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Hipsters are Trendy

The most predictable people in the world are those desperate to be like no one else. They confuse separateness with originality. I was watching the hipsters gather at the coffee shop tonight. They were bringing their instruments and wearing vans, and t-shirts with ironic statements—I don’t think a one of them weighed over 180, thrift wear, tight pants, and tight jackets included sopping wet. One guy had a short hairstyle reminiscent of a sixties supermodel – you know… the silhouette of his head would look like a light bulb. Most of the hairstyles worn seemed to consider grooming too trendy.

I guess the whole idea of the hipster’s outfit and hair is to show solidarity with the homeless while paying $6.95 for a latte. It’s too mainstream to pay that much at Starbucks.

I’ve been haunting this downtown area for a while now. I’ve noticed a couple of retro looking SUV‘s. One has a Che Guevara bumper sticker; the other has a Darwin sticker—the one where the fish has legs. Wow, that is so avant-garde. Each of these hipster haulers has the assorted and very typical array of leftist bumper stickers—so original.

I pack up my laptop and I leave. As I walk out the door, I begin to connect the dots. There on the road are these two SUV’s with these skinny young men trying to haul pieces of their disassembled drum set into the coffee shop. I gazed at the stickers and gazed at the hipsters.

Predictable.

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Are You Published?

April 25, 2012 5 comments

The simple answer is no. When I’m asked this question I wonder what the person knows about the art and process of storytelling. As with any type of excellence in art, overnight success is not the norm. Could I be published? I’m 100% certain. It’s easy nowadays via Vanity press or ePublishing. Nothing stands in the way. So being published is not necessarily a sign of success or quality. It’s basically like a General Admission ticket. Anyone can get in. Almost like buying a degree. There’s a universe of white noise out there now.

I began writing the saga Creed of Kings, which has sprawled into a 300,000 word epic, right before the eBook revolution started to crank up. I made a decision to never publish through Vanity press. Why? Because if I ended up self-publishing it meant—not in all cases of course—that I sucked. Sorry for the technical language.  Vanity means what it means. Gratifying myself is not my aim, which is to rock the reader’s world. Vanity costs dearly and you end up with a bunch of books in your garage. My goal is for Creed of Kings to be published traditionally, in hardcover, on the shelf at Barnes & Noble and others. on black Friday. Even though I’ve tweaked it a bit due to the eBook revolution, the spirit of the goal has not changed, but that does not matter either.

What matters most is quality. One has to spin a yarn better than the people in one’s creative writing class do. College football is planet away from high school football, and pro football is a galaxy from college. You must never rest when it comes to creating the best characters, plot points, dialogue, set up, mood, structure etc. I must see myself joining the league of David Gemmell , George R. R. Martin, Terry Goodkind , Steven Pressfield  now, not someday. What I create must stand the light of day with no prequalification. I have to write at that level of quality. I have to stretch myself, sacrifice.

I’m not new to writing. I’ve always had the bug. I had an active blog life that started in 2004 on Xanga . Before that, I was a regular contributor to a message board started by the rock band Creed—where I relearned the importance of spelling! I’ve written a oodles of terrible poems and kept angst ridden journals. Before that, I wrote a short story in college for a humanities project. The professor thought I should try to publish it. I did not think it was good enough. It was not about self-image, it was about objectivity.

People have told me all my life that I have the gift. It’s rarely flying in formation though. Life’s storms and obligations must be handled and I have discovered it takes a lot of effort for me to keep that flame lit. Furthermore, I am human and I suffer those outrageous idiocies of us artsy fartsy types, such as bored easily, moodiness, brooding, attention whore, borderline ADD, impatience, and perfectionism.

I feel strongly that my day is coming. The agonizing work has come up front. At the start it would have been arrogant to just whip out a manuscript, send it in, and wait for the book tour to begin. I never believed that. Therefore, I’ve clawed through 2 million raw words to eke out a few gold moments.

Nope, not published, yet. But, I have loved every second of this challenge. I will deliver a gift from my soul to many strangers in name but kindred in soul. If you don’t love the process, the nail biting, the blood sweating, fuggedaboutit. You’ll end up admiring your words in the vanity mirror.

Victoria Jackson: There’s a Communist Living in the White House

Politics 101: An Awakening

I gave a speech (more of a stand up routine) in McKinney, Texas at Collin County Conservative Republicans (CCCR) back in 2009. I loved doing it. It was my first captive live audience. I did not pick an easy topic. I mixed it with my style of humor to lighten things up. My talk was based on Jonah Goldberg’s book Liberal Fascism, a great book!

