theoreticaljustice

[theoreticaljustice]

something i made for nick

[theoreticaljustice]

Not Death

“Write down your worst fear on a piece of paper and fold it up. Throw it in a jar. Save it for later.”

These were part of the instructions for a horrible board game I played with some family and friends shortly after Thanksgiving dinner. It took me too long to think of my worst fear, so I settled for “Being in excruciating pain while in a fully conscious coma” which really isn’t my worst fear, but people were getting tired of waiting for me to finish.

Why is it that everybody was able to think of their worst fear almost immediately? Do people just sit with this shit in their back pocket ready to draw it at any given notice, just in case? If so, that’s fucking crazy. Most likely everybody settled for something benign right away. I was probably putting too much honest thought into the trite exercise.

Regardless, I was never able to write out my worst fear and, even now, I’m still not too sure what it is. Maybe the reason my worst fear isn’t so front and center in my mind is because it is just that horrible. Maybe it lurks in my id, showing only a faint silhouette of itself in the unexplainable moments where I feel like I am going to die. And even then, I can’t explain it.

What is it?

I have plenty of fears, but nothing that strikes me so stark as to be my definite worst. That is one hell of a commitment. I know it has to do with empty vacuum of space and disproportionately large entities that stare into my soul, but that is still such a rough definition. That is also a dated thought that has lingered around in the back of my mind since my childhood. My worst fear is in the unknown, I’m sure. The fear that leaps out from a happy life when it is raped of it’s meaning. What turns humanity into raging animals. My fear is a sound tied to an emotion more than it is a vision. Though the cold depth of the ocean is most likely the closest I can come to describing it with earthly reference.

I guess I have no worst fear. Neither does my friend Tom.

[theoreticaljustice]

A Glimpse of Infinity

The endless and slow beeping sound plays a sad song far away. Leaning against the wall in the hospital hallway, staring at the floor with dried up anxieties. When I went in, she was sitting in a tall metal chair under two fluorescents. Light softly bouncing off of the white and beige linens surrounding her.

I sat down and she put her hand on mine. She began to recall a trip to Brazil she had made as an adolescent. Though young, she had already given the gift of two children. The three were sent to secure a shipment for a pharmacy they had opened in Bolivia. She painted a picture of Sao Paulo during a crime-free era.  In her story, the streetlights shone like stars and the gentlemen were all tall and chivalrous. I saw her eyes slip into an eternity folded into her story. As if every moment was a vivid universe of detail.

My sentiments lingered between concern and fixation. The disturbing thought that my grandmother was somewhere in a drug-induced hallucination was muffled by her hypnotic storytelling cadence. I stuck with her and followed her back to Bolivia, through the streets and back home. To a life where she lived calmly, helping my grandfather operate a few small businesses. I took note of her ability to lay backgrounds down like blankets. She ended long sorrowful stories with wise cracks, threading laughs through depression with such rarely found skill.

The window she would soon be closing led to another world. A world I missed so much it broke my heart. A world I had never even experienced. There was where she was headed and there was nothing I could do to change her mind. My only job was to make sure she didn’t forget anything before she left.

[theoreticaljustice]

[theoreticaljustice]

Don’t Panic

He points two fingers to the sky like a gun.

Head bowed, eyes closed, may the Lord’s will be done.

...

Inside clash thoughts, but not memories

Concerns stark with energy

Screaming for solutions on the other side of thick, bullet-proof glass

Muffled by the panic

He lays down prostrated, then turns to stare down the stars

Here they come like needles to pop the world like a balloon

...

Kiss the prison walls of the infinitesimal black hole

Pathetic attempts to fly out and escape with deep breaths that land you back in electric shock

Chained inside an eternity of morbid possibilities of what the FUCK can be causing the pains inside your chest

Glasses of water and fresh air gasping like a maniac to every motherfucker that has no idea you don’t know how to relax

Despairingly latched to the fact that it’s all a dream and it will be over sooner than you know it

Sooner than you can start to put your shoes on to run

Sooner than you can call someone just to hear a voice on the phone

Sooner than you turn on the music to make it go away

Sooner than you crack your knuckles, you crack your back, you crack your neck, you crack open the wall, the window, the door, your head, you’re dead

and NOW you can have your fucking reality back!

