Fail

I'm twenty-four now and gonna be twenty-five come January. I've never really had a good birthday. When I was a kid, other kids never really came to whatever parties I had, or the weather was bad, or any number of things went wrong. It was never a great birthday. There were a few that were okay and a couple with good memories but they were never anythin' special.



My twenty-second birthday was particularly bad. I was supposed to go to this club for my birthday. My birthday was going to begin at midnight so the idea was that I would go out with these girls from work and they could celebrate with me. One of these girls I'd been makin' eyes with for the past few weeks. We took her car. Later we figured that'd been a mistake on account of she had some bald tires and wet roads to drive on. We spun out a bit n slammed into the concrete median.

I got whiplash. Happy Birthday to me.

The next weekend we were s'posed to try again. We did. They asked me if I wanted to come to the same club with 'em 'bout a week later. And perhaps this is where I made my mistake. I answered "Maybe." So I wound up not havin anything to do that night so I got dressed and drove about an hour to the club and met up with the girls there. I'm sure I must've called them to say I was comin'. It wouldn't make sense for me not to. I don't typically do things that way. Though I can't remember it specifically. They were there with a few friends and dancin'. I went up and said hello, introduced myself to the friends. We all danced in like a big group kinda thing. I went to the bar to grab abother beer only to turn around and find that they had all left. Not one word to me. Rejected. Left. Abandoned.

I am a loser. I am a failure. I always have been. I always will be.

I write about my philosophies and morals and my ideals. I talk about my high standards that I have for myself and others. And I have fallen short on all of those at one time or another. I am in no way, shape, or form, perfect. I have made so many mistakes in my life. Not just lil ones either. I have done all kinds of selfish and wrong things to good and bad people alike.

I want y'all to know this.

Not so you'd feel sorry for me or think I'm some deep pain filled soul. No. I'm not. I'm just a guy that's made a lot of mistakes and I know you have too. I know you have 'cause as good and right as I try to be about everything I slip at least once a day.

We're all failures in the way that we ain't perfect. There are times in our lives where we're gonna ditch somebody 'cause we're selfish or uncaring. There are times where we're gonna be the ones gettin' ditched 'cause somebody didn't think we're good enough or that we aren't what they want.

It happens.

The only thing we can do with all of our short comin's is to move on and learn from them. We have to learn to deal with rejection and failure. I feel sorry for the person that has never known either one of these. 'Cause it'll come one day and when it does it'll crush 'em.

As a kid I was always shy. I don't stand out in a crowd. So I've never had many friends. I was never a great student. I might've been further ahead in life if I had been. I could've been better lookin'. I could've been born into a family with more money. I could die never bein' published. I could never get out from under my debt. I would've gone back to college if I had the money. I shouldn't have to work two jobs just to make ends meet. I could've been thinner. If that brass ring was a lil bit closer I might've made sumthin' of myself.

Yeah. Well things don't always work out to fit in all the woulda, shoulda, coulda's. We're left with all the what is's. We're stuck with things the way they are. That's what we gotta deal with. We pick up our trash one piece at a time and we just have make do with what we got. No bitchin' or whinin' bout how things happened.

You took a chance and came up a lil short. You asked her out and she said no. You put your trust in people you thought were friends and got let down. You think things can't get any worse but odds are they will. How the hell do people put up with that? A lotta people can't. They snap. They overreact. They make bad choices to get themselves out of a bad spot. Those people need help. And askin' for help when you need it doesn't make you weak, it makes you brave enough to reach out and willin' to become better than you are. The people that get lucky and make better choices start small and do what they can to make things better.

Don't let yourself feel like a failure. You may be a person that makes mistakes but til your dead you got a chance to make things better. No one is a failure til it's all over. And as long as you tried can anyone ever really say that about you? How many countless artists never made it til after they were dead. They tried while they were alive. People just couldn't see what talents they had til they were gone. It's sad in a way but as much as they felt like failures in their lives, they never were.

