Empathy / Love

What is more powerful than empathy? This is, effectually my love, I dream, not of romance, but of sympathy and suffering, I dream of rejection, for in rejection I have this sinister satisfaction in being felt sorry for, in knowing that someone is hurt for not treating me well: and so much so that it would nigh be better than to have actually been treated well. This is all due to my personal lack of interpersonal skills, intimate seclusion, event sequencing, and general knowledge of responsibility and care for another life. I am the product of sin and selfishness, of sloth and sarcasm but I'll be damned if my facade is not one to be envied by all! And it is for this reason that I long for this minor suffering in order that i may further this idealistic front and that all who leave me, want me. For it seems better to be desired than cared for, to be missed rather than loved. I wonder how confused this is, perhaps, how perverted in mind or tainted in motive, but i challenge that this cannot be solely my feeling, for as I go through this life I realize that the people I most dislike in this world are only those who don't try to do simply the same thing. Its not the sinners I despise or those who wear mask, for they are cohorts in the debauchery of my confused stead, it is in fact those people who have overcome that I have an issue with. Jealousy is my strongest enemy, Sarcasm, my weapon in the war of Relationships, and wit my knife. I am the master of my fate but as i try to Captain my soul, I fall, hard, not in empathy, not in love, but in true dejection, utter complacency of my life, and I shall, if left to myself die and live, solely, alone.

The Legacy of John Adams from Boston to Guantanamo

                In the ever-changing world of fad, fashion, philosophy, and ideology, two things have remained the same—one, the firm belief or at least desire that we all, as humans hold certain unalienable rights—to speak and be defended, the second thing; however, is the unfortunate and ever present hatred toward the defenders of particular defendants: namely those who are viewed with repulsion due to certain “immoral things” or as certain ‘less than reputable’ people. This was blown to pieces when, John Adams, a lawyer, and future president, defied his nation, for this moment, to defend, successfully so, the rights of the British soldiers at the Boston Massacre. America was outraged at this, exemplifying the true selfishness of mankind, that these Rutherfordian ideas of Lex, Rex is only idealized, by the accused and the guilty, and that supremacy takes hold when people, then and now stand up in arms about defending those who they feel personal hatred for: now, for example, in Guantanamo Bay. There is a seeming disposition and ergo a forestallment of the institution of the right to trial, and in some ways, a de-garmenting of the robe of mercy, that one is innocent until proven guilty. The path of law, its practice and institution, both civilly and militarily, has fought tooth and nail to sustain, and even to grow amidst incessant castigation: the law must remain King.

                When Adams defended the enemy British soldiers in Boston, he set a controversial standard which stated that rights are universal and unconditional. This was, effectually one of the most important precedents for the trek of law through America. It would lead to the institution of Miranda rights, and the supposed right of every person on or controlled by America to be awarded trial by a fair and unbiased judge and jury. However, just as his defense in the Boston case was met by a strong upheaval, today, there is still today a similar insurgence against the defense of serial, mass, and terrorist criminals, namely, those detainees at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. These detainees have been denied these same civil rights to liberty as every other American.

                Perhaps, this is justifiable, for presumably all of these people are personally responsible for the deaths of thousands of Americans and other peoples through terrorist efforts. However, how can one believe that such acts are corollary with the U.S. Constitution, for what harm is there in trying them. Where has the precedent of American justice of “innocent until proven guilty” gone? Does this only apply in civil case with ‘good-looking’ or iconic criminals such as O.J. Simpson? Do not these criminals, though repulsive and vile, engaging in all types of sodomy, still hold the certain unalienable rights endemic to being human?  Do not they still (if not unfortunately) bleed the same red blood?

                Barack Obama, in running for president in 2008, promised that the detainees would be transported away from Guantanamo into regular jails across the globe. While, this is more gentle than many radical Americans, it is important to note that he does not talk about trying them, just, rather, dispersing them, in effect washing our hands of the matter. He also proposed that a military judge be in charge of the trial and sentencing. The military judges are a completely different breed, as evidenced in the popular movie, “A Few Good Men” where it is seen, that though the military judge knows a lot of the treacherous things done in war, and would seemingly be more lenient on certain detainees whose actions were relatively minor in comparison and in the “gracious and merciful” boundaries of war, are actually significantly more stern in their sentencing, upholding the practices of the Geneva Convention at all costs.

                Consequently, the path of law, from Boston to Guantanamo, Adams to Obama, has been one of great tumult and overwhelming opposition, but the men that stand firm to keep its Adamsian existence should be revered and  recognized for the stand they take every day against tyrannical cartoonization, radical opposition, and often personal guilt. They get up every morning to do their job, excruciatingly at times, but the rights of people must be defended and its voice, lawyers, to defend.

