Below are the 11 most recent journal entries recorded in jerrydavid's LiveJournal:

Sunday, July 23rd, 2006
6:23 pm	Original Sin, and religion Original sin begins by damning men as evil. This is followed by those who have never discovered that achieving life is not equivalent to avoiding death. Joy is not the absence of pain, intelligence is not the absence of stupidity, light is not the absence of darkness. Existence is not a negation of negatives. Fear and joy are not incentives of equal power-and fear is not secretly the more 'practical'. Original sin demands, as its first proof of virtue, depravity without proof. It demands to start, not with a standard of value, but with a standard of evil, which is man; by means of which he then defines the good: that which he is not. By this, the good is not meant for him to understand, man's duty comes to crawling through years of penance, atoning for the guilt and evil of his existence to any stray collector of unintelligible debts, his only concept of a value is a zero: the good is that which is non-man. A sin without volition is a slap at morality and an insolent contradiction in terms: that which is outside the possibility of choice is outside the province of morality. If man is evil by birth, he has no will, no power to change it; if he has no will, he can be neither good nor evil. To hold, as man's sin, a fact not open to his choice is a mockery of morality. To hold man's nature as his sin is a mockery of nature. What is the nature of the guilt that your teachers call this original sin? Their myth declares that man ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge-that he acquired a mind and became a rational being. He was sentenced to earn his bread by his labor-he became a productive being. He was sentenced to experience desire-he acquired the capacity of sexual enjoyment. The evils for which they damn men are reason, morality, creativeness, joy-all the cardinal values of his existence. It is not his vices or errors that they condemn or hold as his guilt, but the essence of his nature as man. Whatever he was-in that garden of Eden, who existed without mind, without values, without labor and without love-he was not a man. They call is a morality of mercy and a doctrine of love for a man. They then proceed to cut man in two, and set one half against the other. They teach that man's body and his consciousness are two enemies, two antagonists of opposite natures, contradictory needs, incompatible claims, that benefit to one injures the other, that his soul belongs to a supernatural realm, but his body a prison holding it to bondage to this earth-and that the good is to defeat his body, to undermine it by years of patient struggle, digging his way to that glorious jail-break which leads into freedom of the grave. They teach man that he is a hopeless misfit of these two elements, both symbols of death. Their battle between each other, a ghost and a corpse, is their image of man's nature: a corpse with some evil volition of its own and a ghost endowed with knowledge that everythng known to man is non-existent, that only the unknowable exists. This doctrine was designed to ignore man's mind. Once reason is surrendered, man is left with the mercy of two unfathomable monsters he cannot hope to control or fathom: a body moved by unaccountable instincts and a soul moved by mystic revelations. In this state this doctrine offers helps of a morality that proclaims he'll find no solution and must seek no fulfillment on earth. Real existence, they would say to him, is that which he cannot perceive, that true consciousness is the faculty of perceiving the non-existent-and if he is unable to understand this, that is the proof that his existence is evil and his consciousness impotent. The good, such mystics say, is God, a being whose only definition is that he is beyond man's power to conceive-a definition that invalidates man's own consciousness and nullifies his concepts of existence. They say man's mind is to be subordinated to the will of this God; that man's standard of value is the pleasure of God, whose standards are beyond man's power of comprehension. Man's purpose of life is to become an abject zombie who serves a purpose he does not know, for reasons he is not to question. His reward is to be cashed in beyond the grave. For those persuading with treasures and enrichments of other worlds besides this own, keep them; I'm not concerned with any other. (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 16th, 2006
12:07 am	College Money blues no more!!! Last year I started college, a state college, but a college nonetheless. I had numerous amounts of troubles trying to balance school and studying, a small 2-shift a week job, and paying for it all with any small-job I could find, even with the GI Bill coming in. Well, come to find out, since I did the FAFSA early enough THIS time around, I can receive almost all my tuition paid with a Pell Grant, so I'd pocket most of the GI Bill money for bills. I'm just so glad to hear this news, have had a bad past couple of weeks. And I have surgery this Tuesday...they're gonna hack off parts of my tailbone. Kinda emberassing, but it's gotta get done. Such relief from all angles this week; I'm almost actually light-headed. (Comment on this)
