How To Escape A Drama-Filled Society

Living in a drama-filled society can be exhausting and draining for anyone. It’s no secret that drama often causes unnecessary stress, anxiety, confusion, distraction and it can be difficult to escape. But not impossible. There are a few steps you can take to remove yourself from the morass of drama and create a more peaceful, stress-free life.

1. Identify the sources of drama:
   The first step in escaping the drama of your society is to identify its sources. It may be certain friends, family members, or co-workers who create drama. Alternatively, it could be social media or news outlets that stir up emotions and create angst. When you identify the causes of drama, it’s easier to avoid them.
2. Limit your exposure to drama:
   Now that you’ve identified the sources of drama, take steps to limit your exposure to them. For example, if you have a mentally unstable sister who constantly involves herself in your drama thus creating even more drama for yourself, you may need to distance yourself from her or set solid boundaries. Similarly, if social media causes negative emotions or triggers drama, delete the app or take a few days off.
3. Surround yourself with positivity:
   To counteract the negativity and drama of your society, focus on surrounding yourself with positive people who bring you joy and make you feel good about yourself. I realize that positive people can be superficial and dull. This may mean eliminating friends who don’t share your values and interests or making time for self-care activities that lift your mood and counteract all the soul-destroying drama.
4. Practice mindfulness and self-care:
   Mindfulness practices such as meditation and deep breathing can be helpful in reducing stress and anxiety. Self-care activities like taking a hot bath, reading a book, journaling, stretching, cleaning, listening to music, being naked with another human, hanging-out/doing nothing or going for a ponderous walk can also help reduce the impact of deadening drama on your life.
5. Focus on what you can control:
   Finally, remember that while you can’t control the drama in your society, you can control your reactions to it. You may feel like being distracted from everything but focus on the things you can control, such as how much time and energy you devote to drama, and let go of things you cannot control. By taking ownership of your own life, you’ll reduce the impact of drama and create a more peaceful and interesting existence.

Escaping the drama of society takes effort, diligence and discipline but it’s worth it to create a more fulfilling and stress-free existence. By identifying the sources of drama, limiting your exposure to them, surrounding yourself with positivity (that is not superficial or dull), practicing mindfulness and self-care, and focusing on what you can control, you can escape the drama and create a more relaxed living situation for yourself.

The Wall of Lonely and Unstable and Strange Men

I recently finished a project called The Wall of Lonely and Unstable and Strange Men. It is a wall drawing that I used black ink pens to draw, over the course of the past year. The idea came from a group of mentally challenged men who walk past my house, several days a week, on their outings. They are some of the less fortunate members of society, the one’s who have dropped out of the game. I thought I would pay tribute to them in some small way. It was a pain in the ass. The first few days were fun but after that I kept thinking, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Now that it is finally finished, I thought I would share it with you. Enjoy and thank you for your support.

Interview With Randall Sokoloff (A Brief Excerpt) (Post #421)

The writer Marty Fletcher interviews the writer, blogger, artist and psychotherapist Randall Sokoloff. This interview will be published in our upcoming summer issue of WEDONTEXIST Magazine, which will be about the art of blogging.

Randall: Hello?

Interviewer: Hi Randall. Should we continue the interview now for thirty more minutes or so?

Randall: Sure. What was it you were saying last time we talked?

Interviewer: I’ve been reading your blog and other published writings for a long time now. I can’t seem to figure out what exactly you are doing but this interview is an attempt to make some sense of your writing. Is it one big lie you are constructing or are you actually telling this continuous, never-ending story with each piece that you write, like an open ended novel? I think of your writing as merging somewhere in between these two points, but I wanted to ask you, what are you doing?

Randall: With my writing?

Interviewer: Yes.

Randall: I like a quote from Stevenson about fiction: “The novel, which is a work of art, exists, not by its resemblances to life, which are forced and material, as a shoe must consist of leather, but by its immeasurable difference from life, which is both designed and significant, and is both the method and the meaning of the work.” So for me the meaning has nothing to do with what I write, the meaning of what I write is entirely in the distance from what is being written about.

Interviewer: So you are merging both method and meaning?

Randall: I suppose. Each story that I write is really just setting up the need for another story, so yes your statement about my writing as a kind of continuous and unfinished novel or literary project is correct.

Interviewer: The meaning of what you write is to be found in its distance from reality?

Randall: I think that fiction is realistic when it reminds readers that what they are reading is a complete lie. Getting readers to a point where they can accept the pleasure and excitement of the text they are reading as being just that and not a reflection of something else. In fiction meaning only exists in the experience of reading. Outside of the book or blog entry the story does not exist. The meaning is temporary, transitory, like all forms of meaning. It is the same when watching a film or listening to music. The meaning is transitory. The problem is when people try to extend the meaning of art into reality (the world).

Interviewer: What I like about certain stories or pieces of music is that they are not trying to offer up some kind of conclusion that you can take home with you. There is an infinite bundle of possibilities within the piece but ultimately it does not mean anything beyond the experience of reading or listening. Even though I feel like sometimes you are offering solutions in your work, I don’t feel like there are any conclusions. Just infinite possibilities.

Randall: I like that reading of my work. Thank you. For me, fiction is the only authentic terrain where anarchy is still possibility within a society that has become completely militarized and regulated. Within the context of fiction the writer has limitless possibilities. They can shape realities in whatever way they want. This is the exciting thing about blogging. There are no rules online. Do whatever you want! There is the freedom to create whatever meaning you want to create. Where else in life can a person do this?

Interviewer: This is why it so important to not accept any conclusion, even though it may look good.

Randall: Absolutely. In our current society, if you accept a conclusion, chances are you have accepted propaganda- not straight talk.

Interviewer: I feel like your work has something to do with a kind of resistance. Resistance to the status quo, to the society you find yourself living in. It seems like there is a kind of heroic struggle in your writing.

Randall: I don’t know about that. Sure there is a lot of resistance in my writing. Writing for me is an act of resistance against status quo. Ultimately, I’m trying to work through the problem of sincerity. I am attempting a kind of sincerity between what the story is about and what is being said. This is the interesting problem for me to try and work out in my writing.

Interviewer: Yes. The pleasure of reading your work, for me at least, is going on this journey as you try and work through the interesting problem you just spoke of. You are a terrific narrator and you make things happen on the page that I identify deeply with. Even if you are not understanding what may be going on there is still the pleasure of discovery when reading what you write. I feel like I get to join you on the path of discovery, that reaching into what you do not know yet.