            

Bene Legere Saecle Vincere

"Bene legere saecla vincere"

"To read well is to conquer the ages"

What does it mean to be well read? Mark Twain says “A person who won’t read has little advantage over one who can’t read.” For it is by reading that a man can have experiences. Most people, even in this modern self serving society will never achieve the benefits of traveling the world like a Phileas Fogg in Around the World in 80 days. Most people will never get the chance to live on West Egg, Long Island and meet fantastic people, and discover who they themselves are such as Nick in the Great Gatsby, most people will never have the experience of wearing, or rather bearing the weighty burden of an embroidered scarlet letter on our chest as Hester Prynne in the Scarlet Letter. These are all experiences, which we will probably never feel in our own personal life, but they are still so crucial to our development and the mapping out of our character and thus the decisions we make, these decisions that turn around to make us. It is only by reading that we can experience all the necessary parts of this world to gain proper perspective in all situations. When reading, the imagination that powers us to succeed is handed its wings, and as we turn the page, they open. In this visual, and obscenely lazy culture, many resort to movies to achieve this, and in a way, they are in fact accomplishing these goals of achieving perspective with an alarming rapidity; however, without imagination being allowed to work, the experience and memory becomes confined to that screen. When reading a book, it is easy to explore yourself in the situations and characters, to make up personalities, and transform the book and its situations into your own life. That A on your chest may not be for adultery, it may feel more like an N for nerdy or a W for weird, and as you take the distinctive experiences of Hester’s run down and abused state and society, you see Dimmesdale as that boyfriend or girlfriend you had who always wanted you to change or who loved you solely in secret and was aloof on the outside. Maybe Pearl, as your far weirder friend who you love, but it hurts because you feel she brings you down, maybe you are a teen mom ashamed at the fact of your child being here so soon but still struggling for you love it so much. Maybe Chillingworth is that evil ex who is now obsessed solely with screwing the rest of your life over, of twisting the knife already buried deep into your heart, maybe he represents the popular person at school who used to be your friend but now ridicules you incessantly just for pleasure. Maybe a lot of things in that book can be applied to you, and it is only by reading, and learning from their mistakes and victories just as you would your own and growing stronger and more prepared for the rest of life’s battles. By reading, we attain not only this alternate universe of learning, where we are able to achieve things far more advanced then bookless myopia. We are all the victims of a tragedy called life, but with the right tools placed in front of us, the right knowledge for what’s behind us, the right spirit for what lies ahead of us, and the right motives to what lies beyond, we may rise up, and though we all will fall victim to life, we may, just perhaps also fall victim to victory, to life and life abundantly. Books are our limits. On this earth, the limits of our victories are directly determined by the limits of our imagination, and it is through books that our imaginations are able to expound—to explode. We become, invariably what we read, the memories of the characters become directly entangled into our own and we are furthered. By reading, we are becoming these characters, conquering what they conquer, dying to what they die, and living…the life of not only ourselves but of all those people put forth in verse through all of the ages, by reading of them we become one with them, by this we become one with our decisions, sound in mind, omniscient in perspective, wholesome in purpose, and both willing and distinctly able…to conquer the ages, to live the lives we were meant, to dream the dreams we were meant to have and maybe fall victim to this life, and waking up on the blissful shores of glory, we awake with resounding voice, knowing that in all we did we should not trade one moment in this life, for it hath brought me here and resting in this eternity, both a victim to life and death, we have conquered both and eternity awaits you—conqueror.

Jordan Baker: a poem

A slurry white lie does naught but add

To the all the sensuality which she had

Her sculpted frame, undying eyes

She, a goddess, despite her lies

Her witty humor and intelligent stead

Lends her forever a-swim in my head

Her confident independence gives me to chase

She struts all about with an unstoppable pace

Her hair pulsing in a short ‘“bob’by” tease

If only if only, her body I could lease

I would follow her down to the end of the age

Her beauty, innate unfit for a gage

Even just to chase, to crawl from the floor

Despite having nothing I’ll never feel poor

My Jordan, she walks in freedom and night

To see her face as it glows in the light…

Jordan Baker: A guest Entry with our good friend Peter Saunders

An athlete’s form, a female’s grace

A slender arm, a sunlit face

So quickly I my words misplace

As I enjoy her prized embrace

Mysterious, yet stirring, she

evokes an unseen lust in me

Alas, there is no price or fee

to purchase her reality

Lovers Looking Backward

cherry blossoms blanket the weeping willows twisted branches in a rosy-pink Eden, as it weeps tears of the joy for the beauty it now sees in its reflection in the eternal rapids which sway about around it, remembering back to years before when the cherry tree and the weeping willow were separated but as autumn came and its chilled breezes blew their leaves around in circular motions. They danced together throughout the day playfully singing the chant of pleasure, at night as it sunk, alighting so softly down the river, once again honoring the creation that placed these two side by side. Until ever so slowly day by day, branches became intertwined and after centuries of nights and days played one after the other in intermittent bliss, each time more pleasure-filled than the last, as the trees now were one wrapped around each other, with that sort of magnificent rustic glow: no ax could cut it down, and now as these two lovers looked down they realized that they were no longer two trees, but rather, now, one.

Lovelocked

i want to see you,

i don't care how

i don't care when

preferably now

just to see you

your hair all entangled

still slightly wet

yet in beauty mangled

your sweatpants on,

a v-neck tee

anything really

just close to me

wearing a smile

thats faithful and true

giggling lightly

o what do i do

i stare at you breathless 

mouth off hinge

to stay here forever

i'd go through the bends

you are 6 inches away

with arms open wide

if only you knew

this love which i hide

i love you my lady

which you may not hear

if only i were strong

i wouldn't stop for fear

And as you move on

and i stay the same

you deserve to know...

i melt at your name