As much as I’d love to believe that a god or an afterlife exists, my rationality kicks me in the face. I mean, I don’t even have much rationality, but it’s always been pretty clear to me that there is absolutely no proof of the existence of a god.
I was raised in a strict, Christian home a mother who forced the idea of ignorance into my head, and well, look at me now. Here I am, writing posts about homosexuality and atheism. More about my crazy, fundamentalist upbringing later…
By the time I was eight or nine years old, I began questioning the rationality of religion, only to receive answers from the Bible.
Here, let me a pull a Bible verse to be a bit more clear.
Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)
5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
6 in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.
I used to think this was one of the most beautiful verses, but if you actually read what it has to say, it preaches ignorance. “Lean not on your own understanding;” That’s pretty clear. God made me atheist. How ‘bout that…
“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and cannot remain silent.” Victor Hugo
When it comes to music, it seems like there is an infinite number of genres, (ever heard of mathcore or independent folk polka?), but they all point to expression. Expression, according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is “a mode of significant representation or symbolism; especially a vivid indication or depiction of mood or sentiment.” Expression in the world of music is the portrayal of “mood or sentiment” through…(herp-derp) music. Before expressing musicality, one must thoroughly comprehend the music.
I believe that in order to understand music, people have to dig deep into the mind of the composer. When listening to music written by Haydn, it often isn’t structured to move musically, but you can hear the playfulness and cheerful melodies. When I listen to his first cello concerto—third movement—I love the flamboyancy of the style. I can imagine his pen bouncing like the bow as he writes. But when you listen to the agony of each note in Shostakovich’s eighth string quartet, I imagine papers flying everywhere. One can emulate the life he that he had in war-ridden Soviet Russia. The listener understands his emotional struggles…which, in turn, allows the listener to understand the music.
The concept of eugenics is beautiful. (Breakdown: eu - good or well, gen - give birth… you get the idea.)
Who wouldn’t want to live in a world where people achieve better things? Think about it.
Eugenics are already widely used in agriculture; almost all of the foods we grow and eat are the cream of the crop when it comes to taste and nutrition. All of the clothes made from organic materials such as cotton and silk were genetically modified to be of the best quality and comfort. Dog breeders make sure that bad characteristics such as genetic disorders and ratty disposition are non-existent. After the consistent use of eugenics, how can one deny its worth?
By improving the quality of humanity, we can change the path in which we are headed.
Another thought: Are people really equal? No, not at all. And I’m not speaking of silly things such as race or sexual orientation, but things such as levels of intellect, good health, and warm personality. Clearly, the intelligent, healthy, and happy individuals will outlive their counterparts.
By saying all of these things, there aren’t any intentions in my mind of dehumanizing the population. Diversity is always necessary. And genes aren’t a very stable thing anyway. I guess that in a way, eugenics are already happening through the process of natural selection. Survival of the fittest.
Like I said earlier, theoretically and conceptually, eugenics are beautiful. But practically, it is the most despicable and disgusting thought to ever cross the human mind.
I tend to be a really passive person. I usually don’t give a flying fuck about anything, but I’m really getting tired of taking your shit.
And that’s okay—we were bound to end up like this.
You don’t need me, and I don’t need you.
Here is a dictionary definition of the verb, to like: to feel attraction toward or take pleasure in.
Now here is a dictionary definition of the verb, to love: to feel attraction based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers.
The words are interchangeable, based on connotation. Love is just a superlative of like. The only arguable difference is hormonal release between the two, but it’s all the same otherwise.
Who the fuck cares about what you are doing or what you want to be doing with your genitalia?
Consider the following. You have created a community in which someone can claim to be an autistic pangender asexual demiromantic trans-Asian cat otherkin and not be immediately denounced as a troll. Whether you think these identities are valid or not, you find it plausible that someone would believe they are a Korean cat with autism and appropriate social justice terminology to defend that belief. What does that say about the state of your community? (And that’s not even starting on the people who actually supported us).
I find it so utterly absurd that a movement whose original purpose was to defend the rights of POC, trans* individuals, and other oppressed groups has been co-opted by people who believe they are dragons or that they have Homestuck characters living inside their head. It’s hilarious to me. It’s also incredibly offensive. I think what happened is that the SJ movement’s message of acceptance was somehow generalized to mean that if you don’t accept everything,you are a bigot —and the outcasts of the internet, the furries, the soulbonders, latched onto that, because they had finally found a place where no one could make fun of them. A “safe space”, if you will.
But it’s completely stupid (tw: ableism) and it trivializes the struggles of people who actually suffer from oppression (people laughing at you on the internet is not oppression).
When people talk about their problems and some hypocritical cock, like me, tells them off by saying, “Hey, there’s always someone out there having a shittier time than you,” I fucking hate it.
Your problems are relative to your individuality and your jungle gym.
Let me put this into perspective.
Not a single person is complicated.
People just enjoy drowning in their silly little puddles of piss and tears.