I know my talk upset a woman in the front row. She interrupted me two or three times. She did not want to accept what I was presenting. It did not match her worldview. Years ago, I would not have been able to grasp it either.

Below is mini-version first part of that talk, which is a brief explanation of my awakening and breaking out of modes of thought handed to me by media, music, and art. I will break up the rest of the talk in bite size pieces in the near future. Let’s see if I offend you, too.

 

H. G. Wells, who has written some great books, was the first to utter the term. He did not mean it as an oxymoron or an indictment; he meant it as a rallying cry. In his speech at Oxford in 1932, he told the Young Liberals that progressives must become “liberal fascists” and “enlightened Nazis”. Yes, you read that right. Look it up.

I’m not a master but a student of history. I’m not an armchair historian, I’m more like a barstool historian. I’m a lot like you; a regular person looking at my country and wondering what is happening and on a quest for the deep reasons why.

In the late 70s my mind was occupied with girls, I watched Happy Days and thought the Fonz was cool. I went to Rocky and Star Wars and I listened to Top 40 on KIKM, Kick ‘em. I thought John Lennon’s song “Imagine” was the real anthem. The biggest world event was the hostage crisis in Iran, the beginning of the modern Jihad, but it was far away from a teenage boy. I watched the news, ABC’s World News Tonight. It was about things happening in faraway places that I could not reach riding my bike. Even if I got the car I was dying for, I couldn’t get there. It was in a galaxy far far away. Closer to home, ABC caused me to be more worried over Ronald Reagan than Jihadist, because even in 70’s the media had a ‘liberal’ bias against ‘conservatives’. The media’s summation of Reagan said, if he could find the White House, he would stumble in, launch the Nukes at Russia, like Marvin the Martian, and blow up the earth in the process. Jimmy Carter had gone good-bye and Armageddon was obviously next, and it was all Reagan’s fault.

However, Reagan’s speeches did not match the hideous bias I heard on ABC World News Tonight and 60 Minutes. I wasn’t very discerning then. I watched Reagan’s soaring State of the Union addresses and his delightful banter with the press. He would have me pumping my fist as if I was at a Van Halen concert, then Peter Jennings, or whoever, would come on, and ruin it. I did not think Jennings had an agenda in those days. He pretended to be unbiased. I could not withstand it when they dissected Reagan speeches. No one stepped to enlighten me further on what Jennings & Co would say. Eventually Reagan won my heart and mind, anyway.

Freakatude with King’s X #kingsx

Cowboys and Whores and Feminism

Where is my John Wayne / Where is my prairie song
Where is my happy ending / Where have all the cowboys gone

-Paula Cole, from “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?”

Feminism! That’s what happened to your cowboy.

Many innocent men took the pink spear point of this ill-contrived mythology. It’s been poisoning cultural water since 70s, so women and children have suffered horrendously, too. Like us all, Paula Cole was incubated, birthed, and nurtured under this myth’s sky, but since she is female she’s been isolated and probably clueless as to why few men can sing her prairie song.  The contemporary feminist is less content with her life than her sisters of yesteryear are (this is a fact!), but she is addicted to narcissism, preening in the mirror or posing for a sexy facebook pic because that’s what really matters…and the bling.

One of the major underpinnings of modern feminism is a belief that a woman is just like a man, emotionally and mentally, that roles are fictional and imposed due to cultural imprints alone. “Equality” is gained by freeing the female from “misconceptions” of a repressive past such as fetus, family, and husband. She has exchanged them for a pet, plants, and career. Thus, many of the smartest, most educated women in the western world became moral idiots and now reap what Gloria Steinem sowed, which, among other things, has produced more grandparents than grandchildren. This version of feminism seeded mainly in the sixties in the universities. It graduated, branching into the culture and has matured completely. One can see it almost everywhere. Indoctrinated, bright women articulate a message very well to multitudes of little girls and teens robbing them of common sense. They play the pied piper hypnotizing the world, leading their victims sweetly to death of values, causing social instability, marriage and families crumble under their “liberated” feet.

In a way, they are right, that men and women are the same; each gender is polluted by feminism. Both are the same in their inability to teach young people how to grow up. If this was Athens,  Socrates would be a pimp and Athena a whore. We are, and are going to be, reaping madness in – historically speaking – a very short time, perhaps tomorrow.

