I could tell she was watching me from across the patio. It was the middle of a party but I could tell she was watching me. I'm not bragging or being too optimistic about the situation, I'm just saying I could tell. My intuition is usually dead right and in those passing instances, I could suss it out. It made me think:
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
I'm sure she thought the same thing too.
I tapped my friends on the shoulder and told them we had to leave.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Hold position. Position held.
For whatever reason, I have somehow aged into a 65yr old man who sits around watching war documentaries all the time. I never used to be interested in these things. I don't understand it. Maybe the suicidal monotony of life has finally pressed into a fascination with more violent matters. Maybe I've just watched and absorbed EVERYTHING ELSE and this is all that's left. I minored in history, though. So I could just be making up for lost time. Whatever that's worth.
I believe most of all I like the cold precision of military movements. I've always conducted myself as such. Maneuvering through life with carefully planned calculations, accounting for possible challenges and preparing yourself in advance. As written in the blog before, that's practically impossible. You cannot ready your body or your psyche for impending trauma. It's a game of nerves, discipline and flat out fucking chance. Still, I'd like to think that I am ready. I suppose cognitive dissonance is my principal field commander. I'm sure everyone else can go along with that.
One predictable situation is that I always go into these introspective periods during long stretches of unemployment. As in, if I ain't busy making sure I'm somewhere for X hours a week...life turns into this black tunnel towards oblivion where there doesn't seem to a point to anytime. With General Cognitive Dissonance still standing on the parapet giving orders, you find yourself conjuring a point. Something. Anything.
I'm doing this right now. I'm finding a reason to continue. Or at least a reason to push forwards and flourish - not just get by. I've been doing that for a while. I'm looking at a map and I need to put together the next attack. This past year has kind of served as some sort of haphazard vacation. I've done a lot of hard work but in general it hasn't really felt like I've gained ground. I could be wrong. But it feels as if the BIG assault has yet to be made. I can feel it coming though. A shadow on the horizon. How things are now can't possibly last. This has held true for every circumstance I've been in. As a result it becomes like a race to arms. Will I get there before the enemy does? Will I know what to do? Will I be prepared? It's so hard to tell even when I have these large stretches of introspection. Things don't necessarily become clearer in times of peace. Sometimes a hard line in the sand is absolutely necessary.
Sadly, when I do step out of this comfortable trench...whether I face victory or defeat...heavy casualties are expected.
I believe most of all I like the cold precision of military movements. I've always conducted myself as such. Maneuvering through life with carefully planned calculations, accounting for possible challenges and preparing yourself in advance. As written in the blog before, that's practically impossible. You cannot ready your body or your psyche for impending trauma. It's a game of nerves, discipline and flat out fucking chance. Still, I'd like to think that I am ready. I suppose cognitive dissonance is my principal field commander. I'm sure everyone else can go along with that.
One predictable situation is that I always go into these introspective periods during long stretches of unemployment. As in, if I ain't busy making sure I'm somewhere for X hours a week...life turns into this black tunnel towards oblivion where there doesn't seem to a point to anytime. With General Cognitive Dissonance still standing on the parapet giving orders, you find yourself conjuring a point. Something. Anything.
I'm doing this right now. I'm finding a reason to continue. Or at least a reason to push forwards and flourish - not just get by. I've been doing that for a while. I'm looking at a map and I need to put together the next attack. This past year has kind of served as some sort of haphazard vacation. I've done a lot of hard work but in general it hasn't really felt like I've gained ground. I could be wrong. But it feels as if the BIG assault has yet to be made. I can feel it coming though. A shadow on the horizon. How things are now can't possibly last. This has held true for every circumstance I've been in. As a result it becomes like a race to arms. Will I get there before the enemy does? Will I know what to do? Will I be prepared? It's so hard to tell even when I have these large stretches of introspection. Things don't necessarily become clearer in times of peace. Sometimes a hard line in the sand is absolutely necessary.
