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Tails Of Dogma

Ride, Captain, ride on your mystery ship

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I'm going to skip the usual meanderings of my mind with this post and discuss some nudes. Scarlett Johansson nudes.

This is a controversy that I could care less about, and would just as soon avoid, but given the nature of the message boards (and the internet in general), just about everywhere I go for news and otherwise is all atwitter about this latest T&A scandal. But, still, give MY nature, I must comment on it because from what I have seen, certain things need to be said, at this point.

Right now, the movement is towards sympathy for her. She's upset and a bit shamed by the whole thing. Okay, that's kinda fair. Kinda.

People do this shit a lot, the whole "nude photo on the cam phone" thing. Hell, there's probably a dozen porn sites at least that are dedicated to the coveted amateur self-shots. However, for a moments, let's pretend you want to do this. You want to take a few cam phone shots, mirror-assisted or otherwise to send to a particularly deserving person, or whatever reason you can come up with. Now, let's also pretend you're a hot fucking celebrity.

This would be all fine and well if in fact we lived in a world where there are NOT millions of people who want to see you naked, some of which are rather skilled with getting around the security measures our "devices of connectedness" might have in place. See? Now you're just kidding yourself. These types of controversies have happened two dozen times in the last ten years and will continue to happen. The basic lesson here is if you don't want to be naked on the internet, then don't fucking pose naked in a digital format. It's really that easy.

But this still needs to be examined further. Why do SJ and other celebs feel the need to take nude photos of themselves? Really, it could be a number of reasons, and I believe them all to be fair. Maybe their SO is far away, and will be for quite some time, and really, everyone needs some sexy time now and again. Maybe they just want to see how they look naked, because it's true, some of us get curious as to what we might look like to the person we're fucking. But I can't get passed the very publicly known risks of doing so with an online device.

I also can't get passed the idea that this, like other similar scandals previous, may have been done with intent. I'm not saying this is absolutely the case with SJ, but it is a possibility. She has not exactly been in the limelight for some time, and to be honest, I'd forgotten about her until this shit blew up yesterday. Releasing two softcore nudes fixes that problem in literally minutes.

Oh, and yeah, there's just two. Kinda makes me wonder if there were more, and she deleted them, or those were selected to be released. Think about it. You're not just going to take two shots and be done with it. Ever taken a profile pic for Facebook or something? You take a handful of shots, and pic the one or ones you like, and that is what you post. Then you generally delete all of them because there's really no reason to keep that shit on your own phone. So, if she did take more shots, and liked those two, why didn't she get rid of them as soon as she did whatever was planned for those photos? Granted, they'd still be out there floating in the cloud, as they say, but at the same time, if her phone was "hacked," they would not have be so easy to grab (yes, there's still a way, if you're sloppy about whoever you sent them to, but still).

So, now the FBI is involved. Fair enough. Personally, if I were her, and my phone really was "hacked," I'd put the call out to Anonymous and offer a bounty or something. They've proven themselves to be far more useful than the FBI in cases of technological matters any day of the week.

Oh well. Maybe she's just pissed because they're not that great in quality, looking more like grainy stills from a security camera. Nobody wants to be portrayed like that.

All in all, I don't have much sympathy when this happens to celebs anymore. In the end, we should all have learned that there really is no such thing as privacy anymore when it comes to anything that keeps us connected. Those of fame and fortune should certainly know this sooner than the rest of us, given that their lives are basically documented by a multitude of media outlets. I'm sorry if she's upset, but come on, you all know that there are some people sitting behind keyboards out there with nothing but malice in their eyes...that is, if she was truly "hacked." Read her responses all you want, but never forget, she is an actress. This whole thing could have been done on purpose.

End rant.

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They told me I could do anything.

In all honesty, I kinda just want to do nothing at all.

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Oh, ouch. I mean, it's not often that my breath is cut short by a simple browser error, but that just happened. I had a wonderful little (okay, fine, it was long) post all lined up to show the world today in honor of hopping back in the saddle of this particular horse, and basically erased it all because I was looking for the proper spelling of Göbekli Tepe. Despite my assumed expertise within the confines of my browser, I often forget that having fifteen freakin' tabs open at once raises the risk of a miss-click significantly. I will do my best to recreate the intended post, but I know myself far too well to dismiss the feeling that the original one is the superior one. Rats.

So, hey...as I was saying.

Another period of dormancy has lapsed, and after the memory of even having one of these little dealies was spurred to the middle of my mental arena by a conversation, I decided to throw a few more posts up and see what happens, as I am often known to do. Even I forgot how handy having a make-shift map of your own mind can be, contrary to my love of the idea.

I would love to say that my absence this time was due to the "fuck it" fantasy of finally jumping ship with the intention of defacing a stack of fresh notebooks with a fine point Zebra F-301 series ink pen, while harnessing the anesthetic effects of a kava tincture and a carton of smokes on some South Pacific island. We'll just have to save that one for another time in my life, but I promise, I'll skip all the boring stuff. As far as a day to day living update, there isn't much of interest to report.

