Hello, everyone. Today is All Hallows' Eve, the most ethereal night of the year when the curtain between worlds is all but parted. While still maintaining a bit of the spooky flair that comes naturally this time of year, I want to share some information that's also rather uplifting.
Upon the release of the Universal classic Frankenstein in 1931, the rather unknown Boris Karloff skyrocketed to stardom. Sure, he'd been acting for a while, but he was normally relegated to playing bit parts, gangsters, or background characters with zero name billing. Portraying the Monster was the moment he'd been waiting for, and he left it all on the silver screen. There's a reason his portrayal is so celebrated -- it's just that damn good.
Boris portrayed the Monster at the age of 43 years old. In Hollywood years, he might as well have been a dinosaur.
Following the release of Frankenstein, Boris portrayed the Monster twice more in two really wonderful films. He also led an extremely successful career following that, including starring roles in The Mummy (my personal favorite), The Black Cat, The Invisible Ray, and The Raven just to name a few. Karloff practically worked up until the day he died at the age of 81 in 1969. So much success, and all because he was willing to do something few other actors would do -- take a chance on a role that forced him to sit in make-up for over four hours a day!
My point is this...
You never know when you will find your purpose. Boris Karloff was middle-aged and struggling just to be noticed when he became Frankenstein's Monster. By all accounts, he should have been forgotten. And yet, because Boris was so good at what he did, he took a throw-away role in a monster movie (at the time, they were considered very low-brow content) and gave it literally all he had to give. Karloff became legendary with one job in one movie; work he probably didn't even give a second thought to after the film was in the can.
Your purpose in life can come at any time. You never know when the torch is going to be passed to you, but it will come. You could be 15. You could be 25. You could be 43 like Karloff. You might even be 70. Your purpose will be revealed to you when the time is right. All you have to do is recognize it when you see it.
I often find myself in discussions about how wonderful it must be to live on a farm. And yet, I routinely bite my tongue, make some half-hearted agreeing response, and put on a fake smile. They have no earthly idea how well acquainted I am with death and the inexplicable black cloud that has followed me for six years now. Having a farm is the hardest thing I've ever done as an adult, and I tolerate my existence most days.
The reaper practically has a seat at my dinner table.
In the past four years, all five of my barn cats have either mysteriously disappeared or died under suspicious circumstances. Four of them were brothers -- Scrapper, Nomad, Smudge, and Splash. They were sweet, hand-raised, and loved attention. They didn't bother anyone. They didn't prowl on other people's property. They were neutered while kittens and couldn't contribute to a wildly out-of-control pet population (of which their mother Karen, a very sweet gal totally abandoned by one of our neighbors WHILE PREGNANT, is another barn cat that CHOSE US to care for her). We invested time, resources, money, and most importantly love into those four brothers. Splash was the last one left... but he's also missing now and I fear the worst. A precedent has been set. My gut tells me he's not coming back.
The other missing cat is Kiki, who was an absolute sweetheart that melted the ice around my heart for cats. For the longest while, I was heavily adverse to cats because I'm allergic to them. Kiki changed me in a way that cannot be explained; she made me a cat person. I get cats and I think they get me... and I owe that to Kiki.
I'd chalk one loss up to an accident. Sure, accidents happen and I accept that. Or, perhaps one could have been killed by a wild animal. That's a possibility, though I doubt it because we have two very large Great Pyrenees that patrol this property and have successfully kept even the coyotes at bay since their arrival. We owe Nibbler and Sherlock a lot for their dutiful protection.
Two cats go missing? Okay, that's atypical but could still be marked up to chance.
Three? Four? FIVE CATS?!
No, something is going on. Someone around our farm is either kidnapping or outright murdering our barn cats. Kiki, Smudge, Nomad, and Splash simply vanished without a trace. We found Scrapper dead in the floor of our barn, with no explanation as to how or why he passed away. He had no physical trauma. It just doesn't make any sense. There are holes in my heart and I don't have any answers. Resolution isn't something I can have.
Pile on top of that two very beloved dogs that passed away in their old age in 2020 and 2021 -- Mellow and Echo are still with me in spirit and they're on my mind every day. Along with them are two of our dear goats that passed from absolute one-in-a-million situations; Clover had an inexplicable THIRTEEN knots in her bowels from severe intestinal torsion and Mozzarella got one of the rarest forms of cancer an animal can get (the local university vet hospital had never even seen it before). Add to that the number of stillborn baby goats that I've lost count of. Even the death of some of our ducks has hit us. The loss just never seems to end.
