Here is My Real Head series Pt. 5

Organ Grinder by Marilyn Manson

I am the face of piss and shit and sugar

I do a crooked little dance with my funny little monkey
What I want, what I want is just your children
I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being
Calliopenis envy from your daddy
You're not gonna hear what he don't want to hear
What I say disgusts him
He wants to be me and that scares him
"let's do a funny little dance with my funny little monkey"
The black keys
Here is my real head, here is my real head
I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me
Here is my real head
They try to blink me not to think me
Don't want to bring me out
I am the rotten teeth, my fists are lined with suckers
My prison skin's an eyesore-mirror-sketch-pad
I am your son, your dad, your fag, I am your fad
Here is my real head, here is my real head
I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me
Here is my real head

Here is My Real Head series 

Pt. 1 - Addiction & Self Mutilation
Pt. 2 - Childhood Grooming & Sex and Relationships
Pt. 3 - Worth of My Peers & Trust
Pt. 4 - Being Honest with My Parents
Pt. 5 - The Sound and Feel of Carpet

8. The Sound and Feel of Carpet

    Where I long to swim and the dirt I’m buried in are two entirely different earths.

     What becomes a fish is born free of their counting clock, while what disintegrates into a worm is born already dying to blast off into space.

     And I think that’s a lot like me; I’m a disrupted galaxy. My black holes are my quirks.

-~-

     For as long as I can remember, the sensation of touching carpet with my skin, or the sound of someone else’s, has always enraged me. I want to smash my own father’s face into a thousand imperfect pieces every single time he rubs his feet on the carpet, assumingly forgetting how many times I’ve told him I can’t stand it.

     Around the age of three or four, my mom came over to my house. At the time, I referred to her as my aunt Stephanie, as biologically, she is my birth mother’s sister.

     She came over to tell my birth mother that she wanted to take me to the Florida Aquarium, and I imagine she was basically asking for permission because she was so young. From what I can recall, my birth mother was reluctant, but hiding it so. I assume she was jealous, she slyly tried to convince me it wasn’t a great idea by telling me of the sharks that would be there. Knowing it was my biggest fear—aside from tornadoes, which no one knew of at the time—she had me instantly terrified. At some point during the conversation, I jumped up and ran down the hallway, where I accidently fell to my knees and skidded across the carpet into her bedroom door.

     I was left with painful rug burn at the end of the hallway, crying and terrified. I wanted to go and spend time with my aunt Stephanie at the aquarium, I just wanted to be brave enough to go, as now it was required. I was angry my birth mother ruined it for me by telling me of my horrors awaiting me there. If I went after hearing about the sharks, I was to be forced into a situation I had to be brave in, when I already had so much fear within me begging to rip free from my chest.

     Reflecting back, I think I have a pretty decent guess as to why carpet bothers me so. Though it’s important to mention first, it’s obviously another piece of my negative childhood conditioning by the rage it brews, as opposed to the various other emotions it could arouse instead.

     When I really think about the personal essence of carpet, I realize its symbolism has always meant fear, and more so, being forced into fear by an outside force. It’s an odd, and unusual situation rarely faced in regular life. Now when I fear something, I almost always have a choice to face it or turn away without any true consequences besides my own guilt which is easily dealt with. However, in the aquarium situation, I was being “punished” by not going to the aquarium if I wasn’t brave enough to conquer my fear, unfairly before ever even witnessing it.

     What bothers me most is there was no need for me to know about the sharks prior to entering the aquarium in the first place. My birth mother scared me before I even had a chance to comprehend the fear.

Thursday's Thoughts - Theme: First Time

This Week's Theme: First Time

“Minor things can become moments of great revelation when encountered for the first time.” - Margot Fonteyn

“The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them.” - Maya Angelou

“No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time.” - James Arthur Baldwin

      This week's theme wasn't picked at random. When I first started COSA18 last August I had a few specific ideas for topics I hoped to eventually discuss, one of them being doing things for the first time. Luckily, this past week three things occurred for the first time, giving me enough events to share for it to be worthwhile.

 

     Earlier this week I was struck with the sudden urge to attempt to curl my hair. Every time my hair has been curled it was by a friend's skill, I've never done so successfully. I tried anyway, and was using my webcam as a mirror. (I'm not sure why I thought that was a good idea.) Later on, Jonathan signed onto AIM and we were chatting while I was still at my attempts. He said something that made me laugh, and I ended up burning the hell out of my forehead, as pictured above. I've never burnt myself straightening or curling my hair, and I've been doing so for five years. This was definitely an unpleasant, yet funny first.