Sadly, when I do step out of this comfortable trench...whether I face victory or defeat...heavy casualties are expected.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
The Nervous Inability to Define Failure
Failure is a curious thing
A very finite word
a punctuation, almost
at the end of a sentence
or series of sentences
or life
as we understand it
most importantly
it seems to be something
only someone else
can identify
while we are left open ended
questionable
and as I stated
curious
until that someone else
comes along
and points it out
to us
only then does the abstract
crystalize
only then does failure
pull itself out from the floor
its black shadow
finally manifesting
before our eyes
into this creature
9 or 10ft. tall
wildly imposing stature
staring down at us
hot breath dripping
while we struggle
to make eye
contact
everyone hates to see it
everyone hates to see
most things
the footsteps they have made
scattered towards
an inevitable horizon
now crowded by the millions
of other footsteps
all trophies of a million
of other failures
our own voices
no longer audible
in the white noise
of the crowd
be very grateful
such a force exists
such a force that I'd guess
is one of the most
powerful
in our known universe
a million black suns
blazing
their gravity pulling us
towards black oblivion
while failure's curious shape
stands
and smiles
I used to think
such a process
could be avoided
like a lawn chair that spilled
out of someone's truck
and now sits in the middle
of the highway
but that isn't so
mostly all of what I thought
just isn't so
my own voice
has bled into the white noise
the shape has formed
the curtain has been raised
and I can't tell
my footsteps
from the others
failure has arrived
in the death mask
of oblivion
for us all
the final insult
being lack of prejudice
we can't even own
our own failures
they belong
to all
how disgusting
A very finite word
a punctuation, almost
at the end of a sentence
or series of sentences
or life
as we understand it
most importantly
it seems to be something
only someone else
can identify
while we are left open ended
questionable
and as I stated
curious
until that someone else
comes along
and points it out
to us
only then does the abstract
crystalize
only then does failure
pull itself out from the floor
its black shadow
finally manifesting
before our eyes
into this creature
9 or 10ft. tall
wildly imposing stature
staring down at us
hot breath dripping
while we struggle
to make eye
contact
everyone hates to see it
everyone hates to see
most things
the footsteps they have made
scattered towards
an inevitable horizon
now crowded by the millions
of other footsteps
all trophies of a million
of other failures
our own voices
no longer audible
in the white noise
of the crowd
be very grateful
such a force exists
such a force that I'd guess
is one of the most
powerful
in our known universe
a million black suns
blazing
their gravity pulling us
towards black oblivion
while failure's curious shape
stands
and smiles
I used to think
such a process
could be avoided
like a lawn chair that spilled
out of someone's truck
and now sits in the middle
of the highway
but that isn't so
mostly all of what I thought
just isn't so
my own voice
has bled into the white noise
the shape has formed
the curtain has been raised
and I can't tell
my footsteps
from the others
failure has arrived
in the death mask
of oblivion
for us all
the final insult
being lack of prejudice
we can't even own
our own failures
they belong
to all
how disgusting
Friday, January 25, 2013
Well, that's how they do it...
It was a mystery I always wondered growing up. I'd look at every empty shell of human being and wonder what the fuck happened. Where the fuck were they when that hammer came down and beat the last shred of teenage, juvenille, ignorant ambition out of of their Dover body washed bodies. What was the straw that broke that fucking camel in half? I'd be bitterly chomping away at some bullshit job and I'd encounter these much older (or maybe even only slightly older people) that seemed to just not have it anymore. Whatever IT was. They resigned to this shit life that I was only considering as a transitional period for myself.
I guess that's where the problem lies with most people in my generation. Or fuck that, any generation. This disgusting, self-focused regime watching their life clock like their fucking KENO numbers are going to match up when that fucker strikes midnight. This delusional belief in self absorbed predestination that everything we are doing is leading to some grand climax. That our lives are indeed like the fucking movies we fill our deflated basketball skulls with on an hourly basis. When we lay in bed and play out our memories, they roll by in cinematic fashion - and accordingly - we plot out stupid hopes (fantasies, by and large) in the same manner. Something is coming for me, you think. Oh yes. I am suffering now but its just a slow burn to that delicious moment of glory.
So you work in those trench jobs. Or whatever you consider to be 'back breaking' based on how much money your mom and dad had when they raised you, and you analyze your peers. Surely they don't have that same destination ahead. You will be the one with the brass ring. All the miserable folks you've met along the way were just the wise old janitor that you gleaned a life lesson from before you've moved on into the next stage of your bullshit movie. Everybody else gave up along the way. But not you. You had that deep rich intestinal fortitude....that gritty work ethic...instilled into you by years of toiling away. You have the edge. That's why THEY won't get and YOU will.
