I read long time ago when I was a kid that it is admirable for a man to stop speaking or eating in mid-stream, just because he does not wish to continue indulging in the pleasures of hearing his voice or tasting food. In other words, such a man commands our admiration because he shows self-control and moderation.
For the record, I am a stranger to moderation. In some areas, I have self-control, but I am a slave to my emotions. I am pitiful sometimes. I have tried to work on mastering my emotions, but I have not had much success. I guess maybe it stems from having an ego which can be both good and bad. One thing I have learned that most humans are despicable, cowardly, cunning, and phony. And I am not like that at all. So, overall I have reasons to feel good about myself. I may be not that keen cultivating qualities that are necessary for survival, but I do have qualities that speak of honor and dignity. Humans who are all about survival at any costs and at any price are nothing but animals, yet the motherfuckers would jump up and down, foaming and frothing at the mouths if they are accused of living a life no different from that of animals. They fucking insist that they want to be treated with courtesy which they piously intone that it is "de rigueur" in polite society. De rigueur, my ass! All phonies and cowards. Good for nothing. Don't fucking lift a finger to help their home country and their fellow countrymen in this hour of need.
One more thing I need to cultivate is the emotional independence. It could even be more important than the financial independence which is an obvious necessity in order to go through life with dignity.
I once read a novel in which the main character said, eerily like sombody I used to know: "Vietnam changed people. It sure as hell changed me. I used to be a nice guy." What the main character said has stayed with me ever I came across it. Many people I met over the years have changed for the worse. They started out, not evil nor very selfish, but life has changed them. A bad love relationship, a bad marriage, or a bad boss turned them into bitter, uncaring monsters.
But not me, I can assure you that. Care to know why? Because I have a sense of justice. I never hurt innocent parties. I have a list in red ink. I've postponed my trip. Maybe it's time to make a trip. But first, I have to stay healthy and wealthy. I must.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Power and Acting Officious
Recently I got into an accident. I rear-ended a vehicle. I could not stop in time due to my carelessness. I was distracted. What interested me was the putting on air by the cop who arrived at the scene to write an accident report. The manner he got out of his car and his way of asking me questions triggered a lot of suppressed anger inside me when I see humans act on an officious manner and authoritarian fashion when a situation gives them the opportunity to put on those airs. Instead of being unassuming and polite and pleasant, those assholes can't resist the temptation of "power". They would puff and inflate their chests and start talking in the voice of "authority". And do you know what when that happens? I have an instant desire to put them in their place, but I wouldn't because it is not the smart thing to do. I would hurt myself further. So, I have to suppress my desire. I would then have to remind myself not to act like them should similar situations arise in the future and I find myself in the driver's seat.
Wisdom
Wisdom comes from experience and patience. Patience means self-control. It means the ability to delay instant gratification of our wishes. We learn to wait because haste makes waste. We know if we act now, our actions are not well thought out. Patience means careful choice of words. It means we employ empathy, not egotism. It also means to learn to love those who annoy or even hurt us, not because we are afraid, but because we care, because we understand the uselessness of inflicing pain on others. Sooner or later, that pain will come back to us in some form. Patience means to work for harmony and integration and understanding, not to satisfy our ego's need to look good and smart. A person who constantly tries to prove he is smart is insecure about his own intelligence. A truly intelligent man is not anxious to prove himself. He simply knows he is smart. He is comfortable with that. He accepts that. He does not gloat. He does not make noises.
(cont.)
(cont.)
Pulp Fiction Redux
Pulp Fiction is a honest work of art. It has an unorthodox way of stating its views. It is rich in symbols. In due time, I will elaborate on my reactions to the movie. Right now, I just want to focus on the theme of love. Later, I will touch on religious faith, violence, humor, and honesty.
(cont.)
(cont.)
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Fred and Roberto
-Hi, Roberto. Can I come in?
-Certainly. Come on in. What's up?
-You didn't get upset over the talk I gave yesterday, did you?
-Not at all. I never get upset with the truth, no matter how painful it is. On the other hand, I just absolutely can't stand sophistry and unjustified insolence.
-Good to hear that. How are you feeling today?
-Fred, to be honest, I feel like fucking killing somebody, but I have responsibilities and duties, so I can't just do what I damn please. What I can do is to improve my health, my mind, and be careful, and fucking wait.
-Roberto, what I really like about you is your honesty which borders stupidity. Keep your thoughts to yourself. I know it's not easy for you to stay quiet for long, but silent you must, if you want to live to ripe old age.
-Please tell me things I don't know, not things I already know.
-Don't be touchy now. You are a remarkable fellow, stranger than most, "prettier" than the vast majority, and a soul just about as unique as mine. Don't be disturbed too much by monkeys and assholes and all the motherfuckers out there. They are scum. They are slum. They are slime. They are crime. They are a disgrace to the human face. And, just like you, I would love to stick a Mace to their faces.
-Certainly. Come on in. What's up?
-You didn't get upset over the talk I gave yesterday, did you?
-Not at all. I never get upset with the truth, no matter how painful it is. On the other hand, I just absolutely can't stand sophistry and unjustified insolence.
-Good to hear that. How are you feeling today?
-Fred, to be honest, I feel like fucking killing somebody, but I have responsibilities and duties, so I can't just do what I damn please. What I can do is to improve my health, my mind, and be careful, and fucking wait.
-Roberto, what I really like about you is your honesty which borders stupidity. Keep your thoughts to yourself. I know it's not easy for you to stay quiet for long, but silent you must, if you want to live to ripe old age.
-Please tell me things I don't know, not things I already know.
-Don't be touchy now. You are a remarkable fellow, stranger than most, "prettier" than the vast majority, and a soul just about as unique as mine. Don't be disturbed too much by monkeys and assholes and all the motherfuckers out there. They are scum. They are slum. They are slime. They are crime. They are a disgrace to the human face. And, just like you, I would love to stick a Mace to their faces.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Memories are choking me.
When the Vietcong came into Saigon on April 30, 1975 and thus effectively ended the long civil war instigated by China, I was safe and sound in a democratic society somewhere in the Pacific. I then managed to get to the U.S. and have lived there ever since. Thus in my heart, Saigon has always been the Saigon of those years prior to April 30, 1975, in spite of my being back for visits four times already. The Saigon of today (Ho Chi Minh City, fuck that name!) means absolutely nothing to me, with its high-rise hotels and office buildings and massive throngs of people day and night and congested traffic and smog and noise.
Today somebody posted on the Internet the photos of Saigon and nearby cities of those years prior to April, 1975 and when I saw them, I felt choked and tears welled up in my eyes. Then I wonder how some people can forget where they came from and turned their back on their country in its hour of need. I wonder if they really can forget the memories or they are just into denial because of cowardice and selfishness.
Today somebody posted on the Internet the photos of Saigon and nearby cities of those years prior to April, 1975 and when I saw them, I felt choked and tears welled up in my eyes. Then I wonder how some people can forget where they came from and turned their back on their country in its hour of need. I wonder if they really can forget the memories or they are just into denial because of cowardice and selfishness.
Honesty
-You were not that angry with them, were you?
-You bet your sweet ass that I was.
-Why? I thought you got over with what bothered you last week.
- I did until another asshole mouthed off more nonsense. I never had respect for that motherfucker anyway. Never did. Never will.
-So, what do you want to do?
-Not much, really. There's not much I can do without also hurting myself. All I can do is to take care of my health and wait and wait. The lesson is I have to be mindful of the issue of ego. I can have contempt for them, but I should not have articulated it in a forceful manner. On the other hand, without being forceful, I would not have forced them to reveal their true color. So, something was gained. Another lesson was that I learned a lot about myself. I was not perceptive. I was naive. I was quite stupid for thinking the bastards were better than they really were. In view of what has transpired, I really admire Ky for maintaining silence despite being attacked in a despicable manner. Silence requires fortitude. I have to give T3 a lot of credit for refusing to lock horns with me. He once gave me an advice that the key element in the martial arts is the ability to absorb pain before inflicting pain back to your opponent. He is unfortunately deficient in the love department, besides being a phony, but he is truly a very smart fellow. I can't deny that fact.
-You bet your sweet ass that I was.
-Why? I thought you got over with what bothered you last week.
- I did until another asshole mouthed off more nonsense. I never had respect for that motherfucker anyway. Never did. Never will.
-So, what do you want to do?
-Not much, really. There's not much I can do without also hurting myself. All I can do is to take care of my health and wait and wait. The lesson is I have to be mindful of the issue of ego. I can have contempt for them, but I should not have articulated it in a forceful manner. On the other hand, without being forceful, I would not have forced them to reveal their true color. So, something was gained. Another lesson was that I learned a lot about myself. I was not perceptive. I was naive. I was quite stupid for thinking the bastards were better than they really were. In view of what has transpired, I really admire Ky for maintaining silence despite being attacked in a despicable manner. Silence requires fortitude. I have to give T3 a lot of credit for refusing to lock horns with me. He once gave me an advice that the key element in the martial arts is the ability to absorb pain before inflicting pain back to your opponent. He is unfortunately deficient in the love department, besides being a phony, but he is truly a very smart fellow. I can't deny that fact.
Assess and Assail
-Good morning, comrades. Everybody looks fresh and ready to go. Good. We have a new member. In fact, we have two. Sigmund joined us last week incognito, but I told him we are an upfront organization. We don't operate in the dark, in the subconscious and unconscious bullshit. We are all conscious, all aware, all alert in what we do. Understood? Good. The other member is Frederick Nietzsche. He said that we just call him Fred. I am honored to have him with us. You guys heard of him before, particularly Roberto. Fred is now second in command and will speak for me and chair the meetings when I am not around. In a few years, I will retire. Fred will take over. He is young and vigorous. The organization will prosper. We don't have too many members. People like us are rare, anyway. Fred has a few ideas. Take it away, Fred.
-Thanks, General Walter Mittty. It's an honor to be part of this fine club. It's a deeper honor to have your confidence, Walter. I had a long conversation with Walter last night and he agreed with all the points I am going to go over with you boys.
First, total blockade of news, comments, and opinions from now on, unless they are cleared with me first. Roberto, listen up. I know you love to shoot from the hip, but you must have discipline, OK?
Second, the theme of today's talk is "Assess and Assail", not "Assume". As we all know, Roberto has a habit of assuming others would think and look at the world the same way he does. That is stupid and wrong.
Third, now let's assess the situation. Here's how I see it. Our opponents are phonies and cowards and selfish individuals. Very often phoniness, cowardice, and selfishness all exist in the same individuals. Sometimes, stupidity comes into play, too. Usually, it is just plain ignorance stemming from laziness to read and then think. To sum up, every morning, before you get out of your comfortable adobe, please remember the assholes you are going to meet and forced to interact are the motherfuckers who are phony, cowardly, selfish, ignorant, and stupid in the descending order. Most of them, however, are cunning and crafty. They all have gone through The Thespian School for the Phonies. So they all project the image of decency and civility until their fucking masks fall off their pimpled faces.
That's the reality with our opponents. Let's see what damage they have inflicted on us. Roberto is the one who got hit the most. It was his damned fault, for charging headlong into the opponents without a plan. From now on, we must establish we are better people. We are real humans, not animals nor scum nor slime. I want everybody maintain the following routine:
Daily exercises including Yoga and breathing.
Observe strict silence. All communication to the outside world has to be cleared with me.
Unlike phonies who spout off some Latin and German, I want everybody hit the books everyday on Latin, German, and Chinese. In addition, everybody has to brush up on French and Spanish, especially Roberto. He also has to go back to Italian. Portuguese and Russian and all other shit can slide, if he so desires.
Visit libraries more often. Read more nonfiction and less the fiction bullshit. Roberto, you hear me?
Fourth, after assessing where we are, here's my plan for assailing our opponents. We are going to sail over them and smash them into submission with the superiority of our intellect and reasoning skills. There is only guy out there who can reason worth a damn, the rest are just too fucking stupid and ignorant--- especially the one who has verbal diarrhea, who loves to mouth off on every fucking conceivable topic under the sun whether he knows the subject or not--- to put up any cogent arguments. Maybe Roberto understands the reason for using the words "Assess" and "Assail" in my introductory talk of today. Yes, we are going to make them look like asses and donkeys because that's essentially what they are. They have no human soul because they are selfish, phony, cowardly, and full of sophistry when they argue. They are not interested in love for their home country nor truth. All they are interested in is protecting their little asses until the day they die. They care for nobody except themselves. They are devoid of any higher values and ideals. Humans who have no higher values and ideals are animals, pure and simple.
Meeting's over. Let's get to work.
Heil Truth! Heil Love to the Fatherland! Vietnam is forever!
-Thanks, General Walter Mittty. It's an honor to be part of this fine club. It's a deeper honor to have your confidence, Walter. I had a long conversation with Walter last night and he agreed with all the points I am going to go over with you boys.
First, total blockade of news, comments, and opinions from now on, unless they are cleared with me first. Roberto, listen up. I know you love to shoot from the hip, but you must have discipline, OK?
Second, the theme of today's talk is "Assess and Assail", not "Assume". As we all know, Roberto has a habit of assuming others would think and look at the world the same way he does. That is stupid and wrong.
Third, now let's assess the situation. Here's how I see it. Our opponents are phonies and cowards and selfish individuals. Very often phoniness, cowardice, and selfishness all exist in the same individuals. Sometimes, stupidity comes into play, too. Usually, it is just plain ignorance stemming from laziness to read and then think. To sum up, every morning, before you get out of your comfortable adobe, please remember the assholes you are going to meet and forced to interact are the motherfuckers who are phony, cowardly, selfish, ignorant, and stupid in the descending order. Most of them, however, are cunning and crafty. They all have gone through The Thespian School for the Phonies. So they all project the image of decency and civility until their fucking masks fall off their pimpled faces.
That's the reality with our opponents. Let's see what damage they have inflicted on us. Roberto is the one who got hit the most. It was his damned fault, for charging headlong into the opponents without a plan. From now on, we must establish we are better people. We are real humans, not animals nor scum nor slime. I want everybody maintain the following routine:
Daily exercises including Yoga and breathing.
Observe strict silence. All communication to the outside world has to be cleared with me.
Unlike phonies who spout off some Latin and German, I want everybody hit the books everyday on Latin, German, and Chinese. In addition, everybody has to brush up on French and Spanish, especially Roberto. He also has to go back to Italian. Portuguese and Russian and all other shit can slide, if he so desires.
Visit libraries more often. Read more nonfiction and less the fiction bullshit. Roberto, you hear me?
Fourth, after assessing where we are, here's my plan for assailing our opponents. We are going to sail over them and smash them into submission with the superiority of our intellect and reasoning skills. There is only guy out there who can reason worth a damn, the rest are just too fucking stupid and ignorant--- especially the one who has verbal diarrhea, who loves to mouth off on every fucking conceivable topic under the sun whether he knows the subject or not--- to put up any cogent arguments. Maybe Roberto understands the reason for using the words "Assess" and "Assail" in my introductory talk of today. Yes, we are going to make them look like asses and donkeys because that's essentially what they are. They have no human soul because they are selfish, phony, cowardly, and full of sophistry when they argue. They are not interested in love for their home country nor truth. All they are interested in is protecting their little asses until the day they die. They care for nobody except themselves. They are devoid of any higher values and ideals. Humans who have no higher values and ideals are animals, pure and simple.
Meeting's over. Let's get to work.
Heil Truth! Heil Love to the Fatherland! Vietnam is forever!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Stranger's kindness
Was it Blanche who said that she lived on the kindness of strangers? I have to look it up. Strange, I have never read a play by Tennessee Williams or even seen any movie adaptation. Well, a stranger wrote to me tonight, out of the kindness of his heart. He happened to run into an email of mine, saw the reference to the blog, and looked it up. He felt disturbed enough to write. He said that his English was not that good, but he discerned a crescendo of thoughts about frustrations and potential violence. He told me he had lived through violence and done a lot of things he was not proud of at all. He said that he was a soldier in the ARVN, killed and tortured quite a few VCs, ate their livers, and drank their blood. He got out of Vietnam in 1979 and almost died in the process. He ate somebody who died during the harrowing journey. He settled in Los Angeles, worked a lot of menial jobs, and studied in Community College. He finally got a decent job as a computer technician, met a Latina woman and was saved by love. He married her and had four kids with her. She didn't know about his past except that he was a soldier. He said, please find some love and peace, you seemed to be a fine man, but troubled. I was floored by his email. I cried. I didn't know what to say to the man. I just wrote back saying, I got your email, thanks for the advice, I will keep that in mind, you are very kind. I think I will be able to sleep tonight. Thank you, stranger. Before I pull the trigger on somebody, I will remember your advice. I sure will. I cannot make any promise that I cannot keep. I want to keep my options open.
One thing I have learned is that talk is cheap. Silence is golden, as they say. It takes a lot of fortitude to be silent despite provocation. I have got to wait, in silence, in seething silence, but silence nonetheless. It is stupid to tip my hand in advance. Threats or words of anger are actions of weak-willed people. I have to remember that. If I have to write to anybody, I wouldn't write in a moment of anger and agitation, otherwise I will have to keep on glancing over my shoulder since I don't really know what monster I just released into the streets of evil.
One thing I have learned is that talk is cheap. Silence is golden, as they say. It takes a lot of fortitude to be silent despite provocation. I have got to wait, in silence, in seething silence, but silence nonetheless. It is stupid to tip my hand in advance. Threats or words of anger are actions of weak-willed people. I have to remember that. If I have to write to anybody, I wouldn't write in a moment of anger and agitation, otherwise I will have to keep on glancing over my shoulder since I don't really know what monster I just released into the streets of evil.
Nostalgia, My Ass!
