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Quoth the Narwhal: Does This Scuba Mask Make Me Look Impotent?

no, the view is fine...

no, the view is fine…

“…which would place him high in the runnin’ for laziest worldwide–but sometimes there’s a man. . . sometimes there’s a man.” –The Stranger-The Big Lebowski

I never had much in the way of self-control.  It never really interested me.  I just figured it was somebody else’s responsibility.  This is just a vague notion that I’ve always possessed but never thought about much.  This might lead one to conclude that I have a poor understanding of the term “self”.  While that might be true, it is only so partially.  My issue has far more to do with my relationship with control.  It just seems to be an oft misused archaic and arbitrary mechanism…like America’s knee-jerk inclination to be bacon-apologists of late…

Note:  People actually don’t like bacon as much as they say they do.  The thing that people are responding to has more to do with the way that the bacon is cooked more than the thing itself.  Try it, give a piece of soggy greasy bacon to someone who prefers crispy bacon…bacon is, at its core, a celebration of cooking itself.  We love bacon because it reaffirms our ability to manipulate nature.  And also–in some rare occasions–it affirms our ability to find a suitable mate.  Though I must warn you, you should look for a more important reason than a person’s ability to cook bacon as an impetus for marriage.  Good luck with that…

There is truth to the idea that self-control is virtuous.  Certainly my own issues with the notion have with them their own propensity for arbitrary misuse, and everything is destined to become archaic; be it in truth or perception.  It seems to me that self-control is a precise tool of growth, but fear has caused many to use it crudely.  The fear seems to be grounded in either a misdirected notion of pleasing God or the idea of dodging scrutiny from one’s peers.  It is because of these fears that people seem to err on the side of caution.  I go a different route.  But my signature air of immoderation has a way of getting me into all sorts of trouble.  I’ve written here before about this as it pertained to booze…but there is nothing unaffected by my cold indifference toward the simplest of social graces. 

I, like those who love me, find no comfort in my indelicate nature.  It is as off-putting to me as anyone.  I’ve never had a lot of patience for comfort.  It’s airless.  Mayhaps my lungs just work better when I’m excited.  I was born with a wild animal trapped in my skull in lieu of a brain.  This animal uses my eyes and ears to observe its surroundings and when things become too comfortable…too placid (what many describe as happy) it becomes agitated…like a narwhal with a scuba-mask or a timber wolf dressed up for his first audition as a Chippendales Dancer…R.I.P Patrick Swayze.

In large part it comes down to a thirst for adrenaline.  The narwhal loves adrenaline.

I’ve known folks in my life, self-described adrenaline-junkies, who do crazy things (self-described crazy things) like go really fast on a motorcycle, or in a car, or jump out of a “perfectly good airplane” (Chuckle, Chuckle–Nudge, Nudge).  I have yet to understand the thrill.  I can’t imagine a situation where-in, given the opportunity, I wouldn’t jump out of a plane.  Not for the thrill; but because why wouldn’t you?  Some people seem to have to be “talked in” to these sorts of activities.  I need to be talked out of them.  The thrill that most people describe is one derived from the person’s assumption about the parameters measuring death’s sphere of influence, and the reach of his grip, and how narrowly one feels they have averted said grip. 

I’ve always been unmoved by death.  I hate it now.  I do my best to avoid it as I get older.  Inside my head there is an inner-dialogue about the topic where once there was silence.  It goes like thus: “You know dying would be a real dick move”.  I have a family and friends who all love me, and while I don’t fully understand why, I don’t want to be a dick.  I mean, I know why I don’t want to be a dick…the mystery is in why one would love me.  I don’t mean that in a sad-sacky sort of way…it’s just a mystery to me…It is a mystery because either I don’t fully understand love or because I’m over-thinking it.  Regardless, I’ve learned to accept it as truth…

Note: With regard to love, the “what” and “where” and “when” are far more important than the “how” and “why”.  Outside of rare occasions “why” is just a word that humans stumble across around their third year then spend their lives using it to annoy those who have no intention of answering it either because they cannot or because it’s not part of the story they’re in the process of telling.  Nobody tells Scorsese to “cut to the chase”.

My adrenaline rushes are achieved through raw and honest interactions with people.  And because I’m no adrenaline junkie, I avoid them like I would a cougar attack.  I’m a pretty friendly, semi-outgoing guy so it seems implausible that interacting with people would make me uncomfortable…it took me a long time to believe it, but it’s true.  I’m great with conversation and “holding court” with quick witticisms.  That is until I start to over-think my position on the fine-line that demarks king from monkey.  As a normal person who craves honest interaction with other people, I’m no good.  I have some friends with whom I’m comfortable–but they are the exception that proves the rule…who prove the rule? 

So, what have we learned today?  I’m not sure.  I’ve lost interest in this post…I could’ve sworn I started out with a different point.  I took a break and watched “The Basketball Diaries” just now.  I thought I might find some truth there.  I didn’t so here is the post…maybe it’s just a collection of paragraphs with no appreciable connection…maybe it’s a drawn-out, albeit half-assed, apology for poor behavior…maybe it’s something completely different…

I wish I had a healthier fear of death…it seems like a useful tool to a guy who isn’t easily talked into or out of things…



About pats0

Pats0 is a writer who is informed by a punk-rock ethos, and a hatred for group-think. He is the founding member of The Pirate-Clown Guild of Free-Thinkers, an aegis from under which he soils the internet with his thoughts. Welcome.

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