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An Amateur’s Thoughts on “America”

Americans don’t care about the world or world history because we’ve already done, in 200 years, what it took millennia for the rest of the world to start doing, and they still haven’t even caught up yet.

I’m only half joking.

Why was America known as the “Land of Opportunity”? Why is America known as such a “melting pot”? What other countries were known as “melting pots”? I’m sure there has had to have been others. How much of the rest of the world was a “melting pot”, and who made up the “ingredients”? How “diverse” were they? I don’t believe that America is known as a “melting pot” simply because we scream it louder so that people believe it. There has to be some truth to it. People have come here from all over the world: the question is: why? War-mongering politicians have corrupted the phrase “American exceptionalism”. They have hijacked it and perverted it. But there’s some truth to the idea of “American exceptionalism”. There’s truth to the phrase “greatest country in the world”. America is a product of the Enlightenment and the Industrial Revolution. Historically speaking, they occurred right after the other. This has bode exceptionally well for us Americans.

There’s certainly a significant stain across American history, mainly in the form of slavery. Also, of course, “Native Americans” are described as “Natives” for a reason. But I have a feeling I’m missing out significant information regarding the mix between Europeans and Native Americans. Something tells me my government education has left very significant facts out of the picture. I’m skeptical of the common account of “history”.

But the Industrial Revolution occurred very early on in America’s history (when you compare the histories of other nations, and how long it took for them to undergo an “Industrial Revolution”). The impact of the Industrial Revolution cannot be understated. This combination of the rebellious “Enlightenment” coupled with the Industrial Revolution has created a sense of superiority within Americans. Honestly……….considering these two factors, it’s justified. Of course, America’s flaws should be pointed out, past or present. But us Americans know why we feel superior to the rest of the world. It is because we were fucking lucky. We’ve had it better than everyone else before us. We’re happy about that fact. Our history is one of rebelliousness, particularly of government, and of capitalism. This was, for all intents and purposes, our birth. We didn’t have centuries of history before this. Granted, we can look at those people that moved here, and trace their histories back to countries with rich histories. But we identify as Americans. The world sucked for a very long time, and we got extremely lucky. Our life was one of extreme fortune. For us, America is truly when history starts.

I should do more research on the Enlightenment thinkers and the historical capitalists that have made America what it is today: where they were from, etc. Something beyond the superficial “history” that I learned in school.

The “world” is a whole nother matter entirely.

The point is that world history is a complicated subject.

Murray Rothbard – Left, Right, and the Prospects for Liberty.





A Way Out

Never before in my life have I felt more in control of my life. And never have I felt more terrified (well……maybe that’s an exaggeration. I’m sure my recollection of past anxieties is quite understated, now that I’ve given it more than five seconds of thought (it’s odd how sometimes, it’s hard to forget what you want to, then you want to remember what was previously hard to forget. Being a human is fucking weird, dude)). Due to the nature of childhood, whereby you do what you are told by guides, and due to being taught about how shitty my decisions are in the eyes of God, I’ve coasted. I’ve been very lucky in this coast thus far, but that time has come to an end. The “free ride” is over.

I finally understand that I am free. I am free from the punishment of my sins, past, present, and future. I am beginning to realize what “control” actually means. And I’m growing tired of “guidance”.

I try to write about things that bug me. Because it feels important to do so. I never feel like I have the right words to say what I want to say. I fear this struggle will stay with me forever. But I’m getting tired of common rhetoric. And I’m getting tired of trying to figure it all out.

I need a way out. I need a way out of the intellectual mire I have been in for so long. I don’t know what this way out is. Once again, it feels important for me to be mired in it to a certain extent. But I realize this is futile in many regards. But, I also realize it is valuable. I don’t have a good perspective about this at the moment, and it is bogging me down.

Why write this when no one reads it? Why write at all when there’s so much to be read? Why talk about anything when it’s been talked about countless times before? When it’s been ignored? Debated? What’s the point? I really don’t fucking know anymore. But I’m finally at that point in my life where I realize I need something. I don’t know what it is. But I need something. I need something meaningful. I need to find happiness. And I finally realize this must, ultimately, come from within.

I listen and learn as much as I can. I get frustrated, hit metaphorical walls, and distract myself from it all. I try to contribute valuable ideas. I wish I was like God. I wish I had all of the perfect answers, and that I could perfectly live by them. But I’m stuck being a human instead, where I get tired, commit wrongdoings, become a victim, etc. I also happen to be a quite stubborn one.

The point is, I want some direction. I’m not necessarily saying I want you to give me one, because I know I will reject your advice. But I feel like something large is missing in my life. I want to write about it as much as possible, to find out what that is. I think a part of it is just growing up. I’m tired of letting the misfortunes of my past define me today. I want to move on from it all. And I want to write about it all. And I’m going to dream of financial success. I’m going to write ideas that no one cares about, and dream of success. I’m a mess. My writing is a mess. My mind is a mess. My mental and physical health is a mess. Perhaps I’m becoming more mature, because all of this isn’t crippling yet. Isn’t that what being human is largely about? About coping with these sorts of things? I suppose I’m finally “inaugurated” to adulthood. But I don’t like most adults, and I don’t want to be one of them.

I have to figure out what I’m going to do, and at this point, I’m not sure what that is. My physical health will probably give out on me before I do figure it out (in which case, I won’t have to worry about it), because I can’t have the discipline to avoid a tasty taco for more than a couple of days; and then, I don’t have the discipline to avoid many of them.

I suppose I have to accept the fact that negative things are going to happen to me. Positive things, too. But the negative is here, and is coming. And I can’t figure all of this out. I want to do my best. I want to put forth effort to do something. I want to contribute something. But I’m no Messiah. Thank God. I just want to be what I want to be. I just want to be Cody. But I don’t quite know what “Cody” is yet. And, I suppose, that is what needs to be figured out.

It’s very terrifying, considering my religious background. All I hear in my head is how “bad” “Cody” is. Deep down, I understand that, despite that fact, God still loves me, and forgives me for my sins. But I think about this only from an afterlife perspective. Sure, I know I’m going to Heaven when I die. But what am I going to do while I’m here? Most of the time, I feel pretty confident in what I’m doing. But that’s until, say, my hypochondria starts to notice the wheels falling off. Is that what this is really all about? Did I have a panic attack while eating a taco and wondered if it was a heart attack? Does this have to do with thinking about politics, arguments, and history? Reading, and learning? Perspective? All of the above. I’m finally accepting that my life is my own. It’s my own to figure out. I could not have realized this without diligent studying over the past several years. But I’m truly realizing that my life is my own. And it’s fucking hard to figure it out.

I can’t even write, because I can’t explain what I’m thinking. I can’t organize it. I think about the fact that nobody reads this stuff, and wonder if I’m wasting my time, while, at the same time, realizing that I want to say it for some reason that must be important to me. I want to be informed on “issues”, but it seems pointless, as the wheels of society go round, and round, and round, to, seemingly, no conclusion. I want to write, but what? Everything I write is going to be inferior to someone else’s work. So why wouldn’t I want to read the work of others? Then, I want to do nothing. Not sure what I want to do. In some ways, it feels like I am wanting structure. But I know that as soon as I had it, I would immediately reject it and resent it. So I know that, deep down, the ultimate answer must come from within me. But I’m not informed enough yet. And I try, and I try, to make myself more informed. But it makes me more depressed. More nihilistic. And that makes me more depressed.

I wish I had everything figured out. I wish I was perfectly happy. I know these are futile. But there are aspects within these ideas that are good. I can never figure everything out, but I can learn. I can’t be happy all of the time, but this doesn’t mean that I will never be happy some of the time. And these drive me, thank God. I still have stress, and think about money, my health, my work, politics, “society”, etc. And they overtake me at times, and lead me down dark, confusing roads. But I finally understand that I don’t have to get lost down them. I am the navigator. Albeit an anxious, inexperienced one, I realize that everyone has been, and still is, to varying degrees. So, I must look forward to making my own mistakes and decisions, and look back on them with my own emotions of lamentation and fondness. I’ve got to do this on my own, even if I break into tears. I’ll probably die a penniless author due to too many cheeseburgers. But if there are no other alternatives that I’m willing to take, I must accept the results of my actions, even if I end up regretting them.

I deeply long for an escape from the evils of this world. The only permanent escape is death; but I don’t want to die yet. Does that mean I wish to reside among evil? Perhaps. This contradiction within myself bugs me. “Why would I rather live here, where I perform evil actions and have evil actions done to me, instead of killing myself and going to Heaven, where I believe I’m going?” Well, I don’t want to kill myself. But why? I think there is some uncertainty, even within my “Christian” beliefs of Heaven and Hell. I’d rather do what makes me happy (even if it kills me “in the long run”) than make a decision to end my life immediately on an unimaginably depressing level. It isn’t that I don’t want to kill myself because I think of what will happen to me when I die: it’s that I don’t want to kill myself because of everything leading up to that death. I don’t want to put myself through those moments leading up to the suicide. That isn’t worth going to Heaven sooner rather than later. I’d rather deal with the evils of this world than kill myself (of course, if I ever end up in a prison under a completely tyrannical government, or the world is on the brink of a complete nuclear war, I may reconsider my position). I realize that position sounds very strange to many, but I hope that you will ponder what I have just said and actually understand my point of view.

Finding like-minded individuals always helps with stress. You always hope that you are part of a majority, but it’s inevitable, on some level, that you will be a part of a minority. If the parts of yourself that you identify with the most are part of that minority, it can be very difficult. It can be difficult to be that isolated. It becomes downright infuriating when you feel as if you hold the ethical position to the unethical position of “the majority”. Of course, the question is begged: “What makes you think you are so much more ‘ethical’ than us?” And thus, history is introduced. The same arguments keep continuing, and, many times, the answer lies in some long-forgotten text. It feels futile to attempt to give any knowledge “to the world” because of that fact, but there’s clearly many ancient texts that are not forgotten. (Of course, for you simpletons, I’m not saying that my writing is equivalent to someone like John Locke, but clearly, as evidenced by the fact that I’m writing something, I feel as if that piece of writing has some value, and, depending on what type of writing it is, that can be intellectual value, comedic value, etc.).

Am I saying that the answer lies in books? Can the void I am experiencing be filled by literature? And, if so, why am I so hesitant to read? There’s clearly an exhaustion element to it. I guess I’m just not as smart as “avid readers” (but when I look at many popular, say, political philosophies, from “well-educated”, “well-read” and “well-published” college professors, I have to wonder how much “reading” affected their abilities to be logical thinkers (or ethical people)). When you start to go down the road of reading a book, it’s a commitment. It’s a commitment to the ideas of the author. And even if I’m interested in a book, I just get tired of going down that string of ideas for too long. I always get anxious when I’m not personally creating something (even if what I’m creating is vastly inferior to what I stop reading (or consuming in general) in order to create). I have a deep drive to be financially successful, and I can’t do that without a body of work. So I try to create works. But they’re just inferior to what they are going to be in the future by virtue of lack of experience, biological growth, practice, etc. I’m stuck in the mud, spinning my wheels. I want to go as fast as possible to get out of this mire that I’m in, but I’m going nowhere. I know that I’m not exactly going nowhere, but it’s so slow that it feels that way. I know my writing sucks, and that sucks. I compare myself to other authors because I want that stable paycheck we’re all after.

