The Beauty Forgotten

Thirty one trips around the sun, always changing, always growing; I enjoy Pearl Jam, I watch Rugrats again (The latter as musical as the former). What’s more, I have reclaimed some of the beauty forgotten, the long-lost treasures buried in the epoch of my youth. For I received a box of childhood memories from my sister this holiday, which my father had held onto unbeknownst to me. The box contained awards, certificates, report cards (“Excessive talking”), notes from teachers, two trophies: one for winning a spelling bee, the other for sportsmanship (Basketball).



In addition to these mementos were a variety of childhood writings, ranging from the funny to the hopeful. As I wrote to Santa Claws, at perhaps 8 years old:


These items were no less than treasure rediscovered. 

They connected me to a time of purity and innocence, if not joy.

I admittedly have not always had a healthy relationship with the past.

I’ve spent much of my life in the shadow of the past – either because it was too beautiful or too ugly. Each was something I did not know how to live down, how to accept and let go of. This, thankfully, is changing.  

As I recently heard (From a talk by self-proclaimed neuroscientist Joe Dispenza): ‘Wisdom is memory minus emotion,’ – only, that’s not quite right; for, when it comes to my memories, I find wisdom is only found when I acquire the right emotion, which is to say, a healthy one. After all, sometimes it is our happiest memories that haunt us most (As in the case of old loves, past successes, friendships etc,.). Or perhaps it was wisdom itself, which lent me a new perspective, facilitating the healthier emotions that ultimately allowed me to accept and let go of the past. Either way, my past does not haunt me any longer. 

Today I am Wolf Waldo. 

And it is today, my relationship to the present moment, which allows me to live my past down. 

Today I look upon my youth with love and affection, knowing it is over (Not happiness but youth, and do not confuse the two – or else adult life will be difficult).

Yes, I am still respectively young and healthy, but I am no longer the boy I was for so long; the puer sleeps these days, waiting for the real fun. 

Dreams yet to come. 

For now, however, there is not yet teakwood beneath my feet, nor the wealth to facilitate such a Gatsbian playboy lifestyle as I could imagine (The playboy being the only puer that is not outwardly or inwardly pathetic).

Thankfully – my puer no longer running the show – I no longer dream a playboy lifestyle.

I dream a mature, kind, resolute life. A life lived with dignity, a new love of community, and a deep sense of personal responsibility.

Wanting nothing but to live from what Marcus Aurelius deemed the directing mind, the inner citadel, or the god seated within; I just want to live a well ordered life of peacefull happiness. 

This is not to say I do not dream sexy, exciting, grand, and even sensual dreams for myself. On the contrary. 

I am 31, almost 32, and just as my father passed – his life gone in a cosmic blink – I too will pass.

For my life is not only finite but shortening each day. Just as I was 21 on a very real day once upon a time, so too will I be 41. 

Note: For anyone wanting to accept this truth [that their life is passing in a flash and they too will die], simply read Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations – hell, just listen to Lukas Graham’s Seven Years

I intend to spend my remaining years living and thinking much differently than heretofore. I intend to fulfill the destiny life has given me, and I intend to forever  remember the beauty forgotten. 

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sSY5HaXxTgI

Madeline Brownies

My life as loafer, stoner
Hero or villian

What will I be?

What I’d like?
Fun and easy

But I,
I high on 3 strains,
Full on madeline brownies and milk
Want nothing more than to loaf

Only life doesnt allow that
So I spend three days in bed depressed about that
After, at which time, I return

To life
To the race for the next thing

When I’ll just want to be high,
Full on madeline brownies and milk
In bed, binge watching the night away

Drunk on Henry Miller, Ruminating on Life

I am the happiest man alive – or, at least, I aspire to be. My restlessness, my stressors, my impatience, my work – the machine of automatic process by which man is conscripted to live and work in this society – all of these pale in the face of death, which, I concede, is the final result of life. 

As Henry Miller wrote in Tropic of Capricorn

Take a good look at me. Now tell me, do you think I’m the sort of fellow who gives a fuck what happens once he’s dead?

And rightly so; for this is my heaven, right here. 

But a distinction must be made: I was not always diamond hard on the inside. This blog – my life – is a testiment to that. 

