Jordan Peterson – “Developing Your Inner Psychopath”

Alice Cooper quit alcohol too

Didn’t know much about the man other than enjoying a few of his songs (a couple of which were showcased in the “Dazed and Confused” and “Wayne’s World” movie soundtracks in the ’90s).

Alice Cooper’s real name is Vincent Damon Furnier (for those of us who didn’t know). Currently age 69. And he’s been off alcohol since the ’80s.

Reportedly considers himself to be a born-again Christian. Interesting. An excerpt from that linked article (published Tuesday, 28 March 2006):

Though some have questioned combining his faith in God with his rock-and-roll background, Cooper doesn’t see a conflict. “I’m the first one to rock as loud as I can, but when it comes to what I believe, I’m the first one to defend it too,” he said. “It has also gotten me in trouble with the staunch Christians who believe that in order to be a Christian you have to be on your knees 24 hours a day in a closet somewhere. Hey, maybe some people can live like that, but I don’t think that’s the way God expected us to live. When Christ came back, He hung out with the whores, the drunks and miscreants because they were people that needed Him. Christ never spent His time with the Pharisees.”

[…]

“I used to celebrate moral decay, the decadence of it,” he admitted in the KNAC.com interview. “I can look back on what I did then and what I’m doing now and they’re two different things. But at the time I was the poster boy for moral decay, you know. So yeah, I’ve got a lot to be forgiven for…out of ignorance, I thought I was doing the right thing. I was totally in agreement that every guy should sleep with every girl and drink as much as they can. I don’t believe that now. I don’t believe in it, because I see how destructive it is.”

Spiritual awakening is happening around the world, Cooper believes. “It’s obvious humanity is craving for answers directly born of awareness,” he said. “That’s the healthiest thing I’ve seen in a long time because there is something better and everybody’s gotta find it in their own way. People aren’t feeling fulfilled by how many cars they own or the size of their stock portfolio. Even the addicts are saying, ‘It doesn’t matter how many drugs I take, I’m not fulfilled. This isn’t satisfying.’ There’s a spiritual hunger going on. Everybody feels it. If you don’t feel it now, you will. Trust me. You will.”

Worth reading in full.

Far less interesting, though, is he’s now into golf.  But to each their own…

Learn something new everyday. Finding out more about this man has given me greater appreciation for him.

But I never forget his cameo appearance in the movie “Wayne’s World”:

Hehe   bow   cool

Journaling in the wee hours of the 4th of July (plus book review)

In a bit of a melancholy mood this evening. I don’t like to hear myself bitch any more than others care to listen to me bitch. But it’s fucking difficult to bottle up my emotions and to pretend they don’t exist, especially when I feel disrespected. And that’s probably a problem I have to sort out for myself since life isn’t fair and it’s never going to be. Just is what it is. Not going to go into any of that on here tonight.

Been a weird week overall. Weirdos abounding. Arguments reigniting. That car crash from last week and its aftermath. Another holiday approaching, which gets people all antsy. And here it is — the 4th of July. Independence Day. A day for Americans to wave around flags and watch parades and scarf down hotdogs and beer while reminding one another how we’re the best country on Earth, bar none. Patting ourselves on the back for what our forefathers bestowed upon us, as if we’ve proven to be good stewards of these historic blessings.

Bah! This holiday makes a scrooge out of me.

I tire of so much propaganda and the guilt-inducing patriotism. Gotta love everything about this country, right or wrong, or else GTFO. So they like to say. How kind we are to our fellow natives.

The_Bluest_Eye_Toni_MorrisonAnother thing that’s bothered me this week is I read Toni Morrison’s book The Bluest Eye. Pretty darn depressing read, though I figured on that before ordering it. Wanted to find out what this supposedly amazing author had to say that’s made her such a literary icon within the black community (as well as favored and applauded by Oprah Winfrey herself). Started out by watching an interview of Toni Morrison on youtube (was it from a Charlie Rose episode? I can’t recall). She came across as pretty darn racist. So decided to order a couple of her books (used through half.com) to find out what all the hubbub is about. Read an essay by her on the writing craft, then moved on to the book The Bluest Eye, published in 1970, this version including an afterword by her published in the 1990s.

