Category Archives: Blog

General observations of events in the news or daily happenings.

The Dervish: Overlay Lore 26 DEC 2020

Salta opened his eyelids after a deep slumber and surveyed the expanse of water before him and all around him.

He stared into the distance, seeing infinitely far with no especial effort, but then allowed his focus to relax and settle on the immediate -albeit, vast- expanse of water he stood in.

He saw ships all ‘around’ him -ragged things mostly; junkers, pirate vessels, smugglers and derelict cargo ships waiting to be commandeered and plundered. Spatially, they ranged from a dozen to several hundred kilometres away from him, but that mattered little because he didn’t exactly live in the spatial realm. Good thing too, because with his immense proportions he would certainly collapse under his own 3D spatial weight.

3D was a term he’d picked up over time from intercepting and processing every electro-magnetic (another term he’d picked up) transmission made by the 3D species on this planet (yet another term). He didn’t know what ‘D’ the humans would classify him as -if they could even conceive of a being such as he- but he was sure it was some D level that was supra-ordinate to their 3D.

So why did he envy them?

Because they hadn’t matured? Maybe.

Had he matured? He suspected he had.

In fact, he had a feeling that he had once been one of these little 3D creatures -one of these humans- but at some point the cone narrowed into a quickening spiral like a whirlpool only to an infinitesimally small threshold before beginning to grow and expand outward toward infinity in a widening spiral like a… like a….

“…reverse whirlpo-” he muttered low and slowly before catching and silencing himself. It was too late: the echo of his whispered words had caused violent upheaval in the waters before him and a large cascading impulse of water cascaded forward. He knew better than to try and stop it -if he but could with both hands meaningfully and eternally occupied. No, the best he could do would be to try and upset the wave by kicking it but that “remedy” would only cause more upset to the waters and perhaps an extinction-level-event.

So he watched the wave -the tsunami– go forth toward the central portion of the Lemurian archipelago some thousand kilometres away before turning his attention to his breath; keeping it regular but not too violent.

How long had he been here? 

For all of time by the chronology of the 3Ds. For him it had been a moment and an eternity. He remembered the quickening of the whirlpool that had abruptly ended the thing that came before this eternal existence. Had that previous thing also been an eternity? Was such a thing possible?

The memory of that previous eternity was dark, which was a stark contrast to his clear recall of everything that had happened, ever in this eternity.

No, it wasn’t ‘dark’; it was light. Thinking back as best he could to that last eternity, his only memories where vague and implicit: accelerating upward, pain, ostracism, and then a bright, all-white consuming light before he woke up here with one purpose. That purpose, holding two things together. He knew this; and his muscles felt the strain of it every day, but he didn’t exactly know what those two things were.

Still he felt it was important enough to keep doing.

He looked east to the rising sun over the seemingly endless expanse of water, and realized that it was the beginning of the human ‘day’ in this part of the world. He had a little game he played which he felt helped him understand the humans better: He would stare at the sun and meditate on it as it moved around the Earth over 24 of their ‘hours’. The 24 hour period was important to their physiology and understanding of the world, and so he reckoned that he might gain some perspective about them -and mayhaps his own previous eternity- if he could really hone in on that 24 hour period and experience every instant of it.

Easing into his silent, still meditation, he made an-ever so careful adjustment of his arm so as not to disturb the planet more than he had to, and during this gentle application of effort his eyes closed for but a moment. 

When they opened the sun was setting on this day. Or perhaps the next one. Or perhaps one further down their chronologically linear 3D road in a distant future time. Salta didn’t know, but all he could do was remain silent, keep breathing gently and resume paying attention.

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The Dervish: Chapter 2

Joe landed with a thud against the asphalt of the damp alley. His outstretched palms and right knee had taken most of the impact but his left cheek had still hit the with ground with enough force to later bruise and abrase it. He slowly relaxed his clenched eyes and allowed them to open into ‘squints’. For a moment there was quiet. Then he became gradually re-aware of the commotion behind him. There were voices yelling angrily -two were much louder than the others and seemed to be in direct communication with each other, voluminously and aggressively. The twin logos thundered back and forth and over top of each other. Within the interminably long half a second of regaining clarity, Joe noticed that at times the voices were more clear and sometimes less clear -muffled as if by exertion.
There were other voices too -probably 2- but in that instant Joe couldn’t be sure because they blended together into a consistent, supplementary whine of pathetic indignance. Still, even in that brief instant of recovering from near-semi-consciousness, Joe was certain that these were the voices of enemies.