     On Monday, my dad and I went to Walmart to poke around. While he was shuffling through  the$5 DVDs he never buys, I wandered over a few isles in search of desk chairs, only to instead find multiple racks of picture frames on clearance. I surveyed the variety, picked what I wanted, and began searching through the ridiculous amount of frames they crammed onto one rack.
     As my dad rounded the corner, it happened. A frame fell to the floor, and the glass smashed into a hundred pieces. I've never broken anything in a store before in my life, even throughout childhood I never broke a single thing. I thought it was really hilarious that I was seventeen when it finally happened, and that it happened at all.

     This last first happened just yesterday, and is by far the most exciting out of the three. Yesterday, out of a random conversation with my mom about a friend of mine, I drank Absinthe for the first time. I didn't feel like I was in Dracula, but I did feel as chill as Marilyn Manson appears in all his interviews where he's drinking his own brand.
     In the midst of texting and IMing my friends about random things like "nugget strips" and whatever else I thought was clever and important for everyone to know, I took a few pictures, as did my mom. Behold, my  hilarious, possibly embarrassing, "Absinthe face:"

     I think it's worth mentioning that although I vowed long ago to never drink alcohol ever again in fear of "relapsing" back to self mutilation, the thought never crossed my mind yesterday in my decision to drink. I have no regret, second thought, nothing. I am completely happy with the decision I made because I made it smartly. Regardless of being seventeen and it being illegal to drink, I am completely one hundred percent happy with my decision because I made it consciously and reasonably.

A very important note to self:

A very important note to self: Step back and realize your luck now. You know what you've acquired balances what you've lost.

     I am grateful for so many things in life the length of the list varies every day depending on what I can recall. Alone, that is something I am extremely grateful for; to have or perceive so many positive things I cannot remember them all collectively.

As for...

     Today, I am grateful to have met someone who I can share all of my interests with, who also can share all of their interests with me. Creating, thus, stimulating conversation based on outside topics worth discussing. I am grateful this person is as driven, rational, logical, intelligent, humorous, and light-hearted in all the right ways as I am, if he doesn’t actually succeed me. Were he to, I would be all the more grateful, only because I know he wouldn’t ridicule me for being lesser. It is absolute elevation to have met my equal in form of what I desired all along – a creator. 

     Today, I am grateful to be in therapy. I’d survive without it, though I would much rather have the opportunity presented to learn and grow from all the unfamiliar I’m exposed to through its practice so that I may live instead of exist. 
     It’s true that eventually I might be able to understand the horrors of my past and their personal effects on my own, but would the water be too late for my dying blossoms? I don’t dwell on the unimportant answer. 
     Despite all the fun-poking it may cause, therapy is a sort of magical “saving grace,” shining light on my darkness Manson believes - and John 1:5 - would never understand.

Game / Claws

23 February 2010

     At the precipice of depression where the hand reaches up and my gaze is cast down is where I find myself lost before tumbling into the abyss and signing away my soul to the oblivion.

            Today I reach the brink of enlisting the black parade with reminding thoughts of what all I don’t deserve. The science of deserving is nonexistent in any field, save supernatural. As supernatural is just, super thought, it’s meaningless to me, and the grand scheme of our ultimate grandeur.

     If we speak currently and self-appointedly, we deserve fun when we provide work. After all, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
     From what I am aware, our workers are not boys, and if they are not men, we – great ape society, we – have fallen even farther astray from the brain ladder to our tight ropes.

     At point, “game” only meant “goal,” in a variety of situations all relating to survivalism. We are undeserving of our conception, no, mutation, of “game.”

     Outside of the social spider’s naturally woven web of science’s beautiful realm, we “create” degenerations ahead. Speaking on behalf of blindly offending unknowing man; vos lido Homindae.

----- 

20 February 2010

     I mean, it kind of sucks tearing someone’s heart out when you barely used your claws. But what can you do. Importantly, what can I do? Truthfully, a whole lot. Forget it, the happiest time of my life as of yet. Disappear like sprinkles to dance in the dark. “What if you meet the love of your life, are you supposed to just let them pass you by?” The line affected me more than the moral of the story, for I know when he’s just not that into me. There the problem doesn’t lie, it’s near the opposite, not quite. Am I more? I must be, but am I scaled? Maybe.

Monday's Excerpts - Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by Walter Kaufmann

     If I had read Thus Spoke Zarathustra years ago when my dad first recommended to me, I wouldn't have gotten nearly as much out of it as I did with my first reading in the past two weeks. Likely, I would have misinterpreted most if it as garbage not worth reading or taking seriously. Zarathustra was far more than I had anticipated, and I'm glad I put it off for so many years to fully appreciate now.

     When I finished Zarathustra, I was left speechless. It all wrapped up so wonderfully, a true story came from what I thought - up until the absolute final page - was just a book of aphorisms slapped together by a man that had his concepts about life fairly well put together. However, all of these so-thought random maxims  flawlessly weaving together made the entire concept of the Übermensch complete and believable.
     I want to say more, but I don't want to spoil anything, so I will say this; Thus Spoke Zarathustra is truly an experience for any human being trying to climb over their own head.