Things are slow, but they are not terrible. I am really only disturbed by a lack of momentum, and it is difficult to remind one's self that you are not a perpetual motion machine. Work and relationship status aside, I am once again in the midst of what I am forced to call "intellectual stagnation," though I hate using the former word. It always seems to come with this potentially lofty connotation that I might be smarter than the average bear, which is not exactly what I would call a truth. I still hold myself as being no more mentally acute than anyone else is capable of being if they try. Lesson; don't ever let anyone tell you that you are stupid, and if they do, don't ever let yourself believe it.

I do have a few little pet projects that have nothing to do with anything, really. To be sure, they will end up as either a bullet point on my résumé of skills that aren't particularly useful, or as half eaten sandwiches in the dumpster that seems to float next to my head. I recently spent an evening alone with a deck of cards, learning to create a cipher using a letter value system and some good ol' goofy math that, as it turns out, is actually really, really difficult to decrypt. If you can tell me what that might come in handy for, I'm all ears.

I'm also keeping up on my reading, which is great for passing the long hours of the night that tend to plagued by insomnia (and, more recently, the sound of horny or wounded cats outside my window...I really can't tell the difference), but the problem is that nothing is really sticking. I'm interested in it for the moment that it's in front of my face, and that's about it. I don't carry these things with me like I used to, mull them over while out being social in hopes that I can find someone who, even if they have nothing to say on the subject is at least willing to lend an ear. True, I am aware that this period will pass, as I have discussed numerous times in the past, but there is always that sneaky little runt in the back of my mind teasing me about losing interest in thinking itself. This is no small fear of mine, to finally just be sucked into the humming monotony of life and forget that once, I was a child, and the world was full of some pretty cool shit. Even if I can't go to these places or do the things I read about in an active reality, I credit myself with having a wonderfully potent imagination provided it has some fuel to burn. I tend to like that about myself.

(no subject)
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There is too much stress in my life right now.

Animal Collective
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If I could just leave my body for a night...

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 Doesn't do much for the ego to log on and find the only replies to your most recent entries are spam.  

Then again, this shouldn't be surprising.  I don't know what to say to myself half of the time.

I have begun the arduous process of analyzing my fault of over-analyzing.  Once again, I feel that my desire to understand any given situation or decision from at least the most conspicuous angles is placing me into paralytic traps where inaction becomes the best action.  I'm certainly not expecting to be the one guy in the history of the universe who can think of every possible outcome and consistently make good choices using the data provided, but this is getting ridiculous.  My "free time," by which I mean I have absolutely nothing to do and nobody to talk to, is spent spinning bald tires buried in mud.  An irksome and exhausting activity, indeed.  And worse yet, it lacks any forward motion.  

Can this be fixed?  I'm not entirely sure.  You would think that my apathy toward the results of my efforts in the various games we play would sort of transfer over into the fear-of-failure stunted decision making process with which I grapple, but alas, it does not seem to.  When it comes to making moves, be they for business or pleasure, it takes me far too long to work up any nerve and make a stand.  

Perhaps I am stricken with the illusion that this whole thing is easier for everyone else around me.  It generally appears so, but there are moments where I feel some share my apprehension of the choices available.  Still, my observation says these moments are rare, but hey, empiricism has been wrong before.  Is proper thought being given to consequences which demand it?  Or are people able to catalog some decisions as being arbitrary where as I cannot?  I have no idea.  I wish I was 20 so I could bask in the sensory-driven hallucination that I understand how people work, again.  

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 I have unconsciously succeeded in the organization of my day into little packets, and apparently, have also become expert at moving seamlessly between them.  What this is creating is the illusion of extended length for each day.  Time seems to move slower while sitting at this little machine, and almost comes to a stand-still during meal times and cigarette breaks.  Well, perhaps not Time itself.  I'd be hard pressed to actually define what I think Time is, so I guess I should clear this up and say I'm talking about it's marked passage.  I suppose it's all relative to the observer, anyway.  

Despite all that, it is becoming increasingly difficult to describe my position and choose one of the many paths that seems to be opening before me.  There simply isn't a choice in the selection that stands out as the obvious route, and continued analysis only serves for further homogenizing.  Knowledge of consequence and reward almost seems to take on a binding role in these instances, shackling me to indecision.    Do I fear changing some things that I enjoy about my life right now?  I'm not ashamed to admit that may be true.  I have adopted a strange sort of active movement, especially socially, however it is not in any particular direction.  I am essentially a vibrating Weebl in Time, and it is rather invigorating for the most part.  Moments of awkwardness still crop up now and again, but they pass, as all things do, around or through me.  When this happens, these fluid processions, a root problem with this lifestyle is briefly exposed; to the casual party, I appear to have no movement at all and it is to this issue I turn a wary eye.  

Sure, I care what people around me think of who I am or what I'm doing.  You'd be a liar if you said you didn't, at least to some extent.  

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 Much akin to people returning to prayer in troubled times, I return to my own sigilism during periods of confusion.  

I think...yes...I think I need, dare I say it, HOMEWORK.  

Or something.  

I'm afraid my daily crosswords, while still fun to me, aren't doing the trick anymore.  My concern is that I have become dumber as of late.  Although one could argue that in order to become dumber, you'd have to first have a measured level of intelligence.  And I suppose we'd have to figure out what intelligence means in this case.  Maybe.  I think you all know what I'm talking about here.