Randall: Thank you. I like that and would like to say more about it. Do you mind if I go get a cup of coffee quickly and then you could call me back in say twenty minutes?

Interviewer: Sure. No problem. I could use some coffee myself.

Read more of this interview with Randall Sokoloff in the upcoming summer issue of WEDONTEXIST Magazine!

Interview With My Protagonist (Post #414)

Protagonist: You might not want to drink that second cup of coffee that you have there.

Me: Thanks, but I need it. I’m feeling tired this morning. Probably will not drink all of it though.

Protagonist: Don’t you think you should start exercising in the morning rather than sitting here doing stuff like this?

Me: Probably would not hurt, but I am too tired. Besides, this is my time for drinking coffee, reading and writing.

Protagonist: I remember when you would wake up, meditate for forty-five minutes and then go for an hour walk. I think you have just become lazy and neglectful of your mental and physical health.

Me: Ok, well I appreciate your perspective but this is actually supposed to be an interview with you rather than a therapy sessions for me, so would you mind if we begin the interview now?

Protagonist: Ok. Hey you might not want to keep sipping from that coffee cup.

Me: Thanks for coming today. I appreciate your willingness to be interviewed.

Protagonist: I did not have much of a choice, right? I have to just show up whenever Randall is ready to write. This is the unfortunate thing about being a protagonist. No free will. No matter what I am doing in my own life, even if I am in the middle of making love with a beautiful woman, I have to stop, get up and show up for Randall whenever he is ready to write.

Me: Ok, well thank you. I do appreciate that.

Protagonist: I don’t think you really do. I do not think you really understand how difficult it is to be a protagonist. Imagine, if you were in the middle of making dinner and you were really hungry and then without any choice you had to suddenly leave and go play some part in someone else’s story.

Me: Sounds hard but I think we all have to do this in one way or another. Most of us live lives that are parts in someone else’s story. Besides, you are a protagonist, this is your job. But this is not the point of this interview. Tell me, what is your life like when I am not writing about you?

Protagonist: You don’t want to talk about this stuff because it is true. My life has been greatly sacrificed by having to show up whenever you want me and I have never even made a single penny off anything you have written.

Me: Well I am yet to make any money either from writing. But please, tell me about your life outside of my writing?

Protagonist: Maybe if you got your act together, made more of an effort to get your work out there rather than just publishing your writing for free on your blog that no one reads we both might be able to begin making some money. Life is not easy for an artist, you have to push yourself beyond your blog.

Me: Maybe so.

Protagonist: You have to be willing to work harder! Did you know that Beethoven was sued more than once by his landlords for scribbling all over his walls?

Me: I did not.

Protagonist: Now that is a sign of someone hard at work.

Me: Maybe so. Are you going to answer the question that I asked you?

Protagonist: Would you mind turning off the heat? It is getting uncomfortably warm in here.

Me: Sure (I get up and turn off the electrical heater).

Protagonist: So what are we doing here? It is early Sunday morning and I am not so sure what the point of all of this is?

Me: I am trying to ask you questions about yourself. I thought that since you have been a fundamental character in my writings for the past ten years that it would be good to get to know you better.

Protagonist: Get to know me better? You are the one who creates me. Shouldn’t you know more about me than I know about myself?

Me: Sure, but I want to know about the you that exists outside of my writing. I want to know about your life outside of my stories.

Protagonist: This is one thing that frustrates me with you Randall. You are always looking for the easier way out. You want me to help you learn more about me? Yet you are the one who creates me. How the hell would I know more about myself than you know about me? Outside of what you write, my life is not interesting. You want me to tell you about how I live in poverty because the author who creates me is not willing to make any money off of what he writes? You want me to tell you about the shit jobs I have to work because the writer I work with is always looking to take the easy way out by self-publishing on his blog rather than actually trying to get legitimately published?

Me: Ok. First of all, I am certainly not always looking for the easier way out, that is ridiculous. You really think it is easy to be sitting here for hours doing this? Writing and editing and then publishing on my blog regularly is no easy undertaking. I would much rather be reading or doing something else. As far as not getting legitimately published, well I don’t know what to tell you. I tried for years and it came to nothing. I believe that this blogging thing will pay off in time, we just have to be patient. The purpose of this interview is not to talk about what I am doing wrong. It is just to learn more about you!

Protagonist: That is your problem, not mine. Randall, did you know that James Joyce had lost all his teeth by the age of forty-one? Aren’t you forty-five?

Me: I am yes, almost.

Protagonist: Hasn’t it been more than a decade since you have been to the dentist?

Me: Probably.

Protagonist: Well, you might want to take better care of your teeth because there is nothing worse that a writer with teeth falling out. What if you become a successful writer later in life? You going to show up to book readings and signings with no teeth in your mouth? That will really help your career.

Me: (My protagonist is really starting to piss me off.)

Protagonist: Did you know that the painter Monet was so broke when he was thirty-nine that when his wife died he could not find the money to be able to redeem the pawned locket that he knew his beloved wife wished to be buried with?

Me: I did not know that. That is sad.

Protagonists: Life is never pretty for artists and writers but it is even worse for protagonists.

Me: So lets get back to the point of this interview. I am curious to know what you think of how you are portrayed in my writings?

Protagonist: Honestly?

Me: Yes.

Protagonist: Honestly, I’m bored by what you write.

Me: What do you mean by this?

Protagonist: I mean I like how you make me out to be this troubled and neurotic, middle-class misanthrope who is always at odds with his life and family but you no longer take enough risks. You are now playing it safe and it’s getting a bit boring.

Me: Ok…..

Protagonist: Remember years ago when you first started self-publishing on your blog? The stuff you wrote then was great! Sex Life Of A Man Without One, Part One through Part Twenty. Now that was a great series of writings to be a protagonist in. You had courage back then. You were unafraid of taking deviant right turns. Now it seems like you are going left instead.

Me: I remember that stuff. Times were different then. I could afford to take those kind of risks. Now I have more to lose.

Protagonist: You’ve become fearful.

Me: Maybe so.

Protagonist: Once a writer becomes fearful, their work becomes dull.

Me: Maybe so.

Protagonist: Did you know that the writer John Kennedy Toole was so convinced that his writing career would come to nothing that he committed suicide by running a hose from his exhaust pipe into his car?

Me: I knew that he had committed suicide but did not know how or why. Why are you asking me these questions? I feel like you are testing me.

Protagonist: No, I just want you to know that the path you have chosen is no easy path. Even those who came before you that you think of as being successful at their craft suffered immensely.

