Vote for Me

Truth withOut a cOuntry

"What is the secret of life?” I asked.
“I forget,” said Sandra.
“Protein,” the bartender declared.

-Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle

I believe it is heresy to write this. I could be wrong, but it is surely sin, and if I had lived in another age, the good Dominican Friar Walker would have my hide for it. But this, my friends, is America. ;) Yet even so, Truth has no home here. Truth is "a man without a country," and there's no rectifying that.

In biological terms at the very least, protein is the secret of life. It is a cosmological law that we humans need it to live; without it, we die. Simply, without the basic building blocks of life, namely CHNOPS, man cannot exist. However, in spite of scientific laws that have been proven by immovable facts, Truth is crucified a martyr daily. Truth is tossed from the homes of the naive and left to rot in the cruel streets while superstition is given a cozy little seat by the fire. That is the Truth, and this is Heresy--that sapient beings would sink low enough to wallow in their own intellectual excrement!

"Where do I get my ideas from? You might as well have asked that of Beethoven. He was goofing around in Germany like everybody else, and all of a sudden this stuff came gushing out of him. It was music. I was goofing around like everybody else in Indiana, and all of a sudden stuff came gushing out. It was disgust with civilization."

-Kurt Vonnegut

Concurrence.

the Truth

in all hOnesty, i hate biOlOgy. nO, nO, that's nOt right. i abhOr biOlOgy with every sinew, every fiber, and every atOm in my bOdy. that's better. i lOathe it, yet i am still cOmpelled tO devOte my fOurteenth blOg tO it.

i begin tO think i am lOsing my mind.

I begin to tire of it all--the act that my face insists in putting on even though my brain has told me so many times that it is not, and never will be, me. I want to see the charades shatter down to the shards around me; but when I close my eyes, all I see is the back of my eyelids, and when I open them, I see only what the little slits on the mask permit.

See, the teen angst disease has caught up with me. I feel as if I am being tortured by Atilla the Hun--external forces are ripping me apart at the limbs. I feel cold all the time, even when the thermometer says 101 degrees. I feel...

"All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the less of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon the whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell upon it."

-Herman Melville

It seems to me these days as if the rOundness were all good personified, and thus to it I cling. Alas, I hardly know what to think anymore. The confusion rages a tempest around me, and the rOundness is the little rock at the eye of the storm--my one safe haven. There I can rest, free of the assaults, free of the fetters that adorn my mind--there I can be free.