The Albatross Hung

Greetings and salutations.

I have recently been thinking. And as we all know, that is not necessarily news, let alone good news, but I believe, opiniona and all, I can stay out of trouble... for a short while.

I have been thinking about the state of things. Yes, again, this is probably not news to anyone. It seems like I am constantly criticizing the world around me, sometimes harshly, mostly bluntly. But, I feel a certain need to rant.

You see, connections are beginning to come my way. Humble ones, albeit, but I feel like at least some of my hard work has removed the albatross from my neck, so to speak. I feel like Lermontov on the verge of proving his love... without the pistols, shoot-out, blood, pain or death. Nevertheless, I feel care-free-- although perhaps I should be more cautious. I have, at least close to me, an exemplar who might take it upon himself to be a key into a door into a hallway into a... well, you get the picture. That is, I might have a way into an industry I was beginning to think impenetrable.

That said, I would like to question something... and I figure, what better place to publish this question than here, where I can return with foresight and see if the question is silly, downright naive, or well placed.

This question is simple: why is it that people in the entertainment industry fear the association with the novice? Amateurs flock together... professionals flock together... but why is it that professionals do not risk time with amateurs? I realize how annoying a complete allowance to neophytes would prove... their petulant pleas for reading my "newest poem about my cat, Fluffy, who I feel deep within my heart is my long-lost brother reincarnated!" There is a certain sense that people try to be uncomfortably "unique", and that can sometimes be a good thing... but seriously, Coleridge and Wordsworth got together at a time when Wordsworth's career was less than stellar. Coleridge had faith in the younger Wordsworth, even though (in my opinion) the younger's poetry had much to learn from the flamboyant and extravagant "rock star" poet. Nevertheless, the two harvested a rich relationship, full of turmoil, and yes, the two eventually ceased the fervid and animated friendship they once had, but 'tis better to love then lost than to never have loved at all, and I would believe the same is of friendship.

That said, I understand the mathematics involved are not quite the same as they were in the period of Coleridge and Wordsworth. For instance, screenplay writers opening up their hearts to the new guy would probably have an overwhelming flood of manilla envelopes stuffed with query letters (at best) and stacks of full scripts (at worst) to wade through. And, unlike the days of Coleridge, it would not be highly educated people, fluent in ancient Greek, Latin, German, and possibly French. The group would not be the effervescent and sophisticated gentility (already, the word "gentleman" has descended into the depths of filthy magazines catered to the degredation of women... oops, sorry, we live in a new age... let me rephrase that... filthy magazines catered to the degredation of "sexually liberated" women who flock to please men...). No longer are the days when one would simply walk over to one's friends house, stay for a bit of playground chemistry, have a cucumber sandwidge, and discuss the latest critique of Humes and the newest understanding of Immanuel Kant.

The round-table today is mostly concerning war, poverty, Paris Hilton's newest engagement (or possibly porn), and whether or not Tom Cruise is a nutjob (for the record, if you want my opinion, capital Nutjob). Not to say that the first few (before and not including Paris Hilton) are not relevant and in need of discussion... but we have bypassed sophistication for a coffee-quick fix. We do not want to read philosophy because it slows us down. For what? Hell if we know! Why are you in such a rush? "Because my time is worth money." Do you need more money? "Hell yeah!" Are you really getting it by rushing out the door without a book to read while waiting for the bus? "Not really..." Could you use a few extra minutes to sacrifice intelligent rapore? "Hell yeah!" Do you value communication? "I think it terribly important." Do you attempt to further your opinion? Are you willing to debate issues that are not "life and death", in order to get further into the depths of humanity, and to understand how we reach "life and death" situations? "Hell no, I got a life and death situation! TAX SEASON IS COMING!"

*sigh*

What people do not realize is that they are hurrying past, without looking back, but they do not really know where they are hurrying to... the important thing is just that they hurry on. The most visceral metaphor I've heard is the description of America as passengers on a rowboat, desperately trying to leave their home behind, yet the more they paddle, the more fervid their desire to move move MOVE, the more they move backward... and as they refuse to look backward, they do not really, truly understand where they are going.

Take a moment. Breathe. And know this: if you rush, you will bypass everything... but if you stop, ask yourself "what do I want to know? What do I want to do?" and then find that knowledge, or at least begin by questioning yourself and saying "I wonder..." or if you simply do what you want to do, what is in your heart rather than on your mind's worry, perhaps you will be surprised where you go... and you won't even loose that much time for the deep breath and the contemplation.

Read the dictionary for cool words. Not only do they impress, but they also increase your perspicacity and verbal dexterity. "But my time is worth money, I can't waste it on trivial games." Have you ever lost a business deal because of a miscommunication? Have you ever felt at a loss to describe a certain quality you were trying to sell? Perhaps had you just relaxed, taken a deep breath, you would have thought of it.

Life is like trying to open a door. You've all experienced it. You can do it one of two ways: 1) you can calmly walk up to the door, casually insert your key, turn the knob and stroll right in. Or you can choose #2-- rush to jam the key in the slot, miss the slot, drop your keys, pick them up, get the rings tangled in your fingers, turn them the wrong way and end up wasting more time in the long run.

