Roll with the punches my little minions, because the shitstorm we call Christmas is two weeks away. It's now chaos incarnate. There is a day where people beat each others ass, for plastic materials that show pretty pictures and families gather around, specifically tailored for this festive time of the year. It's come and gone, thankfully, but the bloodthirst for deals, cooler shit than you have, and being the first person in your tiny circle of friends with the first of something, still fills the air with holiday cheer.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love what Christmas, Hanukkah, and whatever other shit falls around now, stand for: Togetherness. Family. Laughter. Food. Friends. Reflecting.
They're all great things, and should be implemented more often throughout the year. Yet, as time has passed, that spirit has been given up to the monsters that sell you shiny new baubles, in exchange for a handful of trinkets that will fucking break in less than a year.
I remember looking forward to the holidays as a child, just so I could eat a huge meal. So, that, I could hear jingling bells, watch cool cartoons, and snuggle under a blanket and read a book with the smell of firelogs in the air. Now, if you don't get your kid the newest Xbox One/PS4 game, he shoots up a fucking kindergarten. Little cunts. (i didn't have children for a reason...i smelled this wind blowing in years ago, and wanted no part of it)
I still love cooking for my friends.I love to give gifts. I love to laugh and be jolly with everyone around me. I fully grasp the concept of what the holidays are about, Even as an Atheist, I still love the holiday spirit. What it's supposed to infuse into people, and why it should be shared. I don't have to cater to your ideals to believe what the bottom line should be. Love one another. Be happy. Give more. Don't take people for granted...the list goes on. But, it's changed to "What'd you get for Christmas?", and then comparing said response to what you received and either feeling superior, or inferior, depending on said response.
Look, what I am getting at here, is you...my Knuckleheads...are a strong minded group of people. You are the leaders, the poets, the lovers, the entertainers, the hard workers, the educators. You have it within you, whether you are a Believer or not, to spread love and cheer amongst those that you hold dear. And, even those that you have just met, or intend on meeting. You have it within your grasp to be the match that lights this Holiday Season's balls on far, and sends it screaming down the street slapping it's crotch with verve and vigor, all the while shouting to the world to live together happily, with more love, and embrace those that are different. (and, possibly for a fire extinguisher)
You cannot let this death of happiness continue. It's not even for us, as much as it is the next generations. Can you imagine being in a retirement home with those little fucks that scream at their TV's now when they can't get past a level on a game, taking care of your decrepit ass? "FUUUUUCK!!!! Why won't you HOLD YOUR OWN SPOON?!?! Eat your motherfucking OATMEAL!!!" No, I will shove my cane up his stinky winker.
All in all, I am just going to leave you with a message of cheer. If you're getting something for Christmas, just appreciate the love and thought that is behind it, not the value. Hell, getting Christmas Laid is free, and it's worth more than anything you can give or get...because you both win. Just continue to love more, worry less. Have compassion, and be less judgmental. Be a better you, than you thought you could ever be.
Just stop being a fuckhole, and fix this shit.
With all kinds of jingly love,
Knuckles
Showing posts with label definition of life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label definition of life. Show all posts
Monday, December 15, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
90 Days
To kids, it's a summer vacation. To a new employee, it's when your benefits kick in. To a criminal, it's usually the lowest sentence. To many, it's just 3 months.
To me, it's a milestone towards success.
For years I fought tooth and nail for this success. I would nail a week down here or there. Sometimes longer, a lot of times shorter. But, always wanted it.
In rehab, I would attend my early morning meetings, and always here them ask "Any people that this is their first meeting? Anyone with 1 month? 2 months? 3 months? 6 months? 1 year?...." and, I always admired the people at 3 months. It was a corner they had turned a corner. The first couple of months seemed like something anyone could do. If it was for a job, or a spouse, or if you were doing it for someone else. But, the people at 3 months seemed to be the ones that wanted for themselves.
90 days isn't long to most people. It's 3 months rent. It's 1/3rd of a pregnancy. It's just not a large number to many. To me, it's a world of opportunity, wrapped in an achievement, and smothered in smiles. It's a desire to be a better human. It's a drive that fuels my forward momentum. It means that I can do this.
We all desire success in some facet. Whether it be in love, money, career, or whatever your heart desires. But, that's just it isn't it? What your heart desires. YOUR heart. Not those around you. Not the many droves of people that give opinions, judgments or blank stares. It's what feels right to you.
A bumpy road is what kept me scared. Kept me weak. I have always been a strong person. Charismatic, calm, open minded, passionate, articulate with my thoughts and feelings. Yet, the chaos that surrounded me, made me want to hide. Those bumps in my road were a variation of deep potholes, or large rocks. So, I tried to hide from them. I lacked the tools to remove the chaos from within, so that I could approach the chaos from without head on.
But, some how, some way, I made it to this 90th Day. I won't win an award. I will be given a chip to remind me of my journey, but the only recognition I truly need, is that of my own. I am proud of myself. I am driven in the right direction and the wind is once again in my sails. No, things aren't easy, but the lulls in the storm come more frequently now. I surround myself with loving people that support me. They know I have demons, but they see my struggles, and they give me the care and attention I need. I take care of myself more. I look inward for help, before I search for it in the world. And, more often than not, I find the answers that dwell inside this coconut of mine to be solid.
This is just the beginning, but it's one helluva start for a man that sat in those early morning meetings, and wondered if I had it inside me to make it that far. To be that strong. To be the man I knew I wanted to be, but questioned his resolve. It turns out, I am all of that and more. It's motivation to move forward. It's encouragement to be even more than I originally thought I could be.
90 days...
Feels pretty fucking good everyone.
- Johnny
To me, it's a milestone towards success.
For years I fought tooth and nail for this success. I would nail a week down here or there. Sometimes longer, a lot of times shorter. But, always wanted it.
In rehab, I would attend my early morning meetings, and always here them ask "Any people that this is their first meeting? Anyone with 1 month? 2 months? 3 months? 6 months? 1 year?...." and, I always admired the people at 3 months. It was a corner they had turned a corner. The first couple of months seemed like something anyone could do. If it was for a job, or a spouse, or if you were doing it for someone else. But, the people at 3 months seemed to be the ones that wanted for themselves.
90 days isn't long to most people. It's 3 months rent. It's 1/3rd of a pregnancy. It's just not a large number to many. To me, it's a world of opportunity, wrapped in an achievement, and smothered in smiles. It's a desire to be a better human. It's a drive that fuels my forward momentum. It means that I can do this.
We all desire success in some facet. Whether it be in love, money, career, or whatever your heart desires. But, that's just it isn't it? What your heart desires. YOUR heart. Not those around you. Not the many droves of people that give opinions, judgments or blank stares. It's what feels right to you.
A bumpy road is what kept me scared. Kept me weak. I have always been a strong person. Charismatic, calm, open minded, passionate, articulate with my thoughts and feelings. Yet, the chaos that surrounded me, made me want to hide. Those bumps in my road were a variation of deep potholes, or large rocks. So, I tried to hide from them. I lacked the tools to remove the chaos from within, so that I could approach the chaos from without head on.
But, some how, some way, I made it to this 90th Day. I won't win an award. I will be given a chip to remind me of my journey, but the only recognition I truly need, is that of my own. I am proud of myself. I am driven in the right direction and the wind is once again in my sails. No, things aren't easy, but the lulls in the storm come more frequently now. I surround myself with loving people that support me. They know I have demons, but they see my struggles, and they give me the care and attention I need. I take care of myself more. I look inward for help, before I search for it in the world. And, more often than not, I find the answers that dwell inside this coconut of mine to be solid.
This is just the beginning, but it's one helluva start for a man that sat in those early morning meetings, and wondered if I had it inside me to make it that far. To be that strong. To be the man I knew I wanted to be, but questioned his resolve. It turns out, I am all of that and more. It's motivation to move forward. It's encouragement to be even more than I originally thought I could be.
90 days...
Feels pretty fucking good everyone.
- Johnny
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
A Fistful of Future
Welcome Knuckleheads, to the always endearing, and sometimes insightful, view into the life of Knuckles. Today we take a journey into the mind, body, and soul that makes up the man behind the words. With all the vulgarity, abrasiveness, and crass behavior, it's hard to imagine that a man such as I is weak and vulnerable, but in the proceeding words, you will witness just that. The soft underbelly of the beast is about to be exposed.
I try and not pass judgment on friends and family, or just generally speaking, the ones I love. I accept them for their flaws, their ideals, their way of life, without so much as blinking at their demons...so long as they love me back in the same manner. I have an eclectic group of friends. From the potheads, to coke heads, to the booze hounds, and even the teetotalers. I love them all equally, as long as that love is returned. But, rarely did I ever look in the mirror to see if I was loving myself. Yes, I am cocky and confident, but it was a long hard look in the mirror that led me to realize that the love I possessed was only moving outward, and I had long forgotten how to love inward.
It's always good to start at the beginning, so let us begin there. In college, I was a machine. I was kickboxing, studying all my martial arts, had 2% body fat, and was eating upwards of 6 to 7,000 calories a day, and burning it off as soon as it hit my stomach. I didn't drink, smoke, or do any drugs. This was the first couple of years. Josh (my suite mate) would always tell me to "Let loose every now and then. Live life. You're always so uptight about your workouts and kickboxing.". I never listened in the beginning. Finally I broke down once at the Juke Joint, and had a Tom Collins (his drink of choice), and so began my social life. Ultimately, I believe it was me trying to make Josh happy. He was my best friend, and we were so alike, but when it came to our social lives, we were quite different. So, I feel it was me trying to please him, and be on common ground in all aspects of our lives. In the beginning I was doing double duty, and because I was in such good shape, I could still party at night, and still get up early and get my workouts in.
Then, at some point, Josh and I had an argument before summer vacation. To this day, I can't remember what it was even about. But, he went home for the summer, and I stayed behind to attend summer school. Then, on June 27th, 1998, my phone rang. On the other end was Meredith, a mutual friend of Josh and I. She asked if I had read the paper, or anyone else had called me. My stomach dropped from my body, and I said "No. Why?". "Josh died in a car accident yesterday.". And, all I could do was say "Thank you." and hang up.
I was distraught to say the least. Coupled with the guilt of not reaching out to say I was sorry for whatever we had argued about. No. I couldn't do that. I couldn't even tell him how much he meant to me, and how much I loved him. And, that's when I pounded a bottle of scotch to numb myself. Every sip in his honor.
Fast forward to L.A. Where the drinks flow freely, and the lifestyle is Party All The Time (if you don't have your head screwed on right at least). Alcohol was available everywhere. And, I found it everywhere. By this point I had become a steady social butterfly. The curse of choosing the career of Actor had it's ups and downs. Without going into detail there, I will just say, it was Phase 2.
The following years were a rollercoaster. But, I found myself taking a drink when each hard time or trial came my way. It's how I dealt with all the rejection, and chaos. The pain of life was dealt more lightly when my brain was slightly numbed. Then after a heartbreaking breakup (albeit it amicable, and justified), I began swimming to the bottom of the bottle.
So began the spiral.
I never dealt with Josh's death the way I should have. I never dealt with my breakup the way I should have. I never dealt with stress....you guessed it...
So, I hid.
The years to come were riddled with masks and mist. False confidence, and emotional turmoil. I no longer had the ability to cope with issues of life the way I should. I still fought for my dreams, and for love, but it took a backseat at times to my need to have a drink.
I had convinced myself that I was a classy drinker. Only scotch or martinis. But, it was still in abundance.
Then I met a girl that didn't drink, and I began attempting to stop. When I would try, my body would literally shut down. Which, in turn brought on frustration and anger at myself, which in turn caused me to want to drown that feeling of inadequacy, and self hate, in the form of fire water.
I tried everything. Only drinking wine or beer. Nope. Only drinking when I was not at home. Nope. I tried stopping cold turkey so many times I lost count. But, nothing ever worked. Then, last year it started directly affecting my health. I would look in the mirror and see a shadow of my former self, and it disgusted me. What had happened to the powerful, determined, passionate, driven man that I had once been? I still knew how to "be" him...but, I no longer "was" him.
Admitting there is something wrong, when you have been such a force to be reckoned with for so long, is disheartening to say the least. I believe the final straw was losing the love of my life, and my ideal apartment. I headed to California, where after a bit of a soul rattling, a great friend sat down with me and we discussed my future, my wants and needs, and what I wanted from life.
What happened next was the greatest thing that's ever happened to me.
Rehab.
Not just ANY rehab. There were no perks, or bells and whistles at this facility. No. This was a Detox and Residential Treatment facility.
I walked in, and almost like a prison they take away your phone, your shoestrings (along with anything else that has a string...including sweatshirts, and shorts), and process you. I looked around and saw plenty of broken souls. And, although 2 years before I would have said "I don't belong here!", I knew I was where I needed to be.
Here I was entered into Detox. I was monitored every two hours (24 hours a day...so, I never got much sleep), and was given a strict regimen of pills. We were awake at 5:30am and were in meetings, therapy, discussion, and doctors until 8pm. I had my first seizure on the second day. My body was clearing out the poisons from my body, but the demon had it's claws in me so deeply, it didn't want to let go, and was willing to take me with it, if it had to die. So, I was now on heart medication, and had to wear a seizure risk bracelet. I was now wearing three bracelets. My intake bracelet, my Fall Risk bracelet, and my Seizure Risk bracelet. It was humbling to say the least.
My roommate was an amazing kid. Mario Vega. Kind, and understanding. He talked me through the process (he had been twice before), and kept me from panicking. The more I was there, the more I found out. It turns out that my triggers were based on anxiety, stress, and more so, clinical depression.
I had never dealt with things the way I should have.
Leap to a couple of minor heart attacks (luckily, not coupled with seizures), and my health started perking back up. I was becoming more insightful, and clear minded by the end of Detox. Yet, could tell no one of my success, due to the fact we had no phone access, nor internet, and no one knew where I was.
Then, I was transferred to RTC. (Residential Treatment) A large house, with our own bedroom (albeit a hospital bed), and onsight nurses and counselors. We were due up at 6am to begin our chores. Then at 7am was our first A.A. meeting, followed by discussion and various other Intensive Treatment to help us get a handle on what needed to be done to correct what was broken in our lives. The meetings were intense. Usually with lots of tears, remorse, and humbling stories. We varied from the modest housewife that drank to escape the turmoil of a violent husband, to the meth addict that began to lose weight. All the while, looking deep inside ourselves to find where we had went wrong.
I likened my rebuilding to a pyramid: You can't build a pyramid without first building the foundation. Your first layer can't be built on matchsticks. No. It has to be the most solid layer, or else everything else comes crumbling down later. So, I began. Although we were supposed to be up at 6am, I was up at 5:30am, just to get my chores done early, and have a chance to read my Big Book. I attended every meeting. I never shirked duties, and I always picked up the slack of those that did. Usually the ones that weren't there of their own free will, and were forced there by a spouse, or a job. I went above and beyond in all facets, because I wanted it to stick. I took my pills, and followed all the guidelines. I felt my confidence coming back, and my mind becoming clear. Others started coming to me for assistance, or opinions on life.
My swagger was slowly returning.
I had never felt so good since my early 20's. I was healthy, happy, and more level headed than I had been in years. Yet, still, no one knew where I was...so, I wasn't able to share my success.
Finally, I graduated...with honors nonetheless. I coined out and was given a diploma. Where, I then proceeded to reevaluate my life, and make adjustments. Made some inventory of my life's priorities, and stepped out the front doors into my Phoenix Rising life. (ironically, there was a liquor store across from the exit of the rehab facility)
So, here I sit, a reinvented man. Today is day 49 of being a teetotaler. I don't miss alcohol in the least. I don't miss the time, money, or love I have lost due to it. I have accounted for my wrong doings, and I have made adjustments to what is important to me. I fight for that peace of mind I mentioned, and I will continue down the right path. Career, love, self confidence, and drive are all the things I need to remain happy.
Which, brings me to the revelation that the perception of me, isn't whom I always was. I have weakness the same as all others. I am breakable, and I am vulnerable. But, with a long look in the mirror, and good friends and loving people surrounding me/you...all things are possible. I am on the right path. The next chapter is going to be filled full of memorable moments. Whether they be struggles to keep negative things and people out of my life to prevent the stress, anxiety, and depression that could cause a relapse, or the struggles to dig myself out of the mindset I had dug for myself.
