satisfaction (Which, let’s be honest is non-existent because performance can be lacking on either side) is to rob yourself of the experience that sex is truly supposed to be.”

     

    I know- it sucks. But true to the nature of reality, it’s at least funny and ironic. When you’re little they tell you to treasure your childhood; to not try and grow-up too fast. But I was all “Whatever, whatever, I do what I want.” Little did I know… that when the anticipated time of total freedom came, I would not want to act with the irresponsibility I honored in early adolescence. Cool and life-fulfilling are no longer interchangeable in my mind. I was told that this would happen but I was told in these condescendingly simple words “Everything changes when you get older.” Tell me something, why are life lessons communicated so fucking vaguely?

     

    Why can’t teachers just tell us that optimal arousal is complicated? That it involves ultimate relaxation which involves the reassurance that both parties want to please and be pleased equally. It’s not so shamelessly graphic- at least not compared to some biology classes I’ve sat through… All you really have to say is “In good sex, getting your partner off will make you feel like a g-d. You will want to please them and you can trust that they honestly appreciate your labor. And when you “get off,” well, you get off… need I say more?” Why is it always “just remember to use a condom” or “have sex before marriage and you will burn in the fiery pits of hell”? I mean really.

     

    Why don’t people talk about the psychology of sex? A healthy mind is really the most important attribute in living, is it not? Yes, You could contract aids and yeah, you might go to hell, but it is a guarantee that you will psychologically feel something. Whether is the gratification of “tapping that ass” of the despair of feeling used, you are human and you will reflect on your experience. Especially one as biologically and culturally significant as sex. You cannot just act, as instinctual as it may be, and expect not to think. You are a theological homo sapien unless you are a rabbit or a retard. (I have license to say this, my brother is retarded)

     

    The expectation is unavoidable but here is the best way I can break down the truth about sex: The chase- is exhilarating, the close- is gratifying, and the act- can be both, topped with a layer of orgasmic satiation. (If you don’t know what this alone feels like I suggest you find some good instructions on the internet) But the come-down is inevitable. As with any mind-numbing activity, one eventually sobers up; only you have the power to ease that fall from utopia... Please, allow me one more analogy to drive the point home.

     

    Which option sounds more appealing; waking up hung-over on a Sunday afternoon, book-bag zipped since Friday with a midterm and project due Monday morning or biting the bullet and studying Friday night, still waking up hung-over Sunday but this time guilt-free. Why give into the glamour attached to recklessness [Sam] when you can reap the benefits of responsibility? In theory reckless abandon might seem like more fun because it connotates pure freedom. But what is really more enjoyable, security or uncertainty? Freedom isn’t free anyway. At the end of the day we are bound by at least one responsibility even if it is as instinctual as not to die. So live; live by structuring your responsibilities and pleasures in such a way to cause optimal fulfillment. To put it simply but with more clarity than any public service anouncement I've come by: "Find pleasure in your societal responsibilities and seek pleasure responsibley."

     

  • Must stop thinking or brain will self-destruct

     

    A very interesting phenomenon self deception is.

    When I was first sent away, I was hysterical. I was absolutely devastated and wasn’t shy about it either. I mean, I had completely fucked up my life to do drugs and hang with the cool kids. Once they were gone… what did I have? Nothing. Nothing but the fucking Utah desert and the fucking ***-hole I had dug myself into. It’s like that morning after a drunken stupor feeling- only times a billion. It was just mind blowing-ly overwhelming and I couldn’t do a thing about it. And yet, there is no denying that in the back of my mind there was a presence of relief. It’s over Sam… no more fighting…you lost now give in.

     

    The self-deception made my circumstances actually kind of enjoyable after a while. On the one hand, I knew this Rehab world was not my real society and so I felt no pressure to engage socially. I didn’t give a *** what these girls thought of me, I just wanted to spend every moment I could out of reality. I read, I wrote, I spent a lot of time isolating. It was nice in a way not to feel any loyalty to my immediate surroundings because I felt so attached to my old one, “the real one” in my mind.  And on the other hand I was silently glad to be out of my old lifestyle. It was seriously draining…

    Until High school, I never had to function as a small fish in a big pond. I was used to attention- not just attention- but praise. When I had to walk down hallways, up flights of stairs, past unfamiliar gazes, and sit in crowded classrooms- I don’t think I could ever fully comprehend that this was school. I made it a point to secure some kind of role in my giant community. I would not allow myself to be just another sheep in the herd. But I did become one- Just in a stupid herd. I was in a herd of black sheep if you will; still a conformist only wearing nonconformist eye-liner.