Alertness fully restored by the sound of bells ringing internally, Joe pressed up off the ground with his hands, only slightly fumbling the attempt to hop right to his feet from a prone position. Steadying himself for only the briefest of moments and satisfied that his motor function was at least commensurate with his technically functional mental clarity, Joe whirled around with what he reckoned to be a sufficient amount of coordination and aggression to convince any adversaries present and watching that he was still a force to be reckoned with.

Casting eyes on the situation that he had been cast from like a chick being pushed from a domestically-abusive nest by sociopathic cuckoos, Joe quickly confirmed that which he’d never actually forgot; He and Elijah were in a scrape with the bar owner and two of his employees.

“I DON”T GIVE A FUCK WHERE YOU”RE FROM! YOU DON”T SAY THOSE WORDS IN MY PLACE!” screamed the bartender, grappling with Elijah, his hands hooked around the shoulder straps of Elijah’s patrol rig.

“DON’T PRESUME YOU CAN”T ‘GET GOT’ FOR SPEAKING TO YOUR BETTERS IN SUCH A MANNER!” Elijah responded, indignant and surprised that this ‘peasant’ would imply ending his life.

The two employees, who were feebly trying to wrest Elijah’s hands from the bartender’s blazer (seemingly unaware that their boss was still very much holding onto their quarry), looked at each other shocked at Elijah’s words (and then at their boss) before giggling nervously.

For his part, the bartender froze, eyes widening into an incredulous stare. The stare intensified and the faintest glimmer of a condescending smirk began to appear near-imperceptibly at the corner of his mouth

“My betters?… Are you fucking joking me, old man? Elijah looked at him for several seconds and then wearily began to feel admonished. Respect-lacking assholes like this barkeep used to never have the audacity to vent their resentments to such as him. For years and years after the beginning of the armistice, Elijah and his buddies would have gone to dumps like this and been treated like royalty.

But that was just it, he didn’t have buddies anymore -not really; every other contemporary of his he knew of -survivors of ‘the Rad-lands’, had raptured.  Any damn fool who hadn’t was dead. Except him.

Your ‘great war’ was a long time ago,” the barkeep continued, tauntingly, menacingly. You had a chance to go up in the world, so WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?!”

Elijah’s eyes widened in anger, and his indignance remembered, he screamed at the barkeep, “You SONOVABITCH! I MADE my chance!”

With his exclamation, Elijah threw his left hand from the barkeep’s chest, out laterally in the direction of the approaching Joe, and bent at the elbow to reach to the back of his belt, where he carried a concealable -though still needlessly large- combat knife. 

Fuuuuuck…. here we go again…” thought Elijah as he lunged in the direction of the fray, reaching around behind Elijah to grab and stay his forearm, and placing himself between the two quarrelling men. At his return to thick of things, the two employees of the barkeep (who had been the ones to bum-rush Joe pout onto his face in the first place) turned some of their attention toward him but remained mostly devoted to holding back the much larger (and seemingly more unreasonable…also drunker) Elijah. 

The stalemated human knot lingered in stasis for an instant and Elijah allowed Joe to pull his knife-less hand back out to his side just under the notice of the three adversaries, who were none-the-wiser about nearly needing to increase their weekly dry-cleaning budget. Satisfied for the moment that the situation was effectively de-escalated, Joe slowly turned about to face the barkeep. 

“Senor Gravacci.” he intoned with deliberate respectfulness. “I apologize the this misunderstanding…” the barkeeps eye’s narrowed but before he could protest this appraisal, Joe continued: “…that we caused. I pray you: allow us to leave. My man is unwell, but has not not had an outburst in some time. If you allow us to leave I swear we won’t return.”

Gravacci looked from Joe to Eli and back to Joe.

“You know if I kill him he wont come back either…” As Gravacci said this he pulled a stiletto dagger with a mother of pearl handle out of a forearm sheath hidden under his sleeve.

“Sir!” Joe continued, his calm tinged with urgency, “Death comes at every moment…”

At this utterance, one of Gravacci’s flunkies nodded in assent unconsciously. Joe Continued:

I just saved the life of at least one of us here. I pray thee to give me the benefit of the doubt, and assume it was you or one of yours.

