Life is this elaborately designed sick experiment. I mean just look at it. You create a bunch of different people then throw them into an unknown environment with absolutely no guidance. At first it’s learning through trial and error. Error in this sense could end your life before you even get to know what life is. Eventually you adapt well enough and all the stuff that was once a major problem like being eaten by bears are now problems of the past. But it doesn’t stop there. Now that you’ve mitigated all the natural problems it’s time to create your own. It’s time to create machines that destroy and deplete the scarce resources you need in order to survive. It’s time to think that you’re better than another person because of the colour of their skin, thus transporting you to a realm where hatred is all that you know. And it’s time to come to the realization that all of this doesn’t matter because we’ll be dead soon and this will have been for nothing. My question to the mad scientist is a simple one and it may even be the most asked one. Why? Why did you design this experiment? Was it for sheer amusement? Is it a school project? Or are you just as dark and demented as I fear I am? My question may never be answered, and I’m well aware of that but I nevertheless ask in hopes that you’ll pity me enough to provide me with a response. If the objective of your experiment was to drive me mad, you’ve succeeded. If it wasn’t then help me because… because what? You don’t owe me anything do you?
I don’t give a fuck about anything that happens in this office. It’s not because the work is too hard or some of the people are made for the role of torturers in Dante’s Inferno. It’s because I find it all meaningless. There is no purpose I can see for the different tasks I perform on a daily basis. It’s not just my role that I see as useless though. What are we doing with eight hours of our lives five days of the week? Running to meetings and treating cellphone conversations with more importance than face to face ones, what’s the point of it all. Not one of us does anything tangible unless someone has somehow found a way to touch the wasted time spent staring at my computer screen. The work I do doesn’t teach me anything nor does it challenge my problem solving capabilities, what it mainly does is annoy the shit out of me. Problems that could easily be avoided or solved by sixth grade children, grunt work that somehow seems like rocket science to people who spent millions of dollars on college education. You’re seriously telling me that you spent all those years in college and a binding machine looks like a time machine to you? Personally I’d ask for my money back but that’s just me. Missing document on a file and people have meltdowns as if they just got news that their husband was caught fucking a dog while being fucked by another dog and it’s now a viral video. Does a missing document really warrant all that exaggeration or is it just a show for the boss? I’m not made for office work, not because I feel entitled to promotions and raises but simply because I will never see the importance of any work that is done in said office. I’ll admit it, I fucked up. I asked for it and now I’m suffering because I didn’t know myself well enough to see that working in an office would never be my cup of tea. While I’m here though I’ll just publicly write about my torture as a reminder for the future. This will hopefully ensure that I never ever EVER subject myself to this type of work again. EVER!!!
Stories are our driving force. They help us, uplift us, destroy us and lead us down terrible paths depending on the story. What we fail to realize however is that we control these stories, I have failed in this respect as well. My story has changed many times over the past months and it seems it’s about to change once more. I recently convinced myself that the suit and tie life was what I should be doing in life. Wake up, dress up, go to the office, dedicate myself to the job, go above and beyond then repeat. I thought this was the best way to solve the one problem that I’ve wanted to fix for probably a decade now. MONEY. All my life I’ve seen what the lack of money has done to the people I care about, I’ve seen what it’s like to do back breaking work for a week just so you can spend the meager salary on expenses as you receive it. No hope for improvement is what it is. No hope for a better life. When you grow up in a house smaller than classrooms you’ve been in and you often sit in class thinking about that FACT money becomes an obsession. For a long time my story was you don’t have money so never stop obsessing about it until you have it. This story made my life hell, I was a depressed wreck a lot of the time. All because I didn’t have money. Recently I changed that story and learned that maybe there is happiness to be had without money, maybe I don’t need to be chasing this thing that always escapes my grasp as soon as I get it. This made me content for a while but my original story was always there deep down waiting to erupt. Just waiting for that thing that would trigger the avalanche. I find it funny that the thing was a little book. I read a book and before I even reached the second chapter everything came back to me. In this second phase of my obsession with money I no longer consider myself a demon for wanting to acquire riches and I no longer see temporary defeat as the end of the world. This is great, yeah! I’m a little less fucked up, good for me. My issue isn’t with the return of my obsession however like I said I’m done demonizing myself for it, my issue is with the way I convinced myself of how I should acquire it. A ten year plan that would have sent me off on a path I would most definitely regret for the rest of my life. I can’t be an office guy but I told myself a story that made me believe it was the only way. This story was going to be my destruction. How dramatic, a life where you make a living through working. The thing is it’s the type of work. This work is completely against my nature, I can never be happy doing it but my story told me otherwise. We are all storytellers. We tell stories of truth and lies. To others and more importantly to ourselves. All I want you to do is look at the story you’re telling yourself. Actually take some time to analyze it, pick it a part, find out if it’s actually the write story for you. If you don’t you will be giving your happiness away for absolutely nothing like I think I almost did. And if you find out that it’s not for you then change it. It might take a long time or it might not but you owe it to yourself to do something with the knowledge. To all of you who have already found the right story that’s fucking amazing, I’m happy for you. But for the rest of us, for the rest of us just never give up. I haven’t learnt a lot in my life but one thing I have picked up is that persistence will always beat the shit out of life and all it’s shitty challenges.