I have (and still do) loved every one of these animals. They mean the world to me. Not being able to protect them has beat me down in ways that I never thought possible. Most days I run through the motions, trying to find ways to distract myself from the crushing nature of my reality. It's been hard (and I mean HARD), and I've not talked about it except with my closest loved ones. If not for the love and care that my family has provided, I don't know if I'd still be here today writing this.
So no, having a farm isn't all sunflowers and watermelons; it's a lot of heartbreak and disappointment, tears and blood. With death, I am undesirably comfortable. His skeletal visage seems to rear his head every few months to remind me of my own mortality.
Hug your furry loved ones tonight. Tell them you love them.
REAL-TIME EDIT:As I was about to publish this blog, one of my outdoor security cameras triggered. There was Splash, meandering behind my house. I can tell he's a bit skittish and somewhat afraid of everything at the moment, which adds credence to my theory that SOMETHING is going on around here to my animals. Maybe Splash hadn't used up all of his nine lives yet, though. Thank goodness he came back.
Even in the darkest of days, the bright eyes of a cat sit glowing in the distance as two small specks of hope.
One of the greatest lies children are taught in school is
that the American Civil War ended in April of 1865. The Civil War never ended;
it just changed fronts. It's not about the color of your skin, the flag you
fly, or the way you talk. The war is about one thing -- the evil people up top
trying to control everybody else at the bottom.
The Civil War is ongoing and you're living it today. Think about how far you've
come in this fight, and yet you're still standing. People are trying to destroy
your kids sense of humanity, or worse yet kidnap them. You're taxed to death by
a government that doesn't give a crap about you. The car in your driveway is
long past its expiration date. The roof needs fixed, your child needs braces,
and there's a raging fire just beyond the ridge. Shady people in rooms from
countries we'll never see or hear are spying on us all day and night. Our
elders rot away over nonsensical rules in dingy hospital beds and nursing homes.
Our babies wind up in trash bags like discarded chewing gum.
I'm not sure how much more the People can take, but we've already taken so
much... and I bet we can take more. We're strong. We're hard-headed. We're
survivors. There's a reason America hasn't yet caved to the twisted clandestine
bastards at the top. We're a bunch of stubborn, ornery outcasts that come from
Forefathers who simply had enough; from slaves who braved a vast ocean and a
life of great uncertainty; from immigrants who didn’t speak a lick of English
but wanted a better life for their family. Do you know how much power your
ancestors grant you? Through your veins pumps the blood of kings and queens,
warriors and valkyries, preachers and prophets, long-distance runners and
sea-fairing sailors, farmers and bakers, and especially mothers and fathers.
You are so damn powerful… and you don’t even realize it. You
know who does realize this truth, though? Those life-sucking fiends that have
been trying to take everything from you since 1861 and beyond. They understand just
how powerful the common man and woman are, so they use subversion and trickery
to divide and conquer us. I’m not sure if most of the People will ever see
through the ruse, but I know a lot of them do already. Until my last breath, I’m
not going to stop ringing the alarm bell.
You shouldn’t stop either. Look at how far you’ve already come.
The nameless puppet-masters have thrown everything and the kitchen sink at you
and me… but we’re still here.
I heard Tom Petty's 'Southern Accents' on the radio today for the first time in what must be decades. It's always stirred a strange feeling in me. To be perfectly honest, it makes me reflect upon a topic that's very personal. I've never discussed this openly before.
I've always been very conflicted about being a Southerner. There have been times in my life where I was ashamed of being from the South. I thought I was too good for the culture, to put it bluntly. At other times of my life, I've wanted to be more Southern, but knew I just didn't fit in with the other country boys. I was a spare tire in the bed of their proverbial truck.
I've never been one for driving four wheelers and getting dirty; for going to country and western bars or being altogether rebellious. I can't understand the thrill of riding a horse. I'm too afraid to drive a motorcycle and I'm not a very good fisherman. You wouldn't catch me dead picking tobacco and I don't like southern summers. Being outside isn't something I like most days, as I'd rather be playing a game or reading a book inside. I suck at camping. I don't talk to the big man upstairs very often because I'm not sure anyone is listening... and if they are, I'm not sure they care.