What can I say about this book? It was well-written, I’ll give it that. Compelling enough to keep me wanting to read on. Wrapped up in the end as though its completion was being hurried, or at least that’s how it seemed to me. In her afterword section, Toni Morrison wrote on how she wasn’t terribly pleased with the book. But what got me is how she bent everything back toward race and racism. All throughout the book she described black characters who mistreated one another in awful ways, ending in a father raping and impregnating his young teenage daughter and then her mother beating her so badly that the girl went full-on crazy from thereon. The author described black parents who ordered their children around as if they had no thoughts or feelings of their own, who screamed and griped and carried on, particularly after another black man in the story was found out to be trying to molest another young black teen girl. The white people mentioned in the book were treated with scornful envy or reduced to being nasty idiots in need of black folks to care for them and their homes in order not to live in squalor. Aside from the two white rednecks who disrespected the young Cholly (the one who grew up to become the alcoholic who raped his own daughter) as he was attempting to lose his virginity the night of his aunt’s funeral — those two white guys were depicted as being part of the cause for why Cholly came out the way he did. That along with his father’s rejection after traveling to find him after Cholly’s aunt (and primary caretaker) had died. As well as having been tossed on a garbage heap by his mother when he was little more than a week old.

What gets to me about this story is that it showcases degradation within the black community, and Toni Morrison keenly portrayed it in all of its reckless degeneracy. And yet, still, somehow she found the problem to ultimately point back to white society as a whole. Not the choices of the black people written about. Not their poor parenting skills and heavy-handedness without first finding out the facts involved when it came to discipline. Not parents having sex in the same room as their kids, not to mention fighting and beating on one another. Not the drinking taken to the point that lust overcame all decency and familial bonds. White people had nothing to do with why Cholly hated women. Not even those rednecks who humiliated him deserved that honor. Yet Toni Morrison seemed to lay a good bit of the blame at their feet, claiming that Cholly redirected the animosity he felt at white people toward his own people, particularly black women and girls, as if that simply makes sense all unto itself. The mother who abandoned him was rather casually dismissed as assumed to have gone crazy. The aunt who chose to raise and care for him was spoken down about, as if her help had barely mattered at all. This was made clear when Toni Morrison claimed that the character named Cholly Breedlove had had no parenting skills to observe while coming up since he hadn’t been raised by his own parents. So what was his aunt? A nobody? Should she have simply left him to die on that garbage heap as a baby? Seems she received no credit for her sacrifices and love shown, or at least only trace amounts. Why? I think it’s because, for whatever reason(s), Toni Morrison didn’t care to flesh out his character in greater depth. She aimed to depict him as a loveless, broken man who’d given up and turned to the bottle, who hated women because he actually hated white people but couldn’t show it as openly, who came to care about nobody at all — yet the cause for all of this is somehow, somewhere, ultimately rooted in white society. These black people in the tale couldn’t love themselves or one another because of their envy toward whites, hence the fixation on blue eyes.

In the story, the white people mentioned all appeared to have money, whereas the blacks mostly didn’t. As if that’s the realistic split historically — yes-sirree, all white folks from time immemorial were blessed with money while black folks were not. Yep, that’s totally realistic. Right?  BS. But that’s how she wanted to frame her tale, creating a big divide between what she saw as the Haves and the Have-nots. Typical.

The book’s content was disturbing all unto itself without the added doses of racism toward white folks. Was going to loan it to a guyfriend, but after finishing it and telling him about it he stated he was afraid it might damage his spirit. And I agreed. Not loaning this book out to my friends. Not much good will come from doing so. Black folks who read it may very well accept Toni Morrison’s race-baiting antics without further scrutinizing all the black characters involved, and that’d be a shame. I found it to be more of an indictment of the black community itself rather than anybody else outside of it. Just a showcase of one scoundrel after another, some worse than others, but mostly scoundrels either way. The characters who might’ve proven to be fairly decent were mentioned in only a line or two and then left out of the rest of the story. The spotlight here was shined on these three black girls (Pecola, Claudia and Frieda), and it seemed nearly every adult around them wasn’t worth much of a damn. Hardly in any way conducive toward bringing up healthy, intelligent, competent and confident children. And I struggle to understand how that must be the outside world’s fault when so much control does and always has belonged to parents and families. Poverty alone can’t make people beat and rape their children. Hell, poverty is less likely to occur if one doesn’t drink and/or gamble away most of the money brought into the household!

