As I watched video-game addicts on Dr. Phil (6/3/09), I began to think. What the doctors don’t seem to understand, is that the video game MATTERS. You can’t necessarily touch it or put it in your mouth, but it IS real; more tangible than the beginnings of our imaginations to say the least. And why is this? consider the one consistency to the addictive games: you can come back to life.

The rise and domination of science on (some of our) culture has subconsciously made a mountain of our fear of death. Religion, in humanity’s history, has tried to lay waste to that fear, but today is far from history. The bleak prospect of simply dying or to cease to be (esp. bleak since vanity dictates we deserve to be) feeds easily into facilitating any denial possible. It is the prospect of being born, growing strong, dying only to rise again with vengeance, is the ambrosia of the addiction and fills the hole created when science killed belief in immortality.

Anyways, from that vague argument I want to return to the people on Dr. Phil’s show. The guy getting the intervention is in a bit of denial about how important games are to him; but he’s a warrior, he’s on Dr. Phil after all… that takes guts. Dude, stop neglecting your wife. Accept that she doesn’t play games and it is not fun for her. But really, its the other two that Dr. Phil brought on who are the real psychos.

Mom of the boy who CHOSE to commit suicide, to you I say this: You created a large part of the dark side of his fantasy and, for certain, you helped him arrive at decisive suicide. How dare you go on TV and damn your own son’s memory? You’re the most lost form of victim.

‘Reformed’ addict, you are definitely a lil bitch. I’ll bet all my money that as a kid, despite your best efforts, you were terrible at sports and always the last kid picked. You grew up a dweeb and as you entered young adulthood you rushed into your nerd legacy of video games…. only to find you that you sucked at those too. I hope you realize that all this really means is that you’re a lousy team player, but I doubt you believe this. You think online friends are this grand mystery of anonymity, but you’re way off the mark. Just like in the physical world, you can decide to what about yourself to share with another – its called “socializing”. Face the fact that it is simply a flaw in YOU that you could not be yourself in the game. Don’t demonize the game for it. And if you try to kill yourself, you’ll FAIL.

My hourglass is bottom heavy; a sense there is not much time left.  The pain in my chest will not go away.  The laboring of my breath becomes more each day.  With my remaining time, I will voice myself, albeit hollowly, in this shadowy box.

It is easy for me to be angered by what I perceive as the ruins of my life.  As a youth, I showed potential and promise; academic merit complimented by athletic achievement provided the backdrop for what could have been an exceptionally worthy life.  However, when I recognized this hope provided, I decided to create my own destiny rather than pursue the one so elegantly laid down before me.

I tired of my talents, scorned my abilities, and decided to adventure towards dreams of which I had no tools but the fancy of my imagination.  So strongly I wanted to be a musician, to be on stage singing my heart out and playing rock and roll guitar.  But, as many have found, the dream is a far cry from the reality.  When I learned that my narcissitic goal of captivating people from the dais are not too be,  I also learned that the window of oppurtunity on my former talents had closed.  I now had nothing but a chip on my shoulder with bad memories, a university scholarship lost, and growing debt.

I had surrounded myself with those people who love the extravagant experience… who am I kidding?  I hung out with other drug users; people who escaped banal reality for the temporary high and fix that chemicals of our people and earth provide.  Now, this escape has become banal, ennui, trite, droll.

I have a love and she is sweet as can be, offering me anything and everything I had ever demanded of a lover – and until she, by adamant command I remained alone for a long time.

But now, she is not enough, and when I smile for her I die a little more inside.  I want her to be happy despite the false smiles and words that come from me to keep her (who is actually older than me) my Lolita.  This falsehood disgusts me; she has not wronged me in the slightest and I am too cowardly to show integrity and too vain to tell the truth.

Alone.  In death, are we not all alone?  Many say yes, many say no citing eternal life and salvation in heaven.  What I want is to die and dissolve from existence, but I know this is not so.  I have not sinned so much in life that I would be banned from heaven, no; but I have failed, shamed, and hated myself to the degree that an eternity with myself would be eternal hell.

There is no escaping who we are.  That is built it, hard-wired.  Only many, many, years can began to erase who we are.  As the wind and water wash the stone, as the earth heaves and the cosmos throw mountains – only through near eternities can the memory and loathing for myself be washed away.  However, this seems the impossible task since my self-ire procreates as fast it falls away. I am an exceedingly fertile mother for dark vanity.

Perhaps I am already in eternal life; I’ve seen no absolute beginning and I’ve seen no absolute end.  This purgatory of life damns me for making happiness so fleeting, and worse, so unproductive.  If I could but write something down when I was filled with joy!  To be able to lock into eternal memory those moments the benevolence of the world seemed to shine upon me!   But alas, I drunk those times like wine with nothing to remember the party but the hangover today.

