Nothing makes you think harder about the quality of your life than having the shits. Truly. Nothing gives you more pause for thought than when your colon is doing things you know damn well it oughtn’t do at all.

You sit there, straining to either get things out or keep things in and wonder how it got to be like this. What in the world could cause such fundamental disruption in your body’s essential functioning? Part of you doesn’t want to know. Part of you is focused on the horrific smells your body is producing. (Is this what death smells like?) Part of you can’t help but pause and go over the last few days of your existence. Not just food, because that in and of itself is always tremendously unremarkable. No, you have to tie those feeding periods to other events in your day. Recall all the cups of coffee you sucked down to first chase away the hangover from the night before, then to have something to put in your mouth to avoid telling people what you really thought of their fabulous new insert-item-or-idea-here.

It’s unbearable, and you’re chained to The Throne. The John, The Shitter, The Can. It’s always preceded with “The” as if this toilet, the one you are on right now, is the only piece of crafted porcelain and modern waterworks known to mankind at that particular moment in time.

Didn’t remember to pay off that bill today. Again. The phone keeps ringing and it gets ignored again. It’s not as if it’s family or friends or even the neighborhood dog catcher wondering if you’ve seen fluffy. It’s just the same three or four or five debtors reminding you that in your race to keep up with your own perceived material desires you’ve fucked yourself. Bitten off more than you could chew, as the expression goes. And boy are you feeling it now, too. What did I eat, anyway? Roadkill by the smell, cement mix by the effort it’s taking to make anything happen.

Such a vulnerable position. It seems like for as progressive and open society may get, there are still so many taboos and social mores surrounding the act of voiding one’s digestive system. Why shouldn’t there be? The body saves all the worthless, all the diseased, all the least usable parts of everything it ingests for this part of the process. Urine is supposedly sterile, but everybody is taught at a very early age that shit is not in the least bit sterile. There’s somewhat of a culture of guilt surrounding taking a shit (taking it where, those interested in linguistic semantics might muse). Everyone does it, no one likes to talk about it. Especially moments like these when things Just Aren’t Going So Well.

Of course, when things Just Aren’t Going So Well in other arenas of life, no one actually wants to know about it. Even when people ask “how’s it going?” “how are you?” “hey, what’s up?” they never actually want to know. Most people have things that Just Aren’t Going So Well, but if you told Joe Lunchbox at the office that, he’d chuckle awkwardly, try to come up with something comparable, and shuffle off without making eye contact with you for the rest of the day. With some, they’d whisper to others that you weren’t Quite Right, and Poor So-And-So Is Having A Tough Time. Misery is said to love company, what misery really adores is a conduit. It’s rare that people want to share their own misfortunes, but to hear about someone else’s puts the whole world in a ray of sparkling perspective. If they don’t actually have to empathize or even talk to the person suffering, more the better. That’s why gossip is so popular. All the misery, none of the unfortunate emotional connection associated with the company.

Of course after this enema-esque clearing of the soul occurs, the unstoppable bowels under some pretense of control again, the brain shuts back off. Thank your lucky stars, it is over, free at last! Time to clean up, flush all that away, and pretend you’re just as free of vile thoughts and substances as the next asshole – no pun intended of course – you come across.

Then it’s wash the hands, check the hair, inspect the clothes and the shoes for anything amiss, and back to smiling and watching. Watching and smiling. Got to keep any eye out for aberrant behavior. Can’t let anybody catch you in an off moment. Certainly have to assure everyone you encounter that nothing could be better. What could be wrong? Nothing that’s what. Truth be told a lot of this activity is a form of mindless self-indulgence. Two seconds of thought about the people you deal with will tell you that most have no concept of the life you live. An extra two seconds – mind you, this is if you really think hard about it – says that they don’t understand half of your thoughts and couldn’t care if they tried because the simple fact of the matter is: your life is outside their sphere of understanding. They could no more understand you, who they see every day, than they could a Polynesian tribal leader. Even with proximity, so many lives don’t really intersect on meaningful levels.

Yet at those most vulnerable moments, when we are only human and not even really an individual, nothing is more desirous than basic understanding. “Know that I’m a person just like you!” “Things don’t always go just right!” But who really expects that level of understanding? It’s painfully hard to come by in most seemingly ideal scenarios. Taking a shit is a lot like death in that regard. If you have a particularly nasty bowel movement, you get treated rather awkwardly by anyone who knows. If you lose someone particularly close to you, you get treated rather awkwardly by anyone who knows.