At this point, Elijah and Gravacci, locked in a tense stare-down, both allowed their eyes to move in the direction of the Joe. Their faces stayed tense, teeth clenched in alert malice. Gravacci, with a view of Joe’s anterior aspect let his gaze fall from the boy’s eyes, down past his chin and to his neck. There, just barely peeking above the top button of a collared floral shirt, Gravacci could see the top of a tattoo; cursive script. Slowly he moved his dagger, pointed over Joe’s left shoulder at the face of Elijah down in front of Joe’s face, dragging the tip across his left cheek. Joe didn’t flinch, and after resting the dagger a moment near the corner of Joe’s mouth, Gravacci brought it slowly and deliberately down to his neck, and brought the length of the blade laterally across his throat.

Joe was aware of the precariousness of his position but he wasn’t afraid. Gravacci pulled the top of his collar down with the blade revealing the word truth tattooed across Joe’s neck. 

“I don’t like speakers in my bar. They’re trouble. I don’t deal in spells; I deal in potions.”

” I don’t deal in spells either, sir.” Joe responded.

“You better fuckin’ not; not anywhere around here, because next time, I won’t give a shit what God it offends…”

Joe steeled himself to maintain equanimity during the imminent blaspheme.

 “…I’ll kill you … both.” 

Gravacci watched Joe’s face as he said the words slowly and even his perceptive eye didn’t catch anything approximating a flinch. Satisfied, he quickly FLICKED the blade away from Joe’s throat, prompting Elijah to resume gazing at him, and popped it back into his sleeve with an elegant flourish. His left hand released Elijah’s shoulder-strap.

“You two are free to go.” Gravacci said with a sweet, ambiguous familiarity. 

Joe maintained his gaze at Gravacci and spoke: “Eli. Take your hands from Senor Gravacci.” Eli complied and Gravacci looked to his men. They abruptly shoved Eli and Joe out into the alley, causing them both to stumble, but neither fell. 

Gravacci moved between his two flunkies who stood at something approximating goombah attention, and took up an imperious and regal posture. He spoke:

“Good sirs! I thank you for your patronage this evening. Until there is not, there is always tomorrow.” As he spoke, Gravacci took a an exaggerated bow, and Joe, who had quickly recovered after being ‘rushed’ once more into the alley, had also taken up a regal posture and returned his bow, except Joe’s bow was deeper. He replied to Gravacci:

“The Gods and your ancestors doubtless smile upon the hospitality you have shown two weary travelers, this eve.”

At this, Gravaccinodded, whirled about and re-entered the bar followed by his jabronis. Elijah, who had recovered from the shove and turned his body away from the assembled three adversaries to face down the alley, looked at the closing door they had just passed through and spit. Joe whirled on him. 

“Don’t!” he commanded.

Elijah scowled. “Now you presume to command me? YOU are not my better!”

“No…” Joe responded, stepping more into Elijah’s personal space and piercing his soul a gaze whose intensity belied his youthfulness. “…but I will be.”

He gazed at the arrogant, foolish, troubled old warrior for a few moments longer, and Eli, for his part, looked down.At this, Joe began to slowly turn his body away but kept his eyes stuck to his companion. As he began to walk down the alley away from the scene of the conflict he gradually pulled his gaze forward, and when he did so Eli let out s sigh.

Joe neared the end of the alley and turned right. Elijah watched him disappear and contemplated going a separate way for a moment before continuing after him.

THE END

 

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Rapt

Friends:

I want to present a conspiracy theory which I think has as much merit as anything else I’ve seen on social:

BUT I don’t want to do it to contribute to anxiety (at least not directly) because first of all, it’s a quasi-positive theory; and second, I want to build on it to explore a darker side of something else which we’ve been hearing a lot about, but whose whole picture isn’t discussed.

I’ll get to it:

Assuming that there are strings being pulled at a high level, and that 5G, Covid, Tiger King, et al are smoke and/or mirrors, it occurs to me that the forced quarantine has less to do with safety and more to do with conditioning -priming- people for a post-employment world (PEW). For example, the benefits programs which are being enacted seem like a pilot program for universal basic income (UBI) and even staunch opponents of such government “handouts” are being mollified into accepting it when the stakes are theoretically raised by a plague. Slowly, as we sit at home and begin receiving money, we will become more accepting of the PEW.

One major objection to UBI is where the money for it comes from, however we can’t talk about that without a larger convo about central banking, FRB, fiat currency, etc., and that is beyond the scope of this post.