I have learned how to be a true Stoic, to see what lies beyond my control; again, quoting Henry Miller:

I soon found out you couldn’t change the world. The best you can do is learn to live with it. 

But in learning to live with it, you change your world, your perspective broadens, your prejudices die off. 

Where I am now, at 31 and change, I have learned to live with it [the world] via the acceptance of personal responsibility. I – and only I – am responsible for how I feel, what I do. 

I fear this (and much of my writing here) all sounds very pollyannish, very self-congratulatory, very smug. And fuck it if it does; although, I am very much inclined to state that no man is immune to the human condition entirely. I’m a Homosapien; I have foibles, which, if left to their own devices – that is to say lived unconsciously – would ruin me; however, that’s not how my story goes. At 31, I’d much rather feel nothing at all than pain (A sharp departure from the shadow days of my late twenties, when I was hellbent on burning my world down – a world I didn’t see fit to live in). 

Pause. 

I am begged by the muse to answer a question here, and the question is one I have heard other fortunate souls ask: why me? Meaning, instead of falling in love with Sarah, instead of many of the good things that have happened for me (All my loves included), why didn’t life just fuck me, ruin me?

I don’t know: I suppose it did; I just don’t see life that way anymore; instead of seeing a tragedy, I see a golden goose. Sure, shit sucked – I have felt the twisting pains of heartache – but I no longer feel I know what heartbreak is. 

As I have said before, every woman I ever loved has loved me. 

Why lead all roads back to love – what else? I find nothing save the ability of my soul to weather anything – to endure – to make an ecstasy of solitude; all else is waiting. 

The bounds of my love, however, are merely shores I have yet to tread upon. I’ve only now, in my eyes, become what may be called a good friend, a good son, a good brother, a good uncle – a good person, which is to say nothing of morality and everything of generosity. 

I have covered this – and wish to cover it no more – but I will:

I wasn’t always this whole. 

Again, I am not one for morality. Save me your reproaches. As the newest beau of my muse, Henry Miller, wrote:

I had no more need of God than He had of me, and if there were one, I often said to myself, I would meet Him calmly and spit in His face.

I am of the basic belief that humans are no more than a goddamned species of mammal. The great tragedy of life then is, that in the advancement of life, the most advanced species on earth is also its most base.

Slavery, Abuse, Rape, Murder, Torture, Oppression: the human is master of these crimes. We are inherently base because we are a bunch of fucking mammals with egos. 

And in being human, I wish no more than to transcend the petty, the ugly, the banal; for it is very difficult to be human and not feel like a piece of shit. 

Real life, which is to say life amongst the human race – shit – good luck buddy. Because even if you are happy, it is only becacuse you are not in a North Korean prison camp eating rats. 

Why the world is like this? I don’t know. I’d like to say that humans will continue evolving, that we will overcome the darkness of our own age, but I also fear the inroads to the soul are dying – that man is exchanging knowledge for truth. 

Facts are stubborn things, sure; however, despite myriad human progresses, I am increasingly inclined to view society as a machine that will eventually – given the dangers of AI, genetics, nanotechnology, and robotics – eat man. 

Not all progress is forward. 

There are, within futurist circles, those who would happily see Homosapiens go extinct, and frankly, aside from the hardwired preservation of my own mortality, I can hardly disagree. We are the single most oppressive, harmful form of life on earth. More suffering can be attributed to man than can be engendered to any God. But I suppose this is merely the unfolding of evolution. I just wish we saw our place in the universe more honestly. 

We are a species with hopes and dreams. But we are a species nonetheless and not the children of Gods; we are the children of men and woman, as flawed as any ever were. 

I am stretching my mental legs, thinking aloud, as I always do here, but it is late and I am tired. So, allow me to wrap up. 

Life is a road, and we are born in a lane amongst many. Our lives are spent largely ignoring our passions, lost in petty pursuits, chasing trivialities at the cost of our grandeur, our splendor. 

Society asks that you participate in exchange for acceptance, which is a catch-22 of the highest sense. You are made to exchange happiness for comfort, time for money. But that’s all there is fundamentally: time. 

You are born then you die. Humans, sadly, however, choose to spend their lives pretty fucking stupidly. Put simply, the metrics by which we measure our wellbeing are not doing our being well. 

