“To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticize” – Voltaire
Making drugs illegal is as hypocritical as taking an aspirin for a headache.
The presence of drugs reveals a problem with the structure of society. Drugs always go hand in hand with pain because all drugs are designed to alleviate pain. From vitamins to crack cocaine to morning coffee, the amount of mind-altering and body-soothing substances proliferating our world signifies the level of pain society inflicts on its inhabitants. We take drugs to cope. We take drugs to forget. We take drugs to motivate. We take drugs to control our behavior. We take drugs to escape. We even take drugs to die.
Drugs are not a cause. They are an effect. Drugs are not evil. They are a response to evil. Nobody with a happy, fulfilling life has cause to take drugs. Thus, the solution is never to punish those seeking relief. It is, and always has been, to remove the source of pain, the source of suffering.
But therein lies the rub. Because those who seek to remove the drugs from society are actually those who cause the need for them in the first place. Our parents, our teachers, our governors, our politicians, our critics–our leaders have created a society so dangerous that the only way for many people to cope with it is to flee from it.
Drugs are designed to help you escape from the world. They shut off the pain you’re experiencing and give you the pleasure you’re always seeking. But why would you want to escape from a world that’s advertised as the most wonderful creation of human innovation and technology? Why would you want to escape from cars and cell phones? Why would you want to escape from Facebook and Youtube? Why would you want to escape from your past? Why would you want to escape from your future? See… the more you think about it, the more the lies society tells us become glaringly apparent. The world isn’t a wonderful place.
It’s full of boredom. That’s why the video game culture is so rampant today.
It’s full of temptation. That’s why obesity is at an all-time high while our eyesight is polluted with the glorification of fast food indulgence.
It’s full of frustration. That’s why every aspect of human life has a score tied to it, expressing our culture’s dog-eat-dog competitive mindset.
It’s full of anxiety. That’s why our society is so heavily into self-help gurus, self-medicating remedies, and artificial body modifications.
It’s full of apathy. That’s why low wage jobs have become a meme epitomizing the dead-end nature of work in a digital age where physical exhaustion has been replaced by mental masturbation.
It’s full of anger. That’s why violent torture-porn movie franchises like Saw and Hostel showcase the most perverse forms of suffering ever conceived of for our viewing pleasure. That’s why mass shootings have blossomed and social media humiliation has become our favorite sport.
It’s full of repression. That’s why, after literally thousands of years, sex still remains such a shameful subject for people worldwide. That’s why sex crimes and sexual dysfunctions have become ubiquitous metrics of the modern world.
And fullest of all is the amount of failure we see on a daily basis. That’s why we constantly get to witness Fail video after Fail video of people ruining their lives in front of the entire world.
You wonder why people do drugs? Just stop lying to yourself for 10 seconds… The answer is right in front of your face.
how desire becomes shame
“There’s a race of men who don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stand still.
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And roam the world at will.”—Human
” Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”—Math
For every action, there’s a proportional reaction. For every Effect, there’s a Cause.”
“The most evil thing a parent can do to a child is scold them for being bad, but never show them how to be good.”—Math
“The only thing in life that you can trust 100% is MATH.”
the journey of a million porn videos begins with one bad parent……
i was raised on a vast diet of pornography…..
scratch that. i was raised by pornography. if taking the Red Pill represents breaking free of the electronic prison that society created for our beliefs, i took the gold-colored Arco Gas Station sexual enhancement tiger energy pill. because i am a reflection of my parents.
monkey see, monkey do
when you see me, you see my parents.
the garbage human beings who created me—their garbage son—are the same garbage architects who created this garbage society today.
yes, we have electronic cars, modern dentistry, and smart phone apps. but we also have Stephen Paddock (the deadliest mass shooter in U.S. history), record numbers of depressed people on prescription opiates, a dangerously brazen media that can’t decide whether it wants to stoke gender or racial wars, and me…. better known as Generation Fuckup. Generation Anxiety. Generation Failure. Generation Nobody. Generation Nowhere. Generation Look-At-Me-Daddy-I’m-On-A-Youtube-Video.
their lack of discipline is my lack of self-control.
their lack of direction is my lack of leadership.
their lack of concern is my lack of empathy.
their lack of focus is my lack of skill.
their lack of spine is my lack of commitment to my own beliefs.
..when i promise myself for the thousandth time to never eat at Wienerschnitzel, ever again—but do it anyway—you get to see their handiwork up close. i am the result of their frankenstein experiment gone wrong. even my lack of capitalization is a silent fuck you to their abnormal, legalistic culture and useless traditions that shipwrecked me on this Island of Shame….. and now you want me to be practical and punctuate my sentences correctly???
will proper grammar syntax unfuck my lifetime of bad decisions? will the MLA Style Guide fix my chronic masturbation habit? will knowing the difference between your and you’re make the world like me better?
the correct answer is fuck you and not quite.