Me: Point taken. So I am curious if…..

Protagonist: Did you know that Gustave Courbet died when he was fifty-eight? Towards the end of his life the guy was drinking a full dozen bottles a wine a day!

Me: I didn’t know this but thanks for letting me know. I always liked his work.

Protagonist: Oh common, you didn’t know his work. What work of his do you like?

Me: Look, can we just get back to the interview?

Protagonist: Tell me, what work of his do you like?

Me: Look, I don’t know right now, nothing comes to mind, but I am trying to conduct this interview with you and you are making it very difficult. If you do not want to participate, lets just call it a day. I am getting sick of this bullshit. I am not interviewing you so you can teach me some kind of lesson about how hard being a writer is and how much I am failing at this task. This is an interview that is supposed to be about you and I have had it with your bad attitude.

Protagonist: My bad attitude?

Me: Yes, your bad attitude. You always have a bad attitude.

Protagonist: Really?

Me: Yes!

Protagonist: Well dammit you might want to take a look at that because my bad attitude is your creation! You are the one creating me, lets not forget! I am not choosing any of this for myself. You think that if I was given the choice I would be the way I am? You think I would be behaving in the ways that you make me behave? If you do, you are nuts. I have always just played the part you want me to play without any complaining. I am the blank canvas for you to project your disturbed mind all over. My bad attitude is your fault dammit. Not mine.

Me: My fault! My fault! I don’t have any say about what I write. I just sit down and write. You are the one who does the rest. I give you complete freedom to be yourself! You think I am creating you? That is such a crock of shit. That is such an easy way for you to take no responsibility for yourself. Sure, just blame all of your actions on the writer. Typical. Raskolnikov tried to do that with Dostoyevsky and the stress from that relationship caused Dostoyevsky to become a drunk. I will not let you do this with me! You are responsible for your actions just like everyone else.

Protagonist: You know, I am tired of this. I have had enough. You know damn well that Raskolnikov had no say in things. You know that he was Dostoyevsky’s slave. I don’t have to sit here and listen to you tell me about my bad attitude and how I want to blame you for my behaviors. That is a typical cop-out that writers often take. I thought you were better than this. You never take any responsibility for the way you create me and I am tired of it. You need therapy. You need to take a better look at yourself so that you can realize what you are doing to me and my life. If you are creating a character that might end up destroying you in the end, are you going to blame your down fall on my bad attitude? Probably. I have had enough of this bullshit for today. The interview is now over.

Me: Fine. Lets call it a day. This has gone a lot worse than I ever thought it could. I will be sure not to make the mistake of ever trying to interview you again. Have a good Sunday.

Protagonist: Did you know that the Russian writer Emile Zola died from smoke inhalation when the chimney in his bedroom fireplace backed up? He could not afford to have it cleaned.

Me: Enough! Enough! I am feeling really agitated and anxious and just want to get my stuff together in peace and get out of here.

Protagonist: Fine. Fine. I told you not to drink that second cup of coffee.

My Sex Neutral (Post #404)

 

 

 

 

 

While I was making myself a radish and hummus sandwich, I was thinking about my Sex Drive. I happened upon the subject of Sex Drive because I was thinking about how it had been a very long time since I masturbated. I used to masturbate a healthy amount, so such a long period of not even thinking about it seemed unusual for me. Was my health declining? In response to this, the first thought that came to my mind was, it is no longer a Sex Drive, it is a Sex Neutral.

I don’t know where this thought came from. Heidegger claimed that thoughts come to us, not we to them. But does Sex Neutral even make any sense? What does it mean?

(Let me get back to this as soon as I finish eating my radish and hummus sandwich. Please give me a moment.)

(That was delicious.) Drive implies forward movement (momentum) and power. When you put your car or tractor or bus or motorcycle into Drive- a very heavy weight is being pulled forward, often at high speeds. I suppose it is accurate to say that my Sex Drive has given up its pulling. So to call it a Sex Drive would be calling it something that it is not (which, I realize is a popular practice in our American culture). At this point in my life, my Sex Drive must be called something else.

In continuing with the car analogy, if I am no longer in Drive what gear would I be in? Certainly not Park. I still think about sex. I still desire sexual experience from time-to-time. I still get aroused at the site of an attractive woman. So Sex Parked I am not.

Reverse? Not in the least. I am as convinced and confident about my own heterosexuality today as I was when I could not get thoughts of having sexual experiences with girls out of my teenage head. Sex Reversed I am not. What else is there?

Park, Reverse, Drive……Neutral.

Neutral.

When I think of Neutral in terms of driving a car, I think of meditatively coasting along (to coast means to move easily without using power). I think about being free from the dominating dependency on gasoline and an engine. I also think about being out of gas and hoping that I can coast my way a little closer to a gas station or at least find a safe place to come to a full stop. For the most part, the person who is coasting along in Neutral is in a hurry to get nowhere in  particular.

In this sense, my initial thought about my Sex Drive being more like Sex Neutral was probably right. Isn’t this usually the case? Our very first thought about a subject or situation is usually the correct one and all the thinking about the first thought just leads us further away from the truth. Initially, while making my radish and humus sandwich, I was reactive to my Sex Neutral thought. It felt more like a put down than a truthful self-realization. Humans do not like the truth and it is only natural that the truer a self-realization is, the more reactive we will become. (Think about it- if a realization or statement about one’s self is not true at all, we immediately know this. As a result it is non-threatening. We laugh it off and hardly suffer any kind of rise in our blood pressure as a result.)

Sex Neutral. That is exactly the gear I have been shifted into.

At one long dragged out point in my life, I was in Sex Drive. My Sex Drive powered me around day and night. It crushed me under its weight. I was defenseless (and had to become a disciplined meditator in order to get even a small amount of practical things done). All I could really do was surrender myself to it and do what it said. And what it often said was, “GO! GO! GO! Go out in search of sex! Get as much sex as you can! Have as many sexual experiences as possible!” This was annoying because often all I wanted to do was read a book. My entire twenties (and some of my thirties) was a time of unchosen obedience to Sex Drive. I went where it pulled. Even though I did not manage to have as many sexual experiences as my Sex Drive would have liked (I was often very shy), there were few things other than sex on my mind.

Now, with fifteen or so years of sexual decline behind me, Neutral is an accurate description of the libidinous and procreative gear that I am in. If it happens great, if not that’s ok as well. This is my general mentality with regards to sex and children. It is similar to what I think while coasting in Neutral in my car (which, I do a lot these days), if I get a little further down the road great, if not that is ok also.