Something you never consider though is the slow Chinese water torture of time. It makes a grand canyon of your brain. Drilling the same dullness into over and over. I'd say for the first 25 years you accept as a necessary lesson. But the grand deliverance never arrives. And the patience runs out. And the energy of youth burns the candle down to the bottom. Maybe there is no exact moment of epiphany. That's to say there was an exact moment where a 'lake' gets large enough to be called a 'sea'. It happens so slowly like the wrinkles on your face. One day it's just there. Or in this case, it's NOT there.
Now I understand why people just give up. Why they just slog away in the routine. Why they are content with that steady paycheck, as pathetic as it may be in amount. When you are younger the word content is so evil and compelling. Its that awful thing you're fighting. Fuck, you're still perceiving life as a fight. There's a world outside your window that has challenged you and one day through precious due diligence you'll be awarded the title belt. Just like that.
The problem is along the way, you get teased with so many little victories that your appetite just gets soured on the whole thing. You win the talent show once but no great door suddenly blows open. You bang the belle of the ball and fucking tomorrow arrives anyway. You save up for the new car and now you find yourself struggling to afford new tires for the fucking thing. The prizes you set for yourself, the spoils of your personal war, end up not being worth a fuck. This revelation comes timed perfectly with all those natural processes in your body slowing down. You creep toward middle age with not only the desire ripped out of you - but now not even a trophy worth stepping into the ring for.
It's nonsense. Bullshit. Imagined by others and handed down like a fucking pocket watch from a dead grandfather. Even that fucking pocket watch is meaningless. The intrinsic value of things evaporates too. You find yourself just sitting on the steps outside whatever domicile you occupy, staring blankly across the street. You're think "Man, I should probably be thinking something important right now" and nothing ever blips across the screen.
The imagination doesn't suddenly surge into motion.
The career decisions never satisfy.
The people come and go. The family members, the friends, the acquaintances, the fucking morning traffic.
It's a long stroll through the museum of life's empty experiences. All failing to deliver on some transcendental promise. You don't even know why you think that. You just do.
So now when you look across the assembly line and into the eyes (if you can even bear to look in someone's eyes) of your fellow human ilk, you don't feel different. You don't feel as if you're moving past them. You recognize yourself. They recognize you. You put your head back down. You go back to work. Probably doing something you never dreamed you'd be doing.
And you'll think "Man, I should probably be thinking something important right now - like a way to get out of here forever." And nothing will happen. Nothing will change.
Because everywhere is here and here is forever.
I guess that's where the problem lies with most people in my generation. Or fuck that, any generation. This disgusting, self-focused regime watching their life clock like their fucking KENO numbers are going to match up when that fucker strikes midnight. This delusional belief in self absorbed predestination that everything we are doing is leading to some grand climax. That our lives are indeed like the fucking movies we fill our deflated basketball skulls with on an hourly basis. When we lay in bed and play out our memories, they roll by in cinematic fashion - and accordingly - we plot out stupid hopes (fantasies, by and large) in the same manner. Something is coming for me, you think. Oh yes. I am suffering now but its just a slow burn to that delicious moment of glory.
So you work in those trench jobs. Or whatever you consider to be 'back breaking' based on how much money your mom and dad had when they raised you, and you analyze your peers. Surely they don't have that same destination ahead. You will be the one with the brass ring. All the miserable folks you've met along the way were just the wise old janitor that you gleaned a life lesson from before you've moved on into the next stage of your bullshit movie. Everybody else gave up along the way. But not you. You had that deep rich intestinal fortitude....that gritty work ethic...instilled into you by years of toiling away. You have the edge. That's why THEY won't get and YOU will.
Something you never consider though is the slow Chinese water torture of time. It makes a grand canyon of your brain. Drilling the same dullness into over and over. I'd say for the first 25 years you accept as a necessary lesson. But the grand deliverance never arrives. And the patience runs out. And the energy of youth burns the candle down to the bottom. Maybe there is no exact moment of epiphany. That's to say there was an exact moment where a 'lake' gets large enough to be called a 'sea'. It happens so slowly like the wrinkles on your face. One day it's just there. Or in this case, it's NOT there.
