Tag: Culture

When Humility Fails

I set-out to consider the state of the Earth as I perceived it. What I wound up doing was thinking about the distress the planet must undoubtedly be in; ultimately, leading to a session of mind-bashing directed towards those that refuse and/or refute Climate Change. Firstly, regard that I don’t pretend to know the scientific data; I solely rely on the reports of scientists as well as some sort of internal, connecting thread of humanity that hazily alerts me that something is wrong. That is hardly proof of the theory of Climate Change and yet I always wind-up disparaging the other side. And since I am entirely too lazy to deep dive into the science and breakdown the numbers and long scientific words, I figured I’d make an attempt at empathy.

After a good 20 minutes of consideration – mixed with the occasional Sudoku forays… I’m a multi-tasker – I came to a conclusion that was both empathic and sympathetic. Perhaps, they have just been failed by humility! Humbleness is almost never wrong. It is immediately an admirable condition based solely on its opposition to arrogance, while also acting as a connection to your fellow person, freeing oneself from the belief of supremacy. Humility helps people join together over our flaws, while giving our fragile egos a rest. Of course, humans can ruin anything…even humility. So, I wondered if Humility in practice could eventually lead you to a sense of comforting helplessness. It’s kind of how if you’ve tripped or slipped and fell in front of a bunch of people (your day is coming if this has yet to happen to you) and instead of getting up right away you just sit there on the basement floor of your embarrassment. Perhaps, those deniers just see the world and the universe beyond their control. How could our actions impact the heavens and the pulse of a planet? Of course, there are political considerations, components of religiosity and a myriad of other factors tethered to this founding concept, but it remains both simple and digestible just like humankind’s best truisms. I cannot disprove this theory either, but I can present a new perspective.

What if our galaxy constituted a living God? Moreover, what if the Sun was its heart and the rest of the planets its organs? And everything else in the galaxy made-up all the many processes, and items within a living form. Perhaps, the Earth could be the brain or some other vital component. If this thought experiment were somehow true, what would one person on Earth be? I would argue that each person is a cell. At that point, if all these premises can be imagined, I would ask how important is a cell? Sure, a cell can die off to no consequence, but it can also choose itself over the organism. The result of that decision would be cancer. And in a world where even humility can fail, I would rather err on the side of caution.

Words I Love Pt. 18: Contronym

What is there not to love about the word Contronym? It’s usually not in your average dictionary, but hunt around and you’ll find it. It’s a word that means one thing and also means pretty much the opposite. True to form, it’s definition doesn’t truly give you a definitive understanding so here’s an example: Bound means both heading to a destination AND restrained from movement. I know, I know; it gives off an oxymoron vibe, but it’s actually better at being an oxymoron than an oxymoron. Where an oxymoron would say, “By getting on the picket line they were FREEDOM BOUND”, a contronym simply encompasses that contradiction in one word: Bound. It basically did all the heavy lifting for that oxyMORON. Advantage Contronym.

The contronym is more of a concept than just a word.  It’s a loadstar in speech, guiding us to one very important understanding: language is both the path and the destination, equally beautiful in its practicality as it is in its futility.   Everyday our survival relies on how well we communicate our needs to others, but, at the same time, we can exist just a few poorly chosen words away from our own destruction.  You should thank your nearest contronym because it is through it that we can see the dynamic force of language.  Language is like light in how it changes into a wave or a particle depending on what is needed to exist.   

Ironically, no matter how Language frantically evolves and morphs for its survival and relevancy, it will always be made ineffective by a look or a feeling or a picture. Ultimately, Language itself is a contronym because all the eloquent words in the world cannot define the most underwhelming of sunsets.

I Blame Fractions

​As rioters from the Cult of Trump ravaged one of the emblems of American Democracy, I realized something.  Just beneath the abraded veneer on the final layer of civility and decorous political discourse in this country, I discovered something that goes beyond the causes of this violent travesty at the Capitol.  People were quick to blame a demagogue that is beyond irresponsible or a demographic of people that are undereducated, filled to the brim with resentment and armed with both presumed and unconscious white privilege, but, although those are factors, I think there’s more to it.  I believe the true culprit is math; specifically, the fraction.

​Just like the foundations of a building, the foundation of a society must be constructed to hold the weight of posterity.  Our country was founded with the cement of liberty and rule of law, but, unfortunately, it was reinforced with the rebar of racism, classism and anti-intellectualism.  The founding class of this country had difficulty reconciling all the different kinds of freedoms that would result from gaining sovereignty.  Consequently, that group chose their own personal freedom and let everyone else work it out for themselves.  As a consequence, the political and military leaders were led into a higher stratum where they were surrounded by the wealthy merchant class that jockeyed at their feet for position.  It was in those conditions that the 3/5 Compromise was born.  The 3/5 Compromise was an agreement between representatives of the Northern and Southern states in 1787 that determined that each slave was worth 3/5 of a white man.  One might wonder, since the forefathers had already achieved the heights of hypocrisy by ignoring the slavery issue during and after a war for independence and freedom, why on Earth would they care about assigning a slave an official value?  The answer is that the North wanted tax revenue and a national partnership while the South wanted census-based representation and a dominance in the agriculture trade aided by slave labor.  This compromise was negotiated by the political class even though they knew it to be untenable as a long-term solution.  The founding class didn’t level with the farmers and agricultural merchants of the South; therefore, the South went about building a culture and an economy on the unsound, immoral foundation of slavery.

