The boredom is always there.

I wake up, it’s there. I go to bed with it. I walk around and it follows me like a cloud tied to my back connected by some ethereal string that someone attached when I wasn’t looking. It happened one day and I don’t remember which one. I’m too bored to trace it back. It just happened and that’s all.

Life lost a certain mystery. Nothing surprises me. Nothing mystifies me. And if it does, it’s fleeting. The feeling is gone as quick as it came. Life has become white-noise. I’m static waiting for the final spark to quit out.

Some call this depression and I don’t really believe that. I’m sad to them. Not sad to me. I’m bored. Just bored. A movie stuck on pause, a terrible commercial that makes everyone change the channel.

The days go by.

There used to be things to look forward to. Meeting a soulmate, having children, dream job, whatever, but now it’s just nothing. I know it won’t please me. And I’m scared I’ll be a nuisance on someone. That should motivate me to change but I know it’s something that won’t satiate the emptiness. It’s just more distractions, more responsibility I’m not qualified to take on.

I look around at everyone and they seem to have it figured out. They got a compass or something when they were born and they know where to go.

People look to me to lead or follow and I shrug because what the fuck does that mean? What end goal are we trying to get to? What point is out there? What point is there in anything? What are we trying to do? And why are we all in such a rush to do it?

I think they know.

I think they know. I think they know the moment they stop it’s all over. This charade is done. Inertia keeps the demon of knowing at bay. They don’t want to realize their dance has been to the wrong song this whole time. They struggled in earnest for nothing.

Their lives are nothing. They amount to nothing. I believe in God but I’ll be some type of pissed off if when I die God takes me through my life and he focuses on all the stupid nothing days where nothing happened and nothing became nothing and how I handled those days poorly. Nothing days at work, nothing at home, nothing nowhere. We’re all born losers from nowhere waiting to die nowhere. Send me to hell. I dropped the ball I never caught.

H.P. Lovecraft realized the boredom and went to bed for four fucking years. Four fucking years. He woke up. Realized life was still meaningless. Went back to bed. But was too bored to stay asleep. So he wrote about a bored pantheon of celestial beings killing bored people in vain trying to unbored themselves. Or something.

Albert Camus called it the absurd. The curse of being a rational being in an irrational universe. The absurdity is the contrast.

But let’s be fucking real.

The only irrational shit going on here is the boredom we feel in a universe in perpetual and unpredictable chaos. The mere fact that boredom can exist is fucking absurd. We should be lit aflame with passion. Constantly burning and going. But we’re not. Most passion is forced. Most art is forced. Most interaction with anything is forced. This is probably forced.

We pretend we do things because…I don’t fucking know why we do things, but it’s definitely to delay and/or deny the boredom. We just stuff our lives filled to the brim with distractions until death fucks us into the grave. White noise until the T.V. Is shut off.

We wonder why people do heroin. Makes the boredom enjoyable.

There’s no point to this. I needed to fill the space. I’m 24. I’m never growing up.

The Legitimacy of Morality

The Legitimacy of Morality

Let’s begin with a quote:

“In every system of morality, which I have hitherto met with, I have always remarked, that the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary ways of reasoning, and establishes the being of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs; when all of a sudden I am surprised to find, that instead of the usual copulations of propositions, is, and is not, I meet with no proposition that is not connected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is imperceptible; but is however, of the last consequence. For as this ought, or ought not, expresses some new relation or affirmation, ’tis necessary that it should be observed and explained; and at the same time that a reason should be given, for what seems altogether inconceivable, how this new relation can be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. But as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I shall presume to recommend it to the readers; and am persuaded, that this small attention would subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see, that the distinction of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceived by reason.”

– David Hume.

(Notice how Anscombe totally stole this in:

Hume dropped this bomb in 1738.

And it is a bomb.

Literally any discussion on morals beyond this is fluff talk. Can someone send a copy to Sam Harris? I’m being facetious, but really, Harris steps into the philosophical arena asking questions that have long been answered.

Now: morality without religion. Can it happen?

Of course it can. This is a non-issue.

