And Now Where Has Your Anger Gone?

Anger permeates our being. Like a blazing conflagration of unassuagable candor, we lash out at our oppressors and crucify all opposition with the poignant nails of our ardor, razor-sharp and sulfurous.

Yet when our ire deflates, as always it must, we find ourselves foundering in an abysm of empty refrains, relinquishing the passion of our backhanded suasion in favor of our own insipid instability.

At times, yes, it is good to let off steam. But far too often those times come upon us at completely inopportune moments, and we reap the consequences of our ill-conceived contention.

And in the aftermath we find that, even though our words were justified, our outrage undeniably condign, we are the ones hurt by this outburst, for lowering ourselves to levels we never consciously strove to reach.

Time and growth, experience and expansion, we weave our uncertain way, step by precarious step, into the true inhabitants of this planet, but will we reach our goal ere our inheritance is ripe, or will the boon of our bountiful Earth fall wasted into oblivion for our own arrogant unwillingness to grow the fuck up?

And now where has your anger gone?

Love,

~Codaniel~

Only Time Will Tell...

We search so long for something to vindicate our meager existence, enduring failure after failure, till finally the strings of our will snap, and we settle into ineffectuality as though it were an outfit of camouflage to disguise our inability to thrive.
We spend so much of our time feeling so certain that nothing we endeavor to accomplish can ever bear fruit, that we cease our attempts to actualize our aspirations, and dwindle inwardly into a half-life of malcontent and an irrepressible sense of futility.
And in such a state as this, we have no hope of altering the trappings of our existence, for as I've previously stated, our acceptance endorses itself, lending credence to our station in society, closing the doors through which we might rise up to a better position, and a reasonable view of our own worth.
This world is clinically depressed, and I can ascertain no way in which to overcome the febrile pitch of our plaintive bleating, the pitiful cry of our anguish which is muted only by the sardonic amusement of our own inner Despiser.
We become our own worst enemies, and society spends so much time and effort ensuring us that our perception of ourselves as unworthy is unambiguous and absolute.
Only the reluctance we feel for expressing our discord prevents the intended culmination of all of our life's dearest desires, the realization of our destinies, if you will.
Why, then, do we fight so hard to keep ourselves down?
Maybe, like a badger, when backed into a corner, we will fight harder for our own survival than any would ever think us capable of?
Or maybe, god send it isn't so, we are that intent on our own collapse that we see no other viable alternatives...
Whatever the case may be, I hold strong in my belief that maybe one day, somewhere down the line, we will again find ourselves capable of and equipped with hope, and turn the tables back around.
But only time will tell...
Love,
~Codaniel~

Does Injustice Justify us, Or Imply Impious Bias?

So often I witness people sharing the tragedy of the injustices they've faced, conveying their stories almost as if they find them personally validating on some deeper level. As though through their adversity they have been made somehow into truth incarnate, and have stepped down off their pedestals, deigning to enlighten us with the immaculate wisdom they have garnered through their oh so agonizing suffering.
Get a life folks.
Everyone suffers, everyone is treated unfairly, and more often than not, retribution is never had, but in no way does that actually bestow upon us the would-be sagacity many seem to believe they embody due to their survival of such "dire straits".
To me, it just comes off as pomposity, like the street-corner evangelists preaching the love of Jesus and his salvation, and how all this can be yours if only you accept him into your heart, and learn to hate sinners and fags as much as he does. In fact many of them are reformed from just such sinners and fags, but having learned the error of their ways, or the truth of the holy spirit, they take it upon themselves to enforce their restoration upon others, condemning them as wayward and hell-bound sinners if met with anything other than "heart-feigned" and painstakingly worded repentance.
And this is exactly what I mean when I speak of impious bias, the self-righteousness one feels when judging someone else by a specific and all-inclusive criteria. God forbid any of us have differences of nature, or thoughts which diverge from the drivel they divulge. Therefore are we lost to god, and yay, even to ourselves, though we know it not.
Or maybe, just maybe, this is the true injustice, that Dogmatic teaching can be so WIDELY interpreted as to impose upon its scholars the very thing it originally set out to prevent.
"Judge not lest ye be judged."
"God IS love."
Or maybe, as they would have it, "Judged, Ye be Judge, lest God is not love".
Okay, that wordplay was crap, I'm fucking tired, sue me.
Anyway, get over yourselves and just love already, lest I judge you, and damn my own soul in so doing.
Love,
~Codaniel~