    I always had this desire to be an authentic self. Standards scared me because I never wanted to be a reflex of someone else’s opinions or expectations. But I was. I believed people expected me to be to be crazy- that they lost interest when I didn’t shock them. I became a reflex of expectations I perceived, ones that probably didn’t even exist. And I grew tired and week from the self-perpetuated pressure. I was ready to surrender.

    My circumstances in college were similar. It’s not so much that I was starving for attention. Cool wasn’t on my mind as much as comfortable was. But I think I put too much pressure on myself. I’m a bizarre fucking human being. I think I’m asking too much from my weird self to be comfortable being my weird self in every social situation. Especially when I’m so tuned in to peoples judgments. I think I need to be a reflex to some degree. Nod, smile and walk away rather than fight constantly to be accepted for who I am. I know that I need to express myself, I mean; I plan to make a career out of it. But I have to conserve my energy a little better…

     

    Today I feel that same essence of comfortable withdrawal that I had in rehab; the motivation to diligently pursue graduation with the desire to open up and enjoy the ride. I have enough confidence to know that my opinion is worth-wile. What I have to say may be unconventional at times but I know it holds some truth. I can’t put all my efforts toward convincing my immediate surroundings of this, I have a role to play not just in my social circle, but in my classes, in my college, in pursuit of my career, and in society as a whole. I have to be a contributing member to something larger than the here and now in order to be a whole person. And even though I yearn to be understood, and yes, even praised, I have a better shot at getting my messages across through diligence and hard work. Not many people really want to listen to my inarticulate banter, but they may want to read it in the form of edited sentences or view it in the form of avant-garde art.

    Tune in next time for Sam's opinion about sex.

  • I’m profound, so *** you!!

     

    I didn’t write last night because I’m a lazy ho. No I’m just kidding I’m wonderful.

    So, I’m back at escuela this week… Crazy isn’t it? It feels really weird: Like I’m walking around in this safe little bubble, which I am- essentially.  I might as well take advantage of it. It’s hard for me to think of this campus as school. I’ve never really been able to feel like a part of something big; Never really been able to function as a small fish in a big pond. But this world is kind of big, so I’ll probably have to start getting used to being part of an actual population.

     

    In a lot of ways I feel a lot more prepared for college than I did only a few months ago. I mean even though my anxiety is in full blast and I remind myself at least once a day how ginormous this world is. I feel really lucky and really safe to be on campus. Compared to the real world, this one is a little underwhelming. Which is a good feeling because before I came here I was sort of, well no, I was living in my own world. I was really doing whatever the *** I wanted and nobody demanded anything from me for months. But now I actually have responsibilities to a simulated society and to myself to be a productive civilian. It’s a scary feeling because it means I am less free. But it’s actually a very safe feeling.

     

    I more or less have a role to play. The bare bones of the script are already written. I have just have to read the lines with a little improvisation here and there. And besides, left to my own devices, I don’t exactly have the strength to really hold myself up as a competing member of American society. I have thus far always shrunk back into my own little fallacies. So I don’t have to be so scared right now. I just have to follow a plan and let it inspire me along the way. I’m not going to make money living exclusively in my own head and I’m not going to feel good about myself. I have to expand my Sam world to encompass this college world. And that’s all it is; an expansion of my own little world, demoting the primary goals of my first world to secondary.

     

    Everyone lives in their own little worlds with in little worlds with in little worlds. It’s just as you get older you become mature enough to handle larger more realistic ones, probably because you don’t have a choice. And that’s my opinion, which as an artist I have to express other whys I have nothing to offer society. It is my responsibility to keep talking, so I will even when no one will listen. Being an artist of any kind is after all just a license to continue compulsively speculating about truth and to express your opinion obsessively.

     

  • So life is kinda crazy

    One minute I feel like an insignificant speck on this vast planet, the next I feel like I’m on top of the world. It’s so strange…

    I know I should march through life like it’s a project to be worked on but sometimes I feel so lost in the shuffle. I want to keep going and doing but I inevitably stop and I ask myself why? What for? And the only relevant answer has nothing to do with babies to feed or money to make. The only response I can ever internalize is; because I have to… Because no one is going to do it for me. Because I occupy my body and I’m stuck with it. If I Stop, I will be lost in introspection, I must keep pushing further and trust that some good will come. I just want to speak my mind and hope that I can make money doing that…. And sometimes I don’t think I’m good enough but honestly success really isn’t measured in talent- Its measures in perseverance. There are tons of talentless nobodies making a fortune and tons of creative geniuses stuck in the oblivion of insanity. I am not so conceded that I can speak my mind believing that I deserve the attention. But I know I have to continue to express myself I because if I didn’t I would really be nothing. I would have no purpose. I was born with an ever-spinning wheel of perception and I need to use it or render myself useless. Hopefully somewhere along the lines I can inspire somebody and live for some other reason than to just be. Hopefully I will cause little suffering and lots of joy. Then I guess life is my creative project and like all of my projects I am compelled to make it distinctly mine. Hey Jordyn, thanks for being my audience. I really do appreciate it. I believe in what I have to say but sometimes that’s not enough you know… thanks for that little something extra. It helps, really it does.