What is morality?

Morality is a framework that we use to interact with the world. Through morality we determine what is good, right, wrong, bad, evil. We attribute situations, places, things, and feats to morality, making it a value system.

This in itself does NOT need religion to take place. You only need a mind capable of defining and valuing things and capable of weaving a narrative framework for this to happen.

So why does morality get caught up in religion?

Simple: If morality is in our minds it becomes an exclusively and entirely subjective thing. Morality in of itself is immaterial. It’s as subjective as beauty and aesthetics (what is pretty to me may be ugly to you).

The issue– the dilemma– of morality and religion, then, is not one of “can someone be moral without religion?” no, it’s more along the lines of:

Is there an aspect of morality that is objective WHEN separated from the human mind?

I say no.

Dominic Saltarelli, atheist, in the book, “On the Existence of Gods,” argues with deist/christian Vox Day.

Saltarelli proposes a strikingly original stance on morality departed from God. He relates the moral experience akin to one of diet. Humans have an intuitive grasp on moral judgement based on how our brains digest moral situations. Think of how majority of humans (not all) ingest sugar and respond a certain way. Making them hyper, then they feel the crash, and so on. Well to Saltarelli, he relays morals in much the same light. You do something bad, your mind, your internal moral framework, responds poorly. You do good, it responds good. So far, this is the best proposition I’ve come across for explaining how morals can have objective weight apart from God and the human experience.

But it has issues.

Immediately a brief glance over history reveals how separated humanity has been on moral issues from civilizations to civilization. From the simplest issues like murder (feudal Japan had little qualm with on-the-spot execution, while feudal Europe there was somewhat of a judicial process in place) to more complex issues like loaning money (Jews could loan, Christians could not), it seems our moral diet has less to agree on than our intestinal tract.

So, with this, it becomes very plain that morality has little basis outside of the eye of the beholders. Again, its immaterial. What I say is good, you may not think so. What I see as degenerate, you may not think so.

This casts morality into a bad light and begs the question: is it even real?

Again…I’d say no.

It’s an immaterial thing. People often point out a progression in morality (It’s 2017, man!), but where is this progression? Doing this (pointing out that morality progresses upon itself) implies that morality is objective and functions like some type of building block, but morality has shown itself to be immaterial.

Implying it functions with a progression also implies thereby that there is a universal measure that is instated in the universe to warrant moralities worth. And if you’re an atheist, what exactly is that measure? Where’s it come from? Not from God then, but from what? What thing are you ad-libbing?

Think about it this way: if Iran before the 60s allowed females to vote, have freedoms of religion and other things, but after their Islamic revolution, they took these things away, is Iran morally regressing?

If America illegalizes abortion, are we progressing or regressing?

How can we say? Where’s this measure come from? What are we referring to when we say ‘this is moral!’ and ‘this is not moral!’? Beyond opinion, what do we mean? The way one conducts themselves ‘morally’ in a society is more for mere convenience to keep the society going and functioning the way that society wants to, rather than being ‘moral’ for the sake of itself.

Feudal Japan slaughtering peasants with little qualm or worry, while an executioner in Europe experiences PTSD from dropping the guillotine.

Who is right, who is wrong?

Societies weave an agreed upon moral understanding, but I ask where does this moral understanding come from? The ruler? Surely it must. Society must agree upon something to keep it stable and morality is definitely one of those things. But how do they decide ‘this is moral?’ Morality, a sense of humanity, are both immaterial things. Morals seem to crop up and shape themselves based on what the society values, and that’s all well and good, but again–I can’t stop emphasizing this–it’s clearly immaterial for it’s not homogenized across the world–it’s not real, so where’s it come from? Where does it gather its legitimacy?

Mite is right

Think of the early Catholic Jesuits who visited the natives in California, educating them on what is morally decent and morally indecent.

The natives had no idea what they were talking about! To add to the absurdity, the natives would preach the same thing back and the Jesuits had no idea what they were talking about! It was until the natives were beaten into submission that they could agree upon what is moral.

