Accidental Philosophy
A lonely traveler walked across the rainy street at midnight, the puddles filling crevices along edges of the pavement and broken potholes. He moved slowly as the water beaded down the long, waterproof coat he wore draped over his shoulders, and the jacket hung tightly against him by the weight of water accumulating in his open pockets. Almost against sense, he strode casually in the center of the empty street, fearless of non-existent traffic, with his concern only on the path his feet were following, had followed, and would follow to come. Out at night, he was alone to travel any direction he pleased, journey to any destination that materialized inside his mind, and decide, by his own accumulation of data, whether he had done well by his own right, or gone down the wrong path. When alone, he was his own, and even his exposure to the rain was his to choose. This moment taught him to function individually, and to appreciate his own worth among others, because he was his own person and knew what that person was worth. Luckily, he is all of us.
Contrary to popular belief, people are people, and that is the basic nature of people. People are not what they do, or where they are. They are unique and complex, deserving to be analyzed individually. Although intrinsically individual, these people are all part of the same society and have to work together, whether they like it or not. Personally, I am not that which is around me, and I am not even much of an observer of that which is around me, but I am part of an intricate inner network of the natural, universal order, spreading out and eventually affecting stillness and change in everything else. Not to say I have received some incredibly unique boon, everyone shares this inherent trait—he is all of us—and must act together as separate cogs, accelerating and decelerating at leisure. At some point, though, none of this is visible—this point is the bright line between theory and reality. Thus, more practical and specialized clarifications must be made.
—Society and the Political Order—
I
In seventh grade, I wrote a paper detailing how and why I believed pronouncing the world a “pestilential, odiferous waste of matter and thought” was necessary. Although my thoughts on this lovely blue planet have changed considerably since then, my views involving our society have not. As we step, overstep, on each other’s lives in the faint glimmer of hope that someday the bodies of all those we have driven down in the quest for glory will eventually create the tallest, most impressive vantage point on the rest of society that can still fit within the microcosm we can survey, how often does anyone stop to look up and realize that they do not actually need to use anyone else to get to where they want to go? It is as if we see ourselves from the position of being elevated to the standing we held before we leapt headfirst into the fecal mire we consider to be everywhere below where we started, and then our only solution is to begin the architecture of our personalized towers to prove that we can reach the putrid air above the surface and prove how much greater we are than prior generations or current ones—that we are in control. In this competition, the awards are dubious because of their relative and illusory nature, and the entry fee is great—personal humanity and the livelihoods of others. The best of these competitors actually thrive on competing with others for the greatest stack, thinking that they seek the goal and not the game itself only to learn the truth once the game is over. They get to stew with the knowledge that there is no one else they can cut down to go higher. In the political and social landscape, getting to the top is emptier than anything else, even losing. While material success is charming and can increase already conspicuous consumption, success itself is not what makes someone happy, and I doubt if the emotions experienced by these competitors are anything close to actual joy. The sad part is that the human spirit has left these people and they are drained after having lost the meaning of humanity, and the desire to escape circumstance has only transmogrified into something ugly—the search for others to feel more important than. Losing is not the greatest fear of these competitors. They fear being considered part of the dung heap they have decided everything around them is, and they will do anything, to anything and anyone, to prove that fact every moment of their lives. To go further, they spread their insecurity to others by touting their greatness and infusing the competitive spirit into others, thereby spreading the psychological pandemic. Let me repeat this: I am not that which is around me, and neither are you. Do not let anyone tell you that you are less than they are, that you are nothing to them, or worse. Keep in mind, to get to the position those competitors taunt from, they lost the meaning of humanity by selfishly violating others without any concern for the consequences. I know there is another way to live, and I find it horribly irresponsible to build my world on the backs of others. I do not find it to be heroic or dignified to be greater than anyone.
