Stomach Pains Equal Cognitive Dissonance

My stomach feels like an apple submerged in boiling vinegar, Pepto-Bismo, Gas-X, and colon cleansers. As I write this, I'm fruitlessly sitting on the toilet, thinking how twisted this world is; how twisted my stomach is; how twisted my mind is. The only phrase I can think of is, "Ow, fuck."

"This will also pass." --King Soloman--

Twisty and immoral juxtaposition, ay?

"Ow, fuck."

Please don't judge me by this post. I'm not signing it.

A Poem

18th Century Compassion Fatigue:

Lurking out of th' genre,

Banal details Inter-

Mingle with an epic

Structure to become

Th' Super-natural

An' sublime language

That has brought upon

A revolution!

A Timeless Parable

The Following story is not original: I took two stories (The Fox and the Fish and The Fox and the Vineyard) and overlapped them into an extremely short version. I wrote it quite a while ago, but it's timeless. I hope you enjoy it.

The Red Fox: A Parable

The red fox sat pensively along the forest’s edge, contriving a way to beguile his prey into a death trap. His hunger clouded his brain from thinking clearly, but finally, he had an idea.

He left the forest and prowled along the rocky stream. In the water, the fish swam calm and tranquil through the running current.

“Hey fish,” said the fox. “I have an idea”.

The younger fish all swam quickly away in fright, but the elderly stayed and inquired the fox to continue. Then, the fox proposed, “The fish seem peaceful in the waters. The foxes are peaceful on land. Why don’t we make peace between us all?”

The elderly fish agreed with enthusiasm.

“Wonderful,” cried the fox, “all we need is a handshake. Why don’t you all come out onto the land?”

“You fool,” cried the fish. “You ignorant fool! We know your tricks!” they said, and swam away.

***

Time passed and the fox was hungrier than ever. He left the forest and the stream, searched the villages and the cities, but still, no food was to be found. “I am going to starve to death,” he thought as he walked along the village with all hope lost.

He lay down along the curb, lost in sad thoughts, and waited for death to carry him away. Suddenly, he heard voices along the distance that quickly caught his attention.

“How will you take care of your vineyard when you leave for vacation?” said one voice.

“Simple. Mother nature,” said the other. “Look how healthy my grapes look! One month certainly won’t hurt em’.”

“I must be dreaming or hallucinating,” the fox thought, but still, quickly and abruptly, he jumped up and ran towards the voices.

He wasn’t dreaming. After hearing the rest of the conversation, the fox found out that the owner was to depart and desert his vineyard for one whole month.

“I’ll show em’ mother nature,” the fox thought with a silly grin on his face.

***

After the man left, the fox circled the vineyard in search for an opening within the steel fence. During his second time around, he found a small hole in the fence, barely large enough for him to squeeze through.

Up in the vineyard were grapes galore! Hundred upon hundreds of rows were filled with healthy round purple and red grapes—all for the fox.

For three consecutive weeks, the fox devoured more grapes than he had ever imagined possible. Gluttony was epitomized. Over the course of his stay, the fox grew fatter and fatter, until one day, during the end of the third week, he realized that the owner was to come back very soon! “How will I escape the vineyard? I am now too fat to squeeze through the small opening within the steel fence!” thought the fox.

And so, the fox was forced to starve himself for the remainder of his stay. Starving this time around, however, was much more difficult than the first time: now, delicious grapes were scattered everywhere. Yet, the fox continued to starve.

***

Finally, skinny and frail, the fox fit back through the small opening in the steel fence. He walked away slowly up the hill. Then, from a distance, he looked back at the vineyard and cried out, “vineyard, vineyard! I came into you starving; I left you starving. What purpose did you serve me?”

-RA-

Optimism=Tongue Control=Peace : )

The racist remarks displayed in my preceding post still tarry...

This morning, at Synagogue, the Rabbi continued an unfinished speech that was given over last Sabbath. The former part of it were the ideas behind Jewish consumption (eating kosher)--the things we put in our mouth. "Last week," the Rabbi began, "we discussed the importance of the things we put in our mouths; today we'll discuss the importance of the things we let out our mouths."

I cannot quote verbatim, but from what I understood, the reason why people tend to say negative remarks about other people is because they perceive the world with a 'bad eye.' Thus being said, in order to create peace in the world, it is incumbent on all people to alter this quality.

In the proverb 18:21, king David writes, "The tongue has the power of life and death."

An Aramaic officer was commanded to bring the sick King a cup of lion's milk (a task extremely dangerous). Once he acquired it, he brought it to the King and said, "Here's the 'kelevi' milk you wanted." Immediately, the King became furious and sentenced him to death. On his way to the gallows, the Aramaic officer asked the sentencer, "Why am I being put to death?" The latter said, "'Cause you degraded the King by bringing him dog's milk." "But you don't understand," the sentenced one cried, "in Aramaic, the word 'Kelevi' means lion; in Hebrew it means dog! Spare me my life!" Immediately, the king was notified and he drank the milk. Shortly after, he became cured and the Aramaic officer was rewarded (Talmud).