This, terribly so, seems to be the only way morality can gain its legitimacy. The strongest power player gets to say what is moral.

So, can you blame the religious for taking a monopoly on the moral dilemma?

It seems like a logical conclusion: you cannot show that morality exists inherently, nor a-priori in nature, beyond the minds of man. It has to come from something transcendent, and that thing needs to undefinable, and arguably unprovable, aka God.

Otherwise these morals that we all agree upon are up to the winds of change, and the man with the most power controls that direction of wind.

For atheists, I truly believe they are approaching the issue completely wrong, and from an irrelevant direction. The question that needs to be asked is not “can one be moral without religion?” No, it should be, “are morals even real?

I would say without a God to gift them legitimacy, no, morals are not real.

The Gate is Wide and the Way is Broad

The Gate is Wide and the Way is Broad

Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who enter through it. For the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few who find it.


There’s a certain loneliness that looms over the city dweller. Even with family, they never have their roots truly planted. The roots of legacy, tradition, honor. Nothing like that. It doesn’t ‘fit’ the city dweller. You ask them who they are and they stare at you bewildered and you’ll hear them squabbling to understand your question. You ask the same of a farmer, or any other agrarian forager and you’ll be regaled a tale of legend. Where their family took origin and how they came to be. Their legacy flows not exclusively in their blood, but in their heart and mind. It is who they are. A part of the mythos of the universe, not some conjuring of the mind, which the city dweller scoffs at like it were a fairy tale.

For their scope is turned and limited inward. Their struggles are rooted in the mundane and take their queue from boredom, not survival. They dream of purpose, as the only thing that can bring about the craving of a ‘true’ purpose is boredom. They exist to float within the steel framework of the city, whose roots of steel beams taint the soil of the earth like a poison drop into a well.

But the loneliness: feast upon their eyes. Their friends are systems, ideas. Never people. They crave camaraderie but know not where to look. They wander in packs of loners, each caught in the web of their own mind, dreaming, craving for something to kick them out and bring them into the real world. Something to make them be apart of something larger than themselves.

Too smart for God, he is silenced.

Too clever for man, he is pushed away.

Too satiated for pleasure, she is ignored.

What is he then left with but himself? He stands so tall he basks in his own shadow. Tormented by his own darkness, toiling away, craving the once beautiful gift of sunlight.

This is the city dweller. They are their own undoing.

They stand like hollow totems awaiting my hand to bring them to crumble. But I look upon you. I don’t see this hopelessness. You bask in the darkness of uncertainty, searching ever endlessly for the truth, while they are empty vessels awaiting a cause that meets their prideful, unfounded, meaningless standard.

I ask you this, before you make your fatal decision, will you take my hand and let me be your guide?

I will show you the true light, the one that guides me and my comrades.

Look upon my lantern. It shines, not by fire from some fickle match to be charred and thrown away, but by fires of truth, reason itself incarnate in the constant perpetuation of igniting and burning. Ever resuming itself. Don’t you see? Let it defog the lies that bind your mind.

I am the way, and the way is broad, yet they brave enough to follow still misstep and fall along my path, never to meet my end. I am not for the weak craving ease. Unfortunate they never find their path.

Will you meet my end?

I Want To Know


I don’t know how it happened.

I don’t know where you went after it happened.

I don’t even know if there is a ‘you’ to be after it happened.

There were too many chairs in the room and we had to stand in the back of the room. One lady with a red name-tag came into the room and looked at all of us standing in the back and told us we could go to the overflow room and no one moved. Most didn’t even look at her. She smiled unfazed and walked out. The music turned down low and the main speaker came forward to the podium and said somethings and all I could think about was how thirsty I was and how underdressed I was.

Erica sobbed and I put my arm around her and she buried her head into my chest and we stayed like that in the corner of the room.

The speaker stopped and stepped away from the podium and the music came back on and on the projector screen a series of your images flashed. Whoever made the slideshow chronicled your life with the images. You as a baby, toddler, preteen, teen, now, now…

Erica laughed at one of the pictures and she told me she took that one. She told me that you wanted a new Facebook photo and you two went into the backyard and started fooling around with the camera. Taking obnoxious modeling shots and then finally ending on an ordinary photo. Your smile was sincere like you just had a good time and someone had to take the photo of you because no one would believe how good of a time you just had. Your eyes said it all.

