This is a 9/11 post. I'm just going to state up front that it is not my intention to provoke, incite, or offend anyone whose opinions differ from my own. The following is purely my analysis. My only purpose for writing this post is to ask any potential readers to THINK about their experiences concerning 9/11. That is all.
In the middle of the 21st century, American society was enraptured by the concept of equal rights due to the civil rights movement. The obsession with fairness has now become such a part of American society that we don't really question its derivative actions. It gives reinforcement to the term "politically correct".
Suffice to say, we'd like to think we could live in fairness.
But do we die in fairness?
9/11 has started a decade long tradition of national mourning that has been repeated every year by a media circus. A large and fitting memorial has been built over the ruins of the World Trade Center, a symbol of American perseverance and honor. We grieve the victims and heroes of that fateful day.
But what makes those particular victims special? Don't get me wrong, we should not forget those who lost their lives. But here's the simple fact:
People die. As the world turns around and you read this sentence, people die. They die from old age, heart attacks, car accidents, war, tragic attacks, etc.
People die. The only reason it has any depth, any importance worth remembering, is what the person did or died for. We can frame a martyr's death for a single event that defines and overrides the importance of any detail in their lives. We know Martin Luther King Jr. died for civil rights, but how many people know where he was born, or can say the name of his wife?
The death of a person is so particularly common that we can only remember those closest to us with emotional meaning. We hold a funeral for the death of loved ones, have a eulogy, and put flowers on their grave. Funerals happen every day, and the death of one person cannot be distinguished from the death of another unless we know the name, the life, and the cause of death.
So what makes the victims of 9/11 so special? What makes their deaths worth putting on TV once a year for an entire decade?
We mourn people because we want to remember them and come to turns with their departure. The more they were vital to your life, the more you grieve. It's easy to say that we grieve a person to honor their memory and for what they did while they were alive.
But the more you think about mourning, the more you realize how selfish it really is. The dead person is no longer here to give any input upon your suffering, so it can only benefit the people who mourn. To be frank, we mourn because it makes us feel better. It gives us emotional release and allows us to get over the grief. If it helps the dead person, we can't know.
So when the media circus descends on the 9/11 memorial, I'm surprised there isn't a rolling sidebar listing the names of the victims. What makes them more important than my brother? Why doesn't he get a memorial every single year?
The obnoxious truth is that remembering 9/11 is convenient. We need it to remind us of the reasoning behind the seemingly hopeless wars in the middle east, the destruction of the American economy, and put faith into our government and military servicemen. We need every reason to feel bad about what has transpired over the past decade. We need to force tears into our eyes to feel American.
Isn't it funny that we always expect the patriot to say he would die for his country, but not live for it?
Death is America's best obsession, and the wars it has gone through are sad, tragic affairs that become field days for the media circus. So why don't we have this kind of 9/11 coverage for the World Wars, Korea, or Vietnam? How many MILLIONS died in those conflicts? Why don't we have special spin coverage of the Gulf of Tonkin incident? How come nobody knows anything about the American military campaigns in the Middle East?
Time supposedly heals all wounds, but this media coverage is telling me that's just not going to happen. Let the families of the victims mourn without cameras in their faces. What I do not want is the same continuous coverage a decade or five after the event.
I thought the point of the memorial was to mourn and move on from the deaths. But if mourning 9/11 means not letting go, to have deaths shoved in everyone's faces constantly, then it's not helping anyone.
It's clear that this entire issue is very controversial, but the only thing I don't want is to continuously worship the death of innocent victims to be a continuous sign of patriotism. In my opinion, it's a morbid and disgusting addiction that cheapens the dead. This exploitation is a cheap and painful way to garner attention.
We should not be supporting martyrdom. It only encourages delusion in people with bad intentions. And frankly, it's a basis for encouraging terrorists to smash themselves into buildings and take innocent lives along with them.
An America that supports terrorism is not one I will live for. It sure is hell not one I'm going to die for.
The cycle needs to STOP.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
86) Volunteer to Understand
My type of thinking music:
For a friend and my own sanity, I'd like to share with you a glimpse into some of my philosophical beliefs. I'll try to be reasonable (no guarantees).
A) The meaningless of life.
I've always been one to believe that philosophers and people curious about life were always lacking in a meaningful aspect of their lives. Maybe they were just overly curious. It saddens me to know that there are alot of lives in constant turmoil from trying to ask questions they can never really answer.
The longing to know information is very powerful. It can consume people as a dangerous obsession, that being able to understand might grant satisfaction. Luckily, people are smart enough to choose to be ignorant, or otherwise the phrase "ignorance is bliss" would carry little weight.
Which, in the end, explains my somewhat pessimistic view on life, this world, and the people in it. If understanding won't grant satisfaction or bliss, then it's safe to assume that there are simply things not worth understanding. That being said, many things are apt to be meaningless. I'm simply more inclined than my peers to believe that life may be meaningless.
Or to put it another way:
1) There are things we cannot understand.
2) What we cannot understand may be due to its property of being meaningless.
3) Life and existence may be subjectively incapable of being understood.
From 2 and 3:
4) Life and existence may be meaningless.
Let's ignore for a moment the numerous fallacies you could point out in this crude proof. Also notice I left in ambiguity by using the words "may be" in 2 and 3 instead of "is".
It is indeed a grim possibility I've come to believe in. With all the bad about humanity I've seen and written about it, I can't help but wonder if this way of thinking is indeed my own subconscious need for emotional satisfaction by understanding the meaningless behind meaning.
But that would mean that the meaning behind something meaningless has meaning, and I've just stumbled into a vicious regress.
Perhaps instead of fixating on the pessimistic feel of the glass of life being half full, I should wonder where the hell my sandwich is. Or if it exists at all.
B) Conceptional nonexistence.
Imagine for a second that the infinite universe theory is true. That besides our own world and universe, an infinite amount of other universes and worlds exist which account for every possible given scenario and variation. There are other worlds exactly like ours (down to the last molecule and timeline), worlds that are are slightly different (a world where Obama is not the current president), and worlds that are wildly different (filled without physics and inhabited by sentient cupcakes, etc.).
Given that these universes and worlds do in fact exist, we can assume they have validity in their presence and containing structures. In other words, we can assume that their philosophies, laws of nature, and overall meaning, etc. have validity and we would not be prohibited in comparing them to our own reality (assuming this is true, I have just proved validity by simply describing this fact).
In our world, murder is looked down upon (by most) because of ethical and moral standards we've set for ourselves and our societies. It is frowned upon to take a life that is sentient and living because we can associate feelings of guilt and shame for doing so.
Now, imagine another world where the concept of murder does not exist. Killing another person in this world does not have any moral, ethical, or legal consequences. It is as natural as breathing and there are no feelings associated with it. Nobody gains or loses anything from it. It simply is. There is no social stigma against killing. Here, you can choose to chainsaw the guy next to you and no one would even blink.
So from our standpoint, would we abhor killing in this alternate world, even though nobody there has any problem with it? Even though people in that world don't have the concept of murder?
What I'm trying to get at here is that our social rules, ethics, and laws exist according to the society and surroundings we grow up in. If we are taught that murder is wrong and accept that fact, we will regard it as true. However, what's important to understand is that these are concepts. Concepts are ideas that matter only if we give them coherence and existence. As such, morality involving right and wrong exist because we believe they exist.
So what's the problem with that? Concepts are non physical. They are in our minds. Humans simply made them up. There is no rule that says just because we believe in an idea and practice it, it is real and exists in the universe. It does not mean it has a real basis or is meaningful or important. If I tell you unicorns are real, you can believe that concept and give it life and meaning. But that does not mean unicorns exist. You simply wouldn't know. You can just accept it for what it is because it makes you feel better and helps you sleep at night.
The very same applies to morals. We don't follow them because we know without question that the universe tells us they are real and important. We follow them because we made them up and gave them meaning. We all follow them and acknowledge they are real because we believe they will make us happy and ordered. In a sense, all ideas and concepts are fiction. We are the authors, and we decided this is the story we will live by. Writing down the story on paper does not make it any more real if we choose not to give it meaning.
In the end, it might turn out that nothing exists. After all, physicality and existence are concepts. The words you read right now might not mean anything because none it might be real. We can't fathom what existence is because anything we use to describe it might not exist. There is no satisfiable metaphysical way to justify that reality is in fact real.
So in a way, existence does not exist because we have no way of knowing it exists.
My brain hurts. Good thing the concept of pain might not be "real".
C) The infinite marathon of fear.