Now I understand why people just give up. Why they just slog away in the routine. Why they are content with that steady paycheck, as pathetic as it may be in amount. When you are younger the word content is so evil and compelling. Its that awful thing you're fighting. Fuck, you're still perceiving life as a fight. There's a world outside your window that has challenged you and one day through precious due diligence you'll be awarded the title belt. Just like that.
The problem is along the way, you get teased with so many little victories that your appetite just gets soured on the whole thing. You win the talent show once but no great door suddenly blows open. You bang the belle of the ball and fucking tomorrow arrives anyway. You save up for the new car and now you find yourself struggling to afford new tires for the fucking thing. The prizes you set for yourself, the spoils of your personal war, end up not being worth a fuck. This revelation comes timed perfectly with all those natural processes in your body slowing down. You creep toward middle age with not only the desire ripped out of you - but now not even a trophy worth stepping into the ring for.
It's nonsense. Bullshit. Imagined by others and handed down like a fucking pocket watch from a dead grandfather. Even that fucking pocket watch is meaningless. The intrinsic value of things evaporates too. You find yourself just sitting on the steps outside whatever domicile you occupy, staring blankly across the street. You're think "Man, I should probably be thinking something important right now" and nothing ever blips across the screen.
The imagination doesn't suddenly surge into motion.
The career decisions never satisfy.
The people come and go. The family members, the friends, the acquaintances, the fucking morning traffic.
It's a long stroll through the museum of life's empty experiences. All failing to deliver on some transcendental promise. You don't even know why you think that. You just do.
So now when you look across the assembly line and into the eyes (if you can even bear to look in someone's eyes) of your fellow human ilk, you don't feel different. You don't feel as if you're moving past them. You recognize yourself. They recognize you. You put your head back down. You go back to work. Probably doing something you never dreamed you'd be doing.
And you'll think "Man, I should probably be thinking something important right now - like a way to get out of here forever." And nothing will happen. Nothing will change.
Because everywhere is here and here is forever.
Friday, October 5, 2012
The Two Heartbreaks
Everybody is allowed two heartbreaks in their lifetime.
Two.
That's all you get. Don't fuck up.
Now before everyone starts pitching a fit about their own unique experiences, let's examine what I mean by the word 'heartbreak'. This is a dicey task because as I was typing "definition of heartbreak" into Google, I was worried about what awful bands that may exist using that as a name, album or song title. Thankfully I got shot straight to Wikipedia. After redirecting me to 'broken heart', this is what it had to say:
A broken heart (or heartbreak) is a common metaphor used to describe the intense emotional pain or suffering one feels after losing a loved one, whether through death, divorce, breakup, physical separation, betrayal, or romantic rejection.
Metaphor? You mean it's not real? Nope. Not at all. In fact, historically, I'm inclined to believe that anytime a coroner wrote down 'broken heart' as a cause of death - you know, like when your grandmother dies a few months after your grandfather - he was just making a very dark, hilariously awesome joke. It was actually a heart attack that killed granny, kid. Or pancreatic cancer. Something like that. I'm not sure. What I can tell you though is that it definitely wasn't the body's most important muscle deciding to stop because it was bummed out. That doesn't mean a 'broken heart' isn't an actual psychological condition. It is. And what gets broken is far more important than your little blood piston. Your ego.
You see when a romantic entanglement you are involved in gets suddenly ended against your wishes, that sickening emotion you are feeling is insult. You have been used and discarded, champ. All those wonderful qualities - your talents, personality quirks, sense of humor, appearance - were all fully taken in by another living creature and then happily returned like you were Best Buy the day after Christmas. For whatever reason, you weren't good enough to hold someone's attention longer than you did. Don't dwell on it or fret about it, though. This happens to everybody. In fact, it happens to everybody twice.