—His Ultimate Highness: God—
II
I have never been one of those people who establish themselves somewhere and stayed there to make sure not to lose my place, and my membership anywhere is transient. As I am without faith, I am only an exasperated traveler in search of inspiration and divinity, like a junkie meandering from alley to alley hunting for the next opportunity to fill their veins with the only thing that will temporarily sooth that aching want. I wish I had the luxury of a crisis in faith—to have ever been sure enough of anything to need to question myself instead of others. The nature of God is something escaping me entirely. Did God create all of us by his divine wisdom, or did we create God by political necessity? Did He, She, It create us in his image, or did we create a God through ego as a possibility for ourselves? The only answer I have is that I do not know, and neither does anyone else beyond any shadow of a doubt. For the sake of argument, though, let us say there is a god: omniscient, omnipotent, and all that jazz. This God would probably be male and female, father and mother. This God would have to be a creator, giving birth to an entire world and loving it immeasurably, and a leader, giving our lives meaning, direction, and order. That was Frankenstein’s mistake, thinking he could be God without ever considering all of the roles he would have to fill to allow his creation to reach the pinnacle of existence—peace. A discussion on God also brings about a consideration of divinity itself. Once again, for the sake of argument, let us say there is a heaven: paradise, nude volleyball, and all that jazz. Paradise would be a huge library, filled with volumes and volumes of God, billions upon billions of readers, seraphim for librarians, and cherubim for personal assistants. The understanding of this heaven would not be universal, as humans are not unified in the way they think, act, or speak. As everyone entered this heaven, they would see and be interested in something completely different—a different volume, a different floor, and a different language. The knowledge gained by the souls in heaven would also be different as separate experiences and separate interests would eventually move the researching souls to venture farther and farther away from the other occupants of God’s library. Someone like me would be caught up in wonderment over every miniscule tuft of carpeting on the floor because I could seek nothing more than to comprehend every last bit of this creation. I figure some people would have to be so caught up in the glory of their surroundings they could never actually even get to the meaning of the place itself, the immense breadth of knowledge to be attained, or even knowing that God had any part of it. This place might also be considered by some to be hell. The library itself is only and allegory for what might actually be in store for us if there is existence beyond the plane we currently perceive, but it only gets to the basis of what I believe divinity to be. Holiness is personal. In everyone’s diverse experience, they experience God differently, and to say anyone is right denies everyone else. My view: if you can live with who you are, fine by me, but I know of my own standards, and I have to look out for what is important to me as I continue my life, and I try to share that view as often as possible. The other thing: I have seen way too many things I cannot explain. In fact, I just dealt a four of a kind, all fours, in order of hearts, diamonds, clubs, and then spades. The final card was the ace of spades. That’s weird, probably not as weird as dealing a hand of poker too yourself while writing a paper, but things like that happen, despite mathematical odds, and I have to wonder why.
—That’s Amore—
III
I have often and repeatedly been told, “pick your battles!” Unfortunately, the message never got through, and I still dream of never compromising and always looking for the perfect person. You would figure high school crushed all hope of me meeting someone on a long-term basis, but the overwhelming romantic foolishness abundant in my character prevents rejection and disappointment from keeping my spirits down for any length of time. Why am I romantic, and why would I subject myself to scorn, anxiety, depression, and perpetual embarrassment? Much like the multitude of people on the planet, I cannot help it. There is something alluring about falling in love and releasing the protective inhibitions currently preventing me from getting sued (not that such a feeling as would get me sued is actually love, but the behavioral patterns are the essential detail). The greater wisdom of picking my battles will be upheld in this case, as an intricate examination of why I take pleasure in a positive emotion like love, as greatly as I do, would convince each of my readers of my anal retentive and misguided quirkiness. My real philosophy comes from pop culture, as that is the only place I have seen true love play out. I stole this from Tiffany DeBartolo’s “Dream for an Insomniac:” “There are too many mediocre things in life, why should love be one of them?” I believe this line to be true. Why should we bother compromising if the only way to be truly happy is to meet who we want to meet or know why we are still single. We do not necessarily need a “better” partner. What we need is the right partner, and the definition of such a person might not be up to us to decide. Love is a chaotic force of nature, right? Let love wash over you without attempting to filter the slightest appreciation of someone out, and maybe then love can reveal itself to you, as you have opened up to it. Do not be too trusting in this part of my worldview—not even I trust this little kernel of wisdom—because love is chaotic, and there are no definite truths to be found. Is there someone for everyone? Sure, why not? The real question is: does this someone for me live on this continent, or did they die sometime in the past? If the Beach Boys had it right and there are two girls for every boy, then who is to say my two girls are not off somewhere making each other tremendously happy and I may never hear from them? That is just love, and the only chance any of us have is to just let love do its own thing, and hope and pray that someday we will all find out how perfect someone truly is for us. I love this whole crazy love thing. Sigh…
