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Oh, lord, and I was going to write about something and I completely forgot... I do that a lot. It's my dad's birthday today, for all those who care. Forget it. I did forget. I mean, I could rant about the annoyances of living with a sibling with Asperger's Syndrome (spell check is no help with that word), I could write about the futility of attempting to find any good slash of children's animated movies (don't ask), I could write about the quest for my own identity as determined by the amount of books I read, the futility of defining myself as a genius because I simply don't have the IQ for it but I'm close, about how I don't actually do things in my spare time, I think them, about how some of the best damn shit I've ever read was written by people who didn't major in English, indeed, take any literature courses at all? Some of the best shit I've ever read is most likely written by middle-aged, white, suburban housewives (not, however, people that bear any intellectual resemblence to my mother) or teenaged, white, suburban perverts (who actually do resemble myself). Actually, I have no idea if they're all white. I'm just using the heteronormative, excuse my simplistic measures. I could write about the strange magneticism of self-injury that compels me to latch my damn fingernails into my freakin neck everytime I read a sex fic (Jesus lordy, if anyone I know ever finds this blog, they'd be horrified. Well, so would a lot of people I don't know, so no biggie) as well as chew relentlessly on the inside of my mouth for the past 2 and half hours... Sorry, italics are me trying to remind myself that doing that is not a good thing, per se. Things that freak out my shrink are not to be shared out loud. Amusingly, those topics mostly consist of self-inury or glorification of violence in the media that makes me laugh. She had such a weird reaction to me wanting to see The Dark Knight, talking about how all it really consists of (her husband went to see it, apparently, not she herself) "finding new and inventive ways to kill people," was her exact quote. God, it was so much more. Mmmnn... (ruminates on the absolutely steaming sex scenes she's read about those two.) Yeah, lord, it's so funny, in English class, my teacher, right? Well, she has this, this sort of verbal tick, I guess you could call it, where she never actually comes out and says what she's talking about, and I have one other friend that reads M rated fanfiction in that class and I was shooting glances at her all period while the teacher was talking, saying stuff about the more 'risque' of the Canterbury Tales (The Wife of Bath one was pretty good, fit with my favorite definition of the perfect man), which my English-majoring mother confirmed had Middle-English swears and probably very short but rather graphic sex scenes in it, (but she'd never admit that last one) and I was laughing the whole damn time because I've read shit that would make her eyes bleed. Would actually make a number of my classmate's eyes bleed too, but mostly because it's all pretty much man-on-man, not because of the content. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if these old fuddys ever knew what porn was. It's much more accessible these days because of teh Internetz but, c'mon. I've read stories in parenting books (trying to make up the difference myself) where the 50-something, older than my parents, but just barely, mentions running to the mailbox for the women's underwear section in the Sears catalog, and how "even that was probably 10 times more tame than what you find on 'family hour' tv shows today." (direct quote, my apologies to the copyright holdings of Dr. Michael Bradley) Mmmm, and I'm really feeling like cutting my hair, all shaggy and greasy like the Joker's, to be just as short (currently, it touches to about halfway down my shoulderblades when not in a ponytail, as it almost perpetually is these days), just as choppy, as ratty. Spur of the moment kind of thing. Oh, do excuse me, would you? I've just had some inspiration for a cut-version of a college-admissions-application essay. Wanna read it? Do go ahead!


They tell me it has to be unique. It has to be memorable. Even if they just glance at it, it has to stick out. If that were the case, I would write in BOLD CAPITAL LETTERS, the kind John Hancock used on his signature of the Declaration of Independence. Such a maligned document. Whoops, that wasn't a complete sentence. Technically, neither is this one.

Heheh, those are the kind of mistakes in the programming the system isn't supposed to catch, shouldn't weed out if it works perfectly. A perfect machine does put out exactly what it gets in. Only something alive can do this. Only the things that contain that extra, possibly spiritual, spark of the God particle can ever hope to be perfect. Only that particle of motion can ever give a 'machine' that extra motivation to give back what it gets, to carry out justice, karma, compassion. Whatever the buzzword of the moment is for it (peace, maybe?), the underlying concept is the same. The motivation, the drive all living things feel to put in that extra effort to live in harmony with their surroundings, never killing more than they can eat, never eating more than they need (give or take a few percentage points for winter hibernation). However, this inborn harmonic instinct has been twisted in the human animal, leading them to keep their mouths shut in undesirable company, instead of throwing the invader bodily out of their lives, as they would have done if they still lived as nomads, as tribes.