Last night, in a moment of weakness and under the influence of a book I was reading, I wrote some sentimental words about nostalgia, but the truth is I don't give a fuck about Laura anymore. I was stupid and blind for a long time. I finally wised up. Now if I happen to meet the bitch on the street, I would just ignore her. What would I say to her now? Nothing. I have nothing but contempt for her in my heart. And I don't give a shit about her anymore. I don't want to know what happened to her life, why she walked away. I no longer want to know. For many years I did, but not anymore. It is a testament to my sweet nature that I still love women. A lesser man would become a serial killer, starting with the bitch. So, the reader, please be careful next time you fall in love. Love could kill you if you are not careful.
Humans are Animals that Want to Know
Aristotle, you know who Aristotle was, don't you? once said that humans were animals that wanted to know. His statement was not quite complete. He could have added that humans were animals that were restless, dissatisfied, and desirous not only to actualize his potential, but to go beyond his apparent physical limitations. Sadly, many humans live lives not differently from those of animals, but they would be very indignant and be foaming up at the mouths and be jumping up and down like the damned chimpanzees if they are told that they are exhibiting behavior no different from from that of their simian cousins. Let me substantiate, support, bolster, back up, give credence to my statement. You can rest assured that I will do that. I am one of the most intellectually honest you ever meet in your miserable life.
1. They only live in accordance with their biological imperatives: food, sex, shelter, and maybe caring for their offspring.
2. They are concerned with status and (political) alliance for survival purposes. Their preoccupation is survival, survival, and survival. Their own survival and maybe that of their immediate families. They don't give a fuck about anybody else, let alone abstract notions such as patriotism and moral responsibility, but they will put on masks of decency, courtesy, and civility to cover up their selfish, beastly hehavior.
3. They don't cultivate the very qualities that differentiate humans from lower forms of life: the arts, the intense curiosity that wants to know everything around us, the love for others besides ourselves and members of our immediate families, the awareness and consciousness to discharge duties of patriotism, protection, and preservation of the tribe.
4. They don't marvel at and reflect deeply on the achievements of the Olympians, the Yogis, and meditation masters who seem to push back the frontiers of human limitations. Likewise, they never stop and think that humans now fly, dive, run, see, hear, smell far better than any organism on this planet thanks to his imagination. Man is limited only by the limitations of his imagination.
Unlike those human animals I denounced above, I never feel a need to loudly protest, holler, scream with indignation if I am accused of being animalistic because I am conscious of my animal heritage and sometimes I don't manage to transcend the heritage. I mean sometimes I am vengeful, angry, and profane. But compared to them, I am far less an animal and far more a human than they ever can be. Reasons: I am artistic, in tune with my body and my mind, honest, loving to and protective of my kind, restless in acquiring knowledge, fascinated with language and languages. Let me tell you, I am quite fucking special. It's unlikely you will ever meet somebody quite like me even if you live to a ripe old age of 100.
1. They only live in accordance with their biological imperatives: food, sex, shelter, and maybe caring for their offspring.
2. They are concerned with status and (political) alliance for survival purposes. Their preoccupation is survival, survival, and survival. Their own survival and maybe that of their immediate families. They don't give a fuck about anybody else, let alone abstract notions such as patriotism and moral responsibility, but they will put on masks of decency, courtesy, and civility to cover up their selfish, beastly hehavior.
3. They don't cultivate the very qualities that differentiate humans from lower forms of life: the arts, the intense curiosity that wants to know everything around us, the love for others besides ourselves and members of our immediate families, the awareness and consciousness to discharge duties of patriotism, protection, and preservation of the tribe.
4. They don't marvel at and reflect deeply on the achievements of the Olympians, the Yogis, and meditation masters who seem to push back the frontiers of human limitations. Likewise, they never stop and think that humans now fly, dive, run, see, hear, smell far better than any organism on this planet thanks to his imagination. Man is limited only by the limitations of his imagination.
Unlike those human animals I denounced above, I never feel a need to loudly protest, holler, scream with indignation if I am accused of being animalistic because I am conscious of my animal heritage and sometimes I don't manage to transcend the heritage. I mean sometimes I am vengeful, angry, and profane. But compared to them, I am far less an animal and far more a human than they ever can be. Reasons: I am artistic, in tune with my body and my mind, honest, loving to and protective of my kind, restless in acquiring knowledge, fascinated with language and languages. Let me tell you, I am quite fucking special. It's unlikely you will ever meet somebody quite like me even if you live to a ripe old age of 100.
Dreams Redux and Loss of Communion
We all dream every night. The ones that we remember are the ones that wake us up. If they are repetitive then we had better look at them closely if we are inquisitive. I have a few repetitive dreams surrounding the themes of lost love, violence, physical disorientation,and likelihood of failure of national exams for lack of preparation. Please note sex is absent from my repetitive dreams. I have very few sex dreams, anyway. Strange thing because I have a lot of sexual hang-ups. Probably I have dealt with them in my waking hours so my subconscious does not have to do the extra job at night. Now I have piqued your curiosity, you want to know what my sexual hang-ups are, right? I don't mind to let you know. No big deal. I have never had sex with prostitutes because I have a high regard for myself and I hate commercial sex. Sex to me is the physical expression of love and not a means to satisfy animal lust. Thus, slutty, lascivious women never turn me on. Women who talk dirty are repulsive to me. Women who publicly reveal erogenous zones of their bodies are despicable to me. And since I have been attractive to women all my life, I have no problem to find an outlet for sexual energy if I so choose. I don't have to find a whore to spend my time with if I feel lonely or sexually restless.
Anyway, back to my repetitive dreams. I had three of them last night. I dreamed that I had to take a final law exam of which I was unprepared all year. I dreamed that I had a long verbal quarrel with my elder and surviving brother over his physical domination of me when I was a youngster. And I dreamed that I lost my bearing when visiting an underground shopping mall with many levels and maze-like entrances and exits. The last dream fascinate me the most. It undoubtedly had something to do with the feelings of loss of communion with my fellow humans recently. All my life I have been an outsider. I have no real male friends. All my true good friends have been females, many are more than friends. With regard to males, I don't vie for leadership roles, but I never behave in a submissive manner. On the other hand, I am confrontational, not accommodating if I see falsehood uttered and hypocrisy practiced. I even evince feelings of contempt when I see the males I associate with persist in these deplorable behaviors. I know contempt is a two-way street and I can deal with it. Ostracism never bothers me too much. I like to learn from others but I can always learn from strangers or from books. All I need to do is to be observant. Since ostracism never bothers me, I react violently when I see hints that male assholes and bastards dare to talk down to me especially if I view them no more than cowards and phonies. Being ignored does not bother me; being talked down to does. And I have a long memory. I am not noble. I never claim I am.
Anyway, back to my repetitive dreams. I had three of them last night. I dreamed that I had to take a final law exam of which I was unprepared all year. I dreamed that I had a long verbal quarrel with my elder and surviving brother over his physical domination of me when I was a youngster. And I dreamed that I lost my bearing when visiting an underground shopping mall with many levels and maze-like entrances and exits. The last dream fascinate me the most. It undoubtedly had something to do with the feelings of loss of communion with my fellow humans recently. All my life I have been an outsider. I have no real male friends. All my true good friends have been females, many are more than friends. With regard to males, I don't vie for leadership roles, but I never behave in a submissive manner. On the other hand, I am confrontational, not accommodating if I see falsehood uttered and hypocrisy practiced. I even evince feelings of contempt when I see the males I associate with persist in these deplorable behaviors. I know contempt is a two-way street and I can deal with it. Ostracism never bothers me too much. I like to learn from others but I can always learn from strangers or from books. All I need to do is to be observant. Since ostracism never bothers me, I react violently when I see hints that male assholes and bastards dare to talk down to me especially if I view them no more than cowards and phonies. Being ignored does not bother me; being talked down to does. And I have a long memory. I am not noble. I never claim I am.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Who Am I and Who Are They?
There is a dictum that says you are what you write. As I said somewhere sometime ago, somehow it is almost impossible not to reveal oneself when one has to write, especially in a foreign language. Perhaps the reason lies in the difficulty of writing, the highest level in the process of language acquisition. We can tell pretty much the level of education and intelligence of the person who puts his thoughts down on paper from the way he expresses himself. That's why when a sensible person sets out to convince others or to defend himself, he does so in the language he is most comfortable because he does not want to appear as a fool. By trying not to appear as a fool, he usually lays bare his soul and exposes his heart of hearts, besides presenting his thoughts in the most cogent manner he knows how.
There is also another dictum that says a human learns about himself by comparing and contrasting himself with other humans. So, when I look at myself and other humans in terms of what I and they have written, I can safely deduce who and what I am and who and what they are. The results are not pretty and flattering when truth and logic and honesty---not civility, not courtesy, not veneer, not polish, not burnish---are the yardsticks of measurement.
There is also another dictum that says a human learns about himself by comparing and contrasting himself with other humans. So, when I look at myself and other humans in terms of what I and they have written, I can safely deduce who and what I am and who and what they are. The results are not pretty and flattering when truth and logic and honesty---not civility, not courtesy, not veneer, not polish, not burnish---are the yardsticks of measurement.
Nostalgia
They said, you can never go home again, you can't step into the same river twice. I said, no, you are wrong, I can go home anytime I want, I can always bathe in that river of memories. All I need to do is to close my eyes and use my mind to will it closer to my heart.
And there you are, my girl of yore, the one with the dimpled smile, and sexiest body I have ever known, and the fragrance that overwhemed me whenever I pressed my heart close to yours.
Come to me once more, if only one more time, and the last time it is. I promise to leave you alone after tonight. Please talk and cry with me and live once more the times of yore, the times when we were both young and green and beautiful and thought love was always in store.
And there you are, my girl of yore, the one with the dimpled smile, and sexiest body I have ever known, and the fragrance that overwhemed me whenever I pressed my heart close to yours.
Come to me once more, if only one more time, and the last time it is. I promise to leave you alone after tonight. Please talk and cry with me and live once more the times of yore, the times when we were both young and green and beautiful and thought love was always in store.
Conscience Redux
A human without conscience degenerates into an animal. That is a fact, a truth. There is no way to argue against that. Anybody who tries just confirms and reinforces the impression that he is an animal. The more spurious arguments he throws out, the more despicable and animal-like he is.
Some dog acts like it is a top dog, an alpha though it is far being qualified. It tries to establish its territoty. It tries to say, this is my backyard, get out, by barking and snarling and marking its scent by pissing all over its own junkyard. Sometimes it gets into acting friendly and understanding instead of being sullen and snarling. But I see through it. I discern its animal nature. It is only a fucking dog, good for fucking and nothing else. It's not smart nor knowledgeable nor kind nor dignified enough. Yet it tries everyday to be an alpha dog. It barks, it pontificates. It says the most nonsensical things I've ever heard in my sixty plus years of existence. It tries to argue but convinces nobody, let alone me, one of the most skilled dialecticians that ever came down the turnpike. And it yet even dared to talk down to me! As a consequence, I just put its name on top of the list to be sent to Department of Animal and Pest Control for extermination. If the department fails in its duty, I will catch the animal myself and barbecue it later. I will then invite all my Asian friends over for a feast.
They pride themselves that they have standards, but instead of discussing meaningful topics of conversations, topics which could change lives and transform nations, they indulge in prurient interests and bawdy humor. But if they are accused of exhibiting animalistic behavior, they would bend out of shape, their mouths contorted and twisted with rage in their efforts to defend their behavior, to prove they are dignified, to show they live lives of dignity, and not of depravity and not of irrepsonsibility.
They can run. They can lie, but they cannot hide from reality. They know who they are. Now that they have opned their mouths in defending themselves by means of sophistry and spurious arguments, the world also know who they are. They thought they were clever. They fooled nobody. All they did was to enrich the pharmaceutical companies which produce anti-nausea and diarrhea medicines.
Some dog acts like it is a top dog, an alpha though it is far being qualified. It tries to establish its territoty. It tries to say, this is my backyard, get out, by barking and snarling and marking its scent by pissing all over its own junkyard. Sometimes it gets into acting friendly and understanding instead of being sullen and snarling. But I see through it. I discern its animal nature. It is only a fucking dog, good for fucking and nothing else. It's not smart nor knowledgeable nor kind nor dignified enough. Yet it tries everyday to be an alpha dog. It barks, it pontificates. It says the most nonsensical things I've ever heard in my sixty plus years of existence. It tries to argue but convinces nobody, let alone me, one of the most skilled dialecticians that ever came down the turnpike. And it yet even dared to talk down to me! As a consequence, I just put its name on top of the list to be sent to Department of Animal and Pest Control for extermination. If the department fails in its duty, I will catch the animal myself and barbecue it later. I will then invite all my Asian friends over for a feast.
They pride themselves that they have standards, but instead of discussing meaningful topics of conversations, topics which could change lives and transform nations, they indulge in prurient interests and bawdy humor. But if they are accused of exhibiting animalistic behavior, they would bend out of shape, their mouths contorted and twisted with rage in their efforts to defend their behavior, to prove they are dignified, to show they live lives of dignity, and not of depravity and not of irrepsonsibility.
They can run. They can lie, but they cannot hide from reality. They know who they are. Now that they have opned their mouths in defending themselves by means of sophistry and spurious arguments, the world also know who they are. They thought they were clever. They fooled nobody. All they did was to enrich the pharmaceutical companies which produce anti-nausea and diarrhea medicines.
Frivolity, Reverie, and Shattering Reality
Now I finally got to the bottom of my anger: Aversion to frivolity and hypocrisy. But instead of allowing myself get caught up in the farce, in the bad drama of their choosing, from now on I would just be completely indifferent to the childish game of pretense they're playing.
True contempt leads to indifference and silence, not vehement denunciation. True contempt means saying, you are so fucking stupid, ignorant, and full of shit that I no longer wish to see your fucking face, let alone to have a conversation with you. The only use you have for me is that because of animals like you, I now understand a bit more about human depravity and deception and self-deception.
I would begin the day with a meditation on indifference to their antics, to their playing the victim's game and empty words, to their hypocrisy, to their boring routine of insipid jokes, and finally to their ignorance and tiresome pontification on absolute nonsense.
It is no longer fun to see them mangle, maim, and murder the language they are using to hide their hypocrisy and cowardice. They fancy that they understand me, but do they really? Do they really know that I am all over the map? Do they know I am a study of contradictions, of extremes, of a search for harmony and integration?
I suppose the bastards and bitches don't know right now I'm opening my heart to the positive force, to gentleness, to love, to being proactive instead of reactive....
Roberto is saying the above to himself when the the glass on the driver side explodes, showering shards of glass over him. Startled, he put on the brake, unthinking. Boom, boom, two more shouts rang out; both, like the first, missed him. Shards of glass are now also on the passenger seat. Panting, he feels choked, mouth wide open, trying to take in the air. His mouth is parched. He takes off. His 'Vette weaves through traffic, runs a red right, horns blared and tires squealing. In fact he wants to be stopped by a traffic cop. Where the cops now, when I need them, he says. The freeway. Fast. Be careful. Don't have an accident. He overtakes one red car, cuts over, changes two lanes to the right, running down the short entrance ramp. No traffic jam please. He prays. Traffic is light, as it should be at this time of the night. He looks in the rearvier mirror and then the two on the sides. No car follows him as he changes lanes to left, backs to middle, and then to right. They were probably on foot. Lousy shooters. Could be just one. But who? He fumbles for the cell phone.
"Silvio. Listen up. Sombody just took a shot at me. I'm okay. Don't know who it was. Am on I-15, heading north. You're right. I'm thinking the same thing. Will call you back in a few minutes."
(cont.)
True contempt leads to indifference and silence, not vehement denunciation. True contempt means saying, you are so fucking stupid, ignorant, and full of shit that I no longer wish to see your fucking face, let alone to have a conversation with you. The only use you have for me is that because of animals like you, I now understand a bit more about human depravity and deception and self-deception.
I would begin the day with a meditation on indifference to their antics, to their playing the victim's game and empty words, to their hypocrisy, to their boring routine of insipid jokes, and finally to their ignorance and tiresome pontification on absolute nonsense.
It is no longer fun to see them mangle, maim, and murder the language they are using to hide their hypocrisy and cowardice. They fancy that they understand me, but do they really? Do they really know that I am all over the map? Do they know I am a study of contradictions, of extremes, of a search for harmony and integration?
I suppose the bastards and bitches don't know right now I'm opening my heart to the positive force, to gentleness, to love, to being proactive instead of reactive....
Roberto is saying the above to himself when the the glass on the driver side explodes, showering shards of glass over him. Startled, he put on the brake, unthinking. Boom, boom, two more shouts rang out; both, like the first, missed him. Shards of glass are now also on the passenger seat. Panting, he feels choked, mouth wide open, trying to take in the air. His mouth is parched. He takes off. His 'Vette weaves through traffic, runs a red right, horns blared and tires squealing. In fact he wants to be stopped by a traffic cop. Where the cops now, when I need them, he says. The freeway. Fast. Be careful. Don't have an accident. He overtakes one red car, cuts over, changes two lanes to the right, running down the short entrance ramp. No traffic jam please. He prays. Traffic is light, as it should be at this time of the night. He looks in the rearvier mirror and then the two on the sides. No car follows him as he changes lanes to left, backs to middle, and then to right. They were probably on foot. Lousy shooters. Could be just one. But who? He fumbles for the cell phone.
"Silvio. Listen up. Sombody just took a shot at me. I'm okay. Don't know who it was. Am on I-15, heading north. You're right. I'm thinking the same thing. Will call you back in a few minutes."
(cont.)