No one's opinion of you matters more than your own. You ain't a loser. You ain't a failure. The fight ain't over. If you got one round left, you got three minutes to get in there and knock that bum the hell out. Get up off your ass. No more feelin' sorry for yourself. Give it all you got. I know you feel tired and you wanna quit but your problems ain't gonna back down. You're the only one that can deal with your problems and to me that says you're the only one that has what it takes to deal with 'em.

Your opinion is all that matters. Learn from your mistakes. Work to make yourself the best you can. Understand that as good as you are, rejection and failure are bound to head your way. They don't have to be that big of a deal. You ain't a loser. You can do what you gotta.

You ain't a failure.

Passion Behind the Ink

Found this paper today. Wrote it for my English class a while back and thought it was pretty good. Enjoy.



For me writing is something I have to do. I couldn’t be happy in a world where people didn’t write. I have a passion for it. Writing is one of the things that can spread an idea like wildfire. It has so many uses and is an amazing tool, but why do people write at all? I believe the answer that is the most truthful is passion. It doesn’t matter what an author writes, he has to be passionate enough about it to take the time to sit down and write about it.

Perhaps an author has a dream and wants to share it with the world as writer and teacher Christopher Meeks explains, “The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in your head.” All stories begin as someone’s dream and through writing can become someone else’s. Writing is a way for any author to share his ideas. I’ve always liked to say, concerning fiction, that it’s like a way for one person to get everyone else to play with their imaginary friends. The author can have a whole universe inside his head filled with excitement, love, and even terror. An author creates this from his passion and uses this fire inside him to try to ignite the world. He has seen fit to write a two-hundred plus page novel about events that never happened, people that don’t exist, and places he may never see simply because he cares about all of these things.

An author has to have a love for what he is saying. Most people wouldn’t sit through a story they can tell the author doesn’t care about. If he doesn’t care why should anyone else? Authors do not think for months at a time about a subject they do not care about. It would be as monotonous as counting grains of sand on a beach. I don’t care how many there are they’re there and that’s enough for me to know about them. However, writing isn’t like that. An idea can hit you, it sparks a flurry of other ideas, characters are created, plots are worked out, details are developed, and it becomes a story. A refreshing breeze becomes a hurricane. Sometimes an author doesn’t just want to tell a captivating story, though it should be his first concern when writing fiction, he can also use his novel to broadcast a message. The Chronicles of Narnia are famous for their references to and support for Christian belief. The “X-Men” comic books are filled with the idea of accepting people who may be different from us. Passion can lead authors to find new depth in their creations. If you care enough about something you can think about it a million different ways and pull out a million different meanings and it all makes sense. Just like the people who write stories there is no one right way to see a book. Just like people, it takes a certain amount of passion to know the story inside and out enough to see all of its sides. Neil Gaiman, creator of the award winning “The Sandman” comic book series writes, “The best thing about writing fiction is that moment where the story catches fire and comes to life on the page…Everything is suddenly both obvious and surprising and it’s magic and wonderful and strange.” People do not label the drab or meaningless as magic. When a person creates something and it becomes more to people than a bunch of words, it becomes magic. Magic is supposed to be mysterious and wonderful. I don’t know if he really made the Statue of Liberty disappear but I know he did something impressive.

It doesn’t really matter what a writer is writing about as long as he’s passionate about it. Insignificant things like marks on walls, or dying flowers, or a person who would otherwise go unnoticed can be given great meaning if an author decides it. It can mean something special to the author and this meaning can then be shared through writing with an audience. The whale isn’t always a whale. Characters can become stand-ins for ideas. The archetypes begin to form around these common symbols giving the reader a host of meaning and offering the writer more ways to get his message across.

