The Voyeur

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Rave, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on September 25, 2011 by dissectingthefetalpig

I like to watch.  It is as simple as that.  If you don’t stop and look around some days, you’ll never really see the full picture.  The world is filled images and little details that act like hidden gems just waiting for you to find.  You can walk down any street and find something interesting or beautiful if you just took your blinders off.  Don’t just look side to side or dead straight; look up under and around.  Observe what is going on and you may be surprised at what you find.

One of the things I enjoyed about being a bouncer was that I had to watch and observe.  You start to learn the pattern of people and it gets easier to pick out the irregularities.  Irregularities in a crowd can be both good or bad.  A young couple having a heavy make out session, lovers meeting for the first time, a drug exchange, the preamble to a fight or shady behavior all stick out from the overall picture of what is seen in a bar.  Yet they can blend in really well at times if you don’t spot them.  It’s all a game to me, like an egg hunt of sorts.  Every bar or club I enter is immediately scanned for spots where things could happen, then I look to see what type of crowd surrounds me and then I look for the place best suited for me to sit and watch.  Sometimes this can be seen as problematic.  I would refuse to go to certain places again after seeing what a madhouse it was.  I see no reason to be in a place that is dangerous beyond the point of exciting and leans more towards being a deathtrap.  Friends and lovers alike used to think I was no fun for not wanting to go to bars known for having shootings in the parking lot regularly.  I saw it as having an allergic reaction to lead pills.

I love going out late at night and seeing what the world has to offer me as the majority of its inhabitants slumber.  It’s easier to find things, for me, at night as you don’t have the sun’s glare in your eyes.  Recently, I saw an older couple dancing on their balcony.  A slow waltz or something similar I suppose.  But it was awesome to see two old people still in love with each other like the day they first met.  They too were using the veil of the night for their advantage.  I didn’t want to interfere or interrupt the moment as some nosey onlooker, so off I went.  It’s moments like those that make me not loathe the world as much as I do.  It’s like some affirmation that good things still exist.

Even when all I see is the bums shuffling or slumbering on the street, the tricks working their corners and the junkies fixing, it’s still a glimpse into the world no one wants to admit we live in.  The real world.  I never saw the point of turning a blind eye to the problems.  These proverbial monsters under our beds that haunt us as we sleep.  It made more sense to get used to them rather than deny that it is happening.  And there is a uniqueness to this atrocity exhibit that I find exhilarating.  My outlook is that life is built on moments.  With that said, I would rather have a life built on unique moments rather than mundane ones. I like catching rare glimpses of raw life, even when it hurts.  I think it is almost damnable to live life like cattle and just shuffle along your usual route to the cubicle you call a job.  You need to switch it up sometimes and just see what is out there and take notice of all the flaws the gem of life bears.  These flaws, these imperfections are what make things so interesting.  Anyone can walk into a jewelry store and see a perfectly cut stone, but rarely do we get to find one in the raw.

Stare Down

Posted in Deep Thoughts, True Stories, Uncategorized on September 15, 2014 by dissectingthefetalpig

buttmirror-1024x581 I once had a staring contest with myself.  I wanted nothing more than to look into the eyes of the one person I hated most and bear deep down into his soul and see what he was made of.  Would I be looking into the eyes of a real motherfucker or would I be staring down some chicken-shit nancy boy?  I wasn’t entirely sure either, but what I did know is shit was going down and it was going to go down now.

So there I stood in front of the mirror.  This was it, this was the showdown.  At first I coolly looked myself dead in the eyes.  I immediately noticed how stubborn I was. Why was I doing this? Regardless,I refused to break eye contact.  I started to notice the details of my eyes.  The almond shape, how judgmental they appear at first glance and the overall darkness were the first few moments focus.  I started to notice the wrinkles I had accumulated over the years.  Then I started to look deeper.  How wild eyed I must appear at times?  The irides both big and brown with a light hazel ring around the very edges.  A dark rich brown much like a dark chocolate or a healthy shit.  I could make out the stroma and I noticed how much it reminded me of a sea urchin the way it expanded and contracted.  My cold stare was now focused on what could be considered a warm embrace at times.  A look that could possibly warm a lover’s heart.  Could I be caving in?