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Canine Behavior
Canine, herd-like behavior
You undoubtedly have witnessed more than one occasion that if one dog barks for no particular reason, other dogs in the vicinity would join in the barking exercise. I am not a dog, so I don't know what the joining behavior means. I am neither a dog whisperer nor an animal behaviorist. But I do know, or think I know, quite a bit about many things, and my knowlege of them is not conducive to putting food on the table. Yet I perversely love to show off my "knowledge", hence today's "meditation".
You also undoubtedly have witnessed on more than one occasion that some "humans" have a deplorable habit of joining a fray when somebody is under attack. Such canine behavior has a name in Vietnamese. It's called "chó hùa" with obvious negative, disapproving connotation. Such "humans" do so because deep down they are no different from dogs. They have animal mentality. They are animalistic. But they will jump up and down in fury , foaming at the mouth if you have the audacity to intimate or opine that they don't deserve the cognomen "human". The obvious question is why there exists such a glaring cognitive dissonance. It is my not too-humble opinion that they suffer from an ailment, an affliction called "self-deception." Those dogs are accustomed to deceiving others, they end up deceiving themselves.
Having patiently and gamely stayed with me so far, you undoubtedly have a big question on your mind, and that is, if I ever consider myself an animal and exhibit animalistic behavior. The answer is unfortunately in the affirmative and there are times I am not proud of my behavior at all. I am working hard to remedy my deficiencies . There has been some improvement, but I have a long, long way to go. The fundamental difference between myself and the dogs is that I never consider that I am better than I really am. I am not a hypocrite.
The reason for my denunciation of the canine behavior by some "humans" is the attacks they have been inflicting on the ex-Premier Nguyen Cao Ky. I was not privy to all the inside info, so I could not determine if all the attacks were warranted, but today I read on the Internet, posted by a loyal assistant of Ky, a detailed defense full of facts and an amazing revelation that the Malaysian government granted him a Tun title which qualified him for two mansions and servants for life. These special priviledges were supposedly granted back in 1969, but somehow got lost in the shuffle and were just recently discovered and resurrected. Four facts stood out in the controversy around Ky as to whether he was a good man:
1. Ky didn't seem to amass great wealth during his years as a Premier as he didn't have a lavish lifestyle after his rule.
2. Ky has been known since his youth that he is generous and loyal to his friends.
3. Ky stuck around until the last day in Saigon, allegedly directing some resistance against artillery fires from the Vietcong.
4. The Malaysian government granted him the title Tun and the privileges that go along with the title. This was not a frivolous decision. If Ky is truly a person of bad character, I don't think the Malaysian government would not have gone through with it. The decision must have a considered one. I am sure that the possible reactions of the Vietcong government were taken into account.
Complete truth is hard to get. Sometimes we have to make do with partial truth. So far, based on tbe info provided by Ky's assistant on tbe Internet, a reasonable person would have to conclude that Ky cannot possibly a bad person. Please note Ky himself never publicly defended himself. He has maintained silence. Also, it looks like he has a friend in his former assistant. Anybody who has friends can't be that bad.
May I reveal that I have some good friends, too, all of them are women. Women seem to understand me better than men. I have a son and he loves me. I am quite sure when he gets married, he will invite me to his wedding. When a person is not invited to his child's wedding, something is seriously wrong with that person, no matter how sweet and dignified he appears to be. A bystander must conclude that person must be some kind of a phony.
You undoubtedly have witnessed more than one occasion that if one dog barks for no particular reason, other dogs in the vicinity would join in the barking exercise. I am not a dog, so I don't know what the joining behavior means. I am neither a dog whisperer nor an animal behaviorist. But I do know, or think I know, quite a bit about many things, and my knowlege of them is not conducive to putting food on the table. Yet I perversely love to show off my "knowledge", hence today's "meditation".
You also undoubtedly have witnessed on more than one occasion that some "humans" have a deplorable habit of joining a fray when somebody is under attack. Such canine behavior has a name in Vietnamese. It's called "chó hùa" with obvious negative, disapproving connotation. Such "humans" do so because deep down they are no different from dogs. They have animal mentality. They are animalistic. But they will jump up and down in fury , foaming at the mouth if you have the audacity to intimate or opine that they don't deserve the cognomen "human". The obvious question is why there exists such a glaring cognitive dissonance. It is my not too-humble opinion that they suffer from an ailment, an affliction called "self-deception." Those dogs are accustomed to deceiving others, they end up deceiving themselves.
Having patiently and gamely stayed with me so far, you undoubtedly have a big question on your mind, and that is, if I ever consider myself an animal and exhibit animalistic behavior. The answer is unfortunately in the affirmative and there are times I am not proud of my behavior at all. I am working hard to remedy my deficiencies . There has been some improvement, but I have a long, long way to go. The fundamental difference between myself and the dogs is that I never consider that I am better than I really am. I am not a hypocrite.
The reason for my denunciation of the canine behavior by some "humans" is the attacks they have been inflicting on the ex-Premier Nguyen Cao Ky. I was not privy to all the inside info, so I could not determine if all the attacks were warranted, but today I read on the Internet, posted by a loyal assistant of Ky, a detailed defense full of facts and an amazing revelation that the Malaysian government granted him a Tun title which qualified him for two mansions and servants for life. These special priviledges were supposedly granted back in 1969, but somehow got lost in the shuffle and were just recently discovered and resurrected. Four facts stood out in the controversy around Ky as to whether he was a good man:
1. Ky didn't seem to amass great wealth during his years as a Premier as he didn't have a lavish lifestyle after his rule.
2. Ky has been known since his youth that he is generous and loyal to his friends.
3. Ky stuck around until the last day in Saigon, allegedly directing some resistance against artillery fires from the Vietcong.
4. The Malaysian government granted him the title Tun and the privileges that go along with the title. This was not a frivolous decision. If Ky is truly a person of bad character, I don't think the Malaysian government would not have gone through with it. The decision must have a considered one. I am sure that the possible reactions of the Vietcong government were taken into account.
Complete truth is hard to get. Sometimes we have to make do with partial truth. So far, based on tbe info provided by Ky's assistant on tbe Internet, a reasonable person would have to conclude that Ky cannot possibly a bad person. Please note Ky himself never publicly defended himself. He has maintained silence. Also, it looks like he has a friend in his former assistant. Anybody who has friends can't be that bad.
May I reveal that I have some good friends, too, all of them are women. Women seem to understand me better than men. I have a son and he loves me. I am quite sure when he gets married, he will invite me to his wedding. When a person is not invited to his child's wedding, something is seriously wrong with that person, no matter how sweet and dignified he appears to be. A bystander must conclude that person must be some kind of a phony.
Phonies
Phonies
As long as there are humans, there is garbage, a by-product of human activites. As long as there are humans, there exist phonies among them. Phonies are garbage. They stink as soon as they open their mouths. They fucking think they are clever. They think they can put wool over people's eyes all the time. A couple of times, maybe, but not fucking forever. Give me a break. Shit, they have made me lose weight. I've been puking constantly ever since their masks fell off their pimpled faces. Now I am all skin and bones. I have to go on a vacation where are no humans around. I can't take this bullshit anymore. I can't afford to have this amorphous, unfocused anger building up inside me.
Actually, I should not even feel angry. I should accept them for what they are. I should not impose my own values on them. They want to live, like the Jews do, with any costs and any price. What is wrong with that? Their zest for life is strong, unimpaired, unlike mine. So, I need to back off and devote my time on my studying and writing.
As long as there are humans, there is garbage, a by-product of human activites. As long as there are humans, there exist phonies among them. Phonies are garbage. They stink as soon as they open their mouths. They fucking think they are clever. They think they can put wool over people's eyes all the time. A couple of times, maybe, but not fucking forever. Give me a break. Shit, they have made me lose weight. I've been puking constantly ever since their masks fell off their pimpled faces. Now I am all skin and bones. I have to go on a vacation where are no humans around. I can't take this bullshit anymore. I can't afford to have this amorphous, unfocused anger building up inside me.
Actually, I should not even feel angry. I should accept them for what they are. I should not impose my own values on them. They want to live, like the Jews do, with any costs and any price. What is wrong with that? Their zest for life is strong, unimpaired, unlike mine. So, I need to back off and devote my time on my studying and writing.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Nietzsche Again and Again
In the end, we get out of books by the efforts we put into reading them. Anyway, I have to go to make a living, but before doing so, I have to jot down some notes, otherwise I will forget. I am getting old. Short-term memory is being impaired.
I saw my brother Nietzsche was being profiled in the most interesting 20 philosophers in a book I am reading. I will copy the profile later when I come back from a business meeting, but reading the profile was like reading my own profile. No wonder I love the guy. Likes attract likes. Also, like him, I am readable, by which I mean that my sentences and ideas have clarity, unlike the garbage of most of my contemporaries and peers, except words from one guy, but he does not write often.
I have noticed that if anybody has nothing definite in his mind, he begins to talk in a circle. Instead of admitting he is lost and is not sure where he is, he will try to appear profound. The more he tries, the more turgid his prose becomes and his arguments are grasping of straws. I know I come across as undeservedly arrogant, but at least all my arguments are clearly stated and supported with solid facts and logical reasoning. I know arrogance is the flip side of inferiority complex, but at least I am honest with myself. I don't sugarcoat my feelings of superiority with regard to certain matters. The way I express myself is an invitation for others to join me for a verbal duel, my way of throwing down the gauntlet and asking challengers to take me down intellectually if they can. I am not looking for being the most popular and lovable guy. I am more interested if my views can hold water.
Now, here is the profile of my brother, Friedrich Nietzsche (1944-1900)
Best Known Works: Thus Spake Zarathustra, The Will to Power (beware posthumous additions by his sister), Twilight of the Idols, Ecce Homo
Readability: Looks easy enough; used ordinary language, specialized in short spurts and aphorisms, pulled no punches, but style is overheated and dense; reads a little like Norman Mailer in his apocalyptic mode.
Qualities of Mind: Impetuous, irreverent, individualistic, elitist, unstable.
Catchphrases: The will to power, transvaluation of values, Superman, God is dead.
Influence: One of the most flamboyant and controversial philosophers ever, vehemently opposed to virtually all established culture and morality. a prophet who announced the demise of God (and, more importantly, of all absolutes), prophesied the world wars (or something very like them), warned of democracy's tendency to promote conformity and suppress excellence; also, favored selective breeding. A cultural historan whose perceptions about unconscious human drives paved the way for Freud's. Insisted that the dominant force of history is the "will to power," and advocated a "transvaluation of values" in which the traditional "feminine" virtues espoused by Christianity (submission, compassion, being nice to other people) would be joined with "masculine" virtues (courage, strength, toughness) in a morality that aimed at greatness rather than goodness. Hoped for the ascendancy of the Superman, in whom Dionysian instinct and dynamism would be perfectly integrated with Apollonian reason and ethics. Has been variously interpreted--and misinterpreted--as as a spokesman for Fascist, Nazi, anti-Nazi, Romantic, anti-Romantic, and existentialist doctrines.
Personal Gossip: A frail, sickly boy raised in a household of pious women. Became a classics scholar. Went hopelessly insane at age forty-four. His sister, who had problems of her own, later distorted some of his writings, making him sound more racist than he really was.
Current Standing: It's no longer fashionable to call him the Antichrist, to blame him for WW II, or even to dismiss him as a brilliant but sophomoric "literary philosopher." These days, he's admired as a visionary theorist of language and knowledge. On the whole, however, philosophers are still busy trying to figure out exactly what he was driving at.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I believe Nietzsche once said that to be great is to be misunderstood. Fools are never able to understood those who are above them. Fools don't even know they are fools. But don't you ever call those unfortunate beings "fools". They don't like that. Even fools have feelings. You've got to respect and love your brothers, even though they are foolish and stupid and uninformed and self-complacent.
Thus spake Wissai
I saw my brother Nietzsche was being profiled in the most interesting 20 philosophers in a book I am reading. I will copy the profile later when I come back from a business meeting, but reading the profile was like reading my own profile. No wonder I love the guy. Likes attract likes. Also, like him, I am readable, by which I mean that my sentences and ideas have clarity, unlike the garbage of most of my contemporaries and peers, except words from one guy, but he does not write often.
I have noticed that if anybody has nothing definite in his mind, he begins to talk in a circle. Instead of admitting he is lost and is not sure where he is, he will try to appear profound. The more he tries, the more turgid his prose becomes and his arguments are grasping of straws. I know I come across as undeservedly arrogant, but at least all my arguments are clearly stated and supported with solid facts and logical reasoning. I know arrogance is the flip side of inferiority complex, but at least I am honest with myself. I don't sugarcoat my feelings of superiority with regard to certain matters. The way I express myself is an invitation for others to join me for a verbal duel, my way of throwing down the gauntlet and asking challengers to take me down intellectually if they can. I am not looking for being the most popular and lovable guy. I am more interested if my views can hold water.
Now, here is the profile of my brother, Friedrich Nietzsche (1944-1900)
Best Known Works: Thus Spake Zarathustra, The Will to Power (beware posthumous additions by his sister), Twilight of the Idols, Ecce Homo
Readability: Looks easy enough; used ordinary language, specialized in short spurts and aphorisms, pulled no punches, but style is overheated and dense; reads a little like Norman Mailer in his apocalyptic mode.
Qualities of Mind: Impetuous, irreverent, individualistic, elitist, unstable.
Catchphrases: The will to power, transvaluation of values, Superman, God is dead.
Influence: One of the most flamboyant and controversial philosophers ever, vehemently opposed to virtually all established culture and morality. a prophet who announced the demise of God (and, more importantly, of all absolutes), prophesied the world wars (or something very like them), warned of democracy's tendency to promote conformity and suppress excellence; also, favored selective breeding. A cultural historan whose perceptions about unconscious human drives paved the way for Freud's. Insisted that the dominant force of history is the "will to power," and advocated a "transvaluation of values" in which the traditional "feminine" virtues espoused by Christianity (submission, compassion, being nice to other people) would be joined with "masculine" virtues (courage, strength, toughness) in a morality that aimed at greatness rather than goodness. Hoped for the ascendancy of the Superman, in whom Dionysian instinct and dynamism would be perfectly integrated with Apollonian reason and ethics. Has been variously interpreted--and misinterpreted--as as a spokesman for Fascist, Nazi, anti-Nazi, Romantic, anti-Romantic, and existentialist doctrines.
Personal Gossip: A frail, sickly boy raised in a household of pious women. Became a classics scholar. Went hopelessly insane at age forty-four. His sister, who had problems of her own, later distorted some of his writings, making him sound more racist than he really was.
Current Standing: It's no longer fashionable to call him the Antichrist, to blame him for WW II, or even to dismiss him as a brilliant but sophomoric "literary philosopher." These days, he's admired as a visionary theorist of language and knowledge. On the whole, however, philosophers are still busy trying to figure out exactly what he was driving at.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I believe Nietzsche once said that to be great is to be misunderstood. Fools are never able to understood those who are above them. Fools don't even know they are fools. But don't you ever call those unfortunate beings "fools". They don't like that. Even fools have feelings. You've got to respect and love your brothers, even though they are foolish and stupid and uninformed and self-complacent.
Thus spake Wissai
Reality. Reality. Reality
Reality. Reality. Reality
The title of tonight’s post sounds like a cheap advertisement for some kind of merchandise on sale. In a way, reality is a merchandise, a cheap one for most people.
Yes, reality has fascinated me ever since I discovered at the age of eleven that most humans believe in the Big Lie so that they could go through life a little more easily. They have concluded that long time ago that who gives a fuck about Truth. Truth does not bring them food whereas lying can help them survive. As they get older, they construct more elaborate network of defense of their lies. Once I recognize that I cannot go through life living the same way they do, I know then I am different from them and proud of that fact. I even bestow on myself the audacity of thinking I may be one of the few true humans while they are nothing but scum and slimy animals. This barely concealed attitude of mine reflects in almost everything I do, especially when I am forced to interact with them under some rare circumstances. I normally avoid them like a plague. My alienation is that extreme. My contempt is that immense.
The posts I've put here in this blog of mine, the words I have used, the sentences I have constructed, and the names of luminous minds I have dropped all represent a challenge-- a flinging down the gauntlet, so to speak, to all who are intrepid enough to venture into this blog either to join me for mind-blowing experiences or to get the fuck out.
This is not the blog for the timid and the feeble-minded. Neither is it for the selfish and the phony. You will see I am impolite, outspoken, outrageous, and out of this world. You will also see I am full of surprising tenderness and lyricism. What you won't see that I am full of shit. I might display hyperbole and imagination, but not dishonesty. In fact I hate phonies and liars with a passion. I hate cowards who are full of excuses, who try to pretend who they are not. And I hate the fact I was once fooled by them. That should tell you I am not smart nor perceptive as I thought I was. So, from the way I describe myself, you may think I am a hater. Yes, I am and more. I am a good loving father and a caring, loyal friend.
Are you tired of my talking about myself yet? I am not. Dostoevsky once said that no man was ever tired of talking about himself. All humans want to be understood.
Somebody told me once that reality was what we wanted it to be. Perception is reality and all that shit. I countered that it was his reality, and not necessarily the objective reality. Just because some, even most, people believe in a nonsense---a personal God, for instance---that does not necessarily make that belief to be universally true. The problem with most assholes is that they don't know how to think. They fancy they do, but they simply don't know to think to the ultimate. They lack sufficient gray matter. The primary reason as to why I posted "Conceptions of Reality" was to remind myself that true thinking is hard work.