The second major criticism of UBI is, “What will people do with their time? (Probably become fat, lazy blobs…)” We’re seeing this answer play out now: some are catching up with loved ones, others are developing hobbies, some are venting online (🙋‍♂️), and some are reporting on their neighbours. Most notably, the cream of society is doing what it always does -rising- and, without getting too eschatological, I don’t think we would be speaking too recklessly in comparing this to a rapture of sorts. Some will rise; most will not?

But I digress, because this UBI talk should received as a blessing; our level of technology is poised to displace most workers and this is simply the first flow of that tide. S

o rejoice, right?

Well, here’s where it gets dark: If we do become dependant on governments for payments rather than earning our living, we threaten to atrophy and erode what sense of individual autonomy we still have left. Being financially dependant on an institution makes us much less likely to meaningfully challenge that institution; assuming we aren’t already paralyzed with fear by the thought.

If the hand is feeding us, we can’t bite it, and I think this is an oft-under-appreciated negative externality of UBI. What if we rely on government money and our behaviour is deemed overtly anti-state? Do we get cut off?

It’s possible.

Yet even if you think that overtly anti-state behaviour is worth cutting someone off for, that self-same technological advancement which displaced us from our jobs is also poised to passively track all of our movements, habits and purchases and rate us on an unknown algorithm as the threat we might possibly manifest one day; like boner-killing menage between social-credit, the PATRIOT Act and Minority Report.

We may very well see ourselves get “cut off” for a cumulative set of behaviours which, though innocuous in isolation, together culminate into a problematic profile. Or, if not cut off entirely, then have our wings clipped through travel limitations, higher fees for services, etc. as we see happening more and more in China.

I don’t know what I think about this whole situation but I’ve expressed the following sentiment to close friends and I hope it brings you some comfort: If our situation is shit, then know that it has never not been shit. By that rationale, it’s as good as its ever been and we KNOW it could be so much worse.

When it seems like things “above us” are pushing “down” on u, we must remember that if we are properly oriented (upward) toward our highest ideals obstacles don’t (can’t) come from above -they can only approach from the side. It is only when we take our eyes off that highest value and cower from the lateral threats that they appear to tower over and dominate us. But, if we keep focus upward then we will navigate the vicissitudes of life like we always have: in suffering, in pain, with death, and -if we keep focused upward- maybe with some success.

Don’t be they guy on the bottom. It’s rapture, baby; rise or get risen over.

Best,
-Dre

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I’m Never Gonna Treat You Like I Should

“You know that I’m no good/
I’m never gonna treat you like I should…
…I’m  a part-time lover.”

Friends,

Em is upstairs in my bed. I am in the living room on the couch. Neither of us could sleep. I would be lying if I said that my insomnia wasn’t partly due to her presence in my bed, but I could also blame the late afternoon coffees I had and of course all of the thoughts swirling around in my head.

The main thought swirling around in the mental morass right now is that I need to be away from my family. All of them. There’s noone I want to see right now. It’s not about them being bad, but rather that I feel bad around them. I feel inadequate, and when I’m around them all the ways I have been deficient as a member of the family are thrown in sharp relief.

Of course I recognize the flawed logic: I have been gone and so to make it better I will stay gone? –That hardly makes sense, right? Well no, not if I want to make things better with them. That’s a big ‘if’ though. I want to make things better for me.

I am so anchored by this feeling of owing something to my family. I am consciously aware of it on some level with my grandparents and ancestors, and the last few years I have been putting undue pressure on myself to have a family. Still in the last few months since my failed engagement and year in Germany which were followed by decompression in Latin America and a few other adventures, I feel like I need to prove something to my more immediate family; father, step-father and siblings. These feelings don’t serve me and I find myself full of insecurities when I’m around them. I don’t wanna feel that way anymore. I get resentful even when my sister messages me saying she is with my grandparents and asking if I can come out. She wanted to put me in touch with a second cousin whom I haven’t seen in years today and I said ‘yes’ but I was inwardly annoyed.

I had it out with my brother today. Lately every time I see him its a problem. Every time I go to his house I feel I am walking on eggshells. I don’t want to feel that anymore. En route back home after parting ways with him I was angry and resolute not to be put in that situation again. And that anger brings me to Em -hopefully now sleeping soundly now that the noise of my thoughts is away from her.