Given that concepts might not exist, humans can create anything to be happy in reality. With a clean slate, we could imagine and live in a world where anything is possible if we choose to validate its concepts. We can create a society where we worship a color for half a day or require everyone to jump off a cliff when they become parents.
In our society, we have rules and morals that we follow because they make us orderly, happy, secure, and satisfied. However, it is a personal code. There is a different code for every person and society that exists in the world. You might think cursing is wrong, I might think it is right. It all depends on what set of morals and ethics you were raised on. Everyone has their own perceptions on life and how they choose to live it.
There is no hard and fast rule that everyone follows to make themselves happy and emotionally satisfied. We pick the set of rules we know and stick to them because they give us safety and emotional satisfaction. It justifies our lives and our existences. It allows us to have variations and differences of opinion. It allows us to live differently from the person next to us.
How would life be if we all had the same morals, ethics, and rules? A universal way of belief, some miracle truth that allowed us to coexist? Would we all act the same? Would we have eternal peace and harmony?
The truth is that society and its rules are lies, fiction that we create because we need order. It lets us believe that there is a plan, that there is meaning, that we have a purpose. It lets us escape the prospect of nothing. It is our way of defending against chaos. Chaos is uncontrolled, unpredictable, and unstable. Our fear of chaos far outstrips our fear of order.
That is why people begrudgingly accept governments that abuse them. They inherently know that the alternative is worse. Even if we choose to overthrow the current government, the end result is always the same: we simply create another government that was different from the former. It feels natural and safe to organize and order our lives. It is how we survive.
The problem is that it does not work.
Humans are not meant to be organized and orderly. We are animals and savages, no matter how much we pretend not to be. Elevating ourselves to be cultured and mannered to set up societies and governments does not eliminate murder, theft, or war. We create order because we do not trust ourselves. We live lives of hypocrisy and delusion that suppress what we were designed for. Humans are too unstable and random to control their emotions and actions. We are designed mentally and physically to be unable to control ourselves based on what happens around us.
If you are able to look past the rules and order, you will be able to find freedom. You are able to follow instincts and do as your humanity and physiology demands. That chaos is the zeal of anarchy that attracts so many people. Problem is, anarchy does not thrive because the people who fear chaos will always outnumber the people who don't.
To be truly free, you have to get over your fear of chaos and embrace its hold on what you cannot control about anything. You must let go of any fear or impulse against what you are. It is to understand that every controlling aspect about yourself does not matter and means nothing. That nothing might mean nothing. You have to able to embrace the human imperfections that go against your will to survive. You have to be able to accept that the price of freedom is the compromise of your safety. You might die.
Fear not death, and you shall be free.
It is a price many of us are unwilling to pay. It is impossible for many of us to simply unlearn all those centuries of ancestral experiences with law and order. After all, if your parents did not follow society and decided to be free and dead, you would never have been born.
It is my firm belief that the happiness we seek, the eternal satisfaction, lies in that deathly freedom. It is the freedom to do anything without rules or consequences, to accomplish your wildest dreams and fantasies without fear. Why else would I suggest an end to society? We shouldn't need society to restrict our search for bliss.
Regardless of whether you agree with me or not, the argument brings up a good question. What is ultimate satisfaction and happiness worth to you? Is it worth your life?
----------------------------------------
This was all a short glance into my misguided and fractured philosophy. Hope I made you think.
I sincerely thank you for taking the time to understand another person's perspective. If I'm lucky, I'll force you to do something I bet you rarely do:
Challenge your beliefs.
For a friend and my own sanity, I'd like to share with you a glimpse into some of my philosophical beliefs. I'll try to be reasonable (no guarantees).
A) The meaningless of life.
I've always been one to believe that philosophers and people curious about life were always lacking in a meaningful aspect of their lives. Maybe they were just overly curious. It saddens me to know that there are alot of lives in constant turmoil from trying to ask questions they can never really answer.
The longing to know information is very powerful. It can consume people as a dangerous obsession, that being able to understand might grant satisfaction. Luckily, people are smart enough to choose to be ignorant, or otherwise the phrase "ignorance is bliss" would carry little weight.
Which, in the end, explains my somewhat pessimistic view on life, this world, and the people in it. If understanding won't grant satisfaction or bliss, then it's safe to assume that there are simply things not worth understanding. That being said, many things are apt to be meaningless. I'm simply more inclined than my peers to believe that life may be meaningless.
Or to put it another way:
1) There are things we cannot understand.
2) What we cannot understand may be due to its property of being meaningless.
3) Life and existence may be subjectively incapable of being understood.
From 2 and 3:
4) Life and existence may be meaningless.
Let's ignore for a moment the numerous fallacies you could point out in this crude proof. Also notice I left in ambiguity by using the words "may be" in 2 and 3 instead of "is".
It is indeed a grim possibility I've come to believe in. With all the bad about humanity I've seen and written about it, I can't help but wonder if this way of thinking is indeed my own subconscious need for emotional satisfaction by understanding the meaningless behind meaning.
But that would mean that the meaning behind something meaningless has meaning, and I've just stumbled into a vicious regress.
Perhaps instead of fixating on the pessimistic feel of the glass of life being half full, I should wonder where the hell my sandwich is. Or if it exists at all.
B) Conceptional nonexistence.
Imagine for a second that the infinite universe theory is true. That besides our own world and universe, an infinite amount of other universes and worlds exist which account for every possible given scenario and variation. There are other worlds exactly like ours (down to the last molecule and timeline), worlds that are are slightly different (a world where Obama is not the current president), and worlds that are wildly different (filled without physics and inhabited by sentient cupcakes, etc.).
Given that these universes and worlds do in fact exist, we can assume they have validity in their presence and containing structures. In other words, we can assume that their philosophies, laws of nature, and overall meaning, etc. have validity and we would not be prohibited in comparing them to our own reality (assuming this is true, I have just proved validity by simply describing this fact).
In our world, murder is looked down upon (by most) because of ethical and moral standards we've set for ourselves and our societies. It is frowned upon to take a life that is sentient and living because we can associate feelings of guilt and shame for doing so.
Now, imagine another world where the concept of murder does not exist. Killing another person in this world does not have any moral, ethical, or legal consequences. It is as natural as breathing and there are no feelings associated with it. Nobody gains or loses anything from it. It simply is. There is no social stigma against killing. Here, you can choose to chainsaw the guy next to you and no one would even blink.
So from our standpoint, would we abhor killing in this alternate world, even though nobody there has any problem with it? Even though people in that world don't have the concept of murder?
What I'm trying to get at here is that our social rules, ethics, and laws exist according to the society and surroundings we grow up in. If we are taught that murder is wrong and accept that fact, we will regard it as true. However, what's important to understand is that these are concepts. Concepts are ideas that matter only if we give them coherence and existence. As such, morality involving right and wrong exist because we believe they exist.
So what's the problem with that? Concepts are non physical. They are in our minds. Humans simply made them up. There is no rule that says just because we believe in an idea and practice it, it is real and exists in the universe. It does not mean it has a real basis or is meaningful or important. If I tell you unicorns are real, you can believe that concept and give it life and meaning. But that does not mean unicorns exist. You simply wouldn't know. You can just accept it for what it is because it makes you feel better and helps you sleep at night.
The very same applies to morals. We don't follow them because we know without question that the universe tells us they are real and important. We follow them because we made them up and gave them meaning. We all follow them and acknowledge they are real because we believe they will make us happy and ordered. In a sense, all ideas and concepts are fiction. We are the authors, and we decided this is the story we will live by. Writing down the story on paper does not make it any more real if we choose not to give it meaning.
In the end, it might turn out that nothing exists. After all, physicality and existence are concepts. The words you read right now might not mean anything because none it might be real. We can't fathom what existence is because anything we use to describe it might not exist. There is no satisfiable metaphysical way to justify that reality is in fact real.
So in a way, existence does not exist because we have no way of knowing it exists.
My brain hurts. Good thing the concept of pain might not be "real".
C) The infinite marathon of fear.
Given that concepts might not exist, humans can create anything to be happy in reality. With a clean slate, we could imagine and live in a world where anything is possible if we choose to validate its concepts. We can create a society where we worship a color for half a day or require everyone to jump off a cliff when they become parents.
In our society, we have rules and morals that we follow because they make us orderly, happy, secure, and satisfied. However, it is a personal code. There is a different code for every person and society that exists in the world. You might think cursing is wrong, I might think it is right. It all depends on what set of morals and ethics you were raised on. Everyone has their own perceptions on life and how they choose to live it.
