Satisfaction

I am a deeply conflicted individual. On the one hand, I feel as though I must experience a struggle in order to create and that I must suffer through these days for the purpose of coming to some deeper understanding of life and my lonely place in it. On the other, I feel as though none of it really matters at all, that I would much rather be in a state of bliss complete with minor delusions, to create based on the whims of my fleeting emotions instead of through sheer will. John Stuart Mill, a man that I most admire for his intelligence, once said in his work, Utilitarianism: "it is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, are of a different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question." My concern is that I have only this one life to live and to give. Should I extinguish satisfaction in favor of the higher form of being, the Socrates instead of the fool, even if the latter could guarantee a more emotionally fulfilling existence? I feel like I should want to be intellectually fulfilled, but I also feel like doing so may compromise my deeply rooted wish for a satisfactory lifestyle. What, ultimately, determines the factors of the "fool?"  Is it like being the individual chained to the walls of Plato's cave, content with considering the playful images dancing along the wall reality instead of freeing herself to explore the wild and terrifyingly unpredictable world outside of said cave?

Every time I'm happy, I recognize it and become fearful of losing this pleasure. It's not a baser instinctive pleasure, the bodily pleasure, that Mill so condemned in favor of the higher form, the intellectual form. It's also not in the category of the stagnating contentment that so often corrupts a person's potential greatness. This happiness is one of discovering a fulfilling pleasure in life, in just being, in learning and experiencing the joys and challenges presented by circumstances. The struggles and difficulties become like a wave cresting the surface of the ocean that I meet with open arms and allow to carry me to new places. I do not overthink things. I just breathe and experience them with an active mind. I paint, I write, I play, I read, I walk, I listen, I smile, I learn, I accept new challenges, I connect with a rhythm that isn't noticed when the volume of the mind is turned up so loud, I feel a connection with everything and everyone, I let go, I relinquish my incessant need to control in favor of enjoying the ride. I do not stand still. I continue moving at a leisurely pace, pausing occasionally to appreciate the moment, and then move on again.

The problem is when this ceases. It's like I become so aware of it that it suddenly flees like a startled animal, afraid of being pinned down and caged to be studied. It's like an image that you notice in your peripheral vision that disappears when you turn to look closer at it. It defies labeling and evades the snare of analysis, both being tools of controlling the world within and around us. When I try to understand it, that's when a compulsive anxiety flaps in my chest like a frightened bird in a cage. The wonder mutates into worry, the awe shifting into this ghastly vision of fear. Problems arise where none had been before, created in my own mind out of an anxious need to understand things to death. Everything stills as I try to pin things down with my mind. The bird panics and all I can hear is the high-pitched squawking that drowns out the rhythm that was once so clear to me. I feel like I deserve this version of reality, that this is the way it should be if I am to get anywhere in life. I know this is not true. My heart stagnates when my mind is aflutter like this. Every time. I know it is wrong and that I should try to shush the incessant bleating that beats away at my calm, but it cripples me.

I don't wish to calm the waters. I only wish to swim better. This intense anxiety makes me feel like I'm trying to stand up straight and still in thrusting waves.

I wonder...do you have to be dissatisfied in order to be like Socrates?

Improvement

"Your self does not end where you flesh ends, but suffuses and blends with the world, including other beings. Moreover this annexed personal space is not static. It is elastic. It morphs every time you put on or take off your clothes, wear skis or scuba gear, or wield any tool. When you eat with a knife or a fork, your peripersonal space grows to envelop them. Brain cells that normally represent space no farther out than your fingertips expand their fields of awareness along the length of each utensil, making them part of you."  - The Body Has a Mind of Its Own, by Sandra Blakeslee & Matthew Blakeslee

 I'm currently reading through the book Think Smart: A Neuroscientist's Prescription for Improving Your Brain's Performance, written by Richard Restak, M.D. Within the crisp pages and embedded in the third chapter, "Specific Steps for Enhancing Your Brain's Performance," is a section on enhancing your body's innate peripersonal space (or PPS). PPS is the "force field" around our body's skin that can extend our body's boundaries. This is what helps us to navigate our bodies through crowded sidewalks without bumping in to other people. When we manipulate other objects, such as our vehicles, our PPS includes them, making it easier to park in tight spaces. Musicians extend their PPS to their instruments when they're playing them.

What I find very interesting is when we extend that PPS to include other people. Our close friends, our relatives, our partners, and even our pets become a part of us, an extension of who we are and how we perceive their existence. It's no wonder that we grieve the way we do when a person who is close to us is injured, ill, or, worse, perishes. Though we may care about the person in general and objectively find value in their being alive, we also tend to focus on them as being a part of ourselves. When the other is harmed, we are, in effect, harmed as well. When the other is ill, we are ill. When the other dies, a part of us dies along with them. We are not separate from the other people in our lives. We aren't even separate from the other people and things in the world, despite our not being aware of their existence. We all share something and are in some ways connected. When they are closer to our hearts and our bodies, we are simply more aware of them as being an extension of ourselves.