Passion for these messages is what some authors write for. Passion can not be learned a writer has to have it for whatever piece he is working on. Fiction is not the only place that passion can be applied to writing. One man’s passion can change the way the world thinks. Nothing great is ever accomplished without passion. Friedrich Engels wrote of poverty in London, “From this it follows that the social conflict- the war of all against all- is fought in the open.” Engels felt poverty existed in part for mankind not regarding each other as people but as enemies. We compete with each other for the same money so that some get more than their fair share while others are left to struggle. Many writers, like Engels, write for the social change which can occur as a result. The change is what they are passionate about. Women wrote about how much they could do if allowed, they urged their sisters to prove themselves, they pushed for their rights. Florence Nightingale was one of those women who pushed to have more than she did by asking, “Why have women passion, intellect, moral activity-these three-and a place in society where no one of the three can be exercised?” She could not see why she exists in a world where she has the same abilities as a man but could not be allowed to use them as well as he could. Eventually, women received the rights they deserved with much thanks to literature. Laws are made to protect people by people who are passionate about that. There are people who want to make the world a safer place for everyone. These are the dreamers who wish desperately for a world without war, hunger, or racism. These passionate few who begin the work of many and fight uphill battles in the hopes of finding something better.

It’s not just social changes non-fiction writers are passionate about. There are a good deal of other ideas for an author to be passionate about. Author of Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut believes any subject works, “A petition to the mayor about the pothole in front of your house or a love letter to the girl next door will do.” Some have felt people were important enough to write about. Whether autobiographies or biographies, a wide range of celebrities, political figures, and everyday people have had their stories told by passionate authors. For whatever the reason people like George Washington or Cleopatra have inspired a variety of authors to tell their stories. Some authors have a fire to tell the tale of a person’s life from beginning to end. Others feel that one particular event is most important to tell. Thomas De Quincey tells of one particular instance in his life which struck him as very important, “When I walk at this time in Oxford street by dreamy lamplight, and hear those airs played on a barrel-organ which years ago solaced me my dear companion, I shed tears, and muse myself at the mysterious dispensation which so suddenly and so critically separated us for ever.” De Quincey met a prostitute named Ann whom he felt terribly about never being able to see again since he’d promised to help her reform. Whether a single event or an entire life, there exists a strong desire to tell that story to anyone who cares to read it. Authors can be fans of these people just like anyone else. An author can attach himself to John Wayne for the tough guy roles he played in the movies he and his father watched while growing up. Bob Marley may inspire passion to his biographer through the lyrics of love he wrote. Even Hector the young guy down the street may find his life recorded in a short story written by his best friend who felt passionate enough to tell their story of an eventful road trip. Anything can be important enough to write about if seen properly.

I believe people are most passionate about each other. We have the most impact on each other. The animals, plants, and weather do not affect the writing of people as much as the store clerks, police officers, wives and husbands of the world do. These are the people we love, hate, look up to, loathe, envy, and hope to meet. A man might fall in love with a woman instantaneously. He would experience the kind of passion that would flood into his heart leading to a creative overflow. “This overflow must be expressed,” the man might say. “I will write her letters, poems, and sonnets, anything I can to express my wish to embrace her and call her mine.” The love poems of the world have been written to express the passion between people for centuries.

Regardless of the reason for the writing there must always be passion behind it. The world is not moved by the strength of a man but by the passion of his heart. Nothing great is ever done without passion. Writing, even when it is not that great, still holds a fire in it. An author must always feel this fire if he wishes to express it to the world. The fire is always what comes first. No one sets out to create something without the passion it takes to create it. You need that fire to finish it.

The Nature of Good and Evil

I love comic books. They're all about right and wrong. It's simplified ethics. Old school comics were particularly simple.



The good guys were in brightly colored outfits, the bad guys were mostly in black. The good guys weren't racist, they did't have any vices, they were pure of heart.



The bad guys were fairly simple as well. Often mad scientists with dreams of world domination or monsters that came from nowhere only to destroy. Pretty clear cut there. Nobody should be allowed to own the world or destroy it as far as the majority of people would be concerned.



The good guys step in and might makes right. If the good guys with all their strength and powers could defeat the bad guys the day would be saved and evil would again return to the shadows.



But the real world ain't like that. Evil doesn't come in the form of monsters or mad scientists so often here. Try walkin' in your mall and spottin' all the good guys and all the bad guys. Odds are you ain't gonna get 'em all right.

