It's The Howling Nothingness

We often say things like "the person who gunned down innocent bystanders at (name Any recent event) was mentally ill" because we're simply not comfortable or emotionally equipped to deal with the truth. 

Sit these shooters down with some psychiatrist or clinical therapist, and more than likely, you won't get a diagnosis of a personality disorder, or PTSD, or schizoaffective. You likely won't even get the DSM's flavor of "psychopathy" or "sociopathy." You'll likely get nothing even remotely remarkable, except maybe what Stephen King calls a "howling nothingness" behind their eyes, a demonic slyness hidden deep beneath layer after layer of ideological justifications and defense mechanisms; a willful ignorance of any metric of kindness, decency or compassion.

Stop stigmatizing those who struggle with their mental health by conflating them with monsters. Some things are what they are. These people aren't mentally ill, they're evil. 

"I Don't Like Kids.."

Hi. Friendly reminder that the oft-repeated online statement/sentiment of “I don’t like kids” should elicit the same revulsion and indignation as the statement “I don’t like gays” or “I don’t like black people.” 

Children are the most routinely marginalized and oppressed group of people on the planet; utterly powerless to defend themselves against a myriad of cruel, dangerous and traumatic things. When you say “I don’t like kids,” you’re normalizing that marginalization and that oppression and proving yourself to be one more person children can't look to to keep them safe. 

Stop doing it. You don't have to have kids. It's not a good choice for many and a completely valid decision to choose to not be a parent for a vast number of people. But stop hating the most vulnerable among us. Please, be better.

Under The Lying Stone, Water Does Not Flow..

War is never a good thing, which might be such an understatement that it borders on being criminally fatuous or at least flirts with hyperbolic idiocy, but you have to give credit to many of the kings and queens of the past. When their armies went to war, they often led them, and not from the command center of an ivory tower or from a secure bunker in a secret locale. People like Henry the Vth were horrifically maimed by arrows that tore into their body on the battlefield. They fought against their enemies, often in hand-to-hand combat, right alongside their knights.

I guess that's why Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelensky resonates so strongly with so many people. If you know me, you know damn well just how opposed I am to turning any politician into a hero or cult figure, but there's something that speaks to us about a modern leader who eschews the suit and tie in favor of a combat jacket. I have no idea if he's helped dig a trench or even fired a rifle, but he's still there, on the frontlines, still present among his people in the midst of a brutal and horrific war. 

Let's see the next President of Prime Minister to declare a war have the courage to follow his example. 

Down On The Dopamine Farm - Magick Lesson, #1: Culture Is Not Your Friend

Pro-Tip: Learn to disentangle yourself from the failed, degenerating quagmire of consensus reality. Free your mind from the puerile personality cults of charismatic, sinister figures who lust for likes in an ever-deadening attention economy. Learn to make your own way, create your own path and let no one else do your thinking, speaking, loving or living for you. 

Without living your own life and declaring your own Will and Purpose, you will continue to be mired in the illusory events of the cultural echo chamber, and your own hopes, fears and limitations will be defined by the leaders of this cultural wasteland; subject to their whims and the nauseating winds of cultural change.

You must become Regent of your own life and Master of your own Will if you are to stand any chance of breaking this hypnotic spell. Self-definition and self-determination beats any dogma available in either meatspace or the virtual dopamine farm. Learn to see within yourself. Seek and See what is real, eternal, unchanging; and you will become impervious to any plot or conspiracy that is not your own. 

Then, and only then, you can begin The Great Work of becoming the very treasure you seek. 

We All Want To Be Forgiven..

Without descending into a predictable screed regarding the myriad of ways that social media can be poisonous trash, I'd like to concentrate on a particularly pernicious sentiment I see floating around the on the topic of forgiveness in the social media sphere:

I see a whole lot of "you don't HAVE to forgive in order to heal" and, also: "you don't EVER have to accept an apology from someone who has done you wrong, fuck them!" 

On the surface, these ideas make sense. After all, we seem to be much more interested in ourselves as victims than as potential perpetrators, and the good old fundamental attribution error makes it rather easy for us to turn anyone who wrongs us into some kind of maniacal tyrant (much in the same way that everyone's exes seem to be "textbook narcissists), as opposed to a typically nice but occasionally flawed person who, generally speaking, only does wrong out of fear or error (like ourselves). 