Ultimately, this is how I feel now:
Life is, the sunlight that shines through your window in the morning. Be thankful there is a pane of glass separating you from the elements. Be thankful for the vision you have to be able to see the light as it dances from the window to every corner of the room you occupy. Be thankful for the feeling of warmth, and the soft kiss it gives your skin. Be thankful for for the walls that protect you. Be thankful for waking up.
I am thankful for so much in life now. Most of all, I am thankful for the love of friends and family. I am thankful for people that don't pass judgment and embrace me for choosing to better myself. I am thankful for my health, happiness, and my ability to have a future.
So, in finishing, I am starting anew. I now have to take medication to prevent heart, blood pressure, depression, and anxiety issues. I now read my Big Book when I feel weak. I now have made adjustments to my life to keep me on the right track. And, with the love and support of those around me, I will conquer all obstacles that appear, and embody me.
I will bruise the world's ego with Knuckles. It will not keep me down.
Thank you all for your love and support. It was disheartening writing this...but, admitting one's flaws is not an unreasonable way to begin with my right foot forward, and giving myself a clear path to where I want to be. It's difficult to be as brutally honest as such, and exposing myself to the world, but to grow, I felt I needed to. Because, growing, is what I plan on doing. And, never hindering myself from doing so again.
Which, means this is the end, and beginning...
With all my love,
Knuckles
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Shove Your Arrow In My Blood Pumper
Happy Valentine's Day Eve Knuckleheads!! (if any of you say V-Day, you deserve to have a cheese grater dipped in Rooster Sauce shoved up your tightest orifice)
Today Knuckles takes a look into your heart. Not with a knife and rib spreader as you may imagine I would, but metaphorically. You know, that place where you keep your feelings and shit. Your love trunk.
I would normally rant and rage on how love can hurt, and just rail on that, but today we're going to touch you in a soft spot. [*No, Gutter, not there...now pull up your pants] I am going to give you some insight into how love can heal, love can embody, and love can give your life a whole new meaning.
Okay, I may touch lightly on the dark side, but not much...it is a happy subject after all.
Let us begin.
*cracks knuckles...gently lays fingers on keys*
At the age of 38, I thought I would be a successful actor. Living in a house in Malibu, California. Have two dogs. A 1969 Dodge Charger as my means of transportation, and more smiles than I have ever imagined. I just never had a solid idea of whom it would be with. I remember after high school, I would dream about this girl that I would walk on the beach telling stories of my life, and she made me feel so content. I never looked over, and never knew what she looked like, but I knew I had to have her when I woke up. When I was with her, I was calm, and peaceful. I could conquer the world in her name, and she would never worship me, but stand beside me as we stood atop the world we had slain.
What I realized about halfway through college is, I wasn't searching for a girl with no face. (how fucking weird would that be?) I was searching for love. I craved it. I needed it. I desired it. I ached for it. "Why?" you may ask? Because, when you're a beast, you need someone to tame you. That's why. I started boxing at 15. I was in martial arts by 18. Fought Muay Thai after high school, and into college. I have always been a fighter, but I never had an Adrian to my Rocky. Those years are long gone, and the beast still rages within me.
But, one thing remains certain, I love the feeling of love. I found my first adult love in college. She was the best. She was smart, conversational, full of life, and just as new to Love as I was. We grew into adults together. Which, now I understand that was also part of the demise of the relationship. We hadn't fully flourished into the adults we were to ultimately become, and grew apart eventually, but WOW! what a ride it was getting there. You see, love is one of those things, that if it truly exists/existed in the relationship, and you look back on it after it's gone, you aren't angry, but you relish in the memories, and realize that the Love was what was important. I'm sure that there were bills to be paid, or that arguments had flared, but I don't remember those. I remember laughing, making snow angels in college, road trips to Chicago, trips around the world, and feeling complete when she was in the room.
That's the thing about love right? When they are away, you feel that something is missing. You feel incomplete. That's why you badger them with texts asking when they will be home, or you plan something sweet for them when you see them. Because, you (on a subconscious level or not) want them to be right beside you. They don't even need to talk. Their presence is what is important.
Backtracking a bit...back in college, I was so desperate to find love, and to keep it in my life, that I began reading women's magazines, self help articles, and taking classes that were Female Majority, just so I could pick the brain of friends and peers. I began dressing (to what i thought, later to be refitted by my ex) better. I began to read recipe books, rather than fictional literature or comics. I became a meticulous cleaner. (a trait i was not taught growing up) But, ultimately, I wanted to be the best catch a woman ever had, when she finally met me, and I met her.
*In the end, I felt like I had become quite the Gentleman. I had classic taste in music. I cooked, I cleaned, I put her needs and desires first. I (as you may have guessed) was an excellent writer, so I wrote poetry, and short stories to include our future, and dreams. I am a giver by nature, and put other's needs above my own at all times.
[*There is no such thing as the perfect person. I was delusional, and needed someone to tell me so]
With that disclaimer, comes the negative bit.
You see, we can't all be perfect. We are all broken, or bent in some way. We have baggage, demons, monkeys on our back, and dark clouds. But, this is not a recipe for disaster. This is character. This is a challenge. This is your hurdle you have to overcome. The thing is; To find someone that will accept you for these things, and either A) Help you overcome them. or B) Accept it's part of a beautiful package.
Since leaving Los Angeles, I have dated little to none, but ultimately was set up with a beautiful and wonderful lady. She's geeky like me. She loves techy shit like me. She is a dog lover, a dreamer, a fireball, and best of all...genuine. In L.A. all I ever heard was "What have you been in?" and "What's your next project?". She never fell for that shit. She liked that her dog loved me, when she loved no one else. She liked that I could talk to her grandparents for HOURS without missing a beat. She liked that I cooked for her, when she felt lazy. She liked that I supported her dreams, when others thought they were nonsense. She liked the effort, the energy, and the commitment that I gave to her smile.
She was never anyone's priority, and I think it matters to make them know that they are. Yes, as all people that date/married/fuck we argue. But, it's nothing that can't be worked through with a little patience, and a whole lot of weed. *kidding?
But, to summarize:
Love isn't wrapped in a neat little package. It isn't how many times you have cooked for someone. It isn't how much money you spend on someone. It isn't what bills you pay, or where you take them for Valentine's Day. Love is rare. Let me tell you. I'm an actor, Muay Thai fighter, Chef, Cleaning Lady, Dog Walker, Laundry Attendant, and full time Escort. But, that does not entitle me to love. That is a perk. Love is understanding, and compassion. Love is listening, and not talking. Love is a hug when she wants to push the world away. Love is understanding that the love isn't always there, but it can be worked through. Love is giving them space when they truly need it.
There are many things that Love is. There are far more things that love ISN'T!! (sex isn't love you idiots...men, stop saying "I love you." to get laid. Women, stop thinking because he said "I love you." that it's okay to give up that love tunnel) Each time I have been in love, I fight for it. I treat it like a beautiful flower, and I feed and water it, care for it gently, and make sure it has plenty of light. I give it the attention I know it deserves, because if I don't, it may die, and I may never find another flower as pretty as that one.
So, fuckers, did you learn something? No? Well, neither did I. I still fuck up relationships left and right apparently.
But, I do know a few things:
1. Love is worth it. - Whether it be a week or 80 years...find love, and hang on to that shit. It's like a drug.
2. Love is complex. - You won't always get what you want, but when you do, it's THE BOMB!!! *do people still say "THE BOMB!!"?
3. Love is messy. - Along with love, comes broken hearts. Analyze yourself as much as you do the other person. You may be the fucked up part of the equation. But, it's not always pretty, so train yourself to see only the beautiful things in love.
4. Love is rare. - This is for all those people that find Love, but don't give it the respect that it deserves. The cheaters, the lazy cunts, the non-givers...Love is fucking rare. Yes, you will find something that is a FAX'ed version of love again, but you will never find the genuine article more than a couple of times in your life. The FAX'ed version will have a man/woman that says they love you, but still texts old booty calls (do people still say......nevermind), or still keep an open window. If you find it, you stop fucking around, and you work on it. You keep that shit close to your heart, and protect it with all your might, because you're not a fucking vampire, and you don't have hundreds of years to live. You get a couple of shots at this, and if you fuck it up, you're going to be spending a lot of time on Facebook on Valentine's Day, as a Gold Medal Winner at the Masturbation Olympics, and run the chance of telling your niece to delete your porn stash on your computer on your death bed, because you couldn't find a way to commit to a relationship.
5. Love is fucking hard!!! - It's an ever-evolving beast. One month may be all happy-go-lucky, the next is stressed and full of chaos. ADAPT!!! Don't be that person that takes your anger of LIFE out on LOVE! This person is your companion, not your enemy. They chose YOU to go into battle, so treat it as such. Direct your anger to the proper direction. If you can't....join a gym....it helps.
So, there's Knuckles rules for keeping love in your life. I have more, but at this point, I'd have to write a fucking book.
Bottom line...Find love, Nurture Love, Keep Love.
Life is short,
Love hard,
Your Bloody Valentine,
Knuckles
Today Knuckles takes a look into your heart. Not with a knife and rib spreader as you may imagine I would, but metaphorically. You know, that place where you keep your feelings and shit. Your love trunk.
I would normally rant and rage on how love can hurt, and just rail on that, but today we're going to touch you in a soft spot. [*No, Gutter, not there...now pull up your pants] I am going to give you some insight into how love can heal, love can embody, and love can give your life a whole new meaning.
Okay, I may touch lightly on the dark side, but not much...it is a happy subject after all.
Let us begin.
*cracks knuckles...gently lays fingers on keys*
At the age of 38, I thought I would be a successful actor. Living in a house in Malibu, California. Have two dogs. A 1969 Dodge Charger as my means of transportation, and more smiles than I have ever imagined. I just never had a solid idea of whom it would be with. I remember after high school, I would dream about this girl that I would walk on the beach telling stories of my life, and she made me feel so content. I never looked over, and never knew what she looked like, but I knew I had to have her when I woke up. When I was with her, I was calm, and peaceful. I could conquer the world in her name, and she would never worship me, but stand beside me as we stood atop the world we had slain.
What I realized about halfway through college is, I wasn't searching for a girl with no face. (how fucking weird would that be?) I was searching for love. I craved it. I needed it. I desired it. I ached for it. "Why?" you may ask? Because, when you're a beast, you need someone to tame you. That's why. I started boxing at 15. I was in martial arts by 18. Fought Muay Thai after high school, and into college. I have always been a fighter, but I never had an Adrian to my Rocky. Those years are long gone, and the beast still rages within me.
But, one thing remains certain, I love the feeling of love. I found my first adult love in college. She was the best. She was smart, conversational, full of life, and just as new to Love as I was. We grew into adults together. Which, now I understand that was also part of the demise of the relationship. We hadn't fully flourished into the adults we were to ultimately become, and grew apart eventually, but WOW! what a ride it was getting there. You see, love is one of those things, that if it truly exists/existed in the relationship, and you look back on it after it's gone, you aren't angry, but you relish in the memories, and realize that the Love was what was important. I'm sure that there were bills to be paid, or that arguments had flared, but I don't remember those. I remember laughing, making snow angels in college, road trips to Chicago, trips around the world, and feeling complete when she was in the room.
That's the thing about love right? When they are away, you feel that something is missing. You feel incomplete. That's why you badger them with texts asking when they will be home, or you plan something sweet for them when you see them. Because, you (on a subconscious level or not) want them to be right beside you. They don't even need to talk. Their presence is what is important.
Backtracking a bit...back in college, I was so desperate to find love, and to keep it in my life, that I began reading women's magazines, self help articles, and taking classes that were Female Majority, just so I could pick the brain of friends and peers. I began dressing (to what i thought, later to be refitted by my ex) better. I began to read recipe books, rather than fictional literature or comics. I became a meticulous cleaner. (a trait i was not taught growing up) But, ultimately, I wanted to be the best catch a woman ever had, when she finally met me, and I met her.
*In the end, I felt like I had become quite the Gentleman. I had classic taste in music. I cooked, I cleaned, I put her needs and desires first. I (as you may have guessed) was an excellent writer, so I wrote poetry, and short stories to include our future, and dreams. I am a giver by nature, and put other's needs above my own at all times.
[*There is no such thing as the perfect person. I was delusional, and needed someone to tell me so]
With that disclaimer, comes the negative bit.
You see, we can't all be perfect. We are all broken, or bent in some way. We have baggage, demons, monkeys on our back, and dark clouds. But, this is not a recipe for disaster. This is character. This is a challenge. This is your hurdle you have to overcome. The thing is; To find someone that will accept you for these things, and either A) Help you overcome them. or B) Accept it's part of a beautiful package.
Since leaving Los Angeles, I have dated little to none, but ultimately was set up with a beautiful and wonderful lady. She's geeky like me. She loves techy shit like me. She is a dog lover, a dreamer, a fireball, and best of all...genuine. In L.A. all I ever heard was "What have you been in?" and "What's your next project?". She never fell for that shit. She liked that her dog loved me, when she loved no one else. She liked that I could talk to her grandparents for HOURS without missing a beat. She liked that I cooked for her, when she felt lazy. She liked that I supported her dreams, when others thought they were nonsense. She liked the effort, the energy, and the commitment that I gave to her smile.
She was never anyone's priority, and I think it matters to make them know that they are. Yes, as all people that date/married/fuck we argue. But, it's nothing that can't be worked through with a little patience, and a whole lot of weed. *kidding?
But, to summarize:
Love isn't wrapped in a neat little package. It isn't how many times you have cooked for someone. It isn't how much money you spend on someone. It isn't what bills you pay, or where you take them for Valentine's Day. Love is rare. Let me tell you. I'm an actor, Muay Thai fighter, Chef, Cleaning Lady, Dog Walker, Laundry Attendant, and full time Escort. But, that does not entitle me to love. That is a perk. Love is understanding, and compassion. Love is listening, and not talking. Love is a hug when she wants to push the world away. Love is understanding that the love isn't always there, but it can be worked through. Love is giving them space when they truly need it.
There are many things that Love is. There are far more things that love ISN'T!! (sex isn't love you idiots...men, stop saying "I love you." to get laid. Women, stop thinking because he said "I love you." that it's okay to give up that love tunnel) Each time I have been in love, I fight for it. I treat it like a beautiful flower, and I feed and water it, care for it gently, and make sure it has plenty of light. I give it the attention I know it deserves, because if I don't, it may die, and I may never find another flower as pretty as that one.
So, fuckers, did you learn something? No? Well, neither did I. I still fuck up relationships left and right apparently.
But, I do know a few things:
1. Love is worth it. - Whether it be a week or 80 years...find love, and hang on to that shit. It's like a drug.
2. Love is complex. - You won't always get what you want, but when you do, it's THE BOMB!!! *do people still say "THE BOMB!!"?
3. Love is messy. - Along with love, comes broken hearts. Analyze yourself as much as you do the other person. You may be the fucked up part of the equation. But, it's not always pretty, so train yourself to see only the beautiful things in love.
4. Love is rare. - This is for all those people that find Love, but don't give it the respect that it deserves. The cheaters, the lazy cunts, the non-givers...Love is fucking rare. Yes, you will find something that is a FAX'ed version of love again, but you will never find the genuine article more than a couple of times in your life. The FAX'ed version will have a man/woman that says they love you, but still texts old booty calls (do people still say......nevermind), or still keep an open window. If you find it, you stop fucking around, and you work on it. You keep that shit close to your heart, and protect it with all your might, because you're not a fucking vampire, and you don't have hundreds of years to live. You get a couple of shots at this, and if you fuck it up, you're going to be spending a lot of time on Facebook on Valentine's Day, as a Gold Medal Winner at the Masturbation Olympics, and run the chance of telling your niece to delete your porn stash on your computer on your death bed, because you couldn't find a way to commit to a relationship.
5. Love is fucking hard!!! - It's an ever-evolving beast. One month may be all happy-go-lucky, the next is stressed and full of chaos. ADAPT!!! Don't be that person that takes your anger of LIFE out on LOVE! This person is your companion, not your enemy. They chose YOU to go into battle, so treat it as such. Direct your anger to the proper direction. If you can't....join a gym....it helps.