Do not get me wrong. I am not one to turn down a sexual experience (as long as no one is hurt). A prude I am not. But I am certainly no longer salivating onto my button down shirt every time I pass by any person, place or thing that signifies a potential sexual experience. I can look at it, appreciate it for what it is, but let it pass by without a even hint of suspended longing in my eyes. When I was in Sex Drive, this was never the case.

Let me conclude by saying this: my Sex Drive has been (as it usually is) shifted into Sex Neutral by aging forces that are far beyond my control. Some men are fortunate or unfortunate (who am I to judge?) to go through their entire lives without being downshifted into Sex Neutral. Many are shifted into Sex Park. Some into Sex Reverse. Personally, I can’t imagine playing out the tempestuousness of Sex Drive throughout my entire life. There are many things that I disdain about growing older (hair loss, my heroes getting old and some dying, belly fat, chronic fatigue combined with a feeling of urgency, muscle atrophy, closer to my own end, an inability to stay up late, people I personally know dying, less time to be creative, loss of youth, continual ringing in ears, loss of interest in being social, infections, no longer socially acceptable to dye hair different colors) but coasting along in Neutral is certainly not one of them.

Ten Ways To Achieve Blogging Fame

Seven years ago when I decided to start my blog Absurdistry I told an older, more successful writer that I was thinking of doing so. “Why would you want to do that?” he immediately and indignantly asked me. Without much thought I replied, “Well it is one way for me to get readers without having to go through more traditional avenues of publishing and besides in twenty years or so people will not be reading books anymore. People will only be reading blogs and such.” “No way you crazy son-of-a-bitch!” he replied. “You will be wasting your time because a blog will never legitimize your work in the same way that a published book will. Don’t waste your precious time writing on a blog, keep going towards the published book!”

At the time I thought he was dead wrong. An old school traditionalist who had no insight into how the internet was going to change how writers were read. I was convinced (and still am) that the book was going to become a thing of the past and that if I started a blog my work would become just as valid as any writer who was publishing books.

Seven years later I am the owner of a blog with a massive amount of what I consider to be good and honest writing. But I am still without a single published book. In fact, since I started the daily toil of cultivating my blog I do not think that I have submitted one story or essay for potential publication. In all honesty, I was convinced that if I wrote enough on my blog, I could get the middle man or woman out of the way and one day find the literary fame that my younger and more do it yourself self was searching for.

As a writer I am just as unknown as I was seven years ago. My younger self would of been pissed that I am admitting this but I now work a satisfying job as a psychotherapist and meditation teacher (I have had to learn how to quiet my own mind) and I write when I can. On the other hand, the more successful, older writer who told me to forget about blogging has published six more books since I began my blog and is now living in a nice home in the Berkeley Hills- all paid for by his work as a novelist/essayist.

So when it comes to ten ways to achieve more fame as a blogger, I really have no clue. After seven years of blogging and lots of effort to get my blog noticed in the digital universe, my blog has about fifty views a day. If my blog gets more than a hundred views a day- I am impressed. After seven years of trying to achieve blogging fame (and hoping that maybe, just maybe my blog posts will be collected into a published book) I have learned four things: find another line of work, post on your blog when you can, have fun doing it and be happy if what you post gets a few reads.

Seven years ago I started blogging with great expectations and mildly repressed thoughts of literary fame. Now I am content knowing that maybe one or two people have read something that I have posted. Maybe one day my blog will have a kind of Kafkaesque resurgence and be revered by more than a handful of readers. But like my older, writer friend likes to remind me (even though he admits to enjoying reading my blog from time to time), “I wouldn’t plan on it buddy.”

Everyone blogging seems to consider themselves a writer these days even though most are so dull, mechanistic and imaginatively bland that I feel my creativity diminishing a little each time I read their posts. For the blogger who wants to stay true to her or his literary and more creative/anarchistic ambitions- there are no ten ways to achieve blogging fame. In fact there probably is no literary fame. All there is the calm acceptance that maybe one or two people enjoy reading what you write. And maybe those of us who really care about the craft of writing should be asking ourselves when we sit down to write a blog post rather than working on our novel, essay or a book of short stories, “Why would you want to do that?”

Interview With Myself #3: Bowel Movements, Blogging and on Being a Writer (or Blogger) Without Readers.

I am again sitting at my round kitchen table looking out into my backyard.  For this interview I am not still in my pajamas but instead am wearing a nice pair of corduroy pants with my shirt tucked in. It is fair to say that I am dressed up nicely. It is 11:15am and I have already been out of the house for a bit to grab a muffin and some tea from a bakery that I like in downtown Claremont. I sat and drank my tea, consumed my muffin and read a book for an hour or so. The mistake that I made was that I drank strong green tea and ate a bran muffin. Halfway through my walk home I felt an immense pressure pushing against my anal sphincter and knew I had an immediate problem. This happens to me sometimes when I eat certain foods that seem to have a laxative effect. I forgot that the combination of green tea and bran muffin have this effect upon me and as I walked home I really thought that I may defecate in my pants. I used my butt muscles to create a kind of block against whatever was trying to force its way out. The closer that I got to my home the more difficult it became to not give into the pressure. I am embarrassed to say that in the middle of an intersection I had to stop and use my hands to press both of my butt cheeks together so as not to literally lose my shit right there in the road. I am glad to report that I made it to the toilet just in time yet escaping the mess and humiliation that almost occurred. After using the bathroom I came and sat down for this interview. I had a look of great relief upon my face.

Interviewer: Well now that you gave us that rather disturbing and somewhat disgusting introduction how are you feeling now?

Randall: I feel really relieved at the moment, thank you.

Interviewer: I am sure you do.

Randall: I do.

Interviewer: Well, thank you for making it on time to our interview today.

Randall: My pleasure.

Interviewer: After yesterday’s interview I was not sure if you were going to show up today.

Randall: Neither was I. Yesterday was a tough one and I thought that I may just want to take today off, work in my garden and try to rediscover my love of reading literature.

Interviewer: Well you have plenty of time to do that later today.

Randall: Yes I do.

Interviewer: Just out of curiosity, have you ever “defecated in your pants” before?

