uSE YOUR ILLUSION

I always watched other families and kids around me, and I was always jealous at the great lives they all must of lived. Great as opposed to mine anyway. So many of them were so busy being kids, innocent and naive, that they didn't realize that there parents were divorced or that they were poor or any one of a thousand other horrible things that I probably couldn't comprehend at the time.

What I didn't realize then, that has become painfully obvious to me now, is that a lot of those kids weren't ignorant to their situations. They were just using their illusions as a way to protect the way they really felt. In all the ways I thought we were different, were really ways that we were a like. We were hiding a part of who we really were.

And now that I've been out in the world, I've seen that it wasn't just me or those fucked up kids...it's everyone. I know people who drive cars they can't afford and live in houses that are just as expensive. And they run themselves into the ground trying to pay for it all. Which is fine for them, but I also know so many people who gauge their own success by the success of their peers. And if those people are the other people's peers, what you get is people trying to gauge themselves, not by your actual level of success but by your illusion. And that's where things get hairy. We've watched the housing market collapse over the last couple of years, because people are taking out loans they can barely afford from banks who have lowered their loan standards. And then their finances took a direct hit from the higher gas and goods inflation. And everything else fell with it. We're victims of our illusions some times.

Illusions are everywhere. Sometimes we project our illusions and expectations onto other people. I know more than a few pretty girls who don't get approached by guys, and I've always suspected that it was because a guy sees a girl that pretty and just naturally assumes that she's taken or that he's not good enough. And you know what happens? You know what happens. Everyone has seen the couples that leave you asking what one person sees in the other. But that's an illusion too. Why do we naturally suspect that when we see a bigger girl walking with an athletic looking guy, that there is some fucked up chemistry between them? Couldn't it just be that the qualities they value are not the same as yours? It's just more of the same projecting of our own insecurities and ideas. Just more illusion.

It's not real. Nothing is real. Everything is perception, there was a famous philosopher who once said that perception is reality. But since perception is subjective, reality by definition cannot be perception. Unless you embrace that your perceived reality is illusion. And that nothing is real, except what's real. So how can you tell what's real? You have to dismiss a part of yourself and except the fact that any one thing you might believe could be wrong. And when you do that you'll find that you stop pushing your illusions onto others and let people be who they think they want to be. I begin to suspect that letting go of our illusions is the first step to real happiness. Unfortunately, I'll never stop using my illusions, because if I ever do- I won't even have what little identity I do have. I've crossed that line where you stop trying to attain your illusions and just become them.

bRING THE nOISE

There's a new disease in this nation, it started out when I was a teenager but back then it was such a passing fad that it wasn't really a big deal. But as the years have gone on, it's become more and more common. It wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't for the fact that it's very intrusive and hard to ignore. I'm talking about this fascination people have with bass.

I remember going out with one of my many part-time friends back in my junior year, and he listened to bass tapes almost continually. His car had these amazing speakers that made almost everything he listened to shine. Whether it was Metallica or Johnny Cash, the music was clear, loud and clean. But then he'd pop in those damn tapes, turn his treble down to half way and kick his bass all the way up. The next thing I knew my heart was vibrating in my chest, the rearview mirrors were bouncing up and down and I found myself unable to concentrate on anything but my internal organs and resisting the urge to just open the door and heave my body into the ditch where I'd be safe from god awful racket. And I don't use the word "God Awful" lightly, after all I listened to a lot of Gwar and Ministry back then.

I just didn't get it and as the years have gone by I still don't get it. I love music, I listen to a little bit of everything from classical to ragtime to metal to a little country. I even like a little hip hop, but I don't get the obsession with bass that thumps so loud all you can hear is the thump. Forget the words, on many of these systems that are considered "cherry", you can't make out any harmony or the words, it's all "THUMP!""THUMP".

Don't get me wrong, I'm inclined to leave people to their vices. It's in my nature to let people do as they wish, but this bass crap crosses lines because it intrudes upon everyone within earshot.