Great food and nice homes. A nice car. Clothes. Is that all you want out of life? 

Do you not wish to live in flow? Would you not rather enjoy peak state as a circumstance rather than a luxury? 

That conception of you, your very values, these are products not of the self but of society. 

And there is only one way to change society, which is to say the collective values of humans, and that is via art; for only art has the power to create change in others, in ourselves. It is the mirror; the place where we form our heroes, where we catch the conscience of the king, as Hamlet did. 

Art, I feel, is then the royal road to life as the Buddhists see it: the purpose of life being the reduction of suffering. 

Art can be anything. 

To quote Malcolm Gladwell, ‘art is using your humanity to create change in other people.’ Only, via capitalism, via governments, via the leveraging of labor, we enjoy our comforts instead. 

Catching Up with Wolf Waldo

I’ve had Black Sabbath’s Going Through Changes in my head lately, and, besides being a beautiful song, it really encapsulates my feelings lately, having recently been through so many big changes myself. 

It was John Mayer who said something in a radio interview once about how, ‘a human being only goes through true quantum change, once, maybe twice, in a lifetime’. 

And I used to agree with that – particularly after I had undergone what was probably my second quantum change, at 29

I should note here that the interesting thing about the quantum changes I have undergone, is that they weren’t necessarily precipitated by major life-events so much as they were the major life-event – not the thing that changed me but the change itself. 

Of course, I had – many times – gone through what most would consider major life-changing events: a breakup after nearly five years, another breakup to the same girl three years later after nearly a year back together, the total loss of my business and financial security – multiple times – and, in love again, another excruciatingly tough breakup after 3 years. This is not to mention minor breakups (Two with whom I co-habituated with for more than a year each). Point being, I had been through my shit – some of it very tragic, and all of it quite disastrous; however, none of these things really brought about quantum change on my part. In those tragic instances when I had been the major tragic character, it’s not like I just suddenly became the hero in my story, rising from the ashes like a Phoenix. No, life takes time. 

The prima materia, the shit, this accrues in events, as described above, but the real transformation takes time – a lot of reflection, a lot of shadow work, and a lot of just doing the soul’s alchemy – the stuff that requires you to “Figure out what you have done and why you have done it, or else you’ll go on committing the same crimes forever” – to borrow the words of James Baldwin. 

But the quantum changes I am referring to, these have been the major liberating, transformational shifts in my life, and they have been almost sudden. Of course, as in the parable of the Chinese Bamboo Tree, the growth appears rapid at the surface, when, in fact, it has been germinating underground for years. 

Overnight success? Never. I’ve still got miles to go (I’ll probably have had this blog close to a decade when my first novel is published).

But in this recent winter’s solstice, I came much further and closer to the ultimate reality of my being than I could have ever imagined, and a lot of germenation came to fruition: there was the wake of my father’s death, there was the rediscovery of a box of childhood awards and notes from teachers, there was a heartwarming holiday with family and Kitty, there was a cactus-tea experience – replete with the arrival of what I am deeming “animal consciousness” or “wolf-consciousness” – and there was the discovery of quite possibly the most empowering and valuable paradigm I have encountered in my adult years: Sociomoter Theory

For a basic primer on the theory, Wikipedia and this video are great starters – enough for me in fact to have basically examined myself in light of the model, and to have really awakened to much about myself, mainly much about how my not caring what people thought of me was, in fact, a veil for low self-esteem – self-esteem that I would have much better nurtured had I given more consideration for others and taken a more inclusive view toward society as a whole. In short, I thought being a misanthrope (Not at all to be confused with introvert, which I still am) was cool, when, instead, it made me little more than a selfish, self-pitying asshole. Not to crucify myself too much, but I can be honest here. 

The truth is and will always be, that I look upon the past honestly: as having not known any better. This allows me a genuine compassion for myself, and this compassion enables me to grow, to evolve, and to admit when there is a better way. 

Without that compassionate, self-forgiving perspective  (Note: I define forgiveness as simply accepting the past could not have been any different) I could never have even the humility to become a better person. Because before I had acquired that [humility via genuine compassion], I spent a lot of time defending who I was and what I had done, even when they were clearly not right. 