Making a man a slave is the worst crime that has ever been committed. Not because it is more gruesome than any other crime, it’s because it can and has been used as the vehicle to justify many cruel actions. When we were taught about slavery in school it wasn’t as informed as it should have been. The time spent on the topic was short, a topic that has shaped how we live hundreds of years later was only discussed for two weeks maximum. A topic that speaks about our history, our adversities and our strength. We were shielded from the atrocities that happened, the beatings, rape, separation from family and all the other brutal punishments my teachers neglected to inform me of. Maybe it’s a good thing, maybe our minds were not ready for such images to be burned into our brains for life. Or maybe it’s exactly what we needed to ensure we knew our history and appreciated every thing we are blessed to have no matter how small it may seem. What was that white man thinking when he first thought that he was a superior being to the black man in Africa? That it was his right to subject that man to a life filled with torture. I can’t answer that but I can admit that knowing what he did has impacted my life and thousands of other lives. This knowledge lead to the need for a Civil Rights Movement. White people who were no better than their ancestors from the “old” days of slavery thinking their new slavery was acceptable. But they weren’t the only ones with this knowledge, this knowledge was also in the minds of strong intelligent black men who knew their people deserved better. They deserved to walk to school in peace, to ride a bus without fear and to exist as human beings and treated as such.
We’ve grown so accustomed to seeing or hearing that a black man was wrongfully shot by the police that for most of us our actions have been reduced to a hashtag and clicking like under a Black Lives Matter post. I am aware that there are people like Rebellesword’s who will stand up for us to the point of risking their own lives but it’s like nobody is listening. The world is divided in many ways but the biggest and oldest division is that of race. Even today white men believe no black man is good enough for his daughter and black men relish the opportunity to exact their revenge on innocent white girls. Recently we learned that the “old” slavery still happens today in Libya. The story told by Victory a man of just 21 will stay with me for as long as I live. I despise crying and speak proudly of the fact that I rarely cry, as I sit here thinking about the pain I saw in his eyes as he told the reporter that he spent his entire life savings to try to get to Europe only to be thrown into slavery I’m very close to tears. He could barely say the words as he was overwhelmed with pain. Then my grief quickly turns to anger. Who the fuck are you to think that you have the right to do that to somebody. To beat them, shock them, rape them, you deserve to die. I hate that I wish for your death but I do. And that is the reason for my writing, the reason for the title of this post.
I hate that I see the world as black vs white. Us vs them. The things I’ve seen affect my mindset. Seeing a man with my complexion beaten to the ground by multiple police officers has made me hate those officers. Seeing a young boy killed by a man who suspects him of doing wrong simply because he is black makes me hate that man and the courts that set him free after committing such an act. Reading about the big companies that exploit Africa and its people for natural resources makes me want to fly to Africa and burn those companies to the ground. I’m not saying all white people are bad or I hate all of them because I don’t. There are people who for whatever reason see it as a good thing to leave the comfort of their homes and fly to a foreign country to help complete strangers have a better life. People who are willing to adopt a starving child, bring that child to their home and give them a chance at surviving. This is great but I have to keep in mind what Muhammad Ali said, if ten thousand rattle snakes are coming toward me and I have a door I can shut to stop them but one thousand meant right, I knew they were good, should I let all the snakes come in and hope that the one thousand get together and form a shield or should I close the door and stay safe? I don’t have the solution that will end racism, I don’t proclaim that my way of thinking is right. I can only say what I’ve seen and what I have seen is separation. Black and white no room for gray. I wonder if the philosophy of Marcus Garvey is the right way. Europe for the white man, Asia for the yellow man and Africa for the black man. He may be right but I doubt it’s that simple.