For the longest time, I've believed myself to be misanthropic, yet despite this notion, I continually fell in love with people. Now I realize that I was never particularly misanthropic, but that I was unhappy with some parts of myself, and it was only when other people revealed those parts to me that I disliked them. Being more honest and at peace with myself has allowed me to be more honest and at peace with other people. It's still allowing me to find something beautiful in everyone and to appreciate their existence more so than before. They're all a part of me, and I think that's great. I'm a part of them, and I think that's even better.

Practicality and Creativity Will Save the Day...and Some Cash

I would consider myself a fairly practical gal. I own few possessions, and the item I own the most of are books, which I have recently began purchasing on the cheap at thrift stores or for free on the Kindle or borrowed from friends and the library. I have a select few clothes that I wear regularly, like a few pairs of jeans, some simple shirts/tops, a couple pairs of shoes that I will wear to the bone, and some hats or scarves bought for $0.50/each at my favorite thrift store. I don't wear much jewelry, I shave my own hair in a GI Jane-style buzzcut, and I tend to enjoy the simple things in life, like learning a musical instrument, writing, reading, taking walks, painting, playing Nerf Wars, and sitting around a bonfire with some cheap alcohol and good company.

Damn... I'm gonna need a bigger eraser!

And yet, I still haven't managed to pay off my debts. I'm approximately a whole $6,000 in the hole with credit cards and a loan, used for a couple of surgeries. $1,700 here, $2,000 there, another $2,300 over there, and that's not including my approximately $5,000 school loans that are still in deferment. A lack of brutal budgeting has led to my seemingly permanent procrastination in paying off these debts. Though I know there are thousands of other individuals and families who are in far deeper debt, the debt that I have accrued still holds me under just enough to occasionally gasp for breath. I keep kicking and flailing, trying to break free of this hold that bars me from doing the things that I think will add to the quality of my life -- travel, see new places, visit the people that I adore.

I also had a CoxHealth bill that was preventing me from working toward paying off my credit card and loan debts. Recently, I went ahead and paid the rest of the $300+ bill off and scratched it off my seemingly eternal "To-Do" list. Immediately, I noticed a shift of the burden on my shoulders. I felt lighter, a little closer to the surface of the ocean of debt. I liked it.

I liked it so much that I decided I would budget my income and place paying these bills off as my number one priority. I will attempt to use $500 of my monthly income (roughly half of what I make per month) to put towards paying off my debts, one at a time. In order to do this, I need to go out less (for drinks and food) and buy basic foods in bulk for home-cooked meals. In a time of microwavable meals in a matter of a few minutes, this will be a challenge for me. I've spoiled myself with expensive daily trips to the supermarket for Steamables, Rockstars, and 6-packs of Carona or Boulevard Wheat. My cooking skills consist mainly of tossing a pre-cooked meal in the microwave and waiting impatiently for 2-5 minutes for my steaming soggy supper.

I have become complacent with how I indulge most of my whims when it concerns food and drink. Now I have to relearn how I think about food its preparation. This will be difficult at first, but I think it will be beneficial overall. On top of saving money, I will probably end up losing some of the weight that I've gained while satisfying my urges to drink anything except cheap coffee and tap water.

Grains and legumes in bulk, my new best friends

This should prove to be an interesting and most inventive journey. If anyone has any tips on cheap, healthy food recipes where I can buy the ingredients in bulk, I would be ever so grateful for your shared wisdom!

The Due Date

You never quite realize how much time and energy is spent on such mundane things until you remember that neither are as expendable as you've been treating them. There is a limited amount of both; a deadline that you will eventually approach, and once that date hits, the only thing you'll be hoping for is that the product of all that time and energy spent will have been decent enough to make some kind of mark on the world, like a novel, a novella, a short story, or just a lonely blog caught in the cyber time capsule. You won't be wishing that you spent more time on Facebook reposting the same pictures that at least 12 of your other "friends" have already shared. You won't be pondering all of the most updated pins on Pinterest that you've missed in the last three hours off the computer. You won't be wondering how one of the worst characters in the world, Ted Mosby, ended up meeting his wife as you follow obliviously along with the laugh tracks for your cue to enjoy a joke. That is, unless your last moments of conscious thought are annihilated by some kind of feverish delusional state of mind.

The moments that you are going to recall with a sense of wonder and true contentment are those when you are freed from the burdens of a strictly web-based social life. They're going to be the moments when you first learned a new trick or how to completely play Mary Had a Little Lamb on the piano without looking at the book or your hands. They're going to be the moments when you were exchanging laughter with loved ones and you can't help but smile when you recount the freedom of childlike amusement. They're going to be the times when you escaped into a world of curiosity and discovered for yourself revelations that only few others have encountered before in their lives. Sometimes they're not the most productive moments, and sometimes they're not long-lasting, but they're the moments that make the struggles in life well worth the effort, and they're the moments that compile your personal story.

