Evolution My Arse...

OK...I watched 'Expendables 2' the other night.  I love those action ensemble pieces, like the 'Dirty Dozen'- & this is certainly of that oeuvre- on crack.

I'm not doing a movie review; that 'aint my thang.  And I am still deciding whether I watched the film in order to keep my finger on the pulse of the level of violence in Hollywood movies from a political POV (I would hate to be one of these fuckless wonders who criticises films & this genre without actually WATCHING them), or whether I simply wanted to satiate my blood-lust for primal pleasures by living vicariously through big buffed, beefy (& mostly old) action heroes.

 

Who cares.  I was amused by all the bullets, blood, battle ballet and nudging and winking between these semi-retired action impresario's.  I was especially amused to note the body count, and the special effects were without equal as hundreds of evil doers were routinely converted to mince meat.

But I was also amused to note that despite the body count- they could not allow Arnie to say 'Yippee-kay-yay- "MOTHERFUCKER"...I guess because it might be offensive.

I can tell you this; politically speaking? Nothing has changed much since Brando's 'obscenity' speech in 'Pocca'.  

 

Bottom line?  Wholesale slaughter is fine...rude words are not. 

 

Twas ever thus...shall ever be.  

Evolution my ass...

"Australian All Let Us Rejoice, For We Are BARBARIC!!"

I never thought I would see the day. 

Not on MY shores...

After three months in America, I thought I had seen it all. 

I always do feel that way; because every time I go to the States- I DO see it all. 

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. 

The country reminds me of myself, in a lot of ways. 

But I saw something today on my arrival at Melbourne Airport that shocked me to my very core. 

Waiting in the queue to be jumped, pumped and gazumped by Airport Security, I saw this gorgeous little fellow. 

Anyone can see the little chap has an issue or two, but he was happy as a lark.  And frankly...that's all that matters to me. 

I saw the joy.  And his mom was attentive to his needs, so who cares about the rest of it. 

A mom and her little boy...getting it done.

With no help from anyone else.  

These two beautiful souls were ahead of me in the line. 

I lost them for a moment, as I went through the big spraying and disinfecting chamber and collected all my contraband and highly suspicous shit, and caught up with them. 

Just in time to see one of the Airport Nazis searching the little boy. 

THAT'S RIGHT.

Searching THIS little boy!!

Can you believe it??  I COULDN'T!!

This is barbaric. 

BARBARIC, I TELL YOU! 

I have a BUNCH more to say about this, but frankly?  I am too angry right now. 

And shocked, stunned, bewildered...

EMBARRASSED...

But mainly ANGRY. 

My thoughts go with this little boy- so clearly and obviously a massive threat to our freedom and security. 

Some days I cannot see anything to commend us.   

This is one of those days. 

What hope do we have, when our government officials FRISK a little boy like this??

J-Lo was given a special escort through customs at O'Hare while I was ther the day before...

& today, this beautiful little boy is dusted down like a common outlaw. 

God knows what effect this might have on him. 

He seemed OK...but how would one know?

Who are we?

WHAT have we become?

Sorry, I am tired, upset, and in a moment I will make no sense at all.

Because there IS NO SENSE to be made of this.

I don't know about you...but some days, I just despair.

Take care...

J 

RIP GEORGE

I used to love George Carlin.  I ONCE belonged to a huge cult following here on FB, so I KNOW I am spitting in the eye of a sacred cow when I say I no longer care for him.

Once upon a time, I used to love his wry, pithy, witty observations about the pettiness, ignorance and cruelty of the human race.  I hated people too, so his jibes suited me.  However, at some point, maybe about a year or two ago, we had a parting of the ways.   I tried to read his collection of books a few weeks ago, & I could not.  An 'Orgy of George' was an ORGY of hatred and vitriole.  And it DID NOT let up.  After about 20 pages, I could no longer stand it.