I messaged Em on the bus back home alluding to her recently-single status and in short order made it clear that I was looking to fuck. There has been some flirting and attraction since we met a few weeks back, but she had a boyfriend and I wasn’t trying to bring any drama into my life. On a more fundamental level, I know how much power I have both to hurt people emotionally and to get love-distracted from my own aspirations, and so I am very careful, cautious and even afraid to get involved with someone. However, in my state of indignant anger after having it out with my brother I wasn’t trying to be careful, cautious or fearful -I wanted to fuck.

Long story short, Em eventually did come over but she had to finish work and in the 4.5 hours that elapsed from when I first messaged her, my righteous indignation boner had mostly subsided. Plus, she had her own shit going on which wasn’t really conducive to the fuck-making I had been quite clear about wanting to do –ladies, y u do dis? We frolicked a little and sex could have happened if I had taken one of several opportunities to kiss her, but I didn’t/don’t want to kiss her. I wanted to fuck, nothing intimate. So we ended up just hanging out from like 6:30 onward and it wasn’t unpleasant but all I could think about was the work I wasn’t getting done.

I’m annoyed at her for taking up my time….and my bed, but I’m more annoyed at myself for letting it happen. I should know better than to think that I can be nice to a girl and a pleasure to be around and that she will, as a result, do anything less than take up more of my time.

I’m annoyed with my brother. Annoyed because I unquestioningly took the weekend to help him move some furniture because he has a bad back while he gave me a hard time about giving me a ride to a bus station when he knows I don’t have a vehicle and that to drive anywhere from his middle of nowhere country home is a mission. But again, I am more annoyed with myself for allowing him the opportunity to have power over me.

My family is like women in that both are time-pits. They are to time what cars are to money. I need to be hustling, grinding and saving my time and that means not only not spending time with them, but not spending time thinking about them.

Time to be ruthless 😐

Best,
-Dre

 

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An Almost Complete Picture…

Friends,

A thing occurred to me.

It’s one of those incredibly circumstantial things with multiple avenues pointing in the same direction, but where the final (key) piece still eludes me. In a word, Moscow.

Moscow is the political capital of the Russian Federation.
Moscow is the home of St. Basil’s Cathedral (The Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed)

St. Basil’s towers resemble (to me) mushrooms, like Amanita Muscaria.

The active ingredient in A. Muscaria is Muscimol.
Something of Moscow is Muscovite.
There is more than one St. Basil.
The St. Basil who lent his name to the aforementioned cathedral was a holy fool.
I suspect there is a yet-to-be-discovered connection between mushrooms and holy fools.
(I myself have considered devoting myself to the mushrooms and forsaking all else…like heroin, I’m waiting ’til I’m in my 70s)
There is a connection between A. Muscaria and Santa Claus. Said connection is also HERE.

This is what a connection looks like.

The second St. Basil I mentioned is considered an inspiration for Santa Claus (#mushroomsanta).
St. Nicholas, the name often ascribed to Santa Claus, is the patron saint of (drug-haven) Amsterdam and (gasp!) Moscow!!
**********Secondary Connections************
The mineral, Muscovite is named after Moscow (duh!)
Muscovite is the most common mica (tenuous, I know)
Muscovite was first mentioned as a name for the mineral in letters to Ivan the Terrible in 1568.
Ivan the terrible was a contemporary and pallbearer for **dum dum dum* drumroll please!)….. ST. BASIL!?!

Conclusion

BASIL AGAIN!!

Short answer: I don’t know what it all means but I do have a hunch which I trust that there was oodles of mushroom fuckery in Imperial Russia. Furthermore, I’m just crazy and smart enough to believe that my noticing these connections means there is something to them.

Still, there is a key-piece missing, isn’t there? It seems like there is heaps of peripheral information but that something central to tie it up still eludes us. I’m going to keep researching this with priority placed on shedding light on the St. Basil’s cathedral mushroom connection as there is a work project I wish to write based on that.

In the meantime, can anyone help me get to the bottom of this and find the missing piece that ties it all together?

Best,
-Dre

P.S. There is only one other person aside from myself whom I know that has managed to trip off of A. Muscaria. If anyone else has managed to trip on it I would love to hear about it. My trip can be found HERE.

 

 

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Children of Mandalorians

Friends,

I just finished Chapter 3 of Prince Oberyn in Space and (SPOILERS!) something occurred to me as I watched its Mandalorian protagonist eavesdrop on Werner Herzog’s “Client” character before rescuing baby Yoda: The Client, it seems, wants something extracted from the infant and he doesn’t seem particularly concerned with the its survival. Right off the bat this reminded me of harvesting ADAM from little sisters in the Bioshock series…

this is four panels show how a little sister is harvested in bioshock

…and ADAM was essentially stem cells.

