Thursday, December 25, 2014

Oh yea, I'm Not Giving Up

These days, I not only do not know what is normal, I don't even know if my data is within one standard deviation of normal.   I could represent the mean value of everything and I wouldn't know.

Maybe it is normal to think, "oh this feels off, that feels bad or broken, I'm falling apart, etc.", then stop and try to think about what is OK, what is working, the assets column.   In order to do this, I have to remember, or remind myself that I have not yet given up, and that I decided to outstay my welcome here in this world, if I can.

I'll forget I decided against giving up.  That must indicate that my default setting is fatalistic.  I'm trying to change that to optimistically wearing out my welcome.  This is not that easy to do I guess, but adrenaline, and the challenges involved here must have steered me in this direction.

The fine art of discerning one's choices is really what is being touched upon.  I like choices, so anything that denies that power to me is going to be met with a little bit of rebellion.   Where the art comes in is in knowing when to try to work loopholes or influence outcome, and when to take a specific item as a given, and then work around it, like a giant bolder in the road.

Another weird holiday.  The weirdest ever I think, but that does not mean bad.

Lots of nice friends around here were getting together with family or to play music.  I was at no loss of anywhere to be.  But it comes back to my isolationist hovel which never entertains company.  I've started to make various attempts to find a suitable partner.  But if she drinks, she is usually not happy that I don't.  Couple that with the non-carnivore routine, and now, no smoking, and other eccentricities, and I've just about knocked myself totally out of the running...for anything.

Not like the old days when women thought they'd eventually train me, so they'd pretend not to eat meat, and things like that.  Back then they thought I would like them better.  I only figured out in retrospect that they were trying to please me and I had little clue of this.  I could care less what people eat, except I sometimes can't stand the smell of fish cooking.

Now, I'm not sure.  I've had it with alcoholics and functional, near-drunks.  I use the term "functional" in the loosest sense.  To me any sort of responsibility or survival success is impressive.

I watched a Damon Wayons movie with K last night.  She said we had to do that.  It was not a bad fluff movie. And I kind of liked it, even though it was about cops.  They were fake cops.  I should say, one of my all time least favorite shows ever is Cops.   Several reasons for that which I do not want to elaborate upon right now.

I will say I find it troubling that so many people get pleasure from watching the state forcibly restrain and cage people who are usually doing nothing violent or forceful themselves.  It may be a drug thing or some other hoax.  The show conditions people to expect, and fear the superior power of the state. It teaches them to be obedient.

People take being restrained with hands cuffed behind your back rather lightly.  At least those who find gazing on such scenes a spectator sport.  Imagine having your hands tied behind your back and you are nervous, and maybe ache or itch, have to use the bathroom, all that.  It is a real physical hardship at that point.  Confinement of any kind is horrific, I think.

Lack of choice and lack of mobility.  Those are the key goals, it seems, of collective minded tyrants.  It tends to come down to that over and over.  Threats to mobility, and elimination of choices---even in what they allow you to think.  I guess 'they' is the state.  There are influential people who seem to think there is no corruption in government, and that it is OK to screw people in the name of the greater good; as defined by them of course.

I feel lucky that I am not some raving angry lunatic in the inner city, acting out of half truths, ignorance, low self esteem, and pure hatred.  The shallowness of gang life, and that type of culture, is tragic.  And it is shallow.   If it weren't, people would probably not shoot one another at such an alarming rate.  Odd how reporting skews one's perspective causing proportions to appear completely different from what they are.

Not being able to relate to people who are hate-driven, and who shoot one another, is a good indication that I'm further out of the loop than I thought.

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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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