PS
I must be a living testament to Christian Salvation.. I hate sinners and fags JUST as much as Jesus does.
That's right. I love the shit out of them.
Amen

To Pit Chicanery Against Veracity.

Feedback is a brilliant thing. It sheds whole new levels of light upon our misperceptions of our endeavors, endows us with the stamina to persevere in the face of unpalatable umbrage and immedicable mediocrity.

Restores to us the sense of meaning we so often find ourselves shriven of in our daily dealings with despair and an incondign inclination toward deprived and undeserved deference. But for whom do we defer?!

Is it not, at the core of the thing, an endorsement of our own private fears, a seemingly subconscious, but wholly unhealthy acknowledgement of our own internal contention?

They say that man is his biggest critic, but this is a lie.

Critics offer positive feedback as well, and man's inherent inability to value his own worth takes away half the attributes we value in those with whom we would seek criticism.

And this just drives home my point that we need each other. If you look at yourself, chances are you will tell me every single unsavory aspect of your self-perception, because for some reason, we tend to kind of hate ourselves.

But I can look at you and tell you you're beautiful, your smile lights up my day, and you bring stability into an uncertain situation with your poise and confidence, and which do you think is a more true assessment?

Hate is an exponential emotion, because it must feed off of everything it contacts in order to sustain itself.

While love is a constant in any equation, never wavering, never fluctuating, true in every sense of the word, beyond all hope of alteration.

They say that one little white lie will inevitably lead to other little white lies, and before you know it, you'll have a whole encyclopedia of untruths in your head, struggling to remember them lest your system of deception fall apart.

Such a lie is hate, especially the hatred of one's self.

And this is why, in the face of that one little piece of positive feedback, that one little shining ray of love, constant, unwavering, the duplicity of our self-hatred evaporates in an evanescent glow of sheer, luminous jubilance.

And this deserves, I am inclined to believe, Critical Acclaim.

Love,

~Codaniel~

An Ideal Musing..

What hazardous games do we play? What peculiar sense of self-preservation prompts us to distance ourselves from each other, from those we care about, or have cared about, or could care about? Is this some leftover quirk of evolution, this art of acting aloof for the dual purposes of defending the vulnerable bits underneath the coarse exterior and heightening the intrigue with which our fellows view us?
And the question we really need to ask ourselves is "truly, what good does that do? What do we gain from such duality, and perhaps more importantly, where did we ever learn such a thing?"
I suppose (and my early childhood recollections seem to back this up) we learn to view our peers with fear, plagued by uncertainty and ill-at-ease lest some of them look upon us and find us inadequate in the face of their specific criteria. A criteria I know that I have failed to live up to countless times. Yet, ironically, the acceptance came for me just after I finally stopped caring how others viewed me, and became content in myself for better or for worse.
This paradox is a difficult one to adhere to, especially in the young and impressionable. Who among us can say that they have never subconsciously (and yes sometimes even consciously) altered their beliefs, their behaviors, the uttermost core of what defines them on an impulse born of their observation of another's beliefs, behaviors or otherwise attractive characteristics?!
No? Not you?
You fucking lie...
The fact is that we need each other, but rather than seeking comfort and completion in the companionship of someone who represents a missing aspect of our lives, we castigate and contemn these people out of fear for a change in our routine, for the disruption of our lives, and the potential destabilization of our comfort zones. And since this all starts at such a young age, does it not follow that the chief factor in our behavioral patterns and developmental idiosyncrasies is the single greatest influence of a person's life, the guiding force responsible for molding the foundation upon which our entire lives and belief systems will be built?!?!
I speak, of course, of the parentals.
More and more each year I see parents neglecting their children, lashing out at them with impatience and intolerance, hammering into them just how indisputably wrong it is to express beliefs or display interests which contradict one's own.
And these reprehensible views are being indiscriminately thrown around in the school systems, from the youngest ages, at our children, by our children.
The world is cancerous. Our own people destroy it so callously, just as they destroy each other, and year after year the cycle continues, belligerence begets belligerence, intolerance proves to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, and all the while we meet it stare for stare... and decease.
Quoth The Beatles: "All we need is love...
Love is all we need." And yet, heartbreakingly, it is so very rarely what we get.
And I think it's time we changed this. But it has to start with you...
Ok, I guess I'll try to help too.
Love,
~Codaniel~

