oh hell with it...a commentary on need and want

ok, need and want. sure, we all experience each at different times. but ive noticed that the good name of want is often sullied when compared to its more "noble" cousin need. but is need really more noble?

imagine i steal a loaf of bread because i need it.

ok.

now imagine i steal a brownie because i want it.

need here is necessary even pitied while want is greedy and reviled. damn you want! you go too far! think of it. stoics, ascetics, monks and what-not are always so down on want. were supposed to tame desire. we should want less. do without want. this all speaks to the ignoble nature of our good friend want.

but is he always so bad? are there times when in fact, it is better to want than to need?

ive had friendships based on need. sometimes i needed them, sometimes they needed me. someone, anyone to chase loneliness away. at first it feels right, symbiotic, necessary. but as circumstances change, and they always do then what? what happens when need is no longer there? i'll tell you: the relationship whithers. it dies. there is no root.

here is where i think want (at least sometimes) trumps need. if i want a friend. there is something in particular about them that i like. that i desire. i dont need them. i want them. i will not die without, but it would make life a bit better. there is a foundation in such a relationship based on a liking that is less likely to fade as it does when dire need changes. i may at times need this person, but when need fades, i still want. want has roots.

Plus when you think on it, need is so unconscious, so primitive, so non-cognitive, so common, so unsoulful. its want that makes the best art. its want that makes us each different. speaks to the soul, sets us each apart. desire, longing.

i suppose want speaks to the soul more because God prefers the want relationship to the need relationship. its what free will is about. if someone "loved" you just out of need, what would happen if the need faded. so would their love.

we all need air. nothing romantic or higher order there. but we want love.

need (ignorance) and want

for some strange reason i had it in my head that the two wretched children beneath the skirt of Christmas present were named "need and want". i had a whole post thought up about the differences and values between needing and wanting. it really was going to be a lovely post; full of light, insight and splendor. unfortunately i googled and discovered its not need and want, but ignorance and want. it turns out i was ignorant of ignorance.


'Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,' said
Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe,' but I see
something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding
from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw.'

'It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,' was
the Spirit's sorrowful reply. 'Look here.'

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children;
wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt
down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

'Oh, Man. look here. Look, look, down here.' exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling,
wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where
graceful youth should have filled their features out, and
touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled
hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and
pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat
enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No
change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any
grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has
monsters half so horrible and dread.

Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him
in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but
the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie
of such enormous magnitude.

'Spirit. are they yours.' Scrooge could say no more.

'They are Man's,' said the Spirit, looking down upon
them. 'And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers.
This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both,
and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy,
for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the
writing be erased. Deny it.' cried the Spirit, stretching out
its hand towards the city. 'Slander those who tell it ye.
Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse.
And abide the end.'

the conundrum of curses

i cursed her. not a simple damn you curse. a real curse.

i wished that nothing good would ever happen to her. i prayed that she would lose all of her friends and that her life would be filled with sorrow. i wished that she would never find happiness, success, or love. i cursed her to a life of misery.

sure. a little dramatic. i mean i could practically hear the bram stoker's dracula soundtrack playing in the background as i made my curse.

i knew a little something about curses though. voduon culture dictates that only the lowest of the low should be cursed. by this they mean anyone who has done great evil against their family.

to me, she fit the bill. she caused great pain to the one i loved the most. unthinking, unconscious, unwarranted pain inflicted on her. the one who loved her the most. the one who was always there for her. the tears, the sleepless anxious nights. the heartache. yeah she fit the bill alright.

curiously the curse worked. she lost her friends. sorrow entered her life. jobless, homeless, in need. she lost the appeal she had on others. unwanted. she was saddled with a huge burden and nobody to help her. and to boot, she was inflicted with horrendous pain.

i watched this unfold with time. first i was delighted. then mildly satisfied; stoicly pleased at the nature and course of this justice. as it continued though, i felt my satisfaction replaced by meloncholy, then dull sadness. watching her suffer, i was able to forgive her, as best i could. i even tried to help her, weakly. nothing stopped the curse though. maybe nothing can. there is harsh rigidness in this curse.

old article on the influenza

Doctor Leopold Perriwinkle, noted influenza expert, ill-human anthropologist and snake oil salesman of the 1820's put forth the following influenza timeline. i keep a copy in my breastpocket so in the event that i am ill i will know precisely how it (or i) will transpire.