Those who walk casually do not fumble. Do not procrastinate. Put the keys in the lock, but do not rush.

In the immortal words of a slack-jawed yokel on a plaque I read at my volunteer job, "the hurrier I go, the behinder I get."

The Saddest News Ever

Found recently on BBC news online:

"In Britain, it is estimated that some £770m ($1.2bn) is spent on prostitution every year, more than on cinemas or many other forms of entertainment."

Basically, what that means to me? Dumb jocks have begun to rule over, and whores are getting more revenue than an older form of expression: storytelling. Perhaps not as old as agriculture, which, contrary to many reports, supercedes prostitution as the oldest "profession" (this assuming you consider prostitution a profession, as one person questioned on the website), but nevertheless older than prostitution, storytelling is more of a necessity than people realize.

Simply put, without stories, we are nothing. Without tall tales to look up to, we have no heroes or heroines. Without the wonder and relaxation accompanied by a campfire tale, we have little towards which to look forward. And, most importantly, without the art of communication, as lucid and complete as possible, we huddle around confusion and beat down the hatches of the gates, barbarians ourselves.

How can it have gone so far? I ask this simple question: how can people rather debase themselves for fifteen minutes of pleasure (an hour at best), ignoring spouses and significant others, cheating, running away from one's problems and into the loving arms of a woman after his or her own pocketbook... all quite pathetic. And then the "businesswomen" who run the show... banking on being at the helm of the barbarous and useless time-waster.

Yes, there is nothing more of a waste than having sex outside of a relationship (relationship defined: 1) willing to spend time actually talking and connecting with someone. 2) not willing to waste time that could be spent talking and connecting with someone). It is a waste of time and energy.

That said, it is a waste of energy that could be used sharpening one's skills in any more important realm of human sciences. Bluntly put, no one ever will receive the nobel prize for wandering (probably drunkenly) into a brothel. Sex can produce offspring in a species, yes... but the child of a whorehouse cannot be said to be a child in an ideal and natural environment. Nor a healthy one.

There is lost secrets of the stars to find... tales untold, even though lazy poetics hail "there are no new ideas"... have you ever heard the one about the gremlin who flew to another world? Neither have I. That tale remains untold, at least for now. And there ARE new ideas, because there are many things which have not been discovered. Nanobiology is practically salivating for someone with the patience and skill to discover new species of microscopic life. Physicists still have not found their beloved Theory of Everything, and have yet to find the "god-particle" (if it exists). There are planets and universes that are, to this day, unseen.

I'm sorry, but what you can find in a brothel, as many people try to advertise, is nothing new. This argument, usually used to justify brothels is actually more strong as a counter-argument. There is nothing new to be found in a brothel, but there is many things destroyed therein. Self-esteem... self-discipline... self-identity (how can one feel that they have a "self" when they sell the only "self" they know [their bodies]?)... and I'm sorry, the old adage that you "can't hate the player hate the game..." any game cannot be played without players. A brothel, whorehouse, bordello, stripclub, or even just a whore herself, give a cheater the option, and an easy one at that. To think, the satisfaction they could gain just by saying "no", and knowing that, at least for the time being, the person involved has not cheated, and will not cheat until he or she finds another person willing! To think, the simple time one could spend focusing on strengthening a relationship, instead of giving off one's self to a two-dollar (and if she costs more, she's charging more than she's worth) prostitute... or even a freebie whore.

The problem? Not an advocate of the complete opposite, I have to hesitantly say it is tolerance. We tolerate the prostitute, the cheater, the one who displays his or herself and gives the body away. We tolerate "Gentleman's clubs" (I was raised to call the types of people who would enter such an establishment a lot of things other than a gentleman) and we tolerate the people who put themselves through this self-debasement.

Why? Because we want to be politically correct.

You know what? I will proclaim here, unapologetically, without any fear or worry, that the same mentality that allows a brothel to run is the same mentality behind a suicide bomber: "it's just a body, man, it isn't really me." While sure, we are more than flesh and blood, we ARE our bodies... we have a spirit, sure... but our flesh is our flesh, not some car we drive around in. The way we treat our bodies cannot be said to be like treating a car. When our mileage is up, we don't take our bodies in and replace it with a new one. When our mileage is up, our mileage is up.

Sure, there might be an afterlife. There might be a resurrection. But would you drive your car through a brick wall if you were not certain you had enough cash to buy a new one? Even if you did, could you really do it? Would you really destroy your wonderful, brand new, BMW just for shits and giggles? Would you like it if every drunk jock you drove by drooled and dispelled bodily fluids all over your new smart car?

I don't know how you treat your car, but sadly, most people put their bodies through worse. So, even though the analogy of using one's body as a vehicle fuels the philosophy behind suicide bombers and whorehouses, the analogy itself isn't even good enough to support their arguments. Sure, you might allow your significant other to touch your new car, would you let a stranger (who you are incidentally attracted to) rub their selves and bodily discharges on it?

How about letting someone blow it to smithereens? Or do something that might potentially harm its "immune system"?

Thought not.