I’m not meaning to preach, but, rather, simply to expound on something I am both very excited about and very grateful for. It’s fucking awesome. 

It’s also heartbreaking. But that’s life, and I’ve lived long enough to have broken my own heart a few times, and likely a few others too. 

Ultimately, I am just learning the things my father, my grandfathers, and all the men and women before me didn’t know. 

As I told Kitty recently, If you don’t give your kids a leg up in the world, they are born two generations behind. 

So here’s to taking quantum leaps, to trusting the Universe. 

Here’s to being a part of evolution, and here’s to my new alter-ago: Wolf Waldo Black. 

The Redeemer

I feel anxious for the future tonight, as if I ought to be working on a story or my business; yet, it’s late Saturday night and I’ll be working tomorrow – besides, Kitty and I stopped by the dispensary earlier and we are laying in bed watching Radical Something videos (“One Soul”). To add to this, our youngest Jack Russel, Felix, is laying across me. 

In short, I’m chilling hard; however, the muse being restless, I am called here – to the place where I come to commune with my soul and program my consciousness. 

It’s a rarity, in fact, that I ever open this app with an idea or specific thought; mostly, the muse just calls and I answer: ready to receive. 

Perhaps the muse is my anima: after all, Jung viewed the anima as one of the sources of creative ability (Thanks Wikipedia); although, it should be said, when it comes to depth psychology, I am much more versed in the shadow, which I confronted post Bunny, post Mousie. 

Why I’ve given my long-term girlfriends animal monikers, I know not. I suppose it is something of a projection of zoomorphic traits upon them, something in the face and the personality that allows me to transcend the limitations of my love for otherwise mortal humans; for more than once I have found something worth really loving. I am quite a lucky duck. 

Ironically, I just remembered, Bunny would call me that [duck]. And I was [a lucky duck] – always have been – I just didn’t always know it. 

Life’s like that though: we waste much of it lost in comparison, wishing on another star, aware of neither the power of wishes nor the toxicity of comparison, the great thief of joy.

I just want to be here now. 

That reminds me of something said on Johnathan Nolan’s Westworld to that effect, something along the lines of: ‘You all want to escape and come here and I just want to be here, right now, where I am.’

Because that’s really the finest art of life: being comfortable with the now. 

As I posted to Facebook a few days ago:

I am:
Calm
Comfortable
Capable
Confident 
-with –
Change
Challenge
Choice

The seven C’s in life. 

Isn’t that happiness? That calm, comfortable, capable, confident feeling of ease, which all healthy  adults are capable of experiencing. 

Life happens entirely internally, doesn’t it; it’s all inside, and that’s ultimately what counts, and particularly to the Stoic, who knows that only her own thoughts are under her control, all else being as free and wild as the seven seas. 

I’ve had the great benefit of losing love – some of it I longed for years for after, while some, I didn’t began to long for till years after. 

But we have only now. And that’s really the key to life: abiding to the now, living in something like a state of grace – I just didn’t imagine it would take 30 years for that state to be an abiding presence in my life; but, of course, it’s nothing religious or magical, just rational: the product of years and mistakes and the long goodbyes paid to bunny, mousie. 

Imagine if we knew our relationships would end, surely we would appreciate them more; although, I am not sure I could live that way – this despite the fact that at 31 I am well acquainted with the temorary nature of life. 

I guess I’ve just always tried to live a fairy tale, a never-ending story. 

I suppose, however, my desire for forever belongs to my anima and does not accurately reflect the nature of reality, which is everchanging and impermanent. 

But, letting my self come through, I recognize that impermanence is precisely what the full-depth of gratitude requires; however, like everything in life, it is in the tension of opposites that we achieve perfection: yin and yang, masculine and feminine, puer and senex, balance and excess, confidence and humility, light and dark, forever and now – in all, and in all I try to achieve balance, asking myself what forms, archetypes, or energies are being expressed, and how each may exist within myself beside the other, within the whole. 

Because this is what I am: a whole man, comfortable in my light and my dark – and these are not sides: yes, they begin as such; however, once integrated (Accepted) into your being, they become parts in the machine – a machine controlled by something higher and more powerful than its parts – but not altogether independent from them – not a ghost in the machine but a higher purpose, something between Fredrich Nietzsche’s will to power and Victor Frankl’s will to meaning – something between psychology and philosophy, science and spirituality. The over-soul, as Emerson called it. 