     

  • A tangent about G-d and my unique self

    (Pardon the hyphen in G-d. It’s a Jewish school thang.)

    So, I’ve established that I’m a very sensitive person. I am not quick to judge and I often look to understand the structure behind the projection. I am always aware that there is one. Or I believe that there is. No one and nothing simply is what it is. Everything is a result of…

    I am groping violently for the truth, for the deeper meaning. I am not content to leave anything simply. My creations;  my school assignments, my artwork, my everything, always has to reek of my thoughtful perceptions...

    How can I justify that? Why do I have the right to attach myself to my creations? Why must everything; my clothes, my room, my demeanor, my passions, my style, why must it all bear my individual stamp? What makes me so fucking rebellious, so anti- conformist, so soul-searching? Why do I care so fucking much about being true to myself?

     

    I am told it is because I am a creative person. But that is too esoteric an explanation for me. True to my creative spirit, I must search for deeper meaning…

    Let’s define creative shall we, ok, I will; How about… One who is inclined to apply internally constructed logic? Think about it. My main creative outlets are writing and art, both in which I try to recreate exactly what I see and feel. I am conjuring ways to express the truth. Conjuring implies internally constructing and the expression of truth is a synonym for logic. In trying to represent a 3-d apple in two dimensions, I must engineer an effective way of doing so. In trying to describe the visual, I construct sentences using a series of words that I think will best convey experience.

    I do approach life creatively, I will agree with that. Not just in creative outlets. But I am trying to find meaning in this world. I insist on having a system of thought, on talking about what is deep, real, and hidden. I am not content to be an average anything and that in itself is creative. It’s not about being the best. It’s about being me. Not denying any part of me for anyone or anything and questioning the rules and given society imposes on me. And how am I to explain the presence of this creative or internally constructed logical thinking? I have no fucking clue.

    When I was in rehab my father always used to send me these letters. Again and again he used the word; empowered. He wanted me to feel empowered in my competence as the unique individual that I am. He wanted me to strive for something great because he believed I was destined for it. He wanted me to believe it too. The temptation of a life pleasure seeking was beneath me. He insisted that I not reduce to my potential to just that. Although he did think I was rather brave and creative for trying…

    So, in devoting myself to a life of pleasure seeking, I was assigning an uncommon meaning to life. I had come to the conclusion that life was about nothing more than pleasure and I followed through with my application of that logic. Now I know sex, drugs, and rock and roll isn’t exactly original, but still… Is it not creative to reject societal standards and instead search for my own?

    So why does my father believe that someone who has dedicated their life to being their own person is profoundly competent. If anything I would say they were rather incompetent for taking themselves out of the culturally imposed rat-race toward success. How can he be so trusting of my potential? Does he really believe I hold the power to make it in this world only conforming to the rules that I, the one in drug rehabilitation, see as fit?

    And if I do then riddle me this: how am I supposed to find this “power” in myself?  How the *** am I supposed to exceed the expectations of a mere mortal and yet except that biologically, that is all I am. I am just a fucking evolved monkey. The complexities of my thoughts and emotions are just the result of a bunch of cells fucking each other, or whatever they do. My personality is just an intricate web of lies I instill to protect my self-perceived vulnerabilities. And my particular way of approaching life, my reasoning, my logic, has not proven to be anything close to superior.  

    I suppose I could think that my genes and impressions mixed in such a way that makes me predisposed to some unique power. But I don’t think I’m content to explain my potential as an individual as some biological and experiential fluke. Scientifically, I am but a natural being, with hardly a devine purpose, and yet I don’t believe that for a second. How can I justify thinking that I am special?

    Perhaps the question is not how can I? But why am I trying to? Why am I not content to accept the widely accepted? It seems that it is not enough for me to know that I am unique in genetic makeup; I have to prove that I am something more than a lucky compilation of x and y chromosomes. So I end up unconsciously creating (there’s that word again) different ways of being, of thinking, and doing; all to fully express and discover the unique self I insist exists within.

