This, unlike my previous entry, IS some grand life epiphany, some deep spiritualization.

It came to me the Sunday after Christmas '08. I found myself perplexed, furious, and curious how one man can find a relationship with his so-called "God," find success and peace of mind with it, while another man--his own brother, only finds self-loathing, depression, and finally an end from a self-inflicted bullet through the head.

I wondered, "what kind of god would see fit to bestow one brother with happiness and ease of spirit, while the other is only granted despair and suicide? What kind of god can give no surcease to a rift between family, caused by little more than an ideal?"

And then it hit me, like a brick to the face:

"Oh, that's right, the kind of god that doesn't really exist."

The only explanation that makes sense, really. The only reason brothers and families would be divided so is not because of one existing, sentient, omniscient, omnipotent father-figure that cruelly and capriciously decides to present himself to the one rather than the other, causing said divide. No, the answer is much simpler. One brother, one side of the family simply decided to embrace a fictional figure of salvation, a placebo meant to ease their psyches. A shared delusion among billions worldwide, while the rest simply face--and sometimes fall before-- reality, head-on. The truth is that we aren't being watched and guided by some wise, benevolent force, and any force cold and heartless enough to divide brothers so tragically cannot possibly be fit for deification. There is simply nothing there.

And so, having come to terms with this revelation, my denomination is reflected in my profile. I am no longer a hopeful agnostic chilling in wait for a divine signal.

Oh, I'm still hopeful, just no longer placing my hopes in nonexistent cups.

No, not some grand life plan or deep spiritual realization.

Just the revelation of my enjoyment of a good film.


I think it came about sometime back in December of '04 or '05, borrowing the movie "Collateral" from a co-worker, to watch during my shift.

Seeing that film, it just came together for me. Good pacing, good cinematography, good dialogue, good music, good performances. A rather random movie(in light of other films with larger billing), but also a very good one. Where my appreciation for the elements that create a movie--good or bad--came together. I recognized that my appreciation for film manifested when watching "Collateral" again--as I type this, to boot. Kind of a "visual memory," if you will.

That, or it began with my first viewing of "Casablanca," one year previous. I'd never been so moved by a black and white film, before then I thought I was a color-only whore.

I'm pretty sure my appreciation began with "Collateral," though.

...most desperately. My lower back has never been this tense.

I also need another job.

I just took a look at my profile(to get an appraisal of this new layout, not unlike looking in a mirror, in my mind), and, on a whim, rated myself five stars.

To my surprise, I found that it actually worked.

Funnier still, I received two identical messages, saying that SunriderBurning and myself(SunriderBurning, if you weren't keeping up), have rated each other a 4 or 5 on looks. Kooky, eh?

In other news, this tongue piercing is driving me bananas. It's still sore and the bar jabs into the roof and floor of my mouth. If I'd known how long I'd be forced to go without solid food, I'd have passed on it.

... I'm repeatedly surprised at the small miracle it requires to find pants in my size.

... and I get the feeling I should be(should have been), doing something.

Not restlessness; it's not that I want to be doing something, it's more the feeling you get when you've forgotten something really important.

... just suck it up and drive the fucker yourself.

Lemme tell you, you'll be saving yourself a headache.

So I return home to California on Friday, so I figger I'll live it up one more night in NY, namely Thursday. Who wants to rock with me?

I have nothing special planned, just Hard Rock Cafe and drinking myself stupid at Tonic, both in Times Square. Come one, come all.

... if I would get more attention if my profile name were something a little more egotistical, perhaps advertising the dimensions of my penis, or maybe headlining my prowess in bed. Maybe if my name was "GODZILLADONG" or "Big Dick McFuckalotty" or "FUCKSFORDAYS," I'd get more action.



I dunno, I always thought something like that was a touch over-the-top, maybe even juvenile.



Whatever.

... and I've no clue where all the bars and/or clubs are.

Don't tell me I have to go into the city every time I wanna drink.