Evil is subjective. So's good. It all depends on who's judgin'.

A man that cheats on his wife isn't evil but he's wrong for it. A woman that keeps the extra twenty bucks from an atm might not even be considered wrong in keepin' that extra money. All children are selfish and tend to lie or be sneaky to get what they want but are they evil?

If Bob killed a man he might be called evil. But what if the person killed was attackin' Bob's family. What if it only appeared that the person killed was attackin' Bob's family? What if Bob's family had attacked the man that was killed? Things start to get a lil murkier.

There is no razor thin line drawn in the sand for every occasion. People can only act with the best of intentions and hope the rest of the world will understand. There's always a reason for the actions of people. Convenience, weakness to tempation, amusement, whatever it is there's at least one reason for it. It doesn't always make a lick o' sense and far too often it's backed up by stupidity but people have their reasons.

Reason is what a person needs to determine good and evil. To label all people who kill evil is to ignore those shades of gray that make things messy. It would be nice to live in a world where things fit into their lil boxes and you could always tell what's right and whats wrong. They don't. It's not that simple so you always gotta keep your wits about you and do your best to judge for yourself. It's why we hold trials for criminals. It's why we have rehabilitation programs. They clearly ain't perfect but it's all we got right now.

Nuthin' and No one is truly evil. Most folks who do bad things are misguided. They need to be helped not condemned. They need to learn to make better decisions not to be locked away and mistreated.

True evil would have to be a relentless force of death and destruction. True evil would not have a purpose for a new order to replace the old or any benefit to anyone. It would only destroy and corrupt whatever it can.

True good would then have to be a relentless force of life and creation. Its purpose would have to be peace and happiness for all. This is an impossible task.

There are no such creatures I've ever run across in my time.

There is no absolute evil or absolute good. There are the things we do and the reasons we do them and what happens as a result. These three things determine what could be good or bad. But nothing we can do can make us evil nor can anything we do make us perfectly good. We can get better or worse easily but there always remains at least a sliver of one or the other.

I'd say that's a good thing though. As perfect as we may become, if that lil bit of us wants things it shouldn't stays with us, then we must constantly work to keep it in check. That bit of badness keeps us awake at the wheel. And as bad as we may become, as hateful, and wild, and malicious as we can be if that lil bit of good stays with us then there is still hope to save us from ourselves. There's alway time to change what we are as long as there is a breath in our lungs.

Code of the Braggin' Apes

Not too long ago a friend and I were discussin' religion. It's never much of a discussion with him though, he's very set in his views and wants to beleive what he believes. That's his right. If I want to believe what I believe I gotta live in a way that allows others to do the same.





In the course of him quoting The Bible, he asked me if I believed in evolution. He wanted to know if I believed that mankind had evolved from monkeys. Everybody gets their panties in a bunch over that question 'cause people don't wanna be thought of as monkeys.





My answer to the question was that it didn't matter one way or the other. Neither has any particular bearin' on me or what I choose to do with my life.





I asked him, "Would bein' created by God make him a better person?"





He said, "No, it's my own actions that determine whether or not I am a good person."





I asked him, "Would bein' descended from a monkey make him any worse of a person, would bein' related to a monkey diminish his existence in any way?"





He said, "Yes."





I asked him why, and the most logical thing he could come up with was that it would take away from God. That strikes me as irrelevant to the question, seein' as how the question kinda asks you to put yourself in a world where God doesn't exist. When God doesn't exist you can't really take much from him.



I've heard it said before that man is only an animal with a superiority complex. That man believes itself to be so intelligent, so much better than other creatures that it deveops a code of conduct and morality that must be followed. It's been said that there is no real authority behind any moral code, particularly when so many people disobey it or drop it at the first sign of trouble.



Perhaps we are animals. Perhaps we're all descended from monkeys. Maybe we come from the nastiest glob of puss ever to squish its way across the planet. Maybe God is a made up inventon of mankind. Maybe our morals mean nothing to the fish, or the ants, or the stars. Maybe people do often do desperate things in desperate times. Should that have any bearin' on what the rest of us should do? Should we let all that mean that we have no moral code to uphold?