The other day an old memory struck me. Thirteen years ago, a friend I had when I was a pre-teen was convicted of murder. The prosecution pursued the death penalty but to no avail; my friend was sentenced to life in prison without parole as a 15 year old. I start searching via google for documents regarding the case and found the information that I had only heard about years ago through heresay. Apparently, my friend was part of a 3-boy group that planned on taking over their highschool; a religious school for the discipline of thebehaviorally deviant. When the conspirators believed that a new kid at school posed a threat to their plan they killed him. One kid bludgeoned the poor soul with a brick then proceeded to beat him; but it was my friend who pulled out the knife and slit his throat.

I remember meeting Joe and we became fast friends. He introduced me to stealing. At our afterschool athletic activities, Joe showed me that people left their belongings in lockers without locks all the time and that they had money. I remember being shocked watching him rob people but hungry for it myself; my family was poor since my dad had lost his job – i remember, in particular, the last christmas where instead of a grand pine tree in our home reaching to heights of 8 feet, we had a 4′ plastic tree donated to us by a friend. Rather then having gratitude for the alms my family received during this hard time, I coveted what we had before and what others have. Watching the theft, it was not long before I started doing the same myself. I started stealing from stores too; candy bars from the local cornerstore that I would then sell at school to get even more money.

Strangely, I don’t even know how I used this new-found source of income. I do, however, remember when I got caught. I had stolen some books from a local book store. My mom noticed the new books in my book shelf and started asking questions; my lies were transparent and she eventually got from me that I had stolen them. I remember weeping as she dragged me to the store with the books to apologize. The store manager looked at me sternly as I wept and threatened, ‘I could call the police you know’. And that was the end of that; I didn’t steal again and I distanced myself from Joe.

Soon thereafter, Joe’s father died. I remember attending the funeral (it was my first) and weeping at the sight of my friends father who died unexpectedly. Who would have thought – an avid triathlete having a heartattack in his 40’s? I remember wiping my eyes and looking over at Joe who was stoic; I remember thinking him being strong in light of the situation and, out of pity, thought I would befriend him again in this time of need. Instead, Joe dropped out of the athletic program; and being that he lived far away, I never saw him again.

I learned that Joe’s mother married a family friend after his wife succumbed to cancer less than a year later. Joe’s 11 year old brother tried to commit suicide and failed, instead, hospitalized. Within the following year, Joe’s stepfather died as well – again, cancer. Joe lost 2 fathers in 2 years and exposed to a brother who wanted to die; it was no surprise to find out his behavior forced his mother to send him to a correctional school. He wasn’t there for more than a year when he murdered another boy.

I wonder if that road could have been me. The environment Joe’s life was ripe with tragedy and mine has experienced numerous blessings intermixed with it’s difficulties. I feel lucky but I feel guilty. By experience I felt the punishment for my crime, and now by precept I know the wrath of grievous sin.  I cannot help but wonder that the prosecution tried to give a 15 year old the death penalty.

I’m not sure where I stand on capital punishment.  Reciprocal murder for the vengeful sounds appealing in the hypothetical situation; but it is still murder.  Thou Shall Not Kill.  Maybe serving the rest of your life without freedom, an essential eternity in purgatory, is better penance (at the least, longer penance) than that unknown we call ‘death’.  I suppose I’m against capital punishment – at least, if I ever had a say in condemning another to death.  I don’t believe that other’s cannot pursue the death pentalty; if they want the burden of their own vengeful murder that is their choice.  But, actually, I’ve no idea.  If my son/daughter was murdered I don’t know if I would think as rationally as I do now.  In such a situation I may want blood.

Capital Punishment – NY Times

Not uncommonly, I found myself in an argument on the web. Consistent and true to my nature, I was pretending to be informed on a topic I knew near nothing about. On the receiving end of my ire, my opponent met my words with passive-aggression and lack of acquiescence; this infuriated me. I stewed for days about it, and finally, resolved to mend the fence. I apologized, declared myself ignorant, and tried to induce information from the expert on a topic that interests me.

Contrary to what I would have presumed, rather than feeling shame before the apology, I felt shame afterwards. I didn’t apologize because I desired his forgiveness, no! I apologized so I could squeeze information out of the man, a bonified and accredited expert. O, how I manipulate moral shapes and forms for my own vain designs! Now I feel shame; for now I am conscious, again, of my worm-like nature; my baseness; my endless knavery!

I had long coveted the idea of forming a rock band called “The Patronizing Saints” but that is not to be.  Perhaps I haven’t encountered, with which to form this band, any other argumentative, condescending,and self-righteous knaves like myself ; but more likely I encountered them and, at worst, found them reprehensible, or at best, loathed and despised them.

Regardless, I’m flying solo with the idea: I am the Patronizing Saint.