It all began with that fraction. It laid the groundwork for the harmful American approach of not leveling with folks…well certain folks. It would seem some folks have a tougher time dealing with the reality outside of the status quo or maybe they’ve just never been given the opportunity. After the Civil War, the South quickly began to collapse, accelerated by the bursting of the agribusiness bubble (profit margins change when you have to PAY your workers). Consequently, Southern culture resorted to counterfactuals and began to cling to the “majesty” of antebellum South along with all its accoutrements – like the Confederate flag. And still the political class couldn’t level with them about the importance of moving on and progress or even the facts of changed circumstances. It’s much easier to let people live in their reality than to take on the the task of helping people work through the stages of grief; moreover, why not make a buck or gain position by telling people only what they want to hear (or do both like Fox News). Nevertheless, it all started with 3/5; it’s just as I always said to every math teacher I’ve ever had, “Fractions Suck!!!”

Ethics in Bizz 101


​“He found the press and Flintstones all through the apartment!” one young man said to other in a dark recess of a sixth floor staircase.  “I used to love eating Flintstones when I was a kid,” the teen then said, while absent-mindedly hitting the side of his hand against the coarse, gray walls of the stairwell.

​“Maybe we can reminisce about childhood later… if Kool don’t fuckin’ shoot me!  What happened next?” the other young man asked.  He wasn’t scared.  His voice did harbor a slight tremble, but it was due to a stream of anxiety coursing through him, not fear or nervousness.  He could also feel a slight shake in his hands, but he carefully concealed that in his Polo varsity jacket.  He knew to never show anything that even looked like fear, not even to someone he considered an ally.

​“My fault, bro… relax…yeah, but he was telling a couple of the others he wanted to pop you if he saw you over that way today…” the first teen finished.

​“Twist! What the fuck, bro!  What kinda info is this?  Is he tryna shoot my ass or not?  Did he link up with any of those boys from the back building?  Can I sneak back and get some of my shit?  I need answers on shit like that…You out here distracted.  I know you since we was kids…You wanna see me dead?” the young man finished.

​“Damn, Bizzy…my fault.  I ain’t know you was scared like that,” Twist replied.  Bizz was very disappointed in himself for losing it and so clearly giving off an impression.  It was the wrong impression, but still an impression.  In fact, Bizzy felt far removed from fear; all he felt, at that moment, was frustration with his slow-witted friend.  It seemed his friend wanted him to be scared, so he needed to play it that way; any denial or show of strength felt like it would, ironically, put him in a weaker position.   

​“You wouldn’t be scared!?!  He tryna “pop” me… like does that mean kill me or just punch me in the face?  I can live with one but not the other,” Bizz said jokingly, while taking his left hand out of his jacket displaying a slight tremor.  As mentioned before, these two young men had known each other for years.  That fact bred in Twist a sense of familiarity he mistook for knowledge.  Twist thought that, like himself, Bizz told jokes when he got nervous.  This wasn’t true, but Twist, in that moment, conspired with his fragile memory to create that reality.  Perhaps, he wanted to believe that Bizz had more in common with him than just the environment.  Perhaps, he thought this quirk could be the by-product of a deeper, more fraternal bond.  Of course, Twist could never consider the truth: Bizz was rarely ever scared or nervous, but, instead, in a perpetual state of anxiety that he strictly managed, beside the outlying and occasional shaking.  

​“Bro, relax!  He saw you was making fake pills, but his count was good and a couple of his girl’s friends took some of his work and was lit!  So you good!  You definitely gunna have to pay for trying trade under his name, but anyone dumb enuff to buy ground-up Flintstones instead of pills aint none of our clientele.  At most, I’ll bet he’ll tax you, but I don’t see him calling Steel and dem nuts,” Twist said before slapping Bizz’sshoulder with the intention of buoying his spirits. 

​Bizz fingered a stack of money in his jacket pocket.  He would be taxed, but didn’t care because apparently no one in Kool’s crew knew shit about the catalytic effect of vitamin C on MDMA.  Kool didn’t realize his “count” was off by several hundred doses.  All of Kool’s product was milligrams lighter on the “Molly” side (Along with many other things, Kool dealt in two types of ecstasy: Molly and Stacks) courtesy of some ground-up Vitamin C.  Moreover, the press he bought off Amazon was going to be used to skim off ecstasy stacks (which is just street jargon for dose levels).  Disappointment panged inside of Bizz again because he didn’t even get to that part of the hustle before he drew some attention.  He was seemingly busted by a bunch of no-accounts before he even really take off!  What was he going to do with all those caffeine pills back at his auntie’s apartment?