Anyway, enough about this reality shit. You are getting bored stiff, I can tell. I talk tough but I am very vulnerable. I am concerned one of these days, I snap like so many others I've seen, and I would do something not honorable, nor sensible, and I end up making my family feel deeply ashamed. I hate to bring suffering to my own family. I can deal with pain myself, but I feel bad if my loved ones suffer because of me. Know what I mean? I do have some vestiges of responsibility. This evening, even after I did some stretching and breathing exercises, I still felt restless and uptight, so I went for a spin in that horrid-looking 'Vette of mine. I got on the freeway and headed towards the lake. Before I got there, I got a ticket for speeding. My mind was on something, on this meditation on suffering shit, and I forgot to set the cruise control. Now I am pretty fucking mad with myself. I was in no mood to sit by the lake after I got the ticket. So I turned around, driving at 60 this time, and let the Spanish music on the radio calm me down. The next few weeks will be a test of my fortitude. Little things bother me a lot. I am so petty-minded.
(cont.)
The title of tonight’s post sounds like a cheap advertisement for some kind of merchandise on sale. In a way, reality is a merchandise, a cheap one for most people.
Yes, reality has fascinated me ever since I discovered at the age of eleven that most humans believe in the Big Lie so that they could go through life a little more easily. They have concluded that long time ago that who gives a fuck about Truth. Truth does not bring them food whereas lying can help them survive. As they get older, they construct more elaborate network of defense of their lies. Once I recognize that I cannot go through life living the same way they do, I know then I am different from them and proud of that fact. I even bestow on myself the audacity of thinking I may be one of the few true humans while they are nothing but scum and slimy animals. This barely concealed attitude of mine reflects in almost everything I do, especially when I am forced to interact with them under some rare circumstances. I normally avoid them like a plague. My alienation is that extreme. My contempt is that immense.
The posts I've put here in this blog of mine, the words I have used, the sentences I have constructed, and the names of luminous minds I have dropped all represent a challenge-- a flinging down the gauntlet, so to speak, to all who are intrepid enough to venture into this blog either to join me for mind-blowing experiences or to get the fuck out.
This is not the blog for the timid and the feeble-minded. Neither is it for the selfish and the phony. You will see I am impolite, outspoken, outrageous, and out of this world. You will also see I am full of surprising tenderness and lyricism. What you won't see that I am full of shit. I might display hyperbole and imagination, but not dishonesty. In fact I hate phonies and liars with a passion. I hate cowards who are full of excuses, who try to pretend who they are not. And I hate the fact I was once fooled by them. That should tell you I am not smart nor perceptive as I thought I was. So, from the way I describe myself, you may think I am a hater. Yes, I am and more. I am a good loving father and a caring, loyal friend.
Are you tired of my talking about myself yet? I am not. Dostoevsky once said that no man was ever tired of talking about himself. All humans want to be understood.
Somebody told me once that reality was what we wanted it to be. Perception is reality and all that shit. I countered that it was his reality, and not necessarily the objective reality. Just because some, even most, people believe in a nonsense---a personal God, for instance---that does not necessarily make that belief to be universally true. The problem with most assholes is that they don't know how to think. They fancy they do, but they simply don't know to think to the ultimate. They lack sufficient gray matter. The primary reason as to why I posted "Conceptions of Reality" was to remind myself that true thinking is hard work.
Anyway, enough about this reality shit. You are getting bored stiff, I can tell. I talk tough but I am very vulnerable. I am concerned one of these days, I snap like so many others I've seen, and I would do something not honorable, nor sensible, and I end up making my family feel deeply ashamed. I hate to bring suffering to my own family. I can deal with pain myself, but I feel bad if my loved ones suffer because of me. Know what I mean? I do have some vestiges of responsibility. This evening, even after I did some stretching and breathing exercises, I still felt restless and uptight, so I went for a spin in that horrid-looking 'Vette of mine. I got on the freeway and headed towards the lake. Before I got there, I got a ticket for speeding. My mind was on something, on this meditation on suffering shit, and I forgot to set the cruise control. Now I am pretty fucking mad with myself. I was in no mood to sit by the lake after I got the ticket. So I turned around, driving at 60 this time, and let the Spanish music on the radio calm me down. The next few weeks will be a test of my fortitude. Little things bother me a lot. I am so petty-minded.
(cont.)
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Talking to the Wall
I didn't get any fucking catharsis at all from groaning and moaning in the Sanitarium for the Mentally Impaired and Would-be Thespians. In fact, I got more annoyed. In the end I once again achieved some self-validation and saw the frivolity and sophistry displayed by others. They could not be that uninformed nor stupid. So the reasons had to be selfishness and sophistry. Dementia praecox could be another factor. Theirs, not mine. I went home, talking to the wall and I felt much better.
Sigmund and Roberto
-Come on in, I thought you wouldn't show up.
-Sorry, Dr. Freud. I had an auto accident.
-Really? Just call me Sig. I am not as stuffy as people assume I am. Did anybody get hurt?
-No, you are an ambulance chaser, too?
-Don't be touchy now. Just making conversations. I see that you are safe and sound. That is all that matters to me. Why don't you lie down, take off your shoes. Make yourself comfortable. Just the shoes. I am not gay and I assume you are not either. You look angry and disturbed. Why?
-I went to a bar, just as you advised me to. I was sitting at a table in the back, drinking beer, listening to some jazz, feeling mellow and relaxed. Then this guy, about my age, maybe a few years older, sat down and politely asked me if I was with anybody else. I said, No. Mind if I join you, he said. Like a fool, I said, No. Then we started talking. You know me. All I want to talk about is philosophy.
-Sorry for interrupting. You mind if we make a detour and talk about your schooling and interests? Strange that we never talked about this last session.
-I formally studied literature, education, political science, business, insurance, and Spanish, in that order. I have several degrees. For fun, I usually just read and study languages. I read mostly philosophy, fiction, history, and news. I do some thinking, connecting the dots, and feeling sometimes very grand about myself, sometimes morose and homocidal. I used to feel suicidal, but that was a long time ago.
-Great, Roberto, now, you were saying about meeting a guy in the bar?
-Yeah, he was really weird. He started at first being very nice and reasonable. I have this stupid habit to talk about things I want to talk, not stuff somebody else wants to talk. I can be egotistical. Anyway, I started talking about Derrida. He tried to keep up, but it was obvious he was not familiar with Derrida, but that was OK. Then I went on talking about the thinking process and thinkers and all that shit. I mentioned people who had an impact on the way I think and view the world. I mentioned a couple of names. Then all the sudden, he went ballistic on me, telling me that if he wanted to know what those thinkers think, he would know go to Google. What he wanted to know is what I, Roberto, personally think, not what other people think. I patiently explained to him very few people think in a vacuum. We all owe intellectual debts. He didn't listen to me and stomped out of the bar.
-And you got upset and wanted to spend your precious money on me to talk about that.
-Yes, Sig.
-Then you are just as fucking sick as he is, Roberto. Go home, get into a hot bathtub, stay there as long as you like. Be sure don't fall asleep and get drowned or something. So, don't drink.
-Sig, you ARE mocking me.
-No, I am not. I am giving you real advice. The guy was lonely, just wanted to have an argument for the fun of it. He was being argumentative, playing Devil's advocate. He was not serious while you were as serious as a heart-attack and just about as real as a three-dollar bill. Come on, Roberto, lighten up. How old are you now, early 60's? You will get sick and die in a few years. Relax, live and let live. Read fewer books. Get out of the house. Find a hobby. Work for a charitable organization or something. Help the needy. And don't get too stuck up on yourself. You are not that smart. I am.
A few days elapsed. Weekend came around and was gone. Monday appeared and then followed by Tueday and Wednesday. On Thursday Roberto had another auto accident resulting in a concussion. He passed out cold and woke up in a hospital. He became more subdued and less aggressive. There was a melancholy look about him. By Monday he was discharged. He called Sig for a consultation session to be scheduled on Tuesday of the same week. He didn't bother to tell Sig about his second and more serious accident.
-Hi Roberto. Back too soon? You lost some weight? And you do look kind of pale.
-Sig, we need to talk.
-Shoot!
-I got time on my hands the last few days, so I really did some serious thinking. And I think you were absolutely right. I was too intense for my own good. I need to just learn to practice serious contempt.
-What's bothering you now? Spit it out. Maybe I am the only friend you have, now that Silvio is in jail for bailing you out of the mess you created. You were really lucky to have a friend like Silvio.
-I think ordinary contempt expresses itself in condemnations and attempted conversations. Serious contempt requires complete silence because one doesn't want to lower oneself to hold a dialogue with phonies and cowards and ignoramuses because one sees with perfect clarity that understanding is virtually impossible with those who are not into truth and knowledge.
-What? You drove all the way over here, across town, in the middle of the day, to tell me that? You know I am billing you for my time, right? And I am not cheap. Never was. Never will be.
-Cut the fuck out, will you, Sig? I am serious, here.
-OK, mate. No offense intended. Just want to save you money. Believe it or not, I care about you, Roberto. Of course, what you told me a few seconds ago was absolutely true. The problemm with you is that you take everything to heart. Don't you ever laugh? Laugh, Roberto, laugh. You would go through life much more easily and you will live much longer if you just learn to see that life is a fucking comedy, man. It really is and most humans are fucking nothing but clowns. They are clowns but they love to be appear solemn and respectable so what do they do? They talk nonsense. Their thoughts don't add up. They make no sense. Their facts are all mixed up and poorly interpreted. Just fucking ignore them and pay attention to your health. Sleep more, eat right, do exercises. And don't come here anymore. Call me instead. I will not charge you anymore. Poor you. You've suffered enough. Capisce?
-Sorry, Dr. Freud. I had an auto accident.
-Really? Just call me Sig. I am not as stuffy as people assume I am. Did anybody get hurt?
-No, you are an ambulance chaser, too?
-Don't be touchy now. Just making conversations. I see that you are safe and sound. That is all that matters to me. Why don't you lie down, take off your shoes. Make yourself comfortable. Just the shoes. I am not gay and I assume you are not either. You look angry and disturbed. Why?
-I went to a bar, just as you advised me to. I was sitting at a table in the back, drinking beer, listening to some jazz, feeling mellow and relaxed. Then this guy, about my age, maybe a few years older, sat down and politely asked me if I was with anybody else. I said, No. Mind if I join you, he said. Like a fool, I said, No. Then we started talking. You know me. All I want to talk about is philosophy.
-Sorry for interrupting. You mind if we make a detour and talk about your schooling and interests? Strange that we never talked about this last session.
-I formally studied literature, education, political science, business, insurance, and Spanish, in that order. I have several degrees. For fun, I usually just read and study languages. I read mostly philosophy, fiction, history, and news. I do some thinking, connecting the dots, and feeling sometimes very grand about myself, sometimes morose and homocidal. I used to feel suicidal, but that was a long time ago.
-Great, Roberto, now, you were saying about meeting a guy in the bar?
-Yeah, he was really weird. He started at first being very nice and reasonable. I have this stupid habit to talk about things I want to talk, not stuff somebody else wants to talk. I can be egotistical. Anyway, I started talking about Derrida. He tried to keep up, but it was obvious he was not familiar with Derrida, but that was OK. Then I went on talking about the thinking process and thinkers and all that shit. I mentioned people who had an impact on the way I think and view the world. I mentioned a couple of names. Then all the sudden, he went ballistic on me, telling me that if he wanted to know what those thinkers think, he would know go to Google. What he wanted to know is what I, Roberto, personally think, not what other people think. I patiently explained to him very few people think in a vacuum. We all owe intellectual debts. He didn't listen to me and stomped out of the bar.
-And you got upset and wanted to spend your precious money on me to talk about that.
-Yes, Sig.
-Then you are just as fucking sick as he is, Roberto. Go home, get into a hot bathtub, stay there as long as you like. Be sure don't fall asleep and get drowned or something. So, don't drink.
-Sig, you ARE mocking me.
-No, I am not. I am giving you real advice. The guy was lonely, just wanted to have an argument for the fun of it. He was being argumentative, playing Devil's advocate. He was not serious while you were as serious as a heart-attack and just about as real as a three-dollar bill. Come on, Roberto, lighten up. How old are you now, early 60's? You will get sick and die in a few years. Relax, live and let live. Read fewer books. Get out of the house. Find a hobby. Work for a charitable organization or something. Help the needy. And don't get too stuck up on yourself. You are not that smart. I am.
A few days elapsed. Weekend came around and was gone. Monday appeared and then followed by Tueday and Wednesday. On Thursday Roberto had another auto accident resulting in a concussion. He passed out cold and woke up in a hospital. He became more subdued and less aggressive. There was a melancholy look about him. By Monday he was discharged. He called Sig for a consultation session to be scheduled on Tuesday of the same week. He didn't bother to tell Sig about his second and more serious accident.
-Hi Roberto. Back too soon? You lost some weight? And you do look kind of pale.
-Sig, we need to talk.
-Shoot!
-I got time on my hands the last few days, so I really did some serious thinking. And I think you were absolutely right. I was too intense for my own good. I need to just learn to practice serious contempt.
-What's bothering you now? Spit it out. Maybe I am the only friend you have, now that Silvio is in jail for bailing you out of the mess you created. You were really lucky to have a friend like Silvio.
-I think ordinary contempt expresses itself in condemnations and attempted conversations. Serious contempt requires complete silence because one doesn't want to lower oneself to hold a dialogue with phonies and cowards and ignoramuses because one sees with perfect clarity that understanding is virtually impossible with those who are not into truth and knowledge.
-What? You drove all the way over here, across town, in the middle of the day, to tell me that? You know I am billing you for my time, right? And I am not cheap. Never was. Never will be.
-Cut the fuck out, will you, Sig? I am serious, here.
-OK, mate. No offense intended. Just want to save you money. Believe it or not, I care about you, Roberto. Of course, what you told me a few seconds ago was absolutely true. The problemm with you is that you take everything to heart. Don't you ever laugh? Laugh, Roberto, laugh. You would go through life much more easily and you will live much longer if you just learn to see that life is a fucking comedy, man. It really is and most humans are fucking nothing but clowns. They are clowns but they love to be appear solemn and respectable so what do they do? They talk nonsense. Their thoughts don't add up. They make no sense. Their facts are all mixed up and poorly interpreted. Just fucking ignore them and pay attention to your health. Sleep more, eat right, do exercises. And don't come here anymore. Call me instead. I will not charge you anymore. Poor you. You've suffered enough. Capisce?
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Self-love and self-admiration
About 11 years ago, some bastard kept dropping hints that I should not be complacent. I knew what the bastard was up to, but I didn't care. He was an animal, anyway. In fact, most humans are animals and no more. I survived the self-inflicted injury. It was not traumatic but did add to the cumulative effect and probably provided a contributory reason for the occasional undue aggressiveness of my behavior. Most people assume I must suffer from some kind of self-punishment based on my penchant for austerity and unnecessary risks. They could be right, but they fail to notice a counter-balancing self- admiration in me.
(cont.)
(cont.)
Blowing Up, Going Over the Top
So, the media reported the 50 plus years old guy who piloted a small passenger plane into an IRS building, Al Queda style, as a quiet and family man. His friend was quoted as saying: "I never saw Joe angry about anything." I beg to differ, pal. Your friend, Joe, was angry, but you just didn't see it, that was all. You probably need to have your eyes checked and or your brain examined. Didn't people ever tell you to watch out for the mild-mannered ones? They are the real carriers of the virus called violence. Noise makers like us, we just blow off steam. We are smarter. We don't stew. We don't hold things inside. We are not fucking hypocrites. We are vocal. We say what we mean. Sometimes we even don't mean what we say. You get my drift? We are verbal. We love to hear our own voices drifting and wafting and hanging in the air since we happen to think our voices are so melodious and pleasing to mankind. Strangely enough, just a simple word or gesture of gentleness and understanding quiet us down really fast. It could even reduce us to tears. We are stupidly sentimental and childlike. We are not crafty and cunning at all. No sir, not at all. That is our handicap, our shortcoming. We know we need to put on a show and to act as if we are better than we really are, but we don't. Do you you why? Because we are honorable, because we are truly fucking proud of ourselves. That is why, you little twit!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Irony, You and Me and the Devil named Wissai
Irony, You and Me and the Devil named Wissai
You think this is easy? Write everyday just about anything that caught my fancy, in an inimitable style like mine, in a foreign language to boot? Try it and you will see how "easy" it can be. Be real!
I know. The pen name for this blog is deeply ironic, considering the language I use and the stylistics I employ. The irony is deliberate; it reminds me not to go too far into the quagmire, but I still do. I just can't help myself. I am a show-boat. In my previous life, I must have been a show-girl in a burlesque act. Many, if not all, writers take up the pen because they want approval, recognition, love, and money, but not me, sweetie. I write because I want to save my life, so I don't have to go out and kill anybody, don't you understand? I write to save myself from myself. That is the reason why I write tbe way I do. I write for me to understand myself, not for you to understand me. Establishing communication with you is the furthest thing on my mind. Now you have pissed me off, bring along the thickest lexicon you can find. we are in for a wild ride.
Some men act in an uxorious manner, full of unctuous words and gestures, but I wonder if their words and gestures faithfully reflect their sentiments. I further wonder if their acts of munificence are for real or are merely Pollyannaish, bereft of realism, and at the end of the day are discovered to be nothing but puffery. Are your fingers getting tired yet, my friends?
(cont.)
You think this is easy? Write everyday just about anything that caught my fancy, in an inimitable style like mine, in a foreign language to boot? Try it and you will see how "easy" it can be. Be real!