There is no hard and fast rule that everyone follows to make themselves happy and emotionally satisfied. We pick the set of rules we know and stick to them because they give us safety and emotional satisfaction. It justifies our lives and our existences. It allows us to have variations and differences of opinion. It allows us to live differently from the person next to us.
How would life be if we all had the same morals, ethics, and rules? A universal way of belief, some miracle truth that allowed us to coexist? Would we all act the same? Would we have eternal peace and harmony?
The truth is that society and its rules are lies, fiction that we create because we need order. It lets us believe that there is a plan, that there is meaning, that we have a purpose. It lets us escape the prospect of nothing. It is our way of defending against chaos. Chaos is uncontrolled, unpredictable, and unstable. Our fear of chaos far outstrips our fear of order.
That is why people begrudgingly accept governments that abuse them. They inherently know that the alternative is worse. Even if we choose to overthrow the current government, the end result is always the same: we simply create another government that was different from the former. It feels natural and safe to organize and order our lives. It is how we survive.
The problem is that it does not work.
Humans are not meant to be organized and orderly. We are animals and savages, no matter how much we pretend not to be. Elevating ourselves to be cultured and mannered to set up societies and governments does not eliminate murder, theft, or war. We create order because we do not trust ourselves. We live lives of hypocrisy and delusion that suppress what we were designed for. Humans are too unstable and random to control their emotions and actions. We are designed mentally and physically to be unable to control ourselves based on what happens around us.
If you are able to look past the rules and order, you will be able to find freedom. You are able to follow instincts and do as your humanity and physiology demands. That chaos is the zeal of anarchy that attracts so many people. Problem is, anarchy does not thrive because the people who fear chaos will always outnumber the people who don't.
To be truly free, you have to get over your fear of chaos and embrace its hold on what you cannot control about anything. You must let go of any fear or impulse against what you are. It is to understand that every controlling aspect about yourself does not matter and means nothing. That nothing might mean nothing. You have to able to embrace the human imperfections that go against your will to survive. You have to be able to accept that the price of freedom is the compromise of your safety. You might die.
Fear not death, and you shall be free.
It is a price many of us are unwilling to pay. It is impossible for many of us to simply unlearn all those centuries of ancestral experiences with law and order. After all, if your parents did not follow society and decided to be free and dead, you would never have been born.
It is my firm belief that the happiness we seek, the eternal satisfaction, lies in that deathly freedom. It is the freedom to do anything without rules or consequences, to accomplish your wildest dreams and fantasies without fear. Why else would I suggest an end to society? We shouldn't need society to restrict our search for bliss.
Regardless of whether you agree with me or not, the argument brings up a good question. What is ultimate satisfaction and happiness worth to you? Is it worth your life?
----------------------------------------
This was all a short glance into my misguided and fractured philosophy. Hope I made you think.
I sincerely thank you for taking the time to understand another person's perspective. If I'm lucky, I'll force you to do something I bet you rarely do:
Challenge your beliefs.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
83) A Greater Fear
This was it. It was really it.
Yuri had been dreaming of this moment for so long that it seemed surreal, strangely fitting. He almost forgot to reload his rifle.
Another one of the camouflaged aliens shimmered around the bend of the hallway, trying to get the right angle. The hulk of shimmering translucence edged closer and was about to fire.
Yuri sighted the rifle and squeezed the trigger quickly, a warm satisfaction emerging from the recoil. The alien fell back as its camouflage failed, shimmering into view broken armor and a fountain of grey blood.
The radio crackled inside his helmet. Lieutenant Ander’s voice was raspy and hoarse. “We’re almost at the LZ! Two minutes.”
Yuri glanced at the nuke timer at the lower left hand corner of his visor. It showed three minutes and was ticking down fast.
He scanned the area, saw it was clear, and then backed up from the hallway. He spun on his heel and broke into a full sprint back towards the nuclear bomb.
It would be the longest three minutes of his life.
He thought about the drunken night that had brought him to the recruiting office. The night he had spent with Lieutenant Ander. The day he had graduated from Spec Ops. But most of all, he thought about how he was about to win one last time.
He reached the nest room and sealed the bulkheads behind him.
There it was, majestically half lit by the flickering light bar above. A smooth metal basketball, suspended by two hangers and a fistful of wires. The nuke that would save them all. The nuke that would end this war.
The nuke that would vaporize the entire planet.
Yuri eased himself down next to it, resting his tired body against the hard concrete of the room. He sighed as he took off his helmet and began to caress the casing with his fingertips.
In a cruel twist of fate, Yuri’s worst fear and greatest desire had come true. His eternal death wish, fueled by endless nights of drunken crying and cold bed sheets had finally brought him here to this mission, to this place.
The doors to the room began to dent inward as sounds of forced entry echoed. The timer in his visor read thirty seconds left. His radio crackled with Lieutenant Ander’s voice.
“We’re onboard.” The pops of gunfire were muffled as Yuri heard the drop ship doors close. There was a moment of silence before the lieutenant’s voice choked up. “It’s been an honor.”
Yuri drew his pistol, pointing it toward the door. “Helluva ride, sir.” He had seconds left on the timer.
Static filled the silence of the channel. It smoothed out as the drop ship cleared the atmosphere and escaped into space. The lieutenant spoke again, this time with more volume. “You never…” He could hear the heavy breathing. “…you never answered my question.”
Yuri steadied his hand, the pistol in his palm visibly shaking. “I was never afraid to die for a good purpose.” He fought back the tears. “I was afraid to live without one. Without you.”
“I love you.”
He clicked off the channel as the bulkhead doors fell, a strong slam against the floor that shook his body. Three aliens appeared before him as the dust settled.
Yuri smiled bitterly as a nuclear fury embraced him.
Yuri had been dreaming of this moment for so long that it seemed surreal, strangely fitting. He almost forgot to reload his rifle.
Another one of the camouflaged aliens shimmered around the bend of the hallway, trying to get the right angle. The hulk of shimmering translucence edged closer and was about to fire.
Yuri sighted the rifle and squeezed the trigger quickly, a warm satisfaction emerging from the recoil. The alien fell back as its camouflage failed, shimmering into view broken armor and a fountain of grey blood.
The radio crackled inside his helmet. Lieutenant Ander’s voice was raspy and hoarse. “We’re almost at the LZ! Two minutes.”
Yuri glanced at the nuke timer at the lower left hand corner of his visor. It showed three minutes and was ticking down fast.
He scanned the area, saw it was clear, and then backed up from the hallway. He spun on his heel and broke into a full sprint back towards the nuclear bomb.
It would be the longest three minutes of his life.
He thought about the drunken night that had brought him to the recruiting office. The night he had spent with Lieutenant Ander. The day he had graduated from Spec Ops. But most of all, he thought about how he was about to win one last time.
He reached the nest room and sealed the bulkheads behind him.
There it was, majestically half lit by the flickering light bar above. A smooth metal basketball, suspended by two hangers and a fistful of wires. The nuke that would save them all. The nuke that would end this war.
The nuke that would vaporize the entire planet.
Yuri eased himself down next to it, resting his tired body against the hard concrete of the room. He sighed as he took off his helmet and began to caress the casing with his fingertips.
In a cruel twist of fate, Yuri’s worst fear and greatest desire had come true. His eternal death wish, fueled by endless nights of drunken crying and cold bed sheets had finally brought him here to this mission, to this place.
The doors to the room began to dent inward as sounds of forced entry echoed. The timer in his visor read thirty seconds left. His radio crackled with Lieutenant Ander’s voice.
“We’re onboard.” The pops of gunfire were muffled as Yuri heard the drop ship doors close. There was a moment of silence before the lieutenant’s voice choked up. “It’s been an honor.”
Yuri drew his pistol, pointing it toward the door. “Helluva ride, sir.” He had seconds left on the timer.
Static filled the silence of the channel. It smoothed out as the drop ship cleared the atmosphere and escaped into space. The lieutenant spoke again, this time with more volume. “You never…” He could hear the heavy breathing. “…you never answered my question.”
Yuri steadied his hand, the pistol in his palm visibly shaking. “I was never afraid to die for a good purpose.” He fought back the tears. “I was afraid to live without one. Without you.”
“I love you.”
He clicked off the channel as the bulkhead doors fell, a strong slam against the floor that shook his body. Three aliens appeared before him as the dust settled.
Yuri smiled bitterly as a nuclear fury embraced him.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
81) A Proper Blossom
It was very strange.
