Friday, May 22, 2015

The Art of Troll

When I was a senior in High School and the Internet was young, some of the not-popular, not-athletic kids created a website called the Anti-CHS webpage.  16 years later I don't remember much of what it contained except that they were calling out a lot of the nepotism, hypocrisy, bigotry, and abuse by the popular (rich) kids and their parents who were also in some cases teachers and faculty.  Kids, as smaller versions of adults, are shitty creatures.

The site created quite a stir among the popular / rich kids.  The football players threatened to beat the shit out of the creators, as you would expect and the faculty threatened suspensions, etc.  And they really wanted to find out who it was who made the site.  It wasn't me, and I didn't personally know the people who did it, but I did know their names.  And I couldn't have given less of a shit about CHS or any of the people involved.  But I did find it ... illuminating of the pathetic robot monkey nature of the people involved, even those creating the site.  It takes a lot of uncontrolled anger (read: weakness) to go to that effort to shit your vitriol into everyone's face.

So I saw this as an entertaining opportunity to expose even more of these dumb monkeys' dumb monkey qualities.  So I created the Anti-Anti-Anti-CHS webpage and set it as the homepage on all the computers in the lab.  And I spoofed the email address of the creators of the original Anti-CHS webpage and emailed bombed, that is sent something like 700 junk emails to the student body president who was also  a two faced manipulative and extremely entitled politician asshole, the son of one of the richest people in town.  They had (reasonably speaking) no way to trace it to me and simply believed it came from the creators of the Anti-CHS webpage.

The explosion was marvelous on all sides.  The meat-heads coming to the defense of the other popular kid making even greater threats of physical violence.  The Faculty flipping their lids at the insubordinate terrorists making greater threats of punishment their embarrassment at their inability to CONTROL the students.  And the creators of the website losing their shit and exposing their small monkey minds even more with much more garbage vitriol.

Then came the Columbine Shootings.  And by graduation the school was in a maelstrom of stupid.  Everyone talking about watch lists, and rumors about the creators of that site pulling the fire alarm during graduation and then mowing people down as they exited the building.

Really beautiful revelation of how pathetic people really are.  And I had the pleasure of being a hidden multiplier in that illustration of the weakness of the mass of humanity.

There is an art to being a troll.  Jonathan Swift, and his "A Modest Proposal" on the selling and eating of babies as the solution to the Irish poverty is a prime example of how the art of Troll can make a lasting impact.  Almost 300 hundred years later, most educated people still know the story.  It has become a classic example of how deliberately being a covert asshole in the midst of a conflict can create disgust going in both directions and thus draw to light the pathetic absurdity of human behavior.

I have been an asshole, at some point, to probably everyone I've ever known more than briefly.  A large chunk of that, I am sure, has just been me being, like everyone else, a dumb bio-survival oriented monkey, but a very large portion of that asshole-ism has on the contrary been me trying to point something out in your behavior, to make you flip, to make you expose yourself as exhibiting dumb monkey behavior.  It was me calling you out.   ...that your ideology is based on anger and fear, not reason.

Anyway.  Why am I telling this story?

Well I just watched the following documentary, and while I'm pretty much a-political these days, I think it is very well worth a watch as it does a hell of a good job at illuminating the virtues of being a Troll.  And as well some political stuff, and the interesting point that the Occupy movement was created by the FBI if you can look past the shitty soundtrack and stick with it past the character building to 1hr 08 mins.


Monday, May 18, 2015

Fat Raindrops

Fat raindrops soak my gloves
cool air soaks my lungs
and an Ardbeg evening
it's not bad, but I feel like I'm waiting

replenish the coffers
replenish the dreams
restitch the seams
torn by swollen waiting on the cream

the clouds snare themselves
on the dull and dirty mountain saw teeth
and ring around the crater
and it just keeps raining
and I just keep waiting
and swelling in the cold fat raindrops
that just keep falling
in fat peaceful splats
Like they've given up

I haven't given up
but I've worn out my excitement for spring
hell, I ran from it
to a broken mountaintop
and the last of the snow
and I don't know why
but I'm waiting in the rain
perhaps for the answer
perhaps for spring

but I've always preferred the fall
all the best things are most beautiful just before their death
fore or aft
there is no redemption without grief
and no magnum opus
of course

...of course

When you get the message, hang up the phone.

This one could really be about any of you couldn't it?