—Happy—
IV
What kind of world could I dream up, if I forgot the single most important aspect of life: how to be happy, and what meaning happy has. One thing Americans cannot figure out is the difference between enjoying something they are doing or having done for them and simply enjoying life. Why is it necessary to want an uplifted heart at every moment, and forget the instances in the past and those to come because the present is so important? There is an infinitely greater amount of time to experience the world than this precise moment, and there is no reason to be greedy. We live, and there is not much else that can claim to live as well as we do, traverse the planet and space the way we do, carry the spark of living as long as we do, and bitch about our lives as much as we do. This discussion of an appreciation lacking society is a poor response to the query outlined above. However, this brief discussion provides proper context to evaluate why happiness is considered a commodity instead of an intrinsic value to life. There is a common belief that people can make other people happy, that kindness, gifts, decadence, or reprieve can force someone into happiness. You can buy all of those things, and they all have the ability to facilitate a happy feeling, but nothing can make you happy. The only person who can make someone happy is that person himself because we often will not allow ourselves to be happy, and we call that “being an adult.” We call that self-sacrifice, and personal charity or appreciation without actually knowing what any of that means. Another widely spread ideology teaches us for every winner someone must lose. I cannot subscribe to this view; self-sacrifice is something I do not believe in, but charity is something completely different. The mentality of sacrifice is a perversion of the happiness experienced from love; we convince ourselves of the hardships involved in our lives, and thus remove the pleasure of simply being a good person, let alone helping someone. Yes, instances of hardship and hard work permeate our days; however, these trials only show how indomitable we actually are. All problems are solvable, if not simply survivable, and provided the correct effort is made anything can be done, and even though an obstacle may be difficult, the moment anyone conquers a problem, everyone can rejoice for the greatness of humanity. I call that a happy moment, but pride intercedes. The competitors step in, and they berate themselves, and we follow their lead because they tell us how important being the conqueror really is. We feel inadequate, unhappy. No one can make you happy, but others sure can make you immoderately unhappy. All I can say is appreciate the outcome of dreams, and everyone else’s outcomes as well for the greatness they exhibit on their own.
—Spinning, Twirling, and Stupid Metaphysics—
V
Planets spin, galaxies spin, Mary Tyler Moore spins, but we are not terribly cognizant of any of these things unless they are made imminently apparent to us. Watch the television sometime late at night. Flipping through the channels, you may catch an old edition of Nova, or the Mary Tyler Moore show, and a picture a spinning celestial being may find its way into your head through your sleepy eyeballs. The projections from your television are not the things that they represent; yet they allow for a greater understanding of a world which most of us cannot see on our own. We know about something that is real without even being there to see it be real. Technology is a neat thing when used constructively, and even when some malevolent force controls the technology we use, the effect is still fascinating enough to make movies, like The Matrix, become blockbusters. Now I will move into the topic, what and why is reality? Rene Descartes began this discussion by doubting everything around him until he could not disprove its reality, but he was a little lacking in the consideration of everyone else having a consciousness, and, while his ideas lived on with the outside world, he did not. I will use that as a proof for the universe existing outside the thinker: unless someone wants to debate whether I put those ideas into Descartes’ head several hundred years before I conceived of my own existence just to convince myself that nothing is real. For some reason, though, that last theory seems incredulous—wonder why? Reality for each individual is the sum of the lives they have experienced through their senses, and the ideas they have contemplated as well. This definition seems fair. Everything you know, you still know, and the world you live in is still relevant and worthy of your time and effort—perfect, with one exception. Dreams tend to be expressed in the same way this universe is, as all of the senses are used. Why would those nightly creations not be real? They may be. Although dreams are not universes congruous with the world where everyone else is, they could be entire universes unto themselves as long as they manage not to leak out into the world we share. If we only use ten percent of our brain on any given day in this world, maybe we use another ten percent in a world existing within our minds, or several. So, why is existence? Without existence, there would be nothing, and why bother with nothing at all? Is everything being used for some purpose? Is there a creator? How can nothing exist outside of the universe when the universe can be contained by nothingness? The type of irrationality, and creativity exhibited by our reality are almost exactly like dreams. Light can bend easily in dreams; we can fly in them; space is relative, and Thai food tastes good in dreams as well the waking universe. We probably pop in and out of this reality into our dreams, and perhaps this reality is part of another dream, eventually ending when everyone wakes up, and then we can all go back to our lives. Fortunately, we still are allowed to hang around in this place. So, try not to screw it up, huh?