I went with my wife a few days ago to pick up my kids from school. And then what should my hears pick up? The tell tale thump of the disrespectful bass enthusiast. My wife and I have the good fortune to be parked right next to the guy, who rolls down his window and cranks up his "music." It took everything I had to sit there in that car and not get out and tell the guy to show some fucking respect. If I get out and say anything, there's gonna be an issue...not something I usually care about except we're sitting in front of a school. And school is in session. This prick is sending this horrible distraction through the walls of a school where children are trying to pay attention to their teachers and learn. I didn't get out of the car, but I did find myself shooting the guy the "fuck you" stare and I guess finally he figured out that I was losing my mind and rolled his windows up and turned his "music" down.

And then tonight, I get Connor in bed and Kadan calming down on the couch for the night and what do I hear over watching Ni Hao, Kai Lan? (Kadan loves that show.) Thump! Thump! Thump! My new neighbors, THUMP THUMP! are bass enthusiast. THUMP THUMP! I turn the TV up in an attempt to block out the bass, but the vibration has carried and I can feel my floors vibrating. THUMP! THUMP! And I think to myself, this is probably just the beginning these people just moved in. THUMP! THUMP! It's after nine o'clock and this shit THUMP! THUMP! is unacceptable. I've resolved myself to attempt to let it go tonight, but to go over tomorrow and have a talk with them about it.

But back to my point, what's the deal with this shit? My wife has a theory that the reason it annoys so many people, is that it's supposed to. That it's entire intent is to draw attention to the enthusiast, preferably negative. Kind of like an Internet troll without the Internet. Surely these people realize how far bass carries, and how intrusive it is for the people around you....which wouldn't be a problem if the sound was somewhat pleasant or even tolerable. But honestly if I wanted to be exposed to something that loud and annoying constantly, I'd move close to an airport. At least a loud ass airplane serves a purpose, what purpose does bass serve?

I'm a pretty open minded guy and I am extremely tolerant to what people do in the privacy of their own homes or cars. But this one just boggles my mind and pisses me off.

So I propose a day of retaliation, I'm open on the name, but I really like "Slap a Bass Head Day." And all day long when someone annoys you with their loud obnoxious bass music you retaliate. Sitting in traffic and the car next to you just won't quit? Get yourself a shoe polish pen and write "Shut the Fuck Up" on their window. Don't drive a car? Well then how about that jack ass with the boom box sitting in the seat in front of you, thumping bass. Just tap 'em on the shoulder and poke him right in the eye. Neighbors threatening your peaceful home? Open up all your windows, put a couple of speakers facing out and blare KC and the Sunshine Band until the bass just fades away.

Bass music is just one more thing that pisses Jacen off.

tHIS IS MY LIFE, AND IT'S ENDING ONE MINUTE AT A TIME.

This would be my second attempt at blogging, my first failed miserably when I didn't just come out and say what was bothering me. It failed because I was scared to really say what I was thinking. But I've decided to explore the things that bug me, whether it be the memories that flood my thoughts from time to time, my childhood....something I read that bothered me. It's most probable that no one will ever read this, including the family who I was worried might read my thoughts and see me for the fraud I am.

The angry, people hating asshole I really am. The man who never really grew up, because I squandered my childhood...such as it was. The man who looks back on his life, and can't tell his fiction from reality anymore. For every memory I have, there are two versions. A happy memory, filled with balloons and puppy dogs and a memory that feels like a scene from a bad horror movie.

You know the movie, the one where the kid lives a tortured and painful existence, only to grow into a violent sociopath. So what am I? The balloon and puppy loving guy? Or am I a closet case schizo waiting for his meltdown? I guess that's what I'm looking to figure out with this journal.

I guess it's normal to paint life up as something better than it actually was when you look back on it, it's worked for my mother and father, apparently. Not so well for my sister, who like me can't forget the house we lived in. But unlike me, I think my sister just toughened up and lived in it. She was always the strong one. Me? I reached into my mind and painted up a whole other reality. With the parents I always wanted, who I wasn't ashamed to tell me friends about.

For the life of me, I don't know why anyone ever bought any of that at school, because my life at school was just as miserable as it was at home. I guess I just rubbed some kids the wrong way and they constantly targeted me for ganging up on. You know that fat kid that everyone makes fun of? That was me. Although, looking back at old pictures of myself, I wasn't a fat kid at all. That just goes to show you how fucked up and evil kids can be. I'd blame their parents, but who am I to tell someone they have bad parents? Mine weren't anything special.