So, there's Knuckles rules for keeping love in your life. I have more, but at this point, I'd have to write a fucking book.
Bottom line...Find love, Nurture Love, Keep Love.
Life is short,
Love hard,
Your Bloody Valentine,
Knuckles
Monday, May 27, 2013
A Game of Chess That No One Should Ever Win
Good afternoon Knuckleheads. It's a lovely day here in the middle of fucking Knuckleville. I sit here with a glass full of kerosene, smoking a tree trunk, and pondering at that has fallen behind me, and flops in front of me in this journey I call life.
It always brings me back to the same word that makes the world spin, wars happen when it's not present, and smile spread like crabs in a locker room.
Love.
Yeah, yeah, yeah..."But, Knuckles, you've covered this topic to death."; Well, if that were true, then those of you that read my blog should be in happy relationships that have no issues, and you should live loving and fruitful lives. Right? No? Well, then shut the fuck up, sit down, and enjoy this eyegasm I'm about to unleash upon you.
Because, after a little thought, and reflection, I realized that love is a lot like a game of chess. It's turn based. You move, they move, you move, they move. It's give and take. The only difference is, no one should be playing to win, and the person that moves two or three times in a row, doesn't win, but is actually the loser. Why? Because the other person doesn't care enough to take their turn. So, what happens is, you keep moving and moving, but the other person gets up, goes and plays checkers or Xbox with someone else, and you're sat at your board, wondering why you're locked into this game, with someone that doesn't really want to play with you to begin with.
You see, you should never retool your life for someone, unless their actions support the effort. Would that person make those same overwhelming efforts that you make, that mirror your effort? Move for Move? If not, reevaluate your approach, and ask yourself the hard questions. "Am I putting more into this chess match than I'm getting out?" "Does this person take their turns after I take mine? Or, if they see that they've waited so long between turns, that I've taken three, so they step up and take three themself?" "Is it really worth it to continue playing, if I'm just playing by myself?"
When you get to be my age, relationships are far more important than when you're younger. You pick and choose more wisely. It's not based upon just one or two factors, but a list of things. You are, in fact, choosing a life mate, and not just a one night stand. So, you want the person on the receiving end of your attention to put as much into it as you do. And, if you're being a chump personally, then you need to realize that a plant doesn't grow without nourishment and water, so when it dies from lack of attention, who is the one to blame? You are. You fucking dildo.
To walk around holding someone's hand to me is the symbol of love and happiness. When you want to feel connected to the person you're walking with, even though they are inches away, speaks volumes to me. You want to feel their touch, their warmth, their existence, in the palm of your hand. It's the same when you sleep next to a person you love. You feel them breathe. You wake them up when having a nightmare. You are there for them, and they are there for you. An adult relationship is about depth, involvement, and support. It's about supplying what the other person needs, desires, and requires to stay happy. But, it's a two way street, and you should expect that same effort in return. So, don't do one big thing, and think that's good for the year...no, it's about small, strategic moves that give the sense of comfort. It's about action, and effort, and words, and communication. (can't stress that last one enough) Don't run from things that are important to the survival of your love. No, stand tall, and face it with open arms. Because, the conciliation prize in the world of Love, is not as pretty.
Just remember; Friends, pets, jobs, bills, politics, and other skulduggery are not nearly as important as having someone there for you to cry on their shoulder, feel their breath on your neck while you sleep, plan your future with, and most of all, to hold your hand as you take your last breath on this Earth.
Above all, don't be a fuckhole. No one likes a fuckhole.
Honestly yours,
Knuckles
It always brings me back to the same word that makes the world spin, wars happen when it's not present, and smile spread like crabs in a locker room.
Love.
Yeah, yeah, yeah..."But, Knuckles, you've covered this topic to death."; Well, if that were true, then those of you that read my blog should be in happy relationships that have no issues, and you should live loving and fruitful lives. Right? No? Well, then shut the fuck up, sit down, and enjoy this eyegasm I'm about to unleash upon you.
Because, after a little thought, and reflection, I realized that love is a lot like a game of chess. It's turn based. You move, they move, you move, they move. It's give and take. The only difference is, no one should be playing to win, and the person that moves two or three times in a row, doesn't win, but is actually the loser. Why? Because the other person doesn't care enough to take their turn. So, what happens is, you keep moving and moving, but the other person gets up, goes and plays checkers or Xbox with someone else, and you're sat at your board, wondering why you're locked into this game, with someone that doesn't really want to play with you to begin with.
You see, you should never retool your life for someone, unless their actions support the effort. Would that person make those same overwhelming efforts that you make, that mirror your effort? Move for Move? If not, reevaluate your approach, and ask yourself the hard questions. "Am I putting more into this chess match than I'm getting out?" "Does this person take their turns after I take mine? Or, if they see that they've waited so long between turns, that I've taken three, so they step up and take three themself?" "Is it really worth it to continue playing, if I'm just playing by myself?"
When you get to be my age, relationships are far more important than when you're younger. You pick and choose more wisely. It's not based upon just one or two factors, but a list of things. You are, in fact, choosing a life mate, and not just a one night stand. So, you want the person on the receiving end of your attention to put as much into it as you do. And, if you're being a chump personally, then you need to realize that a plant doesn't grow without nourishment and water, so when it dies from lack of attention, who is the one to blame? You are. You fucking dildo.
To walk around holding someone's hand to me is the symbol of love and happiness. When you want to feel connected to the person you're walking with, even though they are inches away, speaks volumes to me. You want to feel their touch, their warmth, their existence, in the palm of your hand. It's the same when you sleep next to a person you love. You feel them breathe. You wake them up when having a nightmare. You are there for them, and they are there for you. An adult relationship is about depth, involvement, and support. It's about supplying what the other person needs, desires, and requires to stay happy. But, it's a two way street, and you should expect that same effort in return. So, don't do one big thing, and think that's good for the year...no, it's about small, strategic moves that give the sense of comfort. It's about action, and effort, and words, and communication. (can't stress that last one enough) Don't run from things that are important to the survival of your love. No, stand tall, and face it with open arms. Because, the conciliation prize in the world of Love, is not as pretty.
Just remember; Friends, pets, jobs, bills, politics, and other skulduggery are not nearly as important as having someone there for you to cry on their shoulder, feel their breath on your neck while you sleep, plan your future with, and most of all, to hold your hand as you take your last breath on this Earth.
Above all, don't be a fuckhole. No one likes a fuckhole.
Honestly yours,
Knuckles
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Passion Froot Loops
How goes it Knuckleheads? Today's nugget of wisdom comes to you by the letter P. For once, it's not Punk, Pussy, or Pumpernickel. No, today it's all about Passion.
"Passion for what?" you ask?
Passion for EVERYTHING!! You see, I have been walking through this world for quite some time now. I see the actions, ideas, and functions of people, and it intrigues me. My biggest issue with the direction of how humanity is going is passion.
I believe people have lost their passion for most things. As a society, as a race (human, for you fucking idiots that thing ethnicity is a race), and as a culture...we have lost passion for all things beautiful. For example; I love to cook. I love to cook to the point that I will be working, and see a spice, and plan a meal around it, just to taste a hint of the spice I see. I know someone I care about is sick, it makes me crave cooking a chicken noodle soup that only I can create, just for them. That, my friends, is passion.
Long gone are the days where you hear of a band, group, or musical artist living out of a van just to make it from venue to venue to play his or her music for a small group of people that appreciate the words they convey, or the chords that they pluck. Long gone are the days where an painter doesn't try to make a million dollars off of one painting. (sidenote: Long gone are the days of the painter, sculptor, or what have you, because things are so mass produced, there is no market for them)
People "Like" things now. "Love" things. "Oh, I'm an actor, and I love it.". But, would you be willing to do it if you lived out of your car, and had to travel the world for peanuts? People love the prestige. The idea. People romanticize about the fame, glory, and name that comes with being an athlete, or an actor. But, no one eats, breathes, and bleeds what they love any longer.
Passion. A name synonymous with sex. A name that literally means: intense emotion: intense or overpowering emotion such as love, joy, hatred, or anger.
Yet, we cannot encompass it any longer. I have never dated a woman, that the word Passion did not enter my head. I have never chased a dream, that I didn't have a passion for. I will die in the street, before I find something I just "like" to do, and pretend it's a passion. In the bedroom, in the street, in our lives, we need more passion. If it's a particular care. Be passionate about it. Don't just like it. Learn why it's awesome. Learn the horsepower. Learn the manufacturer specs. Learn as much as you can, and then learn more. If you're passionate about an artist, find out as much as you can. If you're in love, figure out new ways to impress your loved one to the point they have no idea why you love them so much. Be passionate. Be more than "like".
I'm tired of a society of Like. I'm sick of a society of talentless, generic, simple process people. I'm over the idea of mass production of artistic talent. (i.e. posters of Van Gough, Michaelangelo, or so on...) I love strong. I create strong. I live strong. (not like those pussy ass yellow arm bands, but as a literal fact) I will never make love to a woman I do not feel passionate about. I will never accept a movie role that I do not feel passionate about the script. I will never listen to music that doesn't touch my soul on some kind of passionate level.
Even something as simple as you guys, makes my heart flutter, blood boil, and mind expand. That isn't generic. That is a passion of writing, with a bi-product of readers.
Few things in life remind us of life. But, creating, loving, and embodying, are a few things that make you appreciate being human. Appreciate the value of things we can accomplish in our lifetime. To witness things you aren't capable of, makes me see passion in other people. Whether it's artistic or not.
The world needs less money, and more passion. Less hate, and more love. Less propaganda and more truth. But, we as humans need to get back to what we know best...passion.
Fuck harder. Love stronger. Writer deeper. Draw cleaner. Act happier.
Be passionate.
- With sincerity,
Knuckles
"Passion for what?" you ask?
Passion for EVERYTHING!! You see, I have been walking through this world for quite some time now. I see the actions, ideas, and functions of people, and it intrigues me. My biggest issue with the direction of how humanity is going is passion.
I believe people have lost their passion for most things. As a society, as a race (human, for you fucking idiots that thing ethnicity is a race), and as a culture...we have lost passion for all things beautiful. For example; I love to cook. I love to cook to the point that I will be working, and see a spice, and plan a meal around it, just to taste a hint of the spice I see. I know someone I care about is sick, it makes me crave cooking a chicken noodle soup that only I can create, just for them. That, my friends, is passion.
Long gone are the days where you hear of a band, group, or musical artist living out of a van just to make it from venue to venue to play his or her music for a small group of people that appreciate the words they convey, or the chords that they pluck. Long gone are the days where an painter doesn't try to make a million dollars off of one painting. (sidenote: Long gone are the days of the painter, sculptor, or what have you, because things are so mass produced, there is no market for them)
People "Like" things now. "Love" things. "Oh, I'm an actor, and I love it.". But, would you be willing to do it if you lived out of your car, and had to travel the world for peanuts? People love the prestige. The idea. People romanticize about the fame, glory, and name that comes with being an athlete, or an actor. But, no one eats, breathes, and bleeds what they love any longer.
Passion. A name synonymous with sex. A name that literally means: intense emotion: intense or overpowering emotion such as love, joy, hatred, or anger.
Yet, we cannot encompass it any longer. I have never dated a woman, that the word Passion did not enter my head. I have never chased a dream, that I didn't have a passion for. I will die in the street, before I find something I just "like" to do, and pretend it's a passion. In the bedroom, in the street, in our lives, we need more passion. If it's a particular care. Be passionate about it. Don't just like it. Learn why it's awesome. Learn the horsepower. Learn the manufacturer specs. Learn as much as you can, and then learn more. If you're passionate about an artist, find out as much as you can. If you're in love, figure out new ways to impress your loved one to the point they have no idea why you love them so much. Be passionate. Be more than "like".
I'm tired of a society of Like. I'm sick of a society of talentless, generic, simple process people. I'm over the idea of mass production of artistic talent. (i.e. posters of Van Gough, Michaelangelo, or so on...) I love strong. I create strong. I live strong. (not like those pussy ass yellow arm bands, but as a literal fact) I will never make love to a woman I do not feel passionate about. I will never accept a movie role that I do not feel passionate about the script. I will never listen to music that doesn't touch my soul on some kind of passionate level.
Even something as simple as you guys, makes my heart flutter, blood boil, and mind expand. That isn't generic. That is a passion of writing, with a bi-product of readers.
Few things in life remind us of life. But, creating, loving, and embodying, are a few things that make you appreciate being human. Appreciate the value of things we can accomplish in our lifetime. To witness things you aren't capable of, makes me see passion in other people. Whether it's artistic or not.
The world needs less money, and more passion. Less hate, and more love. Less propaganda and more truth. But, we as humans need to get back to what we know best...passion.
Fuck harder. Love stronger. Writer deeper. Draw cleaner. Act happier.
Be passionate.
- With sincerity,
Knuckles
Monday, December 31, 2012
A Fistful of Fuck You 2012!!
Hello all!! Welcome to the final hours of 2012. One of the most roller coaster years that I have seen in my own life, society, and the world in quite some time. From election shit, to people arguing over rights and violations of such rights, we may have all lost a friend or two, gained some, witnessed the unveiling of others "true colors", and generally have been left with a foul taste in our mouths.
Countries have been in turmoil. Apocalypses have been avoided. (due to it being sheer stupidity to begin with) Economies have tanked. Many lives have been lost, but above all I think we have all learned a bit more about ourselves, and those we surround ourselves with.
I personally can say I have a new verve for life. I have released a few people from my life, but gained a few others. I have learned that people can learn to be more accepting, while others can be swayed with something as simple as a meme they see on Facebook or twitter. But, all in all, I can say I have survived this all intact, and a bit wiser for my journey.
Now, as we embark on what can only be known as "A new year", we must all focus more on being better individuals and a better society. Reassess your morals. Reassess your assertiveness. Learn to make sacrifices. Learn more compassion. Be open minded, and if you don't truly know of a subject, don't listen to here-say, do some research, and make your own judgement after doing so. Give more. Ask for less. If someone has done a kind action for you, then think of a way to reciprocate that same generosity. Life is about connections. Connecting with new people to find new friends, new love, and possibly a new journey. Connecting with yourself on an intimate, honest basis. Learning what your faults are and making an honest effort to repair them. Even the most mighty oak needs to trim off the dead limbs to continue to be strong and sturdy.
Everyone: Fuck more. Live more. Travel more. Explore more. Read more. Enjoy more. Kiss more. Cuddle more. Hug more. It's all good energy. I use the saying "Play through the pain." a lot. I think it can be relevant to many aspects of life. Loneliness. Sadness. Physical pain. Emotional pain....or whatever...just play through it, learn from it and repair it. Then, move on. Be better for your mistakes. Just because you are alive, does not mean you're living. Be the person that your 10 year old self wanted to be.
Couples: Make an honest effort to argue less, and care more. Give backrubs out of nowhere. Sneak a kiss on the others cheek when they least expect it. Write a poem and hide it where you know they'll find it during the day. Find a little time to look them in the eyes and ask them with sincerity how they are. Not at that moment, but in general. It goes a long way to know someone cares at a cellular level. Never be stand-offish. It creates walls. No matter what the subject is, sit down, and hash it out like adults and be transparent with one another. Love is rare...in any form...so find ways to hold onto it, because, take my word for it, when it's gone, it hurts more than the moment that is causing the chaos. Be the parent/uncle/aunt/guardian that you always wished you'd had when you were a kid.
Individually, just strive to be a better person. If you think you've hit a wall in life, look for a door, if you can't find a door, look for a window, if you can't find a window, look for a sledgehammer and start hammering away, because the thing about walls, is they can all be torn down. Be brave. Take risks. Life is a challenge, and you will ALWAYS be tested and you will ALWAYS need to be prepared to rise to the occasion. So, know that things will be rough, and know that no matter what, you will have support from the ones that love you, and therefore you should try to be as "lovable" as possible.
But, most of all, enjoy your motherfucking journey. Stop setting so many goals, and just make a checklist for life. "Goal" is a strong word. When you fail one, you feel a deep resentment towards yourself, and a sense of being a failure. But, a checklist for life, just enables you to move to the next box and shoot for it, and maybe try to come back to the one you didn't achieve before. As I read the other day, "Enjoy today, because you just exchanged a day of your life for it.".
