19
January 2014
1103
hrs.
Humanism, a progressive philosophy of life that, without theism or
other supernatural beliefs, affirms the ability and responsibility of
human beings to lead personal lives of ethical fulfillment that aspire to the
greater good of humanity. The mission of the American Humanist Association is to be a clear, democratic voice for Humanism in the United States, to
increase public awareness and acceptance of Humanism, to establish, protect and
promote the position of humanists in American society, and to develop and
advance humanist thought and action.
In the
6th-century BCE, Gautama Buddha expressed, in Pali literature, a
skeptical attitude toward the supernatural:
Since neither soul, nor aught belonging to soul, can
really and truly exist, the view which holds that this I who am 'world', who am
'soul', shall hereafter live permanent, persisting, unchanging, yea abide
eternally: is not this utterly and entirely a foolish doctrine?
Not only Geniuses, but
modern humanists as well:
Good Late-In-The-Morning, Patient
Reader!
So good to see you all so bright-eyed, etc. I
myself, am not. Still, I have to fight off the ravages of my
insomnia, which I hear actually takes years off of your life, if exposed to it
long enough . . . I suppose I have been at it long enough. But
I ride a motorcycle: Dying from insomnia is way down the list of my
concerns- as is cholesterol and cancer . . . Alzheimer’s too,
although I am already in the age-range for early-onset forms of encephalopathy.
But
enough already about the who-gives-a-shits regarding my own health . . . How
are y’all doing?
And
while you either ponder that question for its deep philosophical meaning, or
you just think of it as the rhetorical question that it really is (how many
times a day do we ask that question and really mean it? Hmm?),
let me go ahead and tell you the Good News. No, not that good
news; I leave such nonsense to the non-sensible. No, the good news
of me finally getting a phone . . . woo and hoo!
Yes,
I welcome myself to the 21st Century, thengyaverrmudge, and I
plan on using this wisely, this hard-won lesson. You know the old
adage: Two-thousand forty-six times bitten, two-thousand forty-seven times
shy. Everybody Join In!
I
attempted to get the original phone number I had from the get, but no such
luck. It belongs to Sprint now, as if they sprayed it with Sprint
urine and said, “MINE!” But my new one is very easy to remember, and
I spent the last two days giving it out to those, not necessarily
“friends,” but close enough to me to matter, and Worthy of Mine Number
. . .
What
else? Lessee, I told you about my new printer, Jesus, had to have
one, you know. Everytime I had to print something I had to flash it
and then take it to school and print it out. Fug, what a
painus. It is a Hewlett-Packard Envy model, as is my laptop (I am a
product loyalist; Sony Playstation; Nikon cameras; Rockstar energy drinks,
etc.). Anyway, they communicate with one another with Bluetooth as
long as it is proximally possible, and damn it if I don’t wonder what the hell
they say about me behind my back, you know?
It
scans and it copies, too. That’ll all come in handy when I need to
run off some copies for group projects and when I decide to start
counterfeiting currency . . . Just kidding, Secret Service! Please
don’t have your Goon Squads put the boots to me! Don’t taze me, bro!
I’ve
managed to get study partners for every one of my classes, save for the one
that is online-only. Seems all of us hermits are such for a reason,
eh? So what if all of these study partners are cute ladies? Does
it matter? I don’t think so. So what if they’re all
single? It just means that they can dedicate their time more
efficiently and in plentiful supply, right? Besides, it’s not as if
I am after all of them, though there is one in particular that seems to be
sniffing around (don’t worry; I check myself for body odor when she’s not
looking, so it’s not that) and don’t worry again, for you know me . . . no
emotional involvement to the point of being broken-hearted again. Aww,
poor Fennec Fox- bweak his witto hawt . . . Yeah yeah, I know. But
c’mon, Patient Reader. Y’all know what it fels like. It
sucks beyond sucking. It is truly the collapsed supergiant that
somehow finds its way into our souls, wrapping around our (well, my)
bosky heart, and it is I swear to Jesus H. Shmitty so strong that even what
light I have inside that heart can never escape.
Does
anyone even give a shit about all of that? I mean, I’ve been
blogging about the wounded heart since y’all started reading about me. But
y’all know what a big part it is of my life; how I was a stupid romantic
lookining for my soulmate and all that bullshit horseshit nonsense
psycho-fucking-babble. It’s just that women are so soft and curvy
and they smell good and they have a whole new way of looking at things . .
. sometimes even in a sane way . . . I’m kidding,
ladies. Like men, y’all have a certain percentage of the gender who
are a little fucking nuts. A lot of you might even think I was a bit
nuts, but you’d all be wrong. Ha HA! ‘Nuff said . . .
What
else is going on? Well my good friend Dr. -------- had herself a
pretty great Holiday Season, but she is going in for a routine open-heart
surgery procedure. Though it sounds a bit daunting, she is quite
educated, quite informed about her involvement, and seems very relaxed and
upbeat- beat? Get it?- about the whole thing, as she should
be. She is young and healthy and has many many years ahead of
her. I have offered to come visit her and entertain wildly, Court
Jester that I am . . .
So what do you think about the pic?--->
I love it though I don’t know why
. . . Seems I can’t really put my finger on it. But you’ve got to
hand it to her . . . She does have a sort of disarming aura about her.
I’ve
been in contact with my friend who livesin a bigger city north of where I
live. He is involved in half of an enterprise we are working on, and
he is totally on top of his chores. Unfortunately, his mom died a
few days before xmas, and his sister has pretty much talked him into moving
down to Houston when he gets all of his affairs in order. But I am
not worried. It’s been over a year since we met up face-to-face, but
we keep in touch via email and texts . . . phone now, I
suppose!
So
I have been thinking of my lost-girl, and composing in my head more of the
Saker and Fox fable, but jesus . . . sometimes it’s hard to go over
those feelings again. It’s supposed to be cathartic, I reckon, but
if cathartic means sucks ass, then I guess it’s on track . . . I’ll
add more to it as I am able.
I
often think of my siblings, too. I am the estranged Black-Sheep of
the family, and haven’t talked to them in almost ten years. I do not
know their whereabouts, but they know where I am. Neither of them
are on any social networks . . . at least not unless they have each
chosen to use a nom de plume (guerre?). At any rate, as
I said, they know where I am, and they can reach me if they so desire.
I suppose I could hire a Pea-Eye, but they cost
money, and lots of it. There’s no way in my current state of
financial hardships that I could afford the hiring of one. We’ll
see. Someday, maybe . . .
At least things at school seem to be OK. I
am learning a great deal, and I hope to start making films in a few
months. I am looking forward to sharing them with you.
Speaking of school, I should get going on a
couple of things I need to wrap up before midnight. I also have some
other assignments due on Tuesday, and BTW, Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day,
all of you! I don’t care what you racist fucks say; the man was a
great humanitarian, and all he did was care about all of us, no matter the
color of our skin, you biased red-neck dumbasses. Not you, Patient
Reader . . . I know that y’all are more open-minded than those haters. Unless
you just follow my blog because I rile you up; ruffle your feathers, as it
were. Your racist, dipshit feathers. But there’s where we
break- The coolest thing about you racists is you don’t have to worry about
what I am doing; the coolest thing about me is I don’t give Fuckall what you
think. Bollocks on your bollocks, oi?
Keep coming back, Patient Reader. I’ll
let you know how things are going personally and academically- but you already
know that. Coffee and Cuddle Dates, my literary friends.
Shall I let you go now? Splendid!
Always,
The Ever Bipolar Cunning Fennec Fox . . .
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