Animal Blog

Wow - stumbled upon some crazy shit on the net this AM - this guy is pretty righteous (in his own way)... I like it so far, but I'm still digesting it all.

I call this thread Animal Blog because I want it to be a thread where you can say whatever you want - similar to what I'm posting here.

Original text below is from "Diary of a Madman"

#147
It is 2009 and I’m resolute without a resolution… The loaded revolver on the eve of a revolution. When the clock struck 12 nothing changed in my world. I didn’t have to wait for the ball to drop for my balls to drop. The goals are the same, the responsibilities are the same, the grind is the same and the stakes have only grown higher. The fleeting moments, the winding down of minutes and hours and days and months--it is an unstoppable force. The turning of a calendar year does not freeze time, waiting for you to get your shit together and to finally get it right in the next 365… You can party all you want, but standing shitfaced in Times Square won’t give you back your time squared. What is in the past has passed and the future is wide the fuck open-- it can’t be predicted nor can it be accurately mapped out ahead of time. You can’t bellyache over the raw deals and missed opportunities of the past, you can’t lose sleep over how the past 52 weeks did you dirty. 2008 was a trip--a head trip, an ego trip and an experiential journey all the same, a mere snapshot of the chaotic symphony that promises to be our precious few tomorrows. The ’08 was no doubt epic, but it has now been rendered irrelevant… It is dead and gone forever. All that matters is the gift of the present and the presence of mind to make the present mine.

 

Spread the love. I’ve never had a fear of affection. In our world of brooding alpha males, for too long the demonstrative display of care has gotten a bum rap. So often I’ve seen the awkward mannerisms of tough guys, struggling with their own socially-imposed baggage as they go to give a pound, a pat on the back or God forbid, a hug. That stern puritanical bullshit is a thing of the past. This is 2009, and the self-assured American male needs to know that it is OK to love and be loved and to show that love to others …A father to his child, brother to brother, friend to friend. Be confident enough in your sexuality to cast that Dirty Harry shit aside long enough to let the people you care for know how you feel.

The hug is a powerful fucking thing--an embrace that aligns the hearts, that draws one into your inner circle, that hits home. When you see me, you don’t have to guess where I’m coming from, you know where I stand. In an indifferent world littered with phony cocksuckers both hostile and passive aggressive, I have no interest in leaving those that I love guessing. I refuse to take them or this moment or the time that we have together for granted. I appreciate them and the stars that aligned for our paths to cross. So next time the opportunity arrives, seize it... Squash the beef, swallow your pride and hug it out. Make the planet a better place one proud display of affection at a time.

 

Shoot the gift. The ability to communicate effectively through words, those both written and spoken, in this life, is priceless. The real power however, is not having a mere talent for stringing phrases and sentences together, but to be able to connect with those you encounter regardless of various societal factors. The true communicator moves amongst social groups without detection. He can equally relate to the heads of state or the brothers on the corner, to the CEO or the dude working in the mailroom, to the priest or the prisoner… To those of all walks of life in an honest and sincere fashion. The common man that can feast among kings–his is a position of command. To be humble and articulate and to bring people together with your words, this is transformative strength. Speak your mind, speak from the heart and shoot from the hip… Shoot the gift and spit the truth to all that you encounter. Use your words as instruments of positivity. To unify and uplift… To give strength to the weak, understanding to the misunderstood and a voice to the forgotten. With our words we define our times, we give meaning to our days. Words are our weapons. Choose yours wisely.

 

"Why did one straw break the camel's back? Here's the secret:
the million other straws underneath it - it's all mathematics"
-Mos Def, "Mathematics"

Speak up, motherfuckers. The time has come. Tired of being disenfranchised, disregarded, disillusioned and straight up fucking dissed? Well it all changes now... Today is the day we begin to take back control. The status quo has done you dirty for long enough, mediocrity has haunted too many of your days. The moments of standing on the sideline and playing the wall are over. Bitching and whining and detached indifference are notions of the past. I remember those trite "Vote or Die" t-shirts they peddled a few years back, trivilalizing one of the few processes the working class among us have left to call our own. The celebrity-infused, self-congratulating movement was wrong, but the sentiment was dead on the money. In a world rife with war and poverty and disease... In a nation wrought by injustice, inequity and despair, our democratic process is indeed a matter of life and death. If you feel passed over and forgotten, if you feel your voice has been muted and drowned out, then take control. Get in the fucking arena and be a game changer. It is no doubt an uphill climb out of the gutter, it is a cold and dark march to emerge from the shadows, but the stakes are too fucking high to give up now. I know it takes courage to stand apart, it takes balls to go against the grain. It is lonely and scary to swim against the current, but I assure you, you are not alone. Public Enemy was wrong. It won't take a nation of millions to hold us back. We are a nation of millions and we will never be held back again. This is our chance to unite and take back our future by force. Don't let it pass, cuz it may never come again. Speak up. Let your voice be heard.

