Deconstruction

Kasey unseats God By Pointing Out The Tastiness of the Chocolate Bar

Thu, 16 May 2013 15:18:00 -0400

Beware. This is written in a fifteen minutes run. Spelling errors and redundancy abound. Fix it later.

Many times have I heard the question posed, “If chocolate is so bad for you, why does it taste so good?” people ask, laughing. ”it just doesn’t make any sense!”

Well as with most questions, there are multiple explanations as to why this cruel paradox is in play, but for the purpose of this article, we’re going to approach it from only two avenues.

We’ll search for explanations through an evolutionary science lense, and through a religious lense.

EVOLUTION:

A chopped explanation of evolution looks like this:
Animals that don’t die or get eaten are the most likely to survive.
The animals most likely to survive are the ones best suited to their enviornment or which posssess some set of skills or attributes that make them harder to eat or help them in their search for a mate.
—- As a core value, animals’ only true purpose in life is to last long enough to pass its own successful genetics on to an off spring which will hopefully do the same.
There’s evolution in a nutshell.
Now, as I’m so redundantly stating, the only aim in existence is survival long enough to mate. That’s evolution’s only iron clad agreement. (It is a cruel irony to consider that a “perfect animal” might be created, a magnanimous, loving, warm creature with an IQ of 200 and whose tears cured cancer, but if it was too meek or had no interest in mating, it would vanish from the gene pool in one generation)
Survival long enough to mate…… WRITE IT DOWN.
As ridiculous as it seems to are human sentiments, there’s plently of animals out there that kill themselves in the sex act: Spiders that eat their mates, beetles that impale themselves directly after mating, yadda yadda yadda the beat goes on. It happens and it’s not a glitch. Past the point of mating, animals have no higher aim. Of course we humans like to imagine that we’ll raise kids, live into our eighties and nail down a home in the mountains near a gold course, but we’re weird. Our brains make us do peculiar things.
Anyway. Survival long enough to mate, I say again.
Now the crowd gets restless and wonders what any of this rambling has to do with the promised explanations of chocolate disproving god, but we’re coming to it.
This arrives us back at the question of sugar.
Sugar, high fructose corn syrup, junk food, there’s a war against these things in the modern world. Commercials proudly flaunt how their product doesn’t make use of these devil items. Nickelodeon runs infomercials telling kids to choose healthy snacks, and —in the name of setting a proper example— snatched the beloved cookies away from cookie monster and forced broccoli on him instead.
Now. Why do we do these things?
Because sugar is awful for the human body. To shoot from the hip, it clogs areteries, encourages heart disease, diabetes, tooth decay, obesity, irritability and a wealth of other issues. It essentially rots the foundation of human health. In modern day, we instead focus on a diet low on red meat and eschew sugars for complex carbs, all the while meticulously eyeing our cholestrol numbers in hopes of maintaining maximal health.
But now we’re left facing the question again… Why is something so perilous to us, so irrestiible to our taste buds. Why is everything bad, so good?
TO put it simply, if it’s so fucking good for us, why doesn’t brocolli and wheat bread offer the same taste orgasm as cheese cake? It’s something wrong here?
Well… Sugar does have one redeeming quality: it’s a quick and potent source of cheap energy (as any parent of a two year old will attest to you about with pixie sticks).
So regressing to my previous point (survival long enough to reproduce) we ask the question, when do humans reproduce?
…Well, taking the modern economy into account, and how in-disposable a college diploma is in today’s job market, that and we must consider people are waiting longer and long—-FUCK OFF WITH THAT!
I mean, when are we DESIGNED to reproduce?
Outliers aside, middle school. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, that’s when we’re capable of making offspring. Early man would have been making babies as soon as the proper hormones dropped into the tank without a second thought to what kind of college the baby would have gone to.
Fourteen or fifteen. And you know what’s interesting about fourteen and fifteen year olds? They don’t suffer heart failure or high blood pressure, -As can be proved by the fact that we’ve got kids in middle school successfully passing on their genes who probably still live on fruity pebbles. Reproduction DECADES before they’ve ever had a serious thought about their cholesterol.
SO what point am I drawing to here?
As I said, sugar is a WONDERFUL source of short term energy, It hits fast, and in a world where you mammoths to spear and saber-tooth tigers to deal with, fast, short term energy is a beautiful thing.
It would have been an extreme rarity for anyone in pre-history to have lived past the age of twenty-five (the agonizing rotting-out of the teeth typically killed everyone by that point) but it didn’t matter. Sugar related health problems aren’t usually a probably until our thrities and forties (ages we didn’t reach) and —by twenty-five— we’d already been making babies for a solid ten years, -plenty sufficient for the continuation of our genetic lines.

