Fear, focus, and the future. Here, C.M. Humphries writes about whatever.
There're a lot of weird things happening in mediated new sources today. It's even stranger to imagine a time when news-outlets actually covered news that mattered to the world; had some humanistic merit. For example, just by browsing CNN (after BBC, of course) I learned today that the Pope is not angry with condom-supporters and Shakespeare may have or not actually existed.
Oh yes, and Elvis is still alive. But as dead as the original Paul McCartney.
I guess I should have a point behind this blog, which is quickly spinning into another of Chris' rants. Here we go.
It seems that we, like any other generation, are squinting eyes at the hard work of our predecessors, questioning nearly every finding and asking how and what if. There is a point, though, where some of this questioning doesn't seem to matter at all. Have we become the generation of skeptics? Will we one day insist that the solar systems revolves around the Earth? I feel as though we have come to a point where we a questioning everything and claiming it erroneous or nothing at all.
In other words, just because we keep questioning the world does not mean that we will find what we are looking for. It seems as though we are experimenting, not based on a hypothesis, but based on a conclusion we are determined to find.
Some people don't believe Shakespeare existed. Some think he did, but used a ghostwriter. And as one man with common sense said, "After all, the play's the thing, right? What does it matter who wrote it?"
I'm going to stand by that. Although this entire blog has been completely tongue-in-cheek (that's for all of you who can't detect sarcasm), I will say I stand behind that aforementioned notion of a work being more important than who wrote it.
Sure, if silly Willy was here today and someone plagiarized his work, then there's a good case for bitching. But, let's face it: William Shakespeare is dead. He is so dead that is makes "Elvis is alive" credible.
Let it be known--this blog being the proof--that if I die and my works remain, and become some of the most influential pieces the world has ever laid eyes on, that a rare group of renegade rhesus monkeys wrote all of it and C.M. Humphries was just their pen-name.
(Oh yeah, here's the stuff about the Pope.)
Woke up this morning with one those Class-A migraines again. Sometimes I think they'll never stop. Think I'll never stop popping these pills at night for them. Popping two Excedrin every morning. No, three. Four. Never stop taking the Relpax for when the Propranolol and Triximet doesn't work. For when the Axert, Frova, Maxalt, Zomig, Imitrex, Amerge, and Vicodin don't work.
Even in a painful fog I can still concentrate on my thoughts about medicine, besides the fact none of it really works. My main question is, why do I trust my doctor when he prescribes a second pill--you know, in the case the first guaranteed-to-work pill doesn't?
Nevertheless, if I can stand the back and neck pain, I try to workout. Most days my head carries a weight that makes it improbable to work out in the morning. Impossible.
I throw up on these mornings, and exercise sure as hell doesn't help. However, I manage to lose more weight this way, although it might be unhealthy for me to lose any at all. People say I've lost my ass. Never knew people enjoyed looking at it.
And during these migraines I wanna write. I'm writing right now, but these fuckin' headaches have even made it into my writing. Seems endless. Seems pointless.
I wanna be a writer; not just any writer, though. I wanna be the writer. I don't care if all of it is crap. I won't sell out, but I will sure as hell push my name. I will make you guys all read me. Love me. Hate me. Become sick of my pen-name.
But I can't write a damn thing worth showing you all, especially not with these migraines. Maybe in a moment I'll write something satisfying, something pleasurable for both you and me.
How do I start?
Maybe by ridding myself of these migraine headaches. I don't think headaches should be associated with them, though. I'd take a headache any day. Hell, violent hangovers tuck their tails like dogs intimidated by bigger dogs when they catch a glimpse of these migraines.
To them, to you, to me, to us: I say let's get a move on. I will write something decent today. Or at least, I will write something. Relpax chased by coffee. Excedrin for later, this time. Axert to keep the day going.
So many of you already heard about the situation at Ball State University involving a young man on a bicycle riding around and assaulting the buttocks of many a student. And, of course, there's already a nickname for this alleged male: The Ball State Ass Slapper.
Now I would be an inconsiderate prick if I sat here and blogged about the humor of the situation. However, here's my real take: I'm indifferent towards the situation. See, while on a very juvenile level part of Chris chuckles, another part is very saddened.
Outside of the whole assault factor, I am little disappointed by the whole situation because it demonstrates exactly how much we like to turn human beings into objects. I'm not going to rant about men seeing women as lays and lays only, but I will dabble in another argument that is similiar.
It's the idea that we treat individuals as a means to an end that bothers me the most. See, whether the perpetrator on BSU campus set out to cop-a-feel or just create a humorous stir around campus (and now globally thanks to those assholes on Facebook) doesn't really matter. The ass slapper is treating other individuals as a means to an end, joke or instant gratification.
With that said, I will admit I understand why so many people find the ass-slapping situation so funny. I mean, it's made The Daily Show with John Stewart website.
My stance? Indifference. I get the LOL-factor, but I also feel that these acts are wrong. Although I do not intend to exploit the current issue of the serial ass slapper, I do want to encourage people to put an end to the whole torment of the situation by joining the Facebook group "Indifferent Towards the Ball State Ass Slapper". It is a group that will not ridicule you for criticizing the situation or laughing at it.
As many of you know, I do not believe in writer's block. As many writers would say, "Get a prompt."
However, I do believe in being burned out. Burn out occurs, for me, when I am overloaded with superfluous writing responsibilities--usually dull--that exhaust me long before I begin writing for publishing and creative purposes.
While I am in a burned out point right now--thanks to this being the end of my junior year at Ball State and thanks to having to run around between school, work, and other responsibilities--I want to offer a piece of advice to any other writer who may be reading this.
Poet Mitchell Douglas recently dropped by the English department of BSU and I was able to ask his advice for overcoming the feeling of being too burned out to write. He offered this piece of advice: "You need to write for yourself. When you're all caught up with deadlines, publishing, and writing, and life, just remember to write for fun. Not something for publication; for you."
Outside of taking off and disappearing for a short while, writing for fun seems to be a useful piece of information for both writers and anyone else who is trying to make a profession out of what they enjoy. Go do something, or simply write a story for yourself. Remember, you don't have to judge literature that no one else reads. It's for you. Don't worry about structure, plot, whatever. Just let your mind spill onto the paper.
Fear, focus, and the future. C.M. Humphries talks about writing, horror, and whatever.