Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Civilization: Selling the Lie

Civilization: Selling the Lie
Monday, August 20, 2012
12:06 AM

Sometimes I lose it.

Sometimes the ‘blameless dove’ in me gives way to the ‘cautious serpent’. Except in my case, when you poke the snake hard enough, he throws caution to the wind and becomes wrathful and destructive.

The part of me that’s attuned to logic and reason understands that few people have ever done anything to me that could possibly be deserving of such a spiteful, vindictive and vicious attitude toward them. That's civilization. The other part-the shadow part of emotions, lusts, passions, and anger-doesn't give a flying rats ass about that. Reason has nothing to do with it. It's the instinctive animal part of the human psyche that thinks with a one-way intelligence: This person is a threat and a danger to me. This person is taking something that should be mine. We hates them, precious. We hates them forever.

No reason, rationality, or logic is involved or required from this Gollum-like part of the human psyche, which EVERY human being has. The suppression of that part, the refusal to even admit that it exists is called 'civilization'. It's called diplomacy. For diplomacy to be effective, lies must be prevalent. Part of the lies are goodwill, forbearance, forgiveness, long suffering-basically, personal sacrifice above and beyond what any human should be expected to give-and other things like it, that make a society run smoothly. That’s not to say these qualities or virtues are outright lies all the time, or ingenuous, but there’s a threshold where it can turn into that. That threshold is when the person has crossed over into “Enough is enough and too much is too much” without realizing, all too often, until it’s too late.

Truth in civilization has manifested as passive aggression, subterfuge, intrigue, blame. For civilization to exist and run smoothly, the lie-which is the denial of expression of the animal self,-has to be the ‘truth.’ It doesn’t exist. Period. War is peace. Ignorance is strength. Freedom is slavery. Black is white. Unfortunately, this gives rise to neurosis, paranoia, schizophrenia, manic depression, borderline, depression, anxiety, denial, self hatred, suspicion, and a host of other 'social ills.' Civilization as we know it has taken the stance that people with these so-called social ills, and even those who function properly in society; those who know the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad, can’t be left to run around liberating others! Hence: Normal is sick “Let’s medicate them and make sure all the ‘sheep’ think the ones who can see are the one’s who are ‘not right.’ Goddammit, we have shit to sell! We’re running a business here! How can we sell toothpaste and deodorant if people realize that body odor is human? Or that body hair is something that grows on the human body and therefore is normal? We can’t sell lies if people run around telling the truth!

Someone might make the argument, “Well, why don’t they sell something that’s helpful and beneficial to mankind?” Answer: There’s not much profit in it; or at least not much easily gained profit in it. All the best things in life are free. You can brush your teeth just fine with water and maybe a little baking soda. Horses are cheaper than cars and people never needed to be in such a hurry to get places to begin with. We’ve cured childhood diseases, developed vaccines and other medicine so that people can live longer and healthier lives. Now what? What do they have to sell now? “Oh, hey! Let’s sell sickness! Let’s treat symptoms. Let’s sell convenience! Let’s develop medicines that make you piss less, make you have an erection for hours on end!. Lets invent something that makes people with thin lashes grow thicker ones! Never mind the side affects of high blood pressure, heart problems, possible death, increased vulnerability to infection for diabetics. Dammit we’re selling confidence here! We’ve delivered optimism!”

And boy how the money rolls in

All of this because there’s nothing new under the sun. There are no frontiers. Holy crap! We’re all out of hemispheres! And now they want our internet freedom. The internet, which globally connects people and has been making us wake up and see. Two hemispheres weren’t enough for them to hoard. They require sleepy, sluggish, obedient slaves to do the work so that they can be the ones free and rich enough to indulge their own animal lusts, consequence free. Everyone else has to behave nicely and civilization must run in a smooth and orderly fastion so they have an unlimited pass to their own animal selves. In order to accomplish that end, they must deceive everyone else. And money is the currency used, the biggest civilized lie of all, to fool people into buying into what they have decided is ‘truth’ The man with the gold makes the rules.