What seemed like minutes had passed.  My eyes were watering, tearing, as I held my gaze.  I was not about to give in.  I was too far invested to cash out now.  There was a slow searing feeling as my eyes began to sting from the tears.  I wanted to blink desperately.  This was crunch time. Time to see who is who.  I focused on the blackness of my pupils.  The emptiness.  The void within.  Hollow.  I fixated on this and began to wonder how many people do this?  How many people can?  It’s no easy task to look oneself in the eye, to be able too look into the windows of your own soul and see all your features.  Your cracks and crevice reveal your moments of selfishness, weakness, strengths and beauty within.  We take so much time studying others that we forget to study ourselves.

I swam in the black pools of my eyes for what seemed like eons.  I had finally felt the calm.  I had let go.  And with that I blinked.  I snapped back into reality only to realize that only fools have staring contests with themselves.  This endeavor was no-win situation at best.

Perhaps, I had lost… Perhaps, I had won.

The God Of All Endings

Posted in Deep Thoughts on September 9, 2014 by dissectingthefetalpig

My god is the god of all endings. A god neither to be loved or feared. Without discrimination my lord will dole out expiration in manners deemed just and unjust. Fairness and equality do not matter, nor have they ever. Man follies over these concepts. And that, perhaps, is one of man’s biggest sins. These things are vanities at best, and nothing more than an illusion. Illusions are lies. Man is the only animal that lies to itself and pretends that it is not an animal. We are probably the only species that can teach itself to deny it’s own natural instincts. Nature is pandemonium, to be put simply. And, if god makes man in his own image, then my god is the god nihilism and uncertainty, my god is the something born out of nothing. A deity whom most ignore but is the highest ruling of all. My god is Chaos and it knows only one equal and rival and that rival is Time.  The two cannot exist without each other.

Life is chaos. To live, or even love is chaos. A 50/50 chance at best, even when there are no odds. There is only one way to cope with it. Only one way to deal with it, and that is to remember where you are, the here and now, and just roll with the changes. You are your own god. You sail your own ship. Don’t fight it. Accept that we as humans must constantly adapt in order to survive. That we must constantly evolve in order to continue our journey to nowhere. Onwards into oblivion, the only true Heaven, because we do not know our true limits. Nor shall we ever.

And that is also why Time and Chaos cannot exist without the other. All things end and all things begin. The Big Bang. It is uncertain how long we will exist, yet we will exist and are certain to expire.

The true trinity is not of the Father,Son and Holy Ghost; it is Chaos, Adaptation and Time. To squander time is a sin for we never know how much we have because there is no such thing as certainty. Our only certainty is our mere presence and nothing more.

I have to remember, as do we all, that I am here, and now, and that, and all it contains, is what truly matters and that it should be rejoiced and not reviled and abused. We must appreciate what is now and what it is worth and we must carry on.

This is my reality.

Better Luck Next Time

Posted in Deep Thoughts, Rants with tags , , , , on November 10, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

They say “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” as an uplifting statement when you’ve had a brush with death or when you’ve had an accident. Maybe even when you’ve just gone through a raw ordeal. It makes perfect sense. The more incidents that occur, the keener you get (hopefully) and you try not to repeat any mistakes.

I, on the other hand, say “Better luck next time”. I figure the Grim Reaper is getting pretty fed up with my wily antics and last minute get-a-ways, so I encourage him to try a little harder. I’d hate for him to get mad at me and take it personal. When I take shit personally I have a tendency to hurt the other person more. It’s a normal human reaction. So it makes perfect sense to show some encouragement and hope that your retirement package is something lavish and glorious rather than something slow and painful.

It’s simple math really:

Dying in bed banging a beautiful woman >; Dying from dysentery in the middle of a desert.

Or…

Having a mediocre life, heavy in debt due to lack of insurance, the wife stopped loving you years ago and your kids want to cash in on insurance as cancer ravages your body and you pray for death to come quickly <; Going down in a hail of bullets after a heroic battle that changed the course of history because, although you are about to die, you somehow managed to save the world and people are going to name their babies after your amazing ass.

What would be even worse is if death got frustrated and gave up on you. You outfox him and live forever. That would seem ideal at first. But you get to watch everything and everyone you love die. Your body may betray you or you sustain a serious injury that you may have to live with for an eternity. Imagine being in an accident that cuts you in half and you have to spend forever with no legs. Or the world blows up and you float in space forever like a lost meteor. These are terrible scenarios I never want to experience. Which is more reason to encourage death to practice and put me in a first class coffin.