SUMMARY: Sugar tastes delicious because it’s cheap energy, something that would have been extremely useful in a cruel prehistoric world where survival long enough to make off-spring was the primary concern and we all died before twenty-five anyway… As such, animals that liked sugar would have had an advantage over ones that didn’t like it, -and we would have developed a taste for it over time. We’re still essentially the same animals in modern day, and as such we still love sugar, even though it wreaks havoc on the long term health our predeccesors didn’t enjoy.

Ok! There’s the evolutionary thought process. Now let’s tackle the same question through the religious lense.

—-Religious Argument
……… God is a shit, and he made poison taste good so we could all die of fatness before we got to see our kids graduate high college?
……… CHocolate is made of sin?
……….. He put it here to test our faith?

…..fuck…..

—-Have you ever experienced true love? Oh, every chance I get. —- —-~Cobweb-stock

Wed, 15 May 2013 01:19:00 -0400

—-Have you ever experienced true love?

Oh, every chance I get. —-

—-
~Cobweb-stock

Ice-9

Tue, 14 May 2013 21:25:00 -0400

I suck in air,
breathing deep and feeling icicles form in my lungs and throat.

I hold,
letting them chill me.
Letting them bleed into my warmth,
frost thorns forming from the inside.

I hold.
Feeling myself,
steeling myself,
sitting quietly as I taste for numbness in the tips of my fingers.
Shake as the ice coarses my veins, crusting through every red-blue blood highway under skin.

I give myself up.
Surrender.
Freezing all at once
and for this instance I’ve died.
Died.

…But then my heart thumps once.

I breathe a long warm exhale and the ice thaws out,
bleeding out as cold tears from the corners of my eyes.
I smile as the drops refreeze on the outside of my skin,
just frost on my upper slopes..

It’s only cold on the outside
and I’m alive again.

—-

photo by: ~bogdansonor

MS Word to Tumblr formats weird but fuck the spaces.

Tue, 14 May 2013 16:51:35 -0400

Want something. You have to want something. I promise you this much. We’re not humans. We’re not civilized. We’re not people. We’re monkeys, very clever monkeys that figured out how to build society with its interconnected relationships, and super-markets for food, and it’s inedible money as a stand in for the things that keep us alive.

We built it, but harbor no doubts, -we weren’t made for it. We want nothing at our core but food, security, and sex. Give us those three and we’re happy.

Depression. That’s a new thing. Happiness, happiness didn’t exist a thousand years ago in people that had our exact same genetics but none of our toys. Happiness is an invented thing. There was no happiness. Only alive or dead. Alive or dead. And as long as you were still breathing, you were doing alright.

But we did make society. That and its Disney movies and we got confused. Someone came up with the idea of happiness, that golden fuzzy feeling you supposedly get when you roll on a meadow being frolicked over by a thousand tiny puppies, but we made that up. Happiness, isn’t a thing. If ever you feel yourself unhappy, ask yourself what that means. What’s going wrong. Are you starving or being actively gnawed upon by a saber tooth tiger? No? Then you’re doing okay.

Depression isn’t a disease, -at least not in most cases. It’s a misunderstanding, -about what you come from and what you are. Depression isn’t from a lack of active good things cascading from the heavens, -it’s an evolutionary preprogrammed response to inactivity.

Imagine a caveman scratching out his living in the dirt a few thousands years ago. The ones who naturally work hard, who go out and struggle, fight, hunt, bust their asses: those that like doing that will survive. Those prone to apathy will be extinguished form the gene-pool, so consider that.

Those that take pleasure in struggle will survive.

You have thousands upon thousands of generatons backing you that say that an active pursuit, a hunt, will make you feel happy. Since the begininng of time, that’s the fore-fathers that have birthed you.

Now, take that programmed mind-set and drop it in the modern world. We don’t have to fight to keep breathing. We have welfare, social programs, -remaining in an actively none-dead state isn’t a struggle anymore. We can sit on our asses and someone will bring us food. No one is starving in America.

But that brings a new trick.

We’re still programmed to love the struggle. Our genetics force us to want to pursue, -it’s burned into us. But we’re short of wooly-mammoth in modern day. We don’t have to kill to survive. We don’t have to worry about saber-tooth tiger at the mall.

We’ve been left in an existence with facebook, and lugubriously un-dangerous job applications, and tumblr, and coffee shops.

Life is easy, and it makes us miserable.

It makes us confuse our sex instinct with total fulfillment. It makes us quietly miserable as we scroll down our newsfeeds.

Our genetics tell us to struggle, to fight something, and all we have is our thrifty safe lives in modern society. We have nothing to kill.

Solution.

FInd something to kill.

I know we don’t drop from mammoths in hunting packs anymore, but find something.

Art, literature, achievnement; you have to find something dangerous and pursue it like you’‘ starve without it.

Maybe then you won’t feel so quietly useless

Go kill something.

