Incoming!

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Hi, hello. I’m here. Still alive; maybe. Here’s a beautiful passage that makes feel all introspective like.

He sat on the ground and stared out to the northwest, toward Matterhorn. He watched the mountains subtly change under the shadows of clouds cast by a waning moon as it moved across the sky until shadows began to fade with the coming of the light in the east. He tried to determine if there was meaning in the fact that cloud shadows from moonlight could move across the mountains and yet nothing on the mountain would move or even be affected. He knew that all of them were shadows: the chanters, the dead, the living. All shadows, moving across this landscape of mountains and valleys, changing the pattern of things as they moved but leaving nothing changed when they left. Only the shadows themselves could change.

And a nice song:

Baby Cormac and All the Four Legged Amigos.

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My mom loves our dog. Don’t get me wrong I love the little shit also but my mom LOVES him. I’m talking food scraps, kisses, conversations and full blown hugs. What it is essentially a form of empty nest syndrome; We’ve all grown older and she misses her “leedl ones” as she affectionately calls us and in our dog she has found a coping mechanism. She has supplanted her toddlers with a scottie named Cormac.

It got me thinking about the relationship we have our pets but specifically with our dogs and how they mean so many different things to so many different people . We feed ’em, clean ’em, house ’em; we pay their medical bills and we buy them toys that they destroy within the hour. We do all this (and much, much more) for the one thing they give us: pure, unadulterated loyalty.

There’s this homeless dude that lives in the streets outside my house. He’s worn out, he’s drunk most of the time; society has deemed him worthless. All he has are the tatty clothes on his back, his little plastic bag and two dogs. These two dogs follow him everywhere no matter what. To these two dogs this man is everything and this little family are each others world entire. He has nothing but they don’t give a shit; he’s theirs and they are his and that’s that.

Dogs have a certain innate kindness that you won’t anywhere else and if reared right there is no better companion. A dog doesn’t judge, change or turn its back on you. That furry bastard that threw up on the carpet some time during the night or destroyed your brand new flip flops is the most constant and unwavering pal you’ll ever have.

If we could all be a little bit more like the dogs we cherish we’d be just fine.

A List of Things That Annoy Me Greatly.

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– Rich people who complain about how hard their life is. Your life is hard? Are you fucking insane? I swear if I hear another up tight wealthy middle aged motherfucker complain about “I pay so much tax” I’m gonna scream. Of course you pay a lot of tax; you’re rich. Even if you pay 50 % tax (which you don’t) you’d have more than enough to live comfortably. But ooooh now you can’t buy yourself another BMW now because of the taxman. Go fuck yourself and stop being so greedy.

– People asking me whether I’m not cold when I wear shorts in the winter. First off it’s 12 degrees Celsius out; it’s not Antarctica. Secondly if I was cold I’d wear warm clothing. LEAVE ME ALONE.

– Assholes who make as if Shakespeare/ “Classic” literature are super relevant to our own modern times. Shakespeare is silly. I have nothing to add to it. There is nothing else I can say. I’m not denying that Shakespeare and books like Jane Eyre form an important part of the English language’s history but it’s literature from a bygone era that in no way mirrors contemporary society. It’s an artifact and deserves as the same respect as a spinning Jenny but that is all it deserves. Get over it and stop being pretentious.

– T-Pain (and others of the same ilk) is not a musician and anyone that says differently is an idiot. The man can’t sing, he can’t play an instrument. He fulfills none of the criteria for one to be called a musician. What he is is a panderer. He plays up to morons and fair enough we all gotta make a living but making as if he’s an artist is completely off base.

– When the hot water runs out while I’m still busy showering. Every time this happens I die a little on the inside.

– Guys who wear caps in the gym. I just want to run up to them and scream “DO YOU FUCKING REALIZE THAT YOU ARE INDOORS?”. Take off your backward Ed Hardy cap because you look like a monumental, awe inspiring, astronomic, colossal, vast, whopping douche. Do you grasp this? Do you know that I hate you? So many questions but so few answers.

– Unnecessarily bombastic behaviour. Those of you that have been at university know the crowd I’m talking about. They are the people who sit a crowd in the lecture hall before the lesson starts and talk REALLY LOUDLY about how big social butterflies they all are and how their rich daddy is going to, like, buy them a new car. Fake laughs are the order of the day here along with constantly being your Blackberry. Curse you.

Why I Love Steven Seagal.

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I love Steven Seagal. There it is; it’s out in the open. I just couldn’t live the lie any longer. I could no longer handle the burden of lying to others but most of all myself. Just digest my statement for a while before you judge me for my adulation of the pony tailed Aikido master. I understand there’s a lot to hate here. His seemingly never ending smugness, his conspicuous lack of acting ability and the fact that you just know that Steven Seagal’s hero is Steven Seagal but hear me out.