I know, I know. Don’t write for money, write for myself. I fucking hate this shit. I always write for myself. But I always want to become a professional at it. How can it be that desiring to be a professional isn’t for “me” but is only for other people? That’s idiotic.

I know, I’m delusional. I’d rather be insane at this point in my life than “sane”. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. I can’t imagine packing in my bags without giving a valiant effort, then feeling so depressed in my old (or middle) age that I never wrote as much as I wanted to. “You can still write, Cody. Just don’t think of it as a job.” I fucking hate conversation. There’s literally no downside to trying to make your passion a career. Literally zero. Damn, I could be an electrician right now. I could have a stable job right now. Learning a valuable skill. But here I am writing some shit that no one reads. What am I, insane? I sure fucking hope so, because I hate sane people. How hard is it to understand the concept that if you really love doing something, you should treat it like a career? Why do so many people disagree with that statement? I truly think they’re soulless people. I don’t want to be as unhappy as they are. (Perhaps that’s unfair of me. But I personally cannot agree with their logic. I would argue they should be more like me, but who doesn’t argue that? “Whatever floats your boat.” (“We all float down here, Richie.” Sorry. I’m recently influenced)).

I have a deeply held conviction that life is not simply about being miserable. I realize this was largely due to my youth, but I always anticipated that adulthood was where happiness came to die. Even as a kid, I always dreaded getting older. “Why do Mom and Dad work at those places if they hate their jobs?” I always wanted to escape that, and I think my parents were instrumental in fostering that desire within me. “Don’t do as I did. Go to school.” Etc. This desire got me interested in economics, and now, my worldview is completely changed. Of course, whether or not I was ever introduced to economics, my life would’ve changed from childhood to now. But economics has had a profound effect on me. I’ll never look at the world the same way again. I always wanted an answer to why they worked at jobs they hated besides the “that’s just the way it is” argument. That argument only works in very limited circumstances. Yes, I’m a hypocrite. Sometimes, I get tired of learning about a subject, and accept the bare minimum. Other times, I’m not that way. What do you fucking want from me as a fucking advice giver?; perfection?

I should state that my best friend has had a profound impact upon me as far as my “happiness philosophy” goes as well. I won’t get too religious here, as I’ve written about it separately before, and will continue to do so, but he has certainly been a key to me accepting this “happiness philosophy” for myself; and, of course, I want to share it with others in an attempt to foster happiness in others. (Yeah, I also like pissing people off from time to time. …Ok, a lot. But still, it’s for a good cause. Give me a break. I’m not God, even though, sometimes, I wish I could be. (“Didn’t Satan say that?!”)). The internal conflict could be settled if I was perfect, so I always wish that I could be, so that I could get an ultimate relief from conflict. In reality, as I said before, the only way to escape conflict completely is to die. But I don’t want to die yet. So, like everyone else, I’m stuck here on this planet with conflicts. In some ways, the conflicts feel so trivial. But, on the other hand, they’re crippling. Yet another fucking conflict

People will think I’m crazy, but I can very vividly remember the day my life changed forever with regards to this “happiness philosophy” of mine. At the risk of repeating myself, I was finishing up community college, living with my mom. I couldn’t tell you what my future plans were during this time, because I didn’t fucking know. I played a lot of sports video games. Masturbated. And that was pretty much it. (Some things never change……). I knew I was going to need a job eventually, but I’m stubborn in that I don’t jump into something until I understand what I’m doing (is that true all of the time? Not when I really want something. Then I jump right in and figure it out later). Money was always this dirty thing to me. This is what drove people away from God. And now, you’re telling me that I need it to live? Why isn’t God providing for me instead of money? How can something evil be so necessary to life? When I asked myself that question, my life changed forever.

I remembered hearing on ABC News, when I was a kid, about the profits that CEOs made. Being religiously brainwashed (I have a lot of the blame to share with this), I thought it was evil (of course, there were people on the network outraged at the amount of money as well). I hated money. Business, corporations, etc., were evil. Money was evil. I was reminded of this when I thought about getting a job, and making money. There was an immediate contradiction that needed to be resolved. Is living evil? Is bare sustenance the work of the devil? Are poor people more moral than rich people? Up until this point, I had always said “Yes” to all of the above. But on this day, in what felt like a lightning bolt of inspiration, I realized that the answer had to be “No” if I ever were to have any chance of escaping poverty. I had to reeducate myself regarding money, corporations, jobs, etc. And now, the subject has taken over my life, and introduced a whole new set of problems (but, of course, healthy perspectives as well).

In addition to my worldview being warped as far as economics was concerned, just my worldview of people in general was severely warped. It still is, to a large extent, due to my previous religious thoughts. It’s very weird to explain. In some ways, it boils down to “Any time a group of people are happy, I’m skeptical of them.” That sounds dumb, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because it is. My red-colored glasses of conservatism made everything “dumb” and weird. It’s really embarrassing, but “it is what it is”. It’s so embarrassing to admit my level of cynicism, largely influenced by religion, of all things. That sounds so fucking odd to say. But, you know: there’s goddamn sinners out there, Cody! Ya gotta watch out for them! God damn, I was stupid. I pity anyone who thinks like I used to. That level of exhaustion is just fucking beyond description.

Let’s continue along the economic-skepticism line. I’ve always been distrustful of successful people. (Let me just say that I fucking hate writing about myself (hard to believe, I know). On the one hand, I want to say that I’ve always been skeptical of people who, say, were famous, or rich. Or anyone who spoke from a position of authority. But I’ve also been very gullible. So I can’t say with certainty whether I’ve been more skeptical or gullible. This is what I hate about being a human: it’s so hard to say that I am one specific thing (which would make writing so much easier……)). As I said, I’ve always viewed successful people as evil, and it’s been hard to untrain myself from that mode of thought. I always look at “celebrities” with this sneering judgment. It’s almost instinctual. It’s because I’ve trained myself to, but now, I’m actually able to observe what I’m doing instead of actually being caught up in the moment. It has been so hard to untrain myself in this regard, and I’m still not where I would like to be completely. I’m basically having to relearn a philosophical position regarding “success”. There are countless people that have this same attitude. It’s depressing, but I wouldn’t like to talk about them too much here, because I know it isn’t really going to “solve” the problem. I’m learning that there are no ultimate resolutions to “sides”: at least not in a perfect sense. There will always be “sides”: disagreements. Conflicts. Things that always terrified me as a child, for some reason. I don’t know why that always bugged me as a kid. Could it have been that I saw “disagreements” as a sinful flaw against God’s perfect plan of peace and harmony? Perhaps. But I think a lot of it just had to do with being a naturally sensitive kid and just personally really disliking disagreements, even if I was only a third party to two other “disagreeing” parties who weren’t as troubled by the disagreement as I was (which is so weird. The best way I can think to describe myself in one word is “weird”). It’s very interesting how I’ve attempted to “toughen myself up” as I’ve gotten older, and it’s also interesting how I still have a deep soft spot within me as well. I should talk about that at a later date, when I’ve given it more thought.

I don’t want to be on any “side”. I hate “sides”. But by virtue of learning, you are put on one. I don’t think there is ever any escape from “sides”. At least not if you wish to speak. (I suppose, even if you remain silent, you take a “side”: you make choices as far as what your ethics are, etc.). Perhaps that is what I need to learn: to just keep my goddamned mouth shut. I don’t want to be in a position where I never take positions, but I also don’t want to take positions. Or, at least, I wish that I didn’t feel that it was important to take positions. I wish I lived in a situation were there were no positions to take. Or perhaps I just wish that my “position” was apathy. But that’s not how I am. I need to learn to become more apathetic in some ways, and more well-spoken in others. I fucking hate how life is such a confusing, delicate balance when it comes to the mind. You can ask someone the same question on two separate days, and get a different answer depending on their emotional state. I fucking hate that about being human. I know it’s inescapable, but I need a personal philosophy to be able to learn how to live with it. My old philosophy was that all humans are broken. My perspective began in an incredibly judgmental, unproductive way. It morphed to depression, as I paid attention to evils in the world. I finally had to turn it to humor, because the tragedies grew too great. I do get exhausted focusing on negatives so often. I need a real way out. I need to find it for myself. I don’t want some jackass self-help guru to tell me some shit that isn’t going to resonate with me; that I’ll either feel bad because there must be something wrong with me to not get what this “expert” is saying or I’ll analyze every fucking word he says and pick apart everything I see wrong with what he said (which I really don’t want to waste time doing). I’d rather just ignore the motherfucker altogether, but that’s hard for me to do. It’s just so hard for me to ignore people, and that’s what I need more than fucking anything right now. I need to ignore you cocksuckers who tell me dumb moralistic phrases like “Sometimes it’s good to listen to other people, Cody, you know.” God damn, I fucking hate you people, and I need to fucking learn how to ignore your stupid self-righteous asses. It’s so hard. Sadly, I think biology is the main key.

I have always admired people who through their sheer individualism change the world around them. I think of someone like George Carlin. Who was “instructing” George Carlin on how to live his life? What “boss” was George Carlin obeying? This was a man living individualism to the fullest. He created his own world. He made the people around him subscribe to his ideas. Of course, he had to have been influenced by others: it’s impossible to be completely uninfluenced by others (perhaps feral children are the only ones “uninfluenced” by others, but, of course, it can be argued that they are “influenced” by the parents that abandoned them if they were abandoned, etc.), but through his will alone, he changed the people around him. I can’t tell you how inspiring that is to me. I admire anyone who does that for the better. I deeply wish to emulate people like that. But when I think of how far I have to go in that regard to get to that point, it just depresses me; that, and also the uncertainty of whether it will even happen at all.

I know, I know. I’m a dumbass, grandiose little boy. Is that out of your system? Do you feel better now?

I personally have learned that, speaking for myself, it is almost always better if I make up my own mind instead of going for advice. Most of the time, when I have gone for advice, it has only made things worse. I realize that my independent mind must make decisions regarding who I listen to, the types of ideas that I believe for myself, etc. Taking those first steps toward accepting that were very hard for me. “What if I make a grave mistake?” That’s always held me back so much. But I’ve spent so much time looking for answers from others (answers which never satisfied me) that I just can’t take it anymore, goddammit. I’m making up my own mind. Creating my own thoughts and solutions. And it’d be great if those influenced other people for the better. But I’m done looking for advice. “Does that mean you’re never asking for advice ever again, Cody?” God DAMN you fucks are stupid. It feels so great to point that out. I hope you feel like shit when you read this, fucking retard.