—The Truth About Asking for Help—
VI
The legend is that Atlas carried the entire world on his shoulders. He carried the weight of every living thing, every rock, every wave, and every soul on the planet. So devoted was he to his task, Atlas would not so much as shrug for fear of dropping the world. When his skin went unwashed, Atlas carried the world. When itches appeared on his body, Atlas carried the world. When his soul yearned for company, Atlas carried the world. Although Atlas has faded now, as he has crumbled into the dust and ash from whence he came, the world he shouldered all his life has not fallen and pan caked itself on the floor. The billions of souls on this little planet, when sharing the load, have kept the Earth from falling, and Atlas never really needed to shoulder such a burden by himself. While daily problems are easily solved with the correct amount of effort, some problems are bigger than we are. However, finding someone who will admit they have “bitten off more than they can chew,” can be even more difficult still. You will discover, instead, many more people who will consider any admission of weakness to be akin to being defeated. My question is: “defeated by whom?” Are we actually battling everyone else for who can win the most glory and take on the most responsibility before entropy sets into our bodies and minds? Where did we get the idea that we need to be better than everyone else? In the end, this is how the social competitors mentioned in the first chapter eventually self-destruct. Strapping years of overwork and stress across their shoulders, they disintegrate like Atlas because they refuse to relinquish some of their load. To ask for assistance is closer related to self-awareness and understanding of personal limitations—both are good to have.
—Everything I Have Learned From Girls—
VII
This will be slightly choppy section, unlike everything written before this point in my paper, because these are just condensed proverbs and random little notes. The fundamental lesson all girls love to teach is “you are not ‘THE MAN,’ you will never be ‘THE MAN,’ as no man you will ever meet is truly as great as he thinks he is.” I figure it might as well be true because the more I hear anyone say they are “THE MAN,” the less I believe it. Treat your Mother and your ex-girlfriends as kindly as possible, in spite of your feelings for them, because your behavior around them might be indicative of your future behavior toward other women. Getting a date is extremely difficult for guys known for being “mother-punchers.” If you can find a girl who makes you happy, especially if you can return the favor, stay with her—there are many more girls who can make you miserable out there if you mess up with the girl who makes you happy. Your girlfriend is gorgeous, no matter what, and if you do not think your girlfriend is gorgeous, then you might consider moving on because you will never get over the fact your girlfriend is not as attractive as the supermodels running through your dreams. If you hear the words “shut up” in the middle of a date, listen immediately. Beautiful gifts are good; unexpected gifts are better, but unexpected, beautiful gifts are not your key into bed. Be yourself; in the end, they pick you, not the other way around. Women only let you think you are in control of the situation. That would be all I know with specific respect to girls.
—Death: The High Cost of Living—
VIII
I have no idea who figured out that death ought to be personified as an old, skeleton-bodied, scythe-wielding, cloak-wearing bringer of doom. This “grim” reaper serves as an embodiment of fear and pain because death is supposed to be the ultimate evil, but is death really all that bad? Sure, after you die, you cannot take back your death; however, why would you want to? Death is just something that happens to everyone, and if everyone does it…bad reasoning. If you only get to die once, why would it not be a pleasant event, the culmination of the entirety of your experiences? Death will come by whenever it wants; at least, it could bother to keep removal from life to simple passing instead of mass trauma. My preferred concept of death comes out of a comic book written by Neil Gaiman. Death is a woman in her early twenties; she enjoys wearing “Goth” outfits, and adorning them with a smile and a smiley face button. Far removed from the reaper, Death is a compassionate and loving person with a great deal of concern for those she must escort from this world, and she does her job well, despite her displeasure with people being terrified of such a sweet person. We fear her. We fear leaving consciousness, although we gladly flee from this world when we sleep. Why could death not be a revival from a frighteningly lucid dream? The possible scenario is similar to The Matrix, but with a benign facilitator of this world. Perhaps everyone is ten years from now, and Microsoft has created a new form of gaming system, which plugs directly into our soul and allows us to live the life we never had, or never wanted. We might also be incarcerated in a penal system, which pacifies inmates by using the same system created by Microsoft to allow escapist entertainment. Now, I am not about to lay my life on the line to test my theories. If you have ever watched an old television as it is being shut off, then you have seen the small circle which forms the last vestiges of the light flooding from the screen, and were that screen projecting a three dimensional image it would appear to be a tunnel with light at the end. The theory seems somewhat viable, but theories are unreliable enough for experiments to be unwise. I can image the fallout in this world as death gripped my throat and spirited my soul away. Mourning and cursing, laughing and crying over the strange way I lived and whatever way I died. Even if there is another world outside of this, the extreme discourteousness of dying and footing everyone else with the bill would be enough incentive to make me want to do the right thing and live.