Saturday, July 8th, 2006
1:59 am	Why oh why does my car hate me? My car hates me. Sure I bought it from an old lady who REALLY needed the money a year and a half ago. In my opinion, a Saturn SC2 '97 Coupe for 1500$ is a good deal. I bought it last year. Not a month passes and a headlight goes out when I got the brights on. Then it goes out when the headlights are on normal. I replace it. Two months later, same story with the OTHER headlight. I replace that one. Now the first side that went out is out when I have my brights on. Small inconvenience, I know. But it also turns out sometime in the cars life it got caught in the ass with a fender-bender. No big deal until 4 months after I purchased it that I realize even though they repaired the tail-end well, the trunk is misaligned to the body, and the latch finally ends up shitting itself from all the slammings it's suffered. Still kinda petty. Now I have a nail (actually whatever it is, it's bigger than a nail...it's kinda like the crotch-fruit if a nail and a rivet ever got together after a few too many tequila shots and decided to put too much faith in the good 'ole 'pull out' method) stuck in my back driver-side tire...after having the EXACT same predicament with the same tire a few months ago.... All that pales in seriousness that my car also seems to have amnesia with it's idle. On completely random drives I may need to clutch into neutral (red light, stop sign, some old hag slobbing on the drive ahead of me's knob), and then the car may decide to shit itself; this is much more embarassing if I'm slowly pulling into a parking spot in first gear and it sputters itself dead, making dead-baby gurgling sounds as the idle misses and yet I'm still in first, yet I'm still in motion. The car at this point ends up in a confused dimension of limbo, and I'm freaking out and apologizing to my old-time chick friend about it and embarassed to hell because I haven't even seen her in over 5 years and.... well, let's not get too personal with this. As for this sputtering idle amnesia problem...I don't know too much about cars, but it seems like that one hitch in my car's personality might be kinda costly, and it scares me to death; I'm a broke college student in the middle of the summer with my only current income a two day a week liquor-store job and whenever my dad thinks he might need me on a septic job (as opposed to his statements earlier this summer "oh yea I'll put you work, I'll keep you busy, you don't need to find a job, etc etc etc." THANKS DAD! I've done a whole TWO jobs, and I never even got paid on one of them.) UPDATE: Well, we finally pulled the recent spike stuck in my abused back tire. Neither me nor my dad has ever seen something quite that large stuck in a normal 14-in tire. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 6th, 2006
12:35 am	Cooking for your girlfriend...without burning the house down: a how-to guide (memory recap) When you're 18 and have a girlfriend, a few words of advice in the following circumstances: DO NOT decide to treat her to a home-cooked dinner consisting of french fries and baked chicken in a gravy and cheese sauce. Chances are, you, like me, will have her tidying up your room while you do this. She may even go so far as to clean your martini-glass ashtray in your room; which (unknowingly to her) has signatures by toothpick of all your best friends in it's ash-streaken sides. If this should ever happen to you, DO NOT recount to her all the lost memories that laid in that ash-laden ashtray and it's hard-to-notice signatures and comments. If you were to do so, there's a decent chance she might freak out just as you are dumping your home-made sliced potato fries from the greased pan on the lit stove onto the napkin-enclosed bowl, and forget to turn the stove off at that point. And if that happens, DO NOT go immediately to your room where she ran to, and comfort her, forgetting temporarily about the food you were cooking. If you're at this point, NEVER forget about the good food you were cooking for you and your special someone, and start cuddling and nudging each other into what would've been some awesome sex if it weren't interrupted by small popping sounds of the rest of the kitchen catching on fire by your leaving the stove on. "Ohhh baby, you're so good, I'm on fire!" "Oh yea, wait a minute...isn't it warm all of a sudden?" "Well, yea...wait, what's that popping sound in the kitchen?!?" If the kitched does end up in flames, it is important to stay calm and collected, so telling a girlfriend to "get the hell out of the house" as you try your best to contain the fire, is a very reasonable request. In your alarming frame of mind, make sure you know when to give up and run out too; just make sure you don't accidentally leave out the back door, then decide to grab the phone and go out the front (leaving the back sliding-door open, to fume the flames with more oxygen). If you have a corded phone and 50ft. of phone cord connecting to the kitchen, dial 911 quickly before the cord melts from the blazes in the kitchen. Toward the tail-end of this conversation: 911:"Okay, the firemen are on their way; you need to get out the house, NOW!" Me: "Well, I am out of the house, standing in the yard with my girlfriend." 