It is so hard to be bored, and desire mental stimulation, and then constantly find problems with your source of mental stimulation. I do this constantly. I think of how I can do what the people I’m “consuming” are doing. Constantly. It’s relentless. The idea of being mentally braindead and just consuming what someone else is doing without thinking of a way to actually use it for myself terrifies me. That’s how people fail, in my opinion. I want everything I consume to be beneficial to me in some way. Just something that I can use. And when I get exhausted with that, I’ll relax, and just consume to relax (which, of course, is still “beneficial” to me). But I want to observe successful people, and try to figure out what I can take from them to make myself successful. I don’t need a fucking Mark Cuban book to figure out how to do this. Life is an independent “project”, and I want to work on it by myself, in my own way. That’s what I crave. I want people to say “Damn. I can’t believe he fucking did that. How in the fuck did he do that?!” I have a natural desire to create ideas more than consume them. But I always end up consuming more than creating. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH HEARING THE IDEAS OF OTHERS, CODY?!?!?!?!?!” You fucking retards……

Read what I’ve written about “Other People” here.

The uncertainty of the future is bugging me at the moment. The restlessness. The back and forth of “common” arguments. I need a way out. Maybe that means reading more. Maybe that means reading less things on the internet. I don’t know exactly, but I’m certain that it will come with time. (It’s so weird how I can ignore my past. I have a fear of being “stuck” in the past, so I don’t think about it much. But, one day, when I’m not feeling so anxious, I really should go back and analyze my past mindset regarding “the future”. “Haven’t you been doing that in this piece, Cody? Haven’t you been talking about your religious past?” Yes, I have been. But there’s many things in my past that I haven’t written about yet, that will be very difficult to put into words. But I would like to do so sometime in the future).

It’s hard to find a way out and express yourself because other people can express themselves to your expressions. I don’t enjoy this, whether it’s praise or criticism. I just like to be left alone in general as much as possible. It’s always weird to me when people start talking to me. I do enjoy being a troll, though, so there is some enjoyment that comes from it sometimes.

In fact, I’m honestly just so fucking sick of these arguments where there’s multiple viewpoints, and “the truth” just comes down to your own personal opinions. I don’t want to discuss criticisms of my personal philosophies any longer. It’s necessary to address them every so often, because by virtue of being a communicator, you’re opening yourself up to being communicated to, but, thankfully, we’re all given wills, and that includes the will to ignore. It’s not always easy, but at least it’s there.

Literature truly is going to be an incredibly slow process over my entire lifetime. I’m not going to be the best writer I can be overnight. But whatever happens overnight is important. Perspective is a very important thing to me (I think it is to all of us, honestly, but maybe I just talk about it more so than many people I’ve been around). I’m not satisfied with what I hear. I can almost say that I never have been. I used to think this was some problem that existed within myself. I spent many years telling myself that I was somehow broken because so many things didn’t satisfy me. Those “phrases” that just exist in the world, those “words to live by”, just never did anything for me. Well, they annoyed me when they inevitably didn’t work (thanks to a process I was taught by religious conservatism). But I’ve almost never been satisfied with what I’ve heard from others. I’ve always had to create my own world. My own happiness. And it’s hard, because people get involved, and I just don’t fucking like them. I don’t care if my words don’t make sense to you, you think I’m some kind of psychopathic killer, whatever. I don’t fucking care. I don’t like you. Say whatever you want to about me, but don’t say it to me. Perhaps this is part of the reason that I hate cliches so much: they just don’t apply to me like they do to, seemingly, so many other people. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard “If you’re going to say something, say it to my face.” I don’t think that applies to me as much. I don’t want to hear what dumb shit you’re going to say about me, and I’d rather you spread unfounded rumors as to confront me about some ethical flaw that exists within my person as perceived by your mentally-impaired mind. “To each his own.”

It has always been very hard for me to ignore other people. I’ve always been painfully thin-skinned. Being as apathetic as I am (the exact measurement is questionable) has been an extremely difficult process over many years. I’m thankful for the end result, but I’m glad I don’t have to repeat the process again. Isn’t it weird how that’s how life is? We do shit that we hate so that we don’t have to do it anymore? On a philosophical level, I have to question why we’d have to do it in the first place, if we’re doing it simply to avoid it later on in the future, but I digress. “Duh, life isn’t perfect, Cody.” Sorry. I just wanted to make you sound like a fucking idiot there for a second.

I always compare a current state of being with perfection. Why do I do that, you may ask? Because I lament the original state of man. I believe that, when man was first created, we lived in a perfect paradise. And we fucked it up. I think that, deep down, I know we had perfection, and we lost it. I think this is why I naturally compare all current states of being to perfection. I accept the fact that we cannot get it back (until we die, if we are a Christian), and I think this is where I differ with a certain (seemingly large) group of people. This is an incredibly difficult topic, and I look forward to my best friend’s thoughts about this subject, as I’m sure he’s given it much thought, and he could probably shed some light on the subject. But, for example, there is a difference between helping someone who is drowning because you don’t want to see that person drown because you yourself are a human being, and don’t want to drown, so you have this almost kindred connection with that person (also known as “empathy”), and helping out the drowning person because you remember that this book you read taught you to care for other people and if you don’t do that then you’re going to burn in Hell for all eternity so you live your entire life based on trying to avoid that eternal fire. In both cases, you are helping the drowning man: a noble act. But the motivations are so different from one another that I’d consider them two separate actions. (This is where wordplay gets tricky (and why I fucking hate language): can you say they are different actions, when the act performed was the same? Surely, the intentions are different. Fuck words. Fuck semantics. I know I need to know this shit if I’m going to be a writer, but it’s so goddamn mundane that I’d rather be harvesting hay, or some other monotonous, laborious shit (well……….almost)).

I cannot explain to you the level of boredom that I’ve experienced throughout most of my life. It’s painful to think about. I wouldn’t go back to that time period for anything, because now, I have so many things to keep me busy, and I feel like I’ve never been happier. I’m convinced that a large reason why I have been so bored throughout most of my life was my early experiences with reading, that I’ve written about before. That’s quite depressing, but it is what it is. I’ve also, (like everyone else), just been weird. When I say something, people don’t understand what I’m saying. And I fucking hated explaining myself (growing up), because I just wanted someone to relate to me. But, ironically enough, as with everyone else, so few did relate to me. Isn’t that so odd? How we can all be in the same troubled boat? Why can’t it be that two people with the same problem solve each other’s problem? Humans are FUCKED up. I think this troubles me so because I’m always comparing any current situation to the Fall of Man. “Then just don’t do that, Cody.” No. “Well then, I guess you’ll just be miserable then.” I guess I will. “But is that any way to live?” Once Pandora’s Box is opened, you can’t close it. I do not want to will myself into an ignorant situation, even if it makes me feel better. “I bet you don’t think that way when you’re eating fast food, huh, Cody? Bet those health problems are just gonna sneak up on you, aren’t they, Cody?” Fuck you.

On a side note, I hate it when people try to use my words against me and fail. “Uh, Cody, you don’t want to will yourself into an ignorant situation, but you actually think you can become a professional author? What gives with that contradiction?” All I care about is waving my check in your face.

I suppose I should give thanks to all of those who have gotten me out of the mental-badminton quagmire. I hope to find more out there.

There is a beauty in life in that we exist as individuals. This means I have my life, my thoughts, and my beliefs. I have my desires, my goals, and my actions. I really think that should, ultimately, be my saving grace. When faced with the unknown, I, like probably everyone else, try to fill in the gaps. I realize just how stupid those fillings were from my childhood. Now, I was a child, but still. It’s taken me this long to realize this extent of my stupidity. I know more of it will be revealed to me as time goes by, and I just pray that it doesn’t hurt too badly. It feels great to be an individual. Over the past several years, I have surrounded myself with a philosophy that heralds individualism. I have been reconditioning my brain from the moralism of yesteryear. When I was first introduced to this “rugged individualism”, it felt refreshing, but I was still unsure of it. I was hooked, and listened to every word of those that expounded it. But I wasn’t immediately sold. I still had questions. I needed to learn more beyond the initial sales pitch. And now, I find myself as a “libertarian salesman” of sorts. I’ve been ingrained in the “libertarian philosophy” for so long now that it’s branched out into other areas of my life that it hadn’t before. Many of the questions that I had with religion were filled by libertarian (individualistic) philosophy. A lot of things are making sense now, and I’m actually feeling confident in my decisions and actions. And I have to thank libertarian thinkers such as Ron Paul, Murray Rothbard, among others, for that. They have provided me with “a way out” as much as anyone else ever has, if not more so (and that’s certainly arguable).

The evils and problems of the world will always bring me down to a certain extent. But I’m fairly certain they will never ultimately defeat me. Perhaps my way out will involve more reclusion than I ever thought myself actually comfortable with. Perhaps it will be developing thicker skin. I don’t know exactly where the end road will be, but I do imagine myself being much happier in the future as I continue to develop this mode of thinking. I don’t know exactly what “the way out” will be, and I know I will always get sucked back in, then escape, then sucked back in, in varying intervals, but I hope to keep my mind in a good place and contribute good to the world. That’s ultimately what I want. I consider myself blessed to not want to rule the world, and I pity those that do desire that. They’re missing out. They may put the bayonet to my neck, but I don’t anticipate they’ll ever have my mind, nor my spirit. I think I’m on the bottom steps of the way out. I’m in a hurry to make it to the final destination, but not enough to speed up the process any faster than biology and my lifestyle choices regarding diet and exercise will get me there.

I do not look forward to the next time I get trapped, but it is so strange how getting older makes your brain change.

It is so strange how age makes your perspective change for the better. What was once a cause of social anxiety is a source of pride. Why in the fuck couldn’t you have made me that way originally, God? I ask this at the risk of you casting me into the Lake of Fire, of course. But I think it’s a legitimate question, no? I guess this is why the last chapter of the Bible is called “Revelation”. (Go ahead and make fun of me, atheists. Once again, these debates are so petty to me. Do what you want).

So, the whole point of this is: what is the way out from this all? I know age is a huge part of it, but is there anything else? How can I escape? What is my escape? There is no complete escape, I would argue. I’m too smart: I know what is “out there”. But how can I handle it all? Will only time tell? Or is there anything else that I can do to help myself? I know my best friend will continue to help. Venting to a man with his own problems that I can’t solve. Having the willpower to just ignore the arguments in general will help immensely. Finding something to replace the nervousness when someone asks me “Don’t you care about ‘the issues’?” I need something to say to that person. I need the willpower to ignore that person. I just don’t have it now. I need a way out, but I think it’s going to take a while before I get there. That’s very sad. But “it is how it is” (oh how I hate that sentence, if only for the way it is used often).

It is so odd to me how, so often, desiring something immensely, and doing everything in your power to satiate that desire, just leads you further and further away from it. That’s so fucking weird. We’re all strapped into this ride, that sometimes has some pretty brutal bumps on it, but we keep moving forward. Life is so fucking odd to me. I don’t think that is ever going to change. I think life is just always going to be fucking weird to me. I guess it takes weird to know weird.