I'm about about as un-Southern as someone could be. And yet, here I am wearing this mask of a culture I'm not really a part of. I can't take it off.
Sometimes I'm embarrassed by my Southern Virginia / Carolina accent. I don't pronounce words that rhyme with 'oil' correctly. My cadence is slow and paced with my breathing. When I get the slightest bit frustrated, my voice gets louder and the accent becomes bolder. I'm not very proud of how I sound. That's probably why I prefer to write and stay silent.
And yet, I'm proud of where my family and ancestors come from. They're hard working people that went through a lot with very little to show for it. Whether from the Carolinas, Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, or Tennessee... they all lived hard, sincere lives that exemplify what the highest ideal of being a Southerner represents. Southerners are genuine, caring, and loyal to a fault. They'll feed a stranger and always know how to make friends.
I'm not sure if there's a point to all this, but being Southern isn't something I've ever done very well. I just hope my ancestors wouldn't be disappointed in me.
With all of the panic that the Coronavirus has brought to our society, I got to thinking about the future. What would happen if people continued to become further isolated? Here's what came to mind.
2021: The Coronavirus pandemic finally wanes, but a new
viral outbreak is on the horizon. Society has come to exist in a constant state
of anxiety.
2025: People are getting used to rarely leaving their homes.
The bulk of grocery sales are delivered to customers’ doors. All forms of entertainment
have rapidly become centralized on the internet.
2030: The vast majority of people work from home. They no
longer trek to offices to do the same work that could be done remotely. Social
gatherings are held online via webcasting.
2035: The world has gone through multiple pandemic events
since 2020. People are more isolated than ever before. The days of eating at
restaurants and going to the movies are long gone. Family members go years
without seeing each other in person.
2040: Our society has fully diverged into two separate
classes – the Internals and the Externals. Most people are Internals, almost never leaving their homes but for the rarest of circumstances. The Externals do
manual labor and are seen as filthy deviants.
2045: Technology allows the Internals to completely enter a
virtual reality where they can be outside and touch other human beings. The
Externals maintain the infrastructure that keeps the Internals happy, but they choose
to remain in the real world.
2050: The Singularity has come to pass. Computers are
sentient. The Internals never leave an artificially intelligent virtual reality
thanks to robotic cocoons that process their waste and feed them via nutrient
tubes. The Externals have zero contact with the Internals.
2055: The Virtual Reality Framework (VRF) harvests genetic
data from the Internals to procreate new users. Homes and businesses have been
techno-morphed into storage warehouses. The Externals have retreated from the
cities and established farming communities that operate with only the most
basic of technology.
2060: Large portions of the globe are covered by non-descript
metallic blocks housing billions upon billions of Internals. Robot drones maintain
the sentient VRF. Many Internals are not even aware that they’re existing in a
simulation. The Externals largely ignore the metallic structures, viewing them
as a proverbial No Man’s Land.
2065: The VRF determines that life on Earth is finite for
the Internal species. It begins calculating a path off this planet and into the
stars. The Externals have established their own rural society, existing much
like humanity did following World War I.
2070: The VRF has probed the solar system and determined
that a successful base station could be established on Europa to house an
Internal population. There are enough basic elemental resources there to
maintain its robot warehouses. The Externals begin to confront robotic drones
that are amassing natural resources.
2075: War between the VRF drones and the Externals erupts.
Giant machines of death crush the External resistance forces. What’s left of
humanity retreats into the ground.
2080: Planet Earth has been fully harvested of its raw precious
metal supply. Multiple motherships across the globe launch into space, bound
for Europa with all the Internals. The Externals struggle to survive, having
been reduced to a fraction of their population size.
2085: The VRF has been on Europa for roughly 18 months. The
Internals are completely unaware that they’ve left Earth. The Externals live in
rustic villages. The rely upon wood and bones to make tools.
2090: The lack of precious metals keeps the Externals from advancing
further than simple farming villages. The VRF has become a distant memory for
most.
2095: The VRF has successfully techno-formed Europa. It has
harvested enough raw material to transform the entire moon into a deep-space
starship. The Internals base their entire economy on the trade of hemp, bamboo,
and produce.
2100: The VRF leaves the solar system, bound for Proxima
Centauri B. Thanks to advances in technology, the VRF calculates an approximate
travel time of 4,300 years. The Externals reach a cap on societal expansion,
being that there are no metals on earth to allow further advancement.
