More (Distracted)

Can you buy contentment in a store? Can you order it off the internet? I think not. One of my all-time favorite shots in a film comes at the end of Citizen Kane. The camera pans overhead from a bird's-eye perspective across this enormous warehouse-type room where the deceased main character (one of the world's wealthiest men) had collected an immense fortune's worth of statues and treasures and toys. Most of them were never even opened, still hidden away in a big wooden box. It's a pretty haunting shot, and beautiful because it evokes such a profound and ironic sense of emptiness.

Sometimes I feel so infected with this desire to have more. I'm not obsessive or unrealistic. I really don't actually buy a lot of things, but I spend a fair amount of time on the internet looking at stuff that I wish I had. There's the things I have already that I'm not using (and that's complicated). And I'm already so sick of living in a messy house and a cluttered bedroom.

Why is my life so distracted when I live at my parents' house? Why do I put up with the TV being on so much around here when I feel that I should detest it? What happens to my brain and my soul that I end up feeling like a zombie sometimes? Every thought that I end up thinking about this culture is a disturbing one. It's overwhelming. But I feel like I can't do anything about it.

I've spent a lot of the past few days playing this old RPG on the Playstation. To me, I treat a videogame like a story and an experience. Which means that I become a little obsessed with finishing games that I've started. I have to finish a game, even if I get sick of how much time it takes, simply because it's an incomplete experience if I don't. I'll get in these phases all the time, where I spend all this time contemplating a certain series of games. I read about them online and look at pictures. I think about how much I want to play the ones that I haven't yet played, and probably never will play. I have these strange fond memories of video games from growing up. They have always filled my mind with wonder and amazement. But nowadays I play video games for a long period of time and end up feeling kind of wasted and ridiculous.

I always want to watch more movies and read more books and play more video games. I guess I'm addicted to stories. It could be worse. Perhaps. I've seen people who are preoccupied with obtaining more strictly material things. Last Friday I went to the mall in a very rich and classy neighborhood called Bellvue. More than you could possibly want. From a myopic perspective, wow, I see things I wish I had. Shiny matching shoes. Pick the color that best matches your season. Shiny iPods and iPod accessories galore. Spend a little extra and get the coveted 40 gig player! But there's already this sense that I am secretly suffocating. This whole building, this whole commercial district is clutter! If I were Citizen Kane and I decided to up and purchase the entire contents of the Bellvue mall, wouldn't I look silly in about ten years, maybe less than that. Style always has to change. Technology creates new technology and sneers at its outdated ancestor.

I think what I'm getting at is that I have too much of this on my mind. I can look around my own bedroom and just think about how ridiculous it is to have all this stuff. I see a box full of the books that I had to read in college. I'm pretty sure I read most of them. And I get such an inward pleasure in knowing that I have experienced all those stories and lessons. BUT THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH! I want to read them again! And in my mind I become this pathetic whiny thing, crying over what I can't have. I can't have enough time to indulge in all of the things that I want to experience. It saddens me that I'll probably never have the time to re-read that Victorian novel or replay that Zelda game again. Because I'll always want to play the next Zelda game and read another Victorian novel. I've also got a box full of DVDs over there. There's some I still haven't watched yet. And I'm already thinking about getting my hands on more.

I know that there is something I'm getting at beyond this cluttered warehouse. There's a REAL outside world that I haven't even touched on yet. This is like the tip of the iceburg. To every rich and shiny metropolis, there is a polluted and decaying slum (and I sometimes have this twisted feeling that more of America, more of the whole world for that matter, is going to be more and more of a slum, but that's another rant altogether). I just can't figure out what happened to my mind and my soul. This isn't me! I'm being held hostage somewhere else! But I can't get out of this predicament. I don't feel like I'm loving very much. Everything is a distraction to loving. Everything I describe is too vast and towering to do justice. If only there were a way to leave it all behind. And DON'T LOOK BACK! Sometimes that's what really kills.