“…they may take our lives, but they’ll never take…OUR FREEDOM!” – Mel Gibson as William Wallace in “Braveheart”.

I look forward to seeing the day, in the future, where all of this takes me. Where will I see debating and arguing in the future? What all will I have written 20 years from now? What all will I have read? How happy will I be then? What will be the overall “state of affairs” in the world?

I don’t anticipate really wanting to talk to people. I think this format of thinking and then writing will work well enough for my purposes in the future. I can’t stop analyzing people, and regardless of what people have always told me, I personally don’t see any problem with it. That’s how I am, and I personally accept it. But because other people don’t, I just need to get away from them as much as possible. I need a way out. (You see how clever that was? It’s like the title of the piece, and I tied it all together. Aren’t I smart? Damn, I’m smart……….and funny, too. Now, if only the world noticed……………….. c’est la vie).

No One Knows What Anyone is Talking About.

A Brief Piece About Language

The hardest part of starting a piece of writing is starting it. (I hope I’m credited for this quote some day). It may be noted that the hardest part of writing is coming up with an idea. But the hardest part is actually reigning them in.

To put it bluntly, “writers” who say that “I want to write, but I don’t know what to write”, are not real writers. In my opinion. Sure, technically, once they put words down in some form, they are a “writer”. But they aren’t “natural” writers. It’s very forced. Very superficial. “Real” writers, to piss people off, know what they want to write, but struggle with the how (and, of course, the “when”, as time is always a constraining factor).

It is very easy to cut a piece off before it’s finished. Very easy to not say all of the things that you really want to say. It’s very easy to write for an imaginary reader, or for “simplicity’s sake”, rather than writing for yourself. And it’s especially easy to do that once you receive the first least little bit of negative feedback.

I am not a fan of communication. In fact, I abhor it. Every single thing about it. I hate hearing the thoughts of others (the majority of the time). I hate talking to other people (most of the time). I just fucking hate every single thing about communication. Do you want to know why? Well, let me gripe about something that started this idea that I had to complain about language by writing about it.

There are many things that I hate about language. Once again, reigning in a piece is really fucking hard. So goddamn hard. And what word do you choose next? What sentence? Do you read to find it out for yourself? Or do you want to come up with it more “completely” on your own? Who and what do you read if you wish to “read” to learn, in effect, “how” to write? There’s so many goddamn choices that it can drive one fucking mad. And I’m really fucking mad right now.

There’s nobody telling me what to write. I wish there were. But at the same time, I know I’d tell that person “No. No. No. I’m not doing that.” And I’d crave independence. Well, here I have it, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. And I suck. And that fucking sucks. It breaks my heart to know that there’s room for improvement with my writing, because that means there’s things wrong with it now. I know there will always be something “wrong” with any piece of work. But I don’t care. It bugs me, and I want it to bug me. I want it to drive me crazy. I want it to push me past my breaking point. I want writing to, night and day, make me lose sleep, and obsess over every goddamned word; every string of thoughts. I’m already fucking at this point. And that’s why I can’t get any writing done. There’s too many choices, too many options, and, to be honest with you……I actually love it.

I don’t like thinking about “professional” status. I fucking hate wasting time thinking about “selling pieces of writing”. It’s just that: a huge waste of time. But yet, I desire it, so I think about it. It doesn’t do a goddamn thing to help me get anything done. But, at least sometimes, it makes me happy. And I am a huge fan of “happiness”. Happiness motivates every single action of every human being on the planet, whether they say so or not.

Let me stop right here for a moment. Here’s what started this whole fucking idea I had for this piece. Because now, I need to explain to you my philosophy about “happiness”. I know people are going to argue with me about what I said in the last sentence of the previous paragraph. (I also know there are going to be some people that have a hard time reading this, and that’s another thing that I hate about language). Every single sentence will start an argument with another human being. Every. Single. Fucking. Sentence. That is ever said. Every fucking thought. That becomes communicated. Will be argued. And I fucking hate it. “Why? Are you afraid your ideas are wrong? Don’t like to be ‘challenged’? Just want to live in an echo chamber?” No, that is why. What I just fucking did. I wouldn’t mind arguments if I didn’t already know them beforehand. But I fucking do, and it drives me mad. I already know what is going to be said, and I have for a long fucking time. And I know people hate to fucking hear that. So communication is always conflict with me. And I really fucking hate conflict. I just want to fucking relax. And it makes me wonder why I write any goddamned thing in the first place (I’m obviously not talking about physical fighting when I talk about “conflict”. But debating is exhausting. “Why, because you don’t have any evidence to support your claims?!” No, because I have to explain shit like this to you. This is stupid. A waste of time. Why am I fucking answering your argument? Now, I’m thinking about the dumb readers who will say “Who in the fuck is he talking to in this piece? He’s a crazy person.” This communication thing is just fucking exhausting. I don’t like people, and it makes me wonder why I write). But I have points that I want to make, and I just want to communicate them. But I fucking hate everything that comes with it. Every fucking thing. Grammar. Sales. Vocabulary. “Points”. Word choice. Organization. I mean, I pretty much fucking hate writing to be honest with you.

I can’t tell you why I do this, because I don’t fucking know. Once again, this is a problem with writing: in order to tell you, I’d have to think about it. I want it to be honest and thorough. But that means I’m going to have to think about that instead of something else that I want to think about. That something else starts off the way this piece started off: ok, I know what I want to say, but how in the fuck am I going to get there? I have 15 million different ideas, but how in the fuck do I start them? How do I organize them? Where am I going to go with them? The entire writing process really is fucking futile. It’s incredibly masochistic. “Go to school for it!” FUCK you. That would defeat the whole fucking purpose of this. “Don’t you want to know how to write?” I don’t want to be taught how to write. I want to be my own teacher, deciding who to read and for what reason, and deciding what I find valuable in the words of others (and, thus, what I will adopt from them for myself), and what I don’t particularly enjoy about other writers. I don’t want to be taught things that are very subjective and personal to me. That’s the whole reason I write. Writing isn’t mathematics, where there’s concrete, exact answers to objective physical phenomena. Literature is, to put it simplistically, “a lot different”. I want to leave my personal mark on my writing. As much as I would say I’ve historically been a very gullible person, I’ve also been a very skeptical person, especially of people “in charge”. I can just hear a sociologist saying “Problems with authority, huh? That kid is going to end up in jail some day.” The dumb voices always stick out to me, for some reason. There’s something about that level of stupidity that I can’t ignore. It feels like a duty for me to point them out, if only for my own “ethical cleansing” (make sure you don’t read that as “ethnic cleansing”. I know some dumbass probably did). I’m skeptical of the idea of someone telling me “how literature should be”. I’ve always been skeptical of people in charge, and I think that’s always warranted. People who blindly follow orders are terrifying.

“Do A.” “Do B.” “Do C.” Anytime you have any uncertainty, you best believe there’s gonna be words of others coming. (in Archie Bunker voice) “But don’t you see that that just compounds the problem, Edith?” In order to communicate this to you, I have to think about it. But the problem is that, most of the time, the effort is spent on explaining things instead of actually making an argument. That, perhaps, is what I hate most about writing. I want to fucking make points. Interesting, thoughtful points. I don’t want to explain every little goddamn detail. But, of course, that’s what readers need. “Duh, Cody, if you’re going to make a point, duh, you need to explain it.” No fucking shit. Readers like you drive me crazy. Stating the obvious to such a degree that it’s a waste of energy to say “Yeah, I fucking know that.” It would be easier to ignore them, but it’s not that easy after all. Explanations take up so much valuable point-making time. Take this paragraph for example. It’s “explanation”. Is it really an argument? I guess it could be argued that it is. But it isn’t the fucking argument that I want to make. “Then why are you writing it, Cody?” Because it will help make my arguments make sense; that is the point of an explanation. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, do I have to explain this shit to you? (You see my point).

Hopefully, you do see my points. But if you just think me crazy, I’ll fucking live with it.

Don’t read me. Don’t read this. Go read something from someone else.

(If everyone’s got their demons, then why do we envy?)

…Don’t mind me. Just talking to myself again. (Do I insert humor here does that make sense does it flow well does it distract from the point too much…) (To beat a dead horse, recall previous paragraphs).

It’s easier to be bad. I love being bad. I’ve learned to thrive from it. Sure, it means that you’re bad. But c’mon. Being good is really hard. (Let’s talk to yourself for a little bit, Cody. Don’t you love being insane? Don’t you love talking to yourself in everything you write nowadays? You’re bobbing and weaving as you write this. You want people to think you’re crazy, huh Cody? Are we having fun? Are your readers laughing at you now? You’re truly a madman, aren’t you? Look at you go. Some readers love this. I wish I could have his mind for a day, they say. But haven’t you been reading what I’m fucking writing?, you say. Stroke that ego. Ah, yes. You’ve ratted yourself out to your detractors now! It’s all about your ego! They knew it! Ha! It all makes sense now! Now they’ve got you! Ahhhhh!!!! What are you going to do now? How will you ever get out of this fucking corner they’ve backed you into yet again? If only they could see the way you’re bebopping around now. Like a fucking madman. Like the fucking madman you’ve always wanted to be………. But you fucking love it).

It’s easier to be repetitive. It’s easier to stew on the same issue for a very long time. I’m a very gullible person, so I need to spend a lot of time with the same ideas to make sure I grasp them enough to actually believe them and defend them (even though I hate communication). I’ve always taken the easy way out with writing. I’ve always taken the easy way out with communication. Just keeping my mouth shut. It’s usually easier that way. But sometimes, it isn’t. And that’s, obviously, when words start coming out. But without the practice, they just don’t make sense sometimes.

I want to contribute good ideas to humanity. I don’t want to be famous simply for the sake of being famous (I want to be famous because I know I could become rich through fame, and I want to be rich so I can “retire”). But I want to contribute good ideas to humanity. Ideas that are smart. Meaningful. Significant. Not for praise; not even for money. But because it feels good. Feeling like I have contributed something intelligent and thoughtful makes me feel good. That’s the only reason I need to try to do such a thing. I realize that there are countless people who have contributed “better” ideas than my own, and this trend will continue with future “idea shapers”. But it’s just in me to think and write. And that’s what I do. Even though I hate everything else about it.

I just wish I didn’t have to spend so much goddamn time explaining everything. But I can tell that it helps me become a better writer, and I still have a lot of “thinking” to do to get better at “thinking”, so I’m hopeful for the future, at least from a “quality” standpoint. As long as I don’t become “evil”, I’ll be good. (That was obvious, Cody).

