My life is fucking ridiculous. 

Also, memo to self: Make more alcoholic friends.

Addiction to inebriation becomes too apparent when drinking in one's own company.

When you do not do anything kind or nice for other people, does that make you a bad person? Or merely existing and living your life the way you want? 

Perhaps the bad person the one that points out how you're not doing anything nice or kind? Not helping others when you COULD be. 

The entire logic that if you don't do action X then you hold characteristic Y is rather silly due to how arbitrarily defined it is.

Some people just are the way they are. People will always be dumb, people will always be ugly, people will always be selfish, why bother being the naysayer that points it all out when you're all of those things yourself (From the very action of pointing it out), considering the fact that you're doing so with no intention of helping the person, only making them feel bad about who they are?

Simple, because you want them to be what they are not because it would benefit you if they were. Labeling everything helpful as good and everything harmful as bad. Re-evaluating your morality and shifting the paradigm to one that favors your own personal gain, that recaptures negative personality traits as positive ones 

That my friend, is called social control. The weak gaining power by corrupting the strong into believing their power is 'bad' and 'evil' thus making them disinclined to use it.

We are all subject to this, including myself. In some aspects of our lives, we are the strong, in other aspects, we are the weak, but regardless of which side we are on, we are always engaged in this endless struggle for the feeling of power... the feeling of growing and overcoming resistance. 

"I'm telling you Ben, this guy doesn't know what in the fuck he's doing or he's trying to shaft us." Ze says angrily, loud enough for the person to hear.

"Do you even know where in the fuck you're going man? You're taking us in the opposite direction and charging us for it, I'm telling you where to fucking go, why don't you just listen?" He continues. 

"Ummm.... Yes.... Well.... At this point if we turn back it's even longer... So we might as well just continue in this direction until we hit the bridge and then we can continue on." mumbles the taxi driver quietly. 

Ze lets out an exasperated sigh and then throws up both of his huge arms in the air and says "Fine man, just go." and immediately afterwards leans over to me and mutters about how the driver is playing possum with us. 

At that moment, I find it strange that right now, I am looking at this giant 6'7 African-American music producer who happens to be my random roommate laughing with so much energy, talking to me while swinging around his hands to emphasize his gestures with a half-empty Red Bull can in hand, but only 30 minutes ago, Ze was collapsed out on the floor completely unconscious in a warehouse concert, lost in a k-hole, requiring 4 grown men to drag him up and seat him on a bench in a panic to revive him before the authorities noticed and got involved. 

I remember that moment before his collapse too, he grabbed my shoulder and smiled, then muttered something which I couldn't hear over the music. I leaned in closer asking him to say it again, only instead of reiterating his previous statement, he slowly fell forward on me like a falling tree and damn near crushed me with his weight because I wasn't expecting him to fall. Prior to that, I remember wandering around the party lost in my own daze, running into Frank an innumerable amount of times, always asking him what he was on because I was always forgetting.

I grab him at the shoulder as we're passing by and give him a smile and nod when we make eye contact.

Frank stares at me dazedly, unable to recognize me right away with the darkness, flashing lights, blasting music, and substance induced hypnosis.

He slowly grins and brings me in for a hug and then yells through the music, "Hey Ben, how are you?"

Instead I respond back to him, "Hahaha, what are you on man?"

He shrugs his shoulders and says, "Everything... Probably coke...." as if it's not a big deal. As if it's a regular thing for us. As if he even knows anymore. 

But it doesn't seem like he's on coke... He seems too sluggish... Probably K...  

Nowadays, everything gets passed as everything. Speed for molly, ketamine for cocaine, pipes for ecstasy, bad acid for good acid, portobello mushrooms for magical ones, and the list goes on... In this world of chaos, things have gotten even more chaotic and out of control with hidden paths you used to travel now leading to different destinations, corridors you've never seen feeling eerily familiar, like some sort of twisted deja vu. Filth, betrayal, and desolation now overwhelm the companionship and beauty that used to make up this underground world, not that most of the inhabitants even care anyway because none of them witness it for long once they take the door that goes to somewhere else. Where that somewhere is, remains unknown.

"Fuck it eh, anywhere is better than here."

Suddenly I'm brought back to reality, I see Ze screaming at the driver again over the driver's expressed concern on whether or not we, two bum-looking, tweeked out guys that just crawled out of an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn at the crack of dawn, have the money to pay for the ride back to Queens. 

"What the hell man! You want to see money? I got better than money! Look at this!" says Ze, and he pulls out a massive, filthy roll of bills. 