Randall: I have, once before. I was in a coastal city in Spain called Malaga. I had eaten lunch at an outdoor restaurant on the beach where they specialized in freshly caught fish and jumbo sardines. I ate a lot of large and delicious sardines at lunch a long with another kind of whole fish, eyes and all, covered in pebble sized sea salt. The name of the fish I do not remember. I also drank a pitcher of delicious sangria (not all to myself of course, I was having lunch with another person). Anyways after lunch we went back to our hotel room, rested for a bit and then I decided to get some exercise and went for a long walk. I hiked up into the foothills of Malaga where there were beautiful Spanish style suburban homes that overlooked the sea. On my way down from the hill I began to feel that pressure against my anal sphincter that I spoke of in the introduction. But this time the pressure was much more immediate and serious and I knew I was in trouble. I…….

Interviewer: Ok well I think that is plenty of information. I get the point and would be quite happy if you spared me any further details.

Randall: But you don’t want to know about how I……

Interviewer: No, no, no really I get it. My imagination can take care of the rest. Lets move on to some other questions.

Randall: Well you asked me if I had defecated in my pants before.

Interviewer: I did and I am sorry that I did. I opened a door that I should have kept shut. That is why I want to know move this interview in another direction.

Randall: Ok, whatever you need to do but I find that this is a recurring theme with you.

Interviewer: With me?

Randall: Yes. Whenever conversation seems to get too difficult or uncomfortable for you you pull out of it. It is like you just can not deal with the conversation if it is not agreeable with you and often times this leaves me feeling cut off, shut up and unheard.

Interviewer: Well, I apologize if I make you feel this way, it is not my intention.

Randall: I understand that it may not be your intention but it is often what you do and I do not like how it feels. Just like you want to be able to discuss and talk about whatever you want I have the same needs. You always tell me to speak my mind, to tell you honestly how I feel but then sometimes when I do this you get uncomfortable and upset with me. You confuse me- I don’t know if you want me to speak my mind and be honest or to be careful what I say to you for fear of upsetting you.

Interviewer: Well I don’t know what to say to you Randall other than I will try to be more mindful of this in the future. Of course I want you to speak your mind, to be honest with me. As the interviewer I need you to be honest and open with me or else the interview would be dull and boring. I will work on being more mindful of how I react to you and try to not avoid or shut down the conversation when you are discussing things that make me feel uncomfortable. Fair?

Randall: Sounds fair to me. Can I continue with my story about how I defecated in my pants?

Interviewer (with a cringe upon his face) I think that for the sake of the reader it would be best if we moved on to other subject matters. There are so many questions that I want to ask you about yourself that it may take a year to get through this interview process at the rate at which we are going.

Randall: What other questions do you have for me today?

Interviewer: Well I wanted to talk with you about the blog that you have been keeping for the past five years or so.

Randall: You mean Absurdistry?

Interviewer: Yes.

Randall: Ok.

Interviewer: Well I am wondering how it feels to be a blogger without many readers?

[just as I asked Randall this question he got up to go see if there were any avocados that were ready to be picked from his avocado tree. He came back inside with three unripe and unready to be picked avocados in his hand.]

Randall: If you put them in a paper bag, in a week they will be delicious and ready to eat.

Interviewer: Aren’t you trying to rush natures process?

Randall: Sometime I am too impatient for natures process.

Interviewer: I see. Well are you ready to answer the initial question that I asked you before you got up to go check on the avocado tree?

Randall: The question about being a blogger who know one reads?

Interviewer: Yes.

Randall: (taking a deep breath) First off I do not consider myself to be a blogger. I am a writer and I use my blog to self publish my writings.

Interviewer: Isn’t that what most bloggers do?

Randall: I don’t know what most bloggers do but what I do is write stories and other stuff and then use my blog “Absurdistry” to self publish my writings.

Interviewer: I understand this but is it fair to say that there is a difference between self-publishing and posting?

Randall: What do you mean?

Interviewer: What I mean is that often times publishing often involves some kind of contract/payment for your work and it also means having more than one or two readers whereas posting is what a blogger like yourself does when they write something and then put it on their blog hoping that others will read it.

Randall: I am not a blogger.

Interviewer: I understand that you do not think that you are a blogger and prefer to think of yourself as a writer but as it stands- you are a blogger.

Randall: I am not a blogger.

Interviewer: You really are my friend.

Randall: Would I be more of a writer if I did not “post” my writings on my blog and instead sent my writings out to other people and agencies in that hopes that I get published?

Interviewer: Yes. As long as the entirety of your writing output is not going up on your blog and you are making an effort to be exposed to a larger amount of readers through various publishers, literary journals, on-line, I would say you are more of a writer then.

Randall: Well, we both obviously have different ideas about this.

Interviewer: You are a blogger.

Randall: I am not.

Interviewer: You are!

Randall: (silence)

Interviewer: And how does it feel to post your writings on a blog that barley no one reads or comments on. To basically know that you are writing, or “self publishing” and almost no one is reading these words and you are doing it for free!

Randall: (silence)

Interviewer: (waiting for a response)

Randall: Look, I started Absurdistry because I thought it was a good way to “self publish” my writings. I am not the kind of guy who is going to take the time to send or submit my writings to various publications (this is why I decided to become a psychotherapist). It is just not going to happen. I feel like my writing stands on its own and in time it will earn the respect of various readers. I trust that the future of reading is blogs and that I will get more readers and notoriety from “posting” on my blog than if I was to take other publishing routes.

Interviewer: Is it fair to say that this point of view is just a way for you to rationalize your laziness when it comes to doing anything about your writing career? That you are engaging in a bit of magical thinking and are avoiding really doing what it would take to be the kind of writer that you have always dreamed of being?

Randall: (silence)

Interviewer: Do you not want to answer my question?

Randall: I think I have had enough of your questions for today.

Interviewer: Really?

Randall: Really.

Interviewer: Now you are shutting me up, doing just the thing that you asked me not to do to you.

Randall: I think this interview is finished for today.

[Randall, obviously very frustrated with the subject matter I brought up, gets up from the table, opens the refrigerator and stares into it as if he is trying to find a way to escape from this particular moment in time.]

A Blogger In Chains

I know that there are chains. I can feel them and here them and at times I can taste them. There seems not another living soul but me who can notice these chains- but I will not allow their limited perception to make me mad. I know that the chains are there and not a single soul can change my mind. No spiritual guru or psychotherapist can convince me that there is no shackle wrapped around my ankles and no chains dragging behind my feet. They are there and this is an unarguable fact- but what can be done about this “condition” is certainly up for discussion.