The extra effort put in during all of recorded history has been the same. Animals still eat grass, then get eaten, who in turn biodegrade and turn back into grass, if they don't get eaten first. In turn, all hunters become the feed. Humans still put in the extra, needed effort to be perfect machines, every one of us does, but the problem now lies in our environment. The effort we put in is to conform, not to live. To survive, not to thrive. To go with the flow, not consciously give back. This has to stop. It is absolutley not good for the real, tangible natural environment, as any given ecological survey will reveal, but worse still, it is absolutley not good for humans as a species. Imperfect machines - this is what we still see ourselves as. This is mainly because the balancing act we attempt to strike between work and play, between physical and social health, is an unnatural, if admirable, effort. We were never meant to conform. We were meant to subsist, and in such, live in perfect harmony, as all other animals, fungi, plants, and other assorted organisms have done for all eternity before us. Even the Earth herself has gone through periods of unprecedented and unrepeated ecologic disasters, from millenia of ice ages to tropics at the South Pole. We as humans do not deserve to upset this balance, this perfection of taking and giving in one fell swoop.

There should be no balance between work and play. There should only be play, all of it beneficial, to some organism or other, even if just to the whims of the moment. There should be no biting of tongues. Every human has a right to be different. Every zebra looks alike to us, every bat's cry the same, but the parents of these animals can distinguish instantly. There's a right that ought to have been phrased a bit more clearly in the US Constitution - every human on this earth has a right to be different, and not even due process of law can take that away. That would have shot a few holes through the plot of A clockwork Orange! Of course, that novel wasn't set in the New World. Neither, however, was it concieved in a vaccum. Nothing ever is. The underlying question, the underlying theme, the succint thesis of the entire universe created in that one work can be summarized, as I saw it just a few days ago, on one teenager's backpack, in a short question: By forcing people to be good, are they?

The intensive drug-and-aversion therapy regimine of Alec's is hardly any different than what we as consumers (not human beings) endure at the hands of law courts, local villiage ordinances and unwitting educators. There is hardly any way to quantify the sheer amount of social subjugation all humans go through from a very early stage in development. Of course, parts of this training were essential to our species' survival over a hundred thousand years ago - how to crawl, walk, and run, progressively, how to use sight and taste and smell to tell a good bush from a bad one, how to override the fight-or-flight instinct to remain completely still in the face of edible danger (in the form of, perhaps, a lion). A good deal later, the training to talk, the training to laugh, even, was considered vital to all who wanted to survive. Back to the good ol' days, huh?

Things were so much more simplistic back then, and there are times that all men long for it - in essence, a time when the prevailing social norm consisted of "do whatever the hell gets your rocks off and try to stay alive in the process". There is not a man or woman on earth that does not occassionally wish for the unparalleled freedom to do whatever the first thing that crosses their mind happens to be. It's amusing, this one quote I read: "Character is revealed by what we do when we're sure we won't be found out." It's amusing because it's completely false. All humans but a select few would kill another human if there was a complete guarantee that they wouldn't be tied to the crime scene, that they wouldn't even be considered as perpetrators. All humans but a few would do unspeakably evil things if there was no social retribution at all. These select few would be mostly stopped, if such a situation were to arise, by the hounding conscience and their sense of morals - still agents of social control in the basest sense since all morals are indoctrinated - in prisons, in countries undergoing violent, bloody revolutions, the social norm suddenly tends to accept physical violence as part of the moral side of the code. A select few, however, will never their morals change.

These people are, of course, the ones that are idolized - the ultimate, Westerized ideal of triumph of the mind over the body. It is such a farce. There is no mind. There is no soul. Both are claims I could back up with a long-winded Buddhism-centered discourse, which I may still do at some point in the distant future, perhaps when I can be paid for it, but it is my belief that if one can see the inherent truth in the words, even if their conscious refuses to acknowledge it, if they see it at all, then they can be saved. If they cannot, there is no point. Their minds are not ready to accept the fact that there may actually be nothing within that self-proclaimed seat of intelligence, the brain, that resembles a mind at all. Oh, of course there's a physical brain organ, of course there are patterns that become ingrained into it and change its shape, but the only reason this higher consciousness exists at all is so that that mind can recognize that there is something larger than itself, a Greater Force that must be allowed to work through us as people if we are ever to become perfect machines again. The 'vicious' animals that humans 'domesticated', so to speak, need no mystical, mysterious mind-concept in order to do what creates balance in the world. It is simply a matter of humans having strayed so far from their intended path, over the course of the millenia before us, that the Greater Force slowly developed in us the capacity to recognize that which we do not understand, and to accordingly respect it. What we haven't, as a species, quite come to realize is that we don't need to revere and pray to some archaic, paternal God figure in the sky; we need only look into our own heads, observe our own thoughts, to see the Mastery at work, all around us.

In order to restore the natural order, that Force gave us the capacity to wonder. After all, it is the ability to know exactly what is that he does not know that separates the most hopeless of fools from the wisest ones. Because in the end, all of us are fools, so blind to the truth standing plainly right in front of our noses. Our humongous, overdeveloped brains get in the way. We just can't see, anymore, the way things truly are. And that goes for just about every human on the planet.