I know. The pen name for this blog is deeply ironic, considering the language I use and the stylistics I employ. The irony is deliberate; it reminds me not to go too far into the quagmire, but I still do. I just can't help myself. I am a show-boat. In my previous life, I must have been a show-girl in a burlesque act. Many, if not all, writers take up the pen because they want approval, recognition, love, and money, but not me, sweetie. I write because I want to save my life, so I don't have to go out and kill anybody, don't you understand? I write to save myself from myself. That is the reason why I write tbe way I do. I write for me to understand myself, not for you to understand me. Establishing communication with you is the furthest thing on my mind. Now you have pissed me off, bring along the thickest lexicon you can find. we are in for a wild ride.
Some men act in an uxorious manner, full of unctuous words and gestures, but I wonder if their words and gestures faithfully reflect their sentiments. I further wonder if their acts of munificence are for real or are merely Pollyannaish, bereft of realism, and at the end of the day are discovered to be nothing but puffery. Are your fingers getting tired yet, my friends?
(cont.)
The Dream
The Dream
You still shuddered and your pyjamas shirt was drenched with sweat. You were sitting up in bed, too stunned to move, thinking, shaking, heart still racing. Finally you got off the bed, grabbed a clean T- Shirt, and headed to the bathroom. Almost two in the morning. The dream was getting more real, more graphic, and closer and closer to home. Something that needed to be done. You filled the bathtub, threw the shirt on the floor along with the pants, and you climbed in.
You closed your eyes, revisiting the dream. You knew it would be close to being impossible to fall asleep again when you got back to bed. The dream was getting too close for comfort. It was no longer the dream. It's the voice of conscience. It's the scream of the dead, crying for justice, demanding you have to do something. You can no longer keep sweeping the event under the carpet, shutting out the memory from your brain.
You were impulsive. You were stupidly careless. You were lucky, however. Now your luck ran out. Your dream was telling you so, clearly and unmistakably. No more delay. You've got to act.
(cont.)
You still shuddered and your pyjamas shirt was drenched with sweat. You were sitting up in bed, too stunned to move, thinking, shaking, heart still racing. Finally you got off the bed, grabbed a clean T- Shirt, and headed to the bathroom. Almost two in the morning. The dream was getting more real, more graphic, and closer and closer to home. Something that needed to be done. You filled the bathtub, threw the shirt on the floor along with the pants, and you climbed in.
You closed your eyes, revisiting the dream. You knew it would be close to being impossible to fall asleep again when you got back to bed. The dream was getting too close for comfort. It was no longer the dream. It's the voice of conscience. It's the scream of the dead, crying for justice, demanding you have to do something. You can no longer keep sweeping the event under the carpet, shutting out the memory from your brain.
You were impulsive. You were stupidly careless. You were lucky, however. Now your luck ran out. Your dream was telling you so, clearly and unmistakably. No more delay. You've got to act.
(cont.)
Crossing the Line
Crossing the Line
I suppose I have crossed many lines in my life even though I didn't mean to. All I wanted was to have some excitement, getting as close to the line as I could, causing some raised eyebrows and sighs of annoyance. That has been the intentions of all my unconventional acts and gestures. However, unfortunately sometimes I misjudged the topography of the terrain, and the momentum of my actions carried me over the line, setting off fireworks and explosions in the minds of the spectators. And they all went home, hopping mad, stewing and plotting punishment. They then in turn went a bit too far. Now we are locked into this vicious cycle of cause and effect, feeling injured and small at the same time.
So, what is the solution, apart from adopting a life of a hermit? Moderation and gentleness could be the answers. Holding back a little bit of what you want to dump on the guy who caused you unhappiness. Maybe having a quiet, private chat with him before staging a public lynching of him. After all, he is probably very much like you, a little bored and little lonely, and yet very sensitive. He probably just needs a few gentle reminders and he will back off. Don't humiliate him publicly unless his crime does deserve such ostentatious application of punishment and allusions about power, unless you want to cross the point of no return. This reflection and reminder, of course, applies to him as well. Like all sensitive humans, he perhaps feels pain, perhaps deservedly. Like all intelligent humans, he is saying to himself: "Huh. Hm. Wow. Oh, my goodness." But he stops short of dwelling on the past. Writing these words is part of the healing process. It's time for him to move on. He does not have much time left on this planet. Alzheimer is waiting at the door. He wants to have an audience with the man of the house.
I suppose I have crossed many lines in my life even though I didn't mean to. All I wanted was to have some excitement, getting as close to the line as I could, causing some raised eyebrows and sighs of annoyance. That has been the intentions of all my unconventional acts and gestures. However, unfortunately sometimes I misjudged the topography of the terrain, and the momentum of my actions carried me over the line, setting off fireworks and explosions in the minds of the spectators. And they all went home, hopping mad, stewing and plotting punishment. They then in turn went a bit too far. Now we are locked into this vicious cycle of cause and effect, feeling injured and small at the same time.
So, what is the solution, apart from adopting a life of a hermit? Moderation and gentleness could be the answers. Holding back a little bit of what you want to dump on the guy who caused you unhappiness. Maybe having a quiet, private chat with him before staging a public lynching of him. After all, he is probably very much like you, a little bored and little lonely, and yet very sensitive. He probably just needs a few gentle reminders and he will back off. Don't humiliate him publicly unless his crime does deserve such ostentatious application of punishment and allusions about power, unless you want to cross the point of no return. This reflection and reminder, of course, applies to him as well. Like all sensitive humans, he perhaps feels pain, perhaps deservedly. Like all intelligent humans, he is saying to himself: "Huh. Hm. Wow. Oh, my goodness." But he stops short of dwelling on the past. Writing these words is part of the healing process. It's time for him to move on. He does not have much time left on this planet. Alzheimer is waiting at the door. He wants to have an audience with the man of the house.
Ferocity
Ferocity
-You didn't listen to me. I told you persuasion is an art. All finesse. All gentleness and endless patience. It is not hitting them over the head repeatedly with a two-by-four. I told you, leave your passion at the door. But, how did you do? You charged head long to the target, with the ferocity and savagery for which you are well-known. Now you left a big mess for me to clean up. You made some persons upset, annoyed, perturbed, constipated, masturbated, steamed up, uncomfortable, and an asshole predictably rollickingly rapturous, now that you are no longer part of tbe command structure. Some of them wanted to have you court-martialed. I told them, he is my brother. He is a true friend of mine. We are inseparable. If you want to bring him to court, I quit. You guys find somebody else to fight this dirty war. He was hot-headed, but his heart was in the right place. Unlike many others, he is a true blue patriot. Finally, they blinked and said, tell your brother to behave and please keep him on a tight leash. Roberto, you are what I called "I came. I saw, I charged right at the enemy. One of us will go down. It does not matter which one." It is not the way we operate. Here we think, we plan, we rehearse till it becomes second nature, then we execute the mission. Flawlessly. Not a single enemy left standing. All went down. Completely dead. Understand?
-I am so sorry.
-Let that be a lesson for you about human nature. People are cunning. They love to play games. They are not as they appear. You don't know Jack shit about humans. You thought you knew, but you didn't know shit. You thought you could study about the human animals from books. Books! Shit, not from books, Roberto. From life, from going out with them, drinking and whoring, putting them to a test, and watching for their reactions. Remember, all of them think they are smart, God's gift to mankind. All are self-righteous. All are selfish and self-absorbed. There might be two or three noble ones in the group. Not that phony, closet sex-obsessed self-declared Zen demolition expert. Not that religious nut either. Fuck, I don't know which ones for sure. I just sense there could be two or three truly devout Saudis among the group. No longer important now. We need to regroup. The element of surprise is gone. They are now all prepared, since you tipped them off with your impatience. The Talibans are no fools. No matter. I just received word that all-out air support was approved by the General. Hour of attack is set at three am tomorrow. You have about nine hours of rest. Don't screw up again this time. I expect a lot from you. Don't disappoint me again. Dismiss.
-Yes, colonel Silvio Stallone.
Written by Walter Mitty, a cousin of Roberto Wacko, a cousin of Wissai, a child of James Thurber. Those who don't know who Walter Mitty and James Thurber are, go to Google.
-You didn't listen to me. I told you persuasion is an art. All finesse. All gentleness and endless patience. It is not hitting them over the head repeatedly with a two-by-four. I told you, leave your passion at the door. But, how did you do? You charged head long to the target, with the ferocity and savagery for which you are well-known. Now you left a big mess for me to clean up. You made some persons upset, annoyed, perturbed, constipated, masturbated, steamed up, uncomfortable, and an asshole predictably rollickingly rapturous, now that you are no longer part of tbe command structure. Some of them wanted to have you court-martialed. I told them, he is my brother. He is a true friend of mine. We are inseparable. If you want to bring him to court, I quit. You guys find somebody else to fight this dirty war. He was hot-headed, but his heart was in the right place. Unlike many others, he is a true blue patriot. Finally, they blinked and said, tell your brother to behave and please keep him on a tight leash. Roberto, you are what I called "I came. I saw, I charged right at the enemy. One of us will go down. It does not matter which one." It is not the way we operate. Here we think, we plan, we rehearse till it becomes second nature, then we execute the mission. Flawlessly. Not a single enemy left standing. All went down. Completely dead. Understand?
-I am so sorry.
-Let that be a lesson for you about human nature. People are cunning. They love to play games. They are not as they appear. You don't know Jack shit about humans. You thought you knew, but you didn't know shit. You thought you could study about the human animals from books. Books! Shit, not from books, Roberto. From life, from going out with them, drinking and whoring, putting them to a test, and watching for their reactions. Remember, all of them think they are smart, God's gift to mankind. All are self-righteous. All are selfish and self-absorbed. There might be two or three noble ones in the group. Not that phony, closet sex-obsessed self-declared Zen demolition expert. Not that religious nut either. Fuck, I don't know which ones for sure. I just sense there could be two or three truly devout Saudis among the group. No longer important now. We need to regroup. The element of surprise is gone. They are now all prepared, since you tipped them off with your impatience. The Talibans are no fools. No matter. I just received word that all-out air support was approved by the General. Hour of attack is set at three am tomorrow. You have about nine hours of rest. Don't screw up again this time. I expect a lot from you. Don't disappoint me again. Dismiss.
-Yes, colonel Silvio Stallone.
Written by Walter Mitty, a cousin of Roberto Wacko, a cousin of Wissai, a child of James Thurber. Those who don't know who Walter Mitty and James Thurber are, go to Google.
Maddening in the Morning
Maddening in the morning? Oh Lord, tell me, it ain’t so.
Somebody eats, sleeps, has sex and calls the routine life.
You scratch your armpits, yawn, and cry.
It's maddening to see that your cherished ideas and beliefs ridiculed in public
by a person named Dick
for whom you absolutely have no respect.
So what is your response?
To retaliate or to neglect,
that is the question.
Oh, it's hard to live with humans since anger is as vast as the ocean.
Every dog wants to bark.
Every rooster wants to crow.
Every pig wants to wallow
in the mud in the park.
This morning, upon waking up with a beautiful song in Spanish on the radio
while outside your window
a vast blue sky
with a streak of exhaust white plume left behind
by a jetliner makes you high.
The annoyance caused by small minds make you smile.
And you say to them, little people, bring it on,
amuse me with your silly games of snide comments and groan
with petty quotes that are out of place and out of time.
A huge contempt for humanity is swelling inside you.
You feel grand, expansive, confident, and at peace, too
You smile for the first time in days. You chuckle and then suckle on a
sweet finger of a lovely lass who has a lively ass, lying next to you.
You say to her: " mi querida, como buena es la vida y como bonita eres tu!"
Somebody is knocking on your door. You open your eyes. Shit! It was
only a dream and what a dream it was.
You groggily go to the door.
It's your landlord.
The rent is two weeks overdue. You must come up with
the money today or out on the street you go.
Don't worry, mate, the money will be brought over here by the guy named Joe
by three this afternoon.
But you know it won't. What can you do?
But first thing first, you
get down on your knees and you pray: "Oh Lord...",
But your eyes catch sight of the sword
Lying on the floor.
This is your way out.
You rip open your shirt.
You want to do a seppuku.
Ouch! It hurts.
There is beaucoup
Of blood.
Oh brothers and sisters, after you laugh at me,
Stop and think, can you write as well as I do?
Can you get into my shoes?
Wissai
Feb. 19, 2010
Somebody eats, sleeps, has sex and calls the routine life.
You scratch your armpits, yawn, and cry.
It's maddening to see that your cherished ideas and beliefs ridiculed in public
by a person named Dick
for whom you absolutely have no respect.
So what is your response?
To retaliate or to neglect,
that is the question.
Oh, it's hard to live with humans since anger is as vast as the ocean.
Every dog wants to bark.
Every rooster wants to crow.
Every pig wants to wallow
in the mud in the park.
This morning, upon waking up with a beautiful song in Spanish on the radio
while outside your window
a vast blue sky
with a streak of exhaust white plume left behind
by a jetliner makes you high.
The annoyance caused by small minds make you smile.
And you say to them, little people, bring it on,
amuse me with your silly games of snide comments and groan
with petty quotes that are out of place and out of time.
A huge contempt for humanity is swelling inside you.
You feel grand, expansive, confident, and at peace, too
You smile for the first time in days. You chuckle and then suckle on a
sweet finger of a lovely lass who has a lively ass, lying next to you.
You say to her: " mi querida, como buena es la vida y como bonita eres tu!"
Somebody is knocking on your door. You open your eyes. Shit! It was
only a dream and what a dream it was.
You groggily go to the door.
It's your landlord.
The rent is two weeks overdue. You must come up with
the money today or out on the street you go.
Don't worry, mate, the money will be brought over here by the guy named Joe
by three this afternoon.
But you know it won't. What can you do?
But first thing first, you
get down on your knees and you pray: "Oh Lord...",
But your eyes catch sight of the sword
Lying on the floor.
This is your way out.
You rip open your shirt.
You want to do a seppuku.
Ouch! It hurts.
There is beaucoup
Of blood.
Oh brothers and sisters, after you laugh at me,
Stop and think, can you write as well as I do?
Can you get into my shoes?
Wissai
Feb. 19, 2010
Survival and Values
Survival and Values
A mammal's biggest obligation is to itself, that is to say, to ensure that it survives, finds a mate, and has offspring. This instinct is ingrained, inveterate, and deep-rooted. Almost all of its behavior can be traced back to this process. But some mammals, especially the social ones, have developed an "awareness" of group consciousness and adopted a behavior commonly called "altruism" which sometimes necessitates sacrificing one's life to protect the survival of the group.
In humans, the most social mammal and highest evolved, altruism is common. However, there are some exceptions. Some humans, either through upbringing or some traumatic experiences, have somehow suppressed this trait. They are only concerned with themselves and their immediate family. They no longer care about the group at large. In other words, they only care about their own survival and that of their family, not the survival of the group. They, of course, know that if everybody in their group behaves like they do, that group would not survive. But they don't care. In them, selfishness is taken to the extreme. This aberration is sadly taking place in Vietnam and in Vietnamese community overseas. As a consequence, the survival of the Viet people is in danger because for the Vietnamese to have any chance to withstand the current take-over of Vietnam from China, every Vietnamese has to get together and fight for the fatherland. We cannot afford to have disunity, apathy, indifference, and lack of solidarity. We cannot afford bickerings among ourselves. Our enemy, the Chinese, would love to see us fighting among ourselves. That makes their effort to take over our country much easier.
As a philosopher who respects individual choices and values independence of spirit, I have to respect the values of those selfish humans---no human has any right to impose his own values over other humans', but respecting them does not entail a conclusion that the values of the selfish humans are morally right or uplifting or beneficial to the survival of the Vietnamese people.
I am writing these words, not from a platfom of self-righteous moralist, but deep from my heart. I no longer condemn nor express displeasure at selfish individuals. That holier-than-thou attitude is wrong and repulsive. I am merely appealing to the primordial feeling within every Vietnamese. That primordial feeling is called love for Vietnam, and fear of being assimilated by the Chinese, fear of seeing Vietnam disappear.
A mammal's biggest obligation is to itself, that is to say, to ensure that it survives, finds a mate, and has offspring. This instinct is ingrained, inveterate, and deep-rooted. Almost all of its behavior can be traced back to this process. But some mammals, especially the social ones, have developed an "awareness" of group consciousness and adopted a behavior commonly called "altruism" which sometimes necessitates sacrificing one's life to protect the survival of the group.
In humans, the most social mammal and highest evolved, altruism is common. However, there are some exceptions. Some humans, either through upbringing or some traumatic experiences, have somehow suppressed this trait. They are only concerned with themselves and their immediate family. They no longer care about the group at large. In other words, they only care about their own survival and that of their family, not the survival of the group. They, of course, know that if everybody in their group behaves like they do, that group would not survive. But they don't care. In them, selfishness is taken to the extreme. This aberration is sadly taking place in Vietnam and in Vietnamese community overseas. As a consequence, the survival of the Viet people is in danger because for the Vietnamese to have any chance to withstand the current take-over of Vietnam from China, every Vietnamese has to get together and fight for the fatherland. We cannot afford to have disunity, apathy, indifference, and lack of solidarity. We cannot afford bickerings among ourselves. Our enemy, the Chinese, would love to see us fighting among ourselves. That makes their effort to take over our country much easier.
As a philosopher who respects individual choices and values independence of spirit, I have to respect the values of those selfish humans---no human has any right to impose his own values over other humans', but respecting them does not entail a conclusion that the values of the selfish humans are morally right or uplifting or beneficial to the survival of the Vietnamese people.
I am writing these words, not from a platfom of self-righteous moralist, but deep from my heart. I no longer condemn nor express displeasure at selfish individuals. That holier-than-thou attitude is wrong and repulsive. I am merely appealing to the primordial feeling within every Vietnamese. That primordial feeling is called love for Vietnam, and fear of being assimilated by the Chinese, fear of seeing Vietnam disappear.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Progression from Poverty to Evil to Animalism
Progression from Poverty to Evil to Animalism. An exerise in rhetoric
and an inquiry into reality.