Either he changed at some point- or I did.  I think it was me.  At some point, George gave up on the human race, & even went as far as to say he loved 'disaster', 'large numbers of people dying in horrible ways' & 'people under pressure'.  Unless he was bullshitting (& he swore up & down he was not ), by his oft stated rationale he would have found Newtown funny.   Not me; I no longer wish harm on anyone.

This is NOT a reformed smoker, telling you to quit the smokes.  It's probably just a question of taste.  When I was a kid, my best friend and I loved Motorhead.  Then one day he inexplicably started hating them, and became a Def Leppard fan.  We change.  Our tastes change.  We evolve, and we move on.  George was undeniably talented and funny; I have simply- moved on.

I think we have a lot to be ashamed of as a species- but we also have an ENORMOUS AMOUNT to be proud of, and commended for.  So...RIP GEORGE.  I will never wish you ill, I will never dance on your grave or laugh at your bones- but I cannot buy into your pessimism any longer.

Every funnyman comes from a place of truth- & your truth is no longer mine.      

MY PRAYER...

Saint Augustine said, "Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet."

I know one day i'm going to have to learn to let you guys go, in order to step fully off this mortal coil & into the void without too much trauma.

But NOT YET.

My worst sin? That nagging feeling- a kind of melancholy sadness-that one day, we are going to have to part ways.

Help me to hold you close, dear friends; help m...

e love you...then teach me how best to let you go when the time comes.

Let ALL this go.

& I hope I can do the same for you.

That is my prayer.

ME, ME, ME.

And another thing…

Something else has been nagging at me lately.

All too often, it seems that when I post- I post about myself.

You could argue, isn’t that what FB is all about?

What I’m doing?

What any of us are doing in any given moment?

Possibly.

So what’s the big deal?

What is nagging at me? A tick? A flea? Scabies?

Nope. Worse; the extent to which I talk about myself, & where I may fall short thinking of others.

I know that bothers me at times.

I noticed some people say something like, ‘Good Morning Everybody.’

‘How are you’?

I don’t do that much

Maybe I could. Should.

And yet…it is not really me.

It feels forced.

Like eating my greens; something I should do…

Rather than something I want to do.

Is doing something you SHOULD do (rather than what you might WANT to do) not a good thing?

I mean…I might want to make love to that lady over there.

Do I just go ahead and do it?

No.

I ‘should’ be polite, and keep what I ‘want’ to myself.

What about if I have a pain in my brain, & I hold back from talking about it because I know I SHOULD keep it to myself…even thought I WANT to say something…

& then end up in hospital?

What about that?

It’s a fine line…

a case by case thing.

What we ‘want’ to do…

What we ‘should’ do…

The lines become blurred.

Generally, it makes sense to repress the things you want to do if they hurt others.

But what if that same repression hurts US as well??

I was chatting with someone yesterday, & ‘that person’ (& I speak of ‘this person’ in this impersonal, robotic legalese way because I KNOW she does not like talking about her ills), admitted not wanting to talk about their own ails and woes.

And yet that person seems to love talking about not wanting to talk about her ills.

Whereas me- I moan at the drop of a hat; can’t seem to help myself.

Who is right?

Which of us is healthier?

The better for our own actions?

Well, before we deal with that…let me talk about why I think I talk about what is bothering me, my ills and woes.

I mean, it’s a controversial point, this; there seem to be two opposing forces divided.

Those who talk about their ills…

And those who do not.

Who is right?

I talk about my ills.

Is it just simply to wallow in them?

I’m not so sure; I think there is a little more to it.

Stick with me now; huddle close, stay together, I think there might be something here for all of us.

I used to have an Aunty who would moan and complain about her ills.

It was the first time I heard the word ‘hypochondriac’.

Now…she is someone I consider the definition of the word.

I can’t hear it without thinking of her.

Now; as far as I can recall, she would moan and complain & do nothing.

And make everyone else around her ill with her moaning.

Not very useful.

This, I think, is why I am cautious about doing the same thing myself.

It can become tiresome very quickly.

You might be the same.