Years ago, I heard a foretelling movie line from a guy. It stuck out as if mustard spilled on screen. The female was seducing him as he was growing ….a conscience. He said, “I’m getting tired of casual sex.” A throwaway line I never forgot. Women wanted to be like us and we got tired of it, because the emptiness of casual anything is, not what real men really want. But, we are raising boys with a loaded trigger happy penis to walk and live among these “women” who behave like…whores. It’s not odd for the girl to bring the condom on a date. Girls in the mall dress like hookers I saw in the 80s. Boys can’t be mature men. These boys take advantage of these “whores” and then are burned themselves when they decide they are getting tired of casual sex. But, these boys don’t know how to grow up. The step toward morality is an evanescent urge. There’s not a real Socrates in the meta-fiction reality in which a boy now thrives; no one to teach him or show the way but idealized “liberal” and postmodern men standing as a passive posing proxies on concert stages and action movies. These idols have little wisdom and what passes for real wisdom is a caricature. Boy’s “mature” or “earn stripes” by becoming more debauched. They get the now cliché tattoo, shut down morally, and brood emotionally—the appearance of tough—isolating in the iPod or game from the chance of real intimacy with a real female. If chance presents itself, a boy can’t grasp an opportunity if a grown up girl comes walking by. He fears her. I can’t talk to her. She is a wild creature from another world. The indoctrinated girl cannot seize the real man; instead, she attracts a passive worshipful wimp when she unfurls her alien expectations. Perhaps I was one these boys for a portion of my life in the Matrix. It was in the air I breathed. But, even my male drives couldn’t and can’t overwhelm my hope for true love with one real woman unencumbered by the false enlightenment of Gloria Steinem. Just as a career, a pet and a potted plant can’t really meet a forty year old woman’s innate longing for home and hearth, I can’t really abide a narcissistic woman but the garden of life is full of these flowers. They are so popular, even potential impersonates them.

It’s hard to find something as self sabotaging as modern feminism. It destroys the little girl, the teenage girl, the young woman and makes the elder woman a hag. That’s what happen to the cowboy and the prairie song, exchanged for a career, a cute pink car, and a pet. No raise will hug the feminist deep in the night and a pet won’t open the door or say ‘I love you’, and buy flowers – just because.

So what are many boys singing? Deep inside I think they are singing something like Switchfoot:

We were meant for so much more

Not such a happy ending.

 

National Suicide Prevention

August 3, 2011 1 comment

Deprive people, movements, and nations of nutrients both psychological and spiritual, send them into existence with the thin gruel of a world lacking truth and love, they will be committing suicide like Britain. Instead they smoke a pack of “No Truth”, drink a pint of “Uncertainty” and snort lines of “Existential Hopelessness” ….to stave off the pain coping with a reality they choose to ignore or just a psych bullet to the brain.

Look at secular Rock and Roll. It is not immortal. Sorry Ozzy, girl-pants-boy is participating in the self annihilation of his host, Rock and Roll, his sucking it dead dry with his postmodern quasi-angst. Just go listen to the current batch of so called Rock music. It’s not me being an old fuddy-duddy. I drive around and tune in. I explore music. I should probably grow up. There’s an oasis here and there. Mostly, the limp angst I hear in rock music today is inarticulate drivel at best because emotions are seemingly incomprehensible to the band’s lyricist, products of our headless culture. Today’s emo-rock comes off sounding like an immature little boy with a mans voice. Sounds like he is in his highchair pissed at the world because mommy took his Xbox. So now, he’s got bed-head, he’s smoking a joint and wearing girl pants. Wow, how different, what a rebel! Just turn up it loud, they’ll equate volume with authenticity.

Guess what else isn’t immune to suicide, that self destruction in London we see: The USA. Most of us think we can leave our nation untended, like a natural garden, and it’ll just keeping growing and going like the sun and seasons. To protect civilization’s vitality most just rattle off slogans, stupid slogans like “Make love not war” or “Think globally, act locally” or slap on a bumper sticker that says “COEXIST” or “Free Tibet”. We embrace the platitudes of tolerance, repeat things like “There are no absolutes”. Our civil world might make you feel good about yourself but crumble while you feel good basking in your enlightenment or bemoan someone’s so called narrow-mindedness. A large section of our cultural understanding, tolerance, and open-mindedness went to Sweden because it was upset with mommy and daddy, smoked a joint and decided America was a blight on the world because maryjane’s not legal. Grow the *eff up! Can you think of something original for a change? I’ve heard that since the 70s in unison watched my world go mad. I believed the hooey in my youthful naivete. The USA has bedhead and is wearing girl pants. Children are inconvenient and out of style. We aren’t growing in any vital area.

The USA is dead unless we  start a suicide prevention center.

Note: Eff – My ‘word’ for the F-bomb.

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