The two heartbreaks. The two instances in your brief existence where your precious ego will take a head on collision with the sweet indifference of reality. Two concussive blasts from an enemy bunker. I'm only talking in a romantic sense. I can see that Wikipedia's above definition pulled death and grieving into the discussion as well. That's cold, harsh reality too...but I am limiting this to tales of love and rejection. The two kinds of which you will endure at some point on this planet. This is what they consist of:
1. The Sad Puppy. Invariably this will always happen first. You really fall for somebody else based completely on non-sexual activities. For lack of a better term, you have a crush. You are not physically involved with the person at all. Yet, you are around them. Probably a lot. Enough that you develop these feelings and it really affects your life. As in...you tell other people you are in love with this person. The key here with The Sad Puppy is that you are not viewed in any serious, 'loving' manner. You are in essence, a puppy to the other person. They like having you around but it doesn't run any deeper. Thanks to your ego running wild though, you went a whole lot deeper. So even though you never have a physical moment between you and the other person, you still plead your undying love to them. They are baffled. They turn you down. You slink home and suffer...thinking you were robbed of some Olympic medal because you were as sweet as can be and still came up empty handed. Oh, gotta love that ego.
2. The Used Car. Eventually, through sheer time and numbers, you will get sexually involved with someone that you actually like. It's rare but it does happen - if only to fulfill the prophecy of the 2nd heartbreak. It may not necessarily be the first person you copulate with but if I were to ballpark it, I'd say this experience is somewhere in the first 25. The worst part is, the moment you start swapping fluids with the opposite sex, this experience waits for you like a skinned knee after your first bicycle. There is no way to avoid it. You will get really attached to someone you are sleeping with. They will at some point move on before you are able to. You will be devastated. Sorry I had to be the one to tell you. For some reason the added physical intimacy of this heartbreak will make it appear harder than The Sad Puppy. This is just an illusion. They are two sides of the same coin. You thought you were doing your best in a situation, then when the coach posts the final roster on the bulletin board you find out you didn't make the team.
Ideally, one should get these out of the way as quickly as possible. For me, I got The Sad Puppy at 18 and then The Used Car at 21. In between I remember thinking that I was due for #2 but even then, in full awareness, I wasn't prepared. No one can be. Even by reading this there is no way YOU could use this information to protect yourself. I'm just stating one of those unfortunate truths of the universe.
Keep in mind, just because there are 2 finite forms of heartbreak doesn't mean they won't stop happening after you have already survived them. You could still fall for someone from a distance and get spurned. You could still develop feelings for a fuck buddy. Who knows. The point is those new experiences won't be as hurtful to your ego. Your ego will have already survived its bootcamp into adulthood. Think of it like a piece of burnt wood. Have you ever tried to ignite a piece of burnt wood? It doesn't work. When those circumstances crop up again, you won't really be all that bothered. You have learned the most important lesson of all: nobody gives a fuck about you.
Now, as for there being a possible 'third' heartbreak....there isn't one. Just a 'first' suicide.
Oh that wacky ego.
Two.
That's all you get. Don't fuck up.
Now before everyone starts pitching a fit about their own unique experiences, let's examine what I mean by the word 'heartbreak'. This is a dicey task because as I was typing "definition of heartbreak" into Google, I was worried about what awful bands that may exist using that as a name, album or song title. Thankfully I got shot straight to Wikipedia. After redirecting me to 'broken heart', this is what it had to say:
A broken heart (or heartbreak) is a common metaphor used to describe the intense emotional pain or suffering one feels after losing a loved one, whether through death, divorce, breakup, physical separation, betrayal, or romantic rejection.
Metaphor? You mean it's not real? Nope. Not at all. In fact, historically, I'm inclined to believe that anytime a coroner wrote down 'broken heart' as a cause of death - you know, like when your grandmother dies a few months after your grandfather - he was just making a very dark, hilariously awesome joke. It was actually a heart attack that killed granny, kid. Or pancreatic cancer. Something like that. I'm not sure. What I can tell you though is that it definitely wasn't the body's most important muscle deciding to stop because it was bummed out. That doesn't mean a 'broken heart' isn't an actual psychological condition. It is. And what gets broken is far more important than your little blood piston. Your ego.
You see when a romantic entanglement you are involved in gets suddenly ended against your wishes, that sickening emotion you are feeling is insult. You have been used and discarded, champ. All those wonderful qualities - your talents, personality quirks, sense of humor, appearance - were all fully taken in by another living creature and then happily returned like you were Best Buy the day after Christmas. For whatever reason, you weren't good enough to hold someone's attention longer than you did. Don't dwell on it or fret about it, though. This happens to everybody. In fact, it happens to everybody twice.