That’s all I got for you.

Now get out of my face.

Voda, Coffee, Brain Pills, and Bon Ivergo, Go, GO!

Mon, 13 May 2013 19:45:55 -0400

Voda, Coffee, Brain Pills, and Bon Iver
go, Go, GO!

Hey so I was just thinking that maybe if you weren’t like… doing anything this...

Fri, 10 May 2013 16:15:00 -0400

Hey so I was just thinking that maybe if you weren’t like… doing anything this weekend maybe you’d like to come get coffee with me and this elephant I just brought into the room here?

—-

Photo by *alfred-georg Deviantart

Horcrux

Thu, 09 May 2013 22:11:00 -0400

It’s in me.
A sick need, burning like a thirst in the darker corners of my soul.
The need to undress people.
Not their clothes, but their minds.
To unfold them, Layer by layer.
To watch them open like a long awaited flower blossoming to the sun.
That’s my hunger.
To open people.
To find them at their core.

I’ve been meaning to write this down for a while now.
It’s been steeping for about four months.
I’m glad I did and I didn’t.
This train of thought hit me back in early December.

For the last few years I’ve nursed an addiction to un-burying people, -my whole waking life I feel asleep and only start to come alive when I can burrow into another person, start turning over the stones in their private riverbed and see the places they flinch at letting the outside world come close to. That spark of naked connection is the only thing that’s truly sweet and I sometimes can’t help but blood-hound it out.
Someone told me that I was cruel, once. That I made a habit of inviting people in. That most people weren’t equipped to taste that kind of connection and then just smile and let it go.
You plant seeds of yourself in people. Intentionally make it hard for people to let you go.
It didn’t mean to, but she was probably right.

The closing lines if I’d written this back in December were going to say that sex was the predictable part of real connection, - a quiet inevitability that almost felt like anti-climax after everything else had been laid bare.
It was true.
And it still is.
But the thinking was premature. It was almost a casual boast, -not about tampering people, but just a quiet epiphany about how sex could suddenly become an an afterthought of an interaction instead of its fire-blooded climax.
Still though, I think she was right when she said I was cruel.
You plant seeds of yourself in people. Intentionally make it hard for people to let you go.
I’d never meant for it to be that way. Opening to people just came easy to me, and I’d never thought it might be unfair as long as everyone was honest about what the expectations were. It only really came home to me when I remembered how traumatic connection can be.
It’s an awful, wonderful thing and I had to remind myself that my own fluidity only happened after being shattered by the first person to make me feel truly seen. I got lit up by someone for the first time then she went on her merry way.
I went through a thousand-black-poem rehab before I recovered. And sometimes I forget that.
In the aftermath I wrote:
Connection. Real Connection is a dangerous thing because it’s so rare. To someone who’s never experienced it before, it’s an insant addiction.
No one has ever gone looking for someone who could stand them. Every person is a well of swallowed experiences and ideas and emotions begging to be tapped, not by someone who would tolerate them, but by another breathing person who would finally set their fears at ease and say Yes. These things you think and know and feel are important as you’ve always quietly thought they were. And when it happens for the first, you’ll never fully let go of the person who did it to you.

I’d forgotten what that felt like…
Or maybe I remebered it too well.
Either way, I struggled to reign myself in. I didn’t know how to connect with people on a shallower level. I never learned to talk football or gossip. It was all I had.
Faced with the option of sinking my teeth into someone or quietly letting them pass, I’d always go for the bite. It’s such an irresponsible thing to do and I’d been wondering why I struggled to let people just go past.

Ever since December I mulled it over and finally I had a guess.

I think it’s a symptom of the same shared disease. One that pretty much all of us carry.
How can anything fated to die fail to stop and wonder “What am I leaving here?”
Isn’t it there? At the root of everything.
It’s a bizarre compulsion, in the ticking of a clock, or the impatient drumming of the reaper’s bone fingertips.
What am I leaving here?
I think that might be what does it to me.
This is you.
This is your little life, it whispers to me.
This is your worthless school, and your failing car, and your shitty two bedroom apartment.
— Hee-Hee—
I’m not promising you anything else. This is what you have.

There’s something so scary in that. The idea that all you are is all you might ever be.
Maybe you’ll never write a story worth reading.
Maybe you’ll die with your music inside you.
All that you are is floating on this ever delicate bubble. One gust of wind and —pop— all of you is gone.

It’s the cruelest thing that nature ever did: breeding an animal capable of comprehending that it was going to die.
I think we all deal with it. We’re all frantically hoping to store ourselves up somewhere. It’s in our kids, and our work and the people we give ourselves to.
You can see it everything.

I was here. Please don’t forget me when I’m gone.

Every note that Mozart composed and kids carving their meaningless initials into desktops, there’s no difference between the two. They all say the same thing.