Indeed, "The tongue has the power of life and death." If we begin looking at the world optimistically, we'll be at peace with ourselves and with the people surrounding our every day lives.

Thanks for reading,

Rubix

Jew Hater

It's 2010, and yet, a few ethnocentric heartless bastards continue to berate blacks, jews, orientals, indians, etc., etc., etc. 90 percent of the time (a percentage not polled, but logically accurate in my own mind), these callous and thick-witted people do not have valid reasons for their abhorrence.

Last night, Michael and I were in exceedingly high-spirits before it happened. We finished school for the week, and we stood out on our porch, mingling with a few boys and girls. At two hours past midnight, our neighbor stumbled home solo. Her pissed-drunk attitude was perceptible from the start. "What's my name?" she demanded. I had no idea. A couple friends whispered her name in my ear, but I couldn't grasp it. I merely shrugged my shoulders and hopelessly said, "Jennifer?"

All of a sudden, the thin-skinned witch crossed her heart, looked up at the sky, and screamed, "I hate the Jews. Jews suck! Jews suck! Jews suck! Jews suck" I was mortified; I felt like crawling up into a ball and sucking my thumb in the corner where I'd be able to pass the night away and cry, but I couldn't move. She continued: "Jews suck! Die you miserable Jews! I hate you, I hate you, I HATE you!" Then, she haughtily minced past us, opened her door, and walked upstairs, incessantly declaring her hatred towards the Jews as her voice faded away with every step.

My heart still aches... I can still hear her piercing demonic voice...

RA

Walcott & Doty Inspiration

On Wednesday night, I walked home from a Derek Walcott reading with Mark Doty. We talked mostly about writing, but somehow, we intertwined the subject with details of our personal lives. Along the way, I told Mark that I had a fear of receiving hostile criticism. He stopped walking, looked at me with a smirk, and said, "you're telling me that."

Mark is notably famous in the poetry world for being extremely bold. A great deal of his work promotes the idea of homo-sexualism--one of the most controversial topics. Still, he's won the Nation Book Award and The T.S Eliot Prize, just to name a couple. Part of the reason why he won so many awards is perhaps because he has such an assertive writing style.

At the reading, Michael Sutton asked Walcott how he came to acquire such an eminent reputation. Walcott, at the age of eighty, laughed and said (something along these lines), "Writing poetry isn't about acquiring a reputation. It's about humiliating yourself by accentuating both the private and public emotions inside you. Poetry is about the self-annihilation of one's soul."

Doty's boldness and Walcott's annihilation theory stung me hard. They indirectly taught me to write about whatever the hell I want (as long as the material isn't hurting other people). My fear of hostile criticism has abated immensely, and the locked up treasure box rooted deep in my chest is about to be released. It's not aimed at the reader; it's aimed solely at me, and it comes wholly from me--and, by all means, if a reader wants to read my stuff, whether they think it's good or bad, I'm more than cool with it.

Now, the blog may proceed!

BOLD & humble

Ladies and Gents,

A salad of various emotions fleet through me as I begin to write this blog: I'm partly excited and partly scared; i'm anxious and self-concious. I can't help but wonder whether all you previous blogosphere virgins also experienced such webbed and tangled emotions during your first blog drafts. I bet you did.

Recently, I was fortuitously seduced into joining the blogosphere by an amazing and talented young lady in Miami. She told me, in a daydream, that I can break my virginity on her. Yikes! I got excited because the chick is older, wiser, and far more experienced in this world than I am. The sexual 'luck' never struck, however; nor did I want it to (for reasons of virtue). It struck at me in different way; it led me to be here right now, punching the keys on my computer, and breaking my blog virginity with her on my mind. Struck, struck, struck--I like that onomatopoeia. Pop! That was quick.

I beg pardon for confusing the reader with the layout of this blog: for the life of me, I cannot avoid paralleling it to all these tangled emotions. It would be a different story if a Nazi had a gun to my temple. But there isn't a Nazi here; nor a brute, nor a friend--just you. And I assure you that I won't compose anymore fruitless blogs for now on--this is just a test run. Testing-one-two, testing-one-two. Perfect. Now, my heart throbs and two fingers are crossed in my imaginary mind. I'm wishing that my readers will have a positive opinions about the Bold & Humble after reading this. I'd cross my real, organic fingers, but they're occupied typing the rest of this thought. Now, my mind is flustered; the two crossed fingers blur away. The lady in Miami pops in; a Nazi; a spider-web; a pumping, bloody heart; sex; lady in Miami; virtue; vice; me; you..........Eureka! You can see how things can start to get complicated. Please excuse,

Your Bold & Humble,

Most Confused and Excited Blogger,

Rubix