Out the Window..

Tonight I'd like to talk to you about Imminent Globalized Economic Meltdowns, and their resultant effects on International Politics... But I'm tired, and am taking the night off... sorry. =  (
Love,
~Codaniel~

A Mid-Summer Night's Dread

Cancer is overwhelming our society.
From cigarettes to Sweet n Lo, Cell phones to hormones, almost everywhere you look, carcinogens swarm in hungry flocks to feed on the sweet substance of our increasingly-less-able bodies.
What ever happened to the days of immunity, when our white blood cells bitch-slapped any foreign element clean out of our blood streams?
I'll tell you what. We got lazy.
Our society consists primarily of morbidly obese individuals who remain stationed on their couches, at their desks, in their offices, oft-times even in bed, awaiting their next fix of technological advance, an addiction so cunning that it promises luxury and comfort while providing increasing levels of agitation and decay.
And all the while, as we sit quietly in the comfort zone of our choosing, we divorce ourselves from actual human interaction, grow fat, get cancer, and die.
And yet here I sit. Blogging, smoking cigarettes, making continually unfulfilled assertions about going to the gym, perhaps just waiting to die.
Ah, Irony, you clever fellow. Yet again you get the best of me, mocking my propensity for loquacious diatribes, cunningly introducing into my own spiel the folly of my would-be rectitude.
But I was raised see the good in any situation, to look on the bright side of life... At least I'm not fat... yet.
Love,
~Codaniel~

The Gradual Convalescence from our Cynosure of Self-Abnegation

We find ourselves divorced from logic, roaming the uninhabitable dead space of our indecision. Immersed in such discrepancies of thought and deed, the past forces itself upon the future, and the cycle continues, uninterrupted, plagiarising our history as though through this reenactment, we can free ourselves of the burden of who we were; grow into who we long to be.
Such ideas constitute a flagrant disregard for the simple facts of reality, molding us into faithful drones for the fallacy of our erstwhile intuitions, goading us ever deeper into facets of our delusion heretofore unplumbed.
And through it all we subconsciously shy away from any intermediary force which could prompt the abatement of our self-defeatism, free us from the shackles of remembrance, guide us to the pinnacle of our illumination.
We go blindly about our routine, reaping what we've sown, yet continuing to sow the same things endlessly, for that is what we know, and any diversion from our crepuscular comfort zones is a thing greatly to be feared. Why this unmitigated masquerade of acceptance in the face of fear? Are we so morbid as to endorse our suffering as warranted for the inexplicable concept that "everything happens for a reason", and as such our pain justifies itself through the simple fact of its existence?!
Ah, world. I fear we've a long way to go yet.
But there is still time. Wounds like these don't heal over night...
Love,
~Codaniel~

But sometimes that's just how it is...