This Week's Book: Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by Walter Kaufmann

     Whoever writes in blood and aphorisms does not want to be read but to be learned by heart. In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak: but for that one must have long legs. Aphorisms should be peaks—and those who are addressed, tall and lofty. The air thin and pure, danger near, and the spirit full of gay sarcasm: these go well together. I want to have goblins around me, for I am courageous. Courage that puts ghosts to flight creates goblins for itself: courage wants to laugh.

     I no longer feel as you do: this cloud which I see beneath me, this blackness and gravity at which I laugh—this is your thundercloud.

     You look up when you feel the need for elevation. And I look down because I am elevated. Who among you can laugh and be elevated at the same time? Whoever climbs the highest mountains laughs at all tragic plays and tragic seriousness. (Pages 40-41)

—————

     In your children you shall make up for being the children of your fathers: thus shall you redeem all that is past. . . . (Page 204)

—————

     “Whoever praises him as a god of love does not have a high enough opinion of love itself. Did this god not want to be a judge too? But the lover loves beyond reward and retribution. (Page 261)

Books read this past week...
★★★★★ Thus Spoke Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by Walter Kaufmann

(All title links link back to my webpages of them on Goodreads.com, a great library/reviewing/rating website for readers. Check it out, and add me as a friend if you decide to join!)

There is Grandeur View in My Life

     Finishing Thus Spoke Zarathustra is what I could – not should – be doing right now, but that adds into the whole melting pot of why I’m so happy right now. How is it that I am so completely captivated by you, while the desire to still better myself for me coexists harmoniously?

     It reminds me of this cauldron at MagiQuest in Myrtle Beach. Positively alluring inside with its beauty, with a haze of fog overhead. I’m left dumbfounded, consciously half-wondering what to gaze at while my aperture focuses and refocuses on whatever it desires to capture. I have no regrets of letting go of control.

     Metaphoring this cloudiness as fog instead of smoke means more than just the pick of a word, as for the first time in my life I have never seen with such intense clarity the beauty in the world we inhabit. My eyes have become sensitive to the ultraviolet like bees, for I am seeing past the artistry of life into something I thought would forever be invisible… to me.

     The magnificence of science not only restored the lost respect I had for our sublime existence, but it plopped a bud of growth within my “heart” that grew into a fascination, a love of all things I see, feel, touch, and breathe. Something has definitely grown in my chest.

     Knowing the exact percentage of oxygen in the air swelling my lungs brings me a comfort unexplainable, “overly satisfied” being a decent beginning were I to settle upon a single one.

     I know what I’m seeing on the ground and walking with me upon it; evolution of all that is precious life. I know that my orchid Harold sitting just behind me is a long distant cousin on our grand tree of life, this is how I use “our.”

     My first love of all things existing in relation to my personal inhabitance, and now this fresh, second love of a single life I have somehow chosen but feel it has chosen me, this is how, today, I’m perceiving “there is grandeur view in this life.” And nothing has ever felt so grand.

     Funnily, it plays into my obsession with sociology. I think “he” even said somewhere being in love is just short of being obsessed. And it’s true! I don’t love sociology, I’m obsessed with it. It’s my food for thought, my conscience, my actions, my emotions, my everything by final choice. Completely embraced, it is mine.

     Uniquely, this is exactly how I feel of him. Can I shelter this by what I mentioned before? Perhaps my affection of social sciences wasn’t a sick adoration, likely I am simply no more than in love with it as I am everything he is.

     I’ve never been in love and maybe that’s why my behavior in relationships hasn’t varied too far from how I carried myself in the beginning of my “dating life” at twelve years old. Actually, up until barely a year ago, I didn’t even believe in the possibility of homo sapiens being in love. Only a mere few months ago, I wasn’t aware that being in love was provable through a glimpse into our brains, by means of science.

     It was then I truly began believing in the concept of being “in love,” past a desire for a supernatural out of body experience. And what a comfort it is to know that everything I am and feel is all secured within my physical body named “me”, waiting patiently to be explained by an explainer, or as we know them: scientists.

     Who better to research for mesearch than me? I thought I was the candidate too.

-~-

     Being in love is indescribable. It’s not as if I lack the knowledge of all lovely adjectives in my language that might pertain to the experience – although I do – it just isn’t possible for what love’s actually worth.

     With words of any language, with actions of any species, even with genetic altruism of the birds and chimpanzees, it just isn’t. If I dared attempt, I would only reach a verdict of poor justice, and I decided against law school many years ago when human behaviors first gripped my hold with a relentless fist.

     One of the conclusions I have come to thus far is this: being in love with you is the irrational fear of loss.