     

    And as far as I can tell, in every environment that I’ve been in, my ways of being, thinking, and doing have been extremely different from those around me. They’ve been extremely different from every societal norm. Socially, I fit in well, and yet fundamentally I relate to few. I love human contact because in the moment it negates the profound isolation I feel in my worldly perceptions. I just feel so fucking different. And of course no one can understand the totality of my “self.” I don’t even understand the totality of my “self.” But I think I do more than most people. I think I’m much more in touch with my distinctions. I care a lot about what makes me specifically me. So it is only natural that I ponder why over and over and over again. Why did I do this? Why am I this way? Why is it so important for me to justify?

     

    Because I am an artist. And it is my nature to try and understand things as they are and not to conform my ideas to readily available labels. Labels are so blatant in their connotations and I see nothing as good or bad. I see nothing as black or white.  To reduce something to a label is to oversimplify its beauty and to extract a lot of its truth. But to assign it too much meaning is to give it too much attention, too much of oneself. I have an intense urge to comprehend the meaning, the truth, the intention of life. Why the *** am I here? How the *** did I happen? And I am not content to just shrug my shoulders and take my place in society. I need to know. And so I try to understand and fasten an understanding and that in itself makes me creative. And the products of my creativity, my writing, and my art, are just a testament to the yearning I have to comprehend truth. My creations are how I can show society that my unwillingness to conform to always search for deeper meaning has a purpose. With my art and my writing I say, “Here is how I understand and this is the best way I can describe it.” But what I still have yet to figure out is how I can believe that my opinion, one of a genetically endowed mortal at best, matters?

     

    Could there be a divine purpose for my existence after all? Maybe I think I’m extraordinary because I am destined for something extraordinary. Perhaps I am meant to continue on this self- excavated race for personal success. There are too many signs, to many coincidences… My life feels like it makes too much sense.  Like there are too many external interconnections to believe that human existence is just a biological fluke. Though I can’t except a G-d of anyone religious understanding, I have a hunch that there is a creator; that he or she or it developed a cosmic pattern that is developed. Do I think that I have a destiny? Not quite. But I think that every kind of choice is followed by a perpetuating circumstance and that there are atmospheric patterns we can sometimes observe. But every pattern in life experience cannot be exposed because how is one really to communicate the extent of their experience. But we already have proven patterns in psychology, in nature, in math… If man generated math; a system of numbers that work together in intricate ways, then maybe I can think of G-d as the generator of  atmospheric mathematics; one that is mimicked by every pattern in existence to a lesser and lesser intricacy. Maybe G-d is really just some convoluted pattern? I don’t know.

     

    All I know is that if I was simply intended to make babies and die then I would have been born a fucking rabbit. I am a human for a reason. I am me for a reason and I have a duty to be that self; to thrust every inch of me upon this mysterious world. To work my ass off and show everyone and myself what I am capable of. Why? I have no fucking clue. I don’t think I’m self-centered enough to believe the whole world would improve if only everyone embraced my philosophical views. I don’t want to contribute because I think the whole classroom of society deserves to hear me. I have the urge to contribute, to speak, to thrust myself onto this world for my own satisfaction. I want to be part of something bigger than me and yet I want to be nobodies ***. How am I to do both? How am I to contribute to a society with social standards that go against my own?

     

    By the grace of G-d?  And where is this G-d now? And if he exists does he really want to get involved in my personal life? Am I to believe he will hear my prayers and provide salvation for the bratty teenager over the starving child in… everywhere?  If so, G-d should really fucking reassess his priorities.  No, I think I must conclude that if G-d exists it would be in some removed form.  One who will not directly tell me what I should do with my developed individuality.  One who will let me go on pondering  why  I have been so persistent  in cultivating it. In short, I believe what I have to say is new and relevant. And I ask how can I go on believing this unless I believe my perceptions are special? And how can I justify believing my perceptions are special if I am but a figment of biology? Am I content to believe that my genes and circumstances intertwined in such a profoundly unique way, or is it something deeper?

     

    I want to say this to G-d; “Promise me I am not wasting my time on this Earth. Promise me that my rigid commitment to self-discovery, my constant search for meaning is not in vein. Promise me I am not isolating my mentality from the rest of societies and standing up for who I am for no good reason. Promise me that I can handle the burden of living up to no particular standard, that I can handle the struggle of being true to myself even if that means sacrificing comfort. Tell me I can do this, tell me I should do this, tell me at the very least that I know deep down the right thing for me to do.” Hmmm…Maybe G-d reveals himself as a conscience. Maybe he is that thick stream of guilt diffusing through our blood when we know we have wronged. Maybe G-d is that humble grip of confidence we feel when we know what we did was right. Maybe the advice of Jiminy Cricket is worth noting? Can I trust myself to “let my conscience be my guide?”

     

    Wait a second...Could it be?...Is Jiminy Cricket in fact, G-d?

     

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