“Anyway, bro, if you scared just say you scared! Kool loves shaking cats up. Just go there and let him do his whole schtick. He’ll have that old .40 out and talk his bullshit, but after that you’ll be back, because we need you. And shit, I need you! We been making moves forever! Come on!” Twist finished before putting his arm around his friend. Bizz smiled even though he was thinking about how many times he’d skimmed off his friend throughout all their countless endeavors.

It’s Just Soda!

Red Bull and Monster drinks are just a ploy to make soda an acceptable breakfast beverage.  There I said it!  I know you’re response will be, “Big Beverage already got us hooked on coffee, tea and delicious orange juice…why would they need to peddle their fizzy wares pre-lunchtime” (I’m paraphrasing).      

​Simple!  Think market share (sorry for raising my voice earlier).  All across the board, it makes sense to start moneymaking campaigns early.  You’ve seen it with Christmas and how it starts earlier and earlier.  Also, Black Friday – I think they moved it up to June this year.  Ultimately, no matter how diaphanous or subtle the efforts of Corporate America are, we are still subject to them.  Before long, we’ll be chomping on McDonald’s fries alongside our eggs or pancakes, because they’re basically hash brown’s idiot cousin…right?  

The motivation is that the profit margins are greater when lunch and dinner are being served; after all, no matter how you dress it up, we all know a couple of eggs are pretty cheap and plenty filling.  So next time you’re washing that bacon, egg and cheese down with an icy Mango Mania Monster drink (12oz because I’m no quitter, nor do I fear the Reaper), just remember that they’re two for five at 7-eleven this week!

God Believes in Irony

Indigenous People’s Day seems to have turned a corner.  What once was a regionally specific holiday has now become its own thing.  Thanks to this root canal of a year we’re having, people have developed a now-or-never mentality.  It seems that when enough terrible things happen in a short span of time, people reach a sort-of societal Terminal Velocity where fear – fear of discomfort or change or pushback – is marginalized: I call this the “IDGAF stage”.  Consequently, those things that used to cause a person to quietly and hopelessly dissent now evoke outcry and action.  Along with social justice reform outcries, there was a clamor for historical corrections as statues toppled because they were considered symbols of oppression and misinformation.  That’s where Indigenous People’s Day comes in.  

Originally adopted to celebrate Native American peoples, I.P.D. is evolving to embody the struggle of all those indigenous people killed, displaced and/or oppressed worldwide – usually without even a footnote in the history books.  Ironically, the holiday has taken hold because of a historical oppressor: Christopher Columbus.  Hidden among History’s many misrepresentations was Christopher Columbus.  A man now considered more of a buccaneer than a benevolent discoverer. Chris enslaved, dominated and killed up-and-down the New World.  Amid this groin pull of a year, the new historical perspective of Columbus show him to be torturous, commodifying and violent, which have revised his legacy from hero to a more pedestrian role for the time: brutal European colonizer.  All of this, ironically, worked to the benefit of Indigenous People’s Day, which now found itself nestled in a prime National Holiday timeslot!  

Once again, Timing proves itself vital in life. All it took was a perfectly terrible cocktail of disaster, disease and discontent to lead this country and the world into a serious – although I’m sure fleeting – interest in Justice both in the present and in the past. Perhaps, this raging hemorrhoid of a year had purpose after all or maybe everything will revert as soon as we can be sufficiently distracted once again.

Glazomaniac

​A Glazomaniac is someone that loves making lists.  I am a self-diagnosed Glazomaniac.  I make a list for the grocery store and then pop over to another list that gives me credit for a successful errand.  I have a list that is composed of “challenges”, which I monitor every day because I’m supposed to complete two a day, according to my Daily Requirement List.  I list things that I want and things that I need to get rid of.  I also list the outfits that I wore – so far, the value of which seems only helpful in recalling which pants got my headphones in them.

I have a list of the books I’ve read (I’m attempting to read 10,000 before I die…not completely sure why I set that goal).  I also have a list of books that I want to read.  I have a list of my writing projects and a list of goals for each project.  And, of course, I have a list that gives me “Writing Career” points every time I perform well in those other lists.

I once determined that I was losing entirely too much time in a day being efficient with my lists. Consequently, I resolved to start giving myself credit for checking and maintaining my portfolio of lists (that super list became known as the List Management List). Whew! That was a close call for my beloved lists, but problem was solved.

Madison, Hamilton and Betsy Ross

Now that some time has passed and the debate is digested(well, as digested as something both undercooked and over-spiced can be) we can officially declare political discourse dead. Wave goodbye to the romantic notions of debate: Lincoln/Douglas or Kennedy/Nixon. No more will rhetoric and language soar above the fight, highlighting vision and idealism. Now the fight is all there is. Now we fight over the facts that we want and the truth that suits us.

There’s nothing but Straw Men as far as I can see, all shouting at each other.  One hand pointing and accusing while the other hand is holding a torch threatening to “burn it all down!”  

Separation was sewn into our democracy by great minds like Madison and Hamilton in order to prevent abusive rule. The thought being that different agendas all coming together at the same time would create a stage for slow, thoughtful compromise. NOPE! Instead, it seems that that thread of Separation has frayed into Divisiveness. Two parties in such clear contention that neither can stand to hear the other side talk. Good ideas are stillborn in that kind of society.