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There’s something that happens, maybe a quarter of the way into Tig Notaro’s HBO special that made me feel a little uncomfortable (won’t spoil it, you can hit on-demand and see for yourself), but as she grooved into her set I totally forgot about it. Tig is a GENIUS of the casually paced, understated, curveball delivery style. A style that doesn’t SEEM superficially ‘bold,’ but after she made the ‘bold’ expression that caused my initial discomfort her mastery of this style ‘boldly’ ‘normalized’ the ‘sensation’ created by the act. Brilliant stuff.

Broken record shit…

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This country isn’t divided. It only SEEMS that way. No matter how much shit we talk about each other we NEED each other. We’re too invested in our relative identities to ‘break up.’ We DEFINE ourselves based on how DIFFERENT we are to one another. Don’t believe me? Just peep what we’re always prattlin’ on about. Most of our commentary revolves around our so-called ‘enemies’ and how much MORE or LESS ‘this’ or ‘that’ they are in COMPARISON to us. We are DEEPLY lost in reactionary, spite-based identities; just walking, talking manifestations of literal negativity: We only know what WE ARE because we know what WE’RE NOT.

What the Hell?

nether

In Minecraft’s Nether you cannot sleep. The game allows you to place a bed down, but when you try to lay on it it blows up. This got me to thinking about the concept of eternal suffering. I’ve always thought such a concept would be impossible due to our adaptability. After burning in Hell for 10,000 (equivalent) years I might get used to it…unless the suffering got incrementally worse. Now THAT would suck.

You know that devastating feeling you get when you leave an air-conditioned room and walk out into 100 degree heat? The contrast is so extreme that the heat stings you more than it would had you been out in it for a few hours. In the concept of Hell I presented here the ‘air-conditioned room’ would be ‘lesser’ intense suffering, but the contrast would be just as extreme. But what would be the rate of change? To ensure maximum suffering I would think it would have to be a ridiculously small increment of time… Imagine being outside on an extremely hot day and the temperature increasing a few degrees every nanosecond, and you had no way of seeking refuge. Not even death could save you.

Now if a place like this actually exists I would like to believe that it would take a whole HELLuva lotta cuttin’ up to get banished there. Like you would have to have actually CAUSED some incremental suffering of your own. Not some mundane shit like having consensual sex with another adult after a night out at Red Lobster.

echo

Our social media profiles are like gaming consoles and these Big Deal News Stories are like massive multiplayer online games we play on them, but instead of just playing the game and getting on with our lives we carry the volatile emotions from our virtual experiences into our offline worlds; worlds that may or may not mirror1 the reality presented in the ‘game.’

The Big Deal News Story triangulates us; we’re aware of it and we’re also aware that those around us are aware of it. This creates a tension that media outlets—hungry for eyeballs, hits and clicks—exploit. They frantically toss other (oftentimes tenuously) related stories at us knowing we will most definitely bite.
Continue reading ”

In further god’s-probably-irony-news, both Hulk Hogan and Bill Cosby—in following their god (or ‘genetically’ if you’re weird about the G-word)-given purposes have inspired countless black wrestlers and female comics respectively to see about their OWN purposes. Does this exonerate them? No. But this isn’t about that, this is about something else.

Some shit about sex…

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What if this is the result1 of DENYING yourself the permission to explore your relationship with your sexual self for many, many years? Not just physically—as in hittin’ up Craigslist’s ‘Casual Encounters’ section tryna see who’s ready-willing-and-able at 2:37AM PST—but intellectually, as in allowing yourself to openly and honestly explore the vagaries of your sexual desires, thoughts, curiosities; free from the burden of shame, guilt. Either alone or with someone else (lot more fun that way).

Purging the contents of your sexual subconscious in safe places like XHamster, Pornhub, YouPorn, Tube8 (come on guys, give me some others) search boxes is fun, exhilarating, but spend enough time there gawking at things that contradict the you that you present to the public and you might start feeling a little paranoid…

    “Look, see, I’m married to a woman! I’m no fag! What kinda fag marries a sexy, big-titty girl like this?! Just look at them titties guys! Just look!”

It’s fear. You’re afraid of what people in your either/or, black/white world might think of you. ESPECIALLY if say, you grew up relatively conservative, parents heavily involved in the church, reputations to uphold; just alla that keeping-up-appearances shit. But what happens when you mentally separate yourself from that and wake-the-fuck-up? What if you don’t wake up until damn near 60?! Way past your so-called prime? When you could’ve experimented, learned about who you were? You might be inclined to go to extremes. Overcompensate. I’m not saying this is Jenner’s story. Frankly, I don’t know much about [PERSONAL PRONOUN]’s story, I just used this picture as a cynical shorthand. It’s the kind of pop culture beacon that people rush to and exploit to further their agendas. I figured I could do the same…
Continue reading ‘Some shit about sex…’

look @ me

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It kinda sucks that government agencies are warehousing and categorizing our dick, tit an’ clit pics, but at the same it’s also kinda cool because this repository of audio/visual/literary data will become the ‘mine’ that our future descendants will excavate to learn more about us. With that said, I think we should take some moments out of our social media days to say hello to them. So descendants, this is for you…

    I try to be as candid and transparent as possible with you guys. I want you to know what I’m about, warts and all. Oh, and I’m not stupid, I know you’re looking in my various inboxes and checking all of my ‘private’ and ‘incognito’ window histories, hacking my passwords. I’m not mad. How can I be? I come from a long line of tomb-excavators and private letter and diary readers. I have nothing to hide from you, I’m puttin’ it all out there which actually kinda worries me. I’m sure you’ve gleaned from all of my bullshit that I’m a bit of an attention whore. I know our species digs mystery and with all my blathering I’m about as mysterious as yesterday’s newspaper. You guys are probably more interested in the ones who shared very little. Probably using spill-guts like me to cross-reference info about the ‘mysterious’ spartan-sharers and off-grids. I get it. I understand. But let me hip you to something right quick…

Continue reading ‘look @ me’


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