But seeing as how I have gone back in my time machine to get to the source of the Nile…

Let’s find out why I crap on about myself- if I know it is something I don’t want to turn me into my miserable Aunty.

Clearly there is a conflict here.

And conflict must be rectified.

While we are on family…

Let’s talk about Dad.

I have become accustomed to resisting ANYTHING my father ever said.

‘Don’t lie to me, son, lie to girls.’

‘Trust nobody’

‘The only language people understand is a smack in the head’.

OK. That kind of thing.

I figure if I ignore that…I’m OK.

One other thing he used to day…

‘Don’t complain, don’t explain, and NEVER apologise’.

Seemed reasonable at the time; I mean, he WAS my father.

What else did I have to go by as a kid?

Now I am an adult; and I make my own choices.

And if they are the exact OPPOSITE of anything he said…

then I should be on safe ground.

So, I seem to COMPLAIN, EXPLAIN, AND APOLOGISE.

A LOT.

But I’m an intelligent man; there has to be more to it. I refuse to believe I do it just to resist his faulty conditioning.

Or is that ALL it is?

Don’t forget, a LOT of us are raised to ‘keep it to ourselves.’

And I don’t want to place ALL the blame at the feet of my father.

Because I sincerely believe it is NOT all his fault.

There are hundreds, thousands; millions out there just like him.

‘DON’T TELL US YOUR LIFE STORY!’ a Sergeant of mine used to say.

As if what I say, feel, think, and do,

EVER DID…

Was meaningless.

How many of you out there bite your tongue?

Listen; for better or worse, I have created an environment of honesty, and candour here.

Mainly as a means of working on myself.

Working through certain issues, in order to be a BETTER MAN.

It’s not always easy, or palatable, but I do it.

Sure, I wonder if I am pissing people off; but they can always leave.

Because it feels like the RIGHT THING to do.

And in the environment I have created…

I have noticed other people are opening up to me.

Taking the ball and running with it.

And the message I am getting is that for a LOT of my friends…this is the FIRST time many of them have felt comfortable talking about themselves and their issues.

It got me thinking; why is that?

THEIR fathers?

All of our fathers?

ALL OF OUR FATHER FIGURES?

From our BLOOD parents…to our surrogate parents?

Law enforcement agencies, bureaucracy, corporations, government?

Telling us to ‘keep it to yourself’?

‘DON’T COMPLAIN, DON’T EXPLAIN NEVER APOLOGISE’.

Like good little citizens.

Sound familiar?

Got a ring to it?

How many people out there don’t complain because they;

1. Don’t want to bother others.
2. Don’t want to dwell on themselves.
3. Don’t feel worthy of attention.

Listen; I set out to change certain things about myself.

When an issue crops up, you can be pretty sure I will post about it.

Is it just to dwell on ME ME ME?

In my case, I feel more accurately it is a sincere effort to expose things in my thinking and behaviour that are not working for me, bring them out into the light, run them by my friends and peers, and then deal with them as they arise.

Like my issue with the ‘Poms’.

I was annoyed by something, I did not want to run the risk of allowing it to take over my thoughts, and sew the seeds of unhealthy thinking…

So I brought it out into the light.

And the negative thoughts are now gone.

BUT…EVEN if it was just about ME ME ME…

Or even if something you say is about YOU YOU YOU…

Why the hell not?

Do you not deserve to be heard?

I think you do; or you would not be here.

How many of you are holding back?

I see it all the time.

I know one young lady- she tells me she HATES talking about her problems….

And then she proceeds to do so, in great detail.

Sprinkled and punctuated by profuse apology and self-deprecation.

WHY??

Why apologise?

I LOVE to hear from her.

The good…& the bad.

That’s what friends are for.

Why do you hold back???

I mean, that’s a rhetorical question.

Ask yourself; WHY DO I HOLD BACK?

IS IT HELPING ME?

If not…why the FUCK do you do it?

It makes no sense.

Who are you saving it for? Some imagined opportunity to air your grievances in one fell swoop?