Be proud of whom you are. Be comfortable in your own skin. Be accepting of diversity, and difference, because if we were all the same, then life would just be generic. We love to look at different flowers of all shapes and sizes, so why can't we apply that to our own damn race? (human race)
Now, as I head off to work my way through this New Year, I want you to all think of me, have a drink or two in my honor, and know that if you're reading this, that I genuinely care for you and love you. There are far too many negatives in this life to concentrate on them. There are far too many things to be afraid of, to not learn to be brave. But, there are far too few Knuckles on this planet, for you to not love me for who the fuck I am.
So, cheers...slainte...salud...salute...to all of my Knucklers...
Go get a skinful, pissed ass drunk, and when you're hungover tomorrow, scream out my name, and I shall give you the secret to life...
Happy 2013 One and All!!!!
- Johnny "Knuckles" Mangano
P.S. Stay away from Jagermeister for New Years, that shit's for 18 year old's and is a motherfucking cursed beast of a hangover.
P.P.S. *fist bump* Yeah....I still do fist bumps.
Countries have been in turmoil. Apocalypses have been avoided. (due to it being sheer stupidity to begin with) Economies have tanked. Many lives have been lost, but above all I think we have all learned a bit more about ourselves, and those we surround ourselves with.
I personally can say I have a new verve for life. I have released a few people from my life, but gained a few others. I have learned that people can learn to be more accepting, while others can be swayed with something as simple as a meme they see on Facebook or twitter. But, all in all, I can say I have survived this all intact, and a bit wiser for my journey.
Now, as we embark on what can only be known as "A new year", we must all focus more on being better individuals and a better society. Reassess your morals. Reassess your assertiveness. Learn to make sacrifices. Learn more compassion. Be open minded, and if you don't truly know of a subject, don't listen to here-say, do some research, and make your own judgement after doing so. Give more. Ask for less. If someone has done a kind action for you, then think of a way to reciprocate that same generosity. Life is about connections. Connecting with new people to find new friends, new love, and possibly a new journey. Connecting with yourself on an intimate, honest basis. Learning what your faults are and making an honest effort to repair them. Even the most mighty oak needs to trim off the dead limbs to continue to be strong and sturdy.
Everyone: Fuck more. Live more. Travel more. Explore more. Read more. Enjoy more. Kiss more. Cuddle more. Hug more. It's all good energy. I use the saying "Play through the pain." a lot. I think it can be relevant to many aspects of life. Loneliness. Sadness. Physical pain. Emotional pain....or whatever...just play through it, learn from it and repair it. Then, move on. Be better for your mistakes. Just because you are alive, does not mean you're living. Be the person that your 10 year old self wanted to be.
Couples: Make an honest effort to argue less, and care more. Give backrubs out of nowhere. Sneak a kiss on the others cheek when they least expect it. Write a poem and hide it where you know they'll find it during the day. Find a little time to look them in the eyes and ask them with sincerity how they are. Not at that moment, but in general. It goes a long way to know someone cares at a cellular level. Never be stand-offish. It creates walls. No matter what the subject is, sit down, and hash it out like adults and be transparent with one another. Love is rare...in any form...so find ways to hold onto it, because, take my word for it, when it's gone, it hurts more than the moment that is causing the chaos. Be the parent/uncle/aunt/guardian that you always wished you'd had when you were a kid.
Individually, just strive to be a better person. If you think you've hit a wall in life, look for a door, if you can't find a door, look for a window, if you can't find a window, look for a sledgehammer and start hammering away, because the thing about walls, is they can all be torn down. Be brave. Take risks. Life is a challenge, and you will ALWAYS be tested and you will ALWAYS need to be prepared to rise to the occasion. So, know that things will be rough, and know that no matter what, you will have support from the ones that love you, and therefore you should try to be as "lovable" as possible.
But, most of all, enjoy your motherfucking journey. Stop setting so many goals, and just make a checklist for life. "Goal" is a strong word. When you fail one, you feel a deep resentment towards yourself, and a sense of being a failure. But, a checklist for life, just enables you to move to the next box and shoot for it, and maybe try to come back to the one you didn't achieve before. As I read the other day, "Enjoy today, because you just exchanged a day of your life for it.".
Be proud of whom you are. Be comfortable in your own skin. Be accepting of diversity, and difference, because if we were all the same, then life would just be generic. We love to look at different flowers of all shapes and sizes, so why can't we apply that to our own damn race? (human race)
Now, as I head off to work my way through this New Year, I want you to all think of me, have a drink or two in my honor, and know that if you're reading this, that I genuinely care for you and love you. There are far too many negatives in this life to concentrate on them. There are far too many things to be afraid of, to not learn to be brave. But, there are far too few Knuckles on this planet, for you to not love me for who the fuck I am.
So, cheers...slainte...salud...salute...to all of my Knucklers...
Go get a skinful, pissed ass drunk, and when you're hungover tomorrow, scream out my name, and I shall give you the secret to life...
Happy 2013 One and All!!!!
- Johnny "Knuckles" Mangano
P.S. Stay away from Jagermeister for New Years, that shit's for 18 year old's and is a motherfucking cursed beast of a hangover.
P.P.S. *fist bump* Yeah....I still do fist bumps.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A Fistful of Monsters in my Closet...
"Concentrate long enough on a focal point of negativity, and it will consume you wholly." ~ Knuckles
I submit to you, my version of self help for the weak minded fuckwit.
Well, I guess you can be one or the other, or both, and still need this advice, but it will definitely shine some light on all the above.
Negativity is a monster. I mean a real bad, PMS'ing, fire spewing, cunt of a monster. It causes hate. It causes depression. It causes anger, and resentment, and fear, and a whole slew of other shit. Negativity also causes us to see shit with a slanted view. Now, I for one admit to submitting to this demon from time to time. It's a constant uphill battle to fight off this raging whoremonster, but I do a damn good job. But, what I've also learned is that it's harder to UNDO the effects of Negativity than it is to prevent it.
Imagine this:
You're a child. Maybe, 5 or 6 years old. You've got loving parents that buy you nice clothes, fun toys, and have given you a comfortable life. In your bedroom you have your walls painted to your idea of fun specifications, your toys are where you like to keep them, and your clothes are hung neatly in your closet.
One night, you go to bed, and you leave your closet door slightly open, and (unbeknownst to you, there's a sweater sleeve hanging out on the doorknob, a la Monster's Inc) you are in your bed, with the lights out before you notice this. Something goes *bump* in your closet and #POOF!# your sanctuary has all of a sudden become your tomb. You stare into this void...you stare...and stare...and try to make out what it was that made that noise, and you eventually see the sleeve slide off the handle and "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! IT'S A GOT-DAMNED MONSTER!!!" *BANG!* under your sheets you go to hide, where you are nearly pissing your pants, and you do your best to stay awake until the sun comes up.
Now, as a child, you'll eventually fall asleep, and awaken and wearily open your closet door to find nothing there. But, now the bug has been planted. "There's something in there!" Now your room doesn't feel so bright and happy. You don't see it as Disneyland anymore. More like a torture chamber of doom that some horrible beast is going to jump out and chew off your little cocktail shrimp sized weenie. (I'm a boy, we think of weird shit like that)
=
Now, this is where I like to relay my 90%-10% view on life. You see, that closet consumed that kid...one little fucking thing...consumed his thoughts, his day, his life...and, after checking to see if there was something there, and finding nothing, all he had to do was reassure himself nothing was there, and move on. But, something that was 10% of his day, became 100% thereafter.
Here's where we do this with adults. Say for instance you hear at Church that it's wrong to be gay. You'd never heard that, but you hear it from your Pastor/Preacher/Priest. You go home, and type into Google: Being Gay is Wrong...and KABOOM!!...a million things pop up and you start reading it. You read it into the night, and go to bed thinking about it. Now, you've piqued your interest, and you go back to some of those pages you visited the previous night, at work the next day. The more you read things from "People that know this for a fact" (self proclaimed), the more you feel like YOU know it as fact as well. Now, you start asking around, and find similar minded people to talk about it with. The next thing you know...you're at ant-homosexual rallies spouting bigoted verbality at anyone that will listen.
You had a perfectly happy life. Full of love, happiness, and kindness...and the Negativity consumed you to the point that you forgot about the 90%, and started focusing on the monster in the closet.
=
I see the same thing happen with my friends that are unemployed, or just out of a loving relationship that suddenly failed, or their life just isn't going the way they want. But, they have a friend like me to turn to...a good friend...that's 10% on it's own. They normally have family, that's 10%. A roof over your head -> 10%....and the numbers keep adding up. But, it's that Negative 10% that keeps their attention. I've written blogs before about how these fucked up partners in relationships find a man or woman that is 90% of what they wanted, but they fart in their sleep, or watch Jersey Shore, or some other knuckle dragging nonsense...and, that 10% encompasses them to the point that they start looking for someone that has the 10% that the person that they're with is missing, and eventually leave 90% for the 10% person, and finish unhappy and realize they fucked up when it's too late.
Look cock-knot, we all have a miserable beast in our closet. The best thing to do, is to nut up, and get your weak minded ass out of bed and kick the fucking door shut with authority, and choose happiness/positivity. Because if you walk through life looking into the closet, you're never going to play with your toys, paint your room, hug your parents, or crank on your noodle the same way again. You're constantly going to be looking over your shoulder at that crack in the door and peering inside to see that lack of a job, or that broken heart, or that exploded fuck doll. (or whatever else saddens you)
I know, I know...it's harder than it sounds...but, Tomorrow's big brother is Today, and what Today says...Tomorrow will listen to.
So, do me a favor, and stop hating others. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. Stop focusing on shit that really has nothing that directly effects your day-to-day reality. Other people have their own demons to fight, without you being another one. Because, when you hate, or your down, or when you are just a fuckhole altogether...you sprout horns, grow a tail, and become one of those raging hatemongers, and who wants that to be their legacy?
Kick that door shut. Live in the light. Embrace love. Duct tape that hole in your fuck doll and get back to plowing it, because Tomorrow just told me that Today said "I may not be at the party tomorrow, so toss one back for me!"
I love you all. You inspire me to write. You give my mind a constant workout. And, some of you give me a reason to rub one out. So, to all of you, thank you...you make my heart love more, my brain more intelligent and my....well....we'll leave it at that.
Monsterously yours,
Knuckles
I submit to you, my version of self help for the weak minded fuckwit.
Well, I guess you can be one or the other, or both, and still need this advice, but it will definitely shine some light on all the above.
Negativity is a monster. I mean a real bad, PMS'ing, fire spewing, cunt of a monster. It causes hate. It causes depression. It causes anger, and resentment, and fear, and a whole slew of other shit. Negativity also causes us to see shit with a slanted view. Now, I for one admit to submitting to this demon from time to time. It's a constant uphill battle to fight off this raging whoremonster, but I do a damn good job. But, what I've also learned is that it's harder to UNDO the effects of Negativity than it is to prevent it.
Imagine this:
You're a child. Maybe, 5 or 6 years old. You've got loving parents that buy you nice clothes, fun toys, and have given you a comfortable life. In your bedroom you have your walls painted to your idea of fun specifications, your toys are where you like to keep them, and your clothes are hung neatly in your closet.
One night, you go to bed, and you leave your closet door slightly open, and (unbeknownst to you, there's a sweater sleeve hanging out on the doorknob, a la Monster's Inc) you are in your bed, with the lights out before you notice this. Something goes *bump* in your closet and #POOF!# your sanctuary has all of a sudden become your tomb. You stare into this void...you stare...and stare...and try to make out what it was that made that noise, and you eventually see the sleeve slide off the handle and "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! IT'S A GOT-DAMNED MONSTER!!!" *BANG!* under your sheets you go to hide, where you are nearly pissing your pants, and you do your best to stay awake until the sun comes up.
Now, as a child, you'll eventually fall asleep, and awaken and wearily open your closet door to find nothing there. But, now the bug has been planted. "There's something in there!" Now your room doesn't feel so bright and happy. You don't see it as Disneyland anymore. More like a torture chamber of doom that some horrible beast is going to jump out and chew off your little cocktail shrimp sized weenie. (I'm a boy, we think of weird shit like that)
=
Now, this is where I like to relay my 90%-10% view on life. You see, that closet consumed that kid...one little fucking thing...consumed his thoughts, his day, his life...and, after checking to see if there was something there, and finding nothing, all he had to do was reassure himself nothing was there, and move on. But, something that was 10% of his day, became 100% thereafter.
Here's where we do this with adults. Say for instance you hear at Church that it's wrong to be gay. You'd never heard that, but you hear it from your Pastor/Preacher/Priest. You go home, and type into Google: Being Gay is Wrong...and KABOOM!!...a million things pop up and you start reading it. You read it into the night, and go to bed thinking about it. Now, you've piqued your interest, and you go back to some of those pages you visited the previous night, at work the next day. The more you read things from "People that know this for a fact" (self proclaimed), the more you feel like YOU know it as fact as well. Now, you start asking around, and find similar minded people to talk about it with. The next thing you know...you're at ant-homosexual rallies spouting bigoted verbality at anyone that will listen.
You had a perfectly happy life. Full of love, happiness, and kindness...and the Negativity consumed you to the point that you forgot about the 90%, and started focusing on the monster in the closet.
=
I see the same thing happen with my friends that are unemployed, or just out of a loving relationship that suddenly failed, or their life just isn't going the way they want. But, they have a friend like me to turn to...a good friend...that's 10% on it's own. They normally have family, that's 10%. A roof over your head -> 10%....and the numbers keep adding up. But, it's that Negative 10% that keeps their attention. I've written blogs before about how these fucked up partners in relationships find a man or woman that is 90% of what they wanted, but they fart in their sleep, or watch Jersey Shore, or some other knuckle dragging nonsense...and, that 10% encompasses them to the point that they start looking for someone that has the 10% that the person that they're with is missing, and eventually leave 90% for the 10% person, and finish unhappy and realize they fucked up when it's too late.
Look cock-knot, we all have a miserable beast in our closet. The best thing to do, is to nut up, and get your weak minded ass out of bed and kick the fucking door shut with authority, and choose happiness/positivity. Because if you walk through life looking into the closet, you're never going to play with your toys, paint your room, hug your parents, or crank on your noodle the same way again. You're constantly going to be looking over your shoulder at that crack in the door and peering inside to see that lack of a job, or that broken heart, or that exploded fuck doll. (or whatever else saddens you)
I know, I know...it's harder than it sounds...but, Tomorrow's big brother is Today, and what Today says...Tomorrow will listen to.
So, do me a favor, and stop hating others. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. Stop focusing on shit that really has nothing that directly effects your day-to-day reality. Other people have their own demons to fight, without you being another one. Because, when you hate, or your down, or when you are just a fuckhole altogether...you sprout horns, grow a tail, and become one of those raging hatemongers, and who wants that to be their legacy?
Kick that door shut. Live in the light. Embrace love. Duct tape that hole in your fuck doll and get back to plowing it, because Tomorrow just told me that Today said "I may not be at the party tomorrow, so toss one back for me!"
I love you all. You inspire me to write. You give my mind a constant workout. And, some of you give me a reason to rub one out. So, to all of you, thank you...you make my heart love more, my brain more intelligent and my....well....we'll leave it at that.
Monsterously yours,
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
RELEASE THE KRAKHEAD!!!!
....see what I did there?....<~~ It's a "Release the Kraken!!" joke....ahhhhh..fuck you, it's funny....
Here's something I haven't touched on in awhile, but really pulls my ball hair.
Self Proclaimed Geniuses/Bitches/Trendsetters/Party Animals....also known as...complete fucking idiots.
Let me start with the one that annoys me beyond all measure. The "Bitch".
"I can go from Zero to Bitch in 1 second flat!" "If being a bitch is what it takes for me to make my point clear, then I guess that's what I'll have to be." and, so on...you all know the person I'm talking about. The female (and sometimes queeny gay guy) that thinks she's being assertive, and aggressive, and Alpha, when all she is proving is her inability to articulate herself well enough to get her pro-idiot point across. "I get called a bitch a lot, but that just shows I stand up for myself." No, it fucking doesn't, it shows you are of inferior intellect and you think that yelling and being condescending will make you feel superior to the person you're locking horns with. When in all actuality, you feel threatened by said person, or else you wouldn't have to act in such a disgusting manner.