[theoreticaljustice]

Independent Contractors

Armadillo: Let me ask you a question. If someone says they're going to call you back in twenty minutes, but they don't, how much longer would you wait before trying them again?

White Cat: It depends who that someone is.

...

White Cat: You know, memories are malleable.

Squirrel: I took a class where I studied skepticism and storytelling - I remember hearing about that stuff.

White Cat: No, not skepticism. I'm talking about memory forming and reality as we choose to remember it.

Squirrel: That's what I meant.

White Cat: That's not what you said - skepticism is a totally different thing.

Squirrel: I know skepticism is different, I meant the storytelling part.

White Cat: The storytelling part of what?!

Squirrel: I'm just saying I took a class where, yeah...anyway.

White Cat: Yeah... Well, after anything happens to us, we can choose to see it and remember it the way we want, even if it's not the way it really happened. If we repeat this lie to ourselves, we build and strengthen it's synaptic memory path in our brain. Eventually, it becomes a strong memory, almost indistinguishable from the truth. We have the power to convince ourselves so intently that it literally changes our mind and our reality, our memories.

Squirrel: Yup, life is just a big video game.

White Cat: What? What are you talking about?

Armadillo: Let's just pretend this conversation never happened. I gotta go, I'll just see you guys later. Good work sesh.

White Cat: *daps*

Squirrel: *daps*

...

[theoreticaljustice]

[theoreticaljustice]

I’d been living luminously between two eternities of darkness.

Ohran Pamuk

[theoreticaljustice]

Darko

There are times when I realize just how alone I am and just how much of the world makes absolutely no sense. This is not a feeling, but a clear realization of a hard truth. The only thing that makes it digestible is perspective.  

First off, let me elaborate on my realizations. When I say, “how alone I am” what I mean is how much we are all alone in our thoughts. We all live in our heads and think our thoughts to ourselves. Good thoughts, bad thoughts, horribly insane thoughts and even idiotic musings go on inside our head all the time - and nobody hears it. Nobody knows how deep we are or the uniqueness we feel. Nobody can or will ever fully understand us.  We are alone in our heads.  

Like Roberta Sparrow said in Donnie Darko, “Every living creature on Earth dies alone.”

Now, the perspective I take is that reality is mine to create. Not only that, but I am a deeply unique person that has a ton to offer. Sure, nobody will ever fully share my life, but who the fuck needs that?!  That kind of thinking is narcissistic. Yeah, we’re all alone - good.  Everyone gets their very own room. It’s awesome.

Now, the fact that existence in and of itself is pretty much absurd is another beast to deal with. It’s true, though. What exactly is life?  For the religious out there, life is whatever their religion says it is. Most likely to go by the teachings which god or gods have bestowed upon us magically thousands of years ago (some to never be revised or questioned - ahem). For others, life is what you make it. It’s fucking bananas.  

We evolved from specks of dust into conscious beings. We learned and learned and eventually formed groups, cities, armies, wars, signed peace treaties, established boundaries, fought again, etc. All for the ability to experience this great life that…means jack shit. We are spinning on a planet in outer space and what the fuck is an outer space?!  

We DON’T know what happens after we croak. Truth. So what the fuck is the point? Well, like I said - it’s a choose your own adventure. You can either realize that existence is meaningless and sit, rot and fall over or you can realize that existence is meaningless and give it some meaning. Some perspective. Personally, I was raised Catholic and now claim agnosticism, but really believe in a mix of random teachings. Particularly, I believe that we are all here to love one another and help each other and that we are all our own Gods. That’s my perspective. That’s my spin and how I get through my day on this …planet? We’re all space cadets.

So, in those times when I realize just how alone I am and just how much of the world makes absolutely no sense, what I like to think is that this is MY life. I am glad I have the freedom and solitude to make it comfortable. It’s not bad to be alone or live amongst the unexplained. It’s an experience and a humble one.

[theoreticaljustice]

What is a good man but a bad man’s teacher? What is a bad man but a good man’s job? If you don’t understand this, you will get lost, However intelligent you are. It is the great secret.

Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching

[theoreticaljustice]

River City, 2013

[theoreticaljustice]

My brain can be an anus. A brainus.

My stress is killing me and I think I’m dying. It’s probably not and I’m probably not, but unexplained chest pain sure as hell feels shitty.  