The important part of all of this is to feel honestly. That is something that has frequently escaped me. I’ve written about religious conservatism enough for now, but being completely honest and comfortable with my emotions is very challenging for me. Perhaps there’s some truth to men in general being less comfortable with accepting their own emotions as compared to women, but religious conservatism has made this task so much harder than any role biology (probably) has played. It’s hard when every single emotion leads you back to “fear”. It, surprise surprise, makes you not want to feel any emotion at all. And I think that made me angry for many years. That, and some other things that made me angry for many years took over my life. Anger and sadness seemed to be the only things I felt before I started getting into comedy. I’m only 25, so I suppose “anger and sadness” during the teenage years are normal. But still. My emotions during that time period shouldn’t be completely dismissed.

(So much of my writing is about my struggles with writing. It’s weird, but I’m ok with this).

And then, of course, there’s the soul-crushing aspect of putting your heart and soul into something just to have it demolished. That’s always hard. “But Cody, you open yourself up to that stuff by writing in the first place-” Jesus fucking Christ. You goddamned stupid people. You’re so dense and naive. “Aren’t we all-” Go fuck yourself.

I am starting to realize the importance of independent thought. That truly is a beautiful thing about life: that we all have our own separate wills. We all have individual traits and desires, and that leads to a lot of diversity. I think that’s wonderful (and no, some college professor isn’t forcing me to write this: I actually believe it). My childhood way of looking at things was that things followed very specific blueprints. Maybe I was just a dumb kid, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that idea is “common” among kids. You follow the rules, the “adults” have a lot of similarities with each other (especially to the child mind), etc. And then, of course, you start to gain independence when you get older. Start thinking about things, choosing your sources of information to absorb, your ideas change, etc. There’s always going to be countless things that frustrate everyone. We all have our individual troubles that we have to try to fix. But I’m starting to truly realize that there is no blueprint. I live my life, do what I want, make my choices, deal with the negative consequences, and I value learning, so I try to learn as much as possible about things I am interested in. When I have a thought that I want to develop that sounds interesting, I write. And I have many life circumstances that I’m unhappy with, but I’m working on those. As I’ve written before, the key to me is feeling like I’m independent. I know I’m going to have many troubles throughout my life: problems that could’ve been more easily resolved or avoided altogether “if I only would’ve done this”. But who doesn’t have that? Once again, I keep hearing these hypothetical voices from others in my head trying to direct me, and I just have to think “Where did you get this magical fucking blueprint of what I should be doing, and who ordained it?”

I can tell just how long of a “long-term” project writing really is. I’m desperate to write good stuff, but I’m so stupid. I’m so ignorant of so many different things: technical linguistic skill, knowledge of topics, etc. But I can tell that I need an overall perspective. I need to have a deeply personal, independent, overall perspective about things that I do. There’s no blueprint to be handed to me about where to go, either with writing or with anything else. I’m pretty sure confidence will come with age. It’s just a waiting game, in many ways: being a biological slave. But that isn’t a bad thing as long as you’re having a good time on the ride you’re “trapped” with.

I’m not looking forward to being critiqued. I don’t like it. I know, you’re fucking entitled to your own opinion. I fucking get it. I know I’m not perfect. But I just fucking hate listening to most criticism. There’s always a fair-share of just dumb criticism. And, as always, there’s people telling you stuff that you already know. There’s people that don’t get what you say. And the minority of criticism is actually valuable criticism. Stuff that you can use. Stuff that you hadn’t actually thought of before. Most of it is either envious bunk because you’re trying to do something or it’s a strawman or any other stupid shit that people do. There are plenty of times where people bring up valid concerns, and you go back, and forth, and back, and forth. And many would find that “productive”. But anytime I think of “debates” or going “back and forth”, I think of religion. How many fucking years do we have to “debate” religion? I’m so sick of the “debate”. I’m fucking tired of it. I’ve heard it over and over and over and over and I just want to say “Why in the fuck are you people still debating? Just fucking live and let live! Let go! Who fucking cares if you ‘save’ an atheist?” Why can’t we just agree to disagree, and surround ourselves with people that agree with us? This idea that we should always “challenge” our beliefs is so prevalent now, and I don’t get it. Once again, “let me explain”.

This is what I don’t understand about the idea of an “echo chamber”. The idea of an echo chamber is that you just listen to people that confirm “what you already believe”, or some stupid shit like that. I can certainly understand how that’s a “thing”. A “negative” thing. But I’ve, personally, had more experiences in what my friend and I call “ambiguity land”, where there’s so much conflicting information that you go back and forth and back and forth and back and forth in your own fucking mind so much that you start getting bags under your eyes because you can’t figure it out. Trying to weigh all of the different factors, etc. etc. Who fucking cares? At some point, you just have to make a fucking decision. You don’t need to justify that decision, you get to decide who you are going to debate with, and when, and what about, and you need to accept that people are going to say whatever the fuck they want to about you. It’s going to anger you at times, and you’ll probably feel the need to defend yourself often, but this is how it is. This is just how it is. The back and forth is fucking exhausting, and I hate it. I don’t want to do it. Everyone does it from time to time, and sometimes I enjoy it. But overall, I’d say that I don’t. I’m tired of it. Especially something like the “religious debate”. People just spin their wheels over and over and over, and I’m done listening to “the argument”. I want my religious experience to be more personal and meaningful than the traditional “Christian vs. atheist” debates.

Biology and experience help out a lot. I know they’ll help me out with a lot of issues I have with writing. It’s going to be like ripping my fingernails off one by one, but I know the end result will improve. Practice and genes. And just learning in general from the sources that I wish to learn from.

Deciphering truth and “Why” questions is a whole nother matter entirely (that consumes me).

What’s the Point?


A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

Sitting in Silence.

The Apparent Disconnect Between Thinking and Acting.

How I Can Become A Better Writer

Behind every good piece of writing are good thoughts. Writing is a series of thoughts strewn together. A writer hopes that his thoughts are coherent, unless he intends for them to be humorous; in which case, he writes an absurdity (with either a grain of truth in his absurdity or a presentation of truth as through the eyes of a fool) in an attempt to get the reader to laugh. But one must be a thinker to be a writer.

To think is to be human. Humans think (I think). Thoughts are consciousness, and, along with desire, drive human action. Action is the manifestation of thoughts directed towards the satisfaction of a desire.

So, to reiterate, in order to write, you must think. I desire to write. Therefore, I must think, and then I must write. However, in order to write “quality” words, one must have “quality” thoughts. But what is “quality”? What is a “good” piece of writing, and what is a “bad” piece of writing? When one likes a piece of writing, one says that the piece of writing is “good”. But is it really good? Can it be objectively good? Is a piece of writing good when a majority thinks it is good? If I think it good and you think it bad, can it objectively be good or bad? Can I be a “good” judge of “good” writing, while you be a “bad” judge of “bad” writing? And, if it is possible to objectively determine whether or not a piece of writing is “good” or “bad”, then what of someone who doesn’t like a “good” piece of writing, or who does like a “bad piece of writing? Can said person be “wrong”? Can their preference be “incorrect”?

Obviously, a lot of what makes writing “good” or “bad” depends on the countless preferences of the reader. Writing involves, if fiction, a setting, character introduction and development, actions, conflict, and a resolution (to put it elementary; I’m sure you literary scholars will inform me of what I’m leaving out). I’m not sure if you can posit an absolute that any particular piece of writing is “good” or “bad”. I suppose, however, that one universal sign of good writing is how effectively you can communicate to the reader. In other words: can the reader understand your words? Readers vary in their reading comprehension, so suppose someone comprehends your writing and another doesn’t. Once again: can you say that the writing is either good or bad? And can someone who can’t read at all be a good judge of good and bad writing? If an illiterate person hates reading, and thinks that all words are “bad”, are they?

Perhaps this question of whether or not writing can be objectively “good” or “bad” is mute. If that’s the case, then, as a writer, why should I care if my writing is “good” or “bad”? Instinctively, I want my writing to be “good”. I want all of my creative works to be “good”. So what is “good”?

The best definition of “good” that I have come up with to date, which has satisfied me the most, and which I apply to all of my creative endeavors, is how I feel about the work.

There is a trend in American society which stipulates that there are no such things as facts, and that all whims are absolute realities. This, of course, is ludicrous. But just because not all whims are absolute realities doesn’t mean that desires are meaningless. As I’ve stated before, desires are the root of action. All action is taken in an attempt to satisfy a desire, with thoughts being the specific course taken en route. It is important to distinguish the importance of facts, and the importance of desires.

Facts are existential givens. Accepting them makes our lives easier. It is simply a fact that one must accept facts. If one is not aware of a fact, then that does not mean that the fact doesn’t exist. Facts are there, and understanding them helps us figure out which course of action to take to satisfy the desires that we wish to satisfy (or that we think we can actually satisfy). We as humans exist within the boundaries of an immutable reality, whereby certain things are absolutely true. That we exist is absolutely true. If we didn’t, then, quite literally, we wouldn’t be here.

As you can see, this is quite complicated. I have a tendency to be a big thinker, and it makes it a nightmare for me to write. In fact, I, quite often, resent writing. I love it, and I hate it. I love the ideas and the potential that I have in my head; I love the physical act of typing. But organizing, making sure I include all of the facts that I wish to include, and concluding the piece are nightmare experiences to me. “But isn’t that what writing is? How can you love writing if you hate all of that?” I don’t understand it, either.

I know that I need practice. Lots of practice. Lots and lots and lots of practice. I’m realizing this more than ever before. I would say that I’m an above average thinker for my age, but my lack of experience makes it difficult to write. What do I know? Not enough to be an expert on anything. I’m still in a mostly-learning phase; not a “teaching” phase, if you wish to call it that. But I still have this desire to write. So what do I write when I don’t know anything? I begin with a piece like this: a critical self-analysis which is intended to give me practice in areas I’m lacking (cohesion, vocabulary, etc.) and which the piece itself is both a genuine question on my part and an attempt to get the answer.

I’m a terrible reader. My disdain for reading came in elementary school, when there were deadlines to reading. Most of the books were rather boring, so I didn’t read. And I haven’t read much since then, which is a shame, considering that I loved reading before school. But I digress.

I’m still not a huge reader. Besides my past experience with reading, I don’t know why. Why don’t I like to read? It’s not that I dislike reading everything. There are certain topics I’m interested in reading. Economics, for example. I love reading Murray Rothbard. But I don’t read his works everyday. In fact, I take long breaks between reading sessions. Why? Because I simply have other things that I would like to do which take precedent over reading. It’s a matter of time-constraints and desire hierarchies.

That being said, I love writing more than I love to read. But, as I’ve said, how can I become a better writer if I don’t know anything? Reading is a great way to learn, and learning makes writing easier. So if I don’t like to read, but I like to write, then what?

Honestly, I think the answer for me is just writing. Just practicing. Going through the motions of rereading, editing, grabbing a thesaurus, etc. And patience. My God, am I an impatient writer. I hate how long it takes to bring ideas together. I hate that it can take page after page after page to prove a point. Perhaps, with practice, I can make my writing more succinct. But, still yet, considering the gargantuan nature of the ideas that I wish to write about, the lengths of the pieces could still be devilishly long.