"HAHAHAHA! THAT'S RIGHT MAN! I got CASH, baby! Cash is better than money, you know that? Fucking cash is always better than money. You know what I mean man?" And he grabs the driver's shoulder from behind and pats him hard and the driver nervously shakes his head and says he agrees in his rich Spanish accent. 

Suddenly, my eyes focus and there are two red lights approaching me fast.

I quickly hit the breaks and come to a skidding halt as the traffic I'm in has just jammed up. I look out into the open window and read the billboard signs off the freeway... I cannot recall the last time I've seen an effective advertisement that inspired me to buy a product....

Traffic crawls forward slowly in this blazing southern cali heat and I remind myself that I shouldn't be such a distracted driver getting lost in my thoughts, though it is so easy to do with this miserable weather engulfing me inside of this shitty car without AC.

"That's how people get into accidents and die you know. You've really got to pay attention..."

I still wonder sometimes how Ze is doing. I wonder how everyone that I met back on the east coast during my brief stay is doing and I wonder sometimes if they wonder how I'm doing. How the fuck did I unintentionally end up in California again? 

It always fascinates me how lives can become so closely and strongly interconnected for brief moments of time before they release from each other and fire in opposite directions, never to see each other again... Though the encounters may be brief, the powerful experience carries with each person for a lifetime. 

As I reach my exit, I see a shoddy liquor store on the side and I remember that yesterday I finished the last of my alcohol and play with the idea of buying more... Perhaps another 2 bottles... But no, instead of stopping, I continue to drive past and head towards my apartment, for today at least... And only because the thought of alcohol leaves a bad taste in my mouth... Though I suspect that later on at night, I will probably head back out and make the purchase once my taste buds have had a change of heart.

"You're a really inefficient person sometimes, you know that Ben? Sometimes the shit you do just isn't cost effective."

Indeed... I am always running on impulse. Half of what I do in life is determined by a cosmic coin flip. What I eat is a matter of what taste my mind places on my tongue when I imagine the dish laid out in front of me. Vodka... Disgusting.... Hamburgers ... Mediocre.... Peanut butter protein shake.... Acceptable...

My taste buds just aren't particularly inclined to have anything right now, so I decide to just eat something disgusting and healthy since it will all taste the same anyway, but it wasn't always like that. Things just aren't how they used to be for me a couple of years ago, and I'm still not sure whether or not I miss it. 

Thoughts of the past leave a nostalgic and bitter taste in my mouth... Much like MDMA... Though the latter provides a mind-numbing and heart-filling experience that allows me to enter the void of my mind to blindly explore around without fear of being eaten alive by the darkness... Almost similar to the taste and feeling one gets on acid, but while molly dissolves my ego, acid enlarges it to the point that I forget what a small, meaningless part of the universe I am... For a few moments in time, I am a god. I can bend time, construct and deconstruct reality at my will... My control over everything is limitless...

Or is it? Fuck? Are those security guards that are following me? Why do I feel like people are following me? Why is everyone talking on their phone and looking at me out of the corner of their eye? Or is it all in my head? Are they all trying to give cops my location so they can pinpoint me down and take me to jail? Yea, that must be it. I'm not going to jail. Fuck this shit, I'm out of here. 

I walk and walk and walk. I weave through the energetic crowds like a car that's trying to run from police weaves through the traffic, and soon enough, I'm lost. With this, I'm satisfied. If I don't know where I am, how can they? 

Immersed in a crowd of strangers dancing to the thumping music, I feel safe, but slowly it feels like everyone is edging away from me, talking and pointing at me, like there is something wrong.

"What's wrong?" I begin to wonder.

At that moment, I start to get lost in thoughts and wonder where I am going in life, what I am doing with my life, why am I even here right now at this place? 

I wander around aimlessly and then suddenly I feel a grab at my shoulder, I turn around and I see my friend... My friend? Really? I suppose.... The definition of that word has certainly changed these last few years.... He's flustered and asking me, "Where the fuck have you been? We've all been looking for you?" 

Where have I been? I don't remember anymore. Not at will anyway.

 

My mind picks at the small things in my life, the minor irrelevant details and drives itself into a frenzy second guessing all things previously absolute in my universe. I acknowledge in my brain the substance induced state that I am in and the questionable reality of the thoughts I consider, but in my heart I still feel like it is all real. Perhaps these hallucinations I am undergoing are the actual reality and my normal state is the delusion. I always feel that others are lost in their own fantasies, who is to say I am not as well? 