Look, no one likes to be made to look a fool. No one, but being a raging cunt only separates you further from the intellectual point you're trying to make to begin with. If you feel that you're a "bad ass", then you're not only mistaken, but also immature in your thought process. Because, life isn't about who can "out-bitch" the person next to you. It's about right and wrong. It's about moral and immoral. It's about being a fucking idiot, and being fucking smart.
Which, brings me to Fucktard Classification #2:
The Self Proclaimed Genius (also known as, someone being "Google Smart")
I will start with a quote from Neil deGrasse Tyson: "With automatic spell checkers running unleashed over what we compose, our era is that of correctly spelled typos."
Yet, you get this onslaught of people that constantly post something to their facebook or twitter accounts that is witty or whimsical that someone else thought up. Whether it's text on an image that says "Fuck This Monday! I'm Ready For Friday!" or a quote by some author or philosopher that they'd never heard of until they'd seen it on someone that they deem "Their Smart Friend"'s wall, and stole it for their own, these people run amok among us. Now, here's where these basement dwellers become scary; They are also the kind of fool that gives out medical advice to people that they drummed up from multitudes of sites they've perused over the internet.
Say, for shits-n-tickles that you have a headache. But, this is no NORMAL headache, it's the headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs. So, you text Fucktardio and ask "You ever had a headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs?" Well, Fucktardio, being the person that he is wants to impress with his superior intellect and begins zipping from site to site with his keywords. "Headache" "Extreme" "Fucking Awful" "Pucker"....what-the-fuck-ever..."Yeah bro, you've got a tumor. You see, my great uncle's aunt was a doctor on my Mom's side, and I was bestowed with all her wisdom. So, trust me, I'm not wrong on this." and then Fucktardio has planted the seed of stupidity into your inferior brain. The problem with the internet is this: There's a difference between fact, information, and news. Any cock-knot can post on a message board, and say he's a Board Certified Physician. (spell check helped him spell all those words, otherwise it would have come out Bored Country Fried Fission) So, you, being Fucktardio, go to this message board and see that this cunt bubble has posted some information for another person that has a similar problem to what you're searching for. You take this as gospel, and go forth with your newfound information, and pollute the world with it. When, all the while, if you would have just said "No fucking clue dude. Go see a doctor like a big boy should." everything would have been fine. After all, your 2 minute Google search is OBVIOUSLY just as reassuring as 12 years of Medical Training.
But, the assholery doesn't stop there. Oh no!! These are the people that ramble adamantly in your face about the most ignorant of shit. Or, if you bring up a topic of discussion, of something...let's say...that they just watched a special on Discovery about, then you have to listen to them correct you, and or "school you" on whatever it is that makes them feel superior. But, as soon as their 1 hours worth of knowledge (including their 15 seconds of knowledge on the new Tide with Bleach...because, let's face it, their knowledge came with commercials) is over, then you get the "guessing" of what it is, and they will fight and argue their point, whether it be true, or not, because they refuse to lose face in such a topic that they just OWNED in their mind. They will bark, embellish, talk over, make fun of your new shirt, or whatever they need to do, just to detract from their lack of information.
Speaking of new shirts...I want to give a massive FUCK YOU!!!! to Ed Hardy and his disgusting and atrocious clothing, and a big THANK YOU!!! to time for slowly making it uncool to wear it.
Trendy-Ass-Posers!!!
By definition, a Poser is: "One who attempts to appear to others as something they are not, especially by their manner of dress; a charlatan". We have in L.A. a time of year we call "Poser Season"....okay, I say "We.", but I mean "Me." It's basically that time of year that Pilot's are being shot. There's a massive influx of 17 to 25 year olds that are looking to be famous, fit in, and be the coolest kid in Hollywood. When, in all actuality, they're just in a pissing contest with one another. Crocs, Ed Hardy, Von Dutch, Juicy Couture, and whatever name brand you can throw at them. They spend more money on trying to be cool, than they do trying to succeed. "I'm wearing sarongs now. Yeah, it's the new thing." Is it reallllllly asshole? Why is it the new thing? Because we're so dumbed down as a society now that we need to look to other cultures to bite off their traditional dress to make a statement?
But, it doesn't stop with clothes. It's their coffee. Their hair products. Their music. It's always so obscure that you just want to punch them. Look, I admit that some things are "better" if they're purchased off the map. But, I don't shove it down everyone's throat I see so that they know I am a "trendsetter".
Here's a laugher. So, I was in Denver a few years back, and my best friend took me to a bar that his wife was dancing at (not that kind of dancing, it was a belly dancing thing, for fuck's sake people, i do have friends with some class after all), and everyone in this joint had those nasty white people dreadlocks and it smelled of patchouli. This broad (waitress) comes over to the table and hands me a one page paper menu and it PROUDLY proclaims at the top that this is an ORGANIC bar. Cool....no problem...
I order a vodka martini when the most annoying and troubling thing comes out of this chicks mouth: "Well, just so you know, our vodka is organic. And, we don't accept credit cards, only checks."
Okay, stooge, you're telling me, rather than me having a piece of plastic that I hold onto for AT LEAST 4 years at a time, cut up at the end, and put in the recycle bin...is somehow WORSE than cutting down thousands, and millions of trees, to make into little pieces of paper that will just get thrown away? Am I missing something here? The lengths that people will go to, just to seem "More organic"...or, in my eyes "cooler and more passionate about life" than the next person, simply amazes me.
And, after all that, I bring myself to my final fuckhole:
The Self Proclaimed Party Animal
This is the person that (male or female) will fit into one of two categories: 1) They know all the cool bars. They know every trendy hotspot for clubs (of which makes them bleed over into the previous category), where the neatest after hours places are, and where everyone is meeting for breakfast. Usually this person has a RotoDial of Skanks and Posers that they can call at any moment and will be at their side. They pretend (or possibly do) know every doorman and bartender, and will consistently let you know so. They throw money around "Even though I don't have to. They know me so well here, I could get comped all night if I wanted.", and do their best to be 'seen'. Or: 2) The person that once had a fairly social life, that hasn't for years, but still proclaims shit like "LET'S TEAR THIS CITY DOWN!!!" when you go out to happy hour. Or "BRO!! I'm going to drink you under the table!!", when you haven't been out with this person in months. Look, dick hole, I'm sorry you had 5 kids, and have a mortgage now, but that doesn't mean you need to try and recapture your youth by excreting pure idiocy from your pores every time we walk through the doors of a bar. You screaming at me and saying "YOU READY FOR SHOTS?!?!?!" does not make a space/time wormhole magically appear around us and scoot us back to a dorm room in college. It looks sad, and desperate and you need to just learn to be secure with your position. And, for the record....No......you fucking can't......[in reference to drinking me under the table: I am a professional drinker, and I should never be challenged, or I shall be forced to expose my true super power]
All-in-all, there's just a multitude of moron in this world lately. I attribute it to this....and, you're going to need to follow me here, it's going to get tricky:
Say, you have an A level student. Pure genius. Knows the subject matter backwards and forwards and is well versed on the whole topic.
This person teaches a class, and a student that also wants to be a teacher/professor (just assume everyone wants to teach after this point), and passes the class with a C.
Okay, so you have a C level student that graduates, and is now teaching students. This teacher teaches a class, and the next kid makes a C in his class. So, what is a C in this class, would have undoubtedly been an F in the first person's class. Yet, he passes, and HE becomes a teacher. Then, you have an ongoing trickle down effect or morons. When, inevitably, you have a knuckle dragging cave dweller teaching a class that he shouldn't even be allowed to collect the garbage for. And, here lies the conundrum...how do we recapture the intellect we once had? Is it a lack of passion? Or just laziness? Is it a lack of knowledge that we're all becoming inferior humans? Or, is it just that we know, but don't give a fuck?
Regardless of what it is, I think that we need to have more people creating quotable quotes, and less people reposting someone elses intelligent quips. We need less people biting off someone elses flavor, and more innovators. We just need to wise up, and start being better humans again.
When we start having a generation of kids that act like drug addicts, without actually taking the drugs, then we have a problem. I don't want to grow old with some kid that watched Jersey Shore all the way through college as President.
We already elected one retard. Isn't that enough?
Anyhow, go read a book, or take a class, or just open your mind to the fact that you're more than the clothes you wear, the labels that surround you, and the quotes your rip off. You're a unique human. One squiggly spooge that made it to an egg. So, stand up, have some pride, and don't ACT smarter...MAKE yourself smarter.
And, please, put down the fucking phone when I ask you a question you don't know...I know you have google on quick launch. Idiot.
Moronically yours,
Knuckles
Here's something I haven't touched on in awhile, but really pulls my ball hair.
Self Proclaimed Geniuses/Bitches/Trendsetters/Party Animals....also known as...complete fucking idiots.
Let me start with the one that annoys me beyond all measure. The "Bitch".
"I can go from Zero to Bitch in 1 second flat!" "If being a bitch is what it takes for me to make my point clear, then I guess that's what I'll have to be." and, so on...you all know the person I'm talking about. The female (and sometimes queeny gay guy) that thinks she's being assertive, and aggressive, and Alpha, when all she is proving is her inability to articulate herself well enough to get her pro-idiot point across. "I get called a bitch a lot, but that just shows I stand up for myself." No, it fucking doesn't, it shows you are of inferior intellect and you think that yelling and being condescending will make you feel superior to the person you're locking horns with. When in all actuality, you feel threatened by said person, or else you wouldn't have to act in such a disgusting manner.
Look, no one likes to be made to look a fool. No one, but being a raging cunt only separates you further from the intellectual point you're trying to make to begin with. If you feel that you're a "bad ass", then you're not only mistaken, but also immature in your thought process. Because, life isn't about who can "out-bitch" the person next to you. It's about right and wrong. It's about moral and immoral. It's about being a fucking idiot, and being fucking smart.
Which, brings me to Fucktard Classification #2:
The Self Proclaimed Genius (also known as, someone being "Google Smart")
I will start with a quote from Neil deGrasse Tyson: "With automatic spell checkers running unleashed over what we compose, our era is that of correctly spelled typos."
Yet, you get this onslaught of people that constantly post something to their facebook or twitter accounts that is witty or whimsical that someone else thought up. Whether it's text on an image that says "Fuck This Monday! I'm Ready For Friday!" or a quote by some author or philosopher that they'd never heard of until they'd seen it on someone that they deem "Their Smart Friend"'s wall, and stole it for their own, these people run amok among us. Now, here's where these basement dwellers become scary; They are also the kind of fool that gives out medical advice to people that they drummed up from multitudes of sites they've perused over the internet.
Say, for shits-n-tickles that you have a headache. But, this is no NORMAL headache, it's the headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs. So, you text Fucktardio and ask "You ever had a headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs?" Well, Fucktardio, being the person that he is wants to impress with his superior intellect and begins zipping from site to site with his keywords. "Headache" "Extreme" "Fucking Awful" "Pucker"....what-the-fuck-ever..."Yeah bro, you've got a tumor. You see, my great uncle's aunt was a doctor on my Mom's side, and I was bestowed with all her wisdom. So, trust me, I'm not wrong on this." and then Fucktardio has planted the seed of stupidity into your inferior brain. The problem with the internet is this: There's a difference between fact, information, and news. Any cock-knot can post on a message board, and say he's a Board Certified Physician. (spell check helped him spell all those words, otherwise it would have come out Bored Country Fried Fission) So, you, being Fucktardio, go to this message board and see that this cunt bubble has posted some information for another person that has a similar problem to what you're searching for. You take this as gospel, and go forth with your newfound information, and pollute the world with it. When, all the while, if you would have just said "No fucking clue dude. Go see a doctor like a big boy should." everything would have been fine. After all, your 2 minute Google search is OBVIOUSLY just as reassuring as 12 years of Medical Training.
But, the assholery doesn't stop there. Oh no!! These are the people that ramble adamantly in your face about the most ignorant of shit. Or, if you bring up a topic of discussion, of something...let's say...that they just watched a special on Discovery about, then you have to listen to them correct you, and or "school you" on whatever it is that makes them feel superior. But, as soon as their 1 hours worth of knowledge (including their 15 seconds of knowledge on the new Tide with Bleach...because, let's face it, their knowledge came with commercials) is over, then you get the "guessing" of what it is, and they will fight and argue their point, whether it be true, or not, because they refuse to lose face in such a topic that they just OWNED in their mind. They will bark, embellish, talk over, make fun of your new shirt, or whatever they need to do, just to detract from their lack of information.
Speaking of new shirts...I want to give a massive FUCK YOU!!!! to Ed Hardy and his disgusting and atrocious clothing, and a big THANK YOU!!! to time for slowly making it uncool to wear it.
Trendy-Ass-Posers!!!
By definition, a Poser is: "One who attempts to appear to others as something they are not, especially by their manner of dress; a charlatan". We have in L.A. a time of year we call "Poser Season"....okay, I say "We.", but I mean "Me." It's basically that time of year that Pilot's are being shot. There's a massive influx of 17 to 25 year olds that are looking to be famous, fit in, and be the coolest kid in Hollywood. When, in all actuality, they're just in a pissing contest with one another. Crocs, Ed Hardy, Von Dutch, Juicy Couture, and whatever name brand you can throw at them. They spend more money on trying to be cool, than they do trying to succeed. "I'm wearing sarongs now. Yeah, it's the new thing." Is it reallllllly asshole? Why is it the new thing? Because we're so dumbed down as a society now that we need to look to other cultures to bite off their traditional dress to make a statement?
But, it doesn't stop with clothes. It's their coffee. Their hair products. Their music. It's always so obscure that you just want to punch them. Look, I admit that some things are "better" if they're purchased off the map. But, I don't shove it down everyone's throat I see so that they know I am a "trendsetter".
Here's a laugher. So, I was in Denver a few years back, and my best friend took me to a bar that his wife was dancing at (not that kind of dancing, it was a belly dancing thing, for fuck's sake people, i do have friends with some class after all), and everyone in this joint had those nasty white people dreadlocks and it smelled of patchouli. This broad (waitress) comes over to the table and hands me a one page paper menu and it PROUDLY proclaims at the top that this is an ORGANIC bar. Cool....no problem...
I order a vodka martini when the most annoying and troubling thing comes out of this chicks mouth: "Well, just so you know, our vodka is organic. And, we don't accept credit cards, only checks."
Okay, stooge, you're telling me, rather than me having a piece of plastic that I hold onto for AT LEAST 4 years at a time, cut up at the end, and put in the recycle bin...is somehow WORSE than cutting down thousands, and millions of trees, to make into little pieces of paper that will just get thrown away? Am I missing something here? The lengths that people will go to, just to seem "More organic"...or, in my eyes "cooler and more passionate about life" than the next person, simply amazes me.
And, after all that, I bring myself to my final fuckhole:
The Self Proclaimed Party Animal
This is the person that (male or female) will fit into one of two categories: 1) They know all the cool bars. They know every trendy hotspot for clubs (of which makes them bleed over into the previous category), where the neatest after hours places are, and where everyone is meeting for breakfast. Usually this person has a RotoDial of Skanks and Posers that they can call at any moment and will be at their side. They pretend (or possibly do) know every doorman and bartender, and will consistently let you know so. They throw money around "Even though I don't have to. They know me so well here, I could get comped all night if I wanted.", and do their best to be 'seen'. Or: 2) The person that once had a fairly social life, that hasn't for years, but still proclaims shit like "LET'S TEAR THIS CITY DOWN!!!" when you go out to happy hour. Or "BRO!! I'm going to drink you under the table!!", when you haven't been out with this person in months. Look, dick hole, I'm sorry you had 5 kids, and have a mortgage now, but that doesn't mean you need to try and recapture your youth by excreting pure idiocy from your pores every time we walk through the doors of a bar. You screaming at me and saying "YOU READY FOR SHOTS?!?!?!" does not make a space/time wormhole magically appear around us and scoot us back to a dorm room in college. It looks sad, and desperate and you need to just learn to be secure with your position. And, for the record....No......you fucking can't......[in reference to drinking me under the table: I am a professional drinker, and I should never be challenged, or I shall be forced to expose my true super power]
All-in-all, there's just a multitude of moron in this world lately. I attribute it to this....and, you're going to need to follow me here, it's going to get tricky:
Say, you have an A level student. Pure genius. Knows the subject matter backwards and forwards and is well versed on the whole topic.