Travelers, psychonauts, businessmen.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

The Lake

Every morning this week I've woken up to this:  ^

Not much to say.  Seems like drama has moved on to other people for now.  I don't envy them.

Stormy morning working on the lake. ^ (click for fullscreen)

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Nine of Cups gone AWOL

It's a beautiful Sunday morning at Crater Lake.  The tall windows of my Ski Chalet style residence face East, and I have the place to myself.  The sky is a thin overcast that allows nearly full sun to penetrate and warm the skin as it rises above the caldera rim.  Yesterday I rose early and spent the morning hunting morel mushrooms in the forest outside the park.  And perhaps with a bit too much narcissism, I spent much of the day wondering why I have such trouble getting people to go with me on these adventures in the outdoors, when many years of experience has provided me the knowledge and skill to make these forays so pleasurable and fruitful.

This morning, I had kind of a hard time getting out of bed.  It wasn't depression exactly, but this neutral place I'm in seemed so devoid of motivation, I rather wondered what the point was.  9 O'clock is terribly late for me.  But I eventually got up.  And now I'm soaking in that tempered sunshine through these tall windows, and infusing myself with subtle joy with a tall cup of my favorite stimulant.  Maybe it's not appropriate to talk so publicly about relationships long gone, but I got to thinking about my last long term girlfriend.  And for all the terribly difficult and unpleasant experiences it encompassed I do still look back with joy on one thing in particular, one innocent and wonderful thing that had nothing to do with the pretexts of sex or romance or anything of that sort.  I miss sitting peacefully with a friend on sunny Sunday mornings and drinking coffee, with no urgency for any place to be.  That was the very best thing about that year and a half, sitting in the sunshine with someone, in the moment.  And though it is, I am sure, wrong to ever demand something out of a friendship or romance that was had elsewhere, to evaluate the relationship on the terms of another, this is a non-negotiable desire.  And I think it is one of the nearly universally learned lessons in life as we age.  Think of all the old folks in diners.  I go to them alone sometimes now.  And I admit that I have a special fondness in my heart for The Cracker Barrel.  I hope they will make it to the West some day.  I also hope they'll start brewing better coffee, but that is neither here nor there.  There is something quintessentially -home- about a place with tall windows and a fireplace and no sense of urgency.  It's a mere pittance I suppose, for having that friend to sit with on those slow late mornings, but I just wanted to point it out.  It's a lesson I've learned, and one worth sharing.

But, it is also I think a bit of a tangent to what I set down to write.  When the caffeine starts to accelerate my nervous system on quiet mornings like this I have some of my best thoughts.  And in the face of this open void of "What now?" neutrality I thought about the Tarot.  I haven't consulted it in some time, and this, if ever a moment seemed ideal.  Afterall, as The Moon, The Hermit and The Hanged Man, (and of course The Fool) it has been enormously helpful for me in terms of guiding meaningful introspection over the past couple of years.  So I went downstairs and brought up my deck meaning to draw a card, and perhaps a past and future card for a simple spread if the message was not clear.  And opening the box, I discovered that one card had been hidden from the rest of the deck, tucked behind the little instruction manual that it came with.  I had thought it was just one of the two or three cards in every deck that are either blank or carry copyright information.  And I can't say for how long it had been tucked away there, excluded from the deck I was reading.  Perhaps a very long time.  But I pulled it free and indeed it was no spare card, it was the Nine of Cups.  The Happiness Card, the Wish card.  I couldn't help but laugh.  It's one thing to draw it reversed, but what does it mean to find that not only were you not drawing this card, you could not have drawn this card?

Ha!  And I put away my deck.

Monday, May 04, 2015

Contacting me

My Internet situation is a mess for the time being.  Also I can't get phone calls or texts.  They're just going into the abyss.  So if you want to contact me, email or facebook is the way... and patience.  =/

Sunday, May 03, 2015


Made it back to the lake.
10,000 miles of driving in 2 1/2 months...

To the friends and family who helped and hosted me along the way, you know who you are:  Thank you.

...will be doing some house-keeping here over the coming days.  Going to clear out some old posts.  I'm not sure what exactly I want to do with this blog going forward.  But I suppose I'll just clear some space for now.

This kind of feels like a pivot point in life...  How can I tell?  Because I have nothing in particular to look forward to, or any particular fear or motivation, etc.  Kind of a neutral point between things...  Life will intervene, I am sure.

For now, Just waiting for my soul to catch back up with me.