It might not be entirely the same; people are less apt to make fun of you for losing your favorite grandparent than they are if you shit your pants on a long car ride, but some elements surely remain the same. Lack of eye contact. Not knowing what to say. Not sure whether they should be sorry or not. Lingering desires to make sure you’re “ok” – whatever that means.

These kind of thoughts hover in the back of the mind when you slide back into your pain-inducing office chair and wonder for not the first and not the last time what exactly you’re attempting to accomplish by getting up every morning and coming to this place. Can’t sit comfortably, can’t shit comfortably, can’t get a word in edgewise out of pure desire not to ruffle overly sensitive feathers, can’t think straight, can’t figure out if these are all really “can’t” type things or if it’s just a lack of willpower. Deep inside something screams “get out” and another voice says “this is nothing, you can whip this, beat it, call it Sally and make this j-o-b into a real accomplishment”.

And ain’t life just contradictions.

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Being, in suitable Measure, a humble Broadside in the Baroque Fashion, the Aim, inasmuch as mere Persons be possessed of a Will to divine Truths, and these Truths doth shew the Purpose and Designes of such a benevolent Creator, who, though a Deity endowed with Caprice, hath made Humankind in His Image, and there-by disencumb’red His Creation of a notably oppressive Weight; that is to say, the tragic Burden of Ignorance, and there-by shewed to mortal Persons, (not much unlike thy humble Scrivener, may it please the Reader), the Whys and Hows of this World; including forthwith certain Understandings of Natural Philosophy, which, through the Mercy (and possibly Oversight) of the Lord our God, divers Peoples, (both antiently and contemporaneous with our Modern Times and Days), hath educated their Selves by way of divers Disciplines and Reasonings, these being demonstrably unattainable by the lower Orders of Beastes, by Which is implied, but not to these Specimens limited, nor specifickally iterated, as the common Aurochs, the fearsome River-Horse of Africa, divers Sheepes, or Rattes, &c., &c., and seeing thusly, (if my Esteemed Reader permit me such Embellisshment) that the Milk of human Reason is accordingly, through a veritable and ostensible (though mysterious) Trans-Substantiation, congeal’d there-by into the Cheese of Civilization, by the Means and Devices previously elucidated, by Nature founding a mighty Precedent, by which Learned Persons may discourse, on the very Nature of the Thinge at Hand; to wit, a golden Shafte, the approximatte Breadth and Girth of a Man’s Rod (this being, an Euphemisme, much in Fashion, of Late employ’d in the Description or Ridicule of a Man’s generative Organ), assumedly Hollow’d, and carried by certaine fashionable Ladies of High Breeding, who, being some-what Inured to the Censure of the Mobb, may carrie about their Personages, for Use in conducting a fresh Jet of liquid Urine, from a Lady’s divine Holiest of Holies, to any number of Targets, Destinations, or Bodies of Water intended for Same, a Device or Engine known to the Vulgar as the “Shenis“.

Argument:

Previous Writings hath taken scant Account for the Merits of said Innovation, having elected to lambaste and be-labor the Shenis with some Scorn not entirely undeserv’d, and so discount the great Benefites, which can be enumerated at some length by thinking Persons.

These Criticisms, though frivolous in the Eyes of this humble Author, bear some Merit in their Repetition;

• The Shenis, following Use, in the Manner above described, contains various and sundry bodily Humors and Fluides which, if not cleansed with Water, Acqua Fortis, or Vitriol, may linger with-in the golden Shafte, (and also the Receptacle designated for Catchment); and certain Doctores of Physick, Natural Philosophers, Churchmen, Charlatans, Apothecaries, Wise-Women, Bone-setters, Seers, Wizardes, and Herbalists happen to advance the Radickal Claim that, as accumulated Detritus of this Nature may breed Swarmes of divers Diseases and Discomforts, including Locust-Crotch, Ague, and The Itch, so close Handling of a Shafte long Impregnated with Effluvia may confer said Ailments on the noble Bearer Herself, much to the Dismay of the Lady and her Companions.
• The Shenis, being an extaordinary gilded Phallus, in Length not smaller than twelve Inches, is a Sight so extra-ordinary as to attract undue Oversight and Scrutiny from Persons of Quality, and these Gentlefolk, though devoted in Spirit to Modernity, may quail at the Acceptance of the common Use of such an Artifact which, by Comparison with various and sundry Dildoes, &c., &c., formerly in Possession of the Borgia Popes, or the Emperor Caligula, rival these Objects for sheer, unmitigated Decadence, Tackinesse, and conspicuous Excess. (In Sooth, dear Reader, thy humble Author admits the Truth of this, yet holds Unconvinc’d that this Item be a Faulte).