Nietzsche's "Upon the Blessed Isles" & Marilyn Manson's "Organ Grinder"

     I'm currently reading Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and I noticed some wording similarities in "Upon the Blessed Isles" and the song "Organ Grinder," by Marilyn Manson. (Lyrics in sidebar of video.) It could be me simply looking for similarities because "Organ Grinder" is my favorite song, but this should be fun to write up regardless of whether it's convincing or not.

Upon the Blessed Isles

     God is a thought that makes crooked all that is straight, and makes turn whatever stands.

"I do a crooked little dance with my funny little monkey"

     From my understanding, becoming the overman is about surpassing humanity. Often, humans are associated with monkeys, although we are more closely related to apes. Regardless, it could be in relation. If Manson has become the overman, perhaps he can do the opposite of "God" by making all crooked things straight; a straight fact. The fact being humans are closer to apes than monkeys, but making it alright to use the metaphor of a monkey because he can turn all things crooked straight if he wanted to.

     God is a conjecture; but I desire that your conjectures should not reach beyond your creative will. Could you create a god? Then do not speak to me of any gods. But you could well create the overman.

"I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being"

     To become anything, we must create first create it as an image, only to continue creating during the process. If we reach beyond our creative will, we could hate it. Manson could have moved too swiftly in his creation, sloppily or with more thought power than actual power by means of quick escape from what he hated, causing him to hate what he has become anyway.

Perhaps not you yourselves, my brothers. But into fathers and forefathers of the overman you could re-create yourselves: and let this be your best creation.

     There are many elements in "Organ Grinder" that seemingly relate to children and a father, on the surface of the words. I'm not sure exactly what Nietzsche meant in this part of "Upon the Blessed Isles," but from the translation I'm excerpting, the translator notes that it is about the creative life versus belief in God, "God is a conjecture." (A theory, opinion.) I wouldn't be too quick to assume this means God in the common sense, either, but who knows.

     Creation—that is the great redemption from suffering, and life's growing light. But that the creator may be, suffering is needed and much change. Indeed, there must be much bitter dying in your life, you creators. Thus are you advocates and justifiers of all impermanence. To be the child who is newly born, the creator must also want to be the mother who gives birth and the pangs of the birth giver.

"I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being"

     Like I said, I'm not sure what Nietzsche meant. Perhaps by creating the overman in our fathers and forefathers (or a metaphor of either), we can escape what we hate. (The line could have a double meaning.) By creating what we want in another, we grow to hate ourselves because we haven't applied the same things to ourselves first and foremost. Our hatred of our actions could push us onto the tightrope of finally becoming the overman ourselves, which would explain the arrogance in the rest of the song. Mentions of envy are a good sign (although I don't know what "calliopenis" means, if anything):

"Calliopenis envy from your daddy"

     Now that Manson is the overman instead - or alongside - of his "father," his "father" will act in accordance of typical jealousy when one is one-upped:

"You're not gonna hear what he don't want to hear

What I say disgusts him"

     This reveals something deeper though. Manson will not hear what his "father" doesn't want to hear. By someone going first, importantly by Manson's creation, they are united (father and child, mother and child). So perhaps they are in this alongside each other. Now that Manson has become what he created his "father" to be first, Manson not only disgusts him, but:

"He wants to be me and that scares him"

     Manson has taken away what he gave his "father," in the sense that he no longer holds it alone. Even if they coexist in the same stature, it is not uncommon for someone who is matched - especially by someone who helped lift them - to soon become jealous, resentful, etc., and feel an unexplainable desire to be like them instead of like themselves. This feeling is scary, because it's a doubt of one's greatness in envy of another's. The line "What I want, what I want is just your children," could be a metaphor the "father's" desire to be the "child" (Manson).

     God is a conjecture; but I desire that your conjectures should be limited by what is thinkable. Could you think a god? But this is what the will to truth should mean to you: that everything be changed into what is thinkable for man, visible for man, feelable by man. You should think through your own senses to their consequences.

"They try to blink me not to think me

Don't want to bring me out"

     Besides the obvious word similarities, Manson could have overexerted himself in his rush to escape what he hated, causing man to attempt at not blinking, thinking, or bringing him out. His consequence - hating what he has become to escape what he hated being.

"Here is my real head, here is my real head

I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me"

     In some sort of self-preservation, Manson wears his mask to remain high above the people, to remain the overman. However, as the overman, he still has such a desire to show his "real head," that he is, in fact, the true overman, but humans likely cannot handle it. A constant war wages between the two, a walk on the tightrope of being the overman.

     Whatever in me has feeling, suffers and is in prison; but my will always comes to me as my liberator and joy-bringer.