Perhaps there is a desert wilderness called eastern Washington where I can soon go and spend more time actually THINKING instead of OBSESSING. Maybe everything is better over there. Maybe it's good to spend most of your time out in the middle of nowhere.

It's about 8 minutes from my 23rd birthday. Make that 7 minutes. I was blogging at this time last year. Funny how I find comfort in that. I was writing on this computer onto this blog a year ago today, contemplating the swicth from 21 to 22, writing a poem. This silly little piece of ground out in cyberspace is more of a haven than most real places I can think of sometimes. I'm already thinking about what will happen when I leave this work station. What will I do? How will I not end up wasting my time? Will I worry about my job interview this Thursday morning?

I am 3 minutes away from being legally 23 years of age. I remember in 1st grade when the 6th graders on the bus looked like grown-ups. I'm moving away. My being is altering. 1 minute away. I'm nervous. I have to look at the second hand clock! 20 seconds!

It's happened. It is accompished.

This has helped something. But I need a dose of something stronger yet. Something potent and cathartic. I think we've all unconciously attempted suicide by swallowing bottles and bottles of drugs. Their not so bad when we have a little bit, but we've gotten addicted to them to the point that we are sometimes closer to dying than to really living. Feeding ourselves so much bull. I want it out of my system. I want Jesus to wring me like a sponge and to fill me with Holy Water, water that won't eventually leave me poisoned and bloated or all dried up.

To the people that I love who are reading this, I can't believe that you are reading this. But I guess it's public and I guess you're all welcome. And I love you all. I hope that I'm not the only person that feels this way. If I am, then I guess I've got some issues to work out. Peace.

One more thing. I think I put up with the TV because it blocks me from having to deal with other stuff around me.

Cats

There are two orange cats in our household. They are brothers and they look very similar to each other. Sometimes it is difficult to tell them apart, like they're twins. They come in and out of the house all the time. Apache, the more agile and athletic of the two, can open our heavy wooden front door from both the inside and the outside. It's somewhat incredible. The problem is he doesn't have the consideration for the rest of us to ever even think of closing the door behind him.

The other one has softer fur and somewhat of a baby face. His entire demeanor exudes a sense of innocence. When he comes into the house he likes to start following you around and rub up against your leg. The other cat does that too, but this one will stand up on his hind legs to rub his head on your hand if you hold it over him.

I have to live with the fact that these cats would kill me if they could. If I were the size of a cat to them, and they were then the size of a human, they would hunt me down and kill me for pleasure's sake. Thank God that He made us bigger than them. Have you ever seen one of these things jump? They literally jump up to places that are maybe five or six times their hieght! I'm sure you've heard of the phrase, "having reflexes like a cat." I've witnessed these cats in their hunting and playing. It's absolutely sinister. I once saw one of them dash up a pole to strike at a bird that was sitting up top. It was an instantaneous act of violence. The bird fell to the ground, unable to do anything but twitch its maimed and useless body. The cat looked at it and wandered off as if nothing had happened. Animal instincts are baffling, especially when the motive to kill overrides even the motive to eat. My dad at least put the bird out of its misery by clubing it with a plank of firewood.

Yes, our cats are inconsiderate bastards. They maim you for no reason and walk away. They come and go throughout your house, leaving doors open during the coldest of the cold season, tracking their muddy paws on your carpet, bedsheets and clothes. Even on a workday, they will do nothing but lounge around for hours on your sofa or your rocking chair, and if you disturb them in the slightest they can give you the most disgusted glare. Disregarding that they themselves have plenty of food in their dishes, they will not cease to annoy you when you are eating your own meal, climbing into your lap and sniffing at your food no matter how many times you have to pause your intake and drop them back on the floor. They drag their wounded into the house and leave you to be startled later on when you unexpectedly encounter them either lying helplessly in blood or running around, frantically looking for shelter or a way outside. And let's not forget their whining "meows" when they can't do something for themselves and feel compelled to get your attention, be you sleeping or awake!