These Arguments, and divers Others, may certes be applied contra the Shenis, as many a contrary Opinion or Idea seemeth, while the Moon shines, to be well-reason’d or inviolable. The Esteemed Reader should, however, accept a Caution: that the Sun, as He rises and rudely violates the Brains of the recently Awakened (and typically Hung-Over) like a buggering Miscreant, also dispels Arguments which, upon secondary Inspection, are reveal’d to be Naught but the Excremental Discharge of ethereal, ephemeral Dreams, such as Those dream’d by One much devoted to the Pracktice of daily imbibing certaine Inexpensive Pharmacopoeic preparations.

This Author proposes a strong Counter-Argument, which, though not Infallible, (as only the Work of the Creator may be beyond Reproach), may serve to Illuminate a particular Pointe, as ruthlessly as does the Sun to the Retinas of the intemperate Drunkard, there-by rendering him a gormless Wrack of his former Self, and which, by outweighing other divers worthy Criticisms of the Shenis by reason of the greater Merit, should mote it necessary for the Publick to embrace the Shenis, and all Things Shenile:

Namely, that the Shenis is a suitable Accoutrement for Ladies of Distinction, who happen to be in the Habit of conducting the Exploration of divers low Taverns, slatternly Boozeries, certaine disreputable and ill-favor’d Stores of Convenience, and Dwelling-Places or Work-Places of sluttish or boorish Persons, for the Reason that, in such Circumstances as typically befall a Man, where-in he is forced, by his own bewilderingly wretched Drunkenness, or a Sense of sheer Meanness, or by a noble and gentlemanly Lust for unholy and awful Vengeance, to unfurl his mighty Member from behind his Codpiece, Sporran, Greaves &c., &c., and thence let forth a voluble Column of Pisse, for the Purpose of instilling Ignominy and Fury in the hearts of his Enemies- or possibly just from drunken Perversity, targeting some Object which would not benefite from such Bespatterment, id est: a Trashe-canne, or some-such other Item which requires Handling and subsequent Dis-posal by a deservedly furious Peasant or impertinent, surly Wage-Slave.

Long have Females, and Women particularly, labored under the Notion, that utilizing an Adversary’s Trashe-canne, for an amusing makeshift Privy, while in a State of vindictive Drunkenness, is an impossible Methodology. With divers technologickal Engines, such as the Shenis, can we now ensure that the Womanly Sector of our Populace is as equally forearmed, for this dire Contingency. Concomitant with the Advent of the Shenis, this Author augurs a Rise in the regard of the Female gender, and increased Respect paid to Ladies Hither and Yon.

In summation- Fine Ladies who indulge in Purchases of this or similar “Engines for the Guidance of Urine” shall make known a dire, yet silent, Ultimatum; “Your Respect, if you please, Knave, else your eventual Trip to the Dumpster shall be a dribbly and foul Journey indeed.” Victims of such unspeakably gruesome Treatment, upon their subsequent Bemoistening, may reflect on their Habits and Ways of conducting their Business, and possibly improve Same.

If these Rogues change not their Manners, repeated Shenisings may, at Least, alter their Tune.

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J-Dilla, also known as Jay Dee, is widely regarded in the hip-hop community to be one of the most innovative producers ever to grace the turntables. Known as a “producer’s producer,” Dilla’s work was so highly esteemed that many of the biggest and most important names in hip-hop (like Common, Talib Kweli, ?uestlove, Erykah Badu, A Tribe Called Quest and Madlib) looked to him not only for inspiration, but for actual production work on what ended up being some of their most accomplished albums to date.

J-Dilla was also one of the first to release entire albums of sample-heavy, instrumental work, which incidentally is how he ended up collaborating with another master of the genre: Madlib. Madlib had been extremely impressed with Dilla’s innovative style and couldn’t help himself but to play with some beats for inspiration. The compliment didn’t escape Dilla and this initial meeting led to the creation of the now somewhat legendary JayLib.