—Of Real Estate and Location—
IX
When they looked up from the surface of the moon, a couple of guys named Aldrin and Armstrong saw a cerulean ball rising in the space above them. Everything they had ever known about the immense size and grandeur was splashed cleanly away like dirt off of a car, and they grasped, as none before them could, the magnificence of the azure moon set in permanently midnight sky above them. I wish they could have brought everyone with them in a real capacity, more than any television camera could ever accomplish. The reality of finite resources and infinite demand is frightening. The first act of the cold war was a demand from the United States for Russia to get out of the oil fields in Iran; coffee and coca are grown in immense quantities by Central and South American warlords and dictators who kill all political dissention because they enjoy the disgusting profits raining down from North America; South African President Mbeki has chosen a public policy position where he prefers to dispute the connection between HIV and AIDS more than he wants to attempt bringing real care for the 4.5 million people infected in his country. Those are three problems directly related to what happens when too few people have far too much. The smallness of our little blue planet is what makes universal equality utterly impossible. If we tried to elevate everyone to the great level of health and living all people deserve, we would exhaust the world ecosystem in such a short period of time that our society would look more like a deflating balloon than a utopian social order. I am absolutely neither arguing we should just settle for destroying the rest of the Earth for American comfort nor am I trying to explain why the world should be stratified. I think we have gone too far on the current technology, and dipped far too deeply into our piggy bank of irreplaceable planetary wealth. As for a solution, I am nowhere near smart enough to tender one, but the answer is a goal for society—a product for the machinations of all our little cogs. I hope the new technology is not some sort of Holy Grail, which we only attain after the complete destruction of everything we hold dear. At any rate, the status quo will not be maintained because to do so would be both morally reprehensible and impossible.
—Your Parents Are Crazy—
X
So there you were, ugly and screaming, in the first few moments of your life, and this did not change for several years. After a while of finding nothing that worked to shut you up, they found themselves desperately looking for an answer, and they always find what they are looking for. I am not a parent yet, thankfully, so I have no idea what it is they find, but I know they trade all semblance of former sanity to attain it. They giggle, and they gurgle, and then they let loose, and find a way to make you the person they want you to be. As you start forming, they start coming back to their senses, but not for long. As soon as adolescence set in, you drove them back beyond the brink. The teenage years shattered their personalities, but finally, despite their want to keep you, you left to go wherever you did in the real world, and all that effort came to an end. They must have been nuts to begin with! Who would actually want to be put through all that, just to have the object of all your investments leave without paying you back? They put away all the fun and adventure of being young, just to rear you—that shrieking wrinkled puddle of life. What possesses someone to change his or her lives so dramatically? They were crazy, yes; they were madly in love with you, and you were not even there to enjoy it. You never had the chance to enjoy it, unless you fell in love with your own baby, and I believe only then can you understand.
—Everything I Learned From My Dad—
XI
This section is where everything is explained. Now you get to finally glimpse the reality of my situation. Weirdness is genetic. I think the first philosophic contribution my Dad ever decided to lob my way involved every bad joke he ever knew. From these I learned such vital lessons as: just because the horse has a long face it is not necessarily sad; when a skeleton orders a beer, he also orders a mop; not many kangaroos will stop in your bar if you charge twelve dollars per drink; the duck will usually be fine with you putting the balm on his bill, but the platypus will think you are a pervert if you ask; while his act may be funny, the clown’s flavor generally is not. I grew up with this stuff. It is no wonder I turned out the way I am, but little jokes are little jokes. My Dad taught me the importance of fishing. He showed me how everyday was just like sitting on the river and waiting for the right bite to hook into and wrestle until the end result, and sometimes you hook a nasty old sucker fish while looking for a majestic steelhead. Life is just the way it is, and you are swimming upstream if you disagree.
—How Do I End This Beast—
I have a simple answer to that, I say, “that is all I actually know, and a few things other people know better than I do.” I would never stay with such a cheap ending, though, especially not after being so long winded throughout the entirety of what I have written. I have more dignity than that, and to be so glib with an ending is insulting to the intelligence of anyone reading this. Yeah, never mind. I am as tired of writing as you are of reading, later.
—Fin—
Email: jazzmanbb@hotmail.com