I don't think so. Things have no value of any kind 'til people decide they're worth sumthin'. A moral code, whether The Bible or Bushido, only has value if people abide by it or respect it. A code that people don't stick to can't gain any momentum or strength. But when someone has a philosophy and they stick to it, never bendin' or yieldin' in any of their values, or at least as few as possible, it can be respected. A code like that can be upheld by the people that follow it.

Even in a world without a god or any moral code before you, if you created a code and lived by it and upheld it with every step you took and every action you made, it would have a real value to at least you. It doesn't have to mean anything to anyone but you. Even if it's you alone that chooses to follow that path gives it will gain strength. God does not have to stand behind you. A discouragin' fact like you comin' from a monkey, or a family of thieves, or a drunk could not tarnish this path unless you let it.

No matter your history, whether you were a begger, prostitute, drug addict, molested, or just a regular joe, any moral code should be designed to make you a better person through habit and a method of thinkin'. Now of course, people are not perfect, we will never be perfect, and as such creatures of limited power we're gonna screw up. These slips don't need condemnation, they need understandin'. People that make mistakes just need to be shown a better way to make decisions or live. People that throw away their codes in the face of danger, times of war, or desperate situations need strength to hold on to these codes and forgiveness for abadonin' them. Killin' for killin' ain't never brought anybody back but makin your peace with the people that are still around might let you live a happier life.

Mankind may be just a braggin' ape but if we deliver on our braggin' then we have not just created a code of conduct but a self-fulfilling prophecy. We give ourselves the reasons we need to be righteous and moral. These codes may differ from region to region but should still be respected.

Christians are one group that are often disrespected. In a way it may be their own fault for lackin' a knowledge in their own philosophy. There are those that are well versed and could make anyone doubt their own philosophies but there are others that say simply "Because God said so." "Because God said so" has never been a satisfactory answer to me. There's no real logic to it. We should be moral for the good it creates in the universe not just for ourselves but for all. Good is, as I understand it, derived from the word god. God is good and good is god. In a sense, people don't really do good things because God said so, people do good things and then good exists in the universe, people create a sort of "god".

Destroyer

I started off wantin' to write sumthin' positive. But at the moment I just can't bring myself to. I still carry massive amounts of hope in my heart and the situation isn't bleak but there's sumthin I'm not so happy with. I'm not really sure what it is. I'll figure it out sooner or later.

In the mean time, I'm left feelin' sumthin' I try not to feel very often. Like a tiny black flea I feel it scratchin' and clawin' and bitin' at me. I can't help it. It's there. I try to contain it but I can't right now. I felt great a few days ago and then for the past few days it's slowly dug its way in. Hate. That's what it is. At nothing in particular. But still at everything.

Everyone talks about hate like it's something casual, like it's common or even okay to hate. "I hate onions." "I hate purple." "I hate my math teacher." That's a strong dislike. And probably with good reason. Math is hard. Purple isn't everybody's favorite color and it's not always flatterin'. But real hate is sumthin' I hope you all never have to feel.

I've felt it.

I know it.

And because I have, I'm left feeling a bit broken. Perhaps broken hearted.

About three years ago, I was datin' a girl. She was an interesting character. Odd in unimaginable ways and very pretty. Never was she a boring person to be around. She was the kind of person you had to think like if you ever wanted to understand what she was doin'. She didn't want to graduate though she was in her senior year and doin' fine in her classes. She felt it was her surrenderin' herself to the will of the man. She didn't like her big butt, she thought "A butt should be smaller and flatter, like a white girl's." She had a dream of becomin' a porn star, but was highly self conscious about her body. She was lazy, and funny, and foolish, and wild, and unreliable.

Unreliable.