911:"Oh...so you have a cordless?" Me:"Um...no, just a really really long phone cord, it's probably melting off the wall in the living room right now." 911:"Okay, I'm going to hang up, don't go anywhere, don't do anything, the firetruck is on it's way" *click* And if you ever have to evacuate a house and wait for firefighters, remember to blow out the dozen candles in your bedroom; you don't want to chance multiple fires. You especially don't want to be dumb and have both you and your girlfriend notice this at the same time and race/wrestle each other to scramble back into the burning house to blow out the mass of candles. Once they arrive, the firemen hopefully will not decide to be douches and flood your bedroom (a full 12 ft. from the entire kitchen area) extra hard after they notice all the computer and electronics crap you may have in there. In all the layers of stress, make sure you and your girlfriend are comfortable with the idea of lighting up a cigarette as the firefighters are combating the fire and smoke in your residence: "Man, is it rude if light up a cigarette right now, with all them putting out the fire?" "I dunno, but I need a smoke too." I mumble with a cigarette flipped into my mouth as I strike a match. The flaring of the match catches a very evil stare by the closest firefighter. After they were done, if the house is immediately deemed unsuitable to live in; remember at some point that you need to let your parental figures know what happened, lest they come back from their gambling weekend holiday to a pile of smoldering ashes and not knowing why. Then you should go stay at your other parental figure's house for a few days. For what it's worth, make sure you and your emotionally drained girlfriend end up having sex in her car in your other parent's driveway, in the middle of town. In all the stress amassed during such a night, you two probably wouldn't really care or notice...until a step-sibling (who was around 14 at the time) comes out and tries to bum a cigarette from you for her boyfriend. NOTE: It is not a completely bad idea to have sex in the burned-down house the next night, a final 'closing-time' call for your room or your futon (RIP favorite futon o' mine!). But be mindful of when the hippie guy who runs the store next-door decides to knock, let himself in, and wander around looking for the visitor's (and embarrassing the hell out of your girlfriend), as he comes across your bedroom, sees her frantically pulling her pants on. "Oh-caught you with your pants down!! Ha-haa". Only to find out he was asking curious questions about buying the now "fire-damaged" house because he's basically a poor nearly-homeless stoner lookign for an oppertunity. Fuck this stress...next time just order out! (Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 5th, 2006
1:01 am	My first time on 'shrooms (Memory recap) After having a terrible New Year's of 2000 (I spent the magical midnight moment on a fucking AOL chatroom while visiting a girl who was cuddling with the other guy; my competition, only it wasn't so much a competition, as it was her not telling me until I got there that she had pretty much made up her mind...and yea, it was "that girl" for those that know me well enough to ask), my at-the-time step-mother decides to offer me a trip to Canada with her to see her family from up there. Once we arrived, I was acquainted with her family, a bunch of nice enough people. Then they introduce me to my step-mom's niece and her bunch of friends. I actually ended up hanging out with them for a little while, going over the whole "If you're from the south why don't you talk like your dad?" spiel, among other things. The main girl was a huge woman; I don't mean she's fat (though she was a bit plump), I mean she could play as the 49er's front line. The main plot twist was that I thought her roommate, a homely-yet-hot blonde was definitely worth getting to know. The two of them invite me as a guest to a party they were going to that night. My step-mom gave me 20 canadian dollars (I wasn't broke, but had no money converted when we crossed) to make sure I didn't look like a total cheap-ass, and we were off. We started at a sloshy-looking dive bar and played some pool and they drank some beers (come to find out, drinking age in Canada is 19, which they were, and I was 17 and very angry that they chose me to be the designated driver that night). Me and the 49er played pool while the roomy just sat at our table and drank; it was at this time she informed me that the blonde bombshell is still in love with 'her baby's daddy' and that she's not over him yet. I mark the night as a lost cause with her when we suddenly switch gears, leave the bar, and end up in some guy's second-floor apartment. There were about 15 people there, a small-scale party, but it was pulsing with energy; mostly due to everyone feeling comfortable with everyone there...except me. They were nice enough to me though, and handed me a fresh bottle of beer every time I came close to empty (designated...what?), in hopes of making me realize how much Canadian beer kicks ass compared to US beer (which they were right...until I went to Australia MUCH later in life). After a while, 49er starts shuffling around with one of the guys there, then comes to me all brightened up. "Do you wanna take some 'shrooms?" If I remember right, I gave them my 20 and I got a gram (damn metric system!). As instructed when he was cutting out my share, I took about 1/4 of it. I chilled out for about 20 minutes, when 49er noticed I still seemed allright, I took another 1/4 of it at her suggestion. 