That little kid in that photo, think he still wears diapers? Do you think he knows about life, about hate? It's obvious he's being sculpted into a racist, a white supremacist, neo-Nazi, skinhead, etc etc. Now let's say he never grows out of it, never escapes the bubble in which he's entombed, remains stuck in his beliefs. My question is this: At what point in this child's life do we begin to judge him for being racist? When he's 6? No, too young. 13? Still too young. What about 17? Maybe, might even be a good age to feel good about socking him in the face, right? He's about an adult by then, after all, probably drank a few years, fucked a few broads by then.
What about 23? By then, sure, he's a free target for our abuse, we can feel good about seeing him pepper-sprayed, even if he hasn't physically harmed anyone. Punch a Nazi, right? We can hound him, judge him, mock him for his beliefs because that's the easy thing to do. I'm sure we all have enough stones we're aching to throw. Sure as fuck can't throw them in the circles we belong to, nope, gotta find an enemy, gotta find an other. Here's the thing though, all that hate directed towards the racists of the world is, in large part, directed to those with a child's mindset, who clearly haven't been taught right from wrong, and who more than anyone harm themselves by their beliefs.
People take the easy route when it comes to these things: pointing, shaming, judging. But you know what, none of them can offer any proof that if they had been dressed in Klu Klux garb since the age of two, been raised to hate, that they wouldn't have the same racist mindset as those in Charlottesville.
so say i'm w a girl, we're in love, and she's into some really weird stuff i don't want to do. somehow. WWJD? well... he'd be selfless, right? like, he'd probs be honest about it, if asked. "do you want to do this?" and Jesus would be thinking NO (and say so cus Jesus is honest), but fuck it if she likes toes, cigars, and strawberry jam that much then why not?? and he'd do something weird, just so that she doesn't feel awkward and unloved. i wonder what his limits would be. like, dirty butt-stuff? for real though, i mean, if that was the only thing in the world that would make her feel loved, he would, right? no judgments here. or on Jesus' part. He's Jesus after all. He'd probably do it just the way she liked it. Probably prepare in advance, follow the proper diet, do a few trial and errors just to make sure it's just the right consistency.
i wonder what Sexual Judas would be like. probably some corrupt version of Shaggy's It wasn't Me. He'd be like, "It was him!"
Hmm. God's probs laughing at all this. why the fuck not? No judgments. hmm.
I bet Jesus loved strippers. I love a stripper. Not in a Drake kinda way, but in a "I'll love you for who you are, sexy topless shaved lady, even if you're insecure of that mole on your butt." Not that the stripper I love has a mole in her butt. BUT I bet in a moment of tender intimacy between Jesus and the stripper named Mary, he would stare into her eyes, and slowly caress her face to her shoulders, breast, stomach, to the V on her waist, and trace his finger around her, and her heart would pound the closer and closer Jesus got to her ugly butt mole. She'd be so scared, insecure (What if Jesus won't love me bc of my hairy butt-mole?), but she would be too scared to move, or stop him, because deep down she wants to be touched there, to have her insecurities made known and accepted, and she thinks, NO, SHE FEELS, deep down beyond reason, where the truth lays waiting to be discovered, that Jesus will be different than all the men with the crumpled dollar bills and dirty boners. And staring into her eyes, Jesus would touch her insecurity, her eyes would furrow, but she can't break the gaze. it's too pure, too genuine. and as he touches her insecurity he smiles a beautiful smile, an honest expression of "everything is ok." And he would tell her "Deep down you know you're perfect just the way you are." and she believes him, because she always knew it. He just helped her see. And they would consummate this liberation with a physical connection, a union of bodies the only natural response to the resonance of souls and their Proclamation of Acceptance.
According to Don Miguel Ruiz, author of The Four Agreements, when we are awake "there is a material frame that makes us perceive things in a linear way. When we go to sleep we do not have this frame, this boundary, and the dream has a tendency to change constantly." Ancient Toltec wisdom on your ass.