In a funny way, we sabotage ourselves. We lend credence to the suppositions that we're worthless, anile and altogether unwanted, and our endorsement of such suppositions directly leads to the realisation of them as fact.
I think we far too often let the world and its peoples dictate to us who we are, and we, as faithfully as fully-trained office assistants, take it down word for word, never stopping to question the relevance of these assertions as they pertain to us, if even they do.
But such acceptance is timeless, and these idiosyncrasies are oft-times so difficult to alter, they appear nigh-on inexorable, likening themselves to the task of moving mountains within our mind's eye.
But mountains do move, and yes, even continents, if only every couple hundred million years or so, and while to us that may seem like an eternity, in the history of the Earth, it is not nearly so long as that.
So whilst changing the perception of one's self may be a herculean feat, almost godly in the undertaking, it can be done, indeed has been done. And the impossibility of such a task is only certain when we look at the state of our lives and decide, like the geographical layout of the Earth, that this is the way it is, has always been, and will ever be.
Only in accepting our straits as fact do we open the door for such things to truly become fact.
In this instance, I say, acceptance can go straight to hell, for we've already been there, and the restrictive ideas of the status quo have earned themselves a spot there in our stead.
Not everyone can do it. Some people are born to be told who they are. Some will try and fail. And some will succeed.
But sometimes, that's just how it is...
Love,
~Codaniel~

The Evidence of Creation

What joy hath man like that of a thing well made?
In this I come to sympathize with God quite a bit. For, despite the flaws of one's creation, the little imperfections which, in direct contradiction to all of our hard work and effort, undermine the efficacy of the thing created, there is also joy and love. To marvel at the finished manuscript, which but a few short months earlier had been nothing but a blank slate merely awaiting the whims of the mind which shaped it, or to steadily increase the appreciation one feels for a song composed or a painting dried, these are the true pay-offs of those who would deem themselves Creators. You were nothing, but now, through me, you have come into existence, hardly perfect yet a testament to my vision all the same.
The blank slate of my ideas is like an etch-a-sketch of creative outlet, ever filled only to be shaken dry and begun again.
And of thee, blank slate, I say this:

In honor of these thoughts I call my own
I make of thee the things I've never shown
Such deep dementia settled in my mind
Untrue recipients will never find
The words I've scribbled out on parchment hence
My inner thoughts bereaved of common sense
And if such thoughts on paper do not take
Make of my humble livelihood a fake
For if I could but once discern the truth
'Twould validate the foibles of my youth
That this is not the case would only seem
Invalidate the truths I've dared to dream...

But that remains to be seen, and the Creator in me, the artist, strives always toward betterment in hopes that one day, just once, I will look upon my work and not be dismayed by anything, but wholly and utterly rejoice.
Yet this I fear, for attaining perfection sheds ill-light on any future attempts at such endeavors.
Yet let not perfection dissuade us from itself, for unattainable though it surely seems, and daunting though it surely is, is that not, in truth, the indefinable purpose of life?
Let us think on this a while...
Love,
~Codaniel~

Let us strive

For even within the abundantly decadent playground we call society, we know not what the future holds. Shall we forge on into the bitter unknown with false smiles and practiced rhetoric, battling the uncertainties of an unknowable tomorrow? Or will we learn from our circumstances to stave off the incumbent resignation which so thoroughly breeds itself into us from even our earliest memories?
Who can know the mind of a stranger? Or who can even know the mind of one's self? Let us take apart the compagination of all our dearest beliefs, our strictest dogmas, and roam the indecipherable valley of spontaneity. For with this one step off the beaten path, will we then be able to beat the path on which we've found ourselves for far too long.
And for that, I feel, is something which is actually worth the striving. Let us strive.

Love,
~Codaniel~

The Death of Intellect

The inadequacy of society's intellectual prowess staggers my perceptions and leaves me desolate in an unquenchable cesspool of implacable derision.  When the standards of success are so arbitrarily dictated as to elevate individuals of such mediocrity to the levels of the high class, I weep for the hierarchy which allows this farce to continue and even thrive in the name of "freedom".
For not in the name of the greater good does this irony exact itself upon us, yet as a caustic blow to undermine the insufficiency of what I've grown to deem "truth", and the meaninglessness of this term as I apply it to the failings of our world and the general mendacity of the status quo.
Also, I am unnecessarily verbose, and apologize for being an A-hole, especially in the first installment of my blog... but then again, screw you...
Love,
~Codaniel~