Death was being drawn elsewhere, his thoughts clouded and scattered. He was being drawn away from his current task to a place he didn’t recognize, to a time much foreign in stance and circumstance.
Like most other times, he wasn’t sure exactly where he was going, what he was supposed to encounter, nor what he was destined to do when he got there. It never surprised him though. It was a true bore at times, not being able to sense, to feel the destination that would bring no motion to his entity.
But he felt, no, he knew, that this was somehow different. It beckoned to him, nearly begged his attention away. It was very peculiar. It nagged at him as an uncomfortable situation that needed to be settled, explored. It clutched at his being.
He, the shadow, arrived.
Could death remember the past clearly, he would have found this destination to be infinitely familiar. But the past did not matter, and Death perceived the image before him newborn.
The very first thing that satiated his curiosity was the lack of motion. The field before him was frozen, still figures suspended in action and intention. The scene was a picture, with nothing that was immediately distracting, moving. He had to search the picture, find the aura that was drawing his powers of observation away.
Death pondered. Was it the stillness? It couldn’t be. He didn’t perceive time. He could know and feel the place before him, see it with nonexistent eyes, but he didn’t register, couldn’t, the still frames that brought one event to the next. It was a unique caricature that mortals could imagine as the act of passage of time.
The next object apparent in question was not very apparent at all. But Death still knew where to look. The focus of the picture was narrowed as the lens focused on the black hulk that was centered. It was female.
Death yearned to draw closer, but hesitated. He had never felt, never known in his vague memories such temptation, such allure to the soul in question. But then again, what was the harm? He was invincible. Regardless, he decided to look everywhere else first.
They indeed were on a battlefield hung in still air. The mortal soldiers were clamoring around him, toys locked in by a master’s strings. It was a suicide charge, Death had guessed, by the forces emanating from the soul light. If one thing was certain, he had either just left here, or was about to arrive here particularly soon. He could feel his presence scattered and drawn to all the bodies in the picture, torn apart as he were exploding slowly. They demanded his attention, his work.
Death focused back on the female. He couldn’t afford to be drawn away, or he might leave and never come back. His curiosity had not yet been satiated satisfactorily.
He drew closer, the hesitation disappearing. It was not fear that grew as he came to touch the female, but a stranger, much stranger force he felt compelled to confront.
The armor adorning was cracked, blood spilling in many directions outward. It was a familiar hue, a color that Death had forgotten the name of. His entity twisted strangely as he struggled to make sense of the feel.
Red. It was called Red.
The plates of the armor were next, segmented plates of shiny ceramic that gleamed an opaque luster. They were black, a color he was no stranger to. Death found comfort in that familiarity, and wisely staged a moment to appreciate it. He paused and collected himself, feeling the scattered pieces of his consciousness pulling together. He delighted in understanding that the armor was meant to evoke attention rather than protect the wearer.
He reached out, a shadow that had no physical presence, glazing the armor. It felt like nothing to Death, for he could not feel. It was the act of touching itself that had any meaning to anything in the scene. It felt, but did not feel, right.
He saw the white, was about to act surprised, but realized shock was not part of his being. His consciousness was deciding to mock emotion. Strange indeed.
It was a blossom, a white blossom that decorated the armor. A mere symbol on the thigh armor plate of the female. It was adorned with a speck of the red substance of blood, spilling down away from the source of the rupture from the chest of the female.
That touch not granted to death smeared the blood lower, feeling in some awkward sense that this was the right and proper thing to do. The white pure blossom turned slowly pink. It was with some sense of misunderstood intervention that this was now a proper blossom.
Death was palpable. He did not remember and struggled to, a time and place with which this intensity had been felt before. He failed to find solace in the ailing memory that could not fail and was not really there. This was a foreign masterpiece with which he had not known before.
But it was when he looked up that he was done.
The eyes. It was the eyes that bled through the cracked visor. The eyes of the female shone out to him, lights searching in the dark for a host, a justification of existence. They were fixed in a stance that few could see, and even fewer would understand.
And of all things, death understood.
These globes, those eyes were what had called him here. They had sought in the stillness, begged for his existence.
In the final struggles of this female, she had wanted to die.
Death felt the satisfaction slowly creep over him. Again, it was the mockery of emotion that somehow appealed to him. In this existence that he had now occupied, this was the first time he had felt belonging. He was not only felt by the fate of the scenario, he was wanted.
But he wanted her.
The exalted breath that never came moved Death to action. He was quickly losing his perplexed grip on the situation laid out.
His shadow washed over the female, clutches of unknown force that electrified, venerated and liberated the trapped life within. It surrendered to him easily, slipping out in elegant and beautiful waves.
In that moment that did not exist relative, Death felt complete.
He turned, the scene no longer demanding his presence. The allure, too, he no longer felt. He glazed over the lifeless form one last time. Something nagged at him, a directive that beckoned to remember. He held on, fought desperately not to forget what had just transpired. But it was slipping.
With a thought of the mind, Death vanished from the scene.
He had gone back to work.
Death was being drawn elsewhere, his thoughts clouded and scattered. He was being drawn away from his current task to a place he didn’t recognize, to a time much foreign in stance and circumstance.
Like most other times, he wasn’t sure exactly where he was going, what he was supposed to encounter, nor what he was destined to do when he got there. It never surprised him though. It was a true bore at times, not being able to sense, to feel the destination that would bring no motion to his entity.
But he felt, no, he knew, that this was somehow different. It beckoned to him, nearly begged his attention away. It was very peculiar. It nagged at him as an uncomfortable situation that needed to be settled, explored. It clutched at his being.
He, the shadow, arrived.
Could death remember the past clearly, he would have found this destination to be infinitely familiar. But the past did not matter, and Death perceived the image before him newborn.
The very first thing that satiated his curiosity was the lack of motion. The field before him was frozen, still figures suspended in action and intention. The scene was a picture, with nothing that was immediately distracting, moving. He had to search the picture, find the aura that was drawing his powers of observation away.
Death pondered. Was it the stillness? It couldn’t be. He didn’t perceive time. He could know and feel the place before him, see it with nonexistent eyes, but he didn’t register, couldn’t, the still frames that brought one event to the next. It was a unique caricature that mortals could imagine as the act of passage of time.
The next object apparent in question was not very apparent at all. But Death still knew where to look. The focus of the picture was narrowed as the lens focused on the black hulk that was centered. It was female.
Death yearned to draw closer, but hesitated. He had never felt, never known in his vague memories such temptation, such allure to the soul in question. But then again, what was the harm? He was invincible. Regardless, he decided to look everywhere else first.
They indeed were on a battlefield hung in still air. The mortal soldiers were clamoring around him, toys locked in by a master’s strings. It was a suicide charge, Death had guessed, by the forces emanating from the soul light. If one thing was certain, he had either just left here, or was about to arrive here particularly soon. He could feel his presence scattered and drawn to all the bodies in the picture, torn apart as he were exploding slowly. They demanded his attention, his work.
Death focused back on the female. He couldn’t afford to be drawn away, or he might leave and never come back. His curiosity had not yet been satiated satisfactorily.
He drew closer, the hesitation disappearing. It was not fear that grew as he came to touch the female, but a stranger, much stranger force he felt compelled to confront.
The armor adorning was cracked, blood spilling in many directions outward. It was a familiar hue, a color that Death had forgotten the name of. His entity twisted strangely as he struggled to make sense of the feel.
Red. It was called Red.
The plates of the armor were next, segmented plates of shiny ceramic that gleamed an opaque luster. They were black, a color he was no stranger to. Death found comfort in that familiarity, and wisely staged a moment to appreciate it. He paused and collected himself, feeling the scattered pieces of his consciousness pulling together. He delighted in understanding that the armor was meant to evoke attention rather than protect the wearer.
He reached out, a shadow that had no physical presence, glazing the armor. It felt like nothing to Death, for he could not feel. It was the act of touching itself that had any meaning to anything in the scene. It felt, but did not feel, right.
He saw the white, was about to act surprised, but realized shock was not part of his being. His consciousness was deciding to mock emotion. Strange indeed.
It was a blossom, a white blossom that decorated the armor. A mere symbol on the thigh armor plate of the female. It was adorned with a speck of the red substance of blood, spilling down away from the source of the rupture from the chest of the female.
That touch not granted to death smeared the blood lower, feeling in some awkward sense that this was the right and proper thing to do. The white pure blossom turned slowly pink. It was with some sense of misunderstood intervention that this was now a proper blossom.