Poverty makes some people revert to their animal heritage, instead of inducing empathy, because they focus solely on their humiliation and resentment. They become selfish, cunning, and animalistic. Even when they get out of poverty, they retain the selfishness and animalism which have helped them survive. That is what has happened to the Vietnamese Communist Party leaders. They have become selfish, evil animals who are determined to cling to power at any costs and any price. Thus, they didn't hesitate to sell their country to the Chinese, the historical enemy of the Vietnamese. They didn't give a damn about anybody else. Evil is contagious. For survival, almost everybody else in Vietnam becomes selfish and animalistic as well. Morality breaks down. Everybody lives to meet their biological needs while concepts like patriotism and responsibility become impractical. Everybody engages in selling. They sell away their souls, their own bodies, and the bodies of others.
Some, maybe most, Viet immigrants, who have lived under this dehumanizing atmosphere where everybody is reduced to animalistic existence, still retain this pernicious behavioral adaptation. They found out they didn't want to get rid of it even though it is no longer necessary, now that they are living under prosperous, democratic societies. Maybe they are so comfortable with it that they accept it as a matter of course. Thus, they regard their turning their backs to Vietnam at this juncture when Vietnam is facing a takeover from China is acceptable because Vietnam no longer means anything to them, because their obligation and responsibility are only to themselves. Maybe that was why they have reacted with visceral antipathy and spurious arguments when they are accused of being creatures devoid of conscience, love, and moral responsibility.
Animals act only on instincts. Humans act on both instincts and transcendence. Humans learn to care about and love others. Humans learn about responsibity and manage to transcend, to rise above selfishness. Any human who cares about himself only and turns his back on his people when his people are in danger is an animal. In fact, he is worse and more despicable than an animal because he has choices whereas animals have none.
and an inquiry into reality.
Poverty makes some people revert to their animal heritage, instead of inducing empathy, because they focus solely on their humiliation and resentment. They become selfish, cunning, and animalistic. Even when they get out of poverty, they retain the selfishness and animalism which have helped them survive. That is what has happened to the Vietnamese Communist Party leaders. They have become selfish, evil animals who are determined to cling to power at any costs and any price. Thus, they didn't hesitate to sell their country to the Chinese, the historical enemy of the Vietnamese. They didn't give a damn about anybody else. Evil is contagious. For survival, almost everybody else in Vietnam becomes selfish and animalistic as well. Morality breaks down. Everybody lives to meet their biological needs while concepts like patriotism and responsibility become impractical. Everybody engages in selling. They sell away their souls, their own bodies, and the bodies of others.
Some, maybe most, Viet immigrants, who have lived under this dehumanizing atmosphere where everybody is reduced to animalistic existence, still retain this pernicious behavioral adaptation. They found out they didn't want to get rid of it even though it is no longer necessary, now that they are living under prosperous, democratic societies. Maybe they are so comfortable with it that they accept it as a matter of course. Thus, they regard their turning their backs to Vietnam at this juncture when Vietnam is facing a takeover from China is acceptable because Vietnam no longer means anything to them, because their obligation and responsibility are only to themselves. Maybe that was why they have reacted with visceral antipathy and spurious arguments when they are accused of being creatures devoid of conscience, love, and moral responsibility.
Animals act only on instincts. Humans act on both instincts and transcendence. Humans learn to care about and love others. Humans learn about responsibity and manage to transcend, to rise above selfishness. Any human who cares about himself only and turns his back on his people when his people are in danger is an animal. In fact, he is worse and more despicable than an animal because he has choices whereas animals have none.
Sincerity
Some people think that sincerity is only possible when they are by themselves and that hypocrisy is necessary when one has to deal with the most dangerous animal on this planet: the human animal. I suppose that view is valid only insofar as the person is incapable of self-deception. As for myself, I am sincere with everybody, including myself. That does not mean I am going to tell a person with whom I am interacting everything I think of him because there are some thoughts I want to keep to myself. My thoughts are my property and it is up to me to pick and choose which ones to share. I do refrain from telling lies to my fellow humans. If I am not comfortable of saying anything which happens to be true, I would just be silent about it. The problem is very few things make me feel uncomfortable. Thus, I love running my mouth, and consequently I tend to get into troubles over what I said because unlike me, most humans cannot handle truth.
Ignorance
Ignorance
Most, if not a great majority, people feel offended if they are called ignorant. Not me! I perversely thank anybody who tells me straight to my face that I don't know Jack shit what I 'm talking about. I would then proceed asking him in this sweet voice of mine to show me where my ignorance lies. If he does seem that he knows the subject better than me, I will listen to him closely and respectfully. At the
end, I will thank him sincerely. And I thus gain a friend and a teacher. My desire to learn far supersedes my need to protect my ego. This lovely, sweet, adorable trait of mine has been my saving, redeeming grace.
When I was about fifteen, after I had made a fool of myself and stirred up trouble in class, the teacher asked me to see him after class. I had expected punishment, but he took both of my hands into his and kindly said the following:
"You're smart enough to know what you did was wrong. Why did you do that? The war is killing a lot of smart but unstudious kids like you. Go home and study hard. I hate to see you flunk the national exams two years from now, and then get drafted, and die in this stupid war. You have potential. Don't waste it. Don't die over anything not worthwhile. Don't die over this stupid war. Value your life."
His words sent a chill up and down my spine. I cried. And I promised to him that I would value education and my life. The next day, I became a changed person. I hit the books and stayed off the streets. And knowledge has turned me on every since.
I respond well to kindness and sweetness, to forgiveness and understanding. On the contrary, I have had a hard time dealing with selfishness, phoniness, harshness, and authoritarianism. Today the weather is gorgeous where I am. I feel alive, peaceful, and strong.
I will hit the books hard after I get back from work today. I have neglected my reading. I was busy showing off and defending myself against personal attacks of me, instead of my arguments. While it was true that my self-defense was cogently argued, I was wasting precious time. The time used in showing off how smart and informed I was, should have been put to much better use.
It's more important for me to be a better person of today than who I was of yesterday, than to prove I am smarter or more informed than my friends. Nobody loves a braggart. I must confess, however, that seeing how incredibly articulate I could be when I had to be, did make me feel good about myself. The process of transcribing thoughts into words in a foreign language fascinates me, especially when my brain has to make a choice which foreign language it needs to direct its attention to.
Most, if not a great majority, people feel offended if they are called ignorant. Not me! I perversely thank anybody who tells me straight to my face that I don't know Jack shit what I 'm talking about. I would then proceed asking him in this sweet voice of mine to show me where my ignorance lies. If he does seem that he knows the subject better than me, I will listen to him closely and respectfully. At the
end, I will thank him sincerely. And I thus gain a friend and a teacher. My desire to learn far supersedes my need to protect my ego. This lovely, sweet, adorable trait of mine has been my saving, redeeming grace.
When I was about fifteen, after I had made a fool of myself and stirred up trouble in class, the teacher asked me to see him after class. I had expected punishment, but he took both of my hands into his and kindly said the following:
"You're smart enough to know what you did was wrong. Why did you do that? The war is killing a lot of smart but unstudious kids like you. Go home and study hard. I hate to see you flunk the national exams two years from now, and then get drafted, and die in this stupid war. You have potential. Don't waste it. Don't die over anything not worthwhile. Don't die over this stupid war. Value your life."
His words sent a chill up and down my spine. I cried. And I promised to him that I would value education and my life. The next day, I became a changed person. I hit the books and stayed off the streets. And knowledge has turned me on every since.
I respond well to kindness and sweetness, to forgiveness and understanding. On the contrary, I have had a hard time dealing with selfishness, phoniness, harshness, and authoritarianism. Today the weather is gorgeous where I am. I feel alive, peaceful, and strong.
I will hit the books hard after I get back from work today. I have neglected my reading. I was busy showing off and defending myself against personal attacks of me, instead of my arguments. While it was true that my self-defense was cogently argued, I was wasting precious time. The time used in showing off how smart and informed I was, should have been put to much better use.
It's more important for me to be a better person of today than who I was of yesterday, than to prove I am smarter or more informed than my friends. Nobody loves a braggart. I must confess, however, that seeing how incredibly articulate I could be when I had to be, did make me feel good about myself. The process of transcribing thoughts into words in a foreign language fascinates me, especially when my brain has to make a choice which foreign language it needs to direct its attention to.
Mystery Fiction and Extremist Behavior
I have a confession to make. I put on an air of knowing about the human mind and love to pontificate about it, but in reality, I don't know Jack shit about it. The more I live, the more I realize I am naive and ignorant of the human heart as well. That's why I am trying to remedy this deficiency of mine by reading mystery fiction.
I used to hold mystery fiction in low esteem, thinking it is not real literature except for a few isolated cases like those stories by Poe. Now I like it a lot. There are some genuine gems out there if you look long and hard enough.
This morning I read on the web that a software engineer got so mad with the tax authority that he flew a small plane into a building where many tax employees worked. A few years ago, a man ploughed his car into a police station because he got angry with the way he was treated when he went there for a complaint. Think about these incidents. That should be mystery enough about an animal called human, don't you think?
I thought I was crazy but these two individuals made me feel better about myself. At least I still have some degree of self-control left. I love to edge to the edge, but I have not gone beyond it. I have not taken the plunge yet. That's why a quote from Nietzsche has haunted me ever since I came across it: "If you look down into the abyss long enough, the abyss will look back up at you." How could I not love Nietzsche after he came up with a saying like that? He is my brother! He is an extremist, too, albeit very sensitive and very profound and insightful though some of his views are definitely wrong, e.g., women and his snide remarks about the Germans and the English.
When I read a good tale of mystery fiction, I feel strong and independent. I do have to pay a price in terms of losing my innocence and acquiring cynicism. Nothing is free. Everything has a price. Now every morning after leaving the relative security of my adobe, I look for dark motives in everything my fellow humans do and stay alert for any unexpected dangers lurking around the corners. Just kidding. Paranoia is not the way to live. In real life, I throw caution to the winds. I take risks all the time. By taking chances, I feel alive. I do trust humans less than I used to because they keep disappointing me. Either I am a lousy judge of character or my fellow humans are superb in acting.
I used to hold mystery fiction in low esteem, thinking it is not real literature except for a few isolated cases like those stories by Poe. Now I like it a lot. There are some genuine gems out there if you look long and hard enough.
This morning I read on the web that a software engineer got so mad with the tax authority that he flew a small plane into a building where many tax employees worked. A few years ago, a man ploughed his car into a police station because he got angry with the way he was treated when he went there for a complaint. Think about these incidents. That should be mystery enough about an animal called human, don't you think?
I thought I was crazy but these two individuals made me feel better about myself. At least I still have some degree of self-control left. I love to edge to the edge, but I have not gone beyond it. I have not taken the plunge yet. That's why a quote from Nietzsche has haunted me ever since I came across it: "If you look down into the abyss long enough, the abyss will look back up at you." How could I not love Nietzsche after he came up with a saying like that? He is my brother! He is an extremist, too, albeit very sensitive and very profound and insightful though some of his views are definitely wrong, e.g., women and his snide remarks about the Germans and the English.
When I read a good tale of mystery fiction, I feel strong and independent. I do have to pay a price in terms of losing my innocence and acquiring cynicism. Nothing is free. Everything has a price. Now every morning after leaving the relative security of my adobe, I look for dark motives in everything my fellow humans do and stay alert for any unexpected dangers lurking around the corners. Just kidding. Paranoia is not the way to live. In real life, I throw caution to the winds. I take risks all the time. By taking chances, I feel alive. I do trust humans less than I used to because they keep disappointing me. Either I am a lousy judge of character or my fellow humans are superb in acting.
In Touch
In touch
We must stay in touch with ourselves. In fact, it is far more important to stay in touch with ourselves than with our friends because true friendship is impossible if we don't know who we are. Yet ironically enough, without establishing connections with the outside world, we don't know who we are. The lesson was driven home, at least to me, recently. Humans simply has this peculiar propensity to think more highly of themselves than they actually deserve, including yours truly.
Despite the motto I insert to my sign-off signature, I didn't quite understand who I was until I was tested. I should have been more critical of myself. I should have looked at myself as others looked at me, instead of blithely assuming that what I did and the motives behind my actions were transparent. I conveniently forgot the adage that people see what they want to see and what they want to see is shaped by their experiences and their own darkest desires and wishes. A thief always assumes everybody else is as dishonest as he is. A hypocrite always thinks the world is full of fakers and poseurs. Each university graduate who has a job, is married, and has managed to save sufficiently for retirement always thinks highly of himself and thus resents when somebody bursts on the scene, self-absorbed, and acts in a self-righteous manner and flaunts his bookish knowledge and flouts societal rules and etiquettes. Sooner or later, somebody takes upon himself to bring the child-like man down. When that happens, the scene is not pretty, not at first anyway. But then a strange thing happens, the child-like man all of a sudden becomes reflective and admits sincerely that he has been blind, apologizes in his own idiosyncratic fashion and explains that his motives were not as dark as the self-appointed hit man attributed. To prove his point, he exited the scene because he has been honest in saying who he is. What others mistook for a craving for recognition and using others as "inspiration" for his "literary" output was simply an all-too-human need of self-expression. The only problem was that he expressed himself in his typical immoderate fashion because all his life he has been a stranger to moderation. Moderation bores him. He is an extremist. He either overeats or starves himself a few days later to bring his weight back to normal. He either talks with everybody he meets or he remains taciturn for days on end. I am not defending him. I only state who he is. The whole thing was built on misunderstanding. He assumed others would look at the world same way he did. Others assumed he was a publicity hound, using every cause and everybody to satisfy his ego. Others assumed he had no true love for Vietnam inside him because they themselves no longer have love for Vietnam on account of living away from Vietnam for a long time. Little did they know he came from a long line of patriots. His forebears, his ancestors, his relatives were distinguished people in Vietnam for several centuries, right up to 1975. They contributed to Vietnam. They loved Vietnam intensely. He was and still is proud of his forebears. He inherited something from them in his blood. Vietnam is very near and dear to his heart. His love for Vietnam is real. It is not fake. Not at all. Never was. Never will be. Because loving Vietnam is easy and natural for him, he assumes the same thing happens to other Vietnamese who have similar education and knowledge. But he was wrong. His assumption was incorrect.
All the heartache and surprise and astonishment could have been avoided if he had learned to be more in touch with himself and less immoderate in flaunting his bookish knowledge and flouting societal rules. So the fault was his. And he took the responsibility for it. That was why he exited the scene. He didn't need the scene. He was fine before he arrived at the scene. In fact, exiting the scene would save him a lot of time and energy. Now he has more time to devote to his hobby: learning foreign languages. He made a promise to himself that one of these days he must be able to read Nietzsche in the original and Chinese newspapers. Let us see if he is a man of his words as he often says he is.
We must stay in touch with ourselves. In fact, it is far more important to stay in touch with ourselves than with our friends because true friendship is impossible if we don't know who we are. Yet ironically enough, without establishing connections with the outside world, we don't know who we are. The lesson was driven home, at least to me, recently. Humans simply has this peculiar propensity to think more highly of themselves than they actually deserve, including yours truly.
Despite the motto I insert to my sign-off signature, I didn't quite understand who I was until I was tested. I should have been more critical of myself. I should have looked at myself as others looked at me, instead of blithely assuming that what I did and the motives behind my actions were transparent. I conveniently forgot the adage that people see what they want to see and what they want to see is shaped by their experiences and their own darkest desires and wishes. A thief always assumes everybody else is as dishonest as he is. A hypocrite always thinks the world is full of fakers and poseurs. Each university graduate who has a job, is married, and has managed to save sufficiently for retirement always thinks highly of himself and thus resents when somebody bursts on the scene, self-absorbed, and acts in a self-righteous manner and flaunts his bookish knowledge and flouts societal rules and etiquettes. Sooner or later, somebody takes upon himself to bring the child-like man down. When that happens, the scene is not pretty, not at first anyway. But then a strange thing happens, the child-like man all of a sudden becomes reflective and admits sincerely that he has been blind, apologizes in his own idiosyncratic fashion and explains that his motives were not as dark as the self-appointed hit man attributed. To prove his point, he exited the scene because he has been honest in saying who he is. What others mistook for a craving for recognition and using others as "inspiration" for his "literary" output was simply an all-too-human need of self-expression. The only problem was that he expressed himself in his typical immoderate fashion because all his life he has been a stranger to moderation. Moderation bores him. He is an extremist. He either overeats or starves himself a few days later to bring his weight back to normal. He either talks with everybody he meets or he remains taciturn for days on end. I am not defending him. I only state who he is. The whole thing was built on misunderstanding. He assumed others would look at the world same way he did. Others assumed he was a publicity hound, using every cause and everybody to satisfy his ego. Others assumed he had no true love for Vietnam inside him because they themselves no longer have love for Vietnam on account of living away from Vietnam for a long time. Little did they know he came from a long line of patriots. His forebears, his ancestors, his relatives were distinguished people in Vietnam for several centuries, right up to 1975. They contributed to Vietnam. They loved Vietnam intensely. He was and still is proud of his forebears. He inherited something from them in his blood. Vietnam is very near and dear to his heart. His love for Vietnam is real. It is not fake. Not at all. Never was. Never will be. Because loving Vietnam is easy and natural for him, he assumes the same thing happens to other Vietnamese who have similar education and knowledge. But he was wrong. His assumption was incorrect.