I went digging into Mr. Seagal’s past (by digging I mean I read his wikipedia entry for, like, ten minutes) and what I found was the epitome of devil may care; he straight don’t give a fuck yo and he sure as shit doesn’t care who notices. Of all the career advice you could give a half jewish kid from Lansing, Michigan I can’t possibly imagine that “go to Japan and study Aikido” would be among your sage advice. Stevie don’t care. He came, he saw and he studied aikido. Eventually, he became the first foreigner to own and operate a dojo in Japan.

So I ask you this: what have you managed to do in your long illustrious life? Huh? While you were busy thumbing your nose at Steven Seagal he got busy living. He’s been (and still is) an action movie star, philanthropist, a deputy chief in Jefferson Parish sheriff office, a Casanova of note, 7th degree black belt, Dojo owner, animal rights activist, MMA trainer and a master shot. Now forget about Steven Seagal and look at these these different things objectively. The man is extremely interesting and of all the tings you could accuse the guy of leading a boring life is not one of them.

He managed to do these things by, well, doing them. That sounds super simplistic but it’s true. I mean who among us is willing to pack all our stuff and becoming a ranchero in Mexico? That’s the equivalent of what he did. He swallows chunks of life whole and the dude is my hero. Not because he’s a super swell guy or a GQ man but because he’s lived and is still living.

You da man Steven Seagal. Keep trucking because remember: BiTcHeZ hAtE mE n RaTe mE..SiMpLy CuZ tHeY aIn’T mE.

An Ode to Tiny Rebellions.

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For those who don’t know what I’m talking about when I say tiny rebellions let me explain. Tiny rebellions are all the little things squares like me (or maybe you?) do in a day to feel defiant. I’m not gonna set the school on fire or write anarchistic literature. I will, however, say fuck you under my breath at a person whom I hate, I will kick the tire of that piece of shit BMW someone abandoned in street directly in front of my house when no one is looking.

We all want to be contumacious; we all want to be James Dean. Sadly we can’t all be. This means that middle class white people like myself will have to leave the revolution to Malcolm X and rather show up intentionally 5 minutes late for that meeting you really don’t want to go to to get our fix mutiny.

So fuck yeah to all the times I leave the toilet seat up or speak slightly loud in a library or drive 70 in a 60 zone. Eating peanut butter out of the jar, pissing in the ocean, not wearing my seat belt, shouting abuse at my neighbours cats and acting just generally recalcitrant.

Viva la (tiny) revoluciĆ³n!

Sup.

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Working on some new posts. In the meantime here is Bon Iver. He is good at music. He is good at looking like a charming vagabond. He is good at singing falsetto. He is without a doubt a rapscallion of note. I love you and enjoy.

Meh.

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One of the many by products of the end of Apartheid in South Africa was a period of violence and chaos known as the township wars. I won’t bore you with the details of what and who and exactly where but rest assured it was more savage and brutal than I care to mention.

The violence in the South Africa’s sprawling townships (Townships being shacklands much akin to Rio De Janeiro’s favela’s) was a result of political power struggle among two black political parties, the African National Congress and the Inkatha Freedom Party.

I don’t really want to talk about the violence itself as that particular, and very superficial, topic has been debated and talked about ad nauseaum. Rather I want to look at the mass perception of the people entwined in the conflict.

When the killing started the first thing that sprung to mind for everyone, and I include the bleeding heart international press, was “Aw shucks! There go those barbaric darkies again!”. Nobody bothered to look at why this was happening or who was behind it. Nope, instead we let our perception of Black Africans as savages completely block out what was happening. When we saw photos of a man being set on fire in the middle of the street in the brightest daylight it was simply shrugged off.

History now shows that the Township Wars were in large part orchestrated by the Apartheid government as a desperate attempt to cling to power. That’s a whole different story however and something you should look up in your own time if you needed any more convincing about how big a shower of bastards the National Party government was. The point is that the responsibility for the violence was laid at the door of the township dwellers. I’m by no means absolving them of all the blame but the situation was a powder keg that was all too happily lit up by the most eager of bomber.

When any type of violence is talked about in hindsight the perils of indifference is always mentioned. No one ever talks about why people are indifferent to violence or any kind of suffering for that matter. Our perception of the people perpetrating the violence and those who are having the violence perpetrated against them are key ingredients in mass apathy.

The Township wars are the perfect example. White South Africans and the International press were well aware of what was happening but hey, you know, black people do things like that. It’s not “Oh holy shit, they just killed another human being in the street like a dog” because that’s simply how Black South Africans were comprehended. It wasn’t the Apartheid governments desperate gambit to try and destabilize the ANC’s ascent to power; it was just Black people acting black.

There is a lesson to be learnt here; don’t let you or societies prejudices trump plain and simple common sense. The answer is never simple and it doesn’t become simpler by making blanket assumptions.

Look at me lecturing everybody. Yeah, I’m wise and shit yo.

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