This person teaches a class, and a student that also wants to be a teacher/professor (just assume everyone wants to teach after this point), and passes the class with a C.
Okay, so you have a C level student that graduates, and is now teaching students. This teacher teaches a class, and the next kid makes a C in his class. So, what is a C in this class, would have undoubtedly been an F in the first person's class. Yet, he passes, and HE becomes a teacher. Then, you have an ongoing trickle down effect or morons. When, inevitably, you have a knuckle dragging cave dweller teaching a class that he shouldn't even be allowed to collect the garbage for. And, here lies the conundrum...how do we recapture the intellect we once had? Is it a lack of passion? Or just laziness? Is it a lack of knowledge that we're all becoming inferior humans? Or, is it just that we know, but don't give a fuck?
Regardless of what it is, I think that we need to have more people creating quotable quotes, and less people reposting someone elses intelligent quips. We need less people biting off someone elses flavor, and more innovators. We just need to wise up, and start being better humans again.
When we start having a generation of kids that act like drug addicts, without actually taking the drugs, then we have a problem. I don't want to grow old with some kid that watched Jersey Shore all the way through college as President.
We already elected one retard. Isn't that enough?
Anyhow, go read a book, or take a class, or just open your mind to the fact that you're more than the clothes you wear, the labels that surround you, and the quotes your rip off. You're a unique human. One squiggly spooge that made it to an egg. So, stand up, have some pride, and don't ACT smarter...MAKE yourself smarter.
And, please, put down the fucking phone when I ask you a question you don't know...I know you have google on quick launch. Idiot.
Moronically yours,
Knuckles
Monday, February 13, 2012
A Fistful of Fuckery, a.k.a Valentines Day
It sure does cost a lot to show someone you love them nowadays. "Today, the holiday is big business: According to market research firm
IBIS World, Valentine's Day sales reached $17.6 billion last year; this
year's sales are expected to total $18.6 billion." [SOURCE]
Throughout my 36 years on this planet, I have witnessed many a Valentines Day. (36, to be exact) Of all of those, the only time I liked Valentines Day was when I was a kid, and got to make a Valentines Box in grade school, that you hope all kids put in Valentines for you, (especially the cute girl), and then in High School where it was your one opportunity to buy something for the crush you had, in hopes that she would be wooed and you would spend the rest of eternity snuggling and holding hands. {side note: one year, towards the end of the Atari Era, we had a busted Atari, and I gutted it, and used the slot where you put the game in, as the slot for accepting my Valentines cards, and truly felt like fucking Einstein for thinking this up}
What I failed to realize at the time was, I was feeding into the Machine, and the women (vicariously) were learning some bad habits at the same time. You see, when you are told by the television, the radio, parents, friends, magazines, newspapers, and who-the-fuck-ever else that you need to buy something to impress the person you love/crush/wannafuck, you buy into it. So, you buy this girl some flowers, but then Ted the rich kid buys her flowers that are bigger and brighter, candy, a night at the movies, and a yacht....or so it felt. Your flowers are greeted with a "Aww, thank you.", and she turns on her heel to Ted, where he says something like "Aren't you Miss Popular today?! Har, Har, Har...." and they walk off giggling.
Now, don't get me wrong, not all women buy into this bullshit. Some are intelligent, quick witted, and see past the nonsense of it all. And, to you ladies, I salute you. But, with $18.6 billion annually, it's obvious that not all women and men get the hidden agenda behind this day.
Here's my thing, I have been in a few relationships. The ones I have been in, I gave my all to them. Poetry, love notes, random calls to tell them I love them, and most of all...extravagant meals that take blood, sweat, and talent to create. These relationships, obviously, all failed. To no fault of my own of course! *cough* *cough*
But, here's where I'm going with this. Growing up poor taught me something, love isn't about one day. Love isn't about what you can buy for the other person. Love is about what you're willing to give to the one you love. Time. Effort. Passion. Enthusiasm. Trust. Dedication. Discipline.....Your Life.
This is the true test of love. You give your all. Your soul bleeds with all things you feel, and you cringe at the thought of being away from this person, and you shake with anticipation at the thought of seeing them again. You cry when you think you've hurt them, but you skip when you think you've pleased them. All things I have mentioned, are free.
Many years ago, I figured it out. The true test of love comes to this: If you were on a deserted island. No TV, no radio, no media or correspondence with the outside world...Would it be possible to be in love. To show the person you loved them, and to remain in love?
Of-fucking-COURSE it's possible!! It's just bullshit to think that you need a card to express how you feel. It's stupid to think that Jake Gyllenhaal can show her how you love her better in a movie, than you can yourself at home. It's asinine that CHOCOLATE in a heart shaped box means "I love you." when you could have wrote her (no matter how shitty) a poem and put it in her lunch for work, or on her steering wheel of her car. Make her breakfast, and make your pancakes in the shape of hearts, or sing her a love song (Sinatra preferably) in your most broken and horrible voice. But, show the woman you love, that LOVE isn't based on a diamond, a brick of gold, or an 18.6 BILLION dollar industry. It's based on 365 days a year. It's based on the fact that you know in your soul of souls that you cannot live without this woman/man and you NEED them...not want them...in your life!! So, show them.
What happens if there's a day at work called "Work Day" when everyone works harder? Do you fuck off the rest of the year, and then work super hard on Work Day? Fuck no. Stupid. You'd get fired.
Therefore, stop sucking your left thumb, pull the right one out of your ass, and Man Up!! Real men know romance. Real men know passion. Best of all (read Shakespeare, Chaucer, Poe, Keats), MEN....know Love.
Love doesn't have a dollar sign in front of it. These women that say that they want a man that can "Supply me with what I'm worth." are shallow, and empty inside, and need something more than love......
No, your woman is your Queen. You are her King. To rule over a kingdom, you have to know how to please one another, before you can please the lands.
In finishing, I leave you with this thought:
On your deathbed, you are lying there with 1 minute to live...you can open a box of chocolates, and read a card...or you can gaze into the love of your life's eyes, while squeezing their hand that somehow has molded to fit yours perfectly over the years...you choose.
Me? Well, you know Knuckles, I'll be okay. I know love. I've felt it in the cockles of my heart. I know what I'm missing, and I know what I'm looking for...but for now...
I'm going to get me a hooker and buy her some candy, and hope she gives me an extra 30 minutes for free tomorrow.
Just sayin'....
I love you all....well...most of ya's....
-Johnny
Throughout my 36 years on this planet, I have witnessed many a Valentines Day. (36, to be exact) Of all of those, the only time I liked Valentines Day was when I was a kid, and got to make a Valentines Box in grade school, that you hope all kids put in Valentines for you, (especially the cute girl), and then in High School where it was your one opportunity to buy something for the crush you had, in hopes that she would be wooed and you would spend the rest of eternity snuggling and holding hands. {side note: one year, towards the end of the Atari Era, we had a busted Atari, and I gutted it, and used the slot where you put the game in, as the slot for accepting my Valentines cards, and truly felt like fucking Einstein for thinking this up}
What I failed to realize at the time was, I was feeding into the Machine, and the women (vicariously) were learning some bad habits at the same time. You see, when you are told by the television, the radio, parents, friends, magazines, newspapers, and who-the-fuck-ever else that you need to buy something to impress the person you love/crush/wannafuck, you buy into it. So, you buy this girl some flowers, but then Ted the rich kid buys her flowers that are bigger and brighter, candy, a night at the movies, and a yacht....or so it felt. Your flowers are greeted with a "Aww, thank you.", and she turns on her heel to Ted, where he says something like "Aren't you Miss Popular today?! Har, Har, Har...." and they walk off giggling.
Now, don't get me wrong, not all women buy into this bullshit. Some are intelligent, quick witted, and see past the nonsense of it all. And, to you ladies, I salute you. But, with $18.6 billion annually, it's obvious that not all women and men get the hidden agenda behind this day.
Here's my thing, I have been in a few relationships. The ones I have been in, I gave my all to them. Poetry, love notes, random calls to tell them I love them, and most of all...extravagant meals that take blood, sweat, and talent to create. These relationships, obviously, all failed. To no fault of my own of course! *cough* *cough*
But, here's where I'm going with this. Growing up poor taught me something, love isn't about one day. Love isn't about what you can buy for the other person. Love is about what you're willing to give to the one you love. Time. Effort. Passion. Enthusiasm. Trust. Dedication. Discipline.....Your Life.
This is the true test of love. You give your all. Your soul bleeds with all things you feel, and you cringe at the thought of being away from this person, and you shake with anticipation at the thought of seeing them again. You cry when you think you've hurt them, but you skip when you think you've pleased them. All things I have mentioned, are free.
Many years ago, I figured it out. The true test of love comes to this: If you were on a deserted island. No TV, no radio, no media or correspondence with the outside world...Would it be possible to be in love. To show the person you loved them, and to remain in love?
Of-fucking-COURSE it's possible!! It's just bullshit to think that you need a card to express how you feel. It's stupid to think that Jake Gyllenhaal can show her how you love her better in a movie, than you can yourself at home. It's asinine that CHOCOLATE in a heart shaped box means "I love you." when you could have wrote her (no matter how shitty) a poem and put it in her lunch for work, or on her steering wheel of her car. Make her breakfast, and make your pancakes in the shape of hearts, or sing her a love song (Sinatra preferably) in your most broken and horrible voice. But, show the woman you love, that LOVE isn't based on a diamond, a brick of gold, or an 18.6 BILLION dollar industry. It's based on 365 days a year. It's based on the fact that you know in your soul of souls that you cannot live without this woman/man and you NEED them...not want them...in your life!! So, show them.
What happens if there's a day at work called "Work Day" when everyone works harder? Do you fuck off the rest of the year, and then work super hard on Work Day? Fuck no. Stupid. You'd get fired.
Therefore, stop sucking your left thumb, pull the right one out of your ass, and Man Up!! Real men know romance. Real men know passion. Best of all (read Shakespeare, Chaucer, Poe, Keats), MEN....know Love.
Love doesn't have a dollar sign in front of it. These women that say that they want a man that can "Supply me with what I'm worth." are shallow, and empty inside, and need something more than love......
No, your woman is your Queen. You are her King. To rule over a kingdom, you have to know how to please one another, before you can please the lands.
In finishing, I leave you with this thought:
On your deathbed, you are lying there with 1 minute to live...you can open a box of chocolates, and read a card...or you can gaze into the love of your life's eyes, while squeezing their hand that somehow has molded to fit yours perfectly over the years...you choose.
Me? Well, you know Knuckles, I'll be okay. I know love. I've felt it in the cockles of my heart. I know what I'm missing, and I know what I'm looking for...but for now...
I'm going to get me a hooker and buy her some candy, and hope she gives me an extra 30 minutes for free tomorrow.
Just sayin'....
I love you all....well...most of ya's....
-Johnny
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Defining That, of Which We Call Knuckles....
As previously stated, I like to be big. Not "big" in the sense of, say, needing to buy an extra seat on a United Flight, but "big" in the sense of personality, life, and actions.
Here's the reasoning behind my madness;
In my youth, I kept my head down, walked softly, and made little waves. I was bullied, talked down to, and generally just pushed around by life. I watched movies with guys that stood up for themselves, and others, and envied them, as well as admired them. They were the Superheroes of the real world. Men like John McClane of Die Hard. He was an average guy, that under pressure, became a super human. He couldn't fly. He couldn't turn invisible, but he had something inside him that made him want to save his wife, and other innocent people, because they needed it.
These "other" people are average, non-heroic, Keep Your Head Down people. They were me. I was the one being rescued, but that's not what I wanted to be. I wanted to be the guy saying "Yippee Ki Yay Motherfucker!"
So, I looked deep down inside myself, and I pulled up the whimpering, weak, timid heart that I had, and shook the living fuck out of it....
On a sidenote, it helps that I'm an Atheist at times. You see, a lot of people believe that this is just our earthbound self. They believe in eternity, and going to Heaven, and an afterlife. I don't. So, I believe this is our one shot at being the best ME that I can be. Which, helped in the creation of what you see (read) in front of you.
Back to my Boring Ass Story...
I shook the living FUCK out of myself, and said "Time to nut up, or Shut up!", and started doing little things day in, and day out, that were not typically things I would do. Standing up to people started off as a little mumble under my breath, that usually followed by a "What?" from the other person. But, in true John McClane fashion, the mumbles eventually became words, the words became sentences, and the nerves became steadied. Resulting in a defiant, strong, and stable conversation.
After learning that I could create an individual that I thought was exactly what I wanted. I no longer looked to movies for inspiration, but in turn, started looking inward. I wanted to create, in my mind, the best Johnny that I could. My own personal super human.
I had always thought intellect was a profound thing, and so I studied. I studied things that "I" wanted to study. Not for school. Not for classes. For me. Things that I wanted to know. Things that I wanted to be educated on, so that if and and when it ever came up in conversation, I'd be well versed on the subject. I'd sit in the library for hours, just reading books on the biological makeup of humans, Genghis Khan, British Parliament, Shakespeare, Religion, and a vast amount of other topics. I guess, in a way, it was a movie figure that inspired this after all, because I had envisioned how James Bond held peoples attention in conversations with knowledge of a certain topic.
Then, I realized I wanted to create. I wanted to leave behind something that was a part of me. I was a horrible artist when it came to drawing (i tried it), and painting. So, I joined Drama in high school. I was still coming into my own, and so I did Stage Craft, to just be involved. But, what was to become of that one simple move, would help mold the person I am today. I saw something in those tiny little plays that made my heart swell with a light that could illuminate the midnight sky. Acting. It painted a picture with words, with movement, with gestures, with history, love and passion!! It was a legacy waiting to happen.
But, what was to happen next, became even more obvious to the creation of me. You see, as in true "me" fashion, I became enthralled with acting and theatre. So, as it was, I spent more time reading about it. The history of theatre. The creation what acting is today. All things that piqued my interest, I would find in a book. And, then, at the same time, I started realizing something. These...words...they also paint a picture. Certain words had more weight, more vigor, more passion, than others. Certain phrases were rebellious. Certain stories were more powerful than others.
Thus, began my voyage into using these words in everyday life. People would be shocked, which interested me, by some things I'd say. It was a response to "words". I could say "Fuck." and catch an irritated look from an old woman. I could say "cunt", and garner a reply from people standing around me. And, so I began creating another part of my personality that I love...freedom of speech.
As I've said before, if you have a canvas (that is Life), and you have paint (that is words), why would you only paint in black and white? Wouldn't you want to use as many colorful words to paint the picture you desire?
A simple sentence, "Wow that movie was great.", becomes a powerful, rough, and brass sentence with "Wow that movie was fucking great." with a little more color.
I am now, the man that I wanted to be. I drink what I want, even though I didn't even start drinking until I was 22 (by choice), because I like to. I don't need to, I do it, because it is a part of the person I love to be. I write what I want. I say what I want. I do as I want. My actions my have controversial outcomes sometimes, but they are a direct result of me wanting to do what I wanted at the time, and therefor I regret nothing in doing so.
So, I smoke cigars, drink booze, swear, workout, eat right, study life, people watch, look at porn, and dissect humanity for what it is. I also stand up for the weak voiced, the silent walking, and bullied Average Joe. I created a man that is confident, articulate, intelligent, and passionate, and the benefit of that, is that I fear no confrontation, because there are only two outcomes to any situation, I will win, or I will lose, and either way, I am okay with either one. All, because, I believe that it helps me better understand myself. People are constantly searching for "themselves", but what they don't understand, is we get this one life...and instead of searching, they should be creating.
We are what we are, because of what we do. Don't let the world define you, because you can define yourself. If it feels right, do it. If it helps make you feel like "you", do it. Because, at the end of this road, there's death...and on that day, you'll want to look back and say, "I was the best me, I could be."
So, no longer do I need John McClane to be my guiding light. No longer do I need James Bond to tell me a martini is a classy drink.
Nope, I don't need any of those guys, because they're fictional, and I'm real. I'm a living, breathing super hero. I don't rescue kittens. I don't fly to burning rooftops and whisk grannies to safety...nope...I save myself, and those I love, from the mundane, and boring...I save myself from being weak, sad, and average. I still bleed. I will still die. But, I will die with the knowledge, that I conquered this cunt we call Life.
