Its Not Anything

"Your 'reality' (what to you is the real world) is playing either of two functions: it is either the concernful environment of your needs and is known by sharp, interesting figures against empty grounds, or it is a screen for your projections. If the latter, you will attempt to make the projections conform with observation — you will always be seeking proofs, making mountains out of molehills, or otherwise distorting your perspective." - Dr. Fritz Perls

Using a social "inquiry" website called Formspring.me, I've come to know friends, acquaintances as well as myself better through the asking and answering of questions about myself and others. What has struck me with some of the responses is the revelation of biases about the world that many of us hold. In the quote above, Dr. Perls, the father of Gestalt therapy insists that the world is one of indifferent abundance (an event level observation, as Korzybski would call it) or it is muddled by inferences, assumptions and unverifiable perceptions (a reversal of order.)

One such assumption that many hold is that "life has not given me anything" or that "life is no good for me." It would be irrational to assume that life must give you anything or that life must be good or bad. If life was to unfold around you without your interaction with it, we would still be stuck in caves, venturing out only as often as we needed to nourish ourselves with food and water. Once we travel through childhood and adolescence, we begin to individuate and carve our own path through life. We must depend on ourselves for fulfillment; intellectual, physical and spiritual (whatever that may entail.) If we sit idly and wait for life to approach us, we should soon realize nothing will come.

Yet people sit. They wait. They croak and wither under the pain of disappointment as life passes them by. Their regrets overwhelm them and they are lowered into the ground with frowns plastered on their faces.

Life is chaotic, but we can enjoy it. Reality is a place that holds whatever we project on to it. By observing it in its natural state and describing what we can sense rather than telling ourselves what we believe to be there, we can navigate it with less fear and apprehension and lend our causation into the grand ecology of what the world has to offer.

Uncertainty and its Virtue

"[B]elief is the death of intelligence. As soon as one believes a doctrine of any sort, or assumes certitude, one stops thinking about that aspect of existence." - Robert Anton Wilson

"If you go into any party or place where people conversationally interact with one another, you will find that half the energy is spent in trying to convince the other that you have the right idea." - Ernst von Glasersfeld

In the social sciences, something that I am well acquainted in as I hold my BA in Political Science and study toward an MA in Media and Communication, it becomes apparent that the ideas that construct the landscape of debate are hypotheses with no extensional, definitive answer. Politics is no more a science than literature, which is no more a science than religion - it is purely the domain of human agency. No scientific test can answer "Will this legislation improve society?" since it is by and large an unanswerable question. Even as our entire existence relies upon chance, uncertainty and probability we as humans never fail in our capacity to believe in perfect exactitude within our own thinking.

Rigid, inflexible thinking has produced much of the horrors of the human age. Dogmatic, two-valued (i.e., right vs. wrong, good vs. bad) thinking has invariably produced the Crusades, the Holocaust and other unimaginable terrors. Atheists invariably turn their ire toward religion as causing these ills and many more. Religionists believe that Atheists will lead us toward a lawless, immoral society due to their non-belief or disputation of a God.

"Is there a God" is, at this present time, an unanswerable question, much like the question of "What does the dark side of the moon look like" until the invention of lunar spaceflight. There is no test, no measuring device, no real way of knowing definitively either way. In my estimation, there is a high probability of the non-existence of a God, but this is my own rationally-derived guess based on my own ideas, my own studies and etc. I can no more prove that God exists than saying that Heavy Metal is the greatest music ever created.

I can agree with the assertion that religion and the Bible is not the word of (a) God; it did not appear spontaneously - it was written by humans for consumption by other humans. The Catholic Church is administered by humans and was created for the benefit (and detriment) of humans.

Despite the empirical evidence that religion is the sole domain of humans without aid from divine intervention, it does not absolutely disprove an existence of a God, it merely confirms that humans conceive a creator in these certain images (Jesus, Buddha, Allah etc.) which has been widely accepted (or foisted upon them) by others. The Christian model of God differs from the Jewish model and the Islamic model and in the absence of any evidence to the contrary or to the affirmative, all models are equally valid.

Leaving the debate as to whether religion "poisons all things" or subjugates certain peoples, it does force people into Aristotelian, two-valued thinking if they so choose to believe all premises offered by their chosen religion. Humans in their own agency have the choice to follow a religion - irrespective of the consequences of its renunciation or not - just as much as they have a choice in which football team to favor.

Telling someone they are wrong in matters they themselves cannot prove does not confirm their rightness. Karl Popper, the philosopher accused Theism of being "worse than an open admission of failure, for it created the impression that an ultimate explanation had been reached." Now (some strands of) Atheism offer the same ultimate explanation, mostly through the works of Charles Darwin and his theory of evolution.