Chapter 4 of The Mandalorian has not dropped yet, but I would hazard a guess that the Client wanted Midi-chlorians. MCs are not stem cells per se, but they do some pretty incredible things and I think it’s significant that the client wants to extract them from an infant, as it makes the stem cell comparisons inescapable.

So now we have two assumptions:
1) The Client wants Midi-chlorians from baby Yoda, and…
2) Midi-chlorians are an allegory for fetal stem cells
Let’s run with these assumptions, taking them all the way to their ultimate conclusion and see what Disney is trying to tell us about stem cells through coded messaging.

Harvesting Stem Cells From Babies is Bad

If you listened to Alex Jones’ most recent appearance on The Joe Rogan Experience (and you definitely should), and if you furthermore believed even half of what he talked about, you would know that harvesting terminated pregnancies is very lucrative in the United States, and agencies like Planned Parenthood are bravely leading the charge. In our little allegory, the Client (a German eugenicist who employs a mad scientist) and his Imperial Remnant faction could be said to be Planned Parenthood insofar as they intend to profit from what they harvest from Yoda.

“You could harvest these nuts, nukka!”

In the scene where the Mandalorian rescues Yoda we even see him dispatch one of those floating “abortion orbs” which extracted something from Leia (information, but still…) in Episode IV.

In retrospect, this makes me wonder about how many abortion references I missed in the original trilogy. Probably millions…

Yoda for his part seems drugged up and oblivious to the fact that they are about to steal his mojo…

….and this only reinforces his lamb-like innocence.

Man(dalorian) the Fuck Up!

I know the word Mandalorian has been around in Star Wars lore forever, but it’s nonetheless fitting that this male character with such a manly appellation (he’s even called, ‘Mando’ by no less a man than Apollo Creed himself aka Carl Weathers aka Greef) would be the one to rescue the helpless child from the abortionists. After all, protecting the family -born and unborn alike- is a father’s job, and Mando is very heavy-handedly established as a surrogate father.

the mandalorian and yoda imprinting pn each other and establishing a father child dynamic

However there is more than one Mando, and collectively they, the Mandalorians, have been forced underground since the abortionists (a term herein being used interchangeably with ‘the empire’) did away with them in The Great Purge. In their exile they have retained their warrior ways, their honour, and (a few personal flourishes on their armour notwithstanding) a high-standard of uniformity in dress and deportment.

this image shows that all of the mandalorians have unique flourished to their armor but there is nonetheless a consistent them

In fact, The Mandalorian’s rebuilding of his armour is a fairly prominent plot point of the first three episodes, and the other, non-Mandalorian bounty hunters seem to resent his highly-visible self-improvement when he walks into a bar in his new threads (more on that in a moment).

“I’m here to rescue fetuses and chew bubblegum…”

But before you reductively think that Disney is making a statement that men are based and all women are abortionists, it bears mention that the Mandalorians are led by a matriarch, and she, as well as being their blacksmith and authority, also seems to be their keeper of traditions, stories and children -or foundlings at least.

Wretched Hives and the Scum & Villainy Therein

Remember how I said that the other bounty hunters all looked like bums compared to Mando in his new dipped threads? A large part of it has to do with their individual deportment; nobody looks particularly well-armoured or strong.

More importantly, they all seem very ragtag -there is no uniformity, just a bunch of poorly-dressed, self-interested individuals about as organized as atheist, godless protestors who have no higher principle to organize behind than a desire to tear down what is good –fashion slaves protestin’ to get in a fuckin’ lookbook as it were (word to Killer Mike!).

Contrast that to the Mandalorians, a tightly-knit, albeit quarrelsome, family who have a higher ethos than self-interest; a higher calling than mere bounty hunting. Specifically, the Mandalorians have a religion referred to as “The Way,” and for better or worse, it keeps them cohesive while underground, it places priority on continuity through the sponsoring of foundlings, and it leads the tribe to come to Mando’s rescue when he is ambushed by the (pro-choice?) bounty hunters attempting to steal the baby away from its newfound father for a reward. And all of this while comporting themselves with a high-degree of uniformity.