I have a tendency to be in a hurry. I don’t like sitting around, feeling like I’m doing nothing. At least not when it comes to writing; which is hilarious, because I don’t think I’m like this in many other areas of life. I live a very vegetative lifestyle. So why am I in a hurry when it comes to writing?

That comes down to disorganized thinking. When I was younger, I was raised in a religious household. Not that my father was very religious, but my mother went through a religious “phase”. She believed that the religious ideas that she wanted to introduce to us (mainly through pastors, etc.) were the best things for us. In my opinion, they weren’t. They stunted a lot of educational growth. They just did. Religion has a tendency to do that sort of thing, and I don’t think I can unravel the world’s ensnarement by religion. I can only focus on myself, analyze my past, and write my way through it towards a conclusion. But many of the desires that I had when I was a child to be intelligent were squashed by religion. Many people, tragically, are going through this today. If there were scientific facts I wanted to learn, I felt afraid, and that I should just “chalk it up to God” instead of understanding chemical and biological processes. It just made me tragically ignorant.

The same is true for my vocabulary and writing ability. It’s extraordinarily depressing, considering how much I desire to write. Perhaps it can be undone with practice. That’s what I’m hoping, anyway…

So all of this is just practice. How do I decide when a piece is finished? I need just as much practice thinking as I do the physical act of writing. The religious ideas of my past have fucked up my ability to think; to retain information; to sit and stew, and ponder. I don’t think religion is the sole perpetrator, here. I think that a lot of it has to do with being born smart around stupid people. Not that my parents were stupid people, but I don’t think that they knew what they were getting into with me. I don’t think they knew how to raise a smart kid. They loved me, but I don’t think they knew what they were doing. I can’t really blame them for that. At this current stage in my life (I’m as old as my father was when he had me, and older than my mother was), I wouldn’t know what the fuck I was doing, either. And I’m pretty sure that if I had a kid, he wouldn’t turn out as well as I have.

But to get back to the topic at hand, this piece, and many other pieces in the future, are just practice. This is practice in organizing thoughts, word selection, cohesion, but perhaps, most importantly, just doing the goddamn thing.

I need more practice thinking, and I need peace and quiet to do this. But, when I’m in peace and quiet, religious fears pop back up within me of not thinking about “God” enough. More educational stunting. I have to find a way to let go of this religious fear and feel confident in sitting in solitude, thinking, and organizing my thoughts effectively enough for writing. And this is going to be fucking hard.

But I really want it. Never before in my life have I realized how important it is to practice this. My best friend, who is also a writer, has told me for years the importance of reading and writing. But I had too many mental blocks to take his advice. Now, mainly due to growing restless of a barely-above minimum wage job, with no good (satisfying) alternatives in sight, I think it’s time to start practicing on what I love. I need to practice more isolation; more getting away from the ignorant ideas of this small, southern town. I need more isolation, more peace, more thinking, more analyzing, more reading, and more writing. A lot of these are the opposites of what I was taught that I should do: that I should “stop thinking so much”, that I should “stop overthinking” or “overanalyzing”, and that I needed to become a “social butterfly”. Horribly, horribly ignorant advice for me. I’m not questioning the love with which that advice was given. But it’s completely contradictory to my nature, and isn’t going to work for me. And I’m not going to force it to work. I’ve done enough of that in my lifetime, too (mainly through…take a guess? Religion).

I’m not using this to say that I hate my parents. This is merely an exercise in independence, and practice of the skillsets that I wish to improve upon.

Peace and quiet are crucial for writing. Considering how little writing I’ve done in my life, I’ve always considered portrayals of writers needing peace and quiet in movies or cartoons to be stereotypical. But it is very, very true. And due to the isolatory nature of being a writer, one is alone with one’s own thoughts constantly. One has to be. And that can be quite terrifying. You have to be comfortable with yourself to be a writer. My hands tremble as I write this. You really, really have to be comfortable with yourself as a writer. You have to write down your weaknesses, and know yourself frighteningly intimately. I’m a very introspective person, and it is hard for me to function in anything without understanding myself. I analyze everything to understand my motivations and my decisions. I do this towards other people as well. I’ve always loved doing it, even though my parents and peers have always tried to teach it out of me. But it didn’t work; it’s too intrinsic. It just got slowed down for a little bit (tragically).

On a little side note here, another thing that I’m realizing is that I need more confidence. Depending on the issue, I can be pretty confident and outspoken. But when it comes to defending myself, I tend to rather avoid conflict altogether. I’m a naturally non-combative person, but I do like telling people when I think that they are wrong or stupid. It is fun. But I do need more confidence. I need more confidence so that I can become even more outspoken through my writing. I have a lot of things that I want to say, and a lot of popular tangled webs that I want to unweave, and I need to be able to defend myself. I need more self-confidence and self-assurance. I need more logic. But at the same time, I also want to avoid some conflicts that I know are inevitable. I want the defending of myself to come incrementally. I don’t want to go insane with idiots, or even smart people. I don’t care about debating that much, but I do need a little more practice at that if I’m going to get all of the thoughts down that I wish to get down.

One important thing that I have only briefly mentioned here is learning how to edit. I have an aversion to going back and reading my writing. Untangling some of the messes that my horrible language skills create just gives me a huge headache. It’s just easier to set the piece aside for months (or even years) at a time and do something else. But I can’t get anything done that way, and if I wish to get things done, I need to start developing the willpower to edit.

Once again, a large part of my unwillingness to go back and reread my work and edit it is the same religiousintelligence problem that I discussed earlier. My thoughts were constantly interrupted with fearful religious thoughts about God, so the idea of relaxing, sitting down, and dedicating time to something “without thinking of God” (or whatever this ignorant feeling is) is (sadly) foreign to me. Relaxation can’t be part of your repertoire when you need to analyze your every thought and action for fear of going to Hell.

It’s fucking ignorant bullshit.

But I need to learn to relax and get lost in my thoughts. I need to rekindle my desires to learn, and to think. I just hope that the emotional damage hasn’t been permanently done, and that I can untangle it. I can’t be like the majority of people in my hometown who have had their mental facilities retarded by religion. It’s tragic, and I don’t want to be an ignoramus forever. It is still very emotionally uncomfortable for me. But, once again, I think I just need to practice it. I need to practice thinking in peace and quiet, and unraveling all of the conservatism from my mind so that I can say everything that I wish to say. This will prove most difficult…

It really is depressing to think about how much religion has hindered me in my life. It has destroyed a great deal of my self-confidence, self-expression, and self-improvement. It hindered them for many, many years. My heart weeps over it. I’m far behind where I could’ve been, and I can’t go back and relive my life. It’s most depressing.

All I can do is unravel it from this point in my life, then move on and learn all it is that I have missed out on over the years. Sure, there are scientific prodigies who will go on to make lots of money from curing various ailments in the world, and sure, maybe I missed out on that possibility because of religion. Maybe my interest could’ve led me to be one such person (probably not). Or maybe I would just be more educated about science. But regardless, I’m not happy with where I am, and it is depressing.

Religion is a way of lying to yourself. Not that God doesn’t exist, and you’re lying to yourself by believing that He does. But religion is repression. It’s a repression of humanity. It’s a repression of natural human desires and abilities. And that’s why it’s so destructive. All for a bunch of lies; that if I do x, y, and z that I will get into Heaven.

Your actions do not get you into Heaven;

Christ does.

And Christ’s forgiveness cannot be earned.

It is only given freely by the grace of God.

So, to sum that up, my old religious beliefs retarded me quite a bit. It’s depressing, and I’ve been cheated of great opportunities to learn; but I will work on unraveling all of this and becoming more learned in life, and in writing.

It really is a tragedy that religion has destroyed my ability to sit in peace and think. I need to be able to sit in peace and think if I’m going to be as good of a writer as I can be. But it’s hard to do that when you have trained yourself for years to feel afraid when you feel relaxed; to feel compelled when you feel comfortable. I’ve repressed a lot of these terrible religious ideas I’ve had over the years, but if I were to actually go back and try to analyze them, I would break down into tears. It’s horrible human torture to go through religion the way I did. There are many people that have had it worse, but it is still inhumane to adopt the religious ideas that I adopted. It’s one big heartache. It destroyed peace and comprehension; as I’ve said before, it destroyed my ability to think. My ability to be confident, and well-spoken. It destroyed my mind…(although not completely, as evidenced by this (and other things)).

So, although you may feel this is an unnecessary tangent, I must now attempt to unravel my religious past in order to better understand why my writing is the way that it is so that I can attempt to improve upon it. As I’ve said, I grew up believing that intelligence was the ultimate sin: why rely on sinful humanity instead of a perfect God? And the perfect God was going to church, living by the Ten Commandments, etc. etc. Writing this is most difficult, as it brings back those most dreadful terrors within me. But I must press on to move on and develop as a human being.

The fear of Hell is one of the worst experiences. It cripples you. It grips you, and shakes you to your core, and doesn’t let you go. It causes you to do things that you never would believe you would do. It makes you lie to yourself. That’s one of the worst things about it. It makes you afraid to admit things about yourself. It makes you afraid to be yourself. It makes you afraid to admit your weaknesses; it makes you afraid to admit your interests; it makes you afraid to admit your abilities; and it makes you afraid to admit your desires. It just makes you afraid on one of the most primal levels ever. And people that preach at others to fear for Hell without giving them any hope are, quite frankly, terrible people. And people who give those afraid of Hell bad advice are doing something tragic. Perhaps it’s well-intentioned (I think that most of the time, it is). But in practice, the whole situation is depressing.

I do not understand God’s justice. I may not ever understand it. On the one hand, I can understand how, because Adam and Eve shed light on evil, and this evil thus afflicted us, that God would be upset (to put it lightly; I’m not quite sure exactly how to describe God’s (feelings?) about this). But on the other hand, it feels like an overreaction. An eternity of pain and suffering? It does feel a little bit extreme. I accept it deep in my core, but, at the same time, I almost disagree with it at my core. It does feel a bit too harsh. But, although atheists will crucify me for this, perhaps there’s just more to the picture that I don’t understand.

However, although I do not understand just how just God’s justice is, I can say, through personal experience, observation, and frequent discussion for years with someone who became my best friend during this process (you shall eventually, in the coming years, know of his credentials on this subject) that self-condemnation is not the way to go.

Self-condemnation is the belief that one must condemn oneself for one’s transgressions by becoming aware of them and feeling guilt for them. Then, the doctrine goes, one must accept Christ into one’s heart so that He can forgive you for all of those transgressions. In practice, what this means is a lot of “beating oneself up” for one’s sin and a lot of repetitive acts to (try go get into Heaven when one dies?) It is almost as if these people are whipping themselves so that they can see the streets of gold and flowing milk and honey when they die. But the problem is the whipping.