I’ve seen a doctor, in case you are wondering and - if you have anxiety and hypochondria like I do - you should know that they just send me home and tell me to relax.

Still, I bite the bullet, hope and pray that it’s nothing serious. Anxiety has it that all the reassurance in the world does not take away the anguish.

I know that most likely, there’s nothing horribly wrong with me and, if there is, I’ll just take the next few years off of work and write a novel. Maybe a story about a monkey who smokes cigarettes or a memoir.

It does help to put it out there and I won’t make this post so long, but I want to share two pieces of advice that have helped me:

1. Take deep breaths. I am a ball of stress with legs, and I have recently realized that I don’t breathe very deeply. There are even times when I’m so stressed out that I stop breathing altogether. My brain may be lacking oxygen.

2. You can only think of one thing at a time, so make it something good. This helps because it makes me more aware of what occupies the one seat in my brain that I have available. If I find myself obsessing about something negative, I know it is then time to put goodness in my thoughts. I should spend more time thinking of Sarah Silverman jokes and kittens.

[theoreticaljustice]

It Makes Me Sick.

A few days ago, all the stress I’ve been holding back finally caved-in on me while I was sitting and, ironically, trying to calm the fuck down.

I’ve had anxiety problems since I turned 20 (am now 31) and have always turned away medications, leaving me to have to fend for myself when it comes to stress. When I had my first run-in with severe anxiety (at 20), I thought I was dying from some unknown illness. I was convulsing at night before sleep, waking up with half my body numb, having trouble breathing when I left my house, experiencing migraines daily, getting flashes in my vision, cold sweats, unexplained pains, panic attacks - you name it. My anxiety was manifesting itself physically so hard that I was convinced I was diseased and dying from some unknown sickness.  

I visited the hospital over and over, being put through a battery of tests to see just what the fuck was causing all my pains and illnesses. Nothing. Doctors couldn’t find a thing and it wasn’t until I struck gold finding a capable doctor in a Kaiser Permanente that I realized I was the victim of high stress and depression. Victim then, intimate friend and soulmate now.

Trying my best to avoid medication, I discovered several ways of letting loose, from aroma therapy to meditation, exercise and diet changes. My little victories went a long way and they added up to me being able to maintain a decent life.

Fast-forward to a few days ago. Sitting on a couch trying to not be angry. Pissed as hell and - boom…my left shoulder pretty much gives out. I feel a sharp pain like I had just pulled a muscle really badly. I couldn’t lift my arm very well without a searing pain shooting to my hand. I ran to Google with my tail between my legs and found nothing - well, nothing comforting. According to WebMD, it was either nothing or cancer.

Then it hit me. It was back and badder then ever, like a bad sequel. I took a good long look around me and realized I was standing in a pile of unprocessed emotions. I was deep in a hole of anxiety and depression that had snuck under the radar since I had made my recent move to New York City. The stress of the move, finding new work, learning the trains, bad eating habits, walking constantly, dealing with the crowds, paying up-the-ass for rent - everything…everything had built up and toppled over because I had been so busy for the last year. I had lost my routine and completely fucked myself over.

Eventually my shoulder healed.  The whole left side of my back was left in knots, but on it’s way to a full recuperation.

I took a few days to think about how to handle this and it came to me one evening after work.

Before leaving my job, I encountered what can be best described as a crazy asshole. She tried to make my life hell, as most assholes will, and lecture me about petty bullshit. I dipped and dodged and left her standing there with her thumb in her eye, but on the walk home I found myself cursing and marching through the NYC crowds ready to break a nose.

I thought to myself, “This is how crazy people happen. They can’t take it anymore, snap, and spend the rest of their lives eating live rats and spitting on random people, screaming about how the Nazi’s are coming back to get us all. I can’t let this happen. I need to vent.”

So, I decided to create this blog, which I will be sharing for my health. I’m also doing this for the health of my audience. I’m doing this so I don’t hit someone in the face. I’m doing this so I don’t get shot. I’m doing this because before I even think about starting my exercise routine back up or finding other ways to righten my crookedness - I need to learn to let things go, mentally.

This is me trying to handle my life in a more productive way and this will be a continuous process...most likely for the rest of my life..