"My prison skin's an eyesore-mirror-sketch-pad"

     "Whatever in me has feeling, suffers and is in prison," exactly! Manson's only capable of showing us what he feels inside of his prison on the outside, his skin; his prison's skin. I wouldn't doubt that Manson viewed it as an "eyesore-mirror-sketch-pad," either. Hasn't he downed himself before in such a manner, anyway? I'd imagine he believes everything he is and has created is an eyesore to some degree, he might still hate what he became what he has to - of course - escape what he hated. (Or did during the PoaAF era, at least.) Whatever he created would never be exactly like what's dwelling within his prison either, rendering it a mirror of creation by means of escape, yet through his willed creation, a sketch pad of what he truly wanted. (We see in the mirror what we truly are, but if we draw ourselves we draw what we feel we are on the inside. Beautiful, skinny, etc.)

"I wear this fucking mask because you cannot handle me

Here is my real head"

     Manson's creative will liberates him and brings him joy, despite everything else he has done by creative escape. His creative will pushes him to wear the mask, while simultaneously rearing his real head. It might not create an overabundance or balance of happiness, but it's enough for what he's doing and what he's become. Manson ends the song with these two lines, a final liberation. The song is free and finished.

     But my fervent will to create impels me ever again toward man; thus is the hammer impelled toward the stone. O men, in the stone there sleeps an image, the image of my images. Alas, that it must sleep in the hardest, the ugliest stone! Now my hammer rages cruelly against its prison. Pieces of rock rain from the stone: what is that to me? I want to perfect it; for a shadow came to me—the stillest and lightest of all things once came to me. The beauty of the overman came to me as a shadow. O my brothers, what are the gods to me now?

Thursday's Thoughts - Theme: Love

     In honor of Valentine's Day this past Sunday, this week's theme for Thursday's Thoughts is love. Quotes on love are probably one of the highest ranking Google searches, or so I'd imagine, considering all the same quotes that clutter girls' Myspaces, Facebooks, and blogs.

     Personally, I've never been in love. I've loved before, though I question some of my past relationships where I thought I loved someone, but now realize it's likely I was in a sick relationship and confused the abuse for love. Anyhow, my dream has always been to someday meet my "wight spider," my love, my everything, all out of choice. I won't know what forever feels like until it's been forever, I just need someone to show it to me.

     For nearly a year I've envisioned my "perfect love," my wight spider, as my personal interpretation of the illustration of the White Spider of Adar. The illustration of a game monster speaks miles that I cannot even describe. Loosely— I carry light, shrouded like a ghost save my smirk, yet my wight spider remains poised and ready for whatever comes next. We are more than simply a team because we are in love, and I am not leading because I have disadvantages, as does my spider. One without the other is neither until complete.

This Week's Theme: Love

“I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty... you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. ” - J. D. Salinger

“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. ” - James A. Baldwin

“The worst thing you can do for love is deny it; so when you find that special someone, don't let anyone or anything to get in your way.” - Unsure

Darwin Day at Broward College

     February 12^th was Charles Darwin's 201^st birthday. Landing on a Friday, people all over the globe celebrated throughout the weekend for convenience. Proudly, I am not to be excluded from the "festivities" of this holiday.

     The first event Richard Dawkins brought attention to was held at Broward college in Coconut Creek, FL. With my preexisting interest in physical science and Darwinisim, I was particularly excited that an event worth mentioning, first of all mentions no less, by Dawkins' crew, would be located in Florida. I informed my dad of my immense interest the day  I read the tweet. With two weeks notice given to make plans of preparation (who would watch my brother Kirk, etc.), I got the chance for a life changing experience.

 

     I have this thing, if I'm going somewhere important that I know I'll remember for the rest of my life, I'd prefer to be the one driving myself and whoever may be with me. A few months ago when I went to Gainesville with my mom to check out the University of Florida and see a game, I asked if I could drive for this very reason. There's something about knowing I drove myself to an important destination that is too symbolic for me to let go of. It's not about the literal task of driving, but "driving myself to a point of purpose."

     The trip to Gainesville took roughly three hours. This trek down Florida, as opposed to up, took over four, I believe. You would think an hour or so difference isn't much, but actually, maybe you wouldn't if you've driven long distances on four-five hours of sleep and an empty stomach. I didn't realize until Saturday how tiring driving can actually be. My dad pointed out the obvious that has escaped me; you're heavily focusing on the same thing for hours-long intervals, surprisingly more draining than you'd - or maybe just me - expect.

     I was so tired after we left Broward, I fell asleep on the way home with "The High End of Low" blaring through the car's speakers. To further prove how exhausted I was, I have never fallen asleep in the car before in my life, with the single exception of when I dozed off as a child. Even then, I didn't sleep, I was still very much aware. I can also not sleep without white noise, or I thought I couldn't. I actually slept with a fan on my face for most of my lifetime, and I've never taken a single nap in preschool or kindergarten.

     I obviously wasn't texting anyone in particular all day long. Less obviously, I couldn't help but wonder how many chickens died everyday to be used for my lunch, and the lunch of others, from Chicken Kitchen in West Palm Beach.