From his 1841 essay of the same title:

“Of this pure nature every man is at some time sensible. Language cannot paint it with his colors. It is too subtile. It is undefinable, unmeasurable, but we know that it pervades and contains us. We know that all spiritual being is in man. A wise old proverb says, “God comes to see us without bell”; that is, as there is no screen or ceiling between our heads and the infinite heavens, so is there no bar or wall in the soul where man, the effect, ceases, and God, the cause, begins. The walls are taken away. We lie open on one side to the deeps of spiritual nature, to the attributes of God. Justice we see and know, Love, Freedom, Power. These natures no man ever got above, but they tower over us, and most in the moment when our interests tempt us to wound them.”

While this may seem esoteric, new-age, or spiritual, to me it is a concrete reality: my life is divine. 

di·vine

adjective

1. of, from, or like God or a god.

“heroes with divine powers”

synonyms: godly, angelic, seraphic, saintly, beatific.

That is to say, according to the divine, and in my view, man is not an archetype for God, but, rather, God is an archetype (model) for man. Frankly, I loathe religion and I am as concerned with life after death as I am with reincarnation or anything else entirely irrelevant to the remaining time I have left before I will vanish entirely from earth and everyone I love on it – myself included. 

Ultimately, I’ve got to live and care for my own soul, my own wellbeing, and I write to connect with the soul (The inner, quiet, still self), to marry the higher and lower elements of myself into something I can love and admire. Because that’s what I really want in life: dignity – the ability to live a human life as well and as meaningfully as it may be lived, meeting joy and sorrow with equal poise, and remaining as calm, comfortable, and as confident as I may ever be in each possible moment. 

It’s not difficult for me to imagine a worse life: I’ve lived one. I’m reminded of something Jung wrote about the shadow being confronted either early in life or showing up later. I am fortunate to have spent my time in the wilderness of life early on. Now I can accept myself wholly. And I am now loved wholly as well. 

As I read somewhere today, ‘maintaining a personality is tiring’.

How true: it is much easier to be whole (versus good), making no apologies nor feeling any guilt for who I am. 

The business of life for me at thirty-one is much more one of being and doing than it is becoming. 

I’m reminded of the expression, life is not an act of discovery but one of creation.

In trying to find a source for that I came across the following, which I love:

“The deepest secret is that life is not a process of discovery, but a process of creation. You are not discovering yourself, but creating yourself anew. Seek therefore, not to find out Who You Are, but seek to determine Who You Want to Be.”

– Neale Donald Walsch

And in the words of Polish writer Witold Gombrowicz:

Do you want to know who you are? Don’t ask. Act! Action will delineate and define you.

And this is why I felt anxious about the future earlier: because I know exactly who I want to be, who I am, and I am excited: I am anxious to be Lawrence Black. 

That said, I am going to rest and sleep now; for tomorrow is a chance to grow nearer the life I want, the evolution and progression of the life I have, which I love, because I am me: and I more than a lucky duck – I am a hunter of life, a wolf, and the redeemer of a once lost soul.

 Casting Spells

Thinking about the future; using goals as gamification (reward): asking myself exactly what it is I want out of life. 

My artistic goals are set in stone; however, I am a renaissance man: thus the breadth of my interests and desires begs more than artistic success. 

And regardless of my writing goals, it would be senseless of me to disregard the years of experience I have as a ux-designer, marketer, and front-end dev. I am humbly proud to say, I am fucking good at what I do. Besides, I am already working on three businesses that leverage those skills and it would be foolish not to see them to fruition – after all, monetary success is a beautiful thing: it both sanitizes and renews. 

But I do ask myself, how much is enough?

Ironically, I watched Scorcese’s Aviator tonight – that is, up until Howard Hughes’ character became a shell of a man and my interest waned; however, the movie was nonetheless a great muse for tonight’s writing – and for myself, as a man of ambition and potential. 

In the film, we watch as Hughes devolves from a powerful visionary – a man of youth and passion – into a hollow, paranoid agoraphobic. 

