Category: Rants

When I was younger, better looking, and dumber, and still knew everything, I was convinced in the indisputable truth of binary determinism. All problems could be solved algorithmically. Broken down into its smallest components, every problem could eventually be converted into yes/no questions that always had a correct answer of yes or no, 1 or 0.

As I’ve gotten older and not-so-wise, I’ve realized, “Hey, not so fast.”

Some questions have proven irrefutably, repeatedly, exasperatingly, and counter-intuitively to have not just more than one answer, but impossibly, every possible answer.

How profoundly that changes life and how it’s lived. More accurately, it is this realization that causes perceived change because what is always was and will always be

You know, when I’m holding a pencil and my hand hurts and I don’t have a computer to type in because last Thursday I got drunk and walked away from my laptop in the park? Run-on sentence. You probably don’t know. I’ll tell you what happens, and you act incredulous. Iʻll try not to say the things alcohol would say. But you can’t tell the truth and tell people what they want to hear. Am I happy? Fuck no. Are you happy? I don’t know anyone who is happy for the next five minutes after they smile. It’s an inconvenient truth how much it hurts to open your eyes in the morning. I look at my son. I look at my daughter. And there is a true respite, however brief. Then my son cries because something hurt him. What is the correct response? Kill what did it? Here’s the truth about life. It’s mostly really boring. Some good shit happens that you planned for, some happens just because. And some shitty things happen. It can’t be avoided. People lie. People die. Nihilism is an easy choice. It’s very easy to wander, and the conclusion that nothing matters is within arm’s reach. You know, I look into my girlfriend’s eyes, even after a fight, even after she just said, “I’m not your girlfriend.” In her weird European accent. And it makes me smile. Those eyes are so beautiful even when they’re crossed. You know what? No matter how much I hope for the contrary? I will die. Everyone I love will die. And if I’m alive when it happens, I won’t like it. What are you going to do?

I don’t feel lucky, I feel saddled. I feel trapped within this bubble of “supposed to be.” I played along. I really did my best. Best is never enough. There’s always better. There are past mistakes for everyone. Eidetic and see them every time you close your eyes. Close your eyes, but your mind is 7-11; always open, taking anyone in. The power of pathology is difficult to explain to people who function as people. Get married, have 2.3 kids, buy a house, just be happy. There are those of us who look like you. Went to the same schools. Eat turkey at Thanksgiving. We look the same. But this cognitive dissonance between what I see and what I feel is undeniable.

There are two kinds of hard rock fans. The first enjoy Brian Johnson’s vocals, as do I. We all loved Back in Black. The second, remember when Bon Scott came out with bagpipes and a kilt, and I’m in the group too. He gave zero fucks. And Angus Young was thrashing half-naked even as a boy dressed like a schoolboy because he was one. Then Kiss blew up and merchandised everything that a logo fits on. And Ozzy was snorting ants in the parking lot on a dare because he said he would do anything, and he certainly did even more than that. I understand that impulse. “You can’t possibly swallow that whole thing.” “Give it to me. Right now. Give it to me.” “I don’t think that’s safe.” “Now you’re the voice of reason? Give it to me.” Oh yeah, Mötorhead opened and Lemmy never looked down from the microphone and made punks look like hippies, which in a way they are. I have the word punk tattooed across my neck. I get to judge.

What do you want? Perfect? Perfect shames and mocks you constantly. Should I bother spending half my life learning how to spell words that no one ever uses? Would that be perfect? Would a perfect score on the SATs make me perfect? Dial down a little when you judge me. Full disclosure? I’m almost the opposite of perfect. My brain articulates well. Don’t confuse that with I know what the fuck anything means or what I’m talking about. I’m the same sapient primate that you are.