Might never happen.

Are you holding it back because some PARENT- blood, or elected- told you to?

IS IT HELPING YOU IN YOUR LIFE?

If not…

WHY DO IT?

If you learn nothing else from me…

I want you to think about…

To consider…

COMING OUT.

The best thing about coming out about my own issues, (and I DO NOT mean dwelling upon them like an electronic hypochondriac, but finding a way to work through them to a better healthier place) is not only that it I have been able to help MYSELF…

But others have felt the impulse to ask themselves some similar questions.

Make some changes.

And that requires NOT ONLY introspection and self-examination…

But the understanding, and the belief that YOU ARE WORTHY of telling your story, and WORTHY of transporting yourself through this self-examination and personal inventory to a better place…a better way of life.

YOU ARE WORTHY.

I AM WORTHY.

Let’s SHRUG off this bullshit notion that we are NOT (wherever the hell we picked it up) because it is not helping us…

And start talking more.

Working through it.

To a better place.

Why not? As long as you’re not STAYING there…building a home on this soggy loam…

As long as it is merely a temporary place to a better world…

WHY NOT??

Who are you really hurting?

Who are you really HELPING?

Perhaps more people than you know.

In time, we all might allow ourselves to do this.

Speak more freely about our ills.

And Heaven knows what healing we may achieve…

Peace.

Consider the Lilies of the Field…

 

 

Consider the Lilies of the Field…

...how they grow: they neither toil nor spin.

For when the sound and fury wanes...& all falls quiet…

 

You can hear the quieter things.

 

You can do that.

When the room is quiet…you can review- with certain clarity- those things that have come to pass in times of war, but have gone unnoticed in the din...

And I have been at war- such a long time.

 

With myself.

Is the war over?

 

Is it too soon to declare an armistice?

Hard to say; only I can answer that.

And I’m not sure I know myself well enough to say with any kind of certainty.

I know only unpredictability.

What I want to be…

Is settled.

'He’s so settled so at peace with himself.'

So sure.

So reliable.

That is what I want.

Not in a boring way…doing nothing, saying nothing, going nowhere...

 

But in a productive way.

When I gave up smoking, drinking, eating dead animal flesh...

 

It was no battle.

I just surrendered to health and wellbeing.

Will it be the same for my past and most persistent addiction?

Hatred and Anger?

I would like to thinks so.

Less a proactive measure- something I am DOING…

More a question of something I am ceasing to do.

Giving up the anger…letting it pass through me, rather than fighting it...

& surrendering to love.

I said before that this is not something we can do alone.

And a conversation with my good friend Danaan reminded me of this.

You can lead a horse to water…but you cannot make it drink.

That is because horses are more evolved than men.

You usually cannot even lead a man to water.

He will avoid with every fibre of his being…those things that might heal him.

‘A man would go to heaven with half the effort he goes to hell’, as Johnson said.

I have spent a lifetime wandering in the desert, my preference to suffer and die in the sands of hate…than drink from the cool clear waters of love.

I think because we do not trust what we know to be good and right, true and life giving.

Things like home…& family.

The truth is...the trauma of life at home…I never trusted it.

It gave me nightmares. Apocalyptic nightmares.

Home life...father...was a nightmare.

A perpetual horror. 

I never trusted the ‘so called’ love…the tough love of the fist and the belt…

Which left me accursed to wander the wasteland of hate, rather than trust love, family, home and hearth again…which I knew to be poison, stagnant waters...

My conversation with Danan reminded me of my propensity for hate, and anger toward people.

 

The hatred and anger I was weaned upon.

Taken out on others as my father took it out on me.

 

Even people on FB.

Whatever it is that Father carried trapped in his soul..

 

Whatever wrong doing he carried with him...& unable to take action against the true source...

 

He took it out on us.

 

Just as I take it out on those around me, most who do not deserve it.

 

I feel, somehow...I must take it out on someone.

 

SOMEONE must pay for this injustice, trapped inside my soul? 

 

right?