I only confess this “condition” of mine because I have notice that I share it with my fellow human kind. Every place I go and upon every one I know I can see these shackles and chains dangling from wrists, ankles and sometimes neck. The individual who is wrapped in chains seems seldom to realize that they are walking around with a great weight. Rather they stay distracted by preoccupations that seems to anesthetize any feeling of physical bondage. Is not this the role of modern technological gadgets (television, ipods, computers, cars and on and on), to make us numb? I am uncertain what is to be done, because when I talk about my chains with colleagues over coffee- I receive nothing but a blank stare that seems to suggest that I may be crazy. The more time I spend at work or thinking about the world- the more I can feel the weight of my chains.

I am not the first to mention this “condition.” The French religious philosopher Pascal did so as well. He wrote “we live between the weight of shackles, seldom aware that they restrict not only our physical bodies but also our spiritual aspirations.” I have visited with many spiritual counselors and healers in regards to my “condition.” I have been counseled by the best and the answer is always the same. “Yes, we live in chains- but it is the physical body which is contained. We can choose to be free in our thought by not getting attached to anything, by remaining free from thought.” How can I not think? This is the question that I always ask. I love thinking and trying to understand the nature of existence is what I do for a living (unpaid). I have worked hard to develop the quality of thoughts that I have- even if they often cause me a great deal of suffering. I have refined my thoughts by reading and writing religiously. Thought is the one great enjoyment that I indulge in every day. How I am supposed to live without thoughts when thought is the one thing that makes me feel civilized?

“Do not attach to your thoughts. Do not identify with your thoughts- just let them pass away into the universe. Everything is impermanent…even your shackles and chains,” one spiritual guru told me when I went out to his farm for an hour session. I spent over a hundred dollars to be counselled in how to break free from my thoughts. “It is your thought that creates the chains and it is your thoughts that can set you free,” were his final words to me. Granted, when I left the farm I felt lighter- less inconvenienced by my chains. I was out of the city, in nature and for the first time in a while I felt as if I could breathe. I was confused by what I was told by the spiritual guru- but I ascertained a glimmer of hope that I could be free. The moment I walked through the front door of my home and saw a credit card bill, phone bill, and insurance bill awaiting me upon my table- the great weight returned. I felt the chains slowly wrapping themselves around my wrists and ankles like a serpent. They worked their way up towards my neck and threatened to cut off my oxygen. As I walked towards the bathroom I kept on telling myself “do not think about it, do not think!!”- but my attempts were futile because the loud sound of the chains dragging along on the hardwood hallway floor convinced me that they are real.

The Sex Life Of A Blogger

Since I have been blogging for the past six months I have noticed that something very strange has happened to my sex life. It has vanished. Prior to blogging I was certainly not blessed with a prolific sex life- but it was alive. I was able to recall what sex felt like and I never went more than a week without some kind of sexual encounter. I was interested in sex and sought it out almost on a daily basis. I thought about it and imagined various pornographic scenarios in the back stages of my mind. It would be fair to say that I was a rather normal guy who suffered the same affliction as most other men- I was obsessed with sex. But since I began blogging, something has happened. My lust has dissipated like mist in the early afternoon. My sex life has vanished and there is no trace of it to be found.

I have done some research on this ailment that I have been suffering from and what I have found has not been encouraging. Spending long hours blogging can induce what is referred to as Mortotonia, which is a depletion of the sexual hormones in the brain. Also another interesting bit of information that I have run up against time and time again is that blogging can make an individual anti-social and introverted, which has a tendency to depress ones over all sexual drive. All of this makes sense to me but I still can’t understand why I have absolutely no interest in sex. I used to love pornography and now I am repulsed by it. Semen which never bothered me before is now as disgusting to me as  chronic eczema. I am so uninterested in women that my wife is beginning to wonder if I may be gay.

I have spent the past few weeks trying to tell my wife that my lack of interest in sex is nothing personal against her. Her concern about the possibility that I am gay is as ridiculous as her feeling that I am no longer attracted to her. “You are a beautiful woman, whom I am terribly in love with,” I tell her over and over but the minute I reject her attempts to make love to me she bursts out in tears and lamentations. How is it that I am to explain that the reason for my lack of sex drive is because of my habitual blogging habits? Blogging has destroyed my sexual appetites but she would never believe this, she would only think that I have lost what little sense I have left. But the truth is that blogging has destroyed my sexual interests. It has reduced my sensual experience down to the feeling of the key board against my finger tips. The only way I seem to feel aroused any more is when I receive comments for the posts that I have written or when my blog stats display that more than a hundred people have viewed my writings that day. My whole life in fact has been reshaped by my need to blog. Various friendships I once had have diminished and I am no longer interested in the social engagements that were once such fun for me. Sometimes I wonder if my wife was not far from the truth when she yelled at me the other day that “I have become as lifeless as a blog.” I have been thinking about this lately and I wonder if it could be true?

The Storyteller

The difficult thing about being a Storyteller is finding the time to write. In our post industrial technocratic society man, woman and child are subjected to a fate similar to the wrath of God against Adam and Eve. We must work by the sweat of our brow, labor away all of our vital energy so that we can afford to maintain a semblance of dignity and pride. It is an unusual condition to be wedged between because most have become so habituated to this way of being (working) that they see no alternative. They have learned to love the hand that enslaves them and decry a life without hard work ( a classic case of conditioning). After all we know that the majority of hard workers are working hard only so that they do not have to be left with the time to take a deep look into themselves. They find their identity within their work because what is deep within them is devoid of substance. This is a catch 22 situation. You work hard and you loose your self but without hard work you loose your house. This is the great modern modern dilema- how to find the time to live your life.

Since, I have been working full time as a Teacher I have found little time to write. I long for the days when I posted upon my blog every day and read with great anticipation the comments that followed in return. I was telling my stories and people around the world were responding to what was told. As a Storyteller who has been burdened with the naging desire to write, tell stories and be heard (psychologists tell me this is because my parents did not listen or pay attention to me)- the outlet of a blog has been heaven sent. But now because of the curse of “working by the sweat of our brow”, I have had to labor away all of the hours of my day and night educating young minds about how to avoid getting stuck in this consuming rat race. We talk about ways to make a fortune before the age of twenty so that they can buy an island and live far away from this synthetic life-denying culture that us humanoids have created. We find critical solutions for problems of “work-addiction” and plan strategies for ways that I can escape from this society and join a race of people who live more in harmony with life rather than the preoccupation of working.

You may wonder how this has anything to do with being a Storyteller, and I would respond that it has everything to do with being a Storyteller. In societies that are consumed with progress and work the first species to become exiled our expendable are the Storytellers. The workers or citizens of these corporate republics do not want to be reminded of their servitude, their complete dependency upon forces outside of themselves. This is why Plato exiled poets from his Republic. “The poets will allow the people to see the many ways that the established government must manipulate the citizens into the cave and away from the light of humanity,” he said. This is what the Storyteller does- he/she makes people more human.

