Musings, Volume I

Photograph by Roberts Birze at thescatteredimage

Photograph by Roberts Birze at thescatteredimage

— Some days, I have no idea that I am in a scornful, loathsome, misanthropic mood until I have to interact with other flesh bags. So, some days, when I have sense enough not to pursue flesh bag interactions, my scornful, loathsome, misanthropic mood might go largely or completely unnoticed. Actually, I think that happens all days, regardless.

— Why aren’t there any films or television series’ set in medieval and/or “fantastical” eras, but which focus not on the nobility, but rather the peasantry? Do we honestly accept the fallacy that the lowest class has no interesting or pertinent story or content to provide? Am I thinking too much into this?

— Something tells me that conspicuously and belligerently harassing innocent employees of a business, speciously accusing management of racism and bigotry, threatening physical harm to said employees, and refusing to leave the premises upon request is not the best way to go about inquiring on the status of your job application. But maybe I just do things differently than that dude.

— Winning an argument with willfully ignorant and obnoxious internet trolls is a lot like trying to clean up a Wal-Mart restroom by using the crusted feces covering the toilets to edit, correct, and contextualize the graffiti on the stalls. No one will appreciate you for your efforts, your earnest attempt to better the world and improve the collective intelligence of “our” species has proven fruitless, the shit and the tags remain ineffectually unaffected, halfway through you come to your senses and abandon your futile drudgery, powerless to explain why you undertook such distasteful and repulsive task in the first place, and in the end you are the one left exasperated and mired in filth.

— Sometimes I get Denis Leary rants and Henry Rollins rants confused in my head and have to willfully concentrate on separating and properly classifying said rants to their appropriate speakers. Even though they are clearly very different people, with often differing opinions as well as subject matter. I think my brain just likes to intake angry diatribes, process them through the filter of The Ryan, and then roll with that shit!

— Also, sometimes I find myself utterly convinced, or at least strongly suspecting, that I am already dead. In those moments, I am certain that one of the so-called “close calls” in my past actually in fact resulted in my demise, and everything I’ve experienced since then is merely the run-out electrical pulses of a dying organ, the muscle-memory result of synapses firing instinctually at neural receptors as the juice slowly bleeds out.

— Moments of schizophrenic uncertainty occasionally enter my mind, convincing me that certain people, places, events which I take to be real and existent are in fact products of my psyche. I’ve spent hours trying to persuade myself and prove that said people, places, events are genuine and tangible, and that it is ridiculous to think otherwise. You can see how this comic absurdity could easily turn cyclical and frustratingly oppressive.

— I like turtles.

The Abbey in the Oakwood by Caspar David Friedrich

The Abbey in the Oakwood by Caspar David Friedrich

Do you find these musings to be annoying, pretentious, fallacious, condemnatory, shallow, atrocious, or simply moronic? Feel free to leave your praises and rebuttals in the comments!


© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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