Death was palpable. He did not remember and struggled to, a time and place with which this intensity had been felt before. He failed to find solace in the ailing memory that could not fail and was not really there. This was a foreign masterpiece with which he had not known before.
But it was when he looked up that he was done.
The eyes. It was the eyes that bled through the cracked visor. The eyes of the female shone out to him, lights searching in the dark for a host, a justification of existence. They were fixed in a stance that few could see, and even fewer would understand.
And of all things, death understood.
These globes, those eyes were what had called him here. They had sought in the stillness, begged for his existence.
In the final struggles of this female, she had wanted to die.
Death felt the satisfaction slowly creep over him. Again, it was the mockery of emotion that somehow appealed to him. In this existence that he had now occupied, this was the first time he had felt belonging. He was not only felt by the fate of the scenario, he was wanted.
But he wanted her.
The exalted breath that never came moved Death to action. He was quickly losing his perplexed grip on the situation laid out.
His shadow washed over the female, clutches of unknown force that electrified, venerated and liberated the trapped life within. It surrendered to him easily, slipping out in elegant and beautiful waves.
In that moment that did not exist relative, Death felt complete.
He turned, the scene no longer demanding his presence. The allure, too, he no longer felt. He glazed over the lifeless form one last time. Something nagged at him, a directive that beckoned to remember. He held on, fought desperately not to forget what had just transpired. But it was slipping.
With a thought of the mind, Death vanished from the scene.
He had gone back to work.
Monday, May 30, 2011
80) The Impossible Life of Lady Liberty
With end of the year finals approaching and college issues to sift through, I haven't had time lately to do much of anything I'd enjoy. Alas, much of my free time consists of sleeping and video games anyway.
But as Memorial day dawns upon us once more, we recognize the sacrifices and the hardships that American men and women overseas have endured to ensure our continued freedoms and liberties. We do not forget all they have given to help keep alive the country that is the United States.
In the midst of our war, the war that has been the keen cause of all our problems, I've seen a broad spectrum of ideas and actions that define what battle and warfare really means. I've seen the people who are eager to fight, the peaceful protestors that have lined the streets, and the normal worker who couldn't care less.
I've always believed in the firm idea that the hardest part of a battle is not being out on the front lines, but being in the waiting room back home. The hardest part of a war is the mothers worrying about their husbands, the young teens who worry about their big brothers, all wishing for a safe return for their loved ones.
I don't personally know anyone in the war, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about the thousands of soldiers over there, facing a hostility of bullets and rockets that barely conforms to reason and sense.
With my military mind, some would call me a young patriotic that doesn't know any better. They wouldn't be completely wrong. I have no qualms about joining the military, war or not. The puzzling part of it, the piece that you're going to love, is this:
I hate the military. I hate war with an almost insane passion.
I firmly believe the only reason a country should have a military is for self defense. Many militaries around the world serve this purpose, the most notable example being Japan. However, this in itself was forced, a legacy of defeat following an American victory in World War 2.
The Japanese Self Defense Force is the American equivalent of the national guard. It's a defense army, the only army that exists for the nation island of Japan. They've got a handful of air fighters and a sparse number of soldiers to prepare for the invasion that might never come. With North Korea showing signs of overeager hostility, the JSDF is becoming more important these days.
But you see, in Japan, it's almost a mark of shame to join the military. The JSDF is restricted from international warfare, making them a pretty inactive and dull organization. Their real purpose is really just to stand guard in the watchtower. If an invasion actually occurred, Japan's allies would most likely bear the brunt of the work, helping to repel the invaders and clean up the mess.
Which is why most Japanese turn to the JSDF as a last choice. There's no honor or glory to be gained. The pay and the regular meals are pretty much the only incentive to join. Not to mention supporting an organization that was built around obeying the bigger world powers.
Or, from America's perspective:
Yes, you guessed it, the JSDF is an American legacy of war. It's how the United States decided to handle the Japanese 'situation'. It was a way for Washington D.C. to keep tabs on Asia and the spread of communism. It was a way to deter those who would dare fight against Uncle Sam.
But, what I find most interesting, and what I believe most anti-war Americans would love imposed on the U.S. military, is one of Japan's basic policies concerning national defense:
The United States? Not so much.
Here in the U.S., you're shunned for not taking a violent stance, whether it be for or against a war. Ironic, no? Here we emphasize that individuality and debate, the spirit of unity, and the fairness of politics, is the right way to approach domestic and international problems.
Not a problem, except for the fact that it's caused a couple dozen wars, the most recent collapsing the American economy, and in turn, the international economy. Not to mention a discontent population reduced to focusing on the wrong things, all the while waiting for a Deux Ex Machina that will never come.
On top of all that, I have to worry about paying for college and finding a job that probably won't be there in a couple of months. If all else fails, my backup plan is to join the U.S. military, thus advocating the agenda of a superpower I don't believe in.
If you ask the United States, I'm sure they'd tell you we're all for world peace, and then point you toward the nearest military quagmire. But then again, we don't all do as we say, right?
So congratulations, U.S of A, for instilling on me a hopeless and bleak future. But if you ever need more victims for the next war, be sure to call me. I know my college degree will be worth less everyday.
This is really important to me, because I've thought about it in terms of my life. Even though it shouldn't be a shock to me, I've reached their age. The soldiers over there fighting in the Middle East could not have been older than me when the war started and they signed up to go overseas. We're that same age now. They had just barely finished high school when they decided to delay college and go out to fight.
They were my age when they took a bullet to the head and died.
Ten years have passed and now here I am, in their position. That's how long the war has been going on. I've grown up with it. I'm so sick of hearing about, so sick of it shaping my life and warping my plans for the future. I'm sick of it not ending, and being completely helpless to it's whims.
Well, not completely helpless. I could always sign up and help the war end faster. It would help make me die earlier, which at this point, seems to be more productive than getting a college degree just so that I can go bankrupt over student loans and starve to death on the streets.
For you older readers out there, be thankful that this decade of war is just another footnote in your lives.
For younger people like me, we can't ever forget the negative impressions of the war that has taken so much of our hope and happiness. It is an integral part of our lives that we can't forget, shaping the people we will be.
It's a war that has decided the new economy, the chances of us getting a job, the chances of us pursing our dreams. A war that has forced us to give up our thinking for guns. Forced some of us to be killed.
If you're an adult, you should know better than to advocate and imprint war on the young. We fight because you fight.
But, if you're a young adult like me, I only have one thing to say:
Godspeed. I'll see you on the other side.
But as Memorial day dawns upon us once more, we recognize the sacrifices and the hardships that American men and women overseas have endured to ensure our continued freedoms and liberties. We do not forget all they have given to help keep alive the country that is the United States.
In the midst of our war, the war that has been the keen cause of all our problems, I've seen a broad spectrum of ideas and actions that define what battle and warfare really means. I've seen the people who are eager to fight, the peaceful protestors that have lined the streets, and the normal worker who couldn't care less.
I've always believed in the firm idea that the hardest part of a battle is not being out on the front lines, but being in the waiting room back home. The hardest part of a war is the mothers worrying about their husbands, the young teens who worry about their big brothers, all wishing for a safe return for their loved ones.
I don't personally know anyone in the war, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about the thousands of soldiers over there, facing a hostility of bullets and rockets that barely conforms to reason and sense.
With my military mind, some would call me a young patriotic that doesn't know any better. They wouldn't be completely wrong. I have no qualms about joining the military, war or not. The puzzling part of it, the piece that you're going to love, is this:
I hate the military. I hate war with an almost insane passion.
I firmly believe the only reason a country should have a military is for self defense. Many militaries around the world serve this purpose, the most notable example being Japan. However, this in itself was forced, a legacy of defeat following an American victory in World War 2.
The Japanese Self Defense Force is the American equivalent of the national guard. It's a defense army, the only army that exists for the nation island of Japan. They've got a handful of air fighters and a sparse number of soldiers to prepare for the invasion that might never come. With North Korea showing signs of overeager hostility, the JSDF is becoming more important these days.
But you see, in Japan, it's almost a mark of shame to join the military. The JSDF is restricted from international warfare, making them a pretty inactive and dull organization. Their real purpose is really just to stand guard in the watchtower. If an invasion actually occurred, Japan's allies would most likely bear the brunt of the work, helping to repel the invaders and clean up the mess.
Which is why most Japanese turn to the JSDF as a last choice. There's no honor or glory to be gained. The pay and the regular meals are pretty much the only incentive to join. Not to mention supporting an organization that was built around obeying the bigger world powers.