20 minutes later she starts wondering about the mystery of my digestive tract, and convinces me to take the remaining 1/2. 30 minutes later I walk over to her, "Hey, I'm not trying to accuse, but that shit isn't working." The entire crowd I just walked up to looks at me like I just took a dump in some chicks mouth. They ask me if I feel okay; "Well yea, I feel fine." "Go look in the mirror, your eyes are dilating like crazy!" When I do, I can't see my eyes, where they should be, all I saw was black voids in my head. Okay yea, SOMETHING is going on with those 'shrooms now. I still felt fine, however. Then we leave, since appearently my super-dilating eyes and body spasms (which I never did notice) were freaking everyone out. Outside, walking on the sidewalk, the 'shrooms suddenly gripped my mind, as well as my stomach. I literally went from normal, somewhat-drunk Jay to falling-over-on-his-side-as-his-legs-still-act-like-he's-walking Jay. I resist the overwhelming urge to puke as we head to the girls' apartment. By the 49er's explanation it was not a good idea to imbibe that much beer before taking 'shrooms, as it exaggerates the 'queasy' feelings of the digesting of the 'shrooms. We arrive, and blonde's mom leaves (she was babysitting the crotch-rot). Blonde then goes to put the baby away and falls asleep with her. So much for that. Then I ended up sleeping with the 49er. I lost my virginity on shrooms with a Canadian chick while a New Kids on the Block marathon was on TV, and the shadows kept creeping around their entertainment center. The only reason we had sex was so she could finally get me to stop fidgeting and she could finally get some sleep. To append this, she ended up moving down to an hour's drive from me here in TN, and we went out for about 6 months. She did this mostly because she needed breast-reduction (I never can recall exactly how gargantuan her breasts were that night), and it would've been an enourmous waiting period to get it done in Canada. I think we may have gone to a movie once or twice, and maybe a club once...I dunno, all I remember is the enourmous amounts of sex we had. (Comment on this)
Monday, June 26th, 2006
12:06 pm	Love and sex, the response to the woman chaser The man who despises himself may attempt to gain his self-esteem through sexual adventures; which cannot be done, since sex is not the cause, but rather the effect, and one in many expressions of a man's sense of self-value. Some men, those who consider wealth to come from the physical alone with no intellectual root or meaning, are those who think that sex is a capacity with an independant function seperate from one's mind, choice, or code of values. In deferance to such, a man's sexual choice is the sum and result of his fundamental convictions. Despite the corruption he's taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an actions with seldom any motive save his own personal enjoyment. An action performed, when you get down to it, only in the confidence of being disired and being worthy of desire. Man will always be attracted to the woman who reflects the deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender allows him to experience-or to fake-a sense of self-esteem. The man proudly certain of his own values, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the strongest, the hardest to conquer, because only the possession of such a heroine will give him a sense of achievement. By this, he does not seek to gain his value, he seeks to express it. Love is our response to our highest values, and nothing less. A man convinced of his own worthlessness will find himself drawn to a woman he despises, since in doing so she allows him a momentary illusion to his own value and escape from a moral code that damns him. His body will follow the ultimate logic of his deepest convictions. If his moral philosophy is a tangled mess of contradictions, if he professes virtue in pity or pain or weakness or sacrifice, if he believe one's highest values are equated by one's flaws, then that man damns existence as evil and only the evil will attract him. He will feel that depravity is all he is worthy of enjoying, and equates virtue with pain and that vice is the only realm of pleasure. It is this man who then screams that his body has vicious desires of its own which his mind cannot conquer, that sex is sin, that true love is a pure emotion of the spirit. At this point he will then wonder why love brings nothing but boredom, and sex-nothing but shame. By such standards as these, love is synchronous with desire. Just as an idea unexpressed in physical action is contemptible hypocrisy, so is platonic love. In retrospect, just as physical action unguided by an idea is a fool's self-fraud, so is sex when cut off from one's code of values. Only one who extols the purity of a love devoid of desire, is capable of a desire devoid of love. Observe that most people swing from two different pedistals of