Let's look into this. In a dream, all of reality's rules and laws are out the window. Impossible events are constantly occurring. We cannot predict what comes next. Nothing is tangible and anything can happen. Waking life, however, is governed by tangible things, but of these, what is necessary and what isn't? Shelter is essential for survival, along with whatever technology we need to obtain food and water. Without these we die. They are absolutely necessary. At the other extreme we have superficial objects, unnecessary things that we own or strive to own for reasons other than survival. While there is nothing wrong with owning things we don't need (I have a bunch), a problem does arise when we become dependent on them. While we can't depend on a gold chain or a Ferrari to nourish us, we can become convinced that they can make us happy. This convincing is not all that hard to do, just look at how advertising works:
In 30 seconds we are told that Focus equals victory, confidence, power, and even life. We see people competing and dancing, a man on a mountain top, and a happy woman swinging, smiling and jubilant. Each image is different from the next, the novelty making them easier to remember. The repetition convinces us that what we're being told is true. The advertisement ends with "5-HOUR ENERGY IS FOCUS." We have just been presented with the advertiser's version of the truth in the form of logic:
A = Focus
B = Victory/confidence/power/life/achievement/dancing/smiles
C = 5-Hour Energy
If we accept that A = B and A = C, on some level our brains learn to associate an energy drink with victory, confidence, so on and so forth. B must equal C. This doesn't just happen on TV screens, it happens on billboards, magazines, newspapers, and every time we see someone believing and acting on an advertiser's truth. It's not just energy drinks being sold, either. It's a certain look, a style, a way of life, a type of body, a brand of clothes or car. Becoming convinced that these things will make us happy and satisfy our needs narrows our pursuit of happiness to the pursuit of material goods. What do we need to buy things? Money. How do we make money? The most widely accepted method is to get a degree, maybe a few, a Masters, a PhD. Once we've decided on a career and invested money into pursuing it, we are much less likely to stray from this path. Changing majors costs money, costs time, regardless of whether or not a teenager has matured in adulthood and changed his or her mind. The cognitive dissonance staying the course creates is significant. So is the stress of changing one's mind.
But what if we devoted our time and resources into exploring our passions with disregard for how much money we would or wouldn't make? What if we gave more attention to cultivating our INTERESTS rather than hoarding STUFF? All of a sudden we become unbounded from society's arbitrary conventions. We would earn lasting satisfaction through doing what we love by rejecting the superficial quick-fix we get from accumulating more goods. Next year could have more in store for us than a predictable set of classes. Classes may not even be necessary. New avenues to success might arise in a most unexpected way. What once seemed impossible may now look very attainable. A world of opportunity would begin to unfold. It would be like waking up to a beautiful dream.
So what are our options when presented with a truth? We can blindly accept or blindly reject. Both embrace ignorance. Or, we can challenge what we see and decide for ourselves if what we are being told has merit.
Yes! Hieroglyphs! Unique in the way they activate both sides of the brain. Left side for words and speech, the right side for visual info, the pictures. Until recently we haven't had many analogs to this comprehensive way of absorbing information. Luckily, it's the 21st century and the rise of technology has seen the birth of hybrid arts, one of the most recent of which is the music video. Like hieroglyphs, music videos also double-team your brain, hitting it from both sides and all angles. What I'm getting at is Lady Gada gangbangs brains to gain attention and confront sexual oppression. How? Let's find out.
The intro to Alejandro matters, sets the tone. The sharp angles and the march, characterized by stomps and punches, are very aggressive; the masculine overtones bypass our ears, nailing us straight in the visual cortex. Then the music starts with the men now barely dressed. During the first verse we learn that Gaga is shy ("got both hands in her pocket", "hides true love en su bolsillo"), but not sexually. Once she chooses, she goes into the relation with abandon ("Nothing to lose"). As she sings notice the identical haircuts the men wear. That's right, you're looking at dancing cocks. They're vying for her attention, and Gaga has yet to join the dance.
The chorus supplements the imagery, revealing that she's only willing to be intimate sexually; after the act she just wants her cigarette, doesn't want her name called, doesn't want a kiss. That would be too close. Who wants to share feelings with a dancing cock anyways.
Second verse: MORE SEXual imagery. She's actively engaged with all the, err, men, one at a time, a different bed for each. The lyrics acknowledge her old flames, as the new flame has to "firefight, gotta cool the bad."
Again the video reinforces the lyrics: The sexual dance continues into the start of the third chorus, and as it repeats we see Gaga robed, wearing multiple crosses. This is the first time we see all the men touching her simultaneously. She swallows therosary, and the men lift her up in exaltation.
What happens next is significant. The men are now capped and dressed conservatively. Their cockery is gone. Their march is no longer aggressive. Gaga then appears wearing a machine gun bra. She is no longer a slave to her sexuality. She is empowered by it. Now she wields it. Rambo Tits.