Trust me, you don't want to hit that deadline and all you have to show for it is a pile of disorganized scrap paper with scribbles and frequently repeated lines carelessly scratched into them with a pen that ran all out of ink well before hour zero.

It's About Seeing the Rising Moon

My grandfather passed away last Sunday, December 18, 2011, following an excruciating hospital visit that lasted over a week. I visited him for a couple of days while he was there, a ventilator and everywhere tubes invading his body as he stressed under the pressure of pneumonia. He would occasionally awaken, and I wondered how much he comprehended when he looked at us through those dreary eyes, glassy from the medication. He seemed to respond to questions fairly well. In any case, I can never be sure, but I hope that he was aware that I was there with him, even if just for a little while, as he lay dying in the sterile, florescent-lit hospital. I hope that he saw me when I bent over him as he temporarily woke last Wednesday, a week prior to his funeral, and said that I was leaving to go back to work, but that I would be back as soon as I could and that I loved him. I watched his eyes slowly panned toward mine, the corners wet and crusting, the blue tubes forcing his mouth uncomfortably open, and he nodded his head. The lids of his eyes fluttered shut as he fell back into a medicated slumber. I felt a bitterness in my heart. After 36 hours of wakefulness and worry fueled by adrenaline and anxiety, an eight-hour nap, and then more wakefulness and worry, I felt like I was abandoning him. I wished I could replace the ventilator tube jammed down his throat with a more soothing pipe tobacco that he once so loved to smoke. I wished I could replace the sound of whirring and beeping machines with the music of his favorite singers, like Dorris Day. I wished I could replace the stiff hospital bed that he had to be assisted by two nurses to maneuver in with his favorite recliner. I was angry that he couldn't enjoy his time, surely the last of his days alive. I was scared that this would be the final interaction that I would have with him, the slow nod of his head, which I am still unsure if he was totally aware of my presence.

I packed my things to leave to his side again on the weekend. My mother had been texting me continually with how his health was progressing or regressing. Things were looking alright. Not good, but not necessarily much worse than when I left him. And then I received a text that said he was having irregular heartbeats. Then a simple message: "Dad is passing." Early the following morning, "Dad just left us."

As though he was only out to pick up a gallon of milk. As though he was just out to grab a bite to eat. As though he was expected to return. He just left. He left.

*   *   *

I read a Time magazine article today, dated from 1990. The author, Pico Iyer, tells of the time when his house burned down in California. The story's kicker states: "My only solace came from the final irony. In the manuscript I had saved, I had quoted the poem of the 17th century Japanese wanderer Basho, describing how destruction can sometimes bring a kind of clarity:

My house burned down / Now I can better see / The rising moon."

Revival

I was originally set out to revive Meaningful Memes with an article about something that annoys me. A hand-written banter of opinions about other people's opinions on a topic that I am not nearly as educated about as I would like to be sits on my desk. The dark scribbles are neat and clean, a few scratches here and there as I picked words from my mind with as much care as I could muster in those moments of frustration. These words mock and degrade others with the intention of promoting a positive notion: think before you speak/write.

Upon realizing the hypocrisy with a thoughtful reflection, I decided not to share these words with the rest of the world. They will, instead, meet their timely end in the recycle box with the mess of millions of other easily discarded ideas and words once thought and spoken in some forever drifting moment of time.

Instead, I will utilize this moment for the sake of goodness and hope. As the new year approaches like the dawn of a new and shining day, I find myself in want of a truer embrace of beauty. I feel a pull on my heart by the gravity of impermanence, and I wonder why I feel so weighted down. A self-righteous pessimism disguised for many years as realism has stunted my growth and robbed me of my energy. I no longer want the weight of this ugliness that has beseeched my attention for more days than I would like to recount. This crass lifestyle of crude behavior confused with boldness and unharnessed glowering mistaken for virtuosity have tarnished my image and brutalized my intentions for goodness.

So I hope to be rid of these deplorable habits. Slowly, I have been working towards a more positive and beautiful existence. I have dismissed cigarettes from their vice-like grip on my life. For over three weeks now, I have breached the destructive relationship I had with nicotine. I have incorporated art as a steady companion. I'm learning how to paint glasses and dishware to be given as holiday gifts and to, maybe one day, sell to willing buyers for a slight profit. I'm learning to love writing again, imploring my skill and talent to reawaken and keep me company. I'm allowing my curiosity and imagination more free reign in my life. I'm allowing myself to love without an expectation of anything in return. I'm letting go of expectations in general with the goal of enjoying life as it comes. I'm strongly considering becoming vegetarian once again. I'm building courage and banishing unnecessary anxieties that prevent me from completely being myself. I've began my own website dedicated to the webcomics I've been making, called www.CandidComics.BlackInkComics.com (though have been slow in making more, due to recent unfortunate incidents that have significantly affected my funny bone).

I want to see beautiful things and create more beauty. I hope you'll join me in this travel of beauty, goodness, joy, and love.