Yet we love these things. We choose to have them around to keep us company. We forge relationships with these creatures that have no rational minds, feeling loved when they come to sleep on our laps and betrayed when they turn and scratch us. Perhaps, to live with a cat, the remorseless killer and most selfish of selfish creatures, is to foster the trait of human compassion. If nothing else, our cats teach me that I must allay my personal grudges and love them unconditionally.

The Verdict

I'm sitting at a computer casually listening to a live news webcast of Michael Jackson's trial verdict that is about to be given. The cheering fans surrounding the courthouse are shouting and screaming their support. Millions across the country are waiting expentantly for the verdict. How did this happen?

I've seen videos of Michael Jackson documenting his superstar career. Little more than a decade ago, the guy was a living legend! He was more mythic than a religious leader, what with his costumes, his dancing, his technologically amazing music videos. I remember watching his performance at the Superbowl in 1993 when I was 11 years old. I would never have been allowed to listen to his music at the time, and we didn't have MTV. So this was a unique opportunity to see what this guy was all about. I remember being enthralled by his special effects entrance. He appeared on a video display billboard. There was a flash of smoke and he was gone! Only to pop out of the ground across the stadium. And then I think he vanished once again to suddenly appear on stage at the center of the football field. It was like sheer magic, and I couldn't believe it.

He is still known worldwide. He used his unequaled fame and popularity to speak in favor of world peace. Stepping out of his limo, the cameras went before him, and he marched with confiedence and with gratitude toward the onlookers who loved him. Everywhere he went there were crowds of hypnotized followers on his right and left, people in tears, unable to believe they were laying their eyes on the real Michael Jackson. People must have stretched their arms across the security barriers, just hoping for the slightest touch at the hem of his garment.

The funny thing is that the world is still watching Michael Jackson. Worshippers continue to surround him every moment that he enters a public space. But he does not represent the same mythic figure. He is still a mystery, but no longer a world ambassador, no longer a musical messiah. His face is commonly hidden and perpetually changing, distorted to the point that he now only resembles a regular human being with understandable human behavior and human motivations. Today, looking back over the years, from his childhood onward, the mystery is like a gothic tale. What happened?

"NOT GUILTY"

Not guilty on all charges. I just saw it all reported on the television. It was something of a spectacle outside. People shouting and rejoicing at each and every hearing of the words "not guilty." People hugging and crying, individuals who probably have no real or tangible relationship to Michael Jackson, but people that he has obviously touched nevertheless. There was one woman dressed in pink who released a caged dove at the "not guilty" verdict of each charge. What a symbol of...of insanity! There is something disturbing in it all. Simple pop culture turned into something too sensational and serious. This is justice, one of the supposed core values of this nation, intertwined with the realm of the provocative, which I suppose, in the end, is nothing new to human history. Regardless of what has really happened in these court cases, something about this whole journey is disturbing. Somewhere along the way, Michael Jackson must have lost touch with reality. But we have joined in and participated. Maybe he was never really given a chance to understand life like an ordinary person. I don't know. I never will. It's really none of my business.

I have participated in the madness myself. I wanted to know if this astounding individual would really be convicted of molesting children, if this man who once stood on top of the world would be confined to a state penitentiary like a common criminal. And the answer is no.

My Sprite Can

I was sitting out on a dock on a small lake today with my special ladyfriend. I had recently finished a can of Sprite and set it down beside me. It had fallen over a few times, so we rested it sideways between two planks of the dock. After we messed around splashing each other for a few minutes a breeze dislodged the Sprite can from its place of rest and it started blowing down the dock. I hesitated for a fleeting moment before I got up and chased after the can, but I was too late. The can rolled off the dock and into the lake. As it floated away from us I had a glimmering hope that it might eventually drift close to an area of the shore where I could reclaim the can and preserve my integrity as an eco-friendly individual. It became clear, however, that the can was not going to float anywhere near where I could grab it.