With the COVID-19 / Coronavirus pandemic event that
currently has a death-grip on the collective consciousness of the United
States, it seems like everything is shutting down or being canceled. Schools,
private businesses, government offices, movie theaters, restaurants, sporting
events, concerts; I could go on and on. On top of that, people are unnecessarily
panic shopping. I went into a Kroger on Sunday to pick up some routine things.
What did I see? Tons of shoppers in total panic mode, buying up lunch meat,
bread, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, eggs, tuna fish, soup, chicken, and potatoes
(and ignoring important items like flour, sugar, yeast, and fresh produce). All
this fear is over a head and chest cold that, by and large, might make
you sick for a week to ten days.
Short of being a person over age 65, or someone with a weak
immune system, this is a routine cold like any other that you shouldn’t be
terribly afraid of contracting. It’s no worse than the seasonal flu,
bronchitis, or a severe sinus infection. Does the flu kill some people? Sure.
Does it kill healthy thirty-year old people? Typically, not. How many Americans
did influenza kill in the 2018-2019 flu season? 34,200. How many people have
died from COVID-19? 70. Of that 70, most were senior citizens or people with
already-weakened immune systems. If the Coronavirus hadn’t of killed them,
influenza potentially would have.
The panic that we’re now experiencing has become a form of
entertainment. With media outlets wielding COVID-19 like a carrot on a stick,
they’re enticing and badgering the public into doing drastic and wholly unwarranted
things. This behavior is no different than when meteorologists spend hours
trying to “prepare” the public for an oncoming hurricane or blizzard. It’s
disaster porn, for lack of a better phrase. The Coronavirus has become a purposeful
media sensation. Deep down, most people crave danger and excitement.
Accordingly, the Coronavirus feeds that primitive internal desire to feel
something perilous.
Who is next to hop on the “I’m Closed Because of the Coronavirus”
bandwagon? Let’s face it – that’s all this has become … a bandwagon
event.
“Oh, we better say we’re closing next so the public believes
we’re socially conscious and responsible.”
You want to be a responsible entity? Carry on and do your job.
Quit trying to score “woke” points. Winston Churchill is unquestionably rolling
in his grave over this nonsense.
I want to make one concept clear before I continue; I’m not
saying that you shouldn’t take routine precautions. And yet, employ the same safety
measures that you would with any other cold bug. You should already be
washing your hands regularly, as well as not coughing or sneezing onto other
people. If you’re already minding your hygiene, then great! You don’t need to
do anything else.
The erroneously generated panic of COVID-19 is far worse
than the virus itself. Because people are clamoring in fear and doing their
best impression of Chicken Little, the stock market has taken a massive hit.
Three years of solid gains that brought the American economy roaring back to
life have been wiped out over some complete knee-jerk rubbish.
In situations like this, I look to Miyamoto Musashi’s The
Book of Five Rings for guidance:
“When your opponent is hurrying recklessly, you must act
contrarily and keep calm. You must not be influenced by the opponent.”
Stop letting other people influence your decisions. Be calm in
your approach. Think with reason. Totally withdrawing from reality is not going
to beat this virus. Coronaviruses have existed in previous forms in the past,
and they will continue to exist in new forms in the future. So, what’s
different this time around? The media told you to be panicked.
You must not be influenced by the opponent.
Do you understand who your opponent is now? Maybe you’re
not ready for that answer… but you should be. More importantly, why is the enemy making you panic and what are they covering up?
It seems like the older I get, the more our world keeps growing
smaller and smaller. Everybody is connected instantaneously. We can transmit
messages and data with a single flick of the finger. New news becomes old news
before you even have the chance to read it. We can shop online and receive
packages within a day. We can spread memes and pick arguments and incite
violence with just a few keystrokes. Careers can be made, and careers can be
ended, all with the click of a mouse. Privacy is antiquated. Everything is fair
game in this brave new world. Survival is as easy as resting in bed all day and
not doing anything. Nothing is sacred.
And yet, I don’t feel any bigger than I did before. If anything,
I feel smaller too.
I couldn’t begin to tell you just how often I repeat this
phrase in my head:
“We have to go back.”
Keen television viewers might remember from which program
that line originates – Lost.
(If you’re planning on watching Lost, stop reading
now. I’m about to discuss a major plot point of the program. Come back when you’ve
watched it.)