 

& I disguise it with righteous indignation…

But call it what it is.

Hate.

I get angry with a comment perceived as an attack on me; & I fly into battle as if waging some mighty crusade…

When it is merely a war with myself.

And I defriend and block…

And it is only then…in the peace and quiet between battles…

I realise some of these people have shown me who I am.

They are just like me.

No wonder I hate them.

Because I hate me.

As long as I wage war with me…

I will wage war with people just like me.

I need to accept peace…once and for all.

Trust it.

I will need time to trust people…

But as long as I trust myself.

How do I learn to do this?

How can I let myself drink from the waters of my own peace?

By allowing people to help.

Like…Danaan.

She has had MANY opportunities to defriend and block me over the time we have known each other.

My flying off the handle…

Talking to her reminded me of two things.

How the anger…

The mood swings…

Are just like my father's.

One minute he was fine, happy, peaceful…

Next thing he would roar in anger, and beat the living daylights out of us.

Walking on eggshells. That was home.

No wonder I don’t trust it.

And I am just like him.

No wonder I don’t trust me.

But…

She trusts me.

She has been patient with me.

And kind.

She has NEVER judged me.

She has more grace, faith and compassion than anyone I have ever met.

She has not even tried to lead me to the water.

 

No sign of any evangelistic zeal. 

She has simply been here for me, offering gentle encouragement…

This has engendered in me a curiosity.

About her.

And admiration.

‘Wait a second’. I think to myself.

‘She has seen who I am; my anger, my mood swings…even with people she knows.’

‘So had Ken’.

For that matter- so have a lot of my friends here.

Just a couple of examples…unexpected sources of courage and inspiration.

James has always been here for me.

Quietly supportive.

Pinky is a fairly new friend…& I suspected from the start it might be touch and go.

And yet…he has persisted.

His patience…when others have torn me to shreds for my indignation…

Saw something else in me.

He had faith. God knows why.

Actually..I DO know why.

These people…in fact, all my FB friends…

Have had something I WISH/WANT to have a little of.

Patience.

These are people who seem to be quite ordinary…

 

& yet extraordinary. In a quiet, peaceful, unassuming way...

They have more going for them than Ghandi or the Dalai.

They don't have the same PR machine.

 

Quiet achievers.

People with the gift of patience, grace, and kindness.

And humanity.

I often ask…why have they not blocked and defriended me yet?

I am cautious about any club that would have me as a member…

But my curiosity is too much for me.

I have to find out more.

What have they got?

What well do they drink from?

It seems to be good.

Can I get some too??

And slowly, but surely…

I creep gently toward the well.

Will I drink?

 

Maybe.

 

If I can learn, more often to...

 

Consider the lilies of the field.

ON THE BRIDGE...

One thing I have learned over the last few weeks-

HATE has a half-life of Strontium 90.

Love can be a powerful force, sure- if we can be present enough, self-actualised enough to find it within us- but hate is so much more persuasive.

We as human beings simply cannot seem to resist it.

Even on a site called “Don’t Hate Me, But I Don’t Get This Artist …”

the siren call of ‘hate’ was simply too powerful. 

I mean- the instructions were pretty clear; the operative words being ‘Don’t Hate Me’.

It was the condition of membership.

The actual terms of the group changed somewhat, to shift focus from ‘artists’ we don’t get- & even that meaning was satisfied and established over time- to things in general life we do not ‘get’. 

Fair enough; but what remained unchanged was the actual condition of entry reflected in the name of the group; 'don’t hate the contributor’.

No matter what they say.

And I bore the brunt of that hatred- admittedly for my somewhat surreal, ironic expression of my inability to understand what purpose ‘post natal depression’ serves. In an evolutionary sense. 

(& I blame Dawkins and his writings for encouraging me to think in such audacious ways. 

Or rather, I 'attribute', rather than blame.

Because I am not ashamed for thinking outside the box; & I am inspired by intelligent, courageous, creative people who ask the hard questions. 

