The Ambiguity of Good and Evil

Yep; I'm back. It's been awhile, but hopefully I have a brief, concentrated figment of thought for the pleasure of your superego. Hopefully, I haven't hemorrhaged too many readers from my long absence, from the small amount of people who care about the existence of this minuscule part of the internet. But I digress. Lets move on.

It's a struggle that never ends; a mental tangle of great passion and excruciating hopelessness. When one pulls off the black and white shade that makes life easy, we stumble into a world that has too many possibilities to make sense of. Good and Evil. Concepts unique to Man. Primarily based off perception, but defended to the bone by the hardcore of both sides. We draw the lines in the sand, secretly knowing that we ourselves could easily have been the person on the other side of the moral chasm. The death, destruction, and acts that boggle the kind hearted soul; reported without fail by the news media. One starts to wonder. Why?

We think we can define something as complex as good and evil. Anyone who brings harm to others is evil. Deception always has fiendish intentions. Lying rips a imaginary halo right off a person's head. But it is never that simple. It will never be that simple. Why do people do bad things? Can we honestly say that they just "are" bad people? I'm a big believer in nuture; the sum of our experiences creates the whole; ourselves. Our jails and prisons have their fair share of drug addicts and the mentally ill. Does this make them "evil"? Abuse, humiliation, and mental suffering during those critical childhood years causes unspeakable damage to occur; some of these victims become the very people they detest. Of course I cannot discount nature. Abnormalities in the neuroanatomy of one's brain and neurological diseases can adversely affect certain aspects of a person. If that person were to commit an "evil" act, what does one do? Many mental illnesses cannot be effectively treated, yet we also cannot allow crimes and criminal acts to occur. Where do we draw the line?

This is the first part of my look into this tantalizing debate. I would love to hear your opinions and thoughts on this matter. To those who regularly read this blog; I thank you, and apologize for my long absence. Adios!

The Shoe that Fits

The shoe that fits isn't always the nicest looking. We'll keep trying them on. Pair after pair. Some might be aiming for that fancy ass pair of neon hybrid material that caresses your feet like a seedy massage therapist. Some won't care what other people think, and will wear that pair of worn hiking boots. Not because they have flashing lights in them. Not because everyone you know wants a pair of them. Simply because they fit.

Obviously the point of this post is not about shoes. I hate shopping, much less replacing the pair of ratty sneakers I've been wearing since Bush started his term. Replace the shoes with another idea. Purpose. Meaning. Desire. Drive. You get the picture. They say we have a choice. Do we? Yes. But is it as simple as saying yes or no? Never.

Who am I? Another college kid who thinks he's some kind of philosopher because he can string a few simple thoughts together? Aiming to become some kind of doctor, and yet not really desiring the target? Give me a pad and a pencil, and I would be happy. Then Life kicks you in the ass and your stomach starts rumbling and you realize being happy won't make food appear on the table or pay any bills. What are the real choices? Go with what makes you happy, even if it's not very plausible, and hope you get lucky? Or go with what's realistic, even if that shoe might be too tight for you to be comfortable in?

Anyways, I think you understand the main idea here. I would like to pose this question; is a happy, short life better than a drawn out, mediocre one with all the creature comforts?

G. and the Input Blitz

Your right hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, and emerges from the denim depths with a house key. You walk out that door, turning around only to secure your sanctuary with the jagged piece of metal. Nothing unusual. Yet. Where the story goes from here depends on who the protagonist is. You might be walking to a bus for another mediocre day at generic public school #101. A car seat might we waiting for you to insert your weary behind on it for another day at work. If your about thirty something, and your waking up after a long night of drinking cheap supermarket beer at your parent's house, I just might slap you. If I could. I'm only the narrator. Anyways, it's not about the destination; the journey is where it's at. What's so special about commuting to work, or walking to school, or hiding in a bat cave waiting for the night shift? Well, nothing. Nothing to do with you; but what's around you. Input.

It's everywhere! In the newspaper. Your cough when you realized you forgot to vacuum. All the engine lights going on when your car starts. Advertisements, crying babies, guy in chicken suit, honking madman in the next lane; it's too much to process!?!?

That is, if we process it. Because we don't pay attention to any of that now do we? If we did, we would be a tier above normal crazy. That's because we don't pay much attention to our surroundings any more. And why would we? There's a far better place to hang out; our own minds. And hence the Input Blitzkrieg means nothing... or does it?

What does it mean to live in a state of perpetual dreaming? To live real life on auto pilot. When a person dreads waking up the next day. When the bus ride to school is one of irritating sleepiness. Auto-pilot is great for when the pilot of your commuter plane gets amnesia and no one has experience with a Microsoft Flight Sim. It's a horrible way to live.

Any rational person would say that survival has to be placed above all else. But is the sacrifice of the fire in your soul worth the kind of life that seems to mean little more than a dead man walking? There's so much input, so much hidden in our surroundings. To forever live in our own heads, instead of experiencing what's outside of it; that's real suffering. A mobile jail cell; one that many of us have put ourselves in, willingly or not. The only way to escape? To bring life back to the soul.

Sorry for the little delay with this post. Please, if you've got an opinion on any of my thoughts here, I would love to hear it.

Focus

I'm a walking case file. Somewhere in some tired psychologist's office, there's a file with my name and a giant label: ADHD. Yes, the file is imaginary. The feeling that my mind's cross hairs are all over the place isn't. Oh how I envy those who can carve a make believe box out of thin air and put themselves in it, with only them and the object of their efforts. Is this some kind of challenge? Even having the end in mind, would I succumb to the day by day beat down, or clamp down on the steering wheel hard enough to stop my thoughts from spiraling into the most random stuff this side of Wonderland? Look, I even caught myself red handed right on this very moment, writing a post instead of studying the words of a third edition textbook (fork over another $100 for an extra chapter eh?). Sometimes I would even feel ashamed of my inability to focus. It's like a fire that roars for a few seconds, then gets doused by a blast of ash. Surrounded by a flurry of worries and doubt, and even make believe issues, how do we just simply focus? Comment away.