The current scientific paradigm that prevails today is that this evolutionary process is the explanation for humanity's current form. However, a scientist would also concede the point that Darwin's theory could one day be invalidated by a superior conjecture and hypothesis as our technology grows. So even Darwin's theory has a very high probability of being true-to-fact and true-to-observation, but cannot be deemed 100% correct.

Of course, the virtue of being content in verisimilitude is that it relieves a lot of mental pressure on being totally "right" all the time. One can sit back and explore his own universe and marvel at its complexity. Then again, you could tell me I'm full of shit - and that's fair enough too!

Humanity to Man

In one respect man is the nearest thing to me, so far as I must do good to men and endure them. But so far as some men make themselves obstacles to my proper acts, man becomes to me one of the things which are indifferent, no less than the sun or wind or a wild beast. Now it is true that these may impede my action, but they are no impediments to my affects and disposition, which have the power of acting conditionally and changing: for the mind converts and changes every hindrance to its activity into an aid; and so that which is a hindrance is made a furtherance to an act; and that which is an obstacle on the road helps us on this road.

- Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 5.20

Over the past few days, I've seen the minds of others turn to anguish and despair due to the actions of significant others. In their estimation, the action of the other - dumping them, hurting them, acting out against them - signifies an attack on their character, that they are no longer worthy of others' acceptance or love. On the contrary, their lovability and capacity to accept such love has not diminished in any way or form; they more or less are as they were prior to these events transpiring.

So why the inevitable turn to self-loathing and victimization when these relationships fail, even if it is of no to little fault of their own? Where is the rule that dictates this rigorous mental self-flagellation must occur? It may stem from a false-to-fact belief that their significant other is the only arbiter of romantic love and care for them and that this love must be given at all times otherwise the world is cruel, spiteful and out to get them.

In reality, save for the few who have only had one relationship prior (and have little experience of breaking up, conflict, etc.) the granting of love and care is ultimately a choice that is entered into mutually with varying degrees of intensity across both (or even multiple) parties. Rationally, if the choice is not beneficial to either or both parties, then another choice can be made as to repair or discontinue the relationship. It is also a choice to further the relationship by exchanging gifts, taking holidays together, moving in and marrying etc. This choice may be "obvious" and seen not even as a choice at all despite the perceived undesirable yet still viable alternatives (staying in one's own house, for example) that are available to either party.

Like any human with human rationality and agency, the choices we make are our own responsibility. It would be unfair to blame another for the choices that we make, even if they are reached by consensus in a romantic (or even platonic) relationship. Just because you were chosen by another as significant does not mean they afford you special dispensation when this significance is later withdrawn for whatever reason. One must always take care of himself within or without a relationship - how could one have functioned prior to the relationship forming with this belief? It was never and never will be the responsibility of someone else to take care of a rational, functional, adult human being. It would be rational to remember that your significant other was once an indifferent; it is not inconceivable to think that one day they may return to that role once again.

From the Archive: Parkway Drive - Winston McCall Interview

Originally appeared in Buzz Magazine, December 2008.

Kicking back in his native Byron Bay on the tail end of a massive international tour, Winston McCall, lead vocalist of the immensely popular Parkway Drive pauses for reflection. How does a hardcore/metalcore band such as theirs react to writing and record a chart-topping album? (Horizons managed to debut at #6 on the ARIA Album charts.)

“It’s been pretty good. It’s been better than we ever could have hoped.” Having that said, it wasn’t completely out of left field.

“When Killing the Smile came out it got such a good reception it was better than anything we could have hoped to have achieved with that. We were put in the position where we thought nothing could ever do better than it.”

Horizons wasn’t destined for any sort of greatness – Winston describes it as the “backup” album to merely ride on the coattails of Killing.

“Funnily enough, Horizons seems to have gone really well; the songs we play live seem to go down just as well if not better than the old songs, I like the songs more and kids seem to be stoked on it.”

Being as popular as a metalcore album could ever have dreamed to have been, was this the signal for a headlong drive into the mainstream, albeit the fringes thereof? According to Winston, underground core lovers need not be frightened by the neon lights and MTV cameras just yet.

“I don’t think so. Simply because you still don’t hear any of it played on the radio and [metalcore isn’t] definitely breaking any kind of mainstream barrier in terms of acceptance, you never see film clips or anything like that, it never has any support like that…you could hear it on Triple J or on independent radio stations. The volume of kids listening to it is testament to how big the actual following is. Other than that, it’s still definitely under the radar from the mainstream.”

Parkway Drive have built themselves from the ground up, playing in Europe to mere handfuls of people all the way up to headlining shows.

“When we went to Europe, it was like starting up again, as if you were a brand new band,” he recalls. “We’d be playing in the smallest venues you’ve ever seen without stages and holes in the roof, but now we’ve got thousands of kids rocking up and it’s just ridiculous.”

