Thursday, December 30, 2010
Either way, we can all agree that we lived through it, and things were done, some for good, and some for awesome. Mistakes may have been made.
This time last year, I was fully ensnared in active drug addiction, buying, selling, using. I don't even remember New Year's eve. It was a day like any other. I woke up, bought a bunch of drugs, sold some, used some, and went to sleep.
When I say I don't remember it, I'm not saying that I went to a party and got so fucked up I blacked out. I'm saying I literally have no idea, what so ever, what the fuck I did for New Year's. I don't know where I was or who I was with.
All I can say for certain is that drugs and strippers were most definitely involved in a major capacity.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
I used the opportunity of so many impassioned feminists paying attention to one spot to get a better understanding of what they're about and how they do what they do.
I'm not anti-feminist, but sometimes the extremes to which they go to get their point across scares me. The invented vocabulary and rhetorical tricks used to advance their cause is no different than any other cult mentality.
Which isn't to say that feminism is a cult. Just that I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with respect and dignity. Sometimes, that seems difficult for feminists to accomplish. It attempts to be THE ANSWER, and when we have the answer, we stop asking questions or thinking for ourselves, instead taking the easy way out and parroting what we've been told.
The result is that people that could be united in bringing actual change to the world and helping victims of rape and domestic violence instead begin fighting with each other on points of dogma.
A recent blog post pulled some of my tweets out of context and used them to "bust straw men" which they were never used to construct. I've posted my response below.
When it comes to rhetoric, these feminists are guilty of every tactic they've falsely accused me of, and many more. In contrast, some were very open to discussion, and I learned a lot from the exchanges. This likely won't be the last conversation on the subject.
Monday, December 20, 2010
About twenty years ago, I had my first consensual sexual experience, it was traumatic and life-changing. I also participated in an act of brutal savagery motivated by insecurity, which affected me just as strongly.
A few years back, I took some time and wrote these experiences down in the form of a thirteen thousand word narrative called "Guacamole Baseball".
Names have been changed and characters compressed to protect the innocent, and guilty.
Now, for the holidays, I'm making this story available as a free ebook download. It' a PDF, you do have the software to read it, regardless of your computing platform or web browser.
All you have to do to claim your copy is sign up to receive email updates from my blog. You can see that I post a few times a week, and do my best to keep the level of thought-provoking and entertaining content high.
You can sign up, confirm, and then unsubscribe if you like, but the point is for me to increase the connection between me, the author, and you, my potential audience.
I will not collect or resell your information. I won't even look at it. The mailing list is managed by http://list-manage.com, a well-respected company in the online newsletter community.
So it's a no-risk situation for you. Worst case, you don't like the book or the blog, delete it, and unsubscribe, but I hope you will stick around. I'm sure you will find both of them an entertaining, and perhaps moving read.
To sign up for the mailing list, just put your email address in the form to the top right, or click here.
If you'd like more information about Guacamole Baseball, or want to buy a hard copy for your shelf. Look here. I've made a sizable excerpt available on this blog.
I thank each and every one of you who do read the blog on a regular basis and welcome any comments or concerns, criticism or worry, here, on twitter, facebook, or wherever else we may cross paths.
If nobody told you today that they love you, then I'm telling you now, I do.
-Jason (Tao Joannes)
Friday, December 17, 2010
That's a good question.
I don't subscribe fully to any religious philosophy. Religions always have too much dogma built in to reinforce and protect the power structure.
The closest I get to church is in Native American sweat lodges, which I usually attend once a week, sometimes missing a week depending on the lodge schedule.
Prayer is a daily practice, and if I remember before bedtime, I get it in there, too.
I usually describe myself as a Gnostic Christian. It isn't necessary to have an intermediary facilitate the connection between the individual and God. God is beyond the understanding of any individual. There is only one God, and in different cultures, God is given different names.
So, for my personal practice, I follow the rule that "True Spiritual Principles Are Never In Conflict". I take the complementary parts from many traditions and use the key provided by Jesus Christ as "The Greatest Commandment" "Love the Lord, thy God, with all thy heart, all thy mind, and all thy spirit, and Love your neighbor as yourself."
So, mainly, a blend of Western Hermetics, Taoism, and Native American beliefs. With a little Buddhism and Hindi thrown in for good measure.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
on the edges of sentences
crammed together with
the other ill-fitting, barely legible notes
in a symphony of discordant tempos
we mark our own time
jointly and separate
bring me your whores and junkies
outcast geeks and innocents
the awkward and ignoble
vain and inferior
filthy and frigid
dwelling in slack
or chasing carrots
there's plenty of room
in the back of this bus
we're all pink on the inside
and our money is green
feeding our red meat
to the cold, grey machine
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
A black teen in a red sweatshirt rang my doorbell around seven pm while I was waiting for my fiance to get home.
"You gotta call somebody," he said. He looked scared. "They gonna start shooting."
I let him into the hallway that connected our apartment with the one upstairs and asked him if he was okay.
"Yeah," he said.
"Are you really afraid," I asked.
"Yeah," he said.
"Come on inside, then, there's the phone." I opened the door all the way and gestured to the desk.
"Okay, hold up." He put his hands on his knees and caught his breath.
"Okay," he said again. "Thanks."
And then he ran out the front door, back into the crowd of raised voices in front of the library.
The newspaper lay on my couch. The top story told of a seventeen year old Hmong boy who had woken from a two-month long coma the day before. He was bludgeoned to the brink of death by a gang member with a baseball bat for committing the unspeakable crime of borrowing the wrong-colored sweatshirt from his cousin.
I think about the French race riots in the fall of 2005 and feel a chill deeper than the winter winds. I get nervous when my neighbors walk past my car.
We live next to each other, but in completely different planes of existence.
Later that night, while I'm trying to sleep so I can make it to work on time, the crank fiend in the duplex next door is hiding in the shadows of our alleyway. The police storm across our backyard in their squad car to reach the alley as she dives behind a garage. They scan the area with a spotlight while the Mexican family across the street is furiously remodeling their latest home purchase. They own half the block, and I have a negative net worth.
Tell that to the folks claiming the American dream is dead.
These immigrant's children, born here, with no memory of Mexico, are calling for closed borders, and they give their money back to the system one Big Mac and South Pole sweatshirt at a time.
When Papi checks the mailbox twenty years from now, his stingy adult kids won't help cover the cost of his carne asada, and he may regret the trip across the wide river and high fence with the coyote's gun pressing in his back.
And that's how he will know they're American.
The cops give up and drive off in search of less wily prey, and the junkie scuttles through the night back to her own house.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
As a man, I have learned one very important lesson in life that I feel has escaped the curriculum vitae of your existence so far.
Before I put my naked, glistening ass on ANYTHING, I thoroughly examine the area to see if there are any sharp or gooey spots, or if there is a hole where I would expect to find firm purchase.
It is my considered opinion that this may be a helpful policy even during those times when my tender, pink, hairless buttocks are clad in denim and/or cotton, but it is especially recommended when my meat pillows and wedding tackle are exposed to the dark, cruel light of the world.
To assist in the conditioning of this possibly life saving habit, I am available for a nominal fee, enough to cover gas and expenses for the duration of the course, which will last until you "get it", to move into your spare bedroom, garage, attic, couch, or boudoir, as is deemed appropriate and proper, and leave surprises around the house in places your buttocks are likely to come into contact with.
Nickelodeon SLIME on the toilet seat, with the plunger left in the bowl, perhaps.
Or whoopee cushions on your makeup valet, and thumb tacks in your drivers seat.
These would be left, not in a spirit of malice, but simply to accelerate the learning process.
Or you could just learn to look at things before you sit on them.