Just kinda sickened me to read Toni Morrison’s afterword on the subject. Personal responsibility appears to mean to little to her since she’s caught up in this victim narrative and can see little else. Or at least that’s how her words came across to me. She stated this story wasn’t based on her own life but rather is a fictional account of an impoverished black girl (Pecola) who was taken advantage of by everybody, leading to the other two black girls (sisters Claudia and Frieda) who had befriended her to feel embarrassment and shame later in life when reflecting on how they couldn’t help her. But what was their primary concern expressed in the beginning and end of the book? That Pecola’s baby, conceived through rape from her father, had not lived. And that right there did me in. Makes me shake my head and wonder what planet we’re living on when that’s the primary concern here.

When I ordered that book I also ordered Toni Morrison’s Songs of Solomon. Hmm. Will wait a while before cracking that one open.

“Biblical Series II: Genesis 1: Chaos & Order”

Today listening to part 2 of Jordan Peterson’s series on the Bible:

I appreciate his attempt to bring biblical stories back into relevance by examining them through a modern psychological lens. Very interesting stuff.

Saturday afternoon journaling in June 2017

Now on day 4 of my commitment toward change. Arm muscles are finally back to normal. Can extend them fully once again. Had dinner with my former partner last night and he said I had just awakened muscles in my forearm that probably had never been stressed so hard, then allowed them to get dehydrated and fatigued the day afterward, so there’s nothing really to worry about there. That’s good. Was nervous for a couple days there that I had damaged a tendon or ligament or something. But all is fine now.

Of course I’m still thinking about what all has transpired recently and why and how I feel about it. That last night out (Monday the 12th), the one where I mentioned the older lady bartender at the calmer bar seeming slightly nervous toward me, keeps running through my mind. The bar was dead that evening. A couple here or there would roam through but otherwise I was sitting in there alone, drinking and playing music on the jukebox. Wasn’t being rowdy or anything, just didn’t want to go home. And it’s that fear of going home that keeps perplexing me. Felt it so many nights while out and about. Like I’m afraid to be with myself, to sit there with my troubled thoughts and ideas and ruminations. That’s been the driving force for me in the barscene for as far back as I can remember. Just didn’t want to go home and be alone. And once it came time for me to return home, I’d want to be “set” to where I’d go to sleep shortly. Put myself out. If I didn’t drink enough at the bar to do the trick, I’d drink more once I got in. And I recall doing just that in my early 20s and here I am in my mid-30s still attempting to do the same thing.

That’s a lot of years of running from something. But what gets me is that I do look at my past and examine it in as much detail as I can. Always have done so. And I do look at what I’ve done wrong and let myself feel it deeply and acknowledge it for what it is. Just because I think about it, though, doesn’t make it go away. Worked it all out as much as I could hope to and yet here it always remains. Back another day to remind me. My thoughts are there when I drink though too. They don’t disappear. Might go under the radar for a while when distracted by others, but they crop back up as the night wears on. Not uncommon that by the end of the evening I’m actually fairly depressed or melancholic (as I prefer to call it). In other words, I didn’t remain a fun drunk for long many nights. I know that. Others knew that too. Told me so on occasion.

So the alcohol didn’t even fix what it was intended to fix, not even temporarily. Not even throughout the full evening of drinking. The thoughts always rise back up before all is done and said. And I believe it’s those thoughts I’ve been aiming to escape from all these years. I don’t know what to do with them. Don’t know how to tame them. But it’s clearly evident by now that adding alcohol to the mix not only doesn’t sufficiently eradicate them for long but also provides breeding ground for new reasons to be upset with myself.

I see it. I understand. More now than ever.