But I no longer have the time to write or spin stories in my head. I have been drinking more and sleeping less. All of my usual creative outlets have been plugged up by work. Time seems to have shortened. By the time I am ready to read and write my eyes refuse to remain open and willing to follow the words which exhaustion has caused me to read and write backwards. This is the world that I have found myself within, and yes it is the very dynamic that seeks to exile the Storyteller from the very body it resides within. Sometimes late at night when I am lying in bed, I can feel my body shaking and becoming tense. I grow restless and have difficulty staying still. It takes me hours to fall asleep and I know that these systemic sensations are the result of my inner Storyteller trying to escape from my body so that it can go some place else where it will have the peace, light and time to tell its many tales.

The End.

The Man With A Moving Nipple

I know this may seem strange but I am suffering from a moving nipple. It is my left nipple and it gesticulates and twitches like a firecracker. At the moment, the uncomfortable movements of my nipple have become chronic with little intermission in-between. This discomfort has become a part of my life, another bewildering ailment that I must learn to live with.

My nipple began to move after I was in a very upsetting argument with my father. He was in a hospital bed recovering from a surgery and we managed to fight with one another about what, I cannot remember. Consumed with guilt for upsetting my father during his darkest of hours- I left the hospital in a terrible state of mind. The stress was causing my chest to constrict and I remember having difficulty breathing. It was when I turned on my car engine that I noticed my left nipple beginning to twitch. I placed my right palm upon it, as if I was trying to comfort my broken heart. I drove off into the night trying not to think about my moving nipple. Little did I know then that this was the beginning of what would become a full-blown dis- ease.

As the days passed my nipple picked up speed. The twitches would come in unpredictable spurts and I was often forced to have to sit down and try and relax when the episodes would begin. The twitches turned into strange gesticulations that would wake me up at night and force me to place an ice pack on my chest. The moments that my nipple would not be moving became like tropical vacations for my weary mind, which was being over worked by the torment of my moving nipple. The sensations were like aggravating tickles combined with what felt like pinpricks that seemed to leave me feeling like I was a man being slowly crucified from the inside out.

As the weeks passed my moving nipple became more chronic. It rested little and began to control my every waking hour. I had read some where in Greek mythology of a character that had suffered from a very similar ailment as I was. His moving nipple became so violent that it slowly began to make its way onto his forehead and announce all of his private thoughts to whomever was around. Not only did this character suffer the humiliation of having a talking nipple on the center of his forehead but also he was unable to think without the nipple revealing his every thought! Of course it is not difficult to understand why this character took his life by forcing his lover to cut off his head. Once he was decapitated the nipple did not stop talking for over an hour- it told his lover of all his previous affairs!! Ever since I have read this tale I have been terribly worried that my chronic gesticulating nipple is going to break free from its root and make its way onto my forehead!! If the world were able to hear my every thought I would certainly loose everything that I love!!!

Last week I visited a Doctor who knew not what to make of my condition. He told me that he had never seen anything like this before. He recalled reading in a medical journal many month back about someone who had suffered from a similar ailment for most of his life- but he could not remember which medical journal it was in. The Doctor wanted to put me on some medication to see if he could relax the tissue but the side effects for the medication seemed to great to take the risk. My Doctors conclusion was that I was suffering from a stress-induced ailment that was causing calcium build up around the nerves of my nipple tissue-, which is putting pressure upon my nipple. The ensuing twitching and gesticulation is the result of this pressure. If it did not go away in a month he recommends surgery.

In the mean time I still have to live in this world. I have to make a living so that I can continue to have a roof over my head. As much as I want to hide away in my closet and write poetic lamentations all day- I cannot. I have a mouth to feed.

It is not difficult for you to see my ailment, or what I have come to call my crucifixion. There is what appears to be a constant vibration and rotation under my left shirt pocket. When people notice this they immediately ask me if I am okay. I tell them that I am fine, that what they are witnessing is an annoying muscle spasm. My high school students make fun of me and refer to me as a freak. They all want to touch my nipple and when I let them there are loud uproars of “EEEEEEWWWW,” or “That’s so disgusting!!!!” Whenever I go out into public people stare at my nipple as if they had never seen anything like this before. I feel like an aberration, like all eyes are condemning me to constant judgment. Now I know what it must feel like to be a big-breasted woman.

The only thing that I can do is learn to live with my ailment. Every night before bed I put a chamomile cream upon my nipple, which seems to relax it a bit. I also wrap my chest in a towel before bed, which seems to reduce the annoying vibrations of my moving nipple, allowing me to get some sleep. There is nothing that I can really do (besides having my nipple surgically removed) other than accept my current situation. I see this condition as an opportunity for me to deal with the various causes in my life rather than the effects. If I can learn to change the stressors that have caused my moving nipple than maybe over time my nipple will stop moving. I believe it was Pascal, Socrates or Emerson or maybe Nietzsche- who said that an unexamined life is a life not worth living, so I am examining my self- trying to understand the various ways that I have caused my own dis-ease. Maybe, through this process of self-examination, I will eventually become the only man who can set myself free.

No More Awards, Please!!

I just received notification for an award that I received today. The award is for ” Blog With Least Amount Of Weekly Readers” and I must say that I am surprised. I have always thought that having ten to twelve readers or “hits” a day was fairly decent. I was proud of my weekly rating of around seventy hits. But when I received this award for “Blog With The Least Amount Of Weekly Readers,” I did some research. I found that successful blogs receive over 10,000 hits a day and mediocre ones receive at least 500. 500!!!!! Since I have started this blog I have gained many awards for things like “Most Ridiculous Content,” “Most Depraved Blogger,” “Blogger In Need Of Most Psychological Assistance,” “Least Commented Upon Blog,” and so forth- but this most recent award has really opened my eyes! I mean I have been writing, laboring and living in the dark thinking that ten or so hits a day was decent!