Clearly, the man had some mental health struggles, and, in later years, physical issues as well, both contributing in no small-part to his eventual deterioration; however, fortunate as I am at 31, I don’t expect a similar fate for myself; although, I have absolutely no moral conundrums amassing a fortune.

There’s certainly no rule in life that says, ‘You cannot be a wealthy businessman and a famous author‘.  

I used to think that art came first – that it was spiritually paramount to make art – as if somehow business endeavors were a barrier to that.

But believe me, I’ve tried the starving artist thing, and even with a room of ones own, poverty is not conducive to writing in this day and age. 

For me, the life of the entrepreneur-writer-philosopher seems to fit best.

Lawrence Black is an American entrepreneur, writer, and philosopher. He is the author of ——– and ——– , and maintains ownership interests in several tech companies he has founded.

These are words I recite in front of the mirror, a kind of Stoic / Cognitive exercise I perform that allows me to zoom out on my story and see things from a grander, more elegant perspective. 

It is modeled on the idea of my future Wikipedia entry, serving as sort of cliff’s notes on who I am, and its purpose is to remind me of my destiny, my potential. 

I find it a fantastic method for bolstering my confidence and strengthening my identity; for I am most-certainly someone who believes in my own sense of destiny. This is why I write. 

And sure, there are novels unfinished – but this is my story. 

And I write it because it’s part of the magic, the alchemy I do – casting spells – spelling out my future – weaving the tapestry of my life with intention and purpose. 

And in doing so, I become more definite, more sure; becuase, if I didn’t meant it, I wouldn’t write it

And I, of all people, know the story can always be re-written. 

So follow your folly. Trust life. Cast spells. And don’t be afraid to think out-loud; for your desires are not false hopes, and life is but a game won by definiteness of purpose backed by definiteness of plans. 

With that, I bid you goodnight.

Sow well my friends. 

And I Am

I feel like journaling at the moment -something I sometimes do here but have done a bit more prolifically via pen and paper – however, like a young Leonard Cohen taking pictures of himself – aware of his (And their potential significance one day) – I think I might rather write here instead. After all, like Leonard Cohen – a man who also was once a young promising artist – I too will die. 

And death is life’s greatest gift: for what do we have to lose.

I recognize we live in a world of fairly unwavering thought. Even our bright minds in universities are merely cogs in a machine, albeit intelligent cogs. Nonetheless, people do not think for themselves. If they did there is no fucking way they would suffer the mental anguish they live through on a daily basis. Stress alone is it’s own weakness, its own form of insanity; for there is no such thing as stress, merely the belief we don’t have the resources to handle a given situation. And what a fucking waste of my humanity: to live lacking belief in myself. But this is what I was born to; this is what most of us were born to. 

But there are levels. And I know because I have been through so many of them. 

I have grown immensely: perspective, understanding, maturity, love, independence, humility, compassion – all the things that have made my heart stronger and more buoyant. 

And my philosophies are blossoming.

I am 100% free from the weight of religion, which, in the words of Pablo Neruda, is a collective neurosis. 

What I seek is to be free. And I feel I am. This is no doubt due in part to my deep and abiding agnosticism. But it’s not freedom from the collective neurosis of religion alone that elevates me to the level of emotional freedom I feel today. It’s freedom from much of the collective neurosis that comprises life. These automatic, ingrained reactions to life. 

Stoicism gave me much of my resilience, and I am a Stoic, but the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius are not my bible. No book is. But I do stand on the shoulders of giants, carrying forward the intellectual presents from my spiritual grandfathers. 

These persons have had a great influence on my philosophy, character, and disposition:

  • Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Seneca
  • Adams, Jefferson, Hamilton
  • Emerson, Thoreau, and the Transcendentalists 
  • Ayn Rand
  • John Steinbeck, Ed Ricketts
  • Victor Hugo, Alexander Dumas
  • Carl Jung, Marie Louis Von-Franz
  • Joseph Campbell 
  • Abraham Maslow
  • Victor Frankl
  • Kazimierz Dabrowski
  • John Gardner

Note: I had made a list of these persons in another draft, and there I wrote that, “If I hadn’t discovered these thinkers, I would be a scared little man.” How apt. 

