Sympathies, Strength or Weakness???

I can't begin to recount the number of times I've heard people express frustration stemming from incidences when expressions of their sympathies have led to people taking advantage of them. People proverbially "mistake kindness for weakness" everyday. Often times the full picture is a little bit more complex. These complaints are often better characterized by people percieving their own selfish behavior as pro-social (actions motivated by altruism), or people perceiving their own pro-social behavior as something other than weakness. See, if it were not weakness, it would not have exposed you to the exploitation motivating your complaint... And purely altruistic behavior connotes an understanding of the intended beneficiary(ies)'s plight that more than likely justifies/explains the pain of exploitation. Sympathy, though a beautiful and essential part of life, is weakness.

Understanding a woman's past does not mean you can deal with the scars that past has inflicted upon her. Your inner-social worker may aim to improve her, or may perceive her growth as an enjoyable spectacle to be audience to, but your own weaknesses may render your coexistence with that woman unbearable for you...(Ellipsis)...

What women want!

This is no secret... women want attention. The female desire for that central location in the universe is often misunderstood though, or at least discussed in language full of miscues and misnomers. Women don't want to be the center of THE universe, they want to be the center of the universes within the minds of those they are consumed by and preoccupied with. With that I would argue that fame, as an end, is at heart a masculine goal, that is yearned for by women as a vicarious experience... Women seem to seek fame to impress upon those closest to them their value... often out of a desire to prove naysayers wrong and impress people that are important to them rather than the almost colonial desire for expanded influence and exaltation that many men are driven by. So I would argue that the unbending linguistic laws of the "man's world" rear their blunt and imprecise head in the discourse concerning female ambition...



Thus fame becomes another launch point for identifying what fuels the female experience... While men seem to remain focused on THE universe shared by us all, women seem to understand this shared universe as a more fractious conglomeration of universes owned and governed by the subjective experiences of us all, from ant to homo-sapien, from Andrew to Zachary, we each have a WORLD of sorts. To a woman, each of our worlds form 4 dimensional venn-diagrams as our experiences collide, with the four dimensions being shared time, chemistry, objective value or "on paper" credentials, and subjective interpretation of physical beauty... (TBC - ELLIPSIS)

Apologies to Tomorrow for My Yesterdays...

I'm sorry, tomorrow... Today has been about realizing that I made a lot of mistakes yesterday.

Those who came before us that offer us advice really do know stuff... my parents, for instance, offered me, through a series of suggestions, demands, and asswhoopings, a path toward their version of success. They saw themselves as my life-GPS telling me when and which way to turn en route to success... But that's not actually what they were. They were far less state of the art. They were much more like maps illustrating the location of failure, drawn with the natural ink of parental concern to help me avoid peril. Fear mongerors, they were. They would say, "Do you want to end up in jail, son?"

And frankly, their fear mongering brought upon me the feeling of vertigo, as Milan Kundera describes it: Is vertigo the fear of falling? "No, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of emptiness below us, which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves."

As a parent... I will propose a right way, as the only way.

-JH

The world continues to spin on it's axis, and rotate elliptically around the sun... the oceans continue to inch up onto our shores... suns still shine, hearts still beat, new children are still born... the cycle of existence continues...
The wind may move rocks, streams may wear stones to pebbles, and changing seasons may bring leaves to the knees of trees they once ornamented, but the only independent things that ever really change are the minds of men. We live, love, lose, and most importantly, we learn. With how we value education in today's world, it may seem counter-intuitive to suggest that life's lessons are moments when the world's many malices manifest. How negative, one might think? But life's infinite dualities emerge in our lessons, as our own enlightenment occurs with the equal and opposite darkening of our sense of truth... our enlightenment may, in fact, be better described as the beclouding of our senses; our minds darken, as they bring light upon the pitfalls of our life’s journey.
As I experience my own personal beclouding, I realize that comprehension/social maturity is to moments of disappointment as molecules are to atoms... The Neucleus of these atoms is, tragically, good intention... The buzz of life's electrons creates confusion, which becomes bad situation. Whether it's love life of loss, it's all eventually lost.

The World Today...

It's one of those news days offering so little that CNN is still covering the faux near-death balloon story. Great... So I guess the latest significant, albeit ridiculous, thing that happened in domestic news was Obama's Nobel Peace Prize... and no he didn't deserve it. Since that's a dated story, my only two options here are looking outside this American bubble I feel so trapped in, or not writing about "news" at all. Eenie meenie minie... no wait... see, the problem with bloggers, often times, is that we want people to read our stuff. We want EVERYBODY to read our stuff... so we end up approaching our writing like popular musicians approach their "art." To write when one does not actually want to write... when one just wants to be read is, frankly, what I'm doing right now. Writing as a means to an end is trash...

After some soul searching...

The Half-Sentence

I'm pretty ashamed of my growing impatience, although I don't think I'm wrong to blame it on the techie world. You know that ridiculous feeling you get when you are chatting with someone online... someone you find yourself uniquely infatuated with... or about some juicy, or particularly thought provoking shit... and they write half a sentence then press enter, then their boss calls on the phone and has them doing some work-related stuff for a half-hour. After about a minute or so of waiting you realize that the person got pulled off to do something, although the thought crosses your mind that the person may have realized that they don't want to say whatever they were going to say... so they stop themselves and try and complete the sentence in a less harmful way. What could it be, you think? and then...

What's the point?

Everyday I ask myself this question at least once... and usually more like once an hour: what the fuck is the point? As I began writing this blog entry, the question crossed my mind... and I asked myself the question twenty minutes ago as I went through my wardrobe in search of some outfits to wear to work this week. The question has only one real answer...