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Go to Philosophy Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Philosophy

I am that rarest of flowers...a crude lech with the heart of a philosopher.

2013-01-13: Quickening: Type Fast, Think Slow

It's now 2013 and I can no longer entertain the idea that any thought I type into this machine is ever intimate, hidden, or just for us guys.

For better or for worse, my every thought is shared by my Quarter Friends, X-Girlfriends, and Ribald Rivals alike.

We are all 18, seven, infants even. Our hearts never age past the early need for acceptance and love.

Time accelerates, but our hearts do not. We hold on to evaporating moments experienced by a developing mind. Two, three, or ten years is an eternity for our emotional development.

The past 17 years have been a blink, a half-heartbeat. I don't hold much of that time deep in my heart. Before that are thrusting juggernauts of feeling. Every moment is an open wound. Every feeling a passion.

I am not that fast. I have always been pretty fast. But I am not that fast.

When I was in fifth grade, the bus dropped me off at my house and I would saunter slowly around back. As soon as I saw the bus pull away I ran with all of my soul between the houses. I ran about 1/2 a mile to Kelly's house. I would stop at her house and act all nonchalant as the bus pulled up. I would hide the fact that I was heaving and sputtering with exhaustion.

One time my X-Girlfriend yelled at me and drove off in our car. I chased her for 1/4 mile and shocked the crap out of her when I ran beside her and told her to come home. I almost deleted this paragraph, but this is the sort of thing that I"m talking about in this strange new world. There is no backspace.

One day I decided to look up the running speed of Chase Daniel. I was crestfallen. I was distraught. I realized that I am not fast.

I am fast for a computer programmer who drinks too much. I am fast for a man who fist-fights 200 pounds every year. But I am not fast.

I am just a guy made of dots and lines.

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2012-12-25: Fourteen Year-Old Song (Paraphrased)

I don't know who I am.
I don't know what I want.
I don't know anything.

But it's all right.
The way I feel.

Even though I don't know just how I feel,
It's just you and me on Christmas Eve

And it's all right.
The way I feel.

Now I know who I am.
Now I know what I want.
Now I know everything.

And it's alright.
The way I feel.

Even though I don't know just what it means,
It's just me and you on Christmas Eve

And it's all right.
The way I feel.

Even though I don't know just what it means,
It's just me and you on Christmas Eve

And it's all right.
The way I feel.

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2012-12-21: One of the Very Few

One of the very few positive things about getting older emerges from the acceleration of time.

When you are young, two years seems like forever. Now? Just a half-breath. You barely have time to ponder your own mortality before those two years are over.

Last year I decided to get my college degree. I already have two years worth of credits, and I regret not finishing. I am now enrolled in a pretty interesting school. This school coordinated with various Industry certification bodies and built its curriculum around said certifications. Graduation from this school became my goal.

This goal was spawned from the same well as my weight loss: Ego. A proposal went out from my company. Many names went on it. Mine did not. Two of my employees' did, but only because their paper credentials were better than mine.

That stuck in my craw, and I decided that I needed a degree.

The other good thing about getting older (for me, at least) is that your ego gets bruised, and you learn how to slug through something without feeling the need to make some stupid meaningless stand that hurts nobody but yourself.

20 years ago, John would say, "Fuck them, I'm not going to play their game! I'm better than that!"

Now, John says, "Oh, this is a game? Left foot, right foot, bishop takes pawn. Sweat hits the ground and I move on."

Today marks the mid-point of my college completion. After 37 years of pleasure and pain, failure and success, I am glad that these stupid steps can still give me a feeling of accomplishment.

One more year. It's just a heartbeat.

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2012-12-09: Cuong is Married

Cuong is now married.

I turned around for a few minutes, spent my time in this swamp, and suddenly my friend met a woman, fell in love, and is now married. All of this before I had a reasonable opportunity to harass him.

I felt jealousy tonight. I'm not going to fill you full of bullshit about how people are lucky and found their whatever whatever. This site is hardgeus.com and it is about me.

I have always taken Cuong for granted. As long as I have been an adult, he has been the central point of contact for all of my friends. When I wanted to go out, I didn't even bother calling Fadi, because I knew that a phone call to Cuong was equivalent to the Fadi phone call. He was the nexus.

In a way, Cuong was never really a person, he was just Cuong. He was like a tree or a molecule or a holiday. Cuong was just Cuong.

This guy that I spent hundreds of hours with, years and years with, has remained stoic and stable, remarkably positive. Perhaps at some time he has said something negative about a person, but currently I cannot remember it. He was just Cuong, immutable.

Sure, once or twice, on a Saturday night he might have betrayed thoughts that gave me insight. But for the most part, he remained Cuong the immobile.

Cuong is unique among my close friends in this...his wall of emotions. All of our friends are crazy and base, exposing our every passion for all to see. We are passionate, embarrassed people. Eternally drunk and stupid.

Cuong stands at the center of all of us, the catalyst of all of our lives, and remains aloof.

When he was up there, with his new wife, I felt irrational feelings pulse through me. Some demon made my eyes water, and I felt like I was losing something. For the first time, I saw emotion and passion in Cuong, and he was sharing it with her. My friend, that I have known for so long, was communicating through his eyes and body language so much.

So, on the bus I said to her brother:

"Normally, a guy would say that Cuong is lucky to have married your sister. But I don't know your sister. I am not going to lie. I know Cuong. And I know that she is lucky to have married one of the best men I know."

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2012-11-06: The Endocrine System

Previously, my wife wanted to be a nurse. I spent many nights helping her study the endocrine system.

I was transfixed by the complexity of the endocrine system. It made me feel guilty for ever having drank a beer, or had caffeine. Feedback upon feedback upon subtle effect and yet another feedback mechanism. I could barely memorize it, much less understand it.

These tiny, sensitive, powerful signals buried deep within my body, within all our bodies, even within the bodies of "lowly" animals. In animals that we eat for meat and dismiss as simple -- within them spins a ballet of such beauty that we in our hubris cannot believe.

Today in this politically charged mess, I had an epiphany. I know, pretty lame and pretentious. But I did, just the same.

We are an organism. Our ideas, hatred, love, passion, words and all of it are signals to the other "cells." This is not a new idea.

Originally, for us, the only thing that could be preserved was through genes. Genes rules for quite a long time. And then we could talk. And ideas passed through words.

And then writing, and these ideas took hold and moved centuries.

And then mass media, and now?

Now our thoughts bounce back-and-forth in real time faster than anything. Human interactions are happening blindingly fast, even faster than signals in our brain.

I suspect that an order emerges. This order is simultaneously wonderful and horrible. Our sentience is beautiful for what it is, but I'd argue that the skin cell I just chewed on my thumb has a different opinion.

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