After the slideshow finished your dad, I think, walked up there and started talking about you. He made jokes. We all laughed. We all missed you.

After him your friends went up and all of them were funny. I think that’s how you would want it. I can’t see you not wanting it that way. Your brother went last. He said everything you’d expect a brother to say at a funeral.

And all of this left me with a yearning. I wanted to know what happened. I don’t know why.

I don’t know how it happened, so I’m filling in what happened.

The truck hit you and instead of you flying into the metal death trap, everything opens up into a blackness that you float into and careens you and takes you away. You merge with it. You become infinite. Everything lays out before you and finally there are no barriers holding you back. You run rampant, in the best way. You see time and space at their epicenter and are overwhelmed with whatever and all possibilities you could imagine, and more. You see us. You see me. You see Erica. You see everything. You see us in the corner wondering when we could get a glass of water. You see your family and friends in the front row as they sob and you wish to hold them and you see the ceremony finish and we all leave to go outside and we stand around in the parking lot. No one knowing what to say or do. Do we talk about you? What do we do?

What I did was stand on the outside of the crowd. Erica smoked and we had nothing to say. She was your ex-girlfriend, and I was a satellite of that relationship. We were close, I would say, and I hope you would too, but no one in that crowd knew it. I saw everyone hug your family and I knew I couldn’t do that because they didn’t know me and I wasn’t sad about that because I was talking to you in my head. Not everyone believes in that, but I do.

We stood there for a while. People said hi to us. We laughed. We didn’t mask the grief, we were in grief, and laughter was part of its process.

What I want to know is where were you then? Were you there? Did you see the preacher release the doves into the sky? Did you see me and Erica not knowing what to say to anyone and kick the dirt around on the pavement? Did you hear everyone complain about the weather? What did it look like from up there? What songs did you hear?

I had nothing to say to anyone. I’d never known anybody that’d died before.

It didn’t hit me when I heard the news that you died. It didn’t hit me there at the funeral, either. I lied and told people it did, but I can’t help but feel you’re still there. I can’t help but feel I can text you about anything like I always did and you’d reply in a few hours and we’d talk all night. Forgive me for feeling that way. Eventually I’ll delete your number and that’ll do me in. That’s when it’ll hit. It’ll hit me when I realize I’m not going to get your late night phone calls. It’ll hit me when I realize that all these stupid fucking scripts I wrote no longer have a director. It’ll hit me when I realize I got no one to run movie ideas by. I got no one to talk about movies with, no one that knows them like you do.

Forgive me but I still think you’re here. Whether you were in the crowd when the doves flew or whether you were in the back corner of that stuffy room standing next to us, thirsty and wondering when the whole thing was over so you could go get some fucking water.

I still think you’re here.

I want to know if you still are.

Your Perfect Verse is Just a Lie You Tell Yourself to Get By


Humanity thrives itself on drama and I don’t get where it comes from. What was the first push that forced us to weave stories out of our human life? Take from the concrete in our world and start filling in the shadows images from our mind? I don’t know.

My ex texted me.

– I saw you today. What are you doing in town?

I didn’t reply. I showed the text to Mary and she laughed.

“What are you going to say?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

I put my phone on my chest.

We laid out at the Smith park, the three of us, in the grass. It was chilly, but the Sun was out and heated us up a bit and the snow was mostly gone. The forecast said that it would snow tonight, so we might as well enjoy being outside before Earth hides the Sun away.

Mary rested her head on my thigh and Hugh sat a few feet away from us reading an E-book on his phone.

The world could end like this. At this moment. I’d be fine with it.

Don’t let me fool you, I give a shit about life. Most of the time dealing with the struggles and trials come to me I get irritated and I want to give up but I never want it all to end. And I don’t hate everything. I hate a lot, but everything is too damn much.