For it is they, the ones who outrage today, who inspire great social change tomorrow.

I am not afraid of outrage.

Nor should you be.)

My questions, to me, feel like the right ones to ask, in terms of helping people with mental illness,
& saving lives.

For the manner in which I questioned the way we seem to have accepted Post Natal Depression (ie not found a cure)  because it a WOMEN'S illness is the kind of thinking that changes preconceptions.

Mental illness is NOT just a woman's illness.

We are not working hard enough to challenge it, eradicate it...

Largely because we are not asking the hard questions.

We fear them.  Just as we fear mental illness.

And things we fear...we tend to hate.

I do not see what purpose hate...or mental illness for that matter...serves.

In Darwinian terms- both uniquely human afflictions seem to serve no other purpose than to wipe us all out.

This could not be more prescient with the suicide of Tony Scott this week.

Inoperable Brain Cancer, we learn today.

But I jumped to the assumption it was mental illness.

It's a persuasive mythos...we are so used to hearing it.

Everyone from Heath Ledger to Brittany Murphy...

Incredible film making talent- taken from us prematurely, like so many others, by an illness which serves no purpose but to wipe us out.

It’s a lot like hate. Well, it is; mental illness is built on the cornerstone of self-loathing.

Why loathe yourself when there are so many others lined up, goose-stepping in jackboots in close order formation to do it for you?

The question of the ages, left particularly when someone hurls themselves off a bridge.

Why?

And why would I make the assumptions I did??

'Was the hate too much for him?'

'In the city of hate…was he trying to escape the brutes?'

I make assumption. And we all know what comes of that.

Nothing good.

Indeed, I speculated in an arrogant way when I suggest he even HAD an illness.

Projection???

At least i had the presence of mind to surmise he 'was simply exercising his right to make an informed decision'.

Which it turned out, he was.

Brain tumour; no hope.

What about 'the hate tumour'? 

The world can be a horrible place.

There are times I have thought of ending it all, when the hatred became too much for me.

Why do I assume it was a mental illness, when it might simply have been enough for him?

When the world becomes too painful...why not check out?

Why prolong the agony?

Of course there will be people who will say I should not say this. 

They assume I advocate...

When all I am doing is ASKING THE QUESTION.

Seeing the issue from all sides.

You would be amazed by how many people hate that.

Especially religious fundamentalists, who are locked hard and fast into one way of thinking.

The thought of considering other possibilities is abhorrent to them.

Like the Scientologists. 

Who suggest, we all need to be 'on the bridge'. 

Perhaps I should follow Tony, & take them literally.

According to the Scientologist's themselves, from their website; 

'Man, in his religious tradition, has long imagined a bridge across the chasm between where one is now and a higher plateau of existence.

Unfortunately, many of those attempting to cross the chasm fell into the abyss.

How many times have I been tempted by that abyss?

Because of idiots like these Scientologists, who puport to peddle the solution to this angst?

By the hate, fear and loathing of those who follow the 'one true way'?

When finally, the only true way- the only way out from the madness...

Is to get on that bridge...& jump??

One day- I would love to satisfy myself once and for all.

I would love to start a website entitled “Don’t Hate Me.”

No, that’s arrogant- & impossible.

& I seem to be easy to hate.

I would call it simply, “Don’t Hate”.

Period.

And see how long it takes for the hate to trickle in, & how powerful that hatred becomes.

The ratio of hate over love, if you will.

I don’t want to second guess the outcome- that would be hateful of me.

And if there is one thing we can say about hatred- it is powerful, it is irresistible for most humans, it does last forever in many cases, & it WILL eventually destroy us before we destroy it…
We do NOT have to be party to it.

That is a choice.

As hard a choice as it can be for many of us…& one we must make- not once- but every single day, every hour, every minute, every second of our lives…

It is the most important choice of all.

To cross over the bridge of hatred…fear, loathing...

Or to jump off it.

The choice, as ever, is ours.

But love always waits for us, patiently, quietly, on the other side…