Write or GTFO

There are hordes of people who have something that they want to say, but just don't know how to say it. They're politically, religiously, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, sexually driven beasts with ideas that evade the elegance of language. They don't necessarily have novel ideas, but they have thoughts and feelings about particular issues, nonetheless. So they remain stationary, the ideas rumbling through their minds like a summer storm. They either go insane or they reach out to someone who shares their ideas and has already written them down.

What do you do if you have the will and the drive for words, but the well of ideas has run dry? Many of the ideas you contemplate are already written down by someone else, and they've accomplished this feat far more competently than you ever might have. Soon, you stagnate. I can just imagine a puddle of still water in the middle of the road following a brief shower getting stomped on by neighborhood kids. The water goes stale. It just lays there and waits for evaporation.

The most agitating advice for pen-blocked writer is "Write what you know." What if you don't care about what you know? What if what you know is uninteresting? Or what if you strive to attain Socrates' wisdom by acknowledging that "I know that I know nothing"?

Then I was gifted with the best advice that anyone could possibly receive:
"Shut the fuck up and just write." It doesn't matter what you write, it doesn't matter who reads it, it doesn't matter if it lasts throughout the ages like a tale from Shakespeare or Homer, it doesn't matter if you like it, it doesn't matter if other people like it. If you write enough, you're bound to come up with at least one diamond in the mess of worthless pebbles. If you don't, do not despair: the process is what matters most. Just enjoy yourself. If you're not enjoying yourself, then get the fuck out of it and find something that you do enjoy.

Candid Comics Continues!

Comic #30

Comic #31

Comic #32
Prelude to several comics to come!

Comic #33
Contrary to popular opinion, panda bears CAN and DO cry.

Comic #34
(Protip: If you're thinking about drawing a camel, DON'T.
They're goofy-looking animals that are a pain to draw)

New Candid Comics

Comic #26

Comic #27

Comic #28

Comic #29

Button-Pusher

"Where do you work?" "What do you do for a living?"

The answer is always more complex, more important, more interesting than the reality of the situation. Local news station. Computer graphics operator for the news shows. I try to dumb it down by saying that I'm just a button-pusher. That's what I do. I push buttons. This is easier than explaining exactly what my job entails.

It always feels like there's pressure to buff up my social status when I answer this question. What you do to make money is a part of your identity. It defines who you are as a person. Just like your choice in couch and matching love seat, the car that you drive, the clothes that you happened to wear that day, the way you style the hair on your head, how you paint your face, if you have the updated iPhone 4 or a flip phone from six years ago...

"Ooh, you work in the news? That must be exciting!"

I watch people die every day. I listen to the stories about political and religious fundamentalists gagging the airwaves with their trite comments on how things "should" be. I air updated photos and information about child molesters. I see the most depraved individuals running away and getting caught. I help report the latest death tolls from tragic incidents as mere numbers on a screen, but give a face to the most recent celebrity gossip. I see when a man and his son go missing on their fishing trip, the search and rescue team briefly seek out their bodies, and then end with a shrug, figuring that the bodies will turn up at some point. I see when a police officer or trooper or soldier go missing on their fishing trips, the search and rescue team ceaselessly combs the region until they are found, deploying every search team and vehicle imaginable.

No, not exciting. I just push buttons.

I'm a button-pusher.

Guts (Or the lack thereof)

            I’m tired. And I’m angry.

            And I’m tired.

            I stamp out the cigarette under my foot. It smolders for its last breath. Its black guts spilled out. I watch as it takes its last breath and the smoke dissolves into the humid breeze. I feel nothing for it.

            I watched a woman get swept away by raging flood waters on the TV. I watched while she screamed for the last time. I watched as she thought her last thoughts before her lungs filled with water. A man stood by and recorded her death.

            That water couldn’t have been very clean.

            I watched a man get beaten to death on the internet. I watched as men in black uniforms decorated with gold badges kicked him. I watched as he convulsed from the electric currents pumped into his flailing body. I watched as he screamed for the last time. I watched as he called out for his father before his lungs filled with his own blood and his face swelled. A man stood by and recorded his death.

            His hospital bills must have been expensive before succumbing to the injuries.

            I’m tired.

            And I’m angry.

            I’m mostly just tired, though.

Limbo.

                Five in the morning and already the air smothers me. Sun peaks beyond the cloudless horizon and the sky is in that weird transition between night and a new day. Not blue. Not black. Not anything, really.

                I look up. Dried leaves rustle in the light breeze. I can see the translucent dawn between the bug-eaten holes of leaves baked in summer sun. They sway to a tune I cannot hear, to a rhythm I cannot groove to. A friend falls now and again to its concrete doom.

                How is it this hot already?

                I can’t help but feel like there’s some secret I’m missing out on. When the birds chirp, the wind rustles the leaves, the cicadas screech, I feel out of the conversation. I’m sitting in the middle of dozens of people, all talking about the same thing, and I’m completely out of the loop. They don’t include me in this conversation.