Not sure why I seem so afraid of sitting alone with myself for too long. Why it makes me stir-crazy and uncomfortable. I’ve known me long enough by now to recognize that these are simply thoughts, memories, and that they can’t do much more than pester me. Seems they wish for some sort of expression, some outlet, some way of being concretized, so to speak. And actually, if I’m honest with myself, I have known this for a long time. Guess I haven’t wanted to do it. Didn’t want to have to sit with them so intimately and try to fashion them into something else. Maybe it feels too personal, too sorrowful, too impossible to remedy. But they’re just emotions, and life could’ve been much worse. Not dealt the worst lot here. Just an awfully emotional person who feels these things so deeply that that worries me. Made me think these emotions might capsize my little ship eventually if I took up too much time with them all. So instead I opted for a “slow death” (as I call the drinking lifestyle), which is no better. Not one bit better. Very likely much, much worse. Dangerous for myself and others and completely unproductive in the big scheme of things.

So there’s no choice here right about now. This is what it is, and this is calling for what it wants. Maybe taking up these concerns and finding a way to make use of them will eventually satisfy that internal “gremlin” a bit too. I always return to what Erich Fromm wrote about our options as people: we can either find a productive path or wind up becoming destructive (whether toward others and/or ourselves). I’ve always known his words to be true, and yet I ran anyway and created this situation for myself. Reasoning alone apparently isn’t ever enough.

But I hear it now. Understand more than before, now that there are so many more memories added to the heap, generated within the last several years. New forms of destruction and chaos that were sparked by my hands and my words this time around. Teaches me about the dark side to one’s being. Our capacity to cause harm, whether we deliberately set out to do so or not. And that’s been a valuable lesson. Gotta thank something out there for showing that to me in the ways it has.

Seems to be true that we start to really strive toward heaven once we have reckoned with hell. Otherwise we don’t know what we’re even striving for. But, then again, most roads to hell are paved with good intentions. Maybe dealing in our own versions of the abyss is what helps clarify what’s actually better, more worthwhile, truly healthier, less idealistic and more real.

I can’t regret these years fully since they’ve provided a treasure trove of opportunities to observe others and myself. Lots of shocking material there. Parts of myself I wouldn’t have believed existed had I not witnessed it directly, and same goes for plenty of others. We humans are far more complex than we can imagine, because life is far more complex than we are capable of imagining. Consciousness is a trip, to say the least.

It is what it is. And I’m here to explore it amongst all of you. No one’s perfect, nor is it worthwhile to expect anybody to be. Not even sure what perfection really entails anymore. Just no longer want to toss chance to the wind and act like I’m not responsible for any outcomes when that’s so obviously not true. Such a strategy is an attempt to hide from reality. But we know how that goes…we can run on for a long time, but sooner or later we will be cut down…

True. And it’s okay. I know these days that I can take the pain. Besides, there’s nowhere else to run. And so be it. This is a blessing in disguise, I do know that and appreciate it as such. Just a transition period right now is all. Gonna take time to get my bearings and to form new habits and whatnot. Still, this is FAR better than the road I’ve been on, even if this winds up being treacherous for a spell. So far it is not, but I am preparing myself for that possibility and will accept it if it comes. Because it’s just life. This is how it can roll. Still better than the alternative I had been pursuing. That was monotonous and nihilistic and was tearing me apart. Turning me into something I didn’t want to be. Don’t want to go back there ever again. Not like that. Too pointless and painful and chaotic and uncontrollable. Became useless. Frustrating and saddening and pitiful and not much else.

Why do we fear life and living? Why do we try to hide out and not be seen for what we are? And why have we humans been attempting this since the dawn of time? What are we so afraid of? Rejection? We’re going to be forced to deal with that regardless. Pain and suffering? Same deal. Failure? I think that hits closer to the mark. Existential guilt and confusion.

Anyway, time to move on to something else.

“Joe Rogan Talks About the Biggest Unsolved Mystery Of All Time”

And then youtube went and removed the video clip in question, so in its place I’ll have to post the entire 3-hour podcast. Dammit.

