Recently I have found, through my clumsy and rudimentary experimentation, that learned behaviors and human skills have more than
one use.
For example, I have found that the skill needed to put a baby to sleep
(read: be a good father) is the same skill needed to make a woman orgasm (read: be a
good lover) which fundamentally translates to the awareness of bodily rhythm and the ability to
sustain it longer than thought possible.
Namely, the ability to keep rhythm, at any pace,
when you've come to the realization that you have found the sweet spot and
not “geek” yourself into slipping up (the human mind can be a self-defeating instrument) and inadvertently changing your
motion and sustained rhythm.
This difficult pattern suggests more than
just the brute and brawn needed to rock a baby or pound a vagina, this of course implies all of that, plus another trait, the evolved brain of a modern alpha
male:
He that is both the archetypical and fabled Sex God and Lover, but
also the newly formed and created Modern Dad.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
On Living a Life Without Meaning
On Living A Life Without Meaning:
Let's assume someone is not religious and does not believe in a Western God or a variation of the Savior myth (or someone is sufficiently skeptical to dismiss the payoff of heaven).
Why would one who does NOT want to A) investigate life with an eye for observation, in an effort to advance human understanding, scientifically and/or technologically, B ) does not want to participate and add anything meaningful to the human conversation with original creations of art, music, literature, or otherwise, C) does not want to procreate in order to add resources and prolong the human experiment and, C) does not, at least, find value in the sensory pleasures of the fruits of man's labor thus far, rich foods, booze and merriment, porn and easy sex, etc., want to go through the motions to sustain life?
It would seem as if that person would just be biding time, meaninglessly working and eating and sleeping and generally trudging about, before they sighed their last breath. It would seem that if, after an honest and thorough evaluation, of course, one were to deem that their life was more work and cost than it was worth and beneficial, would the most efficient and rational course of action, then, be to just, how do you say it nicely, unplug yourself from the game?
We regard the suicidal as irrational and mentally ill, but what about the man who exists with no merit? Wouldn't it be easier for the apathetic to save time? Doesn't it seem much more irrational, instead, to waste 70+ years putting fuel in your body to, not participate, but to watch people, like human isotopes, electrons, and ions, interact and share and grow and (brain) chemically change in this big test tube we inhabit?
Let's assume someone is not religious and does not believe in a Western God or a variation of the Savior myth (or someone is sufficiently skeptical to dismiss the payoff of heaven).
Why would one who does NOT want to A) investigate life with an eye for observation, in an effort to advance human understanding, scientifically and/or technologically, B ) does not want to participate and add anything meaningful to the human conversation with original creations of art, music, literature, or otherwise, C) does not want to procreate in order to add resources and prolong the human experiment and, C) does not, at least, find value in the sensory pleasures of the fruits of man's labor thus far, rich foods, booze and merriment, porn and easy sex, etc., want to go through the motions to sustain life?
It would seem as if that person would just be biding time, meaninglessly working and eating and sleeping and generally trudging about, before they sighed their last breath. It would seem that if, after an honest and thorough evaluation, of course, one were to deem that their life was more work and cost than it was worth and beneficial, would the most efficient and rational course of action, then, be to just, how do you say it nicely, unplug yourself from the game?
We regard the suicidal as irrational and mentally ill, but what about the man who exists with no merit? Wouldn't it be easier for the apathetic to save time? Doesn't it seem much more irrational, instead, to waste 70+ years putting fuel in your body to, not participate, but to watch people, like human isotopes, electrons, and ions, interact and share and grow and (brain) chemically change in this big test tube we inhabit?
Friday, February 1, 2013
Good Grief!
One time, a while ago, I was really hungover on the couch.
Not your typical "woe-is-me-I-feel-like-shit" hangover where some lapsed time, hydration and a nap cures what ails you, but one of those states of general malaise that rocks your worldview to the core. Paranoia, anxiety and confusion are the rules of that day and a man's only recourse is to grin and bear it and orgasm in one way or another.
When a man's condition is perverted to such extremes, brief moments of lucid thoughts and experiences explode like epiphanies. Well, it just so happened that as I lay on my couch - that worn, leather deathbed - in the background babysitting my children was a Charlie Brown musical and I heard a song. I had such a moment.
I heard this brief song and I thought of what foundational and deep wonders the Peanut mythology held. I perked up and felt alive.
My person -- my genius, as the Greeks called it (not the pedestrian definition we use nowadays) -- was moved. A two minute song perfect in juxtaposition; innocent children of the nuclear 50's playing a tragic masterpiece under the Gothic, pained harmony of that bitch Lucy.
I say all that to say, just now my kids and I got to share that same moment. This came on and we all, as if prompted, shut the fuck up and experienced.
I hope it meant as much to them as it did me.
Not your typical "woe-is-me-I-feel-like-shit" hangover where some lapsed time, hydration and a nap cures what ails you, but one of those states of general malaise that rocks your worldview to the core. Paranoia, anxiety and confusion are the rules of that day and a man's only recourse is to grin and bear it and orgasm in one way or another.
When a man's condition is perverted to such extremes, brief moments of lucid thoughts and experiences explode like epiphanies. Well, it just so happened that as I lay on my couch - that worn, leather deathbed - in the background babysitting my children was a Charlie Brown musical and I heard a song. I had such a moment.
I heard this brief song and I thought of what foundational and deep wonders the Peanut mythology held. I perked up and felt alive.
My person -- my genius, as the Greeks called it (not the pedestrian definition we use nowadays) -- was moved. A two minute song perfect in juxtaposition; innocent children of the nuclear 50's playing a tragic masterpiece under the Gothic, pained harmony of that bitch Lucy.
I say all that to say, just now my kids and I got to share that same moment. This came on and we all, as if prompted, shut the fuck up and experienced.
I hope it meant as much to them as it did me.
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