                So I sit and listen. I strain to focus on the main theme.

                Lives consumed by the three “f’s”. Every chirp, rustle, screech, and death of a leaf are directly linked to one of the three “f’s.”

                Fighting.

                Food.

                Fucking.

                The former greatly influencing and affecting the latter.

                It probably wouldn’t feel so hot if it weren’t so damn humid.

                There’s got to be more to it than this. Is there a deeper meaning? A code that needs decrypting? A secret buried beneath the obvious? Maybe even a practical joke?

                Five in the morning and already the air smothers me. The sky’s in that weird transition. Not blue. Not black.

                Not anything, really.

Atheists are Vampires (don't ya know?)

            Atheists are vampires. Revealing this truth puts me in grave danger, so why would I lie about such a thing? I have infiltrated the atheist hordes in my local community for a couple of years now, and I have been diligently taking notes along the way. Sure, there may have been moments where I may seem like I’m having a blast, agreeing with their views and drinking myself into oblivion, but this is the front that I must display if I want to get anywhere in my observations of these creatures of darkness. With this knowledge, I hope that you, dear reader, will be capable of destroying, once and for all, the devilish bloodsucking fiends posing as mere atheists.

No, I said atheists, not douchebags

            The following are signs that have led me to this terrifying conclusion:

-         Their natural aversion to crosses and other things Christian-affiliated: I think this one is pretty obvious. Declaring that you don’t believe in a God is an excellent diversion to this glaringly obvious sign of vampirism, but it just doesn’t cut it. Why else would they be so hostile towards the notion of prayer and crosses in public places? I’ll tell you why: because they frequent these public areas and they don’t want to be drawn away from the crowds (where all of the delicious God-fearing folk frequent). If crosses and prayer are in their vicinity, they are incapable of penetrating the flesh of the masses. These Godly symbols hurt them and weaken their powers. Protect your family and friends from vampires and lobby for more crosses, prayers and exorcisms in public areas and facilities more often! We have to cover every square inch of land with reminders of our faith, or all will be lost to these carnivorous creatures.

-         No reflections: Despite the fact that atheists espouse certain qualities of humility by pretending not to be so self-involved with their physical appearances, this is simply an excuse to shy away from mirrors in public. They will lie to you to ensure that you don’t notice that they bear no reflection in mirrors. In reality, they are quite narcissistic by nature, but to hide the reflectionless truth, they will declare themselves as humble folk. Some others may take a slightly different approach and openly declare their narcissistic tendencies, stating that they know that they are good looking, so they need not gaze upon themselves in a mirror. Do not be deceived by either tactic, my Christ-loving friends, for they will do anything to deceive thee.

-         Most active during the night: How often do you see an atheist in the light of day? Have you ever seen them out in the park with their families? How about at the Olive Garden on a Sunday afternoon? Exactly. They hide in the cover of nightfall. During the day, they sleep in their lairs with the windows blocked with tarp. The pubs that they hide in just prior to dusk are good covers for their fiendish activities.

-         They consume copious amounts of blood: Like all vampires, they feast upon the blood of the innocent, the nectar of mankind that gives life to the wicked. The fact that much of this blood consumed originates from bottles that look much like liquor and beer bottles, and sometimes wine, is a clever disguise of the atheist/vampire’s part. No, my dear God-fearing brothers and sisters, that is not the wholesome brew, Bud Light, that you and I are familiar with (in a totally moderate sort of way, mind you). Look closely, past the very similar bottle design, and you will notice that it is indeed labeled “Blood Light,” a drink of choice for those Godless heathen blood-suckers. Others include Blood Moon, Gorona, Killer High Life, Samuel Adams Succubus, and Mike’s Hard Cranberry Lemonade (I actually am still unsure about the last one, but am convinced that it cannot possibly be the type of booze that normal humans would consume).

-         Another method of sucking the blood of their victims while maintaining the appearance of humanhood is when they act as though they are complete sluts. They hug and kiss so many people in a seemingly loving manner, often doing so with giant smiles plastered on their immortal faces (the sick bastards). What looks like ravenous, insatiable hunger for the flesh of others in the manner of romantic love or sexuality is actually in the manner of their violent urge to maim their victims and steal from them their life force. This so-called sexual deviancy is their mask and a ticket into the lives of those naïve innocents, drawn in by the sinful carnal pleasures of the flesh.

-         Their seeming infinite amount of knowledge: They prefer to portray themselves as nerds or dorks in order to hide the true origin of their plentiful amounts of knowledge. They act like really smart people, but my theory is that they are really of average intelligence. They just have been able to accumulate a vast quantity of information throughout the centuries of their existence. They once had to completely disguise their wit and knowledge for fear of being ostracized for their nerdiness, which made wooing their victims a little more difficult. However, now that nerds are the “in” thing, they have been freer about disclosing their views and all of the information gathered over the years.