Has Winston ever considered playing something else for the band?

“No,” he insists, “I’m so, so bad. I cannot play an instrument.”

Even despite being revered for his vocals, Winston doesn’t think they’re anything praiseworthy.

“I can’t sing either. I found that I could scream at kids and I lost my voice like hell when I first started out but it was the first thing I could actually do that gave me an outlet for the passion that I had. I wanted to start a band but I had no ability to do it because I couldn’t play anything, I guess that was the only thing left for me to do. (laughs) I still can’t play anything for shit.”

He did, however, try to learn the harmonica, but to no avail. How would it fit into the Parkway Drive sound?

“Well, I don’t think it would. But it seems pretty simple. I’m finding that it’s more complicated than it looks. I find myself going ‘hee’, ‘haww’ over and over again and I’m like,‘shit, how do you actually play this thing?’”

Metalcore has long been considered the orphaned lovechild of heavy metal and hardcore music, which many fans on either side relish in deriding instead of accepting.

“Europe has the most unified scene when it comes to that. But when you go to the States, it’s broken down even beyond that. You’ll go to a show and kids won’t come out unless it’s a specific genre of music,” he reveals.

“There’ll only be a handful of bands that fit their criteria and will actually go out of their way to support. To me, I don’t really care what the label is. If it’s heavy and there’s a punk ethic, I’ll call it punk. If hardcore kids like I’ll call it hardcore and if metal kids like something I’ll call it metal. To me, the music being played is a lot more important than the label being placed on it. I don’t think pigeonholing a band will make it sound any different or any better. I don’t think that’s going to change, though.”

Parkway Drive recently re-mixed and re-mastered their first album, Killing with a Smile after only two years of recording it. Why would a band resort to re-mastering after only two years? Winston explains that it wasn’t a business decision, but as a thank you to their new fans that couldn’t find their earlier work.

“Well, our first album went out of print, so kids couldn’t find it. So we got our first album and all of our other out of print stuff before Killing and whacked it all together and put it on one release. We tried to make it available to kids if they wanted it. It wasn’t so much of a marketing ploy, it was doing something that kids asked of us, I guess.”

And Parkway Drive are always accommodating to their fans.

“We try to hang out with as many kids as we can after shows and stuff and we try to make kids as happy as they can. For example, I signed some guy’s nuts in New Mexico.”

You read right. He signed a fan’s nutsack.

“He got them out and they were swollen, and I signed them. I even took a photo with him afterwards. It was crazy.” All part of the Parkway Drive service.

---

© Tom Valcanis / Crushtor Media Services, All Rights Reserved. Posted with permission.

Through The Wire, Part III (Receiver)

Part III of III in a short story series entitled "Through the Wire."

---

Driving down the interstate at 2am, Juanita glanced at her phone again. No missed calls. That wasn't like Michael. He must have been tired. He wouldn't be doing anything untoward. He wasn't like that. "Because he's spineless," her unconscious mind pushed through. Fuck that. She lit up another cigarette and pushed her clunker past 65. Its even possible the wire had been severed. There wasn't much coming through the wire. Just the old memories of times gone past, the intense heat of passion that had now yielded to routine, to the same old shit. Oh how those days had passed so quickly, oh how they scorched her lip and tongue just thinking about it. Unbeknownst to Michael, she kept all the old letters from the wire. She could almost remember every word.

"Do you remember that, sweetheart? Do you remember that feeling? We waded through the free waters of a day that felt like it would dawn with such brilliance and never end. It was like a renewal; a glimmer of hope in a world that had shunned and trampled over us. You held that pain in your heart for so long; you long seized that the notion of this life was meant to be a struggle. That you were waiting for the day it would all come down. We went out on our limbs and spread our arms wide to catch each other. Sometimes, it was if you fell backwards and in the act of catching you, you had already fallen to the floor. Even so, our love is so great it can weather any storm.

We had this promise made, we were in love."

It could've been true; everything that was said in those pages sent over the wire - but then again, it could've all been bullshit. The prick disappeared without a trace, almost. He was back somewhere, working on his problems without a care in the world for anyone else. There was love but no trust. All the wires she thought that were connected both ways were just shadows; her mind playing tricks on her. There was even doubt that the wires ever existed, or that they always had. It was a constant battle of probability fighting uncertainty.

As the cigarette snuffed itself out and ash scattered across the dashboard, it occurred to her that she was no where near home. She was going to the place where she lived. So many things on her mind - every topic and subject conceivable except for herself. If she wasn't thinking of her, then who was? The wire didn't have the answer. So who would? Would anyone?

Through The Wire, Part II (Deceiver)

Part II of III in a short story series entitled "Through the Wire."