The two heartbreaks. The two instances in your brief existence where your precious ego will take a head on collision with the sweet indifference of reality. Two concussive blasts from an enemy bunker. I'm only talking in a romantic sense. I can see that Wikipedia's above definition pulled death and grieving into the discussion as well. That's cold, harsh reality too...but I am limiting this to tales of love and rejection. The two kinds of which you will endure at some point on this planet. This is what they consist of:
1. The Sad Puppy. Invariably this will always happen first. You really fall for somebody else based completely on non-sexual activities. For lack of a better term, you have a crush. You are not physically involved with the person at all. Yet, you are around them. Probably a lot. Enough that you develop these feelings and it really affects your life. As in...you tell other people you are in love with this person. The key here with The Sad Puppy is that you are not viewed in any serious, 'loving' manner. You are in essence, a puppy to the other person. They like having you around but it doesn't run any deeper. Thanks to your ego running wild though, you went a whole lot deeper. So even though you never have a physical moment between you and the other person, you still plead your undying love to them. They are baffled. They turn you down. You slink home and suffer...thinking you were robbed of some Olympic medal because you were as sweet as can be and still came up empty handed. Oh, gotta love that ego.
2. The Used Car. Eventually, through sheer time and numbers, you will get sexually involved with someone that you actually like. It's rare but it does happen - if only to fulfill the prophecy of the 2nd heartbreak. It may not necessarily be the first person you copulate with but if I were to ballpark it, I'd say this experience is somewhere in the first 25. The worst part is, the moment you start swapping fluids with the opposite sex, this experience waits for you like a skinned knee after your first bicycle. There is no way to avoid it. You will get really attached to someone you are sleeping with. They will at some point move on before you are able to. You will be devastated. Sorry I had to be the one to tell you. For some reason the added physical intimacy of this heartbreak will make it appear harder than The Sad Puppy. This is just an illusion. They are two sides of the same coin. You thought you were doing your best in a situation, then when the coach posts the final roster on the bulletin board you find out you didn't make the team.
Ideally, one should get these out of the way as quickly as possible. For me, I got The Sad Puppy at 18 and then The Used Car at 21. In between I remember thinking that I was due for #2 but even then, in full awareness, I wasn't prepared. No one can be. Even by reading this there is no way YOU could use this information to protect yourself. I'm just stating one of those unfortunate truths of the universe.
Keep in mind, just because there are 2 finite forms of heartbreak doesn't mean they won't stop happening after you have already survived them. You could still fall for someone from a distance and get spurned. You could still develop feelings for a fuck buddy. Who knows. The point is those new experiences won't be as hurtful to your ego. Your ego will have already survived its bootcamp into adulthood. Think of it like a piece of burnt wood. Have you ever tried to ignite a piece of burnt wood? It doesn't work. When those circumstances crop up again, you won't really be all that bothered. You have learned the most important lesson of all: nobody gives a fuck about you.
Now, as for there being a possible 'third' heartbreak....there isn't one. Just a 'first' suicide.
Oh that wacky ego.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Dear Great-Great-Great Grandfather
You were born in Strasbourg
in 1821
at least
that's what this website says
and if I do my math
correctly
that was 164 years
before I arrived
on a lightning strike
somewhere else
So tell me something
great-great-great
grandfather
what was it all for?
I'm sure you baked cakes
and farmed
and ate sausage
but where are you now?
what did you learn?
and how would I know?
Maybe it was you
or probably more likely your children
that got on a boat
one day
and went from one pile of mud
to another
where I intervened
shortly thereafter
when the cirumstances
were deemed
acceptable
Well great-great-great
grandfather
I'm sitting here in air condition
not baking any cakes
though I could
or eating any sausage
but there's a store down the street
that sells some
no farming
necessary
Was this
what it was all for?
great-great-great
grandfather?
These little privileges?
I guess we'd both
like to hope so
because you're long dead
long, long dead
and I don't plan on visiting
Strasbourg
anytime
soon.
in 1821
at least
that's what this website says
and if I do my math
correctly
that was 164 years
before I arrived
on a lightning strike
somewhere else
So tell me something
great-great-great
grandfather
what was it all for?