All the heartache and surprise and astonishment could have been avoided if he had learned to be more in touch with himself and less immoderate in flaunting his bookish knowledge and flouting societal rules. So the fault was his. And he took the responsibility for it. That was why he exited the scene. He didn't need the scene. He was fine before he arrived at the scene. In fact, exiting the scene would save him a lot of time and energy. Now he has more time to devote to his hobby: learning foreign languages. He made a promise to himself that one of these days he must be able to read Nietzsche in the original and Chinese newspapers. Let us see if he is a man of his words as he often says he is.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Emotional
I got emotional again. I saw the words of my comrade and I cried. I cry easily, something I inherited from my Dad. My son now gets that from me. He is very emotional, much worse than I am. And he cries much more easily.
We cry because we are in pain. I forget the name of the chemical detected in tears. It is anti-stress chemical that the body secretes to make the pain less intense. Psychic pain is more lasting than bodily pain because psychic pain is stored in the memory region of the brain while bodily pain is just temporary. Once the bodily pain is gone, there is no trace of it in the brain.
Most psychic pains are brought on by ourselves, by our ego, by our desire to shine at the expense of others. We should know better in not inflicting pain on others but we forget because we are in pain ourselves and we want the one who caused us pain experience pain also. The desire is common and understandable and logical. It even has a name. It's called revenge or to get even. Actually both sides ended up losers and each thinks less of the other afterwards. The more intense the desire, the uglier we look.
At my age, I should know better. In fact, I do know a lot of things, but only intellectually. True wisdom is the knowledge from the heart, the heart that knows forgiveness and gentleness and tolerance, the heart that issues countless warnings and counsels endless advice, the heart that really knows love. I talk plenty about love, but I have so little of it in my heart. Shame on me. I must cultivate the ability to forgive, to let go even those hurtful feelings people have inflicted on me, even undeservedly and unjustifiably. If I am quick to retaliate, I will remain forever small and stunted, incapable of growth.
Most of my anger has dissipated. I have achieved some catharsis. I am able to flush most of the poison out of my system. I am back to normal routine. My mind is no longer consumed with feelings of outrage and bitterness. My heart is no longer congested. I breathe normally. I am free again. Life is back to what it was before the incident. I just have to remember not everybody sees the world as I do and they don't have to. And I have to be humble. Arrogance is the flip side of Inferiority Complex.
We cry because we are in pain. I forget the name of the chemical detected in tears. It is anti-stress chemical that the body secretes to make the pain less intense. Psychic pain is more lasting than bodily pain because psychic pain is stored in the memory region of the brain while bodily pain is just temporary. Once the bodily pain is gone, there is no trace of it in the brain.
Most psychic pains are brought on by ourselves, by our ego, by our desire to shine at the expense of others. We should know better in not inflicting pain on others but we forget because we are in pain ourselves and we want the one who caused us pain experience pain also. The desire is common and understandable and logical. It even has a name. It's called revenge or to get even. Actually both sides ended up losers and each thinks less of the other afterwards. The more intense the desire, the uglier we look.
At my age, I should know better. In fact, I do know a lot of things, but only intellectually. True wisdom is the knowledge from the heart, the heart that knows forgiveness and gentleness and tolerance, the heart that issues countless warnings and counsels endless advice, the heart that really knows love. I talk plenty about love, but I have so little of it in my heart. Shame on me. I must cultivate the ability to forgive, to let go even those hurtful feelings people have inflicted on me, even undeservedly and unjustifiably. If I am quick to retaliate, I will remain forever small and stunted, incapable of growth.
Most of my anger has dissipated. I have achieved some catharsis. I am able to flush most of the poison out of my system. I am back to normal routine. My mind is no longer consumed with feelings of outrage and bitterness. My heart is no longer congested. I breathe normally. I am free again. Life is back to what it was before the incident. I just have to remember not everybody sees the world as I do and they don't have to. And I have to be humble. Arrogance is the flip side of Inferiority Complex.
Atheistic Philosopher
Atheistic Philosopher
When a guy tells you, as-a-matter of-factly and with a barely suppressed twinkle in his eyes, that he is an an atheistic philosopher you should know you are in for a turbulent ride unless you are such a staid person that nonconformity and idiosyncrasy are foreign concepts to you. In addition, if he further discloses that he loves Nietzsche and has a messiah complex five minutes into the conversation, you should know that the guy is half crazy. You should get up and run for the next exit unless quirkiness and abnormality turn you on. Essentially he is telling you in a short-hand fashion that he is independent, disdainful of authority, and a talker besides being a thinker, and he is looking for converts!
Such a person is ---you guessed it! Bring the gentleman a beer, sweetie---me. So, I assume you want to sit around and let me regale you tales of my life, most of which I make them up as I go along. This is my blog. This is my domain. This is my kingdom. Words are my subjects. They don't pay taxes. They stand at my command as long as my dementia praecox is held at bay.
This morning I wrote something about Nietzsche. I forgot to mention when I first came across the title of one of his books--Twilight of the Idols, How To Philosophize with a Hammer, I grinned from ear to ear and held the book close to my heart and experienced a blissful state of being for a few seconds but they seemed like eternity to me. The translator, Walter Kaufmann, disclosed that Peter Gast (from my recollection, not sure of the name. Alzheimer is advancing. Now you know why I am writing like a man possessed. I am racing against time, before the lights are out), one --and perhaps the only--of his admirers and worshippers wrote back after reading the manuscript that the book deserved a title that shook the world out of its slumber. Nietzsche didn't need much encouragement. He promptly changed the title from something I no longer remember to Twilight of the Idols, How To Philosophize with a Hammer.
The reason why I am mentioning the book because recently I was branded, labeled, accused, designated as a hypocrite simply on the basis of my writings. Hypocrite! Wow, that's something brand new, an epithet that I never had the honor to receive until a few days ago. I was called immature, crazy, wacko, emotional, erratic, stupid, bright, brilliant, original, beautiful, gorgeous, but never "hypocrite" in my entire existence of sixty plus years. That just showed me life is full of the unexpected and the bizarre. I was also accused of being in the labeling business, an accusation I am fully and completely guilty of. No defense here. I label people. I label events. I label everyone and everything because that is the only way I know how to make sense of the world. Of course, my labeling is not fixed. It undergoes constant revision as new facts emerge and come into light. I am not that stupid. I don't have fixed ideas.
Upon hearing the accusation, I was seized with a temptation to hit the accuser with Nietzsche's book as there is a word "hammer" in the subtitle, but I controlled myself. I just wrote back nicely, cordially that he went too far in his accusation and his assessment of me was way off mark. Anyway, since he could be right, if any of you reading my words in this beautiful blog of mine discerns any thread or filament of hypocrisy in me, please let me know as I would like to enshrine it in the edifice of descriptions of me. I thank you in advance.
Let me tell you a secret. Like Nietzsche, I have an admirer, too. He looks, talks, and writes just like me. Sometimes, I think he is my twin brother. He is my admirer and my adviser. In times of troubles, I turn to him for comfort and guidance. He speaks beautiful Italian and his name is Silvio. You already know my name, Roberto Wacko, aka Wissai, originally from Bologna---not Baloney, silly you---, currently residing in the States, but a Vietnamese to the core. My mother was Vietnamese. She met my father, professor of Romance Languages from University of Bologna, on a cruise. I was the outcome of that fateful and beautiful encounter.
When a guy tells you, as-a-matter of-factly and with a barely suppressed twinkle in his eyes, that he is an an atheistic philosopher you should know you are in for a turbulent ride unless you are such a staid person that nonconformity and idiosyncrasy are foreign concepts to you. In addition, if he further discloses that he loves Nietzsche and has a messiah complex five minutes into the conversation, you should know that the guy is half crazy. You should get up and run for the next exit unless quirkiness and abnormality turn you on. Essentially he is telling you in a short-hand fashion that he is independent, disdainful of authority, and a talker besides being a thinker, and he is looking for converts!
Such a person is ---you guessed it! Bring the gentleman a beer, sweetie---me. So, I assume you want to sit around and let me regale you tales of my life, most of which I make them up as I go along. This is my blog. This is my domain. This is my kingdom. Words are my subjects. They don't pay taxes. They stand at my command as long as my dementia praecox is held at bay.
This morning I wrote something about Nietzsche. I forgot to mention when I first came across the title of one of his books--Twilight of the Idols, How To Philosophize with a Hammer, I grinned from ear to ear and held the book close to my heart and experienced a blissful state of being for a few seconds but they seemed like eternity to me. The translator, Walter Kaufmann, disclosed that Peter Gast (from my recollection, not sure of the name. Alzheimer is advancing. Now you know why I am writing like a man possessed. I am racing against time, before the lights are out), one --and perhaps the only--of his admirers and worshippers wrote back after reading the manuscript that the book deserved a title that shook the world out of its slumber. Nietzsche didn't need much encouragement. He promptly changed the title from something I no longer remember to Twilight of the Idols, How To Philosophize with a Hammer.
The reason why I am mentioning the book because recently I was branded, labeled, accused, designated as a hypocrite simply on the basis of my writings. Hypocrite! Wow, that's something brand new, an epithet that I never had the honor to receive until a few days ago. I was called immature, crazy, wacko, emotional, erratic, stupid, bright, brilliant, original, beautiful, gorgeous, but never "hypocrite" in my entire existence of sixty plus years. That just showed me life is full of the unexpected and the bizarre. I was also accused of being in the labeling business, an accusation I am fully and completely guilty of. No defense here. I label people. I label events. I label everyone and everything because that is the only way I know how to make sense of the world. Of course, my labeling is not fixed. It undergoes constant revision as new facts emerge and come into light. I am not that stupid. I don't have fixed ideas.
Upon hearing the accusation, I was seized with a temptation to hit the accuser with Nietzsche's book as there is a word "hammer" in the subtitle, but I controlled myself. I just wrote back nicely, cordially that he went too far in his accusation and his assessment of me was way off mark. Anyway, since he could be right, if any of you reading my words in this beautiful blog of mine discerns any thread or filament of hypocrisy in me, please let me know as I would like to enshrine it in the edifice of descriptions of me. I thank you in advance.
Let me tell you a secret. Like Nietzsche, I have an admirer, too. He looks, talks, and writes just like me. Sometimes, I think he is my twin brother. He is my admirer and my adviser. In times of troubles, I turn to him for comfort and guidance. He speaks beautiful Italian and his name is Silvio. You already know my name, Roberto Wacko, aka Wissai, originally from Bologna---not Baloney, silly you---, currently residing in the States, but a Vietnamese to the core. My mother was Vietnamese. She met my father, professor of Romance Languages from University of Bologna, on a cruise. I was the outcome of that fateful and beautiful encounter.
The Other
Sartre is famous for saying "Hell is the Other" (L'enfer, c'est les autres). The Other gives us hell and creates the hellish conditions for us. They make us suffer. They are different from us.
Buddha thought differently. There is no Other. We are all linked. We are One. The Other is an illusion. The person whom you hate is just another dimension of you. You must get to know him and understand how he feels and thinks and you will see that he is not different from you. Once you realize that, you don't hate him anymore. You achieve compassion. Your own passion of hating is gone. Passion is subjective, self-centered. Compassion is universal and outer-directed. Compassion is better than passion. Uncontrolled passion leads to disaster, not enlightenment, not understanding. Compassion helps you overcome suffering. You suffer because you are self-oriented. You think solely from your own perspective. True Pride is different from Ego. There's nothing wrong to think you are good and nobody is as good as you are, but you needs proofs and evidence. If you have no proofs and evidence, that's ego talking. What people take for pride, it's usually ego. You of course need to deal and have intercourse (not sexual intercourse, silly you, I mean social intercourse) with the Other in order to fully understand who you are. All the theories you've constructed, all the thoughts you have about yourself and the world, don't amount to anything unless they are tested in the open market which is called society. Your own room where you practice meditation is not society. By dealing with the Other, you discover who you are. A man learns about himself by comparing and contrasting himself with others in the open market. My job takes me to many different places. I meet strangers from all walks of life. I talk to them and I learn that I have a lively sense of humor and my customers like that and I like that, too. My humor validates something about myself. I discover that without talking with people, my sense of humor withers and wilts. It needs daily interactions with the Other. I also discover that there are many nice, decent people out there, people who are much better than me in terms of civility and ethics. And I learn from them. I learn to control myself when I am about to get angry. I learn to curb my sarcasm. I learn that I need the Other to be really happy. I am not that strong to be happy just by being by myself. I am not a real recluse. I am a social animal. I have to be responsive to the needs of my animal heritage and roots.
Buddha thought differently. There is no Other. We are all linked. We are One. The Other is an illusion. The person whom you hate is just another dimension of you. You must get to know him and understand how he feels and thinks and you will see that he is not different from you. Once you realize that, you don't hate him anymore. You achieve compassion. Your own passion of hating is gone. Passion is subjective, self-centered. Compassion is universal and outer-directed. Compassion is better than passion. Uncontrolled passion leads to disaster, not enlightenment, not understanding. Compassion helps you overcome suffering. You suffer because you are self-oriented. You think solely from your own perspective. True Pride is different from Ego. There's nothing wrong to think you are good and nobody is as good as you are, but you needs proofs and evidence. If you have no proofs and evidence, that's ego talking. What people take for pride, it's usually ego. You of course need to deal and have intercourse (not sexual intercourse, silly you, I mean social intercourse) with the Other in order to fully understand who you are. All the theories you've constructed, all the thoughts you have about yourself and the world, don't amount to anything unless they are tested in the open market which is called society. Your own room where you practice meditation is not society. By dealing with the Other, you discover who you are. A man learns about himself by comparing and contrasting himself with others in the open market. My job takes me to many different places. I meet strangers from all walks of life. I talk to them and I learn that I have a lively sense of humor and my customers like that and I like that, too. My humor validates something about myself. I discover that without talking with people, my sense of humor withers and wilts. It needs daily interactions with the Other. I also discover that there are many nice, decent people out there, people who are much better than me in terms of civility and ethics. And I learn from them. I learn to control myself when I am about to get angry. I learn to curb my sarcasm. I learn that I need the Other to be really happy. I am not that strong to be happy just by being by myself. I am not a real recluse. I am a social animal. I have to be responsive to the needs of my animal heritage and roots.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Anger
-Anger makes us become self-righteous and blind to our own shortcomings. It makes us lose perspective. All we want to do is to strike at the source that made us angry. Anger energizes us into action, but usually a wrong kind of action. It's far better not to get angry in the first place, Roberto.
-But Silvio, sometimes I couldn't help myself. I got provoked. The guy attacked me first. He drew the first blood.
-Roberto, you must have done something to piss him off. Nobody would come out of nowhere and attacked you. There must be a reason.
-I don't know. I didn't ask him.
-You didn't ask him?
-He was busy attacking me and I was busy defending myself.
-Sweet,isn' it? You never once asked why he attacked you and he himself never explained why he brought upon himself to bring you down. I don't believe you.
-It was true because the fucking bastard was a deaf-mute and half-blind, but he was a mean son of a bitch. He hurt me quite bad. He almost killed me, if not for the dog that came out of no where and bit him in the ass.
-I see, what you want me to do?
-You're my friend, right? And I want you to help me.
-To do what?
-To kill the bastard!
-Roberto, sorry, amigo. I'm your friend, but I can't help you in that department. If you had come to me last week, I would have said, no problem, who is this motherfucker and where does he live, but not now. You are late.
-Why? What happened to you? What are you talking about? I don't understand.
-Because I am a Buddhist now. I gave up killing. It is against my religion.
-What? You're shitting me!
-Nope, I am not. I don't believe in violence anymore. It does not solve problems. It creates problems. If you don't believe me, go ahead and kill him yourself. It's not that difficult to kill a man. All you need to do is to get a gun and pull a trigger. What is difficult is to deal with the aftermath, the law, the conscience, and the concern that his family and his friends may come after you. Besides, it's bad form to ask somebody, even your closest friend, to do a dirty job for you. If you believe strongly in something, such as killing, you must do it yourself. It's called taking responsibility. It's called fighting your own fucking battle. No man can fight the battle for you. You have to go out there and test yourself, amigo.
-Let me think about it.
-Yeah, think hard and long before doing it. But once you decide you must kill, do it with the Bushido spirit.
-What is this Bushido shit? Something to do with that former president asshole from Texas?
-No, the fighting spirit of the Jap samurai, ironically infused with Buddhist philosophy of detachment.
(cont.)
-But Silvio, sometimes I couldn't help myself. I got provoked. The guy attacked me first. He drew the first blood.
-Roberto, you must have done something to piss him off. Nobody would come out of nowhere and attacked you. There must be a reason.
-I don't know. I didn't ask him.
-You didn't ask him?
-He was busy attacking me and I was busy defending myself.
-Sweet,isn' it? You never once asked why he attacked you and he himself never explained why he brought upon himself to bring you down. I don't believe you.
-It was true because the fucking bastard was a deaf-mute and half-blind, but he was a mean son of a bitch. He hurt me quite bad. He almost killed me, if not for the dog that came out of no where and bit him in the ass.
-I see, what you want me to do?
-You're my friend, right? And I want you to help me.
-To do what?
-To kill the bastard!
-Roberto, sorry, amigo. I'm your friend, but I can't help you in that department. If you had come to me last week, I would have said, no problem, who is this motherfucker and where does he live, but not now. You are late.
-Why? What happened to you? What are you talking about? I don't understand.
-Because I am a Buddhist now. I gave up killing. It is against my religion.
-What? You're shitting me!
-Nope, I am not. I don't believe in violence anymore. It does not solve problems. It creates problems. If you don't believe me, go ahead and kill him yourself. It's not that difficult to kill a man. All you need to do is to get a gun and pull a trigger. What is difficult is to deal with the aftermath, the law, the conscience, and the concern that his family and his friends may come after you. Besides, it's bad form to ask somebody, even your closest friend, to do a dirty job for you. If you believe strongly in something, such as killing, you must do it yourself. It's called taking responsibility. It's called fighting your own fucking battle. No man can fight the battle for you. You have to go out there and test yourself, amigo.
