Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
tennyson:
"My strength is as the strength of ten, / Because my heart is pure". He is the second most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
I came across this on montalk.net:
» An acquaintance of mine familiar with these conspiracy subjects is bitter and depressed about the state of things, especially about how we are being controlled by forces we cannot even comprehend. He has experienced this control first hand and is disheartened.
About being depressed and bitter, a lifetime of being under the gun will do that. He knows full well, because he sees it every day, that there are higher negative forces who can manipulate reality to the smallest detail, and I think that is a bit overwhelming for him to see how powerless we can be in the face of that.
But when it comes to dealing with such forces, there is a way out and beyond. And it has to do with how our consciousness throttles or redirects the flow of our experiences, and how it hooks us up with whatever hyper-dimensional forces we are resonating with. It’s kind of like we parachuted behind enemy lines and are now surrounded by hostility, and our radios got thrown out of whack and we can only pick up noise or the local enemy communications. By retuning the radio, we can make contact with our own air support, who can then drop-lift supplies, give guidance, and take out a few enemies when things get too tough. This world is a rigged game, and the only way to win a rigged game is to not play by its rules, but by the rules of something outside of it that has more power than it.
And depression, hopelessness, bitterness is how not to retune the radio. I think a combination of optimism and hope concerning the things we cannot absolutely know or control is necessary, and awareness and responsible action for the things we can do something about is required. The first attunes consciousness to a certain frequency that shifts the probability of events away from further misfortune, and the latter shifts the spectrum of what is possible versus impossible. This has worked in my own life, and through it one can create a bubble of synchronicity or “good luck and protection” that only bursts when you fail to uphold that elevated state of mind and slip back into mindlessness and cynicism. Which happens to me periodically and then, after probability shifts the opposite way and holds a hot poker to my ass, I snap back to attention and turn things around.
About being depressed and bitter, a lifetime of being under the gun will do that. He knows full well, because he sees it every day, that there are higher negative forces who can manipulate reality to the smallest detail, and I think that is a bit overwhelming for him to see how powerless we can be in the face of that.
But when it comes to dealing with such forces, there is a way out and beyond. And it has to do with how our consciousness throttles or redirects the flow of our experiences, and how it hooks us up with whatever hyper-dimensional forces we are resonating with. It’s kind of like we parachuted behind enemy lines and are now surrounded by hostility, and our radios got thrown out of whack and we can only pick up noise or the local enemy communications. By retuning the radio, we can make contact with our own air support, who can then drop-lift supplies, give guidance, and take out a few enemies when things get too tough. This world is a rigged game, and the only way to win a rigged game is to not play by its rules, but by the rules of something outside of it that has more power than it.
And depression, hopelessness, bitterness is how not to retune the radio. I think a combination of optimism and hope concerning the things we cannot absolutely know or control is necessary, and awareness and responsible action for the things we can do something about is required. The first attunes consciousness to a certain frequency that shifts the probability of events away from further misfortune, and the latter shifts the spectrum of what is possible versus impossible. This has worked in my own life, and through it one can create a bubble of synchronicity or “good luck and protection” that only bursts when you fail to uphold that elevated state of mind and slip back into mindlessness and cynicism. Which happens to me periodically and then, after probability shifts the opposite way and holds a hot poker to my ass, I snap back to attention and turn things around.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Henry Rollins:
Good story...
Originally Posted by Henry Rollins
I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be
like you parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself.
Completely.
When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of
all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The
humiliation of teachers calling me "garbage can" and telling me I'd be
mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow
students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and
my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I
didn't run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was
there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was
pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every
waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some
strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.
I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to
talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing
that I wasn't going to get pounded in the hallway between classes.
Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a
few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the
greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his
head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and
you'll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school
sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn't think much of them
either.
Then came Mr. Pepperman, my adviser. He was a powerfully built Vietnam
veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class.
Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to
the blackboard.
Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he
asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told
me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a
hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started
to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the
weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special.
My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought
the weights, but I couldn't even drag them to my mom's car. An
attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.
Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.'s office after school. He said
that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on
a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I
wasn't looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were
getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or
tell anyone at school what I was doing.
In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than
I ever did in any of my classes. I didn't want to blow it. I went home
that night and started right in. Weeks passed, and every once in a
while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my
books flying. The other students didn't know what to think. More weeks
passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense
the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.
Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of
nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I
laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home
and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just
the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My
chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can
remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one
could ever take it away. You couldn't say shit to me.
It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have
learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I
was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong.
When the Iron doesn't want to come off the mat, it's the kindest thing
it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it
wouldn't teach you anything. That's the way the Iron talks to you. It
tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to
resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.
It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I
had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes
without work and a ceratin amount of pain. When I finish a set that
leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I
know it can't be as bad as that workout.