With all of that said...
Go fuck yourself...
-Knuckles
Here's the reasoning behind my madness;
In my youth, I kept my head down, walked softly, and made little waves. I was bullied, talked down to, and generally just pushed around by life. I watched movies with guys that stood up for themselves, and others, and envied them, as well as admired them. They were the Superheroes of the real world. Men like John McClane of Die Hard. He was an average guy, that under pressure, became a super human. He couldn't fly. He couldn't turn invisible, but he had something inside him that made him want to save his wife, and other innocent people, because they needed it.
These "other" people are average, non-heroic, Keep Your Head Down people. They were me. I was the one being rescued, but that's not what I wanted to be. I wanted to be the guy saying "Yippee Ki Yay Motherfucker!"
So, I looked deep down inside myself, and I pulled up the whimpering, weak, timid heart that I had, and shook the living fuck out of it....
On a sidenote, it helps that I'm an Atheist at times. You see, a lot of people believe that this is just our earthbound self. They believe in eternity, and going to Heaven, and an afterlife. I don't. So, I believe this is our one shot at being the best ME that I can be. Which, helped in the creation of what you see (read) in front of you.
Back to my Boring Ass Story...
I shook the living FUCK out of myself, and said "Time to nut up, or Shut up!", and started doing little things day in, and day out, that were not typically things I would do. Standing up to people started off as a little mumble under my breath, that usually followed by a "What?" from the other person. But, in true John McClane fashion, the mumbles eventually became words, the words became sentences, and the nerves became steadied. Resulting in a defiant, strong, and stable conversation.
After learning that I could create an individual that I thought was exactly what I wanted. I no longer looked to movies for inspiration, but in turn, started looking inward. I wanted to create, in my mind, the best Johnny that I could. My own personal super human.
I had always thought intellect was a profound thing, and so I studied. I studied things that "I" wanted to study. Not for school. Not for classes. For me. Things that I wanted to know. Things that I wanted to be educated on, so that if and and when it ever came up in conversation, I'd be well versed on the subject. I'd sit in the library for hours, just reading books on the biological makeup of humans, Genghis Khan, British Parliament, Shakespeare, Religion, and a vast amount of other topics. I guess, in a way, it was a movie figure that inspired this after all, because I had envisioned how James Bond held peoples attention in conversations with knowledge of a certain topic.
Then, I realized I wanted to create. I wanted to leave behind something that was a part of me. I was a horrible artist when it came to drawing (i tried it), and painting. So, I joined Drama in high school. I was still coming into my own, and so I did Stage Craft, to just be involved. But, what was to become of that one simple move, would help mold the person I am today. I saw something in those tiny little plays that made my heart swell with a light that could illuminate the midnight sky. Acting. It painted a picture with words, with movement, with gestures, with history, love and passion!! It was a legacy waiting to happen.
But, what was to happen next, became even more obvious to the creation of me. You see, as in true "me" fashion, I became enthralled with acting and theatre. So, as it was, I spent more time reading about it. The history of theatre. The creation what acting is today. All things that piqued my interest, I would find in a book. And, then, at the same time, I started realizing something. These...words...they also paint a picture. Certain words had more weight, more vigor, more passion, than others. Certain phrases were rebellious. Certain stories were more powerful than others.
Thus, began my voyage into using these words in everyday life. People would be shocked, which interested me, by some things I'd say. It was a response to "words". I could say "Fuck." and catch an irritated look from an old woman. I could say "cunt", and garner a reply from people standing around me. And, so I began creating another part of my personality that I love...freedom of speech.
As I've said before, if you have a canvas (that is Life), and you have paint (that is words), why would you only paint in black and white? Wouldn't you want to use as many colorful words to paint the picture you desire?
A simple sentence, "Wow that movie was great.", becomes a powerful, rough, and brass sentence with "Wow that movie was fucking great." with a little more color.
I am now, the man that I wanted to be. I drink what I want, even though I didn't even start drinking until I was 22 (by choice), because I like to. I don't need to, I do it, because it is a part of the person I love to be. I write what I want. I say what I want. I do as I want. My actions my have controversial outcomes sometimes, but they are a direct result of me wanting to do what I wanted at the time, and therefor I regret nothing in doing so.
So, I smoke cigars, drink booze, swear, workout, eat right, study life, people watch, look at porn, and dissect humanity for what it is. I also stand up for the weak voiced, the silent walking, and bullied Average Joe. I created a man that is confident, articulate, intelligent, and passionate, and the benefit of that, is that I fear no confrontation, because there are only two outcomes to any situation, I will win, or I will lose, and either way, I am okay with either one. All, because, I believe that it helps me better understand myself. People are constantly searching for "themselves", but what they don't understand, is we get this one life...and instead of searching, they should be creating.
We are what we are, because of what we do. Don't let the world define you, because you can define yourself. If it feels right, do it. If it helps make you feel like "you", do it. Because, at the end of this road, there's death...and on that day, you'll want to look back and say, "I was the best me, I could be."
So, no longer do I need John McClane to be my guiding light. No longer do I need James Bond to tell me a martini is a classy drink.
Nope, I don't need any of those guys, because they're fictional, and I'm real. I'm a living, breathing super hero. I don't rescue kittens. I don't fly to burning rooftops and whisk grannies to safety...nope...I save myself, and those I love, from the mundane, and boring...I save myself from being weak, sad, and average. I still bleed. I will still die. But, I will die with the knowledge, that I conquered this cunt we call Life.
With all of that said...
Go fuck yourself...
-Knuckles
Saturday, November 20, 2010
You're your own pussy...
No, morons, I'm not talking about fucking your fist. I'm talking about being "Your own worst enemy."
Let me explain.
I get this a lot: "Wow, you've got a positive approach to nearly everything. You have a lot of bad shit going on in your life, yet you always seem to be happy. Is it a front?" No. Idiot. It's not. I'll tell you how I do it.
I go about life knowing that most people are stupid. Individuals can be intelligent, as I've stated, but as a whole the world is a negative, and horrible place. The news, never reports happiness, or "Everything was fine today in Burbank, California. Nothing happened, and everyone seems well fed and content with life." No, it's always about gunshots, death, murder, kidnapping, and such.
Commercials for Vegas never say "We have a great economy, and our water supply is not tainted with any chemicals. Life is good." No, it claims, "Come here, our hookers don't have STD's, infidelity is encouraged, and you can create a few new addictions with drugs, and gambling being rampant."
So, with so much negativity surrounding us at all points in society, compiled with your own demons, how is it possible to fight a war that will never be won.
Simple. You are your own vessel of happiness.
Jersey Shore is a television show full of uneducated morons, that have fame and (now) money. You can say "I wish I had that money/fame/attention." Or, you can do as I do, and paint a clown face on each of them and see it as a comedy.
People see all around them that Text Speak is dominating the way people write. Even if it's NOT 140 characters or less. I see it as, "This gives me the opportunity to prove that I'm more intelligent than Mr. I hv HEART 4U BAYBE!!" And, I laugh.
If you are looking at the world and thinking "Where is the happiness? I want to be happy!" You're looking to the WORLD to make you happy. It's not up to the world to create your happiness. No more than looking to a lottery ticket to make you "A Success". Creation is from within. You create happiness. You create fun. You create drive, ambition, passion, excitement....
If you can't find these things within, then how do you expect to recognize them, without?
Look, I get the whole "The world is a monster." thing. But, don't be a pussy. If you want to be strong, happy, or what-the-fuck-ever....grow a pair of bristly haired, bloody veined, heavy weighing balls, and stop being a puss. Otherwise, you will be perpetually in a cycle of "Oh, woe is me!"
Be the change you want to see.
Bitches.
Your guru in disguise,
Knuckles
I don't think I'm ever going to reach that perfect level of drunk....does that count as a pussy-assed complaint?
Let me explain.
I get this a lot: "Wow, you've got a positive approach to nearly everything. You have a lot of bad shit going on in your life, yet you always seem to be happy. Is it a front?" No. Idiot. It's not. I'll tell you how I do it.
I go about life knowing that most people are stupid. Individuals can be intelligent, as I've stated, but as a whole the world is a negative, and horrible place. The news, never reports happiness, or "Everything was fine today in Burbank, California. Nothing happened, and everyone seems well fed and content with life." No, it's always about gunshots, death, murder, kidnapping, and such.
Commercials for Vegas never say "We have a great economy, and our water supply is not tainted with any chemicals. Life is good." No, it claims, "Come here, our hookers don't have STD's, infidelity is encouraged, and you can create a few new addictions with drugs, and gambling being rampant."
So, with so much negativity surrounding us at all points in society, compiled with your own demons, how is it possible to fight a war that will never be won.
Simple. You are your own vessel of happiness.
Jersey Shore is a television show full of uneducated morons, that have fame and (now) money. You can say "I wish I had that money/fame/attention." Or, you can do as I do, and paint a clown face on each of them and see it as a comedy.
People see all around them that Text Speak is dominating the way people write. Even if it's NOT 140 characters or less. I see it as, "This gives me the opportunity to prove that I'm more intelligent than Mr. I hv HEART 4U BAYBE!!" And, I laugh.
If you are looking at the world and thinking "Where is the happiness? I want to be happy!" You're looking to the WORLD to make you happy. It's not up to the world to create your happiness. No more than looking to a lottery ticket to make you "A Success". Creation is from within. You create happiness. You create fun. You create drive, ambition, passion, excitement....
If you can't find these things within, then how do you expect to recognize them, without?
Look, I get the whole "The world is a monster." thing. But, don't be a pussy. If you want to be strong, happy, or what-the-fuck-ever....grow a pair of bristly haired, bloody veined, heavy weighing balls, and stop being a puss. Otherwise, you will be perpetually in a cycle of "Oh, woe is me!"
Be the change you want to see.
Bitches.
Your guru in disguise,
Knuckles
I don't think I'm ever going to reach that perfect level of drunk....does that count as a pussy-assed complaint?
Monday, December 14, 2009
Is it possible to break your own heart?...
Remember back (i'd ask you to close your eyes and remember back, but then you couldn't actually read what i'm writing here), back to a time when innocence ruled our personality, and a new pair of sneakers meant we could run faster than the day before. Remember back to that time when you'd run a race in the playground to try and win, but ultimately you were just happy you were competing. I think this is where it begins...that feeling....that rush...of acceptance...of dominance....of an ego. When you're younger than that, you do things because it makes YOU happy. Playing with your toys. Eating a cheerio you found on the floor. Hugging your Mom.
Innocence.
Then comes the acknowledgment of dominance. If you win that race, all the kids think you're cool. Notably because you're faster, but you become known as the 'fast kid' and you feel cool. Sometime, someplace, another kid will challenge you, and beat you. So, it begins. You run harder, practice longer, and break your back trying to get that title back. Not because you're curing cancer, but you want your title back....you want to be cool again.
From the time we get our first "Ego Stroke", it begins. With me, I see it everyday, being that I live in L.A. and am an actor myself. In the bars, at the clubs, even at BBQ's...the first question is 'What do you do?' ultimately with the follow up question 'What have you been in? Anything I'd know?' To the lower level actor, each and every time that question is asked it's like a kick to a bruised nut...it hurts...you've worked...but nothing huge...nothing...'known'. You could bust out a movie and say "There I go......!!!", but then you'd feel dumber than before for being in it so briefly. No, it's best to say you're a fucking janitor or something.....but, all of that is off subject....my true ramblings are about Lost Souls today.
Sometimes, with all the pissing contests existing in this town, you get caught up in the bullshit. You go through times of feeling inadequate, and miniscule. Once an actor has caught the bug, (be it in highschool, college or otherwise), it usually meant that you did some kind of stage performance and had the satisfaction of having that immediate gratification of applause. You felt 'cool' again. It's addicting. You want more, and more, and more....you feel...to use a word for a lack of a better one....accepted. Isn't that ultimately all we all want? That's why we buy the 'cool' clothes. That's why we buy a 'cool' car...beause we want SOMEONE to say, "Cool shirt!! Where'd you get that?" or "Damn that car is cool as hell, I'm still driving last years model."
To me, I see it everywhere. It's just more evident here in L.A. There have been times I have looked in the mirror, and a flash would go off in my head and I'd think "Who the hell is that?"
Seriously.
Growing up poor sucked. Growing up poor in Missouri sucked worse. When one kid would ask me what I got for Christmas, I'd always make up something I'd seen in a commercial on Saturday Morning Cartoons. I knew I didn't get anything, but it was so much easier than explaining why I had nothing.
I remember this one time...prepare for a tear jerker....I was roughly 6 or 7...and my school year was about to start, and I had worn out my old sneakers beyond all repair. (duct tape can only go so far) So, my Mom had to get me a new pair. We couldn't get any, so we went to this place where people would donate things to the poor, and if you were poor, they'd give it to you. Well, we got this pair of sneakers....and I use that word loosely.....because, they were made out of something I would assume was a mix between beef jerky and plywood. I 'think' it was a type of leather, but I can't be sure. To top it all off, they were blue...something of a smurf color (pre-smurfs)...but a bit brighter, and the outside was a little fuzzy, like a velvet painting. The next couple of days I tried my best to break them in, but they were so damned hard that they bruised my ankles on the bottom side from them not giving in. This was bad, because school was starting, and not only did I have neon blue shoes, but I was walking funny because of my bruises.
First day of school comes, and I head out to the school bus in the rain....I am kind of happy because I found a pair of my Dad's socks that were fuzzier than mine, but were quite a bit bigger than I should have had, but the fuzziness let me walk fairly normal with my bruised ankles.
I arrive to school, and walk off the bus and a girl says to me, "Excuse me, but your shoes have dyed your socks." and to my horror, I look down and in the pouring rain notice that my shoes are bleeding....I guess the hard material didn't absorb the neon ink they dipped them in. So, the ink is running down my shoe...soaking into my sock....and creating a kind of blue/brown puddle where I'm standing.....this is right off the bus, so I have every kid staring at me on the way passed. Some laugh, some whisper....most just look at what I'm staring at.
That day, that very day, I didn't stare at my shoes.....but stared at everyone elses. No one else had shoes that bled. No one else suffered that embarrassment.
I did, and I knew I had to do whatever it took to make my life better. The older I got, the more I realized that everyone else had nice things, and I had nothing. Older than that I realized that family means more than material things, but people don't look at you at first glance and say..."My, but that guy seems like he has a good relationship with his mother."
No, they look at your shoes, they look at your job, they look at your shirt, your haircut, your everything....they look at everything but your soul...because, that doesn't matter in this town.
If you're nice, you're weak...if you're a liar, a cheat, and a thief, then you're exactly the person that's going to fit right in.
We all have to play the game. We have to...to an extent....I'm trying my best to not lose myself....trying hard. But, in a town where everyone talks to the guy that just did a piece on CSI, and you're left to get the drinks....it's hard to be true.
Listen, a man once said..."Fake it till you make it.", but that only holds so much weight with me. I love who I am....I love the fact I open doors for everyone...I love the fact I say "Thank you." instead of "Thanks.". I love the fact that I call women 'ladies' and men 'gentlemen'.
There's gotta be something said for a boy that has a country accent and knows more about the New York Yankees than half the city of New York.
I love what I love, and it's because it makes me feel good. But, to be accepted, to be truly loved by all.....that's where we start losing focus.....Plato said: An opinion is the medium between knowledge and ignorance.
This holds true for all those that think I need to be 'cooler' to do this, or to have as many jobs as he's had to be cool. That's your opinion.....
I'm now in my 30's...and I think my sneakers are fine as-is. I think I can run fast enough....and I think I'll be just fine standing here in the rain alone.
So, be proud of who you are...not for who you are to others...but, who you are to yourself. Judge yourself by what you see in the mirror inside your soul...take a good hard look at yourself and determine whether you're doing what you're doing for the right reasons. Do you love yourself, 'as-is'? Go to the gym because you want to be healthy....not because Joe's body is better than yours....read a book, not because it's on the Oprah List, but because it's the genre of book you like to read.
You can truly see how much I give a damn about making others happy right now, or I would've stopped writing ages ago...but, this sets my soul at ease.