If Christ died for your sins, then that’s it. That’s all it took to get into Heaven. And if you believe that, then that’s as far as you need to go. It doesn’t involve going to church every Wednesday and Sunday; it doesn’t involve being a good person; it doesn’t involve fear. It’s just simply done.

My thoughts on Christianity have changed in recent years. My earliest experiences with religion were my mother reading from the Bible to my brother and I, and many trips to a couple of different churches. There were also sermons on the radio on the way to these churches. I suppose that my mother reading from the Bible was harmless enough. It was boring as sin, and I viewed the exciting stories as just that: exciting stories (I think I was too young to grasp the significance of God), and I viewed the “begats” as insufferable, tortuous boredom. I do not think these Bible readings really instilled any fear in me. At least not any fear that I can consciously remember. These readings were more boring than scary. The church sermons were also boring. I would want to sleep, but my mom wouldn’t let me. And just when I was about to doze off, the pastor would start screaming and clapping in rhythm to the inflections of certain words that he decided to emphasize, and I would wake up, wondering what in the world the man was doing. All of the old people seemed to enjoy it, however. Once again, I can’t recall any specific sermons that made me take something from them; good or bad (thankfully). It was more boredom. There were also television sermons. The late-night television sermons occurred during my middle-teenage years. During this time, my mother “moved out” and we stopped going to church. There was a spiritual void (perhaps no different than when I was going to church), so I started thinking for myself. And I started to realize some of the ignorance of conservatism; things such as the avoidance of modern medicines to cure ills, condemnation of scientific facts, etc. I was finally old enough to (at least on the most basic level) understand some of these basic scientific facts, and they made me happy. I was happy to learn (about space in particular). It was fascinating. It captured my imagination. And it turned me into an atheist.

I wasn’t particularly happy when I was an atheist. In fact, I was miserable and depressed. Science was making me happy, but something was missing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But, to briefly mention it here, I later discovered that the missing piece for me was philosophy: how to view religion, science, and everything else in the world. That’s the direction my mind has decided to go, and I am very pleased with the result thus far, and look forward to seeing where it leads me next. I’m sure it will be most wonderful…

During this time that I was an atheist, I seem to remember one particular night at my grandmother’s house watching a late-night sermon on television in a separate room while my grandmother was asleep. My, how I hated that sermon. I believed that he was full of shit, that God wasn’t real, and that the scientific facts of space would tell me all that I needed to know (even though I didn’t know how, and even though that wasn’t quite fulfilling to me enough; oddly enough, physics were tied into this philosophical belief of mine as well. Only recently have I discovered that physics, astronomy, and everything else in life brings me no satisfaction without some philosophy regarding the subjects accompanying it. It’s complicated, and topics for other pieces). And my atheism continued for many years. I became a bitter asshole, but also, felt somewhat comforted by the cold, emptiness of space. At least there were some facts in the world. It wasn’t the same anti-intellectual ideology that conflicted with my nature that I had been subjected to for so long…But, on somewhat of a tangent, physics always confused me. I would stare at the lightbulb in the bathroom, knowing that there were things to learn about it, but I had no idea what they are. I never thought about going to a library and picking up a book about the nature of light. I didn’t understand how physics could relate to a philosophical framework that would make me happy. Currently, I view physics as immutable realities which we as humans can use to make ourselves happier by making the naturally difficult processes of our everyday existence easier. I think that’s a pretty good way to view physics, even if I (at least currently) know very little about the math.

Also, to go on one more tangent here before I continue the religious discussion: I want to briefly discuss something that has always plagued me. This topic will be it’s own separate, complete piece, but I want to mention it here. Very seldom am I satisfied with the way information is presented by others. Very seldom do I feel like information is presented to me by others in a way that I can understand it. I often find myself having to “take their word for it” without actually understanding it. Sometimes, this has to do with them not explaining the topic in depth, and sometimes, it has to do with my lack of knowledge regarding the subject, and not understanding what they are talking about. But I am particular in who I like as a “teacher”, and most often I am not satisfied with said “teachers”. I do not enjoy teachers who dumb things down. I want the brunt of it. But the lesson of the topic must exist within some type of philosophical framework: why are telecommunications so important? What is the role of business? Who is more right when it comes to ideas regarding business: conservatives or liberals? What philosophical positions can be taken regarding business, and why did telecommunications develop in the first place? Why is faster communication among humans important? Why is it important for more business transactions to take place? Why do people have problems with wealth? Are they justified in having problems with wealth? How did these geniuses develop technologies before anyone else did? Why did no one else do it before them? Why do people disagree on the nature of government? Why do people disagree at all? What is man’s individual nature? What is the appropriate balance between leaving nature alone and transforming it? Why do some people believe in the existence of God, while others don’t? Why are there sub-branches of the same religion? These are types of questions that I almost never get the answers to when listening to various subjects…At least not satisfactory answers. I get many bland responses, or very vague answers regarding these questions, with no elaboration. And this isn’t even considering deceit…that’s a whole nother topic entirely. Many lesson plans are philosophically lacking, and this brings me sadness. But, perhaps, if I read more often, I would find what I’m missing, huh? And, as you can imagine, much of the education I have received is insufficient considering how I think. And it’s tragic that attempts have always been made to teach my way of thinking out of me, but I digress…Sadly, many debates regarding issues and positions will continue on forever, with the same arguments being used to support each side. And thus, the Eternal Struggle continues on…look for a (hopefully) giant piece about this subject coming sometime in the future (only God knows when…)

To get back to the topic at hand, let’s keep discussing my religious past. Let’s talk about the radio sermons on the way to church. I think that the radio sermons affected me more than anything else. The radio sermons occurred during the time that I was going to church during my childhood; during the time my mother was reading from the Bible to my brother and I. I took things from the radio sermons. Things that, in retrospect, were insignificant spiritually (regardless of what significance the pastor took from them). I kept them in my mind, and repeated them. Various points that the pastors were trying to make that, looking back on them, were so devoid that they were never worth listening to in the first place. They became the standard by which I measured myself spiritually. The ideas stuck with me, and I applied them to myself and to others. And, sometimes, I would make up my own interpretations that I’m sure the pastor was not even trying to convey. It is very strange how, when you are afraid, particularly of going to Hell, you don’t even need to listen to someone else to adopt specific ideas about what is sinful and what isn’t. The imagination does a great (well…horrific) job of conjuring up all different ways of sinning and fucking yourself up in the afterlife. I don’t even know if I can remember all of my imaginings here…

But, to continue, I’ll begin explaining how I applied some of those ideas that I listened to that stuck with me to others (this is most dreadful). I spent a lot of time condemning other people in my mind. “What do you mean you don’t go to church?” “Oh, you go to that church? You should go to my church!” “What do you mean you aren’t a Christian?!” Sometimes, I would even express these thoughts to these people. Not my finest moment; I’m not proud of that. Besides applying it to others that I went to school with, I would apply it to people I saw on the television as well. They were subjected to more internal, mental vitriol than the kids I was educated with. The more money they had, the more I condemned them. If they were famous, I condemned them. What was my logic? That’s a great question. It goes back to my prior belief that there is the earthly world and the spiritual world. The earthly world involved all of those good things that I mentioned earlier; all of the things that were not related to going to church every Sunday, and thanking God for every single thing that happened every single time that it happened. So if you enjoyed it, it was probably “earthly”, for that level of religious scrupulousness can only create misery. It’s hard for me to define what I would consider “earthly” because I spent so much time thinking about “spiritual” things instead of “worldly” things. I avoided thinking about “worldly” things, so it’s hard for me to explain what it is that I ignored for so long. As I mentioned earlier, it involved learning (particularly of the sciences); it involved language and vocabulary, and speaking well; it involved feelings of attraction towards the opposite sex; and, of course, all kinds of “violent” movies, television shows, etc. I really thought that the entire world was evil, except for those religious people I surrounded myself with on television, on the radio, and in the church. If you didn’t go to church (or if you went to the “wrong” church), or if you were a scientist, or if you were rich or famous, or even fucking physically attractive (somehow, I viewed being physically attractive as being “sinful”. Probably something to do with “vanity” or lust or something…). All of these people were “sinners”, and instead of listening to what they had to say, I would ignore them while repeating to myself variations on “they are sinners”. I cannot currently express the depression and regret I feel about this. I feel like I owe someone (or some people) an apology, but I don’t know who or whom to direct it to.

I (sadly) feel as if I do not need to explain how religion affected my mental grasping of the sciences. It’s so common that I feel as if everyone already knows what I’m talking about. The argument is still raging today, and, sadly, it always will. The only conclusion I can find to this debate for myself is that conclusion which brings me personally inner peace; I can’t get involved in the Eternal Struggle.

I’ve mentioned how religion affected me linguistically. I’m sure you can imagine how it affected my relationships with the opposite sex. Perhaps I could elaborate upon that in another piece. And, again, you can imagine how it affected my perception of popular movies, T.V. shows, etc. You don’t have to look very hard to find someone who currently has the worldview that I had back then (sadly)…

To continue elaborating upon my previous perceptions of various things in the world, here’s a line of thought that I would’ve had back in the dark day: rich people were greedy; didn’t they know they couldn’t take their wealth with them when they died? Didn’t they know that Jesus hated wealth? Well, by God, I’ll hate it, too! Fuck them! Fuck those sinners! And many of the rich people were also famous, so fuck the famous, too! Honestly, it would be much more difficult to explain why I currently don’t feel these ways than to explain why I felt those ways in the past. When you are, at an early age, introduced to the idea that religion should produce fear in you, you do ridiculous, idiotic things. The religion introduces the fear to you that you never had before, and then tries to give you the remedy to that fear. It seems to me that the remedy to the fear is not introducing it in the first place…

The fear of being “cocky” or “prideful” has really hindered my vocabulary. It has also hindered my ability of being a very logical, sequential thinker. If you accept the fact that this fear hindered my vocabulary and logical thinking, then it is easy to see how it has and is hindering me as a writer. How could religion hinder my vocabulary and logical thinking? Does that mean that my vocabulary is limited to “thous”, and my logical thinking magical, with men walking on water? Not quite.