Little White Lies

Posted in Deep Thoughts on October 11, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

Every once in a while I find myself sitting at the bar of this quaint little French restaurant.  I usually order a soup or salad and proceed to shoot the shit with the girl on the other side of the bar.  It’s a weekly ritual.  Conversations are usually laced with what seems a juvenile adoration.  It’s cute and I find it refreshing.

Over the course of time, as with anything if you are smart, you pick up a thing or two about the other person.  She’s a good kid; A good balance of sarcasm and friendliness.  It seems as though she has a bit of a dark side or some secret shame that she struggles with.  I don’t ask questions, we all have pasts.  No need to make anyone uncomfortable unintentionally.  One conversation that sticks out in my head is when I was telling her about some darker period in my life and that eventually you learn how not to be a monster.  Her eyes got big and saucer like.  She believed me.  I believed me.  But that was a little white lie.

Let me explain.

Later on that evening and a few beers in, I noticed she was having a hard time with a package.  I reached down at my hip and procured a knife, more specifically, a larger knife with an assisted opening.  She looked down at it and asked why I would carry that thing.  I explained that it was a tool.  I use it everyday for a million things.  I’ve always had a knife.  Ever since I was a little boy.  All of which is true.  What I didn’t explain is that I also have it as a “just in case” for whatever bad situations might come my way.  I may have stopped acting a monster, but that doesn’t mean I really stopped being one.  He’s still in me, somewhere not too far under the surface and if I need him, I can ask him to come out and play.  That knife is a tool, but it’s also the monster’s claw.  It’s there in plain sight and just a snap away if I need it.

That’s my little white lie.  That’s the truth.  Once you’ve lived that way it never really stops, you just learn how to control it.  You can still tap into it and you can always feel it breathing down the back of your neck.  You just learn to tune it out.

Walls

Posted in Rants on May 9, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

Walls are specifically designed to keep unwanted elements from coming in or out of an area.  Much like a cage at the zoo, it keeps people from harassing whatever wildlife that is being kept and it keeps said wildlife from attacking the families at the zoo.  It makes a lot of sense when you think about it. Which is why it always would amaze me when people would give me shit for putting a wall up between my emotions and them.  Obviously people who put up emotional barriers don’t like being hurt and so they throw this wall up as a way to protect them…. Sometimes that invisible wall is put up to prevent hurting anyone too.  No one ever gets that.  Life is funny that way.

 

The Magician’s String

Posted in Rants on April 19, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

Not too long ago a friend and I were bumbling around town looking for something to do.  We decide to eat at a tourist trap of a joint and consume some rather savory, yet totally unhealthy food.  As per my usual, I decide to load the touchtones jukebox with some of the worst songs known to man.  There’s just something about watching the other patron’s faces go sour in mid bite when 4 Non Blondes starts blaring loudly overhead that makes my burger taste that much better.

Upon leaving ye old sud shack a young artist has set up camp and is doing elaborate paintings with spray cans.  He has his own sound system and light show, complete with semi cute girls acting as assistants and auctioneers.  My friend, who is a brilliant artist in his own right was fascinated with what was going on and so we took a minute to watch.  I explain to my friend that the artist sprays on layers of aerosol paint and then with utensils peels away layers or carves into the paint to give it the desired effect.  It’s a rather simple technique once you have the formula laid out.  I’ve seen these tricks before.

When I used to work in Chinatown I used to see a guy do similar work.  All of these quick paintings with similar stylings cranked out one after the other and put up for sale for tourists and locals alike.  I would stand and take a few minutes each day to watch and figure out his technique.  Taking time to see if I could find the magician’s string and tear apart the magic of what he was doing was rather simple.  In turn, the artist was clocking me.  He’d notice me and watch me watching him.  We’d both exchange a civil nod of acknowledgement.  Eventually it would be time for me to scamper off to my next job like a dutiful little drone and the cycle would begin anew each weekday, 7:15 PM EST.

What bothered me the most is that this street artist was mainly doing portraits of the World Trade Center and this was in the very wake of 911.  I found that to be semi tasteless, also considering that this gentleman was British.  It just didn’t sit right with me.  I never thought that my disapproval showed, but he seemed to notice.  One day he takes a moment and looks up at me and says ” I bet you listen to a lot of punk and oi!”, which I nodded and said yes.  He asks if I have a compilation called “Strength Thru Oi!”, to which I again said yes.  He grins and says he’s in one of the photos standing next to members of a particular band on there.  The next morning before I begin my commute to work I rifle through my records and sure enough, there he is. Albeit much younger.