Halloween. sometime in the 80s…i had a pillowcase full candy. just me and those large Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Skittles. mini Baby Ruth bars. Hershey’s Kisses. all of us together on a first date…. no safe words. no toothbrush.
i have the requisite cavities now, as an adult, to prove it—how the fuck would i know about proper dental hygiene at age 7. i wouldn’t. but somehow, somewhere along the way, i got handed a dentist bill for my parent’s neglect. $200 for something called “laser irrigation”. you want to know what my consolation prize is? i finally got those mercury fillings replaced. now half my molars look like they’re starring in a rap video.
my parents got a Baby Boomer designation and a retirement plan.
i got a ritualistic “they did the best they could” societal shrugging of the shoulders speech and a weed habit.
they got a law degree and a steady paycheck.
i got holes punched through my walls and chronic loneliness.
they got Family Ties laugh tracks and Buddhist chanting.
i got masturbation marathons and countless first date rejections.
..and yet this poker-faced society still has the self-righteous nerve to pretend that it doesn’t understand why mass shooters like James Holmes and Adam Lanza are only now just returning the favor. payback used to be a stupid promise on the back of a VW bumpersticker. now it’s machine gun fire from a Mandalay Bay hotel window while oblivious citizens of the American Reich scatter like startled cockroaches.
these conclusions are inevitable. just like physics. just like gravity. just like any governing Principle directing the traffic of human life. people need pain and pleasure to direct them towards HappinessTM; they need a pleasurable incentive to move towards it, and they need a painful reminder to stop aimlessly wandering away from it.
my parents chose bribery instead.
…so instead of me being directed towards a pleasurable life or steered away from a quick demise, i got the third option. i got whatever the fuck my irresponsible mom could afford to waste her money on. Spoiled & Rotten go hand in hand just like Cause & Effect. this broken, leaky culture is the stimulus. i am the inevitable reaction spilling all over it.
if i wasn’t athletic, i’d probably look like a donut with the shitty eating habits i developed from 4th grade on. the last chili cheese dog i ate didn’t punch my stomach hard enough—a trip to the toilet, a little nauseous rumbling from my haunted bowels, some Angry Birds on the phone inbetween. done. i ate another one the week after that promise…
self-control…. fuck me……..who am i kidding here?
when you see my anger and resentment at being unable to figure out how to find a girl to love, you see my parent’s passive, directionless, useless approach to life.
when you see my busted adult knee, you can do the math; somewhere back in childhood, my parents failed to teach me about natural limitation. i had no clue how fragile the human body really was. i had no understanding of its limits. i didn’t even realize you only got one chance to fuck it up. you don’t get backup joints or spare tendons. if you rip something important, you’re going to walk funny for the rest of your life.
i was never taught the difference between smoothly executed, controlled motion and violent over-exertion, just like i was never taught the difference between cooperative fulfilling activities like hiking and woodworking …and competitive athletic misery that slowly pulverized my joints until the inevitable snap of the ACL or the LCL or the MCL or whatever CL ripped for the nth time, fighting my way to the basket…. to throw a ball through a metal ring. for some score that never made me happy because i couldn’t fuck it or talk to it or love it.
winning didn’t make up for losing—this was something i was forced to find out the hard way. even a winning score couldn’t overcome the constant gravitational pull of a choker’s anxious doubts; would i accidentally bounce the ball off my foot and have it roll out of bounds in front of hundreds of people stuffed into a packed high school gymnasium? would i shoot an airball and hear everyone laugh in unison? would somebody steal the ball from me because i didn’t practice enough on my weak dribbling side? ….and these are the thoughts coming from a guy who won most of his games.
when you see the nagging terror of competitive pressure weaken my knees and flood my palms with nightmare-slippery game sweat, you’re witnessing my Mom’s guidance-free parenting; there’s the sky. there’s the door. there’s the handle… parachutes are for crybabies. just flap your arms. i’m sure that’ll work.
i’m sure annual visitation rights from someone called ‘Dad’ and my horny teenage babysitter are good enough to get me through the next 20 years. i’m sure my marriage to failure will make up for their divorce from accountability….
this is math. this is why math matters. if you want to balance life’s equations, you have to account for all the variables—you can’t. stop trying. it’s impossible to see every angle. it’s stupid to study every situation. curve balls come in too many shapes and sizes to foresee their approach.
i know you think you can beat the odds—we all do. that’s why Las Vegas exists. that’s why scratch off tickets exist. that’s why carnival games exist. society teaches us to trust and obey our emotions. it tells us to disregard the odds, ignore the math and instead focus on what your heart is saying. that’s why success is characterized as ‘following a dream’. that’s why all those distant stars in the sky are used as metaphors for achievements that we’re all supposed to reach for. society’s competitive custodians capitalize on such unskilled people who daydream about defying the math. defying the immutable Principle for the comfort of unaccountable feeling.