Part of what makes their album, Champion Sound (2003), so distinctive stems from the way it was recorded. The duo met only once during the making, and the rest of the album was recorded by sending beats and vocals back and fourth. The collaboration ended with half of the album consisting of Dilla beats with Madlib’s vocals and the other half Madlib beats with Dilla’s vocals. I hesitate to call the final vibe earthy but for lack of a better word, it does feel somewhat organic in that there is nothing forced about the way these two artists blend their individual styles.

Dilla was a pioneer in blending hip-hop with a kind of neo-soul music that brought to life both genres and infused the result with a little bit of jazz, funk and a personal touch that can only be described as heart.

Talk about heart. Dilla struggled with TTP, a rare blood disease, and Lupus, and in 2005 performed throughout Europe from a wheelchair. He finished his last album, the brilliant Donuts from a hospital bed where he passed away just three days after its release. Check him out.

Special Bonus: If Champion Sound really appeals to you, CD Universe has a deluxe reissue, complete with TONS of extras and backstory.

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I couldn’t tell you why but I take such a perverse amount of pleasure in the Xs that keep cropping up in place of where my actual “friends” used to be. It’s almost enough to let this account sit here until this site officially implodes in on itself. Unfortunately it’s become such a haven for melodramatic teenagers (Gaia without the cute avatars?), that it is highly unlikely it will ever go away. While it is true some people do seem to use this for what could be claimed is its “original purpose”, based on my experience I think the vast majority are composed of about five types.

1 – Whores – This is a very broad category. This includes spam accounts to generate pay-per-click revenue for any number of ridiculous products, as well as people whose extreme attention seeking behavior earn them the more generic label of Ho. Just to clarify, this category includes:
~ jailbait who put up pictures of themselves in their underwear
~ “scene kids” nee “emo kids”
~ businesses who put up some manner of profile front (I’m looking at you Carlo Rossi),
~ And of course, actual whores and/or sluts (one expects cash and advertises as such, the other just makes you pay for everything then dumps you), etc.

2 – Drama Students – While I applaud the philosophy of “never stop learning”, this does not apply to the kind of overly melodramatic and destructive behavior that one is likely to pick up during the Junior High and High School years of one’s life. Quite frankly I never wanted to use the internet to find out who hates who and why, and it’s largely because I usually don’t give a flying fuck. I disrespect drama in all forms, but internet drama… Stupid to the nth degree. Whatever happened to the good old fist fight? The screaming match in public? People are getting awfully passive aggressive. I blame all that “self-esteem” crap they taught us when we were all little.

3 – Angst (omigod awesome link lol)- It comes from all sides. I’m guilty of a bit myself. It’s that bizzare ritual of self-deprication in public, seeking sympathy, understanding, and/or open communication from any source even if it includes a bunch of people you don’t really like all that much. Angst, drama, and whoring are usually daisy chained together 4lyfe, but this gets its own category because there are career angst-and-woe types out there who absolutely must insist that they are miserable (or perhaps really are miserable) at all times, in the most public ways possible. How many people really give half a thought to you? Probably not as many as you would hope. Learn to bottle and die early of heart disease, if it was good enough for your grandparents and great-grandparents, it’s good enough for you. (Then give me all your meds, maybe there will be something good in that pile of rubbish doctors prescribe for behavioral modification.)

4 – Fledgling Media Breakouts – Before the recent rash of whores through my approval box, the only time I would bother to check this thing is when some manner of small or local band wanted me to rally to their flag. Sure thing guys, more power to you I guess. Someday I might even stop being such a workaholic and find the time to go catch a show. Who knows?

5 – /B/tards and Related – These people of indeterminiate race, religion, quanitity, and quality want you to be a retard who will fill in your password at the drop of a hat, without paying attention as to whether or not you really are still on the myspace servers. Then they’re going to take your brilliantly crafted profile and probably replace it with something involving memes, cuss words, and/or penises. Anonymous is legion, and they really don’t give a shit about you or your friends, so if defiling your profile is going to be funny to anybody, it will be done if you’re stupid enough to give up your information blindly. Quite frankly if you can’t be bothered to monitor your login information, you deserve it. (Besides, I think it’s kind of funny, too. …desu)

I hope I have made both my disgust and my amusement with this Borg-like hive of ridiculousness that is myspace. Please do let me know if I’ve forgotten any key points.