There we are again after my shift finishes, our silent exchange begins as per the usual.  He looks up and asks if I had found him.  “Yup, right where you said you’d be”, I say.  He then asks if I like any 2 Tone era ska.  “Some, not too much”, was my answer.  “I bet you’ve probably got a copy of Madness’s ‘One Step Beyond in your collection?”, he grins.  “Yup.  Let me guess, you’re in that album too?”, I volley back.  He laughs and says “Yeah, two or three pics over from Belinda Carlise’s tits on the insert!”  He then looks up at me and says the following:

“Look, I know what you’re thinking.  Here is some limey cashing in on a tragedy.  I get it.  But really, all I am selling is memories.  And that’s not a bad thing now is it?  People come and go wanting to remember what was there and not think about what has happened.  I can’t blame them either.  Sure, I’m hustling for money, and I am sure you’ve figured out how to do what I do and in time, you could probably do a million of these yourself.  But it’s honest work and I’m no vulture.  Honestly.  And you and I probably have more in common than you’d think.”

And that was the magic trick right there.  This whole time I am paying attention to the paintings he is making.  Trying to figure out how it is done like some cocky asshole trying to find the ball in a game of cups and I over look the real magic.  He had read me.  He had clocked me and figured me out faster than I him with a minimal exchange of words.  It’s a simple ordinary magic practiced by street hustlers on a daily basis.  So base and primal that it is easily over looked.  Even now, some 14 years later I have to tip my hat and applaud him.

And for the record, he can be found on the insert a few pictures over from Belinda Carlisle’s tits.

Paying Homage To Ghosts

Posted in Deep Thoughts with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 9, 2012 by dissectingthefetalpig

I’ve lived a thousand different lives, or at least at times it feels that way.  I can’t say that they have all been the best lives, but they’ve all had their memorable moments and all have had their consistencies.  Some may say I’ve been reckless, lacked goals and am going nowhere.  To a degree, I cannot fault them.  I’ve only wanted to live and experience life, maybe have someone to grow old with and die with some dignity.  Not a lot to ask for, but harder to maintain than one would think.

I like to reflect on things to see if there is any form of improvement or to see how I can improve myself as a person.  In doing so it seems like life is measured in tiny increments of pain at times.  Just one traumatic and painful experience after another.  Allow me to digress and talk about pain for a second and then I will get back to the point.  The more pain you experience and the higher the threshold you will have.  A prime example is when I severely burned both arms in a work accident.  After enduring that, things like a punch in the mouth seemed rather painless.  This also works on a mental level as well.  So anyways, when life is measured in painful experiences it’s easy to think you are doing fine because you are just used to being jaded and your tolerance is ever increasing.  Sure, both body and mind take a toll, but you fool yourself constantly and you think that things can only get better from here.

It’s been almost exactly one year since my departure from the states to the lovely island of Puerto Rico.  I like it here.  It’s lawless and enchanting in ways words cannot describe.  It feeds my craving for carnage, decadence and lust.  Much like a child with ADHD taking Ritalin, the overwhelming amounts of my vices seem to balance me out.  I need balance.  Always have and always will.  But this beautiful tropical island is also like jail cell; albeit the most lavish cell I have ever had the privilege to sit in.  I came here knowing few people.  I still don’t have that many friends here.  It’s awkward at times do to culture and language differences.  So a lot of times I am left to just reflect on my past.

When I first came to visit this island it was on my honeymoon.  When the marriage dissolved and failed I went on a downward spiral.  I couldn’t take life in NYC anymore.  It was becoming intolerable and my behavior was rather repugnant at times.  An offer to move to PR came at an opportune time and I snatched it.  I thought it was great as I had a handful of friends there and could just start over.  I also moved here because while my marriage had failed, I had great memories of being a young man in love.  If I may only experience this feeling once then I should at least do my best to remember the good times.

Living is much like an exposed raw nerve.  So many exquisite sensations all at once.  Over time you become accustomed to it.  But you shouldn’t forget what built your tolerance; the good or the bad.  If the world goes into eternal darkness, I can at least say I felt the sun on my face.  If the the water runs dry and lands become barren, I can at least say I swam in the oceans and laid in the shade of a tree.  If I may never love again, I can at least remember what was like to wake up to a pretty face and believe in forever. I’ve felt the bitter cold of winter and a ton of hardships as well.  It’s all easy come and easy go.  What’s important is that you pay homage to your ghosts.

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