 

Chivalry is dead. And in my humble opinion, that is a damn shame. The practitioners of political correctness will postulate that are we all to be equal, women should have no special treatment. If all are peers, they say, any sort of preferential handling of the female persuasion is considered to infantilize or demean the fairer sex. To this statement, I strongly object. In all honesty, we are not equals. Women are quite obviously superior. Women, on a chemical level, have an unparalleled magnetic influence over men, bringing the most powerful among us to our knees. Besides, when considering the nurturing instincts, emotional depth and the biological strength allowing women to give birth, it is strikingly apparent that the ladies are in a class all their own. It is only right that I pay homage to that which has given me life, that sustains life, that gives life meaning. To love and respect women is not weak. It doesn’t make you soft. Hold the door, lend a hand and make your mama proud… Conduct yourself among the girlfriends and wives, mothers and grandmothers, daughters and sisters of this planet as any royal subject would in the presence of the queen. Even a roughneck like you can do the right thing. You don’t at all times need to be a gentle man in order to be a gentleman.

 

Never settle. If you heed nothing else I've ever written, listen to me now. The day that “good enough” becomes good enough is the day you no longer matter--the day your story is written and that book is closed. Society wants it that way. Your boss wants it that way. So does your neighbor. They take and take your whole life under the guise of giving. They want you hushed and pacified… They grant you a little tax rebate, a tiny raise, you take a vacation to fucking Disneyland and all of a sudden you're so deluded you think you're living the dream. But that shit is a nightmare and I'm here to shake your ass awake. To be asleep at the wheel as your life quietly dwindles away is the ultimate waste. To be content is to die with a pulse. What you build with your hands, what you conceive with your mind is yours and what is yours can never be theirs. That which is solid and honest and noble will endure. But those 0s in the bank account, those material goods, those empty luxuries are but a passing fancy, a triviality. The widely prized commodities and empty extravagances that will one day be yours are all that the elite and empty 1% has to hang their designer hat on and when you take it from them, you will treat it as nothing more than the disposable shit it truly is. It is all they have and to you it is nothing. It is all they value and to you it is worthless. This mortal struggle is dog eat dog and I'll get mine no matter what. No matter who doubts me or judges me or stands in my way. I'll plug away and persevere. With bloodshot eyes, blood on my knuckles, calluses on my hands and dirt under my fingernails, I'll grind this bitch out as long as need be. I'll outlast, I'll outmaneuver and in the end I'll get my due. There is only one way I'll allow the rest of this story to unfold, only one possible outcome--the ending I envisioned from the start of this motherfucker. There is only one decision that needs to be made. Live forever for what is yours or die now for what is theirs.

 

A hero ain’t nuthin’ but a sandwich. As I slowly leave some of the illusions of youth and the blissful naiveté of childhood behind, I see how extraordinary it is for a person to take a stand, to stand for something, to stand for anything. It seems selling out is the new paying dues. As a society, we’ve come to value the wrong things. We’re guilty of the idle worship of worthless idols. We practically pray to those who without praise would perish. I see multimillionaires, whose empires are built on the dreams of working class children and the labor of third world workers, stand mute to the atrocities of the world for fear they’d sell fewer sneakers. Castrated pawns in a larger game, they are happy to tap dance for the rest of their lives to please the richest one percent, breakin’ their necks for another nickel in their hat—as if their stack of change isn’t big enough yet. I’m hesitant to ever again rock a jersey, wear some hack’s mug on my t-shirt or sport a deified silhouette on my fresh pair of kicks. It makes me sick to think that while the same kids that make them rich are dying in the streets, these motherfuckers are too self absorbed to lend a hand and too scared to say a word. They can game the rest of the world, but they can’t front on me. I’m old enough to remember what it meant to be a hero and young enough to swear that I would never be like them.

 

“Everybody's got a plan, 'til they get hit.” My boy Iron Mike said it best back in his heyday. That is the 100 proof truth right there. Greatness doesn't come from devising a strategy or mapping out a game plan. Any hack can do that. It isn't a matter of how much shit you can talk or what you could accomplish in a perfect world. Experience isn't gained in a vacuum. Shit doesn't happen… Life happens, and when those unforeseen moments of joy blast you in the side of your dome like a sawed off shotgun to the temple, will you have the resolve and wherewithal to make it back to your feet and forge onward? To stick to the script undeterred? For many in this world, packing it in and calling it a day ain't an option. There are no sick days, no vacations, no sabbaticals… Every fuckin' day is do or die. These are my heroes. Following their example, I've come to the realization that having a plan or goal is not in fact an accomplishment or a special status worthy of praise. The real triumph is born of getting shit done-executing in the midst of chaos, carrying on when others are carried off on a stretcher. Have the courage to take your lumps, to absorb the blows and move forward, committed to action today that will create the tomorrow you so intensely desire.

 

hmm... interesting read...

 

Yea - the guy who wrote all those is interesting to say the least. Makes me think of Friedrich Nietzsche (with the existentialist style).