The language was limited due to fears of being “cocky” or “prideful”, and even fears of being intelligent in general (as, remember, I considered human intelligence to be the opposite of divine existence). Being called a “know-it-all” or “smartass” or “nerd” or whatever at a young age, especially considering my sensitive nature, decreased my vocabulary as well. But, rather than lament at what might have been, when it comes to that, I’m just going to accept it as a “normal” part of growth that I must accept, move on from, and grow from. Even as I say that, however, there is a deep depression in me about words and linguistic development lost…Practice makes perfect, I suppose…

How was my logical thinking affected? The same way. Being a “super logical person” or “too literal” or “too logical” disrupted my natural thinking process. My earliest memories of myself are of me being somewhat logical. But years of being around unsupportive peers made me try to become as chaotic and disorganized as they were in order to fit in. And that’s the shitty situation that my writing and my thoughts find themselves in today, sadly. God help me unravel this piece of shit…My dad always did the same thing to me as well. I always felt bad around him when I tried to be smart. Looking back on it, I don’t think he was purposefully trying to make me feel bad. I think he was just trying to be joking. But at the time, it made me feel like shit to hear him ridicule me when I tried to be smart. To be fair, I probably did bring some of it upon myself, as I’m sure I was cockier than was justified. But also, a lot of my natural intelligent expression was hindered. It was a complicated mixture of both, as human experience, messily and muddily, always is…

So now, as I have a desire to write, and am trying to become better at it, and practice it more often to get in the swing of things and make myself happy through my work, I accept that my vocabulary must improve, and so must my logical thinking. And that is what this (and, I’m sure, other pieces in the future) are working towards. The next, horrible, painful step in this process, is the organizing. Please wait a second while I go get my throw-up bucket.

There, I’m back. Please excuse the smell. It should be obvious to you how organization is crucial to good writing. It’s important in basic conversation. It’s important in linguistics. Sentence creation, idea development, etc. So how could I, over the years, have developed problems with organization? Please see some of the previous causes of my previous problems.

Good organization is a byproduct of good intelligence. And when my intelligence was interrupted, so was my organization. And my intelligence was interrupted by religion and by ignorance, or envy, or whatever it was. And, thus, my organization was affected in the same way. So I won’t bore you with the details of how my organizational abilities became depleted. But how, now (brown cow?) can I fix them? What steps can I take to improve my organizational ability? I’ll express for you a few ways that I’ve thought of that I think will help me out.

One way I’ve thought about doing this is writing down all of the various points that I wish to make in a piece (whether fiction or nonfiction) in a diagram tree, plotting down the major elements that I wish to discuss, and distinguishing between them by differences that I see in the natures of each of the elements. Putting them in order in the tree may help me, also, with elaboration, as I think I may be able to look at the organized tree, look at one piece of it, and begin elaborating upon said idea. Then, when I feel as if the elaboration is done, I can look over at the tree and begin the next portion of the tree, not forgetting where I wanted to go.

Another way I’ve thought about doing this is just through practicing. Just practicing writing, as I’m doing now. Suffering through all of the problems that I have with organizing, and accepting the fact that a large percentage of my writing will be shit. Shit vocabularily, and shit organizationally (and conceptually, etc. etc.). Practice will be the name of the game when it comes to improvement in all of these areas. It won’t occur as quickly as I would like, but I must stick with it, and keep practicing, if I want to improve to become as good of a writer as I want to be.

It’s quite daunting…

But, practice practice practice


On to the next step.

After organizing, what could be next? If I’m confident with the content conceptually, I’ve accepted that I need to work on vocabulary and organizing, what could possibly be next in the writing process?

That god damned editing.

So, in the spirit of this piece: what are the mental blocks that I have with editing? Aye aye aye…More intellectual problems. The same thing as I’ve stated before, but geared towards editing. But, in addition to the intellectual problems, there are a couple more problems that I have with editing. One of them is a type of perfectionism problem: I can’t stand the thought of not doing something right the first time. It aggravates me. I accept that I am not perfect, but there is a limit. There is a limit to the amount of garbage that I am willing to accept from myself. And if I become too aggravated with my “first draft” (I don’t really do “drafts”, but for lack of a better term), I become frustrated. I don’t like the idea of spending time rereading, rewriting and editing. I would rather do it correctly the first time I write it down. I know that sounds strange, but it’s just how I am. I don’t know why, other than I like to progress and move on to other projects, and I don’t like feeling bogged down by any one project. Although I do wish to spend more time on current projects to make them better (in my opinion). If I can’t do it perfectly the first time, I’ll have to accept that, and learn how to get better through progression. And how do I do that? As I’ve said; through pieces like this. But let’s try to elaborate on this a little bit further.

So if you understand how my religious intellectual problems have affected me, what does this have to do with editing? It comes down to the exertion of intelligence (the sin), back to the language problems (which come back to the exertion of intelligence (the sin)), and back to the cockiness problems. They all overlap and coexist. They all have to do with humanitarian expression of intelligence, manifested in different ways. It’s terribly difficult to move on from, and that’s what this is all about. I think it’s going pretty well so far.

For this piece, at least.

After this piece is published, however, and how I apply these things to myself on a regular basis is another question entirely.

So now that you (hopefully) understand (at least a little) my problem with editing, how do I get better at it?


How do I let go of my mental blocks regarding intelligence?

Practice, and the grace of God, I guess.

Enough with editing. Let’s try to conclude this piece. What are the final pieces to the complicated mental puzzle? Self-esteem. What problems do I have with self-esteem? Do I really need to answer this question for you? Surely, you’ve caught onto the theme by now. However, this self-esteem problem is perhaps the deepest spiritual problem that I have presented today. It goes along the same humanitarian vein mentioned before. The self-esteem was related to the intelligence, the desires to learn things such as the sciences, the desire to express onself intellectually through intelligent vocabulary, being a logical thinker, and being a good organizer. Hopefully, I need to elaborate no further on this. Why is it the most important part of the puzzle? Because it is the one aspect of my personality which drives my actions. Without confidence, even the best of facts can’t help me make good decisions. I have been swayed by others for far too long, and it has kept me from expressing my individuality, and being comfortable in my own skin. Well, how in the fuck can I be a writer if I’m unconfident in expressing myself and am uncomfortable with what, why and how I’m saying it to boot?

So the next question becomes: how do I boost my self-esteem? What caused my low self-esteem? I think that I was born with a very sensitive constitution that swayed very easily in the winds of opinion. A large part of this problem has to do with my father. My father did not seem to like the fact that I was very opinionated, and didn’t like to listen to others. He would always try to give me advice that I should be more open to listening, but I never took it. It did lead to some problems, but I’m pretty content with my decision thus far. And I don’t blame him for what he did, either. As Travis Tritt once sang, I know he had the “best of intentions”. However, it made me very unconfident when I felt like he was very unsupportive of my decisions. But, as “Free” once sang, “It’s alright now.” It’s still a learning process for me to be more mentally independent and confident. It’s always been this way, and, through practice, I can limit myself from being subjected to self-doubt as frequently as I have done to myself in the past. It just takes a lot of practice. It takes time to figure out all of the things that have limited me in the past. It takes time for me to practice learning what I wanted to learn previously, but never did, because of what I’ve mentioned before. Practice makes perfect, and this is no different when it comes to my writing, my personal growth, and my self-esteem.

Another large part of self-development that I must work on when it comes to my works (writing or anything else that I decide to release to the public that I have put effort into) is accepting praise. “But what about criticism?” I’ll get to that shortly. Yes, the acceptance of praise was affected by the same religious factors that I’ve kept stating over and over and over. It was related to pride, etc. etc. But, currently, I don’t feel that way about praise, or self-esteem. So how do I feel about it now? And how does that currently help me improve as a writer now?

I’m still uncomfortable with accepting praise. I don’t know what to do with it. I just sit there, anxious, uncomfortable, and dissociated. But I’m beginning to think that I really shouldn’t be. If writing and other forms of art are going to be as important to me in my life as I think they are and will be, then I must become accustomed to accepting praise. And, at least, accepting the fact that I will be critiqued. Let’s start with the praise.

What should I do with the praise? Well, I can do whatever I want to with it. I think that I need to do with it what makes me the most happy. And, I suppose, I should just accept it. But then, what social interactions should I have with the praiser? Good question. Once again, I feel as if the answer is whatever social interaction I want to have with the praiser. And what is that? Not much. It doesn’t make me very comfortable, and a “thank you” should do nicely. It doesn’t need to go much further than that, depending on the “fan”. But, of course, I’m always willing to accept payment.

And what of the critic? What should I take from them? Well, once again, whatever I feel as if I should do; whatever makes me the happiest (that’s a theme that I’ll have to discuss in a future piece: the philosophical position that you should do what makes you the happiest). Most of the time, I don’t care what critics have to say. Bad language? Bad editing? Bad form, sentence structure, elaboration, etc. etc.? Well, considering how I already know those things, I don’t see the point in reading it, or taking anything from it. So, I just ignore it. (And boy, it is humorous to observe these people’s reactions when you tell them what I have just said). And what about the unjustified critic? Well, obviously, I can just ignore him or her. But what if a critic brings to light something about my work that I hadn’t considered before? Then what? Well, I suppose that I will just have to cross that bridge when I get there. I don’t have to have everything figured out at the moment, you know 😉

One final point, and then I will conclude, is how to start accepting positive feelings and positive occurrences and experiences in general. When I experience something pleasant, I have trained myself though the religious torture device that I mentioned earlier. “Don’t get to happy or high: remember, you’re a sinner, and God has His watchful eye upon you. REPENT!!!” All for saying something like “This ice cream is delicious.” Not that this is an exact example of something that has happened to me, but in principle, it is pretty close. I have put myself through this ringer more times than I can count. My eyes well with tears as I write this. No good comes from religious fear. Just, none. Nothing anyone can say will ever convince me otherwise. I hope that everyone is free of it someday. A large part of our existence is happiness. It is living, and experience, and good things, and enjoyment. You have to be able to accept these things to be happy. Being happy is the purpose of life. It just is. Everything we do on a regular fucking basis is an attempt to maximize our happiness. Even if we are doing something for someone else, we are doing it for ourselves. Our lives are lived individually, and are meant to make us happy. No one can effectively convince me of this otherwise. I will not be able to explain it all here, but I hope you’ll continue reading my works in the future so that I can elaborate upon my position. Those “Christians” who say that “holiness is greater than happiness” are the biggest liars walking the face of this planet today. The two are not separate. They are not distinct. They are one in the SAME. “But what if sin makes you happy?” Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ll have to elaborate upon my religious beliefs in other pieces at later dates. It’s too much to include in this piece, which is going in a different direction (believe it or not, it is going in a different direction than a philosophical piece about the religious role of happiness would go, despite how much religion has been included in this piece).

So how will this piece help me in the future? Once this is completed, then what? What happens to me next? How do I improve? Maybe if I write enough of these pieces, I will develop the skills necessary to be a “good” writer.

Or, at least, a self-satisfied one…

We’ll see how it all becomes received by others later.

And those are my humble, poorly-developed thoughts about how I, personally, can become a better writer.

Maybe you can relate to these words, and they will help you out, or maybe they won’t.

But I’m currently satisfied with the state of this.

More practice to come…

Better writer.

Excerpts from my fiction.

My poetry.

Where you can financially support me if you so desire (T-shirts included; please share all of these links).

A Philosopher’s Mind.

Highly Sensitive Mind.

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Inner peace in a conflicting world is the greatest gift that one can receive.

It’s conclusion is being burnt at the stake with a smile upon your face…






“Your argument is TOO logical.”

If you attempt to dismiss an argument as being too “logical“, then your own argument probably doesn’t have enough logic within it to be considered objective in any way, shape or form.