So what does it mean? Well I think how we put ourselves out in the world matters. Guy Richie talked about how a man’s suit is his suit of armour -it’s how he openly and honourably shows how he’s part of the game, it shows which game he’s playing, and it furthermore shows how he invites all challenges. Mando does no less, making no apologies for what he is all about, walking into Greef’s hangout, wholly unafraid of making a statement.

That Statement?: “I’m better than you.”

And that is how the righteous must always be -nay, that is the only way they can be.

the path of the righteous man“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.”

Don’t be virtuous unless you are well comfortable with being hated and schemed on by others.

B A S E D Favreau?

So is the show’s writer and EP, Jon Favreau consciously trying to make an anti-abortion statement? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was his sub-conscious feelings peeking through; as a father, this is his story. Still, it’s important to remember that we’re operating on two assumptions: The unconfirmed assumption that the Client wants Midi-chlorians from Yoda; and the poetically licentious assumption that Midi-chlorians are allegorical for stem cells. However, even if both of these assumptions are incorrect, the fact remains that the Client wishes to harvest something from Yoda and cares little if he survives. This dynamic has real world parallels and I find it difficult to believe that Favreau was not cognizant of those parallels.

On it’s own, I don’t find this story outrageous in light of said parallels -on the contrary, fathers protecting children is about as old and traditional as stories get. That said, I was nonetheless surprised to notice such an allegory in a Star Wars program, as the Star Wars franchise since the Disney takeover seems to have prioritized progressivism and female empowerment. Meanwhile The Mandalorian is at the very least a celebration of older values, and at most, a condemnation of the progressive values which have led the franchise astray.

Still, maybe I’m seeing something that’s not there, but I studied English literature so can you really blame me?

Looking forward to Episode 4: The Abortionists Strike Back!

Best,
-Dre

 

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Cold Servings

Friends,

I got betrayed by someone whom I offered to help. Helping this person would have helped me too. Helping this person would have required solidarity, ruthlessness, and a long memory for how we had both been transgressed against by a third party.

Her memory wasn’t adequately long and she took pity on the third party, breaking solidarity with me.

I saw it coming, and should not have put my faith in her.

Still, I’m having trouble not hating her in this moment. I wanted to win. I should have won. But winning in this case hinged upon the weakness, the inadequacy of another.

That weakness / inadequacy in question?: Her compassion and forgiveness in this misplaced context.

Her weakness is going tp cost me time and money, and it’s hard for me in this moment to wish the best for her; to hope that the third party doesn’t continue to transgress against her once I’m gone. Part of me wants things to degenerate further once I’m gone so she’ll realize that virtue misplaced is tantamount to sin. So that she’ll realize that she messed up.

The only thing which softens my current feelings toward her is thinking that perhaps things played out like this for a reason; perhaps this is a part of some larger-order plan -everything is after all.

For now I will simply be patient and take things as they come, making the appropriate adjustments as necessary and acting accordingly.

I don’t intend to forgive her precisely, but in time I will come to be grateful to her.

The wheel keeps on turning. Let us never be so prideful as to think we know where it should stop or that it should stop.

-Dre

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The Sweetest Self-Sacrifice

Friends,

I got a little drunk last night. I hadn’t intended to, but I got to having drinks at the campus bar with new friends, it got good to me, and, well… we all know this story ends. It didn’t help that the campus bar, tlc, was a little dead and so the entire weight of making a night of it rested on our shoulders. Karl aptly referred to the drinks as dance juice and by my third drink I was lubricated enough to tear it up to whatever came on, although I was most affected by the 90s hip-hop.

Oh alcohol -you are always there.

Last night and many nights before, libations have given me the wings and energy I needed to be the life of the party. At what cost though?

Well, my mental faculties, the shape of my body and my feelings of health and wellness the next day. What am I sacrificing these things for? Well to bond with people socially; to feel connected.

Is the sacrifice worth it? Depends on the people for sure. Depends on the frequency too, as bonding with people is one of those things which has a place, but it also must be kept in bounds. In the Japanese salaryman culture for example, I have anecdotally heard stories of over-worked high-achievers having breakdowns after weeks, months and years of prolonged workdays, extended by unpaid overtime, and not actually finished until after a full evening of drinking with workmates.

On the other hand, Gavin McInnes aptly described the breakdown of his relationship with Shane Smith as “we stopped going out for beers together.” -There’s something to that.

