Children of Men

Like it or not, at the end of the day...all men are trying to do one of two things. Either trying to make their father proud, or trying to piss him off. Maybe for some of us, it's a tricky combination of both. When we are younger we idolize our fathers, they can do no wrong and since we don't know any other fathers, we think of ours as "normal". When most of the time, they're anything but. And when we finally see him for what he is, a flawed, fragile human being it scares us. Not that those things are necessarily wrong, there just disconcerting when we realize them. So if it turns out that our beloved fathers are gentle and caring and all around good men, we will spend our entire lives waiting to hear the seemingly pointless words "I'm proud of you, son". Whether shown on the forefront or not, every child longs to hear those words. Just look at the kid at football practice, looking into the stands and hoping to see his father so he can show him what he can do. Of course, it's a useless venture because no matter how many times we hear it, it'll never satisfy our need. Like an annoying girlfriend who wants you to say I Love You every time you leave her, you will feel unfulfilled with not hearing it. And what you say, if you're father is a complete asshole? No matter how horrible then man is, no matter how morally bankrupt, you'll still long for it. Of course when he says it, it won't mean a thing. Because after seeing his life, you wonder what he wouldn't be proud of. "I'm proud you're not lying in a ditch somewhere" is about the only thing that he has a authority on. The problem is, as the saying goes, I always wish better for my son than what I had. It's impossible. Because in the end, you become him and in turn pass it on to your son. A childhood friend of mine had a father who was an abusive alcoholic. I saw this kid, this boy, get beaten numerous times. The worst part is that there was nothing he did wrong. It was that his hair was sticking up, or he had me over, or that he needed to hit someone and his own child would never hit back. I'd sit there with him as he cried, his face red with shame and he'd tell me that he'd never be like his Dad. He'd be a great father and he'd treat his kids right. Well, looking at him now, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference between him and his father. Like in Animal Farm, the pig turns into the dictator. There only one way to avoid it. And it's to change. Whether you admit it or not, you're just like him. Even the things you hated most. The only way to stop it is to realize it before it's too late. Self-actualization is the only way to break this wicked curse. And maybe someday, you can sit your son down and tell him that you make him proud and that he makes you proud everyday. And him becoming what you are, will be a good thing.

Love at First Shudder

Throughout the history of man, no subject has been more discussed than that of Love. The reasons for this are simple. Love is all encompassing, it's ups and downs. It strikes us at our very soul, there is no better feeling that love and no agony like heartbreak. You see love everywhere, in movies, books, magazines, and of course music. But at the core, what is it that makes it so mainstream, so analyzed. To me, it comes down to a feeling. Sure there are feelings across the board pertaining to love, but there is one singular feeling that drives us all. Just like the American populous, it comes in all shapes in sizes. But those who have ever experienced love all know it well. For me, I describe this feeling as a tremble. I remember looking over at my object of affection and she smiled at me. This seemingly innocent smile was the one that just wrecked me. I was forever ruined for every other girl, my bachelorhood annihilated in one fell swoop. And since, I have never lost that feeling. Her smile just shuts me down. This is the feeling we all pursue. And no matter what happens, we will do anything to achieve it. This feeling is more powerful than all of us, it's more powerful than war, hate, and religion. It's a euphoria that is accessible. In religion, we cannot see, hear, touch, or taste God. But with love, we can see that love, sense it. When you look over and see a couple look at each other, you can feel it. And even if you look with loathsome at this couple, you smile inside. You know what happiness is and long for it yourself. It's why we keep going through pain, again and again. So that we can one day achieve that feeling. If you catalog the personal suffering as a result of love, it'd be an unbearable collection of history. But if you look at the magic of love, it makes all of it, somehow, worth it.

A Little More For little you

It's been a while...I mean, you look grea- oh really thank y-yeah yeah no, I'm good...I'm just yeah-and you? good...well I was just gonna tell you....

I'M BACK! I've been writing again. Yup alert the media, alert the other person that reads this and let them know...it's coming back. I will have...MORE POSTS! BETTER POSTS! A fierce looking picture of myself that when you see it you'll say...wow that's Marc but the general public will go "who's that fierce lookin' dude and why am I reading his posts?" I just realized I've built this up, perhaps a little too much. Anyway...more to come, be excited.

September 11th

I can't quite understand it but I woke up today with such a heavy heart. Throughout the day everytime I felt that my spirits were up, my mind would quickly retreat and once again a sinking sensation hit me. I have not felt this way since 2001 and even then a sense of confusion overwhelmed the horror. So today, some six years later I feel the real loss of the day. 2,807 men, women and children died that day. And after the endless stories of heroes, of firefighters and policemen, of common people doing the extraordinary, I think of the ones that didn't make it. The pure undeserved terror. I think of the consequences, the reasons why we still aren't so together like we were the days and weeks after the attacks. We had a chance to become a country that was united as one and we blew it. I think of all the losses, of both life and liberty that day. And you know, a part of me died that day too.

Game, Match, Insanity

There's always been something I've been bothered by since I was a young child. And it's something that I think most people deal with from time to time. But for me, it seems to be on a level that few people understand. This affliction I speak of, is a mind that races. I know, I know. It's stupid, but sometimes I'll be just sitting there and it hits me. I think of 16 different things, none of which seem to matter. It's not chores or to-do lists in my head. It resembles more of a paranoid and at times a bit of insanity. It got really bad my Senior of high school where my head would have all my thoughts going at the same time at a million miles a hour. It'll make a person feel mad. So, I did the only thing I knew how. I did something until I was too tired to think, or consenstrated so hard on something to calm it down. I played tennis...a lot. More than I ever wanted to in fact. I just wanted to keep playing, otherwise I feel crazy. I'd go right after school, sometimes with a friend others by myself and play tennis for hours. I didn't know why I picked tennis, over say basketball or golf or something, I just did. Now that I am older, it's hard to do anything to get my mind of it. I've tried writing here, watching tv, playing an assortment of video games, cleaning, and re-cleaning what I just cleaned. But still, even when the thoughts don't race as much...I still feel it. It's too cold to play tennis now, maybe I'll look into ping pong. Besides it's easier to jump over the nets.