I do not like that quality in a person. Much less a person I'm tryin' to date. She stood me up in total, about nine times. We would make plans and she'd sleep instead or be with her family or doin' sumthin' else. I found out that that sumthin' else had a name. Several actually. She'd been sleepin' around 'cause she thought I was a good guy and thought if she'd slept with me she'd get bored with me. She placed sex as the peak a relationship could reach and rarely stuck around with a guy after sleepin' with him.

She was my friend. Not the greatest or most trustworthy friend. But that's what I considered her, and as foolish as it may have been to think so I didn't think she'd do that to me. I could've handled her wantin' to see someone else. I'm not a lil kid, I've been through a few breakups before. But I felt betrayed by her.

I apparently walked around with a sad look on my face long enough that someone noticed. She listened. She was kind to me. She became my friend. I fell in love with her and she with me. But it wasn't true love. It wasn't real. I was at a weak point and she fooled me.

Despite my hard work doin' everything I could to take care of her. She ultimately rejected me, for an inferior man. I was crushed. I was hurt in the worst way.

I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't eat. I woke up in the morning and the first thing I would think to myself was that I wish I hadn't. If I had the time I'd go back to sleep in the hopes that maybe I wouldn't wake up the next time around. For the next six months I continued on like this hopin' that maybe she'd love me and not him. I tried to be the best that I could be. I helped her however I could. I did everything imaginable for her. I took care of her mother. I took care of her bills.

And everyday I was rejected. That wasn't anything new to me. I can't count the number of times I'd been turned down for bein' ugly, or not cool, or bein too nice. How many times have I been passed over for some asshole? How many times has a girl toyed with my emotions so she could feel good about herself? How many times has a girl been embarassed to be seen with me? How many times has a girl used me for money? I've been rejected all my life. Far too many times for one heart to accept.

I was rejected again and again. I was rejected and this time my heart couldn't take it. It shattered. She made her decision to stand by him, a worthless, gelatinous, perverse, ox of a man. There was nothing I could do. Except hate. I stood by and when they smiled together, I hated. When they kissed, I hated. When I knew they were layin' in bed together, I hated. When I felt I'd been robbed of the woman I loved, I hated.

I hated him. I hated him so much my blood boiled. My body burned. I felt a black hole in my chest where my heart once was. There would be nuthin' that was gonna fill that void. I died. I accepted the cold. I turned to stone to avoid feelin' any pain at all.

The tears stopped. The anger was there but contained. My hate. My hate fumed from my body. My hate was the stone I'd used to protect myself from my pain. I thought about doin' things. Disgusting things. Things that it would never have been possible for anyone with a soul to do. I hurt so badly, I just wanted to make the world hurt too.

But I do have a soul. And ultimately I am a good person. I could never do any of those things. I could never hurt anyone out of any selfishness.

One day, I walked into a church. An unlikely place to find me, but I went. I went in, I sat down and I listened. The preacher sounded like he was talkin' straight to me. He said exactly what I needed to hear. I sobbed. I don't think I've ever cried that hard over anything. In that church all I could do was melt all the hate away and show my pain.

After about another year I was able to let it go. It took a lot of work and practice not bein' angry about bein' left penniless, hurt, and livin' with my mom but I got over it. For the most part. I'd been hatin' the wrong person. I came to the realization that hate is just a poison. It'll kill you slowly and painfully.

No one deserves that from another person and you shouldn't let people have that much power over you. Hate is a fire that only destroys and consumes. It burns from inside you and does it's best to burn its way out. It'll consume you and destroy everything around you if you let it.

Real hate does nuthin' but destroy. It kills. People's lives are ruined by it. It must be controlled to live a positive life. Anger is anger and that's okay. We'll all get mad or annoyed by sumthin' but you can't let it take charge of everything you do.

I will not let hate consume me in such a way again. I'd never want my friends to feel hate like that. I know I'm different now after that experience. I'm colder. I feel as though my heart is blocked off. It's not good to know that you're broken in a way that may never be fixed. I might not get sick, I might not bruise easily, but I don't know if anyone will ever get that close to my heart again. But maybe, with time, practice, and the right person it'll happen.