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I just got done reading one of today’s Table of Malcontents blog entries in regards to a YouTube-related challenge in which people can obtain a free copy of the DVD called The God Who Wasn’t There, which is naturally about atheism. The goal of the challenge is to submit a recording of you “damning yourself to Hell”, primarily by including somewhere in your recording a distinct denial of the Holy Spirit.

This meatspace trolling crusade reminded me that I was recently asked as to whether or not I believed in the supernatural. A quick Wiki search pulled up a brief definition of “supernatural” as:

The supernatural (Latin: super- “above” + nature) refers to forces and phenomena which are not observable in nature, and therefore beyond verifiable measurement. Though supernatural refers chiefly to the cause of phenomena (an interpretation), if a phenomenon can be demonstrated, it is typically no longer considered to be supernatural.

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Supernatural
I was told that there was only a binary way in which I could answer this: yes or no. The lack of admitting to a grey area has gotten me in trouble on a lot of subjects, and I dislike dealing with subjects as important as belief lightly. However, in binary I must answer no. If it cannot be proven then how can I really “believe” that such a thing exists? There isn’t enough time in the day to invest too much thought in something like that.

I suppose my more general answer is: I believe that things which are considered “supernatural”, which have not yet to date been verified, are subject to two possibilities:

• 1 – further investigation resulting in a way to move supernatural, unverified ideas into the realm of the natural

[or]

• 2 – further investigation resulting in a better understanding as to why this force or phenomena is a part of human culture.

Realistically there are many things which up until recent history fall into the realm of the supernatural which at this point are scientifically verifiable. Also, using the definition above, what becomes of theory? Especially in the areas of things like Quantum Physics and Mathematics. (Am I applying the definition incorrectly here?)

Best as I can figure, germs were supernatural until we figured out what they really were. We knew people got sick. There were any number of theoretical reasons why. For a long time we had no way to observe the actual force at work, the way it really works, just the body’s reaction. Eventually we got to the bottom of that particular mystery. It is now understood and is officially natural instead of supernatural. (And people definitely gave any number of highly superstitious reasons why people got sick, and still do.) Note the article on The Germ Theory of Disease. It took quite a lot of testing and hanging onto what were at the time unverifiable beliefs to get this idea to finally take hold until anything could be proven.

There are a number of things that are classified as supernatural in this day and age, and I do especially like the quote from that same Wiki page: “Measure what is measurable, and make measurable what is not so.” –Galileo

There is always a way to justify what we encounter in this world. Sometimes it is only on a purely psychological level. Speaking of psychology, I’m pretty sure we still don’t understand emotions all that well. That would make feelings an unmeasurable, unverifiable force or phenomena. Does that mean happiness is also supernatural?

I am definitely not one to counter the power of human belief, faith, and/or conviction in general. It is the source of our greatest power and our greatest weakness. While there are many things I do not believe because I cannot justify expending my faith on such things, I will never doubt the power a particular belief holds over another person, or how that belief ultimately effects me and my life. And while a thing may not actually exist in a measurable fashion, man is very attached to his symbols, and I think understanding humankind’s memes is a great way to help one’s self understand humankind itself.

There is no reason to scoff or discount what is not understood, there is only understanding or the lack there of and nothing more.

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Wired’s “The Luddite” calls it like it is sometimes.

And I have to admit to being guilty of being too self-absorbed. To irritated and disillusioned (or just dillusional in general?) to be truely “angry” enough to do the right thing. The right thing being: get up in the faces of those that are falling LEAGUES short of their duty.

For the record though, I have never been fleeced by the amoral fluff that occupies prime time television. Paris Hilton will eventually develop a life-ending sexual disease and that will be that. If anything, that situation and any subsequent press coverage of her dealing with that eventuality would actually bring some light to the fact that living such a lifestyle actually does have negative consequences. The consequences for fucking everything that moves – as well as some things that don’t – are largely glossed over from what I can tell.

As for the government and the press? The phrase “fear and loathing” comes to mind. The dry, practical-yet-personal approach of Dr. Thompson is something that seems rather lacking during these times of crisis. I am sinking my teeth into Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail ’72, and I can safely say the similarities are already astounding.

So what is it going to take, I wonder, to motivate the people like me to do something? Besides of course this armchair punditry. What have others been doing? I’m curious. I don’t always keep track of the socio-political activities of my friends, but it’s still good to know that someone cares enough to do something.

Talk to me, people.

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