My Dearest Evelyn,

i write you from my make-shift office in the jungles of the darkest continent on earth. i fear this may be my last letter. my situation has taken a turn for the worse, but for science sake, perhaps for the better. i have the influenza. fates be damned! i have decided that in order to properly document how this dreadful illness transpires, i shant take medications which would only serve to disrupt the illness's ascent. my effort to document this influenza, is to serve posterity. a noble but deadly effort. a living record as this deadly sickness racks my body with pain. i will always love you. do kiss troy for me. i only wish we had him when we were younger. we would have had that much more time to enjoy the tyke. by i digress. i am ill, i must put away this pen, my hand trembles so.

day one: i awake in the middle of the night to find i have the queerest draining in my throat. it leaves my throat feeling raw. i get up and sip from my water vessel. the water tastes odd and i notice upon further inspection that there are not one but 3 dead flies floating in it. One is dead. belly up. and the second and third appear to be making love to one another (on top of the water) truly amazing.

day two: i am full of want and whoah as i wake and notice the pain in my throat was not some night time apparition but was in fact real and remains quite intact. it feels as though my throat is leaking as though somehow it has been scratched with a rusty fork.

day three: my african servant don-don gives me the most queer look when i pass him in the lieu. i rush to the kitchen to see my reflection on a broken piece of mirror which sets just above the shrunken head display on the shelf. my eyes look vacant. i have the distinct feeling that the draining of the previous days has diminished, but in its place i am left with the most painful pressure in my facial area. it feels as if the area behind my face has been pumped full of maggots.

day four: i feel somehow as if the pressure has increased to the point of unbearable pain. and yet, i feel strangely sublime. i lie in bed and wait for the mercy of sweet death.

day five: the pressure remains. i find myself either pacing the grounds wearing nothing but my night shirt and night cap or lying in a ball in the corner of my room.

day six: i rewrote my will today on a piece of parchment. don-don my african servant had me pierce my thumb then we sealed it with blood. i dont know what i wrote, feeling that i faded in and out of consciousness several times. in fact, i don't know if i even have a servant name don-don.

day eight: i might be surviving this cursed illness. i am beginning to cough which will hopefully purge myself of the vileness within. i nearly asked don-don to mix me a healing concoction, but decided against, remembering, as if a vision my oath to take this illness to what ever location it take me, whether it be the ganges or the sweet sawanee river, my soul is dedicated to take it where it may.

day ten: the cough is only now producing the mucus. it is yellow to yellow-green in hue. i feel maniacal as i try to cough up as much as possible. i am currently trying to fill a coconut shell with the fluid. when, nay if i recover, i shall be delighted to study this creamy and rather lumpy yellow green soup under a microscope.

day twelve: the phlegm has been reduced to little more than the occasional clear, yellow variety with occasional spots of blood. it is no longer worthy of my collecting as it lacks the robust color and substance of my previous days mucus.

day eighteen: thank be to the God and the heavens, I feel as though i have climbed out of the stinkikng stench hole of hades itself. i am again amongst the living.

romancing the disease

please, if you will, take a few moments to examine the following lyrics to "la grippe" by the squirrel nut zippers.

Theres a flu bug getting passed around
And its spreading like fire through the town
Theres a virus holing up inside us
Everyone that I know is coming down
Theres an asian influenza
Infecting us all by the score
And its turning into pneumonia
We must go out once more
Theres a fool moon howling at the night
And its bark is much worse than its bite
So we must go out and dance around
Yes we must go tonight
So the doctors came on the evening train
With their flasks and their caskets and vials
Mass psychosis was their diagnosis (yes)
So we all cashed our checks and went wild
Theres a fool moon howling at the night
And its bark is much worse than its bite
So we must go out and dance around
Yes we must go tonight
La grippe!, salsa!

in these lyrics the disease is romantized with a kind of devil may care attitude. we're all going to die so lets at least have some fun first. F-it all, lets party. i think of doc holiday. sickly bastard. tuberculosis. but Godblessit, he drank, gambled, screwed, and killed men who got in his way. hooray & hoorah!

when i fall ill with the flu, i too put on this air of "devil may care".

it lasts for about 2 minutes however, because when your sick, "fun" as it were, does not exist. if you normally fancy watching the hibachi man cook your food in front of you, well with the flu it becomes something of a nightmare with flames, grotesque foodstuffs, alcoholics, gorging fat people, and trailer trash trying to get cultured.

if you normally like playing outdoors sports, with the flu it becomes a survival of the fittest with your ego, family honor, and country at stake. well you get the picture.

now if you will excuse me, i need to try and cough up some phlegm.

self discovery in the midst of chaos

tifton, georgia.

we were refugees who fled the florida coast seeking safety from gail or some other old lady name. whatever. as the leader of this band i felt for moses. he lead a nation to the promised land. i couldnt lead this 6 out of the state in a timely fashion. the inactivity, the laziness, the dependence increased the rage in me. strike a stick against a rock? hell, there were a few heads i'd like to strike with a stick.


the players: me, 1 loved one, 1 sith lord, 1 hyper puppy, 1 emasculated-embryonic male persona, 2 intolerable, horrible, enabled, wicked, wretches.

in tifton, i needed to get away to do work.

i'd walk to starbucks daily and work there. it never felt so good to get away and work. at night we spotted a captain eds. i hadnt seen one since floridas closed. pleasant memories. ordering fish mine advised to try the malt vinegar. it was serendipity. fish and chips and malt vinegar.