This list is by no means complete, nor is it in any specific order; although, I would say, Jung, Campbell, Emerson, and Aurelius hold key positions in my mental cabinet – but each person on the above list has contributed immensely to my education, my philosophy. 

It’s important to note here an idea posited by Emerson in his 1837 speech The American Scholar. 

Emerson states:

“Meek young men grow up in libraries believing it their duty to accept the views which Cicero, which Locke, which Bacon have given, forgetful that Cicero, Locke and Bacon were only young men in libraries when they wrote those books.”

The point here being that intellectualism ought not be devoted to the mere worship of ideas, but to their very creation. 

Having lived much of my young life a product of other people’s thinking, I connected deeply to the words of Steve Jobs in his 2005 Stanford commencement address:

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

I know what it is to have my own inner voice drowned out; I know what it is to live a servant to the ideas of society. Having blossomed mentally – in large part due to the aforementioned thinkers – into something worthy of being called an individual, I can say that I am never going back. 

The lyrics from Childish Gambino’s Not Going Back echo in my head:

Renaissance man with a Hollywood buzz
I refuse to go back to not likin’ who I was

Because I do like who I am. 

I am on MY side. 

And I’ll soon have a buzz bigger than insects in Texas. 

And I am

Sunday Night Thoughts

Time: the great cannabalizer and finisher of all things. 

I say this neither stoically nor nihilisitically, but merely to note that there is no more powerful force in life. 

I never imagined being a man, being mature, and reaching this age in my life – this epoch in time, between possibility and life. 

I know who I am, I know what I want, and, in the game of life, I seek to be the hero. 

My heroes live in the pages of books, and my story in my own. 

I want to write and in writing become the hero I am destined to be: the writer, the man, the romantic – all that I am.

And all I need is time, this most precious of assets; for I intend to use mine as wisely as I can. 

I have, thankfully, gained an immense amount of perspective on my life this past year. 

With the passing of my dad I have grabbed hold of my mortality, owning up to the fact I too will go the way of all flesh. 

This is no light fact; it is indeed nothing short of realizing life’s true value. 

Life is not something to simply be endured, something that must merely come to pass. Yes, I recongnize life entails suffering. But there’s something purposeful to life, if you can awake to it. 

It’s that thing that makes you tick. And no, this is not a motivational thing; I desire only to communicate the importance of living a life with meaning. Because, when you do that, when you have a meaningful life, you start to connect the dots, and – for lack of a better phrase – everything becomes spiritual; meaning, synchronicity, and growth become constant, and inner-voice comes through clearly and resolutely. 

Why were you born? Seriously, fucking ask yourself. You know. You know why. You know what your dream is. 

But maybe you’re afraid. Afraid of life. Afraid to admit to yourself the things you truly want. Afraid to even try. 

I know I was. 

 

Six Years in Exile

Six years in exile
Six years from new to new textiles

Back then we used BBM,
Different text-style
But life is mos def weird, X-Files

I smile inside,
Happy in my eventide,
Halfway to dead but never happier to be alive
Even happier than you and I that 4th of July
And thats a lot of happy, I’m happy to say,
And I hope like me, youre happy today

Cause Lord knows I been to the moon and back since back then
Been so broke I couldn’t afford an aspirin –
Now I’m fresh in the mountains,
Aspen

And they thought I was a fuckin has-been?
Well I has-been low as a fuckin ants been,
But now im laughing, chillin in my cabin,
Cause I mever quit, addict
Had to level up, attic
But now im back, randy savage
I wrested my demons;
Didnt want to be average
I wanted to be fly, Mavrick
But I fell off the top like a loose-brick
Lived eyes wide shut, Stanley Kubrick
Had complicated problems, rubix
Bore the weight of the world, crucifix
I couldnt even afford to get a tooth fixed
Hurt so bad, I almost tried to remove it
Drunk as I was tho, I couldn’t do it
Thank my soul tho, we made it through it
Now i can take my baby out to Ruths Chris
Same as me she likes em a little thick

Yes I smile, Yes I do
I finally found my way through

Six years in the wilderness,
Every fear came to pass
Six years a servant to fear,
Beneath the lash, and on the rack

Till the day now I 

from 24601 in 90210