But I had an ace up my sleeve to cope with my school life. If inventing my own reality at home worked to hide how miserable I was, then maybe the same could work at school. So I started reinventing, not only my perception of reality, but my whole world. I made up whole new personas, most of which failed miserably around me, no one wanted to be my friends and the few friends I had moved on to better friends just as quickly as they could. I came to accept myself as a "stop gap" friend. The guy who was good enough to hang out with, when there was no one else.
Largely my existance was ignored at home, and almost entirely ignored at school. I was a smart kid, but when the other kids started calling me nerd, I tanked my grades and became an underachiever. Was that enough to please the little bastards? No. And no matter what I tried, it would never be enough.

Sports? Did it, but I didn't fit in with the other "jocks". Drama? Did it, but the drama kids liked their drama too much. I don't like to bicker and fight over petty bullshit, so a drama kid I wasn't. I went on to join debate, journalism, yearbook, computer club....I just didn't fit. Finally, I found a rather dysfunctional home amongst the trouble making kids. Kids like me, who had crazy home lives....god's unwanted children. These kids were pissed at the world, and they didn't apologize for it. They hated the world at large, because the world turned without them. And the more time went by without acknowledging their existence, the more pissed off they became about it. So we turned on the world and spat in it's eye. The girls became sluts who like to drink, fight and just be as hard assed as they had to be. The boys just did whatever they thought it might take to catch one of these girls eye. Which meant we became grade school criminals. Eventually, I found that I couldn't live inside of any structured schedule....I had grown into a kid who wanted everything in life, but wanted to contribute nothing. I had become a vessel of hate.

The contradiction is that as bad as I was, not many people knew how bad. Remember? I had created so many realities by this time, that no one really knew who I was...my family thought of me as a kid who had a future. Had friends, but preferred to spend most of my time alone. And aside from a few brushes with the school administration was a decent student. I guess denial will do that to you. I bounced around the different social groups at school, never really abandoning any of the personas I tried to fill, but never really falling into any one role. Jock, drama geek, debater, computer nerd, and criminal......nothing was really me. But I was everything. My imagination saved my childhood, but the cost on my mental health has been severe.

When normal adults get together and recant stories of their childhood, I share mine as well, but the inconsistancies have made it abundantly clear to my friends and my family that my childhood is fairly suspicious. So I've been trying to seperate fact from fiction in my memories. And what I've discovered is that I have no clue what memories are genuine and which ones I created. I'm perfectly clear about my home life.

I was shoved in a corner with a toy and forgotten about, and when I did get attention it was negative....to water it down...and by water down I mean Niagra Falls. I still have scars. And I probably always will.

But everything else is just...nothing. Anger. Hate. Distrust. I never made any real friends, and I never backed down from bullies, but I never took the time to truly connect with anything either.

By the time I left school, I was disillusioned enough about life to stop giving two fucks what anyone thought. I wore clothes that *I* thought looked good. Listened to music that *I* thought sounded good. I did what I wanted. I took what I wanted. Everything had finally become about me, so much so, that I never stopped to think about who I was. What I felt. Did I feel? Pain was always the only emotion that I could touch. Everything else was like this tightening in my chest, putting so much pressure on my lungs that I took shallow breaths until it passed.

I've left a lot out of this journey for self discovery...my teenage drug use, my teenage fatherhood, my disdain for anything female in my younger years.....I'll have to come to terms with all that some day. I'm 31 years old, I've got maybe another 20 years to figure it all out....or maybe I have 20 days.....20 minutes? I don't know, but I'd like to sort it all out before I die, then maybe I'll know how to fix whatever is wrong with my brain. My compulsions. My manic depressive episodes. The paranoia. The anxiety. The detachment I feel towards almost everything.

A friend of mine once told me, that with everything life had done to kick me in the teeth, and the way it rolls in on me like waves on a beach, that I had to be the strongest person that he'd ever met. I'm not strong. I'm certainly not brave. It's just that noone ever taught me how to fall down.