That being said, perhaps, in the spirit of honest evaluation, we can take a look at the other side of the coin. If you've screwed up, and you're trying to make amends, remember that even your most sincere apologies and heartfelt attempts at reconciliation or restitution essentially only put the ball in *their* court, nothing more. You don't have to sit around in utter agony hoping against hope that you'll somehow be forgiven for your misdeeds. Nobody has that kind of power over you unless you give it willingly. You can be understanding, and you can try to avoid bitterness, but don't think for a second that you can't start to be a better person *right now* just because the people you've wronged aren't interested in accepting your apology. Your conduct is your own, and it is yours to own, and contingent upon nothing else.

You don't have to put your life on hold in order to torture yourself; as a matter of fact, if you do take that ill-advised approach, you might begin to develop toxic anger toward the very recipients of your intended apology! Letting this kind of simmering guilt and shame turn toxic and shove you deeper into self-loathing and depression is a horrible solution to the problem at hand. You simply aren't bound to the person (the old you, if you will) you're trying to heal and no longer embody, just because those you've wronged can't or won't forgive you. It may be even harder to accept the idea that their reasons may well be perfectly understandable and even justified. You might not want to hear that, but it doesn't make it any less true. 

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I also want to say this: Don't let it stop you. Doing the right thing is always a worthy endeavor. Seek forgiveness. Make restitutions, if possible. Then move on, accepting the consequences of the past, and try your hardest to be someone different, someone better, someone capable of learning and growing and putting those lessons you've learned into action. That's what is truly owed - both to yourself, and to everyone else. 

Tom Waits and Embracing The Mystery..

"We are buried beneath the weight of information, which is being confused with knowledge; quantity is being confused with abundance and wealth with happiness." - Tom Waits

I don't tug on Superman's cape, I don't piss in the wind, and I make it a point to never argue with our prophetic griot, Mr. Waits. After all, I firmly believe that if God had a wallet, he'd carry a picture of Tom Waits in it. 

I often lament that we've lost touch with most of the magic in the world. I guess, what I really mean when I say that, is that we seem to "know" too much in this day and age: everything has had the wrapping torn off of it. So many have replaced curiosity with a need for certainty, and as a result, we think we'll find some kind of power if we can boil every single process down to the atomic level, if we can define and quantify and harness every potential quandary that creation presents.

And yet, deep down, I think we sense that a life lived without mystery - a life dissected beneath a sterile lamp  - is a life not only lacking magic and curiosity, but it is a essentially a life without intimacy. And a life without intimacy is a life of isolation and anguish, a life of imploded frustration and inverted desires. 

That's probably why music and the creative arts speak to us on such a profound level: because they give us permission to remember, once again, that there is more - much, much more - than meets the eye. They give us permission to once again be curious, to seek the magic, to embrace the mystery.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised..

I just watched Trevor Noah's interview with Hillary Clinton and it left me with the taste of blood, bile and hatred in my mouth. At one point during the interview, he leans over and jokingly asks Sec. Clinton: "Haha, so how did you kill Epstein? Tee-hee-hee.." My blood started to boil.

See, this is why most talking head liberals in America are so disgusting. I wish I could call them a joke, but I don't want to upgrade their humorless idiocy with a term I happen to love.

Hey Trev - Why don't you ask her about how she and Obama murdered so many fucking children in Libya and Yemen and Syria, you smug piece of television trash? Ask her about her support for the laws that helped put a generation of African-American men in prison. Ask her about her support for policies that kept the government boot on the neck of sexual minorities for decades. Jesus, ask about how she championed invading Iraq, for Christ's sake.

TV liberals will make friends with Bush and turn him into a fuzzy, feelgood cartoon character after he leaves office, ignoring the mountains of unspeakable atrocities he committed. TV liberals will make friends with the Clintons, too. These people do not give two flying fucks about the mountains of dead and suffering piling up beneath the banners of these sociopathic lunatics; these men and women with all the power in the world at their disposal who use it for the most wicked ends imaginable. Liberals will cheer for Obama's simpering, morally-bankrupt attack on "wokeness," as though the man who indiscriminately murdered scores of children with drone strikes and built the most vast, over-powered surveillance system in history has any fucking right to say a goddamn thing about "civility."