character. One kind despises money, factories, skyscrapers, and his own body. He holds undefined emotions about nonconceivable subjects as the meaning of life as his claim to virtue. And he cries with despair, because he can feel nothing for the woman he respects, but finds himself in bondage to an irresistable passion for sluts from the gutter. He is what one calls an idealist. The other despises principles, abstractions, art, philosophy, and his own mind. He regards the acquisition of the material the sole goal of existence, and laughs at the need to consider their purpose or their source. He expects to derive pleasure from this, and yet wonders as to why the more he gets, the less he feels. He is what one calls practical. He is the man who spends his time chasing women. Observe his self-perpetuated triple fraud: he scoffs at such concepts as moral values, so he fails to acknowledge his need of self-esteem; yet he feels the profound self-contempt which comes from believing he is a piece of meat. He denies, but knows that sex is the physical expression of a tribue to personal values. So he tries, through the motions of the effect, to acquire that which should have been the cause. Once again, he tries to gain a sense of his own value from the women he beds-and he forgets that the women he chases have neither the character nor judgement nor standard of value. He tells himself he's only after physical pleasure, but he'll then tire of his woman in a week or a night, that he despises professional whores and he loves to imagine his seduction of virtuous girls who make great exceptions for his sake. The feeling of achievement which he desperately seeks forever eludes him; after all, what glory can there be in the conquest of a mindless body? **As in the last post, this entire piece was summarized and notated on my own from the work of Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" (2 Comments |Comment on this)
11:57 am	For the love of money To those who say 'money is the root of all evil', have you ever gave enough thought to ponder what is the root of all money? Money is a tool of exchange, which exists by the creation of goods, and therein the persons able to produce them. Money is the universal object based on the principle that men who wish to deal with each other must deal by trade and give value for value. Money then, is made possible only by men who produce. Is this, then, to be considered evil? When one accepts money in payment for his effort, he does so on the conviction that he will exchange it for the product of the effort of others. The pieces of paper are a claim to honor, the claim upon the energy of men who produce. A man's wallet is a statement of hope that somewhere, someone will not default and void the moral principle, which is the root of money. Is this, then, to be considered evil? Is it the wealthy that one consider evil? The greed of a producer collecting his profit? Is it evil to have a chief producer, a production leader, to be more wealthy than the secretary and workers that make him so, who scrape by to keep their kids fed and in school and clothed? If paychecks were to swap on the basis of pure need, do you honestly think the chief producer would continue to produce, that it would be fair to hae a supporter under his hand, who came to him for employment, make more than him on account of need? Let's be blunt, production is the root of money, which is so righteously damned as evil. What is the root of production, then? Man's thinking mind is the root of all things produced and cause of all the wealth that has ever existed on this earth. Try to convince yourself that electronics were originated by an unthinking barbarian. Try to grow a seed into an orchard without the practical knowledge left by those who discovered it the first time. Try to obtain your sustanence by means of nothing by physical motions, devoid of thought. Money is used to trade between men. Money allows no other arbitrator to the value of one's effort except the voluntary choice of another who is willing to trade his effort in return. Money allows one to obtain, for his good and his labor, that which they are worth to the other who buys them, but not a penny more. Money demands the recognition that men must work for their own benefit, the recognition that they are not bests of burden, born to carry the weight of your misery, that the common bond among men is not the exchange of suffering, but the exchange of goods. Money demands that man sells, not his weakness to other's stupidity, but one's talent to their reason. Money demands that you buy, not the shoddiest they offer, but the best your money can find. And only when men live by trade, it is the best product that wins, the best performance, the man of best judgement and highest ability, and the degree of a man's productiveness is the degree of his reward. This is the code of existence whose tool and symbol is money. Is this what is considered evil? But money is only a tool. It will provide means for satisfaction of desires, but it will not give desires. Money will not purchase happiness if one has no concept of what he wants: money will not provide a code of values if man has evaded the knowledge of what to value, nor will money provide a purpose if man's evaded the