Just too damn much. I don’t get how people can unironically say that they hate everything.

Why the fuck you get outta bed then? What the fuck you want from life? Nothing? Go kill yourself. I’m serious! If you hate everything, why wake up? It’s because you don’t.

Your perfect verse is just a lie. “I hate everything,”; “Everything sucks,”; you’re full of shit.


It’s obvious what he means. You hate this life but you still take care of it. You hate your garden but instead of uprooting everything you tend to it. You hate your house but instead of lighting it on fire you still sleep in it. You’re a fucking liar. You care but you hate that you care because it fucking hurts to care and you’re just being a pussy and acting like you don’t care is easy and honestly sometimes an effective medicine against the pain that comes with caring.

That’s all it is.

You’re afraid of the pain that comes with being alive.

You’re weak.

And you don’t want to admit it so you act tough and irony is an easy way to act tough. Apathy is the cheat code to activate toughness. But it’s fake toughness.

When I realized this everything changed. It took a long time but after it hit me that my apathy and my irony that I more or less held as a characteristic so near and dear to me that to be separated from it might as well spelled suicide my life got better.

I’m still working on it. I’m still a loser but at least I give a fuck and I’m not afraid to. And I want to make everyone give a shit too.

So I’m ready to die.

Giving a shit.

We are Wrath


For when we were crafted God did bestow us rage for we are in the colosseum ever battling the evils that pour forth from the depths of Hell. What other weapon shall man use than his rage and hate? For love is only given to those we hold dear, and demons and treacherous foes do we not hold dear.

Hatred is our gift from the Heavens. Our gift to spread unto the wicked. Our hate is the light the scourge cower away from like a roach in torchlight. For if we gave our love to our enemies we would prefer to hug at every injustice done unto us rather than fight.

For we are in the colosseum. Cast out of Eden, as is our punishment for treachery. To fare in this forsaken place we must fight, for the judge in this realm is not God, but his forlorn follower, Satan. Like a bored King he watches our struggles as his armies made up of our once fellow man seek to destroy us. For he has corroded their hearts with illusion and like a curtain blocks the light of the sun, so too has Satan blocked their heart from the Truth of God.

And fight on we must. We fight on because in the colosseum God is our lover in the crowd. Ever cheering on, for he knows we can accomplish what we must as long as we try and kindle the fire in our hearts. For the only true failure is not death but of apathy, of giving up, and worse yet, crossing over and giving ourselves entrance into the kingdom of Satan.

So I call to you brothers and sisters: Do not shy away from hatred nor rage. For it is nothing more than pitch to fuel the flames of passion in your soul and heart. Without it we would merely seek to let ourselves fall prey to evil, when we know when Truth touches us that our destiny is not to fall prey willingly at the feet of villainy, but to rise up and slay it down.

We Walked Into the Sun

Grandpa, I had a dream I was in your log cabin. I stepped outside and the sun sat at noon’s peak in the sky, but it hung low over the earth.

The sun’s flares shot and stretched out like flares and they curved around our atmosphere like a hug. I stood directly below it and it didn’t hurt my eyes. All my friends were there standing solemn and quiet with me. You were there. You sat on your patio in your favorite chair and with your pipe in your mouth you looked up with indifference and lit your pipe up and smoked.

The sun expanded rapidly like a balloon and the people around me panicked and started running into the woods. I stayed below the sun. You stayed smoking and waved to me laughing and smiling.

It dropped quickly into the earth. Something pulled me away and up and over the crashing star and I floated in space. I saw the earth vanish. All the rock and everything had been incinerated. The remaining seven planets slowly adjusted themselves to their new rank.

I looked to my side and you were there. You smiled and still smoked from your pipe. You looked at me and laughed and I smiled too. You pointed at the sun,

“Well, I guess that’s that.”

You took the lead and walked through the nothing of outer space like you found some invisible bridge and I walked slowly behind you. The sun sat suspended in the blackness like it were our light at the end of our tunnel. We walked into the sun.

I woke up in the living room and its rays weaved through the curtains and onto my face.