-         If you stab them in the heart with a wooden stake, decapitate their head, or burn them alive, they die: Sure, they probably react to these methods of termination pretty similarly to the way normal humans would. However, why would you want to take the chance of not doing so and risk keeping alive forever a nerdy know-it-all with a penchant for gore (they say it’s just that they enjoy the Left for Dead video games, but can we be 100% certain they aren’t practicing and preparing for their upcoming blood bath?). The longer they survive among us good, God-fearing people, the greater the chances that more of us will become their next victims to their unexhausted willingness to convert Christians into vampires using Satanic techniques like “facts” and “science” and sucking on the blood of the living.

Candid Comics Returns!

Following a temporary setback due to a heinous case of strep throat, I've been searching for my funny bone amidst the rubble that is now my weakened body. I located it last night in the form of a Cracked.com-like article that I titled simply "Atheists are Vampires," inspired by three cans of cheap beer, a long night of mind-numbingly boring work, and vegging out to a horrid Wes Craven vampire movie (I know, which one, right??).

After fleshing out the article (to be posted after this blog post), I grew bored once again and searched through the book-lover's massacre that is my car's backseat for something to read. Out of the dozen or so books tossed nonchalantly in my car over the past several weeks of starting a new book and then moving on to the next, there was one that caught my eye. Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell, was sitting there so lonely, batting its sad baby blues up at me from the crumb covered backseat floor of my Suzuki SX4. Why not? I picked it up, dusted it off, recalled with a tinge of guilt that this book belonged to a friend and that I've "borrowed" it for nearly a month now, and carried it into my place of work. I noticed that there was a large bookmark I was using for it, which is not unusual in itself, but that there seemed to be drawings on the inside of the folded page.

It had been sitting in my car for so long, the edge of the page had melded with the slightly melted glue that sustained the book's structure, acting like it was to be a part of the book. I carefully tore it from its roots and opened the paper. Holy shit! It was a comic I had drawn about a month ago! I thought it was pretty cute, and I remember that it made one of my friends laugh when I let him read it (I always like letting someone read it for a chance to see if it's funny to anyone else but me prior to posting it online). I haven't drawn a new comic in the past week or so (which is a real long time for me), so I decided to cheat and make this one my newest comic (number 24). Luckily, the type of comic it is, very short and straight to the point, inspired me to create the next three or four comics. Right now they're in the planning stages (i.e. - on little yellow post-it notes and in my noggin), but they will be coming shortly.

Now, without further ado, here are comics number 23 and 24. Enjoy!

Comic #23

Comic #24

Candid Comics

This was a test drawing of the comic characters I created.

Hey all! I haven't been updating the Meaningful Memes blog as frequently as I would prefer. I've been concentrating on writing a lot of these comics and posting them to my facebook page and going in and out of a funk for some time now. I hope to get back on the writing bandwagon soon -- starting today!!

Here are the last several comics I've made since the last time I've posted. Enjoy!

Comic #16

Comic #17 - The following are the links to the charities involved in helping Joplin, MO cope with the disaster: http://bigfishtees.com/
https://secure.ppaction.org/site/Donation2?df_id=1851&1851.donation=form1&JServSessionIdr004=fxa4hexh11.app214a
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Animals-Lost-Found-from-the-Joplin-Mo-tornado/185768248141000
http://www2.stl.unitedway.org/site/Survey?ACTION_REQUIRED=URI_ACTION_USER_REQUESTS&SURVEY_ID=2960
http://www.ozarksfoodharvest.org/fooddrive.html
https://donate.convoyofhope.org/
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Comic #18 - In case you can't read the book titles, the first book is C.S. Lewis and the second is Richard Carrier's Sense and Goodness Without God

Comic #19

Comic #20

Comic #21

Comic #22

New Candid Comics

Comic #14

Comic #15

More Comics for your lulz!

Comic #10

Comic #11

Comic #12

Comic #13

Meaningful Memes Comic

I'm having trouble deciding what the hell I should name this silly little comic. They're fun to draw, it seems to make some people happy, so I think I'm going to keep doing it either until it is no longer funny/silly/cute or until I get better at drawing and I start up a new comic!

So what do you think? Names? Suggestions? Let a sista' know!

Comic #7

Comic #8

Comic #9

Stick-figure Madness!

Comic #5

Comic #6

Comic Madness!

If you can't tell, I've been dinking around with comics the past few days. I've been incredibly uninspired by the world for the past couple of weeks, hence the drastically fewer updates I've been able to write. So I've turned to comics in order to add a little bit of comedic relief.

Hope you enjoy these next two!

Comic #3

Comic #4

Reaping Benefits from Boredom

I believe that in order to live your life well, you need to throw in some humor. A life without a decent sense of humor is one devoid of intense happiness. You can be satisfied without being able to laugh, but everything is so much better when you can take a moment to relish in the silliness.

Working at a news station as a Deko graphics operator has some upsides to it. One of which is a lot of downtime. I utilize this time for several things other than making new graphics for the evening shows, such as reading and writing. Today, I decided to create something that people can laugh at and enjoy. I hope you do!

