The River

Getting off the last stop on the E train is a fleeting experience. The platform is arranged so that the clearest exit is at the very end of the station, a long shiny run way leading towards the metal tangle of grates and turnstiles. It's an image that the more cynical of us might compare to a sewage treatment plant. I call it the river Manhattan.

It's everywhere, that mad rush of people bustling down the streams and eddies of the sidewalks towards wherever life requires them to go that day. The picture of the river invites piscine comparisons, but the truth is, we're pebbles. Some shinier than others, smoother but bland, others rough hewn and inclined to stick or divert course. Geologic rubble tumbling through the Lower Sediment. We're not the salmon.

The salmon swim above us, sleek and fat in their ascending glory, chauffeured by the societal equivalent of artificially constructed steps built with good intentions. The pebbles can only hope for little pieces of floating shit to settle down and provide some fleeting dreams of ascendancy. Vicarious motion. The only thing any individual salmon fears is a bearish predator, but that can only do so much before another spawns to take its place, helped along by those oh so convenient steps.

One pebble is an annoyance, but a multitude of sufficient speed and momentum is a fucking shotgun blast.

One person's trash....

The world runs on stories. Almost all stories are about a journey of some kind, either personal, or physical, or emotional. The path we take from A to B to C and beyond. What a lot of people don't realize is that it's not only people who have stories. Objects, philosophies, places, names, words, all have a history behind them.

Flea markets are one of those love/hate things. Something about people trying to sell their used items for extra money, as if they didn't get enough use out of it, galls some people. But there's a charm to flea markets, a sort of atmosphere that evokes an old world bazaar. Sure, there's stalls full of broken knick knacks and tarnished silverware, but for people who have certain interests, there's that metaphorical genie in a bottle just waiting to be found.

I went to one of New York's local markets with my aunt the other day, and had an amusing time perusing the oddities. Burlap sacks from the days where marijuana would have been shipped wholesale, proudly printed with its country of origin. Heavy iron pie tins, and steel kitchen implements that wouldn't look out of place in a civil war surgeon's bag. An ornately decorated sword for fifteen dollars, which upon closer inspection possessed a blade so loose as if to guarantee a hole in the wall upon your first practice swing. Pins from presidential campaigns of old, proclaiming the wearer's fondness for Ike or their premature faith in Nixon.

There was an antique army helmet, of US make, dating back to WWII, the faded date of 1943 stamped on the inside. It intrigued me, and I agonized over buying or not buying it, because although an interesting and unique item, 70 dollars could be spent more sensibly. Alas, when I returned it had walked off with someone not so conflicted. However, positioned next to it had been a German helmet of similar design, except badly pitted and rusted by what looked like seawater.

Going back to the topic of stories, it made me think about the two helmets, and both their stories. The Allied helmet was in good condition, not struck by any sort of visible damage. It's owner had most likely survived the conflict, and brought it back home, only to sell it to this antique dealer. The axis helmet, however, was in very bad shape, A large hole in the back of the helmet belied it's owners fate, shot down on some foreign beach somewhere, the lifeless corpse half submerged in sandy surf. His helmet having failed in its sole task, consigned to a salty, slow decay. Then most likely, some hours, days, or months later, recovered and sent to next of kin, or to the state, or to some other unknown location until it ended up here in New York in 2014. Did the wearers of both helmets meet on the battlefield?

The point of this long rambling tangent is that although the more undamaged helmet held more interest to me initially, it was ultimately the rusted and chipped helmet that hid the more interesting tale. Sometimes, the more damaged something is, the greater depths it has.

As it is with objects, so is often the case with people.

Circus of Values

I recently unfriended someone on Facebook. Not because of any thing they did to me specifically, but because of the political content they post on their wall with mechanical regularity. Yes, they are staunchly conservative. Yes, I consider myself "liberal" on a number of issues.

But stopping to think about the meaning of those two designators gave me pause. Recently, "conservative" and "Republican" have become interchangeable, as have "Democrat" and "Liberal". But those two parties are not strictly one sided. I am by no means the first or the last to say this, but our two party system is literally a bowl of shit looking itself in the mirror. By co-opting the terms, the parties have managed to gain followers from the all important "swing vote"or people who tend to favor votes to one side but are BY NO MEANS ENTIRELY LIBERAL OR CONSERVATIVE.