The portion in question (which I’ll have to find on there later) was an excellent conversation between those three.

“Psychology of Redemption in Christianity”

A lot of truth spoken there…

This “asshole” speaks (a.k.a. pregnancy and motherhood ought to matter, but does it anymore?)

All right. I’ve had a little time to cool down (and sober up) since my last posting about the late-term pregnant bitch drinking in the bar. And yes, I call her a bitch intentionally, though I do not know her personally or her situation and don’t give a damn what her excuses may be. Anyway, I’ve discussed this matter with a few of my people as well as a few bar-pals. Come to find out, the barpals don’t take issue with this like I do. In fact, they seemed more disgruntled with me bringing it up than with her actions. No bar-pal (though all my other friends were pissed about this pregnant woman reportedly (i.e., taking my word for it) observed drinking AND smoking either cigarettes and/or herb on her night out) had shit to say against her decision to drink and smoke while pregnant but me. So, once again, I come across as the asshole. Must be simply picking on a poor pregnant woman for no reason whatsoever. Apparently. What a jerk I must be.

The bar-pal (and off-duty bartender) who was playing pool with the out-to-here(!) pregnant woman claims she was only drinking wine spritzers. But I could’ve sworn I saw her drinking a blue drink and we have nothing in that bar to turn a drink blue that doesn’t contain liquor. And that says nothing about her smoking weed and/or cigarettes as well. Either way, probably not a safe place to hang around in when you’re that pregnant. Too many fights break out in that bar. Kind of a rough joint. And no one is bound to look out for your interests there, not the bartenders or your fellow patrons. We all go in there with the understanding that we’re on our own. Won’t likely find any backup if problems arise. Just every human for him/herself in there. The type of place it is. Very different in that regard than other watering holes I typically frequent.

Anyway, I understand this isn’t just about one woman misbehaving. Goes deeper than that on a few levels for me. First off, I do tire of certain women being given a free pass from judgment and scrutiny and exempted from criticism. Look, I get criticized all the time, and quite publicly and loudly sometimes. People like to tell me they think I can handle it, that I can “take care of myself.” Well, so can other women. That’s how we learn to do so, by being exposed to getting our feelings hurt and being challenged. Lord knows I get challenged pretty regularly, particularly by men. And a part of me does wonder how come other women seem to be granted a pass in this department, especially when they’re fucking up in arguably worse (and more immediate) ways. But when I ask people about this I tend to receive a bunch of excuses in the other woman’s favor. She somehow can’t help it. Perhaps she’s hurting right now. Perhaps she’s looking for something she’s lacking. Perhaps she doesn’t know any better. Perhaps this outcome is somehow better than her choosing to abort instead. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. But I have to wonder where these white knights are when I need backing and help. AWOL. Why? Because I apparently am obviously capable of fighting my own battles and discerning right from wrong, they like to say. Okay. Interesting how that winds up being a double-standard. Especially when I have a proven track record of NOT screwing men over with unwanted pregnancies or using a baby to extract income from a man or the State. And I do aim to remain as reasonable as I can, however well I accomplish that.

But that aside, I’m mostly perturbed because I see the writing on the wall for us as a society, and I also comprehend that womenfolk are just as much responsible for where we’re (collectively) actively headed as the menfolk, if not a tad more so. Motherhood is a major responsibility not to be taken lightly and those who act selfishly and drop the ball in a major way leave lasting psychological scars on their offspring, as should be clearly evident by now. This is an important role, perhaps THE most important when it comes to a child’s well-being and proper development. And yet I look out and see so many skanks behaving poorly, treating their youngens like lottery tickets to cash in so as to make their own lives more comfortable. I see men abandoning responsibility too, so don’t get what I’m saying here twisted — just that a grave responsibility lies with mothers in particular since there is truth in us being the ultimate gatekeepers when it comes to sexual access and opting to bring pregnancies to full term. And we know this. Not a secret. We women are not simply victims of circumstance. We have options that we damn-well can pursue if we want to, that being the beauty of the technological age we live in. Yet we squander so much of the power we do possess and instead like to try playing the victim more often than not. It’s embarrassing to observe and reflects poorly on the Feminist movement as a whole, that much is for sure. Gives the distinct impression that plenty of women aren’t actually interested in achieving “equality” but instead would rather corner the market on power to benefit themselves, even at the expense of men, their children, and society as a whole. Winds up looking awfully selfish in the end. The entitlement complex is unbecoming no matter who is sporting it these days…