All I had to do to receive the reward for “Blog With Least Amount Of Readers” was push a button and what I won was three private phone consultation with a blogging service that could help me acquire more readers. It is a pity prize, a reward that is intended to patronize the awardee. So I will not follow through with receiving the free consultations but I will ask one final time to Please….stop giving me these humiliating rewards!! I write not to be awarded but rather to release my numerous thoughts and emotions into the digital void hoping that some semblance of a life form will answer with various solutions for my existence here on earth. Some days, I stay away from this blog because I am afraid of what I might say and instead decide to keep it all in. Now that I know that 10 or so hits a day is nothing to be proud of I may change my strategy…but like I wrote in the awardee comment box when I accepted this last award “It is not about quantity…but rather quality. If I can affect only one reader with the things I write than I would rather have one reader than 10,000.” But Please….to whomever this may concern- NO MORE AWARDS, please! These awards are causing me to question why I spend my time blogging and taking a toll upon what little self confidence I have left (please read my last post entitled “The Trappings Of My Mind” for more information upon my psychological state at the moment).

I’m Searching For A Cure.

I have a new perspective I would like to share. It may change the world- and your life. It is a rather simple perspective and will take only a brief time to apply to your life. We can all learn how to build upon this perspective to create a better life for ourselves and our family (if we still have one). My perspective is rather unique. It is based upon years of struggle and unfulfilled potential. It has been cultivated like a fine wine through the several circular evolutions that have gotten me to where I am today. It is a perspective that is based upon not just love but also hate, not just right but also wrong, not just you but also me. It is a perspective that comes from my heart and I would like to share it with you.

What exactly this perspective is I am uncertain at the moment. I am patiently awaiting its arrival and the moment I receive it I shall let you know. It would be nice if this perspective was something that you could use to transform your own existence into that which you most desire. If you could use this perspective to free yourselves from poverty, pain, debt, illness and addiction than my expectations will be fulfilled. I know that this perspective can somehow change the world and save it from collapsing in upon itself- but I just need to find it. Time is of the essence. As a species we are struggling to survive and I feel the great burden of being able to come up with a solution sooner than later.

I spent the afternoon in the library searching stacks of books for this perspective. I found tidbits of wisdom such as “learn to identify a good feeling from a bad feeling,” or “we create our reality by feeling not thought.” I tried to incorporate these ideas into my own experience but all that happened was I became hungry and wanted a beer. I searched on the internet for various perspectives that could somehow provide the solution- but nothing appeared upon my screen that seemed to be adequate, other than Oprah’s recent interviews with Eckhart Tolle and a few things by Deepok Chopra. Today I will search no more because if a perspective is to take form in my mind- I feel like it will happen without the involvement of my own will.

It is terribly important to me that I offer you a perspective that will change your mind, give you hope, reunite you with your soul and start you off upon a path that will fill your life with meaning and purpose (this is ultimately the revolution that I would like to wage). I want for this perspective to do the same for me as well, but I am willing to sacrifice myself for other peoples enlightenment. As soon as this perspective come to me I will write a blog entry entitled, Perspective Found, but for the time being, while I wait I am going to go sit in the sun.

Blogging Burnout

The desire to write has been burned out of me like a cigarette turning to ash. I have lost all whimsical motivation to explore my unconscious motivations, in the blink of an eye. When I think about writing my head becomes heavy and my thoughts stagnant. Blogging has become as interesting to me as horse back riding, and this is not saying much. How did it happen so fast? Not more than a week ago my fingers were on fire exploring the very themes that travel through my psyche day upon day. There has been little room in my head for thought the past few days, considering the sun has been out and the last place I have wanted to be is with my id (The term id (inner desire) is a Latinised derivation from Groddeck‘s das Es,^[2] and translates into English as strictly “it”. It stands in direct opposition to the super-ego. It is dominated by the pleasure principle). To turn the heat up even higher I have decried the use of technology by spending the past few days working on a farm and refusing to use my cellular technology(Neolithic Revolution). How is one to blog if they have decided to wage a revolution by denouncing all technology?

Like all revolutions, mine was short lived- I am back on line. I find myself with little to say, burned out by the sound of my repetitive thoughts. Not wanting to face my self and all my demons- I have turned off the computer and refused to write. It is only when I write that truth slips out, causing me to face the things I can normally hide so well in my normal life. I am almost a victim of my own hands which type out truths I am unwilling to confront. I almost give thanks for these days where I feel as if I have nothing to say, no truth to face, no will to write. Instead I work with the soil, plant flowers and reconnect with the earth, entertaining the novel idea that I shall abstain from ever writing again. But then the stories, the novels, the plays and the blog entries that want to be written start knocking against my brain so that they can be let in and eventually brought to life. So my burnout may be temporary, but real and painful none the less. I will eventually open the door and return with more investigations of my id sooner than I would probably care to admit, but for the time present my wife is laughing in the next room and I should seize this opportunity to experience some joy in our rugid relationship.

The Bullshit Guru

I will tell you a story until you believe it is true. At a certain point there will be doubt and apprehension but as you continue to listen to my words your ability to resist my bullshit will be undone. I do not know if it was a gift that I was born with or a skill that I have cultivated over many years of lying. True I come from a long lineage of bullshit guru’s but I believe my abilities surpass any genetic predisposition. I have made bullshit into such an art form that the world has become my ashram and all the little people in it my devoted disciples.

If magic could be explained, would it be magic? I do not know why my bullshit is believed by all. The stories that I tell are organically ejected out of a mind with little consideration of principle or limitation. I speak my mind and usually it is a cleverly interpreted lie. How I got this way I do not know. Sometimes I believe it stems from a deep seeded love for the fictitious and all things literary. At other times I feel as if my bullshit is nothing more than a symptom of boredom. Nonetheless my intentions are good, but what they are I am not quite sure.

If you leave me alone in a room for ten minutes with a group of a dozen strangers chances are I will have them thinking about things they had never considered. We would speak about the nature of self, the way to find inner happiness and the practice of truth. I would talk to them like a man who knows the answers and has traveled the path. I have counseled many wayward souls and steered them back upon a course that I know not how to direct. I speak about things that I can not practice. Sure there is nothing unnatural about this- but I speak like one who knows. Because of my fictitious fallacies I have followers from all around the globe who come to me with questions ranging from the simple to the profound. I council Bloggers on ways to cultivate concentration or imagination so the quality of their being will grow complete. The irony is I know not what I speak off- I simply speak and out comes the freak.

The other day one of my sweet devotes deemed me the bullshit guru. She told me that I was full of it- when she caught me in a tale that she knew to be untrue. She knew that I had yet to attain the level of enlightenment that I was speaking about since just the other day she had to lend me a xanax because of an anxiety attack that rendered me helpless. “Even though it is bullshit,” she said “I still like your stories. So I will continue to speak, to council and to blog until my bullshit has grown so constipated that nothing no longer is willing to come out. Feel free to seek me out for words of wisdom in your time of need.

Namaste.