At the end she has her way with the men. There's no more competition, the sex is no longer violent. Free love. It's no coincidence she has the robe on as this happens. She's embraced the Sacred Feminine.
What's the difference between people with bipolar and old-school spiritual tribal leaders? Not a thing. Word? Yes, word! That's right, back in the day us crazy folk would have been kickass Shamans, according to Phil Borges, noted documentarian who spent months observing indigenous tribes. If videos are too slow for your tastes, what the pro says is people suffering from mood disorders (sound familiar?) were more likely to be the leaders and mediators within their community, that psychotic/manic episodes are really the start of a spiritual awakening, of a new life, being able to reach "Out There" where mere mortals can't swim. He's got tons more info over hurr: CRAZYWISE.
So, bipolar: Ill or Awesome? The way I see it some people evolved to be a little more crazy back in the nitty gritty days, when it was an evolutionary advantage. That hypomanic rush and confidence would have been a major boon during a hunt, where focus and drive are of utmost importance, especially during the summer and spring when prey was more readily available, and also when our ancestors were more likely to procreate (hypersexual, anyone?). And what of that depression? That could have evolved as a way to force our bodies and minds to rest during the slow low draining winters. This would have been a neat way for women impregnated earlier in the year to find comfort by caring for their newborns and being with their mates, increasing the chances of survival for the entire family.
It's nice to know we rocked so hard way back when, but what advantage is there for us in the 21st century? It's not like we have to chase mammoths and fend off sabre-tooth tigers anymore... Well, here are just a few badass people you may have heard of, who made use of that HypoFocusManicDrive in a holy-tits-this-rocks type of way: Hendrix, Eminem, Rihanna ("Feels like I'm going insane"), Kurt Cobain, Kid Cudi, and those Matchbox Twenty dudes.
You know, we don't just rock hard, we can act the part, too. See, we also excel in drama, and not just in our daily lives. Why do you think those theater masks represent our highs and lows so perfectly, hmm? Russel Brand feels it. Ben Stiller had something to say about it, too, and he's a great example of someone who can cope with the angry moods-wings and bring laughter into people's lives. I got a feeling Heath Ledger knew about those peaks and valleys, judging by the insomnia and racing thoughts he experienced before his overdose. Maybe Jack Nicholson, too. I don't think it's possible to play the Joker without being a little cooky P:
Here's some first hand experience on the the advantages of bipolar from comedian Joshua Walters, who shares how he uses his innate craziness for good, not evil. He talks about how it helps to be a little Mad, though he admits full on I'm-Jesus-Manic-Mode is a bit too much. For you data-heads craving straight facts and numbers, check out bearded homie, AKA Dr Terrence Ketter, who among other things, shows that architects, poets, musicians, actors and actresses, writers, really artists of any sort are more likely to suffer (I say benefit) from a mood disorder than a dude in a cubicle. Here! More famous bros and sisters like you and I. Yeah, that's right, Hemingway, Edgar Allan Poe, Van Gogh, Jackson Pollock.
Wait, what's this, CEOs are crazy, too? They're also driven, restless, unable to keep still?? Passion.
I admire those like us who turned what can be a major, even lethal, hindrance into a strength, who have learned to channel that energy into incredibly successful lives. I admire all of you who are still around, searching for that Thing that's out there but has been missing for God knows all our lives. It's here, somewhere, that beautiful place where we can just Be and Be Loved. Can you imagine what it feels like for Eminem to put all that crazy rage on a pad, not giving a fuck telling the world he's going to Kill You, and being loved for it? Or to be on a stage, showing the world EXACTLY how you feel, the Mad Happiness, the Beautiful Grief that only we know so well, and be applauded? Or shredding a guitar, making fingers bleed and forging music of everything you feel? It must be cathartic, feeling the coiled breath, galloping pulse and brimming arteries, pumping life onto canvas, capturing color and pain like melting crayons screaming.
"I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Drip and thicken, tears
The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs
Wrap me, raggy shawls,
They weld to me like plums.
Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,
Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish—
Christ! they are panes of ice,
A vice of knives,
Its first communion out of my live toes.
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,
Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean
In you, ruby.
You wake to is not yours.
I have hung our cave with roses,
With soft rugs—
The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,
Let the mercuric
Atoms that cripple drip
Into the terrible well,
You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn."
Yeah, She knows.