Trevor Noah, Ellen Degeneres, Stephen Colbert -- these people are liberal darlings, and their willingness to share a laugh and cozy up to people who belong in a prison cell is all the evidence you need that the media "resistance" to the GOP is largely comprised of a bunch of rich assholes who will have war criminals on their stupid, puerile TV shows aimed at upper-middle-class white voters so they can answer softball questions to make them seem "relatable."

Fuck that. Fuck that, forever and ever and ever again. Never stop being angry about what these monsters have done - Millions of dead men, women and children in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Yemen and Libya. Fucking Millions. And millions of incarcerated men, women and children, too. Millions of sexual minorities denied their rights. Millions of men and women torn from their families and deported from America. Millions more Americans now threatened by the very systems these moral degenerates put in place and continue to prop up with your tax money. Fuck that. Never give these monsters a pass, because it's happening again, right now, and it will keep happening as long as we tolerate this disgusting pageantry, this smite on any kind of decency, these telegenic political demons and their talking head enablers who help hide the evil of their true actions with a glad-handing embrace, a duplicitous grin and a hearty guffaw that shows you how little they care about what they've destroyed. 

The Daily Marvel

I'm not into Certainty Worship. Faith, for lack of a better term, is not a scientific absolute - it's an ongoing dialogue with existence, akin to co-creating on an art project, a song, a poem. And to make a poem of what we call faith, I've had to learn not to settle for a false certitude but to instead lovingly embrace ambiguity and mystery with a curious mind and heart. The act is a dance, with every breath and every atom of existence as your dance partner. 

I aspire to co-create in ways that lead to better questions and to ever more honest seeking. Every day, I am less imprisoned in the poisonous self-critical notions of shame and wretchedness, but instead, I'm absorbing beauty, marveling at creation, at my growth and beauty, and at the growth and beauty I see in others. 

I marvel, every day; which is my own act of prayer. 

Valhalla Ain't Shit..

If you know me, this may surprise you, but when I was young, I fantasized about being a soldier or, at the very least, some kind of thrill-seeking adventurer. I thought staring death in the eyes was the apex of human endeavor and I was ready to be a casualty if it meant going to something resembling Valhalla as my reward. With this youthful vision all but being my northern star, I hoped for heroic lethality and some kind of noteworthy death. It sounds weird to say it out loud, but I used to dream of that moment of ultimate sacrifice frequently. I felt it was my destiny and I looked for ways to make sure I could fulfill it.  

I suppose, more than anything, such a burning inner desire spoke of simply wanting deeper meaning and purpose in life, seeking a reason to be heroic, a mission to which to belong. Being born with a club foot and the various corrective surgeries that followed all but curtailed any dreams I had of giving my life to some great military cause, and my attempts at seeking a similar fate, whether on the wrestling mat or out in the streets, were every bit as foolish as they were dangerous. But it was what I wanted; the way I had always envisioned my life playing out, and I was determined to secure my place among the brave.

Now, in my mid-forties, those dreams are but a fuzzy invocation of some lost version of me, like a photograph of childhood that becomes less and less familiar with time. Now, I dream of my children growing up kind, healthy, happy and strong. I dream of it and I ask for guidance to help me remain worthy of the love and trust they place in me every single day.

The fears that kept me lost in alleyways, searching and sifting through various paths of darkness or seeking the hand of fate seem so ludicrous now, in the light of my living room, where I can watch my children laugh and tell stories or argue about scientific theories or the mathematics of baseball. I see these things before me and realize I'd trade in every battlefield honor, athletic victory or potentially heroic final moment without hesitation. 

I know so many of my brothers who sought the hard road, either in battle or elsewhere, who share the same basic fear of a world that will forever pale in comparison to the incredible gravity of battle, where nagging self-doubt can so easily replace the certainty of purpose. 