choice of what to seek. Money will not buy intelligence for the fool, or admiration from the coward, or respect for the incompetent. The man who attempts to purchase the brains of his superiors to serve him, with his money replacing his judgement, ends up becoming the victim of his inferiors. The men of actual intelligence desert him, but the cheats and frauds flock to him, drawn by a law undiscovered by him: that no man may be smaller than his money. Is this the reason you call it evil? Money is your means of survival. The verdict pronounced on the source of your livelihood is the verdict pronounced on your life. If the source is corrupt, you have damned your own existence. Did you get your money by fraud? By pandering to men's vices or stupidity? By catering to fools, in the hopes of obtaining more than your ability deserves? By lowering your standards? By doing work you despise for purchasers you scorn? If so, then your money will not give you a moment's or a penny's worth of joy. At this point all things bought will become, not a tribute to you, but a reproach; not an achievement, but a reminder of shame. Then you will scream that money is evil. Evil, because it will not pinch-hit for your self-respect? Evil, because it would not let you enjoy your depravity? Is the root of your hatred of money? Money always remains an effect, and refuses to replace you as the cause. Money is the product of virtue, but it will not give virtue and it will not redeem your vices. Money will never give you the unearned, neither in matter nor in spirit. Is the root of your hatred of money? Or how about laying claim that the love of money is the root of all evil? To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your efforts for the efforts of the best among men. It is the person would sell his soul for a nickel, who is loudest in proclaiming his hatred of money-and he has good reason to hate it. The lovers of money are willing to work for it. They know they are able to deserve it. *This is basically my hand-written excerpt from Ayn Rand's book "Atlas Shrugged". I take credit only in sharing it, and attempting to live it myself. It came when a rehab counselor once stated nonchalantly "well, they do say money is the root of all evil" as a finishing statement to a story she was being told, and I wanted to collectivate my argument so I'd be more ready in the future. (Comment on this)
11:57 am	Okay, re-posting stuff from other places that I've written. I really hate to beat a dead horse... I'm going to repost my inputs on "Love and sex: The response to the woman-chaser" and "For the love of money". They are basically contrived arguements, with glaring portions taken word-for-word out of Rand's books, since their main purpose was for me to collect the reasonings into one body of text. I do this because now that I'm on LJ, I've been back-tracking through other's posts here, and it's nice to see there's actually a real objectivist community here. Also I do this because I've decided that LJ will be my "hub" of all my works (or that's what I hope to achieve). So that's the next two posts. (Comment on this)
12:17 am	Drugs, the denial of reality... So I had a 'sorta' arguement on vampirefreaks.com with some chick. On a thread where a guy was asking about a "rollin party", she stated how she's 19 and how great her life is and how she does hard drugs often and has for years, and she starting down-talking all the people who were condemning drugs. She then ramped on me for stating that people who choose recreational drugs are escapists from reality, and therein are denying their given reality. She compared me to "those stupid fucking anti-drug commercials that sensationalize the overreactive dangers of drugs" (or something like that). What got me was the sentence "alternate perception has nothing to do with not enjoying reality." Am I the only one seeing a problem with that sentence? So I decided to post my full arguement. And for the sake of having something to post up here in LJ, it's here too. (Man, she disappeared from the forum...just *poof* all her comments and stuff...gone...is that a victory for me? Nah, I'm almost embarrassed that I actually gave enough of a rat's ass to post a rebuttal; you know what they say about arguing on the internet...) ------------------------------------- To the recreational drug user. Many people say responsible recreational drug use is impossible, as drug use brings in the questions of legality and inherent dangers to a lifestyle that would be void of such problems if drug use wasn't presented. I do not condemn any young person who may go through a period of 'experimentation' with substances, so long as they will be ready to pay the price for their choices. It's not the act of using something illegal or the societal uses of recreation drugs I disagree with, it's the lack of responsibility a user has towards their reality; or rather, their perception of their reality. The 'spiritual exploration', the 'exploring new worlds' the 'sensations' that one goes through on drugs, is nothing but chemicals and receptors firing off, being released, packaged, synthesized, blocked, or binded in one's brain. If you state that looking upon recreational drugs in such a light, such as the use would be considered “taking