The classic third season finale of the show (Through the
Looking Glass, 2007) gave viewers a startling twist-ending; Jack, Kate, and
a few other castaways astonishingly escaped the island. And yet, reintegrating
into society has ruined Jack. He can’t function without alcohol and oxycodone.
His mental state is rapidly deteriorating. Jack has grown suicidal; he rides
airplanes hoping they’ll crash and even tries to jump off a bridge. He finally
manages to meet with Kate again, and expresses what he finally accepts as the
only solution.
“We have to go back.”
Truth be told, this article isn’t really about Lost.
And yet, my assessment of Lost has grown in favor over time. I now see the
show as an allegory for what ails us as human beings. Collectively, we’re awfully
sick. Life has become far too easy. We don’t face any challenges in our daily
lives. Food is plentiful and there’s always a place for us to rest our head. Our
meals come prepackaged in nice, neat boxes. There are no tigers for us to
outrun, nor stampeding buffalo to dodge. We can float through life carelessly
and still manage to cross the finish line. Work is defined by how many words we
can type, or how many video games we can stream, or how we can best monetize
our online videos. There are no crops to plant, nor trees to chop. Our cars are
even starting to drive themselves. Objectivity has been rendered moot. The concepts
of family and gender and even individuality are starting to weaken. The walls
of independence are crumbling all around us. We can completely and totally disconnect
from the world, and everything will be alright.
My friends, this isn’t healthy for us. We’re dying.
The enigmatic island in Lost is a symbol of where we
came from as a species. We were once helpless beings trapped in a vast
wilderness, with mysteries and dangers lurking around every corner. If you
wanted to feed yourself and your family, you had to plant a field or hunt game.
There were other factions of human beings, just like yourself, that also had to
claw their way through life. You might even have to go to war with them for
limited resources from time to time! Only the wisest and most self-sufficient survivors would rise to the top of the food chain. Your level of effort
directly correlated to your level of accomplishment. Existence was ripe with adventure
and excitement because every day was a gamble.
Our world was once oh so very big… and we were very, very
small.
When Jack says, “We have to go back,” what he’s implying is
that the modern world holds nothing for him anymore. The life he lived on the
island was a sincere and authentic life; he felt like he had purpose once
again. The island was a microcosm where a person could achieve great triumph,
but only if they worked hard enough for it. It was undoubtedly a tough life,
but also as real as it could possibly get. The contemporary world was driving
Jack insane because it was too easy. He’d had a taste of what honest
living was like… and he would do anything to get it back.
When I consider the weight of what “We have to go back" means, I look at it as a metaphor. I’m not saying we must return to a rudimentary
society that lives in the forest and scavenges for rats and berries. What I am
saying is that we need to make the world feel ‘big’ again. There should be routine
challenges that we face on the regular. Adversity is good for the soul; it
makes us stronger. It shouldn’t be so easy to share knowledge or spread news.
We should have to invest some degree of effort to survive. At least some
of our food ought to come from the garden, from fishing, or from hunting game. Ultimately,
curing what ails us doesn’t come from a multi-national pharmaceutical conglomerate
in the shape of a tiny little pill; it comes from within.
We have to go back… but we won’t.
In terms of societal grandeur, I can safely say that we’ve
peaked. I view an extremely specific moment in time as the clarion call for our
civilization’s downturn – the introduction of the first widely celebrated smart
phone device. Apple unveiled the iPhone on June 29, 2007 to much cultural
acclaim and anticipation. It’s an odd coincidence that the iPhone’s unveiling
happened just thirty-six days after Through the Looking Glass first aired.
The iPhone epitomizes all that we’ve lost in the progression towards a ‘connected’
society. This moment is the tip-top of the proverbial mountain, and we’ve been
falling downhill ever since.
More than likely, you’re reading this article on a smart phone.
Most internet usage now flows through our little black screens that fit tidily
in our pockets. Traditional desktop computers are declining in popularity.
Using the internet or employing a computer to complete a task is no longer a
purposeful decision that requires focus. The smart phone simply ‘solves’ all
our problems; it’s our companion and cohort. We’ve aggregated the entire breadth
of human existence into a little metal box that weighs less than a pound. This
perpetual cascading downhill isn’t something that’s going to stop. I don’t have
enough faith in humanity to believe that we can come back from this plunge. Most
people are weak and timid. At this point, It’s only a matter of time.
I can only question as to when we’ll hit bottom and who’ll
be left to witness the end.
.jpg)