Is it due to an absence of schooling to focus on?  My gut says "yes, partially."  It seems that my lack of disciplined learning could be circumvented by a gentle prodding of due dates and assigned reading.  However, this only seems to work when coming from an outside source.  The obvious solution is to return to school, but in my particular case, this is a complicated matter.  I'm not sure if I discussed this in an earlier post, and I'm too lazy to check.

There is an overtly self-critical area of my mind that suggests a deeper issue at hand, and to be honest, I don't know how to properly convey the idea.  Here's an attempt: internal reward vs. practical application of actualized self-knowledge.  Yeah, I don't know.  I still feel that doesn't cut it.  Is it possible to know who you are (mostly) yet still not have a clue as to where you fit in?  Absolutely.  Is that what I'm trying to say?  Sort of.  Like I said, it's difficult for me to bring this idea/feeling into the proper light because I can't quite get both my hands around it.  The object has become slippery with the sweat of my own brow.  

I often wonder if it was a mistake to focus more on who I am than what I should be doing.  Age factor?  I'm three decades in, sharing a house with my parents, jumping from job to job, comically single, still trying to "be a writer," with 6+ collective years of school amounting to a degree more useless than the roll of shit tickets in the bathroom.  So far, anyway.  These things do indeed bother me (oh hai, regrets) but not as much as the issue at hand.  By contrast, my laundry list of status complaints seems correctable.  

Give me some homework.  

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 I'm going to warn you ahead of time.  After roughly four glasses of whiskey, an entire pack of cigarettes, and an extremely off-putting conversation (both text and phone), I am about to sound bat-shit crazy.  We're all just lucky I didn't add the five valium I have sitting in front of me to the mix.  God damn.  What a show. 

I don't consider myself a bad person.  Not as a whole, anyway.  But there is a part of me which I would call 'bad.'  Scratch that.  I'd call it 'fucking evil.'  After years of effort, mistakes, successes, and a fuck ton of shoveling, this part of myself that I have worked so very hard to bury was just unearthed by someone who might be slightly more insane than myself.  

Short version:  met a girl, seemed okay, pretty hot, turned out to be a psychotic master of the guilt trip.

Lesson: feed the guilt of a guilty man, and he will become a monster before your very eyes. 

I have been pushed around a lot in my life.  I rarely win at any game I play, I was often made fun of when I was younger, and I have never been satisfied with myself except on rare and fleeting occasion.  This makes me an easy target, and I know this.  Yet I put forth effort to be a nice guy, knowing in the back of my mind that should the day come, I can easily put anyone I choose through an emotional shredder so devastating that the victim will never forget it happened.  To me, that is powerful.  And I loath myself for it.  Hence the burial. 

Combining anger with sporadic intelligence is probably the most dangerous weapon anyone can wield.  I said things tonight that scared the shit out of me, and bear in mind, while it is quite easy to push me into the realm of paranoid caution, it is almost impossible to really scare me.  The side of myself that I speak of, this shadow, took the reigns during this conversation with said psych-ward patient, and left me with my already fat and bloated guilt to deal with.  I'm back-tracking as I write this, and I cannot even tell you when, exactly, I, the I that is speaking now, lost control.  It was god damned spectacular and frightening.  It almost felt like the first time I ever stood up for myself, tainted by the realization that I had drifted so far into the territory of over-kill, there was no map.  I entered uncharted waters in the realm of causing emotional pain to someone else and I feel like I want to burn myself alive over it, even if, from some outside perspective, it was deserved.  It's entirely possible that I may have reversed a lot of steps I have taken in recent years toward the goal of becoming a better version of who I was.  

My words carry venom.  I have to remember that.  And my mind carries a disease, so far as I know.  

To me, this doesn't seem normal.  And people wonder why I drink so much.

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 I have growing concerns regarding the state of my mental health, which is a confusing contradiction, seeing as how I think the concern is healthy.  

The temptation, these days, to pack a few good books, pens and paper, and maybe a sandwich or two for a journey to god-knows-where is quite the screaming child in my head.  Of course, this is not the first time I've wanted to up and leave, go see what can find, do the whole Dharma Bum thing.  I have grown to view these particular thoughts of mine as some sort of internal warning sign that shit is perhaps just gettin' too damned heavy.  As a human being and not some extradimensional super man, I have to constantly remind myself to quite taking on more than I can handle, seeing as how I have no real desire to destroy myself anymore.  So perhaps it's time, once again, to roll a d20 for a reality check.  Yep.  D&D joke.  I'm doing them.

My job has stress.  Everyone's job has stress.  Nothing new there.  And while that is a hefty portion of my anxiety pie, it is certainly not the whole of it.  Other less talked about sources are always present, just like in everyone else's life.  Bills and money, relationships, family, concern that I am drinking too much again, my bleak living situation.  You all know these stories well, so I'm not going to retell them, as much as I do love to spin a good yarn.  

Anyway, I'm losing my train of thought.  I've got a burrito fucking with the lower end of my digestive tract.  


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