No. I stop right there. I do not allow myself to go any further down this thought path. I've been down it before and it leads nowhere, at least nowhere good and in the end, life is life. It doesn't matter if you live it aware of the truth of completely oblivious to it because in the end, after death, all accomplishments, all realizations, all experiences disappear and become lost without a trace like a single drop of water falling into the vast ocean. 

What really matters is how you feel about yourself, how you feel about life, and how you view it. So regardless of whether you live in fiction or reality, the main point of focus should be to stay positive, to stay optimistic, to brush away your negative thoughts as delusions even if they are not, to embrace your positive thoughts as reality even if they are not because nothing you do in life matters anyway, so the best you can do for yourself is try to be happy with it. 

I think it's critically important and effective for an individual to maintain the facade that they are happy with who they are and the way their life is in order to achieve a higher level of utility. It is the small things that require very little energy in appearing positive that end up having a large impact in the long run. 

People like people that like themselves, that is a fact of life. Though it is initially interesting to encounter an individual who openly displays resentment towards their existence, at the end of the day, nihilism becomes old news pretty fast (rivaled along the same levels as atheism which is why I am always annoyed when encountering newfound atheists. Infact, I go out of my way to say that I am an evangelical christian whenever I encounter one to test the soundness of their beliefs to see as to whether or not their atheism is built upon logical standards or more of a jumping upon the bandwagon sort of garbage).

Moods come and go, nothing stays consistent, but people like to believe in fairy tales, people want to be lied to, whether it be by others or themselves, and brought excitement in their lives even if they fervidly deny it and claim otherwise. Nobody likes the truth or reality because it is hurtful and boring.

At the end of the day, your words, your face, your gestures... They are all a product of you, and thus, just like the fake smile you effortlessly portray when taking a family photo, expanding such artificial demonstrations to the next level towards both business and personal relationships will grant you that which you seek in life. 

Though you might be completely miserable from the feelings of containment along the way, I ask you all: What would be the alternative? Being miserable and admitting it? At that point, aren't you just satisfying a personal desire moreso than a logical one? Mastery of your display of emotions is what carries a human being to the next level in this generation. As time progresses forward, humans require more and more to adapt to the demands of society. A caveman in the BC period would not have made it in the 1500 era, a man in the 1500 era would not have made it in the 1800s, and someone in the 1800s would be completely blown away by our present society. You either adapt with the flow and move with progress or you fall behind and live in the gutter. 

I will build a fortress out of cash money and live in it by myself so that I do not have to deal with anything involving anything with the outside world. I will get lost in my thoughts while I dwell in a room built on dead presidents and contemplate how effective of a physical and emotional barrier money can become when you need it to be.

As I'm trying out hang cleans for the first time at the gym a ripped guy I see all the time walks up to me and says

"Excuse me, sorry to bother bro but do you mind if I comment on your form?"

I'm like yea sure go ahead so then the guy rips my asshole open by saying

"Your form is all wrong, right now you're pulling with your upper body but that exercise is all in the hips and when you hit higher weights you won't be able to do what you're doing.... and besides you look fucking funny doing it that way... like a fucking clown bro."

I smile and start laughing when he says that and thank him a lot for the advice. He's like 'yea no problem I just want to help out so you get it right' and then walks off.

On the outside I am still laughing but inside I am crying ... waaaahhhh

I run to the locker room and go to the showers sobbing and berating myself

" god you're a fucking clown! You hear that you clown piece of shit ? Worthless! You're more pathetic than your poor father who used to sell your birthday gifts you got from your affluent relatives to fund his booze drinking because he had no job!"

Old men showering in the locker room with me get uncomfortable as they see my mascara smeared all over my face bawling my soul out and quickly towel up and leave. Just kidding. About the towels.

Yes. Then it is just me in the shower and the only sounds that is heard is the clatter which comes from the running water drumming on the tile floor mixed in with the broken clown sobs of failure.

Afterwards, I sniffle my fake red nose and text my friend

"Waaaa!!! someone gave me helpful advice at the gym and inadvertently hurt my feelings by telling me they only did so due to how much of a fool I looked. Console meeee. Give me attention! Tell me I'm pretty! Waaaa!!!"

And my friend responds with

"Hopefully it was a stranger"

....

No. It wasn't.

But that's what you are to me now you disgusting, ice-hearted yeti.... a stranger who clearly doesn't understand my pain...



When have you ever felt betrayed by a yeti?

Feces is a subject which I find most fascinating and thoroughly enjoyed discussing amongst my peers while I was in school.

Much like humor, it is still a matter that scientists are mystified by and struggle to try and understand.

"What is shit? Where does it come from? What is it made of?"