Comic #1

Comic #2

Plant Bombs...Rumor Bombs

"I love rumors! Facts can be so misleading, where rumors, true or false, are often revealing." 
- Col. Hans Landa [to Perrier LaPardite], Quentin Tarantino's Inglorious Bastards

Many skeptics do everything they can to understand human nature and the world and to find the truth. They eliminate the improbable concepts through a series of steps associated with reasoning techniques and critical thinking skills, then cast those unlikely concepts aside unless convincing evidence suggests it to be even slightly probable. We weed out the bullshit claims that come to us in troves: ion bracelets can increase your stamina and strength, chiropractic therapy can cure your allergies, the Earth is only 10,000 years old, you can be healed through "therapeutic touch" therapy where no touching is involved, or that your future could be read by someone who studies the creases in your palms (for a flat fee of $55 per session).

We have made it a healthy habit to be skeptical of improbable claims and to report to others only what we have researched in the hopes of inciting another intriguing perspective on the issue at hand, maybe learn something, and get closer to the truth.

But I want you skeptics to break your pattern, if only for a day. Experience the discomfort just for a little while. I want you to spread a rumor. It could be about anything, anyone, anyplace. It could be a little white lie or a major fabrication. Test other people's ability to discern a rumor from the truth. Will they believe you because it's something that you're saying? Or will they throw a ton of questions at you, have a giant question mark pop up over their heads, and then take off for the nearest computer/library to research and see if your claim is true (or even falsifiable).

This isn't just a test to find if others are gullible. It's a valuable lesson in human nature. As social animals who attempt to make sense of the universe, when we are let in on a little secret, even if it's just a rumor, we feel a bonding with the rumor-starter and a little more at ease about the phenomenon being discussed.
Observe the people that you tell this rumor to and take note how they respond to your fib.

Finally, this isn't just a test on others. This is an experiment to understand how memes are started, how they evolve, and how they take on a life of their own. Watch this meme, the rumor, as it expands. Notice if it has changed at all since you created it and sent it out into the world. Observe the rumor as though it were an organism as it grows and adapts.

The Sheep Will Not Scatter

"Strike the shepherd and the sheep will be scattered." (Zachariah 13:7)

It seems that this is what will become of the terrorist organizations without their leader, Osama bin Laden. This assumes that he was the main organizer of every guerrilla warfare tactic imposed upon the U.S. and that without him, everything will fall apart. If he was an intelligent leader, he would not have made himself the center of the entire organization (al Qaida). He probably would have split it up into several independent sections throughout the world so that his demise would not be the end of his campaign against pan-Arabism, socialism, democracy, and communism. Al Qaida in the past? Not if Osama had even a smidgen of intelligence, it isn't.

Besides, guerrilla warfare doesn't necessarily work like that. It's not based on certain people or places. It's based on ideology. If it's successful, it has no target to focus on. The ideology cannot be grasped and placed into a safe where no one will ever see or hear from it again. It slips through and infects those susceptible to fanaticism. It's a psychologically-based form of warfare, counting on the target pursued to make rash decisions and self-destruct. Thus far, they've done a pretty damn good job of that. Every action or decision now made out of fear of the possible attack from any outside source is the intended reaction.

Might I add: the reaction of several American people to the death of bin Laden is total hypocrisy. They cringe in disgust at footage of Iraqi's parading in the streets with dismembered bodies held high and people cheering. If they had the chance to get a hold of bin Laden's body, they would do exactly the same thing. Funny how the tables turn and suddenly violence and beastly behavior is all OK.

“Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.” (Sagan)

When you're a writer, everything that you do becomes research. You need to push the limits of your experiences in life beyond the boundaries of your comfort zone. If it's uncomfortable, do it. Feel every moment. See every detail. Whiff every scent. Every tiny molecule is observed, explored, cultivated into something that you can translate into the art of language.

Words don't seem to be enough to captivate that tiny thrill that you get when you see something perfect or feel something beautiful. But they'll have to do.

Everything that I do is research. Standing outside in the spring rain, cold drops plop plop plop onto your scalp, tracing your hair and down the back of your neck, traveling beneath the cotton clothes now gripping to your skin as the hair raises and your nipples harden. Everything sinful, sweet, painful and beauteous etches into your mind. You catalog it as something potentially useful and meaningful for a later date. You may not need to write about how sweaty your hands get when you grip the steering wheel of your car as you barrel through town during a tornado-warned storm right now. Someday, though, it may come in real handy.

Anytime someone asks you, the writer/director, why you're volunteering to be a nude model for an art class or why you're laying in a tub filled with tarantulas or why you're touring a morgue, there's only one legitimate (and halfway sane) answer: research.