Or, from America's perspective:
Yes, you guessed it, the JSDF is an American legacy of war. It's how the United States decided to handle the Japanese 'situation'. It was a way for Washington D.C. to keep tabs on Asia and the spread of communism. It was a way to deter those who would dare fight against Uncle Sam.
But, what I find most interesting, and what I believe most anti-war Americans would love imposed on the U.S. military, is one of Japan's basic policies concerning national defense:
2. To avoid becoming a major military power that might pose a threat to the world.And look at Japan nowadays. One of the greatest powers after the the Cold War, with an economy and workforce that emphasizes honor and efficiency. They haven't instigated a war in the past seventy years and have done just fine.
The United States? Not so much.
Here in the U.S., you're shunned for not taking a violent stance, whether it be for or against a war. Ironic, no? Here we emphasize that individuality and debate, the spirit of unity, and the fairness of politics, is the right way to approach domestic and international problems.
Not a problem, except for the fact that it's caused a couple dozen wars, the most recent collapsing the American economy, and in turn, the international economy. Not to mention a discontent population reduced to focusing on the wrong things, all the while waiting for a Deux Ex Machina that will never come.
On top of all that, I have to worry about paying for college and finding a job that probably won't be there in a couple of months. If all else fails, my backup plan is to join the U.S. military, thus advocating the agenda of a superpower I don't believe in.
If you ask the United States, I'm sure they'd tell you we're all for world peace, and then point you toward the nearest military quagmire. But then again, we don't all do as we say, right?
So congratulations, U.S of A, for instilling on me a hopeless and bleak future. But if you ever need more victims for the next war, be sure to call me. I know my college degree will be worth less everyday.
This is really important to me, because I've thought about it in terms of my life. Even though it shouldn't be a shock to me, I've reached their age. The soldiers over there fighting in the Middle East could not have been older than me when the war started and they signed up to go overseas. We're that same age now. They had just barely finished high school when they decided to delay college and go out to fight.
They were my age when they took a bullet to the head and died.
Ten years have passed and now here I am, in their position. That's how long the war has been going on. I've grown up with it. I'm so sick of hearing about, so sick of it shaping my life and warping my plans for the future. I'm sick of it not ending, and being completely helpless to it's whims.
Well, not completely helpless. I could always sign up and help the war end faster. It would help make me die earlier, which at this point, seems to be more productive than getting a college degree just so that I can go bankrupt over student loans and starve to death on the streets.
For you older readers out there, be thankful that this decade of war is just another footnote in your lives.
For younger people like me, we can't ever forget the negative impressions of the war that has taken so much of our hope and happiness. It is an integral part of our lives that we can't forget, shaping the people we will be.
It's a war that has decided the new economy, the chances of us getting a job, the chances of us pursing our dreams. A war that has forced us to give up our thinking for guns. Forced some of us to be killed.
If you're an adult, you should know better than to advocate and imprint war on the young. We fight because you fight.
But, if you're a young adult like me, I only have one thing to say:
Godspeed. I'll see you on the other side.
Friday, April 15, 2011
78) Kilroy Was Here
I've always been a military mind, and people around me never cease to bring up how much I actually scare them. With a "unique" mind like mine, I don't imagine "normal" people know the name of Hitler's plan to invade Russia, how far your heart can pump blood out of an open neck artery, or the strength of the most dangerous nuclear weapon ever built.
In case you're curious, highlight the answers: 1) Operation Barbarossa, 2) 30 feet 3) Tsar Bomba, 10-30-1961, ~50 Megatons TNT. Explosion produced 1.4% output of the sun and shattered windows 560 miles away.
But in the end, it all comes back to my morbid fascination with death. Such a powerful force that seems truly inevitable and infinitely unquenchable. It is the one thing every person in this world knows, regardless of faith, color, and creed.
Perhaps more interesting is the intricacies that lace a military that deals such death in a glorified manner. Every country, every state, has some sort of armed force, if only for the sole purpose of defense. Some countries, like Japan, operate by such a doctrine, constrained by an inherited legacy. Others, like the United States, have no shortage of patriots being led to any battle, anywhere, anytime.
But it's the little things away from the battlefield that interest me. More specifically, what war forces people to because of the circumstances in front of them. Atomic weapons, flameless ration heaters, or military theory grabs my attention because it requires the greatest discipline and innovation humankind has ever produced.
And then there is the camaraderie, whimsical intrigue of inside jokes, national pride, and everything else in between. I'm sure Kilroy would agree:
Kilroy, in his natural habitat.
And then there is the soldier. Hollywood knows the lowly grunt all too well, along with his more popular relative, the crew-cut cigar smoking general.
It's all representative of a much more savage truth, the one we lie to ourselves about, because it's such an contradiction that everyone is ashamed of.
We kill in battle for "peace". And that cycle can never be broken.
And that truth drives militaries to prosper, backed by the many politicians who have never been shot at, egged on by the masses who are too naturally xenophobic.
We train the young to continue the cycle. We break them down to nothing and build them back up into something that they should be repulsed at. But humans are malleable, and they know how to bypass ethics in the name of peer pressure.
The U.S. and its increasingly violent tendencies follow a spiral of sustained operant conditioning. In Colonel David Grossman's On Killing, he puts it bluntly, even on the back cover of the book:
With all the things a regular soldier represents, I again found it interesting how far we've gone.
So imagine my curiosity when I come across this article:
Let's not be afraid to be ashamed about death. What we need is an open discussion, an acceptance of what is final to help us appreciate our very temporary lives. It might not end war, but hell, it's a much better alternative than giving into the law of temptations. That's when the real killing starts.
Or maybe it's completely the other way around. We know too much about death. Our constant wars and desensitization to violence on television and in the movies has forced us to delve deeper into ourselves. It's a desperate attempt to find feeling and meaning using the extreme ends of pain and suffering.
As for me, I can say that understanding death reaffirms something I've been saying for years:
You can't be blamed for wanting to know about what's natural. It is one of those subjects that is annoying and difficult to explain. It makes people uncomfortable in front of others, where I don't think it should be. It carries such a stigma of negative connotation.
When I'm older, maybe I'll have less of a skewed view about death and fear it for potentially taking away the things I care about.
But when teenagers start talking openly about dying, I'm not sure it's something we should be proud about. The American indoctrination schedule is right on time.
So, let's go back to where we started:
I'm a military mind. I'm a deathly mind.
Should I be proud of that?
What about the human war mind? Our death wishes?
Should you be proud of that?
In case you're curious, highlight the answers: 1) Operation Barbarossa, 2) 30 feet 3) Tsar Bomba, 10-30-1961, ~50 Megatons TNT. Explosion produced 1.4% output of the sun and shattered windows 560 miles away.
But in the end, it all comes back to my morbid fascination with death. Such a powerful force that seems truly inevitable and infinitely unquenchable. It is the one thing every person in this world knows, regardless of faith, color, and creed.
Perhaps more interesting is the intricacies that lace a military that deals such death in a glorified manner. Every country, every state, has some sort of armed force, if only for the sole purpose of defense. Some countries, like Japan, operate by such a doctrine, constrained by an inherited legacy. Others, like the United States, have no shortage of patriots being led to any battle, anywhere, anytime.
But it's the little things away from the battlefield that interest me. More specifically, what war forces people to because of the circumstances in front of them. Atomic weapons, flameless ration heaters, or military theory grabs my attention because it requires the greatest discipline and innovation humankind has ever produced.
And then there is the camaraderie, whimsical intrigue of inside jokes, national pride, and everything else in between. I'm sure Kilroy would agree:
Kilroy, in his natural habitat.And then there is the soldier. Hollywood knows the lowly grunt all too well, along with his more popular relative, the crew-cut cigar smoking general.
It's all representative of a much more savage truth, the one we lie to ourselves about, because it's such an contradiction that everyone is ashamed of.
We kill in battle for "peace". And that cycle can never be broken.
And that truth drives militaries to prosper, backed by the many politicians who have never been shot at, egged on by the masses who are too naturally xenophobic.
We train the young to continue the cycle. We break them down to nothing and build them back up into something that they should be repulsed at. But humans are malleable, and they know how to bypass ethics in the name of peer pressure.
The U.S. and its increasingly violent tendencies follow a spiral of sustained operant conditioning. In Colonel David Grossman's On Killing, he puts it bluntly, even on the back cover of the book:
In World War II, only 15 to 20 percent of combat infantry were willing to fire their rifles. In Korea, about 50 percent. In Vietnam, the figure rose to more than 90 percent.And what I find most amusing is the little things we do to try and cover up our ethical indecencies. As evidenced by General George S. Patton in World War 2, you can march them off a cliff, order them into suicide charges, but for some reason, you can't slap them.