I'm sure you baked cakes
and farmed
and ate sausage
but where are you now?
what did you learn?
and how would I know?
Maybe it was you
or probably more likely your children
that got on a boat
one day
and went from one pile of mud
to another
where I intervened
shortly thereafter
when the cirumstances
were deemed
acceptable
Well great-great-great
grandfather
I'm sitting here in air condition
not baking any cakes
though I could
or eating any sausage
but there's a store down the street
that sells some
no farming
necessary
Was this
what it was all for?
great-great-great
grandfather?
These little privileges?
I guess we'd both
like to hope so
because you're long dead
long, long dead
and I don't plan on visiting
Strasbourg
anytime
soon.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Lose the Arm: How I Learned Every Life Lesson from Robo Cop
Ask me what my favorite movies are and I will always respond with these three: Ghostbusters, Batman and RoboCop. This is no coincidence. I was born in 1985. Ghostbusters was released in 1984. Batman in 1989. RoboCop in 1987. I grew up watching these films, for better or for worse. They are part of my makeup as a human being. That sounds ridiculous, I know. But very true. Especially if we look at possibly the most important film of the three I listed, RoboCop.
First and foremost, RoboCop is a fucking violent movie. It is full of visceral bloodshed. It teems with adult language. It takes place in a future-version of Detroit. Need I say more?
Do the math. If I was born in 1985 and the film came out in 1987...I was 2 years old. Obviously I didn't see it in theaters so let's assume my father brought home the VHS sometime in 1988. This would have made me around 3 fucking years old watching RoboCop for the first time. I was 3 years old and enjoying such endearing scenes as...
Murphy getting ritually executed by a gang of thugs. I have this scene memorized. Line for line. I shit you not.
Not only did I absorb this film at such a young, tender age. I had all the god damn toys too! Nowadays, they don't even bother manufacturing tie-in merchandise for children when it comes to Rated-R movies. Back in the 1980s things were vastly different. Robo Cop was Rated-R. A hard fucking R. This film still contains some of the most Over-the-Top realistic violence I have ever seen. The only thing that could maybe compete was the last Rambo movie 2008. Did they make toys for that one? Absolutely fucking not.
But back in 1988 or 1989....I had all of this shit....
It wasn't just action figures either. I had the car, the motorcycle, the full on costume kit that had the RoboCop helmet and Gatling gun accessory. Fuck man, they even made a toy of E.D. 209.
Yeah, that's right. The machine that basically mutilates some OCP executive within the first 30 minutes of the movie. Remember, these are toys aimed at children. The company must have made the assumption that yes indeed children were seeing this horrifically violent movie, recognizing the characters and purchasing the toys. It is stunning when you think about it. We truly live in a different time.
Back to the point of this blog. I saw this all - fully took it in - at a very young age. I also derived a codified set of values from the movie that not even the force-feeding of organized religion could challenge. In so many words it can be summed up like this: If somebody hurts you...strip away the humanity, eliminate the weakness, come back stronger...and shove a steel ice-pick thing through their neck.
There's a similar message in Rocky movies too. If you lose, train hard, come back and win. In RoboCop, no training necessary. You get rebuilt into a callous machine. Since I was a child I always had an affinity for callous machines and 'phoenix rising from the ashes' stories. Now you know why.
When a scientist working on RoboCop tells OCP executive Bob Morton that they can save the human right arm of Officer Murphy, Morton mechanically responds, "Lose the arm." It is a scene that happens very fast but it is incredibly important. You replace the human aspect of the creature and you get something stronger. RoboCop functions on directives. That's all. At one point he remarks that he can feel his family, but does not remember them. My little brain soaked all of this up.
RoboCop is one of my absolute top 3 favorite movies for a lot more reasons but this one always seemed the most paramount. It taught me that the cold execution of a plan was the surefire method to get something done. Leave no room for error. Error is human. Humans get blown apart.
Directive 1. Serve the public trust.
Directive 2. Protect the innocent.
Directive 3. Uphold the law.
Directive 4 is, of course, classified. ;-)
Oh yeah, and one more thing...
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