For many years of my life I’ve always found solace in the stars. When I was younger the only purpose they served to me was beauty. I’m not exactly sure why I thought of the stars as beautiful at a young age, maybe it was the fact that they were seemingly of another world. There was something enchanting and exotic about them in my little mind. Stars are a work of art, the dark sky is the blank canvas and the stars are the painting that reveals a deeper story. A story that is different for each and every person who marvels at its beauty. It was this beauty that made me want to become an astronomer when I was a child. I wanted to learn more about the masterpiece of the sky but it wasn’t meant to be as I soon moved on from that career path.
As I got older they were promoted to a more prominent role, serving greater purpose. I see many things in the stars, no I’m not a fortune teller but the stars do speak to me in spectacular voices saying great things. They speak of calm most times, a calm like no other I’ve ever experienced or may ever experience. The busy highway of thoughts begins to move at a slower pace and I’m able to enjoy being in that particular moment. I look up and see them in all their glory and it brings peace to my body, my mind and my soul. I experience a feeling of relief where the worries of life melt away. At that point in time I no longer fixate on the conversation I had weeks ago with someone, there are no thoughts of what I plan to do with my life or the lack of plans and the self-inflicted punishment for the many mistakes I’ve made in my life stops.
I also see happiness in the stars, past, present and future. I feel the joy I felt when I was a little boy running around in the yard playing whatever game my imagination struck up for that day. I remember the good times spent in a relationship I should have cherished with a girl that had full control of my smile and could will it into action at any time. My gratitude for all the blessings in my life comes to the forefront. I see the laughter of the two children I hope to have some day and the beauty of my wife who I will work tirelessly to give her a wonderful life. My happiness lies in family. I never see death in the stars, I realized that today. No thoughts of the thing that plagues my mind so often. Not one. All I see is hope. Why? Because for me the stars are magic, they transform me in every way. My thoughts are brighter, I escape my mind to admire the beauty and most importantly I am calm.
I heard this statement somewhere once and I would like to to find out how true it is. Cliches are the stuff we hear all around us from parents, teachers, old people and just about anybody around. They’re so commonly used that most people find them worthless. They have lost the impact they once had because they’ve been overused or simply used in the wrong context so many times. But where did these cliches come from? How were they discovered? I don’t have the answer to this but one thing I do know is that they have lasted the test of time and have been around long before me and most likely will be here long after I’m gone. Life is a complicated maze with no map telling us how to navigate it, when we were born there was no instruction manual given to us telling us what to do. These cliches can offer just a little bit of guidance but I believe perspective is an important factor to consider when dealing with cliches. Actions speak louder than words. In an article I read from Thought Catalog the writer speaks about the ease with which people today are able to say anything with no consideration of whether or not it is factual. This is true as many people will say anything these days in a blinded narrow minded pursuit of what they want. So judging a person by their actions and not their words is crucial in determining their intent and level of honesty. A man’s character cant’t truly be known until you see the things he does but at the same time the words he speaks are just as important as his actions. Better safe than sorry. Like I said before perspective matters when thinking about how a cliche speaks to a particular situation as I learned from reading the comments of the blog post 10 Common Cliches And The Powerful Truths They Hold. The writer interpreted the cliche as saying you should live a cautious life that has no risk. He spoke about his unwillingness to take risks for most of his life and how much he regretted it. He urged his readers to take the leap because a life filled with failure is far more honorable than one consumed with regret. An excellent point that has its merit but on the other side of the coin a reader interpreted the cliche in a completely different way. The reader saw the cliche as a warning that is meant to protect us from bodily harm, wear your seat belt and look both ways before crossing the road. This is another great way of analyzing this cliche so you see the role perspective plays. The way we look at a cliche can determine if we reap the benefits of it or if we end up viewing them as worthless idioms often used by old people. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger could mean you bounce back from a failing grade and learn from your mistakes to help you pass the next one. But it could be worthless to a person who has fought a horrible disease only to be left bed ridden with no hope of return to normalcy. Does the secret to life lie in cliches? I guess it depends on the life. There’s no one size fits all.