but we’ll never stop trying to do the impossible until we’ve had a proper education from the inevitable. we will live and die by situation and circumstance until somebody comes along and teaches us the significance of limitation—the hallmark of Principle.
my parents, on the other hand, were about as principled as a dog left alone with a ham sandwich. my mom’s neglect is now MY NEGLECT… her instability is now my sloppiness, my carelessness, my lack of restriction; i couldn’t even get over bronchitis in 7th grade because my mom didn’t have the fucking discipline to make me sit down. to make me STOP my fucking activity. to steer me AWAY FROM DANGER. nope. no such luck.
i wish somebody had taught me the danger of over-exerting myself like a fucking madman every time i played basketball. nobody did. nobody had a fucking clue what i was up to when i left the house. and my mom wasn’t adult enough to find out.
whatever tantrums i’ve thrown on the floors of various department stores because i didn’t get the Back-to-School stonewash jeans i wanted, my parents have allowed.
whatever disgusting skanks and humiliating memories of fat chicks i’ve banged over the years, my parents have directed me towards with their neglectful silence on relationship matters. i had no business anywhere near the dating game.
Disney movies, self-help gurus, and even ex-president Obama have all told us the same lie: “you can become ANYTHING you want!”
…..really??! then why the fuck didn’t i become what i dreamed about?
why couldn’t i become a guy with a hot girlfriend and some high paying job designing sky scrapers? why the fuck did i drop out of a prestigious college instead? maybe because i had no fucking clue how to do anything or accomplish anything or prepare for anything. maybe it’s because i had zero guidance growing up… actually, strike that. i was taught one thing: don’t get bad grades.
i got better advice from the posters at the dentist office i frequented….
thanks for the tip.
i think i know why i never became what i dreamed about, why i never got the life i envied… maybe… just like i didn’t choose to be born, maybe i didn’t choose my destiny. maybe somebody else chose it for me.
i didn’t know how to make a fucking decision to save my life. finding direction, as i later found out, was a skill i’d have to learn the hard way. on my own.
fuck my useless parents.
….i never realized that my social conditioning would decide my future. everything i’ve ever said or done was already decided by what i learned from the people around me. my incubator. the social expectations that shaped my incompetent parents essentially shaped me as well. they put me in front of these electronic labias just like years ago when they put me in front of a TV set for hours while i waited for my mom to get home from work. hours of waiting became hours of wondering. latchkey kid grows up to become latchkey daydreamer. but instead of waiting for my mom, i just sat around waiting for my life to arrive.
that was just the start. multiply that by decades. are you getting the picture? is the math too hard to figure out?…
i had absolutely no say in the matter. even speaking—as i’ve found out the hard way—requires training. you only say the words you’re TRAINED to say.
nature could only tell me what i wanted. great. my dick is hard. i must be horny. the math adds up. send out the bat signal… but nature couldn’t tell me how to get it. where the fuck was nurture?
desire is built into all of us from birth. but it’s nurture’s responsibility to teach us how to get what our nature demands of us. “Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.”
parents are there for a reason, and it’s not just to lay on a bed for hours each night watching Growing Pains and The Cosby Show so they can dream about parenting just like i can dream about living. it’s their duty, their obligation to teach us how to fish. what’s the point of even having a Mother or Father if they can’t give us the necessary assurance and guidance required to function in society?
how we fish determines what we catch. how we act on our desires determines who we become. sounds like a pretty fucking important obligation that should never be left up to chance… so why was it?
why was i left to my own devices for so long? why was i tasked with knowing what i couldn’t have possibly known as an child? why was i raised with little restriction and even fewer guidelines if i was expected to grow up to become a responsible citizen? why was i even fucking born if i was left in charge of raising myself?
being handed the autonomy to run my own life sounded like a fun proposition until i realized that a heavy obligation could crush an unprepared child. but my mom had no problems laying her adult burdens on my 5-year-old shoulders. i got to navigate her divorce by myself. i got to navigate molestation by myself. i got to navigate long unstructured summer months by my myself. i got to navigate homework by my myself. i got to navigate college choices by my myself..
and to top it all off, i got to shoulder all the heartbreaking, body-taxing, conscience-bending consequences…. by myself.
does a child even understand what a panic attack is at 8 or 9 years old? i remember watching TV one time and the walls just started vibrating back and forth like they were growing thicker and taller to the beat of my own pulse. i ran for my mom’s closet and hid inside. watching the walls pulse. waiting for my her to get back from work. welcome to my latchkey existence.
i now realize that how we behave as an adults depends completely upon who trains us as children. as the old saying goes: “like Father, like Son”. or in the case of our generation, “like Single Mother, like Felon”.