Copyright Rosemary C. Stevick, 2012-2018

Friday, January 19, 2018

It Had To Stop

My name is Christine and I am an alcoholic and addict. It has been three months since I've had a drink and even longer since I've gotten high. But it's only been two days since I recognized and quit my most insidious of addictions: text based role play.

Text based role play involve either fan based character or Original Characters (OC,'s) or both. You have one or more characters at your end, a role playing partner has characters at their end. It Each person takes turns writing and adding to the story. It can be via email, chat program or places like private Facebook groups, Tumblr and forums. For some people the end of a role play occurs when they naturally outgrow it or become bored with it or it just fades. Sometimes one person is ready to end before the other is and the replies come further and farther between along with the excuses and promises.

Unfortunately, in my case, I'm Almost always the last one to want to end an RP and due to my overly sensitive and addictive nature, the endings are excruciating for me. I not only hurt, but I can feel the panic and pain of my character because there is almost always romance involved and some smut.

It's especially difficult when there was a pregnancy and children involved. Recently I had one like that. My character got to hold the newborns one time and then my partner ended the role play and had the gall to ask me to start a new one. Right. When I'm doubled over in pain along with my character in a state of grief.

I really don't understand the nature of what a character actually is. They act on their own behalf, have their own food preferences and clothing styles. They have a form of free will inside my head and in the story. I am only the hand that writes.  I am the scribe.

In the beginning was The Word.

I believe, although I cannot prove, that characters are living things, no matter brief their lives or limited their consciousness.  The thing is, is that I don't know. But what if they are? I don't want to bring more characters into being and subject them to futility and heartbreak. No more pain for two. 

I created a special written ritual where I took my ex partners characters and the babies and put them in that secret place I keep the 'alive' ones who aren't ready to die and that I can keep as a more vivid memory. I take them then I cut the ties. My characters don't go into dumpsters and neither do their loved ones.

Am I attached to form?  Maybe.

Am I just crazy? No doubt but also know that I possess enough compassion for beings that may be only figments or concepts. Either way, I won't take chances anymore. There is enough futility in life to bring in more potential life and subject them to eventual futility as well.

"Well off is the man who has died. Better yet is the one who has not been born." - Solomon

So it's time to walk away, be content with the sanctuary I created and learn to live without the sound of another person talking in my head.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Camping!

I went camping from last Thursday til yesterday.  It wasn't RV style-we roughed it.  The fanciest things we had were the fold down back seat of the van to sleep on and a small, portable, Coleman stove.  There were no porta potties and no trash receptacles, we had to use trash bags to dispose of our trash.  It was pretty primitive as far as camping goes.  But aside from several backpackers on Saturday, it was nearly silent.  I would sit or lie and listen for the different bird calls.  There's a pair of crows that bicker back and forth and several I couldn't identify.  Truth be told, the crows were the only ones I identified.  Oh! And I saw a pair of small falcons too!

A short ways from the campsite is a beautiful creek going under a bridge and coming out of the other side to flow over huge stones that have been eroded for who knows how many thousands of years.  The erosion looks like tiny steps on the rocks slanted at an angle.  We played a game called stick races: you place a stick or leaf in a spot on the creek where it cannot be immediately swept away but which can eventually be swept into the stream.  I found myself mesmerized as I followed the progress of my little twig hoping it would get swept into the stream before my ex's did.  If it gets stuck for too long or permanently stuck... disqualified! 

And a little sunburn and a lot of bugs!  There were mosquitoes, small black ants, large black ants, noseeums, fireflies and bees of various sorts.  There was even a beetle with a metallic outer wing in orangish pinkish greenish blue.  Yeah, like that made sense.  I got bit up by bugs in spite of using skin so soft, or else the sun gave me a rash (like my ex claims), or both.  I think it's a mixture of bug bites and maybe contact dermatitis from a plant.  At least it didn't get on my butt!

There were short walks.  My ex knows those woods like the back of his hand so he took me into the woods to see where the small stream that comes out of the mountain meets up with the main creek.  Always always take a walking stick with you!  My ex has navigated steep inclines using two sticks (two-stickin it he says) like they were two extra legs.  I tried it once but you really have to have some strength anyhow.

