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.)