Man, under-destruction?

"I should tell yee the story of William Wallace. English historians will say that I am a liar, but history has been written by those who have hung heroes". If any of you had seen the movie "Brave heart" (starring Mel Gibson, in one of his finest and most defining roles), they would know that this is the opening line from the movie. While I would never dream of comparing myself to either Wallace or Gibson, I do feel that quite a few issues are tackled in the film, aside from the heroic deeds of the former, which led to the eventual liberation of Scotland from English tyranny, as well as the brilliant story telling of the latter, which lead to quite a few Oscar wins. The key issue here is convention & conformity. The labels that society puts upon people who are merely different. One might be fool hearted to believe that man has come a long way since the days of slavery of various races & ethnic groups, simply by virtue of their skin color, or the wicked pers

I once had a co-worker, who was by all means, an easy man to understand. He was a man who loved sex with women. What compelled him to go after them with an almost ferocious hunger trully astounded me. He would always regale us with stories of his "numerous conquests", telling us intimate details that should've stayed that way, namely because they were just nasty, perverted stories (although as a man, I must admit, I found them quite entertaining and I make no apologies for that fact). Infact, he once brought a book pertaining to that very same topic, but what interested me the most was what was inscribed in the foreword of the book, by the author, who although I can't remember the name, I remember being quite a wise man for just one thing he wrote. Inscribed was the quote, "any man who claims to know women is a fool". Man has conquered many obstacles within his reign on earth. The power of flight, high speed communication, knowledge of his world, the abili

Stop me if you've heard this one before. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl doesn't feel the same way, boy cries like a little girl, boy grabs an automatic rifle, climbs a clock tower & begins a shooting spree, resulting in the deaths of countless men & women, 3 dogs & a cat. If you excuse the semi-obvious humor & the absurd metaphor, this is actually quite a common thing, minus the crying & the shooting spree. The theme is unrequited affection. It's been quite a common theme since the spawn of civilization, how one meets an individual that they find interesting, charming & all that associated mess, they begin to feel something, building their hopes up, before those same hopes come crashing down by the sudden confession & realization that the individual in question doesn't have the same feelings in return. One might find some comfort in the fact that it happens both ways, from the boy-to-the-girl & vice verse, and that it's not re

" I wish the whole world had but a single throat and I had my hands around it". Those were the words of Carl Panzram, an individual with a exceptional & almost unreal capacity for aggression, unbiased & undiscriminating aggression. This was instrumental as he became notorious as one of the notorious serial killers in the U.S. during the late 19th and early 20th century, beating, raping, sodomizing & killing countless men & women, from the west coast US, as far down as south america. What makes him unqiue from others of such depravity is not his staggering body count, but his motivation. Where as most killers were sexually motivated by the sight of death & destruction, he was fueled by the carnage for it's own sake. He simply hated enough to kill. And was set upon that path by his unending anger. Opening with that would make one wonder as to whether or not I have gone off the deep end or am I even immortalizing the memory of a killer. I am doing nei

What are problems?? No, this is not some vain attempt at saying that life is full of 'em & that we should just drink & be happy, although it seems to work for some. This question is more of an attempt to ask are problems really miniscule things that plague you at sometime or another or are they a way of saying that the way your living your life is wrong?? I've been wondering about that for quite some time. Lately it's become almost an obsession, which would give you some insight as to how I am these days. Are problems suppose to be an admission to yourself that you've reached an obstacle that you haven't quite properly cleared or is it just shit that you find along the path of life?? If it's the former, then that implies that you've run into certain aliments, be it physical, emotional or otherwise, that are to tell you to slow down, stop & think about what you are doing. If it is the latter, then it's merely an insiginifcant speck on the g

Does anyone ever wonder why we are the way we are?? I mean, seriously it's a good point to ponder. We all have our little odd habits, our little white lies, our little secrets. These are the things that make us unique. I mean, without them, we'd be near-perfect. Of course, we all strive to achieve that inevitablly impossible state of perfection, but why do so at all?? If life has taught me anythin, it has taught me that perfection, in any sense of the word, is ultimately boring. Perfection, although maybe be a state of beauty, it is also a plane of near-intolerable boredom, almost a state of being bordering on being plain. Humanity was never created to be just plain or ordinary. It was created, through whatever means you choose to believe, to maintain an element of chaos within itself. It is this chaos that drives us to continually evolve, to become better than we are now and to ultimately attempt to achieve that impossible perfection. The idea here is not to create a yearn

 I used to be sappy. Some would say I still am, but then, they haven't seen the slight degeneration I've underwent, for reasons that don't really exceed the realm of "habitual recreation". But, despite all that, I do still have a heart. And some things tend to get it beating again. One being reminders of lessons learned.   "A man's reach should be just beyond his grasp or else what are the heavens for"? It was a quote made by an english writer from the 1950's. I first heard it when I was about 8 years old. My older brother & I had just come back from watching a basketball game. Of course, it wasn't just a basketball game. It was an exhibition match of the Harlem GlobeTrotters, arguably one of the most exciting & entertaining teams in the history of the sport of basketball, who fused ballhandlin with comedy to make one of the most hilarious & skillful displays of the art of basketball ever. My dad, my brother & I saw them &

 Y'know, despite the hype, I've never been one to blog. Sure, I've used various other mediums to voice my opinion, to express myself and to, admittedly, bitch, but I've never found the appeal of blogs. Granted, its nothing quite so absurd as elitism or what have you, but I've found a certain security in "limited interactions". This is to imply that I'll spill my guts, so long as I know who I'm spilling 'em to and am confident that they'll be there to pick 'em up and shove 'em back in (I apologies for the graphic picture you must have in your minds now, but in my defense, I still haven't had my coffee yet). And while my initial opinion has only changed slightly recently, I still am firmly latched to my beliefs.......until further notice.  This is mostly thanks to one particular young individual. They are both wonderful and infuriating. Helpful and tough. Loving and vindictive. Blessing and bitch. But they made the concise effort