Little is known about poop, but much is said about it. Simply typing a google search of the word or any variation of it will bring fourth an overwhelming number of results providing you with a plethora of information. 

While the facts may be lacking, the faith is not. Asking any man or women on the street if they have seen or heard of shit will grant you a look of raised eyebrows followed by a:

"Who are you?"

Clearly, people are not impressed. 

To each of us, poop symbolizes different things. To some, poop is love. To others, poop is joy. To others, poop is release and freedom from the imprisonment society places upon us, but to me, poop is the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega, the essence of life and death. 

IF it hadn't been for massive deuces, I would not know half the people I do in real life because many times it was in public toilet stalls where our first encounters originated. More times than not, I will receive picture messages on my phone of friends sending me their photos of giant logs with the added message, 'Thinking of you <3'

So yes.... While both touchingly disgusting, and probably far too informative than necessary, I hope that my short essay has granted you all with more insight in order to appreciate the beauty in life that surrounds us all on a regular basis. Next time you shit, don't just flush it down the toilet while you point your nose upward and away in disgust. Stop. Smell the shit. Love the shit. It's your shit. 

In conclusion, thank you all for reading. I hope you have a nice day. 

Fin.

 

Bibliography:

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shit

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=poop

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Religion

All of you people drop in and can't even mention a single verb or noun or adjective to help me get the ball rolling for the next entry . Your lack of willingness to participate inflicts great pain in my heart as if gashed by a broken shard of glass that used to be a part of our window of friendship, shattered by the baseball of cruelty, which was hit by the bat of apathy, which was swung by your arms of deceit.

You are all terrible, lazy human beings.

has been crushing any sort of creativity and desire to write out of my bloodstream. 

While I do have the desire to come home and jot down some entertaining entry about my life because, as most of you know, even the most mundane existence composed of droll tasks can be made amusing to read about with the proper presentation, I find myself having nothing to really say or at the very least, having no inspiration to present it in an interesting manner.

Despite my previous statement that anything can be fun to discuss, even now, it seems to take a very large effort (almost forced) to make myself write in a manner that doesn't put you all to sleep (And my greatest fear is that even with my attempts focused on writing sexy to keep all you hornballs lusting after my every word, the reality is that I am actually coming off with as much sexual appeal as a toilet bowl full of shit and vomit; though I am sure there are a significant number of you who would be quite turned on by that, you are unfortunately not part of my target audience, but I still cherish you all and your mischievous excrement loving ways.)

My job is extremely boring (So boring infact, that everyone I work with constantly asks me, "Are you bored yet?" almost like they're waiting for me to crack and admit that the initial passion I had when I started has long ago faded and died like my brief interest in bottle caps).

While the job is KIND of technical, it's miserably repetitive in nature because the work doesn't hold much utility since I am essentially doing the same task over and over in a different way (Some here would poetically parallel what I'm saying to a game of chess in how each game is unique but similar; I on the other hand, will parallel my job to sitting on the toilet and taking a dump. While each dump varies in shape, size, color, consistency, and smell, it is ultimately, fundamentally, the same act of taking a dump). 

I understand I've made multiple fail attempts at reviving any sort of interest in this blog for my readers to show my appreciation for you all displaying outstanding loyalty along with a questionable show of taste in writing. I would just like to admit wrong and also defend myself by saying that all of these ideas seemed good at the time because they were from me, but were obviously meant for doom when viewed in retrospect. Like that whole 'I'm going to write about my dreams.' bullshit was fucking hilariously bad. First of all, most of my dreams are bizarre as fuck and telling them to you all is basically granting an open invitation to make observations and judgments on my subconscious which I think is more than I want to deal with.

Like, what does a dream of prancing through the meadows naked chasing after squirrels and rabbits infer about my inner-self?

Or perhaps a dream of me flying uncontrollably through the city slamming into walls and bouncing into every which direction?

Or that ugly, bright, straight fantasy I had of having terminal cancer and having sex with your wife and mother. 

 

Stop. I was just kidding. I don't want to know. I don't need to be reminded of my painfully obvious character flaws. 

So anyway, enough of this bullshit. Let's have a talk. Any talk. What do you guys want to talk about? Money? Morals? Happiness? Depression? Existentialism? Nihilism? Religion? Physics? Or perhaps some other detail or area of my life which I have yet to expand on? 

Or maybe I should just start a themed blog.

Ironstove: A photoblog of people wearing seatbelts.

Thoughts?

Its a lot harder than I thought .... but I'm surprised by how coherent I still manage to sound compared to many of the people on the internet equipped with real keyboards.

More juicy shyte to come on the next episode of iron stove.....

Versus....


The world...!