fake plastic words

Isn't it ironic that those things that gives you so much pleasure and joy; pancakes and ice-cream and candy and unprotected sex and nicotine and alcohol and marijuana and ecstasy and cocaine and heroin, would inevitably kill you in the end.

Isn't it ironic how religion professes peace, love and tolerance, but yet have been the symbolic axiom and the backseat driver behind many of history's longest, bloodiest and most violent wars.

Isn't ironic that there are some part-time activists and bedroom tree-huggers who rant and write about current environmental issues plaguing the planet, that buy only unprocessed food and refrain from using plastic bags and polystyrene boxes, that participate in online petitions and street demonstrations, but yet consume their fair share of nicotine fixes, frequent clubs and guzzle down alcohol, and travel in automobiles churning carbon monoxide into the atmosphere.

Isn't ironic how there are some bands that write fiery far-left politically charged lyrics, cite Che Guevara and Bob Marley as their primary influences, throw profanities against the capitalist system and advocate for social and economic reform, but yet sell t-shirts that were made from China in sweatshop factories, sell albums that contribute to the very economic system they oppose of, and quietly fall into like minded and similar voices that tirelessly attempt to stand out and appear unique.

Isn't it ironic that the first human beings in history begun life, prospered and lived in Africa some 150,000 years ago, but yet today that very "Mother of All People" continent consists of some of the most technologically backward countries in the world, witnesses dozens of violent civil wars under the rule of tyrants and dictators, and houses some of the poorest, sickest, and most helpless people on Earth.

Isn't it ironic that oil, with its massive contribution to society in the form of fuel for automobiles and boats and aircrafts, daily consumer products, fuel for processing metal that builds today's magnificent skyscrapers, trade and export deals that churns billions of dollars in profit for oil producing countries, financially benefits hundreds of oil and gas companies that gives jobs and livelihoods to thousands of employees, but yet is one of the main contributors to today's alarming exponential rise in environmental pollution of catastrophic proportions, seen as one of the primary catalysts for many cold wars (amongst Arab states) and invasions (Iraq and Kuwait, US and Iraq, etc), that have gave birth to countless of conspiracy theories (9/11 claimed to have been planned and carried out by the CIA and the US government as an excuse to invade Iraq for oil), and have caused the deaths of thousands upon thousands of innocent men, women, children, and helpless elderly people.

Isn't it ironic how Socialist and Communist political and economic systems of the past collapsed despite the fact that they were theoretically sound, honourable, altruistic, ideal and fair, but yet the very system that survives today, Capitalism, is the only one that is in tandem with human nature, but yet we have seen more wealthy people get richer and the under privileged become ever so poorer, whereby the number of people affected poverty, famine and slavery have increased more than ever before in history.

Isn't it ironic that parents tell their children to go to school, get good grades, become an engineer or a doctor or a lawyer, find a good wife and make cute chubby babies, to follow rules and bow to societal expectations, but yet it is evident that the movers and shakers of history that have influenced and shaped our world for the better have all been mavericks that have gone against the grain of order.

Isn't it sad that for all these sad, catastrophic oxymorons of today's time, all I could do right now is to write about it here and have a sip of grape juice with a sardine sandwich while listening to Ratatat.

8:39 PM
Categories: activist, capitalism, communism, conventions, drugs, economy, global warming, irony, music, nature, oil, politics, ratatat, reflection, religion, socialism, thoughts. Author: sleepwalker

"The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; we've added years to life, not life to years.

We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We've conquered outer space, but not inner space; we've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we've split the atom, but not our prejudice.

We write more, but learn less; we plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait; we have higher incomes, but lower morals; we have more food, but less appeasement; we build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication; we've become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships. These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throw away morality, one-night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer to quiet to kill.

It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stockroom; a time when technology has brought this letter to you, and a time when you can choose to either share this insight, or to just hit delete."

11:02 PM
Categories: inspiration, quote, reflection, sayings, wisdom. Author: sleepwalker

The beauty in life lies in the fact that there are no certainties. There is no absolute truth, no real answers, no definite reasons, no perfect equations. Nothing is for certain. Life is arbitrary and constantly changing, evolving, and spinning in unpredictable cycles. Everything we do can be explained by science and mathematical equations, no doubt. But at the same time they are not definite. It is not final. It is only an estimate. It is only the best possible approximation of perceived truths.

I suppose that's why I find art so intriguing. There is no correct interpretation. There is no true perceptions. There is no final answer. There is always a question. It can always be this, that or it can be nothing at all. And it can be everything at the same time. Art, in the most general sense of the word, is so multi-layered. There is so much texture, movement, meaning, story, questions. There's always a question mark.

That is why art is so beautiful. That is why life is so beautiful. Because we are always left guessing. Always wondering. Why, what, who, when, where.

What is real, what is not.
What is right, what is wrong.
Where are you now.
Where will you be in the future.
Who were you yesterday.
Who are you today, now, at this moment.
Who will you be tomorrow.
Who will you be in the future.

Who am I today, now, at this moment?

I am a pensive wanderer. I am a sinner. I am a fake, a lie, a shadow wearing a mask. I am an overjoyed, confused, meandering self-righteous moonstruck boy. I am a normal person. I am a reader, of random words, of moonsongs, of strangers. I am a writer of complete, utter nonsense. I am a pretentious elitist bastard. I am concerned son. I am a terrible father to my cats. I am a lurker, a stalker, a voyeurist. I am a happy person. I am a sad person. I am a pseudo protagonist in a make believe world.

I am a hollow heart. I am the blood that runs through my veins. I am the vibrating particles in this tired body. I am the fingers typing on this keyboard. I am the amber at the end of my burning ciggarette. I am the smoke that chokes this troubled room.

I am someone. And maybe, just maybe, we'll meet again in another lifetime.

(Don't forget to say hello, because I won't)

4:45 PM
Categories: art, beauty, life, questions, reflection, science, thoughts, truth, uncertainty. Author: sleepwalker