---

“It’s okay,” he said with a muted voice down his overpriced cell phone in the middle of a lonely stairway like a clandestine encounter.

“Juanita’s at work. I’m in another state, for Christ’s sake.” He paused for the other voice on the other end of the wire.

“It’ll be fine I don't mind waiting a few more hours. When you do, wear as little as possible,” he said wryly. He gave a little chuckle and walked back toward his suite.

Sliding his key into the door, he heard a familiar beep and click and pushed himself in. Walking past the kitchenette and amenities, he slumped himself on to the bed. Loosening his collar, he flung his tie across the room and turned on the television set. His stock portfolio was losing traction. A few more days and it would tumble down a cliff all by itself.

A sigh. “I love Juanita, I really do.” He thought to himself as he lay, sleep gathering in his eyes. “But Lacey. Fuck me. I’ve never felt that way before. She makes me feel like a new born child. Free of sin, free of shame. She makes me feel right being me.”

Before Michael knew it, sleep had claimed him. In his dreams he sat in a lonely room watching television again – Sesame Street. Panic swarmed over his body. He could almost taste the musty stench of decaying old feta and extinguished cigarettes. He could see yellowing floral wallpaper curling up at the corners of the rundown walls. He was the age of four at his grandmother’s. Where was mommy? Where was daddy? Where was anyone? All of his bricks were smashed and no one was coming to help him. Crying didn’t help him. Cleaning for grandma didn’t gain him attention. He was forgotten, abandoned. Nothing he did seemed right. It was all misshapen, he even felt wrong just for sitting here watching Big Bird argue with Snuffy. Why was he so different? Why was he so unloved? Was there something wrong with him? He began to inspect his hands, his feet.

He got up off of the tattered couch and walked toward the bathroom. He took the footstool from the corner to gain enough height to look at himself in the mirror. All he saw was his sandy blonde hair cover over his brown eyes. There were tears streaking down his rosy cheeks that burned hot with anger at the world and himself.

Anger at being imperfect. And not being able to do a thing about it.

There was a knock on the door. The buried shame had risen into his stomach. Once he realized who it was at the door, it disappeared. It was completely gone, for now. “Sweet freedom,” he thought. “A few hours of freedom are all I need. It’s all I need. Please give it to me. I’ll do whatever you say, darling. I’ll do whatever you say.”

Before he could shift off the bed to answer the door, his cellphone rang. The lights flickered on and off with a pulsing rhythm – the word “Juanita” flashed in his eyes. What was she doing, calling on the wire? Why would she even care at all?

Through The Wire, Part I (Redeemer)

Part I of III in a short story series entitled "Through the Wire."

---Smoke wafted toward the ceiling like thin blue tendrils, clogging the fluorescent light with its toxic hue. The work lay out before him on the table in a fashion unbecoming of a productive time. A pen scribbled furiously in one hand, the other propping up his head with a cigarette between his fingers. He gave a little sigh. He took another long drag, exhaling to watch his smoke billow across the glow of the computer monitor. The girl wasn’t on the wire. The girl he once loved. It was love that was slowly deadened inside his heart. There was love across those wires, in the air and over the sea. He remembered it fondly as if it happened yesterday and many years ago. He knew he would love again – through those wires – but it was a matter of time, a matter of will. Then his mind wandered. He found himself walking into that citadel again.

Stepping into his private plasterboard cathedral, she was sitting there on the bed. Glasses perched on the end of her button nose, auburn hair tousled down to her shoulders, sea green eyes glistening in the sickly glow of the television screen. Sweetly smiling, he sidled up to her.

“Juanita, baby,” he whispered into her ear.

The hairs on the back of both their necks raised on their ends. Juanita could feel his hand stroke up her side and towards her neck as he planted his lips just below her ear. Juanita closed her eyes and smiled.

“Mmm, yeah. I was waiting for you to get back.”

“Not a moment too soon, hey.” he laughed.

He could feel her hands clutch at the back of his long, thick hair, fingers furrowing through them as he kissed down her neck and caressed the length of her thigh. A wince of pleasure pressed against his ear as Juanita’s hands slipped downward, struggling to open the buckle of his pants. Inserting his hand into her top, he fiddled with the clasp of her bra until she pushed him away and quickly ripped her shirt off. He did the same. Embracing with a calamitous burst of energy, they writhed together in ecstasy until Juanita’s eyes glossed over with passion. She threw him down on the bed, ripping open his fly, urging those flimsy sheaths away. Like a woman possessed, her tongue gently slithered down his torso, head bobbing towards his crotch, her hand sliding up from his knee and across his thigh until…

He woke up with a start. The work was staring back at him and his memories were slowly receding into the background. He gave a little sigh. Where was she now? The wire had been severed and so had that love. She loved another and it was not him. There would be another wire...

---

Cont.