Then there’s the moral question pertaining to bringing life into being that we don’t actually want and/or respect and, conversely, are using to suit our own ends. Not about the child or the other parent. More about our own egos and feelings of righteous indignation that leads to subversive actions taken against respect for the importance of family. Suddenly it’s all about one parent doing whatever she wants, everyone else be damned. If you aren’t going to fully respect and appreciate the child, why bring them into being? And if you are only going to harm them and possibly dampen their IQ due to your own recklessness, then you are the true asshole. Your selfishness has gone too far, and I don’t care what your girlfriends might like to tell you inversely. They are trying to justify their own problematic behaviors and choices. Misery loves company — that never ceases to be true. Children require love and proper guidance — that too never ceases to be true.

Pay attention to how many children are coming up these days in inadequate conditions in single mother households. You might like to believe your household may prove to be an exception, but the odds are against you. And any thinking woman can see that in advance. Pregnancies and motherhood aren’t something to treat casually, and I say this as someone who’s reckoned with these concerns all my life thus far. It’s not always easy. I’ve had opportunities to fuck over men and play the State as well, yet I opted not to, not because I am a wonderful person but because I am cognizant of how bad and deficient as a parent (particularly as a single parent) I would likely prove to be. Got enough issues. Yet most women don’t take time apparently to consider this deeply. Won’t. Refuse to take a long, hard look at themselves in the mirror and change course. Will not do so. Why? Because of wishful thinking? Everything will somehow magically fall into place the way you’d like it to simply because? Because you deserve to have it all? Because you believe yourself to somehow be above fucking up a kid psychologically and emotionally just by virtue of you being you, with no deeper introspection given to the matter? Because you figure kids are all resilient and are capable of walking off any and all damage done to them in childhood? Really it’s because you’re not stopping to think deeply enough on these matters and would rather throw your hands in the air and let the pieces fall where they may as if you have no real say or control in the situation. And THAT’S a serious problem with the victim mentality permeating our society at present.

The last thing we need right about now are more thugs and broken people added to the mix. Have enough of them already. Enough people get hurt by them as is. Yet women are the predominant gatekeepers capable of reducing this problem, if we so choose. But few care to take the matter seriously, as is apparent. “Fuck it,” they like to say. “Not my problem,” they say. Well, whose problem is it then? Always pain paying forward. Current generation doesn’t want to take responsibility for shit, so just let the next sort out the matter on their own, like a bunch of baby-boomers. Don’t want a youngen coming between us and our good time, right? Don’t want to exercise self-control when it’s most needed since that is hard and less fun.

I know. Seen it all play out time and time and time again. We all have. And it’s sickening. Yet we’re not supposed to pipe up and say shit lest we be considered assholes for doing so. I do know. Been down this road many times now and nothing ever changes. The stupid keep procreating like mad and don’t give a damn about the consequences. The reasonably smart try to avoid such pitfalls and then get blamed by others for not procreating since some are concerned about the number of idiots who are (procreating must remain a competition, even in this day and age). Can’t win for losing anymore. But to hell with most folks and their ridiculous expectations. Not worth paying mind to half the time, particularly when they argue for such drivel. A child deserves to be brought into a situation where he or she is wanted by both parents, and hopefully extended family as well. Otherwise they wind up behind the 8 ball right out the gate, and how is that worthwhile?

All they need is to be used as pawns by adults with agendas who are more concerned with their own security and comforts than the healthy upbringing of their children.

And yet I am the asshole for pointing this out. Okay. Whatever.

To paraphrase a Chinese proverb, if we keep on this way we’ll indeed wind up where we’re headed. Just wait and find out. Go ahead and try to hide your head in the sand until your day of reckoning rolls around…