-Let me think about it.
-Yeah, think hard and long before doing it. But once you decide you must kill, do it with the Bushido spirit.
-What is this Bushido shit? Something to do with that former president asshole from Texas?
-No, the fighting spirit of the Jap samurai, ironically infused with Buddhist philosophy of detachment.
(cont.)
Simplistic Answers
There is a big difference between simple and simplistic. Simple is the opposite of complex whereas simplistic implies laziness and lack of depth in pursuing reality and thus reducing what is essentially complex into simple, hence missing the target altogether.
Overconfident, insensitive, and unimaginative people tend to have simplistic answers for almost everything. The notion of complexity eludes them. I used to be afflicted of this deplorable trait myself. Then reality kept hitting me over the head until I was forced to open my eyes and then my heart in order to see what truth really is. It is starkingly beautiful in its simplicity.
Overconfident, insensitive, and unimaginative people tend to have simplistic answers for almost everything. The notion of complexity eludes them. I used to be afflicted of this deplorable trait myself. Then reality kept hitting me over the head until I was forced to open my eyes and then my heart in order to see what truth really is. It is starkingly beautiful in its simplicity.
Life, Death, and Meaning of Both
Nietzsche once made a very nasty remark that the Jews loved life so much that they were willing to pay for it at whatever price, including truth. Nietzsche was an iconoclast. He sought controversies and his writings were provocative, profound, and contradictory at the same time. I am of course no match for Nietzsche, but I did read some of his books, two of which, I read over and over again. The last book of his was a compilation of his views of himself and of the books he had written. It had the title Ecce Homo, finished barely a few weeks before he collapsed and became insane. I love that book and do have a fear that my fate might be like his. Let's wait and see. Anyway, in that book, his thoughts soared and some passages were embarrassingly silly and poetic and beautiful at the same time. Such is the attraction of the man.
Nietzsche does influence me. After all, he and I shared the same birthday. He was 104 years older and much, much wiser. In moments of solitude, I always come back to him, to Ecce Homo. He inspired me to study German, but I am such an undisciplined person that I am barely able to read a newspaper, let alone a book of philosophy.
German soldiers carried his books in their knapsacks during WWI. And I occasionially sleep with Ecce Homo on my chest. It helps me fall asleep faster. I know I have written about Nietzsche before. And I will write about him again and again when the mood suits me, as it does right now. Writing about him calms me down and strengthens me in the process. It gives me a perspective about the nature of humans and beasts. As much as I read about philosophy and psychology, I now realize I am intrinsically naive and don't know much about cunning, deceit, and the sheer will to live--- like the Jews allegedly possess--- at any price and at any costs. But then my mind just made a quantum leap and reminded me that there are men like the main character in Albert Camus novel The Stranger who just lives and dies by his own codes, with no questions, no begging, no excuses. Those men know whether they die today or ten, twenty years from today does not make an iota of difference in the overall scheme of things. What counts is the awareness that they live with pride and dignity, and they fulfill the duty as expected of them.
Those men are the ones I would like to meet. Those are the ones I would like to associate myself with so I can learn from their nobility, their love, their intrinsic beautiful humanity.
(cont.)
Nietzsche does influence me. After all, he and I shared the same birthday. He was 104 years older and much, much wiser. In moments of solitude, I always come back to him, to Ecce Homo. He inspired me to study German, but I am such an undisciplined person that I am barely able to read a newspaper, let alone a book of philosophy.
German soldiers carried his books in their knapsacks during WWI. And I occasionially sleep with Ecce Homo on my chest. It helps me fall asleep faster. I know I have written about Nietzsche before. And I will write about him again and again when the mood suits me, as it does right now. Writing about him calms me down and strengthens me in the process. It gives me a perspective about the nature of humans and beasts. As much as I read about philosophy and psychology, I now realize I am intrinsically naive and don't know much about cunning, deceit, and the sheer will to live--- like the Jews allegedly possess--- at any price and at any costs. But then my mind just made a quantum leap and reminded me that there are men like the main character in Albert Camus novel The Stranger who just lives and dies by his own codes, with no questions, no begging, no excuses. Those men know whether they die today or ten, twenty years from today does not make an iota of difference in the overall scheme of things. What counts is the awareness that they live with pride and dignity, and they fulfill the duty as expected of them.
Those men are the ones I would like to meet. Those are the ones I would like to associate myself with so I can learn from their nobility, their love, their intrinsic beautiful humanity.
(cont.)
Power, Reality, Truth, and Honesty
Maybe I am mostly different from others after all. Maybe I am a bit more fearless in pursuit of truth behind the surface reality. Maybe I am a bit more honest with myself and with others.
It's hard to restrain oneself if one has power. One tends to want to have a monopoly on what one thinks is the correct and right view of things. A strong and intelligent man welcomes dissent, holds a decorous discourse with dissenters, and benefits from the diversity of opinions.
Some people want to go through life without chaos. They want things to proceed smoothly, without discord. Others sees chaos is room for growth, opportunities for better things to come
There is a test to determine if a person values truth over sophistry. It involves a determination if a conviction that one has is grounded on solid reasoning and facts, not compromises with conscience so one can sleep better at night. It is dishonest to embrace something as true because it gives us comfort and does not threaten our life while in the back of our head, we know we are fooling ourselves.
A person can live to ripe old age and die as a respectable member of society and is still a fraud, even if he is the only one who knows about the fraudulence. Conscience, that moral compass, has to be functional at all times. Without it, man is no different from lower forms of life. Since I was fortunate to be born as a human, I have struggled to stay true to my human roots and potential although there have been so many times I regressed and fell back, but each time, I forced myself to get up and crawl back to the path of righteousness, because pride is all I have, pride in my ability to actualize my human potential.
The lesson I have learned in the past few days is that I have to be cordial, pleasant, reasonable in tone of speech and forgiving in action. Self-righteousness is the seed of destruction, the reflection of blindness. Persuasion is an art, started with putting oneself in the heart of the opponent. I have to really listen to what he has to say to me, instead of just being preoccupied with what I want to say to him. In saying I have the capacity for love, I have to show it. Love is action, not talk.
It's hard to restrain oneself if one has power. One tends to want to have a monopoly on what one thinks is the correct and right view of things. A strong and intelligent man welcomes dissent, holds a decorous discourse with dissenters, and benefits from the diversity of opinions.
Some people want to go through life without chaos. They want things to proceed smoothly, without discord. Others sees chaos is room for growth, opportunities for better things to come
There is a test to determine if a person values truth over sophistry. It involves a determination if a conviction that one has is grounded on solid reasoning and facts, not compromises with conscience so one can sleep better at night. It is dishonest to embrace something as true because it gives us comfort and does not threaten our life while in the back of our head, we know we are fooling ourselves.
A person can live to ripe old age and die as a respectable member of society and is still a fraud, even if he is the only one who knows about the fraudulence. Conscience, that moral compass, has to be functional at all times. Without it, man is no different from lower forms of life. Since I was fortunate to be born as a human, I have struggled to stay true to my human roots and potential although there have been so many times I regressed and fell back, but each time, I forced myself to get up and crawl back to the path of righteousness, because pride is all I have, pride in my ability to actualize my human potential.
The lesson I have learned in the past few days is that I have to be cordial, pleasant, reasonable in tone of speech and forgiving in action. Self-righteousness is the seed of destruction, the reflection of blindness. Persuasion is an art, started with putting oneself in the heart of the opponent. I have to really listen to what he has to say to me, instead of just being preoccupied with what I want to say to him. In saying I have the capacity for love, I have to show it. Love is action, not talk.
Nudity and Courtesy
Preoccupation with nudity in old age bothers me, especially if the person who exhibits that interest has never been a stud or a body-builder but a flabby-looking, sedentary type.
Mind you, I am not a prude. I also like to watch photos and view pictures and videos of nudity, but I do so in the privacy of my own home because I happen to regard such activity a private affair. More importantly, I watch and view photos and videos of nudity more from the standpoint of aesthetics than sexual titillation. Furthermore, I use those images of beauty and perfection as an inspiration for me to work on my own body which I have maintained in relatively aesthetic-pleasing shape, unlike the bodies of most men my age.
I respect and love and adore women because of the love my mother had for me and of my love for her. Thus, I find any photos and videos depicting women in unflattering and obscene poses or acts deeply offensive. I therefore can't help but despise those men who find such photos and videos titillating or funny. I guess you can call me intolerant, but there is a thing called appropriateness.
What is important to me is plain truth, not long-winded justification. One always should ask oneself if one is living a life of a selfish animal or of a responsible, loving, patriotic human. As for being civil and courteous, I, of course, can be. It does not take much brain to achieve that state of being. The thing is I am civil and courteous to those who are to me. I must confess that I am not a noble person, the type who always behaves with perfect decorum under all circumstances. I am weak, therefore, I behave in a reactive manner. That is not an excuse (being weak). I am just who I am. I, of course, am working to be stronger. I am a work in progress.
Mind you, I am not a prude. I also like to watch photos and view pictures and videos of nudity, but I do so in the privacy of my own home because I happen to regard such activity a private affair. More importantly, I watch and view photos and videos of nudity more from the standpoint of aesthetics than sexual titillation. Furthermore, I use those images of beauty and perfection as an inspiration for me to work on my own body which I have maintained in relatively aesthetic-pleasing shape, unlike the bodies of most men my age.
I respect and love and adore women because of the love my mother had for me and of my love for her. Thus, I find any photos and videos depicting women in unflattering and obscene poses or acts deeply offensive. I therefore can't help but despise those men who find such photos and videos titillating or funny. I guess you can call me intolerant, but there is a thing called appropriateness.
What is important to me is plain truth, not long-winded justification. One always should ask oneself if one is living a life of a selfish animal or of a responsible, loving, patriotic human. As for being civil and courteous, I, of course, can be. It does not take much brain to achieve that state of being. The thing is I am civil and courteous to those who are to me. I must confess that I am not a noble person, the type who always behaves with perfect decorum under all circumstances. I am weak, therefore, I behave in a reactive manner. That is not an excuse (being weak). I am just who I am. I, of course, am working to be stronger. I am a work in progress.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Hypocrisy and Cowardice-A Dialogue
-So, that was your swan song?
-I guess it was.
-Will you go back?
-I might, then I might not. I might go back just to read some things worth reading, but I won't waste my breath there anymore.
-But, Roberto. What do you expect? You kept coming up with arguments and examples to prove that most of them are indifferent. And you know as well as I do, that even "indifferent gentlemen" have feelings, that some fancy they are real humans though they are not. You know that. "Indifferent gentlemen" have boundless capacity for self-deception. That's why they are "indifferent" in the first place.
-Well put, my friend.
-So, what are you going to do?
-Same as I do everyday. Eat, sleep, work, and write. This morning I happened to realize certain smells bring me back in time as quickly as any period song. The roasted peanut aroma wafted from my neighbor's back porch brought me back a certain afternoon rain when I was in my early teens.
-But you sure you are okay?
-I am. Why not? What? You think I am devastated by this farcical matter? Come on, Silvio. Be real. You think I crave recognition? You are out of your mind. Look, what we are having here is a case of hypocrisy burnished and polished with a heavy dose of cowardice. The "indifferent gentlemen" had to do something to maintain their inner equilibrium because I kept charging at them and asking them to do something for Vietnam. (cont.)
-I guess it was.
-Will you go back?
-I might, then I might not. I might go back just to read some things worth reading, but I won't waste my breath there anymore.
-But, Roberto. What do you expect? You kept coming up with arguments and examples to prove that most of them are indifferent. And you know as well as I do, that even "indifferent gentlemen" have feelings, that some fancy they are real humans though they are not. You know that. "Indifferent gentlemen" have boundless capacity for self-deception. That's why they are "indifferent" in the first place.
-Well put, my friend.
-So, what are you going to do?
-Same as I do everyday. Eat, sleep, work, and write. This morning I happened to realize certain smells bring me back in time as quickly as any period song. The roasted peanut aroma wafted from my neighbor's back porch brought me back a certain afternoon rain when I was in my early teens.
-But you sure you are okay?
-I am. Why not? What? You think I am devastated by this farcical matter? Come on, Silvio. Be real. You think I crave recognition? You are out of your mind. Look, what we are having here is a case of hypocrisy burnished and polished with a heavy dose of cowardice. The "indifferent gentlemen" had to do something to maintain their inner equilibrium because I kept charging at them and asking them to do something for Vietnam. (cont.)
New Year's "Hopes"
The "hopes' turned out to be the trigger point, the avalanche that caused the cascading events beyond repair. And I felt elated, relieved, cathartic. I put them to a test and they responded in failure. They proved to me that who they really were, beyond any shadow of a doubt, despite a blizzard of high-sounding and wounded words. They made it clear that they wanted to be left alone with their quiet lives of desperation and their acceptance of the status quo and the "que sera sera" and that Vietnam is so far away and no longer a concern of theirs because they don't live there anymore. The case they presented was so logical that I puked all over myself after reading the exposition of their views.
Forgiveness? Not you, pal. No way, Jose.
They say being loving and forgiving are good for my mind and body. I will be more at peace. I will sleep better at night and I might not even develop cancer. All well and good, but I must be small and stupid for I have nothing but this intense loathing and contempt for you because your actions have demonstrated on more than one occasion that you are nothing but an animal, full of self-righteous hurtful feelings while conveniently forgetting all the crap you heaped on people, young and old, deservingly or not, in the past.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Sophistry and/or Flippancy
I dislike sophistry and/or flippancy.
The following impressions and thoughts are what I got after being chastised over my passsionate language:
Yes, tolerance does have limit. Be careful, but not too much, otherwise you will be shackled in thoughts and feelings.
Sophistry can buy you time, but eventually people will know who you are.
Flippancy is the escape route of liars and cowards.
Above all, to thy own self be true. Be honest. Be true. Don't be blue. Don't be yellow, either, you hear?
Thus spake (archaic form) Wissai
The following impressions and thoughts are what I got after being chastised over my passsionate language:
Yes, tolerance does have limit. Be careful, but not too much, otherwise you will be shackled in thoughts and feelings.
Sophistry can buy you time, but eventually people will know who you are.
Flippancy is the escape route of liars and cowards.
Above all, to thy own self be true. Be honest. Be true. Don't be blue. Don't be yellow, either, you hear?
Thus spake (archaic form) Wissai
Manifesto of a thinking, feeling person
I am not dead yet. I can still feel and think. Welcome to my blog. Those who join me here will be treated with mind-blowing experiences. This place is for seekers of truth and true love. Phonies and cowards, please stay away.
As I reflected on the events that led to my refocusing of my words here instead of elsewhere, it occurred to me that hypocrisy and faux self-justification of cowards and selfish individuals, including those who are nominally and universally regarded as "nice", stood out the most.
I was wrong in assuming other people would think and feel the same way I do. Now I see with perfect clarity the basis of my barely concealed display of arrogance. I have more guts and I express myself far better than them, not to mention I am generally more informed in the humanities.
It was I who was surprised. I thought they were much better than they really were. I thought they possessed a heart and had some love for the country where they were born and raised. But I now know you either have a heart or you don't. And no matter how hard other people try to convince you to work for the survival and interest of Vietnam and the Vietnamese people, if you don't have what it takes to love, you just would not.
That's what this debate has been about. This is about love. As I have said time and again, true love has no choice. When your home country and your people are in danger, and if you can help, you just jump right in, no hesitation. The moment you think about this danger, and that inconvenience, this task is too big, and that job is not for me, that I am too old, that I am in retirement age, you are fishing for excuses, for reasons not to act, for reasons not to love. Love has no age limitations.
Of course I have a big ego. I take pride in my reasoning skills and my knowledge and of course my verbal dexterity. Compared with others who are less gifted, I shine, but in comparison with those who are more accomplished, I look like a nitwit. I am smart and self-aware enough to know that. But what I am proud of myself is that I came from a long line of patriots and when my country is in need, I jump right in and I respond, without excuses, without hesitation. That is why I regard myself as a true human.
As I reflected on the events that led to my refocusing of my words here instead of elsewhere, it occurred to me that hypocrisy and faux self-justification of cowards and selfish individuals, including those who are nominally and universally regarded as "nice", stood out the most.
I was wrong in assuming other people would think and feel the same way I do. Now I see with perfect clarity the basis of my barely concealed display of arrogance. I have more guts and I express myself far better than them, not to mention I am generally more informed in the humanities.
It was I who was surprised. I thought they were much better than they really were. I thought they possessed a heart and had some love for the country where they were born and raised. But I now know you either have a heart or you don't. And no matter how hard other people try to convince you to work for the survival and interest of Vietnam and the Vietnamese people, if you don't have what it takes to love, you just would not.
That's what this debate has been about. This is about love. As I have said time and again, true love has no choice. When your home country and your people are in danger, and if you can help, you just jump right in, no hesitation. The moment you think about this danger, and that inconvenience, this task is too big, and that job is not for me, that I am too old, that I am in retirement age, you are fishing for excuses, for reasons not to act, for reasons not to love. Love has no age limitations.
Of course I have a big ego. I take pride in my reasoning skills and my knowledge and of course my verbal dexterity. Compared with others who are less gifted, I shine, but in comparison with those who are more accomplished, I look like a nitwit. I am smart and self-aware enough to know that. But what I am proud of myself is that I came from a long line of patriots and when my country is in need, I jump right in and I respond, without excuses, without hesitation. That is why I regard myself as a true human.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)