      "Someone" likes this photo a lot, I particularly don't, but I'm going to post it anyway. I'm in West Palm Beach, the sign in the top right corner proving so made it pretty humorous, I thought, because it was unintentionally captured in the shot. My dad was more concerned about getting a picture with it in the background, but with one effortless try, I nailed it, haha.

 

     Once we had arrived, I knew these were going to be my kind of people.

 

     My dad and the man himself— Charles Darwin!

     He looked a lot shorter from far away, but I'm 5'7", 5'8", so he was pretty tall.

     My dad looking at some organisms, I believe they were krill or something similar. This was set up in proof of evolution, although we didn't need convincing, of course. This, and a few other exhibits were set up to attract the attention of particularly children.

     After reading The Greatest Show On Earth and learning of a large print-out of a severely scaled "Tree of Life", it was a nice surprise to see one in person. Complete with color, pictures, and elaborations, I was impressed. I was not keen on printing out the fifty-something pages it typically requires to piece them all together. Plus, I didn't know what I would do with it once I had completed it.

     My eyes aren't open, but I love this picture. I think because it reminds me of how beautiful a day it was, I look so peaceful and happy. My dream weather is for it to be chilly, windy, but warmly sunny, and that's exactly what it was like that day.

     This was a part of the Animal Adaptations lecture, provided by the Palm Beach Zoo.

     Frontal of my Darwin Day Broward shirt.

     I absolutely adore the end of the Origin of Species, and everything Darwin is and represents. (But the random capitalization - and lack of - of this t-shirt confuses me.)

     All in all, it was an amazing experience that I'll remember for the rest of my life, and I hope I attend many more events on Darwin Day.

From the mouth of a sexual abuse victim:

"Education saved me because it allowed me to become more independent, more functional, a contributing member of society, and people started paying more attention to what I had to say, especially when I said I needed help."

Monday's Excerpts - The Satanic Bible by Anton Szandor LaVey

     Until I began brainstorming and mapping out what to say in this week's preface to the excerpts, I hadn't considered the chosen book could provoke people to stop "following" COSA18 or taking my opinions and speculation seriously. The latter matters most, and without a lapse thought of reservation, I'm going to do this. To me, it's not even a big deal to feature this book. Although I still have a little tinge of embarrassment or reservation in mentioning it out loud because of how it rolls off the tongue, I'm working on it, and it's a lot less of a deal than it was when I first purchased it at Barnes & Noble five years ago.

     This week's book has been selected with my friend Jonathan in mind. I hope, hopefully not too selfishly, that he can assist me in comprehending the true, core message of what all LaVey had to say during his time on Earth as a writer, speaker, demonstrator, etc. (As I'm sure I'll help him understand Zarathustra, so he doesn't become the next Hitler, haha.)

     LaVeyan Satanism has always been an interest in the back of my mind. Ever since my marathon reading of it on the first of this month, and a while prior as well, it's reared its head as "something to have read thoroughly, and soon". I personally believe in nearly everything The Satanic Bible has to say outside of the "magic", which is not saying much. (I say "nearly" to save my back in the case I may have overlooked something I do not agree with.) To agree with The Satanic Bible's principles, you only need to accept your animal instincts. I imagine Jonathan holds the highest level of clarity in regards to The Satanic Bible over anyone else I know. It's obvious how beneficial he is to this "project," among other things.

     It would be too typical to list passages explaining how Satanism isn't about killing animals or raping children, but doing so would appear to be in defense of the religion, and I'm sure it goes without saying that defending any religion is the last of my purposes or priorities in life. What you will read here is simply some of my favorite excerpts from the book, regardless of what they entail.
     If you've got any questions about LaVeyan Satanism, you can email me. As previously hinted, I'm not an expert, nor am I practicing the religion. (I am an atheist, as it has been mentioned several times before throughout COSA18's entries.) However, I will do my very best to answer or explain any inquiries.

This Week's Book: The Satanic Bible by Anton Szandor LaVey

. . . It has been said “the truth will make men free.” The truth alone has never set anyone free. It is only DOUBT which will bring mental emancipation. Without the wonderful element of doubt, the doorway through which truth passes would be tightly shut, impervious to the most strenuous poundings of a thousand Lucifers. . . . Now is the time for doubt! The bubble of falsehood is bursting and its sound is the roar of the world! (Page 39)

—————

     A Satanist knows there is nothing wrong with being greedy, as it only means that he wants more than he already has. Envy means to look with favor upon the possessions of others, and to be desirous of obtaining similar things for oneself. Envy and greed are the motivating forces of ambition—and without ambition, very little of any importance would be accomplished. (Page 46)

—————

Belief in reincarnation provides a beautiful fantasy world in which a person can find the proper avenue of ego-expression but at the same time claim to have dissolved his ego. This is emphasized by the roles people choose for themselves in their past or future lives.
Believers in reincarnation do not always choose an honorable character. If the person is of a highly respectable and conservative nature, he will often choose a colorful rogue or gangster, thereby fulfilling is alter-ego. Or, a woman who has much social status may pick a harlot or famous courtesan for the characterization of herself in a past life. (Page 93)

Books read this past week...
Currently working on The Origin of Species, The Book of Animal Ignorance, and Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

(All title links link back to my webpages of them on Goodreads.com, a great library/reviewing/rating website for readers. Check it out, and add me as a friend if you decide to join!)