You can't vote in a presidential election if you're not registered as a Democrat or a Republican. But by associating with those parties, you also associate yourself with all the stereotypes and baggage inherent to your chosen party. The vocal minority becomes the standard caricature and the rest just go along with it because they agree with the majority of those beliefs. This is how you end up with one side refusing to execute a mass murderer because of "human rights"and the other side ranting about how Obama is a nazi muslim spy who wants to ship people off to internment camps. In these people's minds there is no middle ground. But the rest of us make up that middle ground. And we need to be heard again, if only to prevent the extremists of both sides from eliminating mutual diplomacy.

The meaning of the word "liberal" intends to illustrate receptiveness to new ideas, openness, wide mindedness, accepting of change. Conservative, on the other hand, invokes pragmatism, solidarity, integrity, and staunch position. Both can be good and bad. The american independence movement was made almost entirely of liberals, who were fed up with being treated like a resource and wanted to enact change. The American Indians were most certainly conservative, in that their status quo, their way of life, was under threat of massive change and they refused to accept it.

The "liberal media"is a redundant term. Media SHOULD be liberal, because media is one of the most important ways society can communicate. Communication changes, and a media that refuses to change along with society becomes repressive and obsolete. It's not hard to recognize in today's world. Institutions based on monitoring or regulation, such as the economy or environmental agencies, should tend towards conservative practices on upholding the established laws. If those laws become obsolete, or easily circumvented, then change must occur to return to a conservative baseline.

People shouldn't have to pick between two bloated, crumbling ruins to live in. You can build a dwelling that will fit you and you alone with bricks you select by hand, to fit your own beliefs.

And unless people are throwing their bricks at you, no one needs to take issue with the kind of bricks others use.

Greetings, earthling.

Words have power. Both positive and negative. With a few carefully selected words, you could turn a stranger into a friend, a friend into an enemy, an enemy into a love. All it takes is an understanding of people's motives and wants and needs, and your own. Compassion, social awareness, selflessness. Yes, words have power. But there's one word that is potentially the most powerful.

"Hi."

Hello. Hi. What's up. Any form of casual greeting.

The way our society is structured today is based around social contract, that is, the implicit agreement to behave appropriately in social settings, and follow unwritten social mores. However, this has translated and grown into a general isolation and indifference towards those not known to you. A person can live in New York City, and pass by thousands of people a day, yet still be completely alone, isolated, and friendless, until they hear a word.

"Hello."

It breaks the isolation, the metaphorical shell created by the policy of "keep to yourself". Hello can lead to many things, or nothing, but the base power of it lies.in the fact that it represents acknowledgement. Confirmation of the fact that you exist, you are not alone, and someone is choosing to acknowledge that for whatever reason. Many of my friendships have started because I said "Hello" and then kicked off a conversation. Even just that, "Hello" and a smile or a wink, can mean the world to someone who rarely receives even that.

Cracked Christ

I was walking back from the Javits Center the other day, and I passed by a school with this statue out front. It was covered by this heavy plastic barrier, which already had a hole in it, visible in the picture. Made me stop and think for a minute.

Now, I am not in the least bit religious. In fact, I’d say I’m somewhat anti religion. A belief system based on adhering to ethics in return for reward (the promise of eternal life) seems ideologically and spiritually less sound than an ethics system based on doing the right thing simply because it is the right thing to do. Selflessness without the need for a metaphysical carrot to be dangled ahead of you.

I wonder how a religion, or many religions, that are based at their core on a fundamental dogma of love, tolerance, and understanding can systemically be co-opted by certain causes. In doing so, turning the faithful into absurdist strawman caricatures of themselves without realizing what they are perpetuating. How Christians who believe in the sanctity of life paradoxically bomb abortion clinics, or how Muslims, whose Koran actually states that the prophet Muhammad was the last of a series of godly prophets that included Jesus, and that Allah, Yahweh, and God are the same entity, commit mass murder in the name of their faith. A faith that advocates love and understanding.

Faith is a powerful tool. It’s something that at once is both beautiful and horrifying. Beautiful because it is one of those exemplary human traits that allow an individual to persevere through adversity, even when all other sources of motivation have been sucked dry. It can also spur entire groups of people to go commit heinous acts, not pausing to consider if their actions are just and ethical on an objective standpoint, but confidently and even joyfully if they are assured that such acts prove their faith and guarantee them high standing in whatever they believe.

That something that once stood for the very concept of peace and tolerance can come to represent the hatred, anger, and self delusion of those who claim to venerate it, to the point where it must be protected behind a thick barrier for fear of what those who oppose it might do, is one of the fundamental rots of corruption that is underlying the surface of our world today.

The Rising Tide (opinion)

A select few of my friends who I know offline share common beliefs with me. Locational issues prevent me from connecting with them in person, so the majority of my socialization is done online, and mainly through facebook.