Anyhow, we had a great time and it was so peaceful.  As long as it remains a little known secret, it will stay that way.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

A Walled In Sim

NoFor those not familiar with the series, there's a game called The Sims.  There's four versions now.  In this game, you create a digital person; you determine their looks, give them a wardrobe, assign traits and a life goal, and then you plop them on a starter lot to live out their little lives.  It's really fun.

As the game progresses, they have wishes you can either help fulfill or you can ignore them.  They have careers, fall in love, fight, fish, and fuck.  They even have some free will thrown in for good measure, so you may occasionally find them chatting up a stranger rather than doing the shopping you sent them out to do.

There can be dark elements to this game.  Let me explain.  The first edition I played was a console version called Sims: Bustin Out.  Or something like that.  I let my sim flirt with one of the pre-made Sims.  They fell in love.  I had mine propose only to find out she was already married.  Bummer.  So... I went into buy/build mode and built four walls around the competition then unpaused from build mode.  This is called walling in a sim.  Over time the little sim starves to death and dies because it has no door to walk through and no way to get to food. 

So I played and watched and waited for this sim to die so that mine might marry the girl he wanted.  The thing is, is that these little digital creatures turn around and look at you.  They point at their mouths to let you know they're hungry.  They get lonely and cry.  They lose control of their bladders and end up wallowing in a puddle of their own piss.  I could only take this for so long before I was bawling my eyes out and going into build mode to tear the walls down.  He ate, cleaned up, peed and socialized and slept.  All was made right at last.

"So where are you going with this?" you may be asking by now.

I'm talking about a human being as a walled in sim.  I am a walled in sim.  That is to say, I feel trapped in my home and sometimes unable to perform even the simplest of duties like bathing or washing my hair.  Sometimes the terror I experience just thinking of leaving my house is intolerable.  And I don't feel like I'm in control of any of this.  I feel programmed to be this way to the point that I sabotage my efforts to lose weight (my programming seems to dictate that I can't drop below 205 pounds.) When I apply myself with determination to get even one pound below 200 just to prove I can, the programming kicks in followed by weight loss fail, or even a rapid gain to punish me for my audacity.

However, food must be bought and dishes must be washed so I can cook a meal so whatever evil hand hovering over that big mouse in the sky finally puts me in build mode (which I must not be conscious of)and builds a door or window of time, I can temporarily get a few things done.  I don't fool myself into thinking this is free will anymore.  It's all fear driven.  As soon as I get home I feel relieved and just want to slunk down the front door. 

Whatever hand hovers over the mouse in the sky must be owned by something that really hates me and enjoys tormenting me.  I see people who's lives seem to be lived in the sun and their sim angel or whatever, loves them and blesses them.  Mine just likes to get my hope up and then snatch my hope away.  Any time something starts looking promising, I wait for the other shoe to drop.  Most of the time I don't even look any more.  I'm just waiting for my sim angel to grow bored enough to delete my file. Hey, rearrange the letters in file and you get life!

In Heathen beliefs it could be said that I was born under the dubious auspices of an ill willing Norn.  Perhaps I was an assignment someone didn't want so I get tormented.  Who can say?

Not me.

I don't know if I really believe any of this or not, it sort of smacks of The Matrix, but it's the best analogy I have to describe my frustration.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Suffer In Silence

My ex surfs YouTube, seeking heart rending songs.
He finds a few.
I hear the tremble in his voice as he barely sings along-he stifles his passion to make it manageable.
I hear all this and remain silent.
I cry quietly, politely,
with my back turned so we don't have to acknowledge the obvious vulnerability that screams from our souls.
We suffer in silence because we fear the rain and the flood should one or both of us speak.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

A Year To The Day

It's been a year to the day since Sage reached the clearing at the end of the path.  I miss him and Dusty so much.  I need them and I can't have them.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

April Fooled?

I just noticed that I wrote and posted that prologue on April Fool's day. Maybe I was fooling myself.
I've been depressed, and depression doesn't help creativity at all.
Add to that a dash of lacking in confidence and you have a recipe for writing not getting done.
I didn't even want to write a blog entry but it's been over a week since my last one and I don't want to neglect it for about 9 months like I did last year.
Aaaaannnd,
That's all I have.
Eyup.