a vacation from life” and then say to yourself “wait, wouldn’t anything be a vacation from life, if viewed like that?” Doesn’t any other action in life save recreational drug use serve some rational purpose, like achievement or to exercise some skill? Do no state any form of “spiritual exploration” or “mental journey” as an achievement or skill in itself; I look forward to the rational and logical, or the anti-mystical, and nothing less; therein my problems with recreational drugs: they alter, or even perhaps prohibit, one's mind from being in it's peak position of rationality. Along with the physical implications, drugs impair one’s ability to act rationally. In cases of drugs affecting sensations, akin to cocaine or ecstasy, reason becomes subverted to pleasure-to the task of creating or intensifying a sensation. The point here is that sensations are not a guide to life, they are merely indicators; using drugs in any rational sense is a short cut which undermines their inherent functions. In comparing the effects one may receive from drug use, and the effects one may receive from nearly anything else in life: In everything but drugs, it is one's reaction based on one's conscious evaluation of it's content. One has control over what to accept as valuable and what to reject. With drug use, one inserts chemicals into the body, which affect thinking and judgement in ways that leave little to no control, depending on the chemical and the amount. One cannot take a strong psychedellic and suddenly decide "Oh, my sister just got into a car wreck, let me stop being 'high' so I can safely drive to the hospital." Therein lays the fact that by taking drugs with a recreational purpose, one is surrendering variable amounts of control of their life to these chemical effects. This last example is more of an implied situational error that may result from drug use, but fits the 'temporary loss of control' as stated. I've gotten too many jumbled thoughts down on here going on way then the other, I'll probably clean it up in time; I do wish to end with one last bit though: Obviously when on drugs, you are not in a state of full conscious awareness, and by making the choice to get drunk/high/stoned you are placing something above your commitment to the perception of reality. That single statement should have been enough, but most aren't detailed enough to check their premises, especially with differences of the relationship between reality and perception. (Comment on this)
Friday, June 23rd, 2006
4:04 am	My father is asleep 12 ft. from me.... I don't know why he put it so that his recliner is right next to my door. He usually passes out every night there, until the wee hours of the morning. Even if he goes to sleep with his girlfriend, he comes back out after an hour or two to sleep on the recliner. My father has terrible acid reflux, and it's because he drinks bear, heavily and daily, hence the recliner has become his bed often. He's been like that for as far as I can remember, except for those last three years with his last wife and he was in AA (around 1999-2002); he never drank a drop. He's also slightly diabetic, he's suppose to watch and check his blood sugar; he doesn't usually. I don't really like my dad; I love him because he's my dad, and he will (begrudgingly) help me out, but I have severe trouble liking him. Mostly because I'm just like him; in so many ways it's uncanny. In many ways I'm not like him though. I don't have much of a temper, I'm not married yet; and I definitely don't plan on having 4 ex-wives. His lifestyle is most probably shortening his lifespan, but he is aware of it. I think he's desperately afraid of becoming old and passing away like his mother did, half-senile after a multitude of strokes and unable to even care for herself for the last year of her life. When I helped him with a job the other week, he mentioned how he's getting too old to work as much as he does (farm upkeep, septic and backhoe work), and I could tell it hurt him to say it. Sometimes I have a moment of conscious doubt; I think doesn't he realize how he's slowly killing himself with drinking? Doesn't he want to see his daughter's daughters grow up? There's a lot of questions I'd like to ask him, too. I'd like to know just how often he cheated on my mother (there was cheating on both sides, to be fair); I'd like to know why he would always utilize corporal punishment with all his step-children, sometimes at the drop of a hat,but never with me or Janet; most of all, I'd like to know why he never put any child-support into a college fund for me after he was court-ordered to do so. But it's hard to ask a father questions like that when he's half-drunk all the time, has a short temper to begin with, and especially when he's given you free lodging while you try to work some and go to college full-time. I need an apartment, bad. I usually consider it flagrantly wasteful to rent; but damnit it's a 35-minute drive each way every day from dad's farm. With gas prices that's around $200 a month just on driving. Then maybe I'll find some answers, as well as the final freedom a young man yearns for. (Comment on this)
1:55 am	So here I sit (first entry) Wish I had something witty to type down for my first entry. (1 Comment |Comment on this)