One friend of mine posted a status that neatly condensed the highs and lows of what I feel is happening in America, and across the world. Some of my views might be polarizing or inflammatory if taken as such, but he's right in his main point that society as a whole, right now, seems to be on a frightening decline. The slow death of net neutrality, the increasing self-absorption and narcissism complex of everyday Americans, and a host of other problems. Stopping to think about just how completely fucked we seem to be gets depressing quickly. But it's people like the aforementioned friends that give me a small amount of hope.

Another topic touched on is the apparent inherent tendency of people to rally against any viewpoint whatsoever, that they either disagree with or believe others will disagree with. Both sides of the issue need to be taken into account. I myself am guilty of hypocrisy and jumping to conclusions, but we need to realize that it is a simple, inherent part of being human and to transcend our self delusion.

And it's not all self-inflicted. The culture that has sprung up from the twisted mockery of hope that the American Dream has become has significantly contributed to the decline of society. And no, it's not the "how-mo-seckshuls corrupting god fearing citizens" or "paranoid right wing gun nuts" or even "miley cyrus is OUT OF CONTROL"; it's the fact that these are presented as valid issues to argue and take sides about, while the real movers and shakers of the world, the ones with all the money, who own the means of production and are swiftly acquiring the channels of free communication, manufacture these conflicts in an attempt to keep each thinking human being from realizing it.

I realize that this is beginning to sound like a diatribe, and anyone in the aforementioned groups can write it off by labeling me as the other side. But the truth of the matter is that's exactly what the manufacturers of conflict want you to do, so that you don't think about it. The almost automatic decision to write something off you don't agree with, which is exactly what the specific friend was referring to. These are real thoughts, and real opinions, considered and articulated. Not sound bites. Not meaningless rhetoric. It's the horrible truth.

We appear to be on a bad path, one leading to a rapidly dystopian future. We already live in a dystopia; it's just not obvious to the majority of people yet. The people we believe represent us in government only represent the interests of whoever bankrolls them, and that's the way they want it to stay, while we watch American Idol and argue about talk shows, celebrities, and ultimately meaningless conflicts created for the express purpose of distraction.

As of right now, honor is dying. Integrity is dying. Compassion is dying. Intelligence is dying.

And crap is king.

Karma Police (Yes, inspired by Radiohead)

"Got one. Jay Fallsman. Age 37."

A keyboard clicked in front of a large bank of monitors. The larger screen situated in the middle brought up a camera feed, taken from the branches of a tree, or a lightpost, or a parked semi. Anywhere that escaped the normal notice of people. The subject the feed was centered on a crimson jaguar, brand new. Inside was a man dressed in a business suit, one ear glued to a cellphone as he backed out of his driveway, gesturing wildly. He blew out onto the street, narrowly missing a bicycling child, and denting the side door of a car parked on the opposite curb. The car's owner turned from his mailbox and yelled at the rapidly retreating Mr. Fallsman, who in turn raised a middle finger without even looking.

"Fuckin' businessmen. High powered Madoffs-in-training, eh?" The speaker nudged the man sitting next to his booth, who turned and gave him a warning look.
"You know you aren't supposed to be personal about it, Jack. You're gonna get another citation."

Jack sighed and turned back to his monitors, tapping a few more keys on his panel. "Alright, alright Craig, I know you're right. Besides, not like the boss doesn't hand out citations like candy."  Picking up a coffee cup, he took a sip, and switched over to another feed. Another street along the oblivious Jay Fallsman's route to his office.

A contractor van turned the corner sharply and a rusted screw bounced off the fender, landing bolt upright. Minutes passed. A few more cars came down the road, but Jack tapped a key or two and they missed it by inches. Finally, the shiny red jaguar roared down the street, and the screw embedded itself deep into a tire with a loud pop. Fallsman's eyes went wide as he jerked the wheel to the side, his car squealing in protest until he banged against the sidewalk and into a telephone pole. As he got out and inspected the flat, he grumbled into his cell. "Yeah. Yeah. I blew a tire. Shit, man, this was the last meeting in the portfolio, and now I'm gonna be late." A pause. "I'll see you at the office."

As he went back into his trunk and began to fiddle with the jack, he neglected to notice his front bumper now had a dent in it.

Jack leaned back in his chair and logged the entire scene. He finished typing up his report, and placed it in the "Out" tray on his desk. Tabbing over to the monitor bank's "search mode", he leaned back and watched the rapidly changing feeds, smirking to himself. "That's what you get when you mess with the karma police..."