Happy Valentine's Day

 

     Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Isn't the valentine above hilarious? I'm not sure how much more appropriate it could get, considering my main interests being in science and evolution. Thanks so much to Vanzetti for sending it my way.

     I also got this infinitely adorable valentine yesterday, how amazing could a guy really get? Actually, I guess no one can really understand exactly what I mean unless I heavily elaborated into embarrassing measures, but just trust me on this one!

     I've never been one to care too much about Valentine's Day. It's always been simply another day, except sometimes my parents give me candy and a card. I think my fondest memories of Valentine's Day are from when I was still in school. In elementary school, I loved making and decorating the heart-shaped envelopes, and picking out a pack of valentines from the store to stuff them with. I always got so nervous when the time came to approach my crush's desk (last, of course), and poke a specific one inside.

     Valentine's Day was especially exciting during middle school. I've still got homemade valentines from my then-closest friends that I've held on to after all these years.

     Middle school was also when I was introduced to "candygrams," a candy rose with a note attached that could be either signed or anonymous, depending on your level of bravery or cruel joke. I once sent one anonymous with a note that said, "Press this against your heart for it to turn to ice." Cleverly snipped from a Bill Cosby line, if you recognize it.

     Candygrams were one of the best things to ever hit my school, I thought, and they were wildly popular the week before Valentine's Day. Once the day arrived, they'd be passed out by student assistants at the end of the school day, going from classroom to classroom with arm fulls. At the time, I hadn't ever felt more loved than the year the student assistants entered my classroom with barely twenty candygrams, and I got over ten of them from various friends and admirers. I was so resented, but I had never been resented for being loved.

     By browsing Facebook or Myspace, it's easy to calculate a ratio of just how many people despise this holiday. I think their hatred towards a half-hearted, silly holiday that only lasts a single day out of the entire year, is really telling of their daily attitude and views on life.

     What's the purpose in being angry or depressed over a holiday based - as we know it now - on love? There isn't a logical one, even if you've just been cheated on by your girlfriend who may or may not be pregnant with your baby, etc., chances are you have something else you can love. The key here that most people miss, however, is that the principle lies in something, not someone. We do not need to be in love to survive, we only convince ourselves we do. We want emotions like love which suffice for our forced desire, and when we don't get what we think we want, we crumble to our childish behaviors by throwing a fit to redeem ourselves. But weakness is rarely redeemable!

     I'm not going to go too in-depth today. Any holiday that's been widely claimed should be spent happily if a majority of your surrounding population is going to be. I've mentioned it before in previous posts, around Christmas I believe, that although a holiday is obviously a symbol for something, sometimes something we don't necessarily agree with, we should all take advantage of the "random" spread of joy. I'm an atheist, and I take advantage of Christmas in the fact that it's a time when my parents are both under the same roof for hours as opposed to minutes. It's one of the best feelings in the world to pretend my life is normal. I felt this today when my mom dropped by, by surprise with an orchid that I have now named Harold, after the horticulturist in Twin Peaks. My parents know me all too well.

My Absolute Favorite Love Song

"Wight Spider" by Marilyn Manson

I’ll build you a shiny / dollhouse or church / where you can shrink
into a tiny wight spider / and gorge on horrid memories / with conceited wings

Smother the past in a cocoon / or me

and I’ll help you move /all the bodies

I’ll possess you but I don’t need you
to be another one of my possessions
I don’t need you to be my possession

And I won’t make you kneel, for anyone but me
Won’t promise a star, don’t promise your soul
We’ll say that we don’t believe

I’ll keep you wet when the world is dry
I can see them coming / I’ll take you back inside
if they came for answers / I’ll wrap my claws around your mouth tight
we’ll consume each other / until there’s nothing left to hide
and they can all drown in our blood

We can’t haunt this home, home anymore
no, no, no, no, no, no
We can’t haunt this home, home anymore
no, no, no, no, no, no
We can’t haunt this home, home anymore
no, no, no, no, no, no
We can’t haunt this home, home anymore
no, no, no, no, no, no

   

Photographic Progression

     The other day I got to thinking about the date, and was surprised at how quickly January passed by. It always seems like the seasons are rushing into the next, just begging to collide for the ultimate collision of apocalypse.