There’s this idea I’ve heard too about alcohol consumption not just being a sacrifice we make of a little bit of our health to the social gods, but also a way to demonstrate status, like “look how hard I can go and still keep it together.” This was certainly me 15 years ago, hitting the bars 3 nights a week and going for a run every morning -although my grades were in the B range so I’m not sure how together I was actually keeping it that balance.

On one episode of Mark Manson’s podcast -a complex, poetic analysis of romance- romance is compared to alcohol among other things and the following stuck in my brain: “Romance is like alcohol. None is healthier than too much. And a little is healthier than none.”

Alcohol consumption, drug use, partying -these things are sacrifice; they are status symbol; they are incredibly easy to overdo.

Yet, if life was just about avoiding clearly “bad” things, it would be too easy. To be appropriately, optimally challenged we need to be beset on all sides by potentially bad things which start out so good.

I’ve been here before and I know where this road leads. I know all about the diminishing returns of once in a while becoming  every night. We all do, and so we all must act accordingly.

Best,
-Dre

PS Pics to follow 😛

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Fractals in Nature

Friends,

Some years back while living in Berlin I ate some poisonous mushrooms in Tiergarten and saw, among other things, the kaleidoscopic nature of the universe. It wasn’t my first time seeing the rainbow spectacle of a gyrating, polygonal vortex (nor is this my first time describing it), but I remember laying there and being underwhelmed by the stained-glass majesty of it all. And that’s what it was: stained glass writ large, bearing no biblical scene, but something profoundly religious nonetheless. And still, I was underwhelmedWhy?  Thinking back now I remember waiting for something expectantly, but I do wish I could have a glimpse of it in this moment because I feel that it has been too long since I saw the kaleidoscopic nature of things and I feel like perspective is an easy thing to lose, particularly when beset on all sides by comparatively trivial day-to-day concerns and the frustrations attendant upon living in a small town and trying to make a go of things as a responsible, conscientious citizen. I am dealing with stuff now that I’ve not had to deal with for some time because my existence has been so fluid. Things like getting caught up on taxes, politicking with roommates, fucking snow! Getting bogged down in these things makes it easy to lose perspective and spend too much time in one microcosmic matrix when there are many more to choose from. The kaleidoscope shows us this. In it, we see all possible matrices. It’s like opening the aperture W I D E and letting all the light in. The formerly dark tunnel you were heading down is now illuminated and in the light you see myriad doors and passages branching off and branching back. The reality is that it is only darkness which makes a tunnel so. I need some light.

-Dre

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A Blog Well Typed

Friends,

As I continually intensify and improve my mastery of my craft, it occurs to me that it might do to improve my writing at the most mechanical level: typing. I’m regrettably still largely a two-finger typer, and although I have moments of inspiration where I can finish off entire words without looking at the keyboard,  I still struggle when I need to transcribe from a screen. Also, even though my current two-finger speed greatly outpaces my “proper technique speed,” I know that there is a much lower top end speed on the former, and this is unacceptable.

Any idea how long it took to write that last sentence? Too long. Yet I nonetheless notice improvement since I first began this endeavour this morning. Two-finger typing technique notwithstanding, I do essentially know where all the keys are, so now it’s just a matter of re-training the individual fingers and developing muscle memory. Incidentally this finger-training isn’t as novel an endeavour as I initially felt it to be as I slowly slogged through a list of SEO keywords this morning; I have been playing guitar for two years now and over the past couple of weeks I have really been devoting myself to sophisticated finger-picking techniques. First was On my One by Jake Bugg (which I’m actually listening to on repeat right now), then House of the Rising Sun by The Animals, and today was Grandma’s Hands by Bill Withers. What’s great about the latter in particular is that it’s also the melody from No Diggity, and as I have been endeavouring to work on my ‘rapping while singing’ faculties I’m essentially getting two birds stoned at once.

I really think intelligence is closely tied to finger dexterity -this was one of the reasons I enrolled in massage therapy- and so I see it as imperative to develop said dexterity in order to embrace that latent intelligence which currently exists in my brain only as an unlockable. It’s actually a little funny, but as I have been entertaining the idea of switching my major to paralegal and even taking the LSAT, these overtures toward masterful typing make me think that I could have a calling in the exciting world of court stenography. Imagine me being he who is tasked with transcribing the goings-on of the courtroom –so much potential for hilarity.

Well that about does it for typing practice tonight. See you in the funny papers!

Best,
-Dre

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