With all the things a regular soldier represents, I again found it interesting how far we've gone.
So imagine my curiosity when I come across this article:
Photos show US soldiers in Afghanistan posing with dead civilians
'Trophy' pictures show US soldiers posing with corpses of Afghan civilians they are accused of killing for sport
The face of Jeremy Morlock, a young US soldier, grins at the camera, his hand holding up the head of the dead and bloodied youth he and his colleagues have just killed in an act military prosecutors say was premeditated murder.
Moments before the picture was taken in January last year, the unsuspecting victim had been waved over by a group of US soldiers who had driven to his village in Kandahar province in one of their armoured Stryker tanks...The pictures include a similar photograph of a different soldier posing with the same victim and a photograph of two other civilians killed by the unit.
I've always thought that there was a limit to human depravity before people simply went insane. Then again, we as humans are not considered insane when we go to war for almost anything, even over dead pigs.
I'm far beyond being convinced that the primal urge to kill is in the human genome. But sometimes I am skeptical. Are we raised to kill, or are we just simply born with it? What is it that draws us to death?
Is it the aesthetic beauty in playing chess with death? The adrenaline in grazing the inevitable constant of the universe?
Is it the desperate need to know about the one thing that unites us all in the beginning and the end?
To understand our deathly addictions, let me introduce Exhibit A, Francis Ford Coppola's classic film Apocalypse Now, where we are treated to a surreal journey into a Vietnam warscape that few see, and even fewer understand.
I remember when I was with Special Forces. Seems a thousand centuries ago. We went into a camp to inoculate the children. We left the camp after we had inoculated the children for Polio, and this old man came running after us, and he was crying. He couldn't see. We went back there, and they had come and hacked off every inoculated arm. There they were in a pile. A pile of little arms. And I remember … I … I … I cried. I wept like some grandmother. I wanted to tear my teeth out. I didn't know what I wanted to do. And I want to remember it. I never want to forget it. I never want to forget.My judgment? I'll reserve it. I won't judge those poor soldiers and whatever forced them to pose with dead bodies.
And then I realized … like I was shot … like I was shot with a diamond … a diamond bullet right through my forehead. And I thought: My God … the genius of that. The genius. The will to do that. Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. And then I realized they were stronger than we. Because they could stand that these were not monsters. These were men … trained cadres. These men who fought with their hearts, who had families, who had children, who were filled with love … but they had the strength … the strength … to do that. If I had ten divisions of those men, then our troubles here would be over very quickly.
You have to have men who are moral … and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling … without passion … without judgment … without judgment. Because it's judgment that defeats us.
Let's not be afraid to be ashamed about death. What we need is an open discussion, an acceptance of what is final to help us appreciate our very temporary lives. It might not end war, but hell, it's a much better alternative than giving into the law of temptations. That's when the real killing starts.
Or maybe it's completely the other way around. We know too much about death. Our constant wars and desensitization to violence on television and in the movies has forced us to delve deeper into ourselves. It's a desperate attempt to find feeling and meaning using the extreme ends of pain and suffering.
As for me, I can say that understanding death reaffirms something I've been saying for years:
You're not ready to live if you're not ready to die.My own obsession with the end isn't a excuse for what I really think death is. I know many classmates who have that gleam in their eye, that cautious glare of transient curiosity when I openly talk about death and how it relates to almost anything.
You can't be blamed for wanting to know about what's natural. It is one of those subjects that is annoying and difficult to explain. It makes people uncomfortable in front of others, where I don't think it should be. It carries such a stigma of negative connotation.
When I'm older, maybe I'll have less of a skewed view about death and fear it for potentially taking away the things I care about.
But when teenagers start talking openly about dying, I'm not sure it's something we should be proud about. The American indoctrination schedule is right on time.
So, let's go back to where we started:
I'm a military mind. I'm a deathly mind.
Should I be proud of that?
What about the human war mind? Our death wishes?
Should you be proud of that?
Monday, November 15, 2010
67) For The Fallen
A few years ago, when I was in a Current Life class, our teacher grazed over the topic of suicide and depression. She asked those who thought suicide was wrong to stand on one side of the room, and everyone else to stand on the other side. After a quiet moment of shuffling, it was clear that I was the only person on the shunned shore. Of course, they asked me why. I asked them: “If suicide is so wrong, why does it happen so often every day?”
It was the revelation of how humanity is a paradoxically fickle thing. We see small aspects of the things that make us proud of who we are: love, compassion, kindness, etc. On the other end of the spectrum, we are capable of horrific things: war, savagery, fury. It is the darker side that makes us cringe in shame, reflect on how we are, of the things we’ve done, the things we regret.
And for those of us who simply don’t want to be part of this world, we are ridiculed for our obsession with death. We are told that it is a moral sin, that suicide is an unworthy liberation of our lives. That we are cowards to our futures, our souls and our faiths.
We don’t open up. We are convinced that no one can understand the pain, the anger, the crushing weight of loneliness. But in a way, we know that others have felt like this. Some have moved on, while others have perished. It doesn’t matter what their circumstances were, even though we seem convinced that there is no way out. We know that others couldn’t last a day in our shoes.
No, no one told us it would be easy. But no one sure as hell told us it would be this hard.
No, it isn’t fair. We are envious of other people for a multitude of reasons. We wish we had their happiness, their love, their outlook on life. We know that some will smile every single day they live, while others won’t ever go to sleep without shedding a tear.
It is humanity. It is cruel, it is unfair, and sometimes, if you wait for it, could possibly deliver you the best day of your life. So I don’t see why we shun suicide as such a bad thing. If someone were in such brutal pain, do they not deserve a right to end it all? Many of us go through our entire lives searching for a kind of peace. It is a peace that some of us will ever seldom find. Do the suffering not also deserve to find this peace?
Yes, perhaps I am delusional. Perhaps my words are the false echoes of lies we have come to know for ourselves. You are perfectly capable of deciding what is right. Truth is relative.
But you, my friend, you and I both share a common end. Death. We will both perish one day, sucked into the abyss that has claimed so many others. We will wither into dust, remembered as faint memories held dear by those who still care to know our lives and our legacies.
But we cannot live if we do not know how to die. We must be ready to accept that fate, destiny, our time can end it all in less than a heartbeat. It doesn’t matter if you hold responsibilities, or any other position of interest that demands your Earthly presence. Death won’t care. Your name will fade away eventually, even if it is remembered for several centuries. We are not meant to clash with the invincibility of infinity.
So why must we continue to deny those who wish to see the end their right to die?
Because it is human nature. For those who cannot see the light, we know there is one simple fact.
As long as there is light, there will be shadow.
…Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears
Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;
Soon, racked by hopes and fears,
The all-pondering, all-contriving head,
Weary with all things, wearies of the years;
And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;
And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.
- “Death, To The Dead For Evermore”, Robert Louis Stevenson
It was the revelation of how humanity is a paradoxically fickle thing. We see small aspects of the things that make us proud of who we are: love, compassion, kindness, etc. On the other end of the spectrum, we are capable of horrific things: war, savagery, fury. It is the darker side that makes us cringe in shame, reflect on how we are, of the things we’ve done, the things we regret.
And for those of us who simply don’t want to be part of this world, we are ridiculed for our obsession with death. We are told that it is a moral sin, that suicide is an unworthy liberation of our lives. That we are cowards to our futures, our souls and our faiths.
We don’t open up. We are convinced that no one can understand the pain, the anger, the crushing weight of loneliness. But in a way, we know that others have felt like this. Some have moved on, while others have perished. It doesn’t matter what their circumstances were, even though we seem convinced that there is no way out. We know that others couldn’t last a day in our shoes.
No, no one told us it would be easy. But no one sure as hell told us it would be this hard.
No, it isn’t fair. We are envious of other people for a multitude of reasons. We wish we had their happiness, their love, their outlook on life. We know that some will smile every single day they live, while others won’t ever go to sleep without shedding a tear.
It is humanity. It is cruel, it is unfair, and sometimes, if you wait for it, could possibly deliver you the best day of your life. So I don’t see why we shun suicide as such a bad thing. If someone were in such brutal pain, do they not deserve a right to end it all? Many of us go through our entire lives searching for a kind of peace. It is a peace that some of us will ever seldom find. Do the suffering not also deserve to find this peace?