I had become the very thing I hate. Even though it was an accident, I was disappointed with myself. That is another piece of synthetic human garbage that has marred the face of nature. We see this kind of pollution all the time: fast food bags sitting on the side of the road, beer bottles lying under a few centimeters of muddy water near the bank of a creek, etc. If you're at all like me, you sometimes involuntarily conjecture about the type of people who pollute in this manner, out of sheer laziness and disregard for others. I don't think I've been hanging out with this person. It's one of those common instances where we can spot the crime all the time but never the culprit. Take urinals at public restrooms, for example, the ones that still have unflushed pee in them. Usually, men will flush their urinal when other men are present. But when nobody is looking, why bother touching that contaminated piece of metal if you don't have to? Besides, the chances are probably about 33% that you had to flush somebody else's urine before you could go yourself.

The sad problem is that my Sprite can is probably never going to be picked up and deposited in a proper receptacle. There's a good chance that it will wash ashore or get trapped in some pocket of water and sit there for years fading. Of the few chance people that might wander off the beaten path and end up near the place where my can ends up, maybe one or two people will actually spot it. And if they are at all like me, they probably won't think to pick it up but leave it to lie where it lays. People don't like to pick up other people's garbage, and that's understandable. Why should we assume other people's responsibility? The years will go by. A new president will come into office. A couple of decades might pass. Flying cars will be zooming over the lake that might by then be drained to feed some fountain for some luxury casino resort and the can will still be there, buried underneath a shallow layer of sediment deposit. Centuries will pass by as if nothing to the abandoned Sprite can, all because I could not catch it before it fell off the dock.

Think about that factory where the Sprite can was manufactured and shipped out for distribution. Just that factory alone. Single out that one day when that Sprite can left the factory. Of all of the cans that left the factory that day, where are they all going to end up? How far might one of those cans eventually travel away from it's place of factory origin? How deep will the deepest buried can reach into the earth before it decomposes? How many years will will pass until they vanish into a completed form of decay? Their lives as Sprite cans will be short. They will quickly be consumed as refreshments at a party or at work or at picnics by the lake. But that stage is fleeting. The vending machines and the store shelves will be restocked in a week. What happens after all that? What happens when they become stagnant garbage? What happens for the next 500 years?

Secret Identity Revealed

The identity of "Deep Throat" has been revealed. In the same tradition, it is time for the secret identity of "F'er" to be laid bare as well. But first, please read this F.A.Q.

1. Why did you hold on to your secret for so long?

Well, it is a dangerous thing to reveal your true identity when you write such scathing criticisms concerning powerful institutions and mafia families. If I had come out with the truth earlier, I might not have been an effective agent of social and political change for very long. By ending my anonymity, I am putting my life in danger.

2. So why now?

First of all, my friends and family have been encouraging me to do this for a long time. Secondly, I have recently installed a state of the art security system and will be concealing myself in an underground and renovated nuclear-proof bunker that I purchased from the government after the collapse of the Berlin Wall. I call it the "Mother Nest" (I painted the name in appropriate locations. Plus, there's a neat little banner that tells you you are entering the "Mother Nest" when you step out of the elevator. Hopefully I'll have an official sign erected soon :).

3. What's next?

I post an official challenge to any self-proclaimed "hero" that would wish to launch an assault upon my armed and armored underground battlestation. For the first challenger to successfully penetrate my defense grid and capture my physical person inside of the transfer chamber, the coveted title of "Champion of the Milky Way galaxy" and a $50 gift certificate to The GAP will be duly awarded.

4. Ok...but what's the catch?

No catch. But come swiftly, because if you are too late, I will have already transferred my physical person into the information network and been broadcast into the lives of every internet user in the Milky Way galaxy.

5. Were you involved in that presidential scandal about money and greed and power?

Yep, that was me, F'er. Or shall I say...Eggbert Bombay Richarchardson IV?