I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is
not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the
Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most
injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks
lifting weight that my body wasn't ready for and spent a few months not
picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you're not
prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and
self-control.
I have never met a truly strong person who didn't have self-respect. I
think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself
off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on
someone's shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys
working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the
worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and
insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the
difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr.
Pepperman.
Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and
sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical
and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the
heart.
Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he
was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a
weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most
romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a
woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was
racing through my body. Everything in me wanted her. So much so that
sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most
intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn't see
her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the
loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.
I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons
that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you're made of is always
time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had
taught me how to live.
Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes
down these days, it's some kind of miracle if you're not insane. People
have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole. I
see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban
homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly.
And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by
that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the
Iron mind.
Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into
a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind
thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind
degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my
mind. The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is
no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and
body have been awakened to their true potential, it's impossible to turn
back.
The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all
kinds of talk, get told that you're a god or a total bastard. The Iron
will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference
point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in
the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It
never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two
hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.
Originally Posted by Henry Rollins
I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be
like you parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself.
Completely.
When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of
all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The
humiliation of teachers calling me "garbage can" and telling me I'd be
mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow
students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and
my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I
didn't run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well. I was
there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was
pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every
waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some
strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.
I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to
talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing
that I wasn't going to get pounded in the hallway between classes.
Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a
few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the
greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his
head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and
you'll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school
sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn't think much of them
either.
Then came Mr. Pepperman, my adviser. He was a powerfully built Vietnam
veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class.
Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to
the blackboard.
Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he
asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told
me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a
hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started
to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the
weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special.
My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought
the weights, but I couldn't even drag them to my mom's car. An
attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.
Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.'s office after school. He said
that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on
a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I
wasn't looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were
getting somewhere. At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or
tell anyone at school what I was doing.
In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than
I ever did in any of my classes. I didn't want to blow it. I went home
that night and started right in. Weeks passed, and every once in a
while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my
books flying. The other students didn't know what to think. More weeks
passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense
the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.
Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of
nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I
laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home
and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just
the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My
chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can
remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one
could ever take it away. You couldn't say shit to me.
It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have
learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I
was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong.
When the Iron doesn't want to come off the mat, it's the kindest thing
it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it
wouldn't teach you anything. That's the way the Iron talks to you. It
tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to
resemble. That which you work against will always work against you.
It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I
had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes
without work and a ceratin amount of pain. When I finish a set that
leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I
know it can't be as bad as that workout.
I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is
not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the
Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most
injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks
lifting weight that my body wasn't ready for and spent a few months not
picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you're not
prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and
self-control.
I have never met a truly strong person who didn't have self-respect. I
think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself
off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on
someone's shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys
working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the
worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and
insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the
difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr.
Pepperman.
Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and
sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical
and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the
heart.
Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he
was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a
weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most
romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a
woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was
racing through my body. Everything in me wanted her. So much so that
sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most
intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn't see
her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the
loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.
I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons
that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you're made of is always
time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had
taught me how to live.
Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes
down these days, it's some kind of miracle if you're not insane. People
have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole. I
see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban
homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly.
And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by
that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the
Iron mind.
Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into
a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind
thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind
degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my
mind. The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is
no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and
body have been awakened to their true potential, it's impossible to turn
back.
The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all
kinds of talk, get told that you're a god or a total bastard. The Iron
will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference
point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in
the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It
never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two
hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Email from Bernard Rhodes, manager of the Clash.
Jeremy,
Thanks for the praise; my compliments on your foresight.
Things are real busy at the moment, I?ll get back with some feedback soon.
Meantime stay on it?.
Regards,
BR
Thanks for the praise; my compliments on your foresight.
Things are real busy at the moment, I?ll get back with some feedback soon.
Meantime stay on it?.
Regards,
BR
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Racism sucks.
So, unfortunately I find there to be more and more racism out there. I wanted to apply for the Streetlights program where they help people that don't have a lot of money learn how to work on movie sets. Check out what they wrote me back:
Thank you for your interest in our program.
Our mission is to assist ethnic minorities as governed to us by the federal
government. The racial ethnic guidelines break down as follows: Latino,
African/African-American, Asian/Pacific Islander or Native American (this
must be acknowledged by the tribe).
We wish you the best of luck with your future endeavors.
In other words, fuck you whitey.
Thank you for your interest in our program.
Our mission is to assist ethnic minorities as governed to us by the federal
government. The racial ethnic guidelines break down as follows: Latino,
African/African-American, Asian/Pacific Islander or Native American (this
must be acknowledged by the tribe).
We wish you the best of luck with your future endeavors.
In other words, fuck you whitey.
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