I have a mother that I love dearly. She's a hippie that truly loves the earth. I have a father that is like Hank Hill and Boomhower rolled into one. I have a sister that is a know-it-all, and a brother that's a pothead....but you know what?....I love them for who they are...they each love me for who I am. No frills...no bullshit.....just a skinny boy with bruised ankles and blue socks....
It doesn't matter what you wear...it doesn't matter how cool your car is....what matters in the end is happiness. Do what makes you happy. Live with respect in your heart, and a sense of decency to you....and people will remember you for the right things....don't let the world rule you.....
Goodnight all....my heart is heavy....very heavy....but, word by word....blog by blog....I'm freeing it of all of its rubbish.
Love me,
Johnny
Innocence.
Then comes the acknowledgment of dominance. If you win that race, all the kids think you're cool. Notably because you're faster, but you become known as the 'fast kid' and you feel cool. Sometime, someplace, another kid will challenge you, and beat you. So, it begins. You run harder, practice longer, and break your back trying to get that title back. Not because you're curing cancer, but you want your title back....you want to be cool again.
From the time we get our first "Ego Stroke", it begins. With me, I see it everyday, being that I live in L.A. and am an actor myself. In the bars, at the clubs, even at BBQ's...the first question is 'What do you do?' ultimately with the follow up question 'What have you been in? Anything I'd know?' To the lower level actor, each and every time that question is asked it's like a kick to a bruised nut...it hurts...you've worked...but nothing huge...nothing...'known'. You could bust out a movie and say "There I go......!!!", but then you'd feel dumber than before for being in it so briefly. No, it's best to say you're a fucking janitor or something.....but, all of that is off subject....my true ramblings are about Lost Souls today.
Sometimes, with all the pissing contests existing in this town, you get caught up in the bullshit. You go through times of feeling inadequate, and miniscule. Once an actor has caught the bug, (be it in highschool, college or otherwise), it usually meant that you did some kind of stage performance and had the satisfaction of having that immediate gratification of applause. You felt 'cool' again. It's addicting. You want more, and more, and more....you feel...to use a word for a lack of a better one....accepted. Isn't that ultimately all we all want? That's why we buy the 'cool' clothes. That's why we buy a 'cool' car...beause we want SOMEONE to say, "Cool shirt!! Where'd you get that?" or "Damn that car is cool as hell, I'm still driving last years model."
To me, I see it everywhere. It's just more evident here in L.A. There have been times I have looked in the mirror, and a flash would go off in my head and I'd think "Who the hell is that?"
Seriously.
Growing up poor sucked. Growing up poor in Missouri sucked worse. When one kid would ask me what I got for Christmas, I'd always make up something I'd seen in a commercial on Saturday Morning Cartoons. I knew I didn't get anything, but it was so much easier than explaining why I had nothing.
I remember this one time...prepare for a tear jerker....I was roughly 6 or 7...and my school year was about to start, and I had worn out my old sneakers beyond all repair. (duct tape can only go so far) So, my Mom had to get me a new pair. We couldn't get any, so we went to this place where people would donate things to the poor, and if you were poor, they'd give it to you. Well, we got this pair of sneakers....and I use that word loosely.....because, they were made out of something I would assume was a mix between beef jerky and plywood. I 'think' it was a type of leather, but I can't be sure. To top it all off, they were blue...something of a smurf color (pre-smurfs)...but a bit brighter, and the outside was a little fuzzy, like a velvet painting. The next couple of days I tried my best to break them in, but they were so damned hard that they bruised my ankles on the bottom side from them not giving in. This was bad, because school was starting, and not only did I have neon blue shoes, but I was walking funny because of my bruises.
First day of school comes, and I head out to the school bus in the rain....I am kind of happy because I found a pair of my Dad's socks that were fuzzier than mine, but were quite a bit bigger than I should have had, but the fuzziness let me walk fairly normal with my bruised ankles.
I arrive to school, and walk off the bus and a girl says to me, "Excuse me, but your shoes have dyed your socks." and to my horror, I look down and in the pouring rain notice that my shoes are bleeding....I guess the hard material didn't absorb the neon ink they dipped them in. So, the ink is running down my shoe...soaking into my sock....and creating a kind of blue/brown puddle where I'm standing.....this is right off the bus, so I have every kid staring at me on the way passed. Some laugh, some whisper....most just look at what I'm staring at.
That day, that very day, I didn't stare at my shoes.....but stared at everyone elses. No one else had shoes that bled. No one else suffered that embarrassment.
I did, and I knew I had to do whatever it took to make my life better. The older I got, the more I realized that everyone else had nice things, and I had nothing. Older than that I realized that family means more than material things, but people don't look at you at first glance and say..."My, but that guy seems like he has a good relationship with his mother."
No, they look at your shoes, they look at your job, they look at your shirt, your haircut, your everything....they look at everything but your soul...because, that doesn't matter in this town.
If you're nice, you're weak...if you're a liar, a cheat, and a thief, then you're exactly the person that's going to fit right in.
We all have to play the game. We have to...to an extent....I'm trying my best to not lose myself....trying hard. But, in a town where everyone talks to the guy that just did a piece on CSI, and you're left to get the drinks....it's hard to be true.
Listen, a man once said..."Fake it till you make it.", but that only holds so much weight with me. I love who I am....I love the fact I open doors for everyone...I love the fact I say "Thank you." instead of "Thanks.". I love the fact that I call women 'ladies' and men 'gentlemen'.
There's gotta be something said for a boy that has a country accent and knows more about the New York Yankees than half the city of New York.
I love what I love, and it's because it makes me feel good. But, to be accepted, to be truly loved by all.....that's where we start losing focus.....Plato said: An opinion is the medium between knowledge and ignorance.
This holds true for all those that think I need to be 'cooler' to do this, or to have as many jobs as he's had to be cool. That's your opinion.....
I'm now in my 30's...and I think my sneakers are fine as-is. I think I can run fast enough....and I think I'll be just fine standing here in the rain alone.
So, be proud of who you are...not for who you are to others...but, who you are to yourself. Judge yourself by what you see in the mirror inside your soul...take a good hard look at yourself and determine whether you're doing what you're doing for the right reasons. Do you love yourself, 'as-is'? Go to the gym because you want to be healthy....not because Joe's body is better than yours....read a book, not because it's on the Oprah List, but because it's the genre of book you like to read.
You can truly see how much I give a damn about making others happy right now, or I would've stopped writing ages ago...but, this sets my soul at ease.
I have a mother that I love dearly. She's a hippie that truly loves the earth. I have a father that is like Hank Hill and Boomhower rolled into one. I have a sister that is a know-it-all, and a brother that's a pothead....but you know what?....I love them for who they are...they each love me for who I am. No frills...no bullshit.....just a skinny boy with bruised ankles and blue socks....
It doesn't matter what you wear...it doesn't matter how cool your car is....what matters in the end is happiness. Do what makes you happy. Live with respect in your heart, and a sense of decency to you....and people will remember you for the right things....don't let the world rule you.....
Goodnight all....my heart is heavy....very heavy....but, word by word....blog by blog....I'm freeing it of all of its rubbish.
Love me,
Johnny
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I'm not allowed to have imaginary friends....
Many years ago, my grandmother saw me chucking walnuts at my brother one afternoon, and said..."I'm taking you to meet someone very important, and that you need in your life." I replied, "Who's that?" and her answer. "God." Mind you, I was very young, and so was my brother, and a sense of religion had not entered my mind at the least. We arrive at a building (church) and she gets out, makes me get out and I say..."Which one is he?" she says "He's not someone you can see or touch, he's all around you, all the time." "Mom told me I'm not allowed to have imaginary friends anymore." "He's not imaginary, He's with us all the time, looking down upon us to make sure we do good with our lives." "So, if he's with us all the time, why did we have to come all the way here for me to meet someone that isn't even here?".....this continued for quite awhile. Even at this young age, I knew there was something shifty about God, Religion, and all that goes with it.
I've touched on this subject before, but I'm bored...and I just watched some guy try to convince Joe Rogan (great comedian, check him out) that Noah's Ark was real. So, it spurred me to write down some thoughts that I've always had plugged into my brain, but rarely share with everyone. So, this will probably piss off quite a few of you, but....I could really give two fucks.
Alright, so here's my theory....mass/organized religion is based on two things...worshipping Jesus Christ, and worshipping the Bible, right? Alright, I have to say, to me...I don't get the whole Jesus Christ thing. It's like this; If God created, the Heavens, the Moon and the Earth, then why worship Jesus? Shouldn't you be worshipping God? When someone sneezes, you don't say..."Jesus Bless you!!" you say, "God Bless you.". Well, most people will argue..."Jesus died for our sins." Well, if God is almighty, then HE is the one that killed him....right?...he orchestrates all that happens, and it's all his divine plan. So, therein, why not worship every guy that dies on a gurney in Iraq (which is fighting for our freedom), and then we bring him back to life with the little electric paddles. Same principle right? Plus, we actually know that this guy in Iraq existed, fought his good fight, and died, and came back.....which brings me to my next point....
The Bible. A book. Am I right? Written by people over 2,000 years ago. Not even Don Rickles was alive that long ago to see that this shit they wrote about was legit. In my eyes, if I wrote a comic book....about, let's say....Wolverine. It's fairly believable. Man suffers through experiments of the government, but then fights for all that is Right, and Good. Alright, so say....for conversation sake....all other books on the planet get burned up in some kind of apocolypse. The only book left is my comic book. In 2,000 years, someone finds this and starts to worship Wolverine. They don't know it didn't happen. They actually love the idea that a super powerful somebody is fighting for them and all they belive in. It's a book......a book. To top it off, the King James version of the book was revised by....you guessed it....King James....to keep his people more in line, and to implement his guidelines upon them. (this is my understanding, you may correct me if you know more about that)
But, what I'm getting at...is there is no solid proof of any of this. Nothing founded, nothing real. Who's to say that Shakespeare didn't write this book? (it's written in prose right?) Who's to say that someone didn't just write a tale of wonderment and it was just that...a tale?
I get the fact that religion gives us a faith that something else is beyond this life, but that is more of a fear of death, than a belief of 'something beyond', and a life of immortality is something that has made millions flock to whatever idea could make it true. (Fountain of Youth)
If you ask a Believer, "Do you think Dogs, Cats, Elephants, Apes, and other living creatures go to Heaven?" They more often than not, say no, and that only Humans have a soul. "Did God create the human genome, DNA, and atoms, molecules and everything microscopic...because there's no mention of it in the Bible?"
You know, to each his own....I have friends from all aspects of religion, and don't hold it over their heads, and I don't judge anyone for any of their beliefs....I, myself, tend to think there's a lot of smoke and mirrors to the 'Good Book'. Adam was made from sand...Eve from the rib of Adam....got cast out of Eden....and walked into a city..............ummmmmm.....huh? A city? How the fuck did that happen if they were the first people? And don't say...."They were the first perfect people." Well, then were the other people made of sand and ribs?
Hear me out people, if you are afraid of dying...then live more....fuck this...."I'm afraid to sin too much!! What if I don't get into Heaven.".....I've got one for you....."What if there is no Heaven?".....What if you're fucking away all these good years of life on being 'good' and 'honest' and 'pure' and what you're supposed to be doing is getting drunk, having sex, and living life to the fullest? It's a HUGE 'what if' for a lot of you....but, some of the select few out there will get me.
Because, seriously....there's Muslims, and Buddhists, and Catholics, and Christians, and so many more.....you're telling me that one is right and all others are wrong? What about, they're all wrong? Who wants to live forever?.....because, if you live clean and pure on the planet, and then there IS a 'forever' are you going to become the absolute opposite because you're going to live forever? Is it a "Be good until you get into Heaven." kind of deal....and then you let loose? Or are you going to be bored out of your fucking mind for an eternity?
Ironically, I get the stigma of being an Atheist, and am told I'm going to Hell (which is cool, because I don't believe in Hell), from a lot of my Christian friends.
Okay, okay....enough....
God Bless you all,
Johnny
P.S. I wonder if a tree goes to Heaven when it dies?
P.P.S. Actually, come to think of it....I think I saw picture with Don Rickles and Jesus at a bar together once....but, who knows?
I've touched on this subject before, but I'm bored...and I just watched some guy try to convince Joe Rogan (great comedian, check him out) that Noah's Ark was real. So, it spurred me to write down some thoughts that I've always had plugged into my brain, but rarely share with everyone. So, this will probably piss off quite a few of you, but....I could really give two fucks.
Alright, so here's my theory....mass/organized religion is based on two things...worshipping Jesus Christ, and worshipping the Bible, right? Alright, I have to say, to me...I don't get the whole Jesus Christ thing. It's like this; If God created, the Heavens, the Moon and the Earth, then why worship Jesus? Shouldn't you be worshipping God? When someone sneezes, you don't say..."Jesus Bless you!!" you say, "God Bless you.". Well, most people will argue..."Jesus died for our sins." Well, if God is almighty, then HE is the one that killed him....right?...he orchestrates all that happens, and it's all his divine plan. So, therein, why not worship every guy that dies on a gurney in Iraq (which is fighting for our freedom), and then we bring him back to life with the little electric paddles. Same principle right? Plus, we actually know that this guy in Iraq existed, fought his good fight, and died, and came back.....which brings me to my next point....
The Bible. A book. Am I right? Written by people over 2,000 years ago. Not even Don Rickles was alive that long ago to see that this shit they wrote about was legit. In my eyes, if I wrote a comic book....about, let's say....Wolverine. It's fairly believable. Man suffers through experiments of the government, but then fights for all that is Right, and Good. Alright, so say....for conversation sake....all other books on the planet get burned up in some kind of apocolypse. The only book left is my comic book. In 2,000 years, someone finds this and starts to worship Wolverine. They don't know it didn't happen. They actually love the idea that a super powerful somebody is fighting for them and all they belive in. It's a book......a book. To top it off, the King James version of the book was revised by....you guessed it....King James....to keep his people more in line, and to implement his guidelines upon them. (this is my understanding, you may correct me if you know more about that)
But, what I'm getting at...is there is no solid proof of any of this. Nothing founded, nothing real. Who's to say that Shakespeare didn't write this book? (it's written in prose right?) Who's to say that someone didn't just write a tale of wonderment and it was just that...a tale?
I get the fact that religion gives us a faith that something else is beyond this life, but that is more of a fear of death, than a belief of 'something beyond', and a life of immortality is something that has made millions flock to whatever idea could make it true. (Fountain of Youth)
If you ask a Believer, "Do you think Dogs, Cats, Elephants, Apes, and other living creatures go to Heaven?" They more often than not, say no, and that only Humans have a soul. "Did God create the human genome, DNA, and atoms, molecules and everything microscopic...because there's no mention of it in the Bible?"
You know, to each his own....I have friends from all aspects of religion, and don't hold it over their heads, and I don't judge anyone for any of their beliefs....I, myself, tend to think there's a lot of smoke and mirrors to the 'Good Book'. Adam was made from sand...Eve from the rib of Adam....got cast out of Eden....and walked into a city..............ummmmmm.....huh? A city? How the fuck did that happen if they were the first people? And don't say...."They were the first perfect people." Well, then were the other people made of sand and ribs?
Hear me out people, if you are afraid of dying...then live more....fuck this...."I'm afraid to sin too much!! What if I don't get into Heaven.".....I've got one for you....."What if there is no Heaven?".....What if you're fucking away all these good years of life on being 'good' and 'honest' and 'pure' and what you're supposed to be doing is getting drunk, having sex, and living life to the fullest? It's a HUGE 'what if' for a lot of you....but, some of the select few out there will get me.
Because, seriously....there's Muslims, and Buddhists, and Catholics, and Christians, and so many more.....you're telling me that one is right and all others are wrong? What about, they're all wrong? Who wants to live forever?.....because, if you live clean and pure on the planet, and then there IS a 'forever' are you going to become the absolute opposite because you're going to live forever? Is it a "Be good until you get into Heaven." kind of deal....and then you let loose? Or are you going to be bored out of your fucking mind for an eternity?
Ironically, I get the stigma of being an Atheist, and am told I'm going to Hell (which is cool, because I don't believe in Hell), from a lot of my Christian friends.
Okay, okay....enough....
God Bless you all,
Johnny
P.S. I wonder if a tree goes to Heaven when it dies?
P.P.S. Actually, come to think of it....I think I saw picture with Don Rickles and Jesus at a bar together once....but, who knows?
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