The Art of Ambiguity

When Deepak was asked a question regarding one person's dilemma that involves feeling a bit anxious and out of control on Oprah's website, his response is vague and ultimately unhelpful. Oh, the convenience of ambiguity! You can say whatever you want, toss in some common sense with a dash of spiritual claptrap and sprinkle on a coating of confidence and you, too, can sound mystically profound! Unfortunately, if you were looking for evidence-backed advice for practical daily use, you're shit out of luck!

"Stand in front of the mirror and decide when you want to get serious." Is that not why this person wrote in for help? Oh, I see: they were just procrastinating getting help. I often request advice for a legitimate problem when I'm not serious about it. "At that moment, help will come, and so will change." (Cue puff of smoke as Deepak disappears into the night)

Alright. I'll stop picking on Deepak. Maybe I'm just being too cynical? After all, he may have something here. Let's try it out and see where it goes, shall we?

I stood in front of a mirror when I felt particularly anxious about something -- the direction that my writing was going was unsatisfactory, for instance. Alright, let's get serious, then! I looked at my reflection, dead in the reversed image of my eyes, and said aloud, "I'm ready to get serious...right now!"

If there had been a cricket in the room, now would be an appropriate time to start chirping. Yeah, OK, I've established my sincerity for needing help. So where was it? Maybe I'm supposed to be outside so I can see it when it falls from the sky? Am I standing the right way? I'll try standing more to my left. Hm, nope, still no help. Would I recognize it if it came? I started imagining a small garden gnome waddling toward me with an envelope in its paint-cracked hands -- the envelope would hold the secret to my temporary writer's block. I checked around the room, giving it a once-over look. Nope, no gnomes with envelopes.

Change will come? I rolled my eyes.

Yes, of course change will come. Change always comes. Nothing ever stays the same. For instance, I'm one minute older and feel one iota dumber for having done this. See? I have changed!!

So many people get away with offering bullshit advice like this all of the time, keeping their vocabulary purposely vague to stimulate the reader's imagination. The reader, then, will see the pattern and the solution that they've just imagined, and then credit the adviser for their pseudo-spiritual nugget of advice. Genius! You mean you can write any vague, positive bullshit, conveniently omitting any specific actions one may take in order to improve their mentality or their lives, letting the reader indulge in filling in the blanks, and then get credit for having helped them?! And then these people will willingly pay you to tell them things they already know? Where the hell do I sign up??!

Self-Help Claptrap

I am deeply critical of anyone who utilizes vague jargon such as "soul" and "spirit" and "opening up your heart." Sure, their intentions are usually to help influence a person to be kind, open-minded and loving. Their vocabulary fails to stimulate the mind in any real or lasting manner, however. The terms are completely up for grabs as far as their meaning is concerned. People may think they know what they mean, but you'll find that everyone's interpretation is at least slightly different.

These terms are used by well-meaning, dull-witted people (or business savvy people) in a bow-tied package for sale in the shapes of self-help books, CDs, DVDs, and articles. They are not practical and their effects are boiled down to an immediate sense of motivation with little to no sustaining impact. Their advice is to "open up your heart" or "search deep in your soul" or "feel your spirit." How? No fucking clue. They sure won't let you know. Is there some deeply ingrained knowledge that we all possess which allows us to understand exactly what it means to "open your heart" and how to do so? Not really, no. The reader interprets the advice in their own way, just as the writer intended with such vague claptrap, and they experience a momentary sense of hope. What happens the minute they place the book back on the shelf? That feeling dissipates and as the reader returns to reality and they are right back where they began -- with their familiar frustrations and inability to cope with difficult situations or people.

My frustration doesn't necessarily lie with the idea that I don't believe there exists a "soul" or "spirit," nor that the idea of "opening your heart" is a poorly explained approach to making use of the chemicals temporarily excreted and interpreted by the brain. It also doesn't lie with the fact that there are many successful authors out there that understand that this type of ambiguous writing sells well and that they take advantage of such a simple method of raking in the dough.

What upsets me is that so many people are gullible dolts who willingly spend $15-$25 on a single book that either explains absurdly common sense advice that people already know or that takes advantage of enigmatic vocabulary and phrases. Not only that, but they will also spend hundreds of dollars on "life coaches" and self-help "gurus" to listen to their horrifyingly inane speeches and workshops.

Why don't I get upset with the people who spread such nonsense? Partially because I envy them. They've figured out a way to make a decent living with very little work involved. Also, because I cannot fault them for helping themselves, even if it means being somewhat deceitful. Yes, of course I would love to get a chance to let them know that what they're spelling out to their audiences is complete horseshit. But they are not the source of the problem. They are merely a symptom.

The problem? The severe lack of critical thinking skills on the part of the audience. If they were smarter or if they employed their minds a little more carefully, those taking advantage of mysticism would have no audience, they would make no money, they would be forced to actually earn a living doing something legitimate. I can still get mad at them for saying stupid stuff, especially if they are some of the few who actually believe what they're saying. What really infuriates me, however, is the sheer magnitude of stupidity on the part of the masses.

Critical thinking skills. Logic. Reason. Rationality. Learn it, live it, love it.