     My dad always says, "After Thanksgiving, it's all over. It'll be my birthday right after that, then your birthdays... then repeat. Damn I'm getting old." His birthday is actually in March, but it appears in the blink of an eye. Just as my birthday does during the summer, and then my brother's not a month later. My dad is obviously being a little dramatic, but it sure feels like his saying holds truth.

     It's been over six months since I turned seventeen, and already so much has changed. It feels like I was in Myrtle Beach and Savannah just yesterday, how I desperately wish I was in Savannah right now with someone I love wasting my time away.

     On the other hand, it feels like I've been seventeen forever. All the events that have taken place are too many for a lifetime, let alone a couple of measly months. It hasn't even ended, so it's not like it's over. But this road hasn't forked yet either.

     When I look at photographs of myself, I'm not even sure exactly who I'm looking at. It looks like me in slight similarities, the resemblance might appear more obvious to outside opinions. When I look into the mirror in the present day, I see a tainted self. In older photos, I see the tiny brushstrokes of my horrors, rearing their ugly head in my pseudo-smiles, forced upon me. I didn't look at a single picture last night or this morning that didn't remind me of something dreadful.

     Not many of my friends have seen photographs of me when I was a child, purposely. I hadn't looked at them for years, I only recently got the courage to face the beginning of my becoming. It still hurts to see myself and wonder if the day a particular photo was taken, was one of the days I was ruthlessly conquered. I detach from the girl in the photographs, she was never Gloria Alexis until she became me. Still, I fervently feel sorry for her, and I wish that she hadn't suffered.

I don't look anything like I do the day I was born. I think it's weird my eyes were black, too, considering how light they are now. I've always heard that a lot of babies are born with light eyes that turn dark, but I've never heard of the opposite happening.

My dad and me, in 1992. (The year I was born.) I'm not sure how many months old I was.

My dad and me in 1993. I doubt I was even a year old.

1993, I was probably a year old by this point.

1994, almost two years old.

Guessing this was in 1995, I have no idea who's cat that is or who's house I'm in either. I'm going to guess I was two or three in this photo.

Likely in 1995, at three. That's my grandmother, also. I had put a band-aid on the car because I felt sorry for it, and someone took a photo.

This was during one of the years I attended preschool, I believe. I am not sure on the year or my age.

My graduation from preschool at Circle C Ranch, where my grandmother taught for years, in either 1996 or 1997. The certificate says, "For mastering age appropriate skills," which is sickening if pondered on cynically. Anyway, it's kind of funny to look at this photo and think of the year Antichrist Superstar was released (1996). Haha.

This photo had me laughing hysterically when I discovered it. I couldn't help but think, "Wow, so I've always thought evolution was cool!" As if this photograph couldn't show my obvious excitement for dinosaurs, I loved all things that had to do with animals, life, and volcanoes. I think this was the Christmas of 1996 or 1997.

1999, at my brother Kirk's first birthday party. My grandfather on my dad's side is next to me.

Assuming this was in 1999, on my driveway.

My brother Kirk and me in 2003, the year we moved to Orlando. I was eleven and in the sixth grade. (Yes, that is me in the reflection taking a photo of the framed photograph.)

 Dated, obviously.

Twelve and in the seventh grade, 2004. This was probably the absolute worst time period of my life because of how poorly equipped I was to deal with the going-on's. I obviously changed quite a bit in appearance from just a year before, it definitely reflected my attitude and how I was dealing with what was going on inside.

The first day of 8th grade, in August of 2005. I was thirteen, and had a slightly nicer haircut than the year before. Also, a bit more style, haha. (I still have that tie, it's awesome.)

February of 2006, in Ybor City with my friend Ashley (and mom, who took the photo). I was thirteen, and this was the night that I met my still best friend Dave. (Click here for a photo of that moment captured, it's one of my most cherished photos. Dave is the one in the back, next to me on the far left. The guy in the very front is also a close friend of mine that I met that night, Snowflake.)

June of 2006, I was thirteen, almost fourteen, and had shaven my eyebrows off. This was just days before I got my lip pierced.

October of 2006, I was fourteen.

May of 2007 at fourteen. This was one of the lowest points of my life because I lost my formal education, and I think the picture says it all though.

March of 2008, I was fifteen. Interestingly enough, after my lowest of lows, I reach the high end. Okay, end cheesy Manson references, but really this is when I truly started crafting myself instead of letting the world mold me. This picture is also a great example of what I meant earlier when I mentioned how strange it is that my eyes turned so light.

May of 2009, I was sixteen.

August of 2009, on vacation in Myrtle Beach. I had just turned seventeen a few days prior.

Later in August of 2009, seventeen still of course. This was the first step in my current "hair goal" process.

Yesterday. I'll be eighteen in less than six months.