So, I say this to you today, my fellow warriors: If that fear is what keeps you in uniform, year after year, or in the dojo or some other incredibly treacherous environment risking the beauty of life for some foolish pursuit or cause, please be sure of this: There is no greater purpose, no higher calling, no more sacred duty, than to be a father to your daughters and sons. And there is more glory to be found in a single afternoon spent playing, talking and laughing with your children than in all the valorous citations, battle scars, tattoos and black belt degrees from any kind of war fought in any kind of area in any corner of the Earth.

Leave the forever wars behind, my brothers. Leave the noteworthy death to someone else. Valhalla ain't shit. Heaven is here and it is available now. Go home. Be home. Your children are waiting. Their kindness and strength will someday become the honor you've always sought. 

When To Have "The Talk" With Your Kids..

I don't often dispense a lot of parenting advice. This is, of course, for a myriad of reasons; chief among them being that no one in their right mind would likely look to model their paternal behavior after me.

That being said, I was thinking about that potentially scary moment in a parent's life where they inevitably have to have "the talk" with their kid. I remember having the talk with my son Coltrane when he was about six years old. As i recall, he was very curious, attentive and surprisingly, asked very appropriate, thoughtful questions. 

I wanted to assure you, this isn't something parents should avoid or even be all that worried about discussing. I know the thought of broaching such a subject can seem a little daunting, but if you don't tell your children that the Civil War was fought against human-trafficking scum who deserved far worse than what they got, and that John Brown's grave should be a shrine synonymous with true heroism, they might get a very skewed view of history from the media and from their peers. Others will probably try to insist that your kids are simply "too young" to know that General Sherman did nothing wrong, but I guarantee you, they're already hearing stuff about the march to the sea from their friend's older siblings, and it's your job as a parent to dispel any myths, ill-conceived notions or outright harmful beliefs about the entirely justified destruction of Atlanta they may already have. 

Talk to your kids about the Civil War today. If you don't, some right-wing dipshit probably will. 

Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free..

Only a morally stunted fool could summon the gall to ask, "Does the U.S. Government bear any kind of responsibility toward the plight of Afghan, Yemeni or Iraqi refugees?"

Only a moral reprobate, sick with the degenerative rot of Nationalism, could possibly answer "No" to such a question.

I remember a video, from a few years back, that captured a Cuban refugee boat sinking just off the Florida shoreline. It just so happened that a massive beach party was taking place that afternoon. As the refugees swam toward the shore with all the leftover strength they could summon, near the point of total exhaustion, they were greeted by exuberant, cheering partygoers, who immediately draped them in American flags, put food and drink in their hands, and joyfully lead them into the shade.

That, to me, is an example of an America worth our boundless passion. A place that still remains a repository of people's hopes and dreams, woven into the fabric of the hearts of the people held within her shores. People not just coolly or indifferently accepting newcomers, but welcoming them with energy, with excitement, with an eagerness to share all the things we love about our nation with newfound friends who, inspired by the stories they've heard, have traveled far and endured great hardship to join us. 

In the meantime, I'll continue to wonder how my countrymen can cheer for a kid who journeys across the national borders from Ukraine to escape Russian bombardment, while simultaneously cheering for the Biden administration (or Trump/Obama/Bush) as it continues to detain and deport more and more immigrants from the United States. The small "drop" in deportation rates for families and individuals that have lived in this country is not sufficient, until it reaches "zero."

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Negative. I'm a Meat Popsicle.

I have to admit: I've thoroughly enjoyed a myriad of funny takedowns of recent Bruce Willis movies from the likes of Redlettermedia, Rotten Tomatoes, etc. I've shared their sentiment that Mr. Willis has, in recent years, seemed willing to sign on to play a role in just about Any puerile, straight-to-streaming, cinematic action drivel that miraculously found a financier. 

Now, upon further reflection, I just feel sad about all of it. It's one thing to be a shameless hack without discretion, enthusiastically signing on to any dross tossed your way by a greedy agent, while doing your best to hold on to some semblance of former fame regardless of the quality of the work you've undertaken. It's quite another to be a man who knows he's going to totally lose his ability to act very soon, trying to make as much for his family as he can before he just can't do what he loves anymore.