Yes, perhaps I am delusional. Perhaps my words are the false echoes of lies we have come to know for ourselves. You are perfectly capable of deciding what is right. Truth is relative.
But you, my friend, you and I both share a common end. Death. We will both perish one day, sucked into the abyss that has claimed so many others. We will wither into dust, remembered as faint memories held dear by those who still care to know our lives and our legacies.
But we cannot live if we do not know how to die. We must be ready to accept that fate, destiny, our time can end it all in less than a heartbeat. It doesn’t matter if you hold responsibilities, or any other position of interest that demands your Earthly presence. Death won’t care. Your name will fade away eventually, even if it is remembered for several centuries. We are not meant to clash with the invincibility of infinity.
So why must we continue to deny those who wish to see the end their right to die?
Because it is human nature. For those who cannot see the light, we know there is one simple fact.
As long as there is light, there will be shadow.
…Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears
Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;
Soon, racked by hopes and fears,
The all-pondering, all-contriving head,
Weary with all things, wearies of the years;
And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;
And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.
- “Death, To The Dead For Evermore”, Robert Louis Stevenson
Monday, May 10, 2010
38) Growing Up
Adolescence is a time for every person to decide who they are in relation to the world. It is when a person decides and acts on their impulse to become a productive(or unproductive) part of society according to the status quo.And who doesn't think they can change the world at the ripe age of eighteen? Some go on to become successful in their mission, fulfilling their lifelong dreams. It is the majority that is swept up in the throngs of everyday life. After all, nobody can expect who they actually become to be.
So my hypothetical stands for the people who don't want to part of this society, the ones that see human civilization has no intrinsic value to success. Whatever are those people are to do?
I don't claim to know anything, or even a lot. I'm convinced that no one I've ever seen or heard of can ever truly understand what it means to know everything, to become the richest, the most successful, the most popular, etc. There's just too many contradictions and morals involved.
But of the very few things I know, I can testify that the world is not a perfect place, and that my little contributions to the grand scheme of things don't matter. So why should I continue to exist? Is it for some higher purpose I have yet to discover?
It is this kind of soul searching that never stabilizes my mind. Everything I've ever known has always been betrayed by the one common enemy. Purpose. Even purpose's purpose is questionable.
I don't think anybody has a satisfactory answer as to the purpose of everything. I'd be quite shocked if they do.
But what I can't grasp is how I'm able to live, how others have been able to exist for so long without any care for their own purpose. It shocks me to see that I have to conform to the human civilization that has made its own system of survival based on endlessly questionable methodology.
By this I mean that one group of people lives based on indulgence. The first person to rebel gets thrown out of the group. If, hypothetically, this were the only group, that one person would legally be able to "cease to exist" in the relative frame of an outside observer.
That's what keeps me up at night. I want to become that lone person outside the system that can live without the group in peace and happiness. Maybe I already do and I don't know it.
That's what disturbs me. That there is only entropy and no order. That there are only more upon more unanswered questions. It's quite overwhelming if you actually stop to think about it. How is a person to live with such ambiguity? It baffles me.
I search for the impossible things that I can never hope to find, live the life that I know has no value or meaning to me, to reach toward a goal, destiny, or fate that I do not care for or want. How can a person live like this? Perhaps its just that simple: they can't.
So if that's the ultimate truth, I can justify my absolute praise and welcoming of death. What a shame that I can never understand what causes people to exist or perish at that hands of a higher concept.
Must be the absurdist in me.
Monday, March 15, 2010
28) Adolescence Ultimatum
With the start of my new podcast and audio logs, it's hit me that my writer's block may be over. As I and others so crudely describe it: A solider that battles in a hopeless battle against all odds. He has what it takes to win, but that victory will achieve nothing. The only winning move is not to play, but not playing means death.In the end, curbing my creativity and tapping into it is an untimely chore that will still be scrutinized and graded. I can't avoid the simple fact that my classes force me to become a dictator against my own thoughts.
And then the education system demands that it must be graded. So how do you grade creativity?
But I bring this up because of the origins. Every person has a source that brings them unnecessary hardship and pain. This source can be a person, object, or a metaphysical thing. Most often, you have no control over it.
And so today I realized that there are too many sources in my life. It defies accurate explanation. And like the soldier that I am, combating these sources is another endeavor of hope entirely.
I keep trying to tell myself this is another adolescence phase, but from what I've been able to gather, the phase does not include self loathing, depression, daily crying, and mental breakdowns. Adolescence, as it was, does not exist. Just another fancy term for growing up. So I wonder how many of my classmates experience this.
I would say a lot more, but the evidence is difficult to find, and much more for curiosity rather than practical analyzation. The people I know all experience it, even though they never talk about it. The signs are in the conversation topics, the flared angers, the cold stares.Every time I see that stare of blank indifference I know that I am not the only one.
When I realized that, I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I stopped caring about my life. And most of all, I eliminated the definition of hope from my life.
So where does this all come from? The rigorous testing? The chemical imbalances in our diet? The competition of the American school system?
I genuinely care for all those other people out there that know this unbearable pain. Their cries for salvation and liberation are not in vain. I know they exist, and I am more than willing to listen to what they have to say.
I know so many people that would turn to death to alleviate the pain. I am no stranger to these thoughts.
So I pose that ultimate question. How did the adults of today get over this? Did they ever experience this at all?
I think it's a taboo that no one talks about. Being a high school student isn't easy. Knowing pain daily is.
I know it exists. I know how to find it. I know how to see it. So I wait for when somebody changes it.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
4) morituri te salutamus
We give death a personification, an image, a perception of what to fear as inevitable. It happens every second, but everyone tries to dodge the subject. There is the American society that stays away from death, but at the same time, has a weird and complex obsession for it.There hasn't been one Hollywood action movie where the protagonist does not have a brush with death, or is involved in the act themselves. Countess fiction and non fiction devote themselves entirely to the subject. You can find it anywhere and everywhere. You just have to look for it.
Episodes of the popular television show Family Guy depict Death as a laid back character who fumbles with his job. In the episode "Death is a Bitch", there is a scene where one of the main characters, Peter has dialogue with Lois, his wife, and Stewie, his infant son:
Peter: Look. Here they are. My family. Guys, I don't say this often enough, but I'm gonna die!
Lois: Oh my god.
Stewie: High five! Anyone? Anyone?
Of course you could argue that this is purely fictional and for laughs, but what I'm trying to emphasize is that death causes a paradoxical response. We can laugh and make jokes from it, then find out that your cat Whiskers died, leaving you in tears. We've come so far in humanity as to render Death a subconsciously strong symbol of something we understand all too well. Just google death and war and you will see dead bodies, weapons, and destruction of past and present wars.
Is it ethically wrong to be so close to it? We could say it causes extreme behavior in people. Then again there are extremes that people go to to depict it (WARNING:GRAPHIC):
Then there is the glorious side of it calling. The ancient samurai practiced a strict code of honor unto death, as do the modern day Klingons of Star Trek. We find this fascinating and might even imagine ourselves in it. When we understand they survived through death, we can imagine ourselves in their position. Here's an excerpt from Eric Nylund's The Fall Of Reach:
I'm not ashamed to admit that I've imagined myself in Captain Keyes's position. I am no exception to the fascination with death rule. I'm not trying to say it's a good or bad thing. I'm just trying to make you think on what I've already said.
And when my desperate hour comes, I will remember what I know by heart: "Be not afraid of the man unwilling to die, but be terrified of the one who is going to sacrifice them-self in a heartbeat."
"The red war stripes that had been painted on the Iroquois' side looked like bloody slashes. The dockmaster had privately told Commander Keyes that his crew could buff the paint off - or even repaint the stripes, if he wanted.
Commander Keyes politely refused the offer. He wanted them left exactly the way they were. He wanted to be reminded that while everyone had admired what he had done - it had been an act of desperation, not heroism.
He wanted to be reminded of how close a brush he had had with death." (Nylund 157)
Commander Keyes politely refused the offer. He wanted them left exactly the way they were. He wanted to be reminded that while everyone had admired what he had done - it had been an act of desperation, not heroism.
He wanted to be reminded of how close a brush he had had with death." (Nylund 157)
I'm not ashamed to admit that I've imagined myself in Captain Keyes's position. I am no exception to the fascination with death rule. I'm not trying to say it's a good or bad thing. I'm just trying to make you think on what I've already said.
And when my desperate hour comes, I will remember what I know by heart: "Be not afraid of the man unwilling to die, but be terrified of the one who is going to sacrifice them-self in a heartbeat."
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