I was here. Please don’t forget me when I’m gone.

And maybe that’s what’s at the root of it.

You plant seeds of yourself in people. Intentionally make it hard for people to forget you.

I know.
I’m sorry.
I just get scared sometimes.

———————————-
Picture: David Essex because he’s hot and I didn’t want to put anything emo with this one.

A Tangenital Rant on Why I Hate Twilight

Thu, 09 May 2013 20:27:00 -0400

I hate Twilight for a lot of reasons but I think it does a brilliant job of highlighting one idea that I think is deeply held by a lot of people and entirely harmful.
With its whole “beautiful vampire loves stupid girl,” shtick it plants the idea that despite how flawed we are as people, someone out there is owed to us. Granted, Bella isn’t supposed to be a horrible person, but she’s entirely unremarkable and still lucks out.
Outrage happens at rejection because we are a people of unremarkable Bella Swans inwardly holding to the belief that something in us that we did not work to build in ourselves —our conveniently sweet smelling blood— not our patience, not our kindness, not the compassion we’ve cultured in ourselves, will lure someone to us of greater value that we have to offer ourselves. It is a delusion at the root of every disfunctional relationship, that people are owed to us because we are the protagonists in our own stories, rather than realizing we are secondary characters to every other person’s book.
None of us have sweet blood. No one has been written into this world for the purpose of saving anyone else. None of us will long keep anything better than what we deserve.
-Dig it

If you look deep into a woman’s eyes —I mean look...

Wed, 08 May 2013 18:16:00 -0400

If you look deep into a woman’s eyes —I mean look really deep— you will see the clown show. -and they have knives, and guns, and fucking flame throwers.

-MSgt

——

Art by Banksy

Intimacy

Wed, 08 May 2013 15:03:00 -0400

And that night, you fell into one of your feather quiet silences, turning your eyes up and sifting your gaze across a raw black and milk smeared sky like fingers being drawn through sand..
And when you came back, for a moment I was nothing but eyes, lost in the space between your lips, but I found my ears in time to hear the words the trouble is that people only know how to love the way they love the stars.

It’s easy to fall for them.
They’re perfect.
Just unclaimable white sapphires burning in an ever distant sky.
So far away that we never risk getting to know them
All that space holds them steady,
even as everything else seems to turn.
They’re easy to love
—you told me—
because they’re useless
because we expect nothing from them.
because No one’s ever asked the stars to be anything more than radiant.

They’re perfect we ask nothing from them.
And never could.

—It’s the moon that we can never forgive—
By the very fact that we rely on it
That it favors so close as to press back
the darkest shadows of the nights
and having gifted us that
we don’t forget it.
—- Can’t forgive it —-
when it’s gone.

it’s such a fragile
human thing.
passing close enough to suffer examination,
to have seen its imperfections and its pock-marked scars.
It’s disposed to moods,
phases.
Against the sky it shifts more in an hour than the stars will in ages.
It has torments
a soul all its own
and in time it bleakens and burns to its own private rages

It’s a lonely worship to love the moon.
It’s emotional.
So unfixed against the stars
And you’ll never forget the first time it’s gone away
when you needed it in the dark.
It’s a never constant thing and
it won’t be dredged from the sky or
held to any but its own cages.

It’s a soulful, longing thing
And you can only take it as it comes.

And then you said
So how would you have me?
Fallen human as the moon or kept the stars in your sky?
—————————————————————————————————————
*photo by ~photonensauger Deviant art

Age 20-21

Tue, 07 May 2013 19:27:00 -0400

Age 20-21

"A lot of people turn to food and let themselves go when they get depressed, I’m just the..."

Fri, 05 Apr 2013 03:53:53 -0400

“A lot of people turn to food and let themselves go when they get depressed, I’m just the opposite. When I’m feeling down I start spending more and more time in the gym and focusing on my appearance. I try to get bigger and look more and more perfect. So just bear that in mind, if you ever see me out and I’m looking abnormally beautiful, be nice to me, I’m going through a hard time”

Enough angry gay marriage discussion.Instead I propose a humorous list of the reasons why the world...

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 03:25:00 -0400

Enough angry gay marriage discussion.
Instead I propose a humorous list of the reasons why the world desperately needs gay marriage.
I’ll lead on:

1. The panther, the polar bear, and the African white rhino are becoming increasingly rare as their habitats are being destroyed by an ever swelling human population.
Same-sex couples make no babies.
Gay love for endangered species!

2. Human population growth in South America means that an increased need for farm land is resulting in the destruction of the amazonian rain forest, a place credited with producing nearly 20% of the Earth’s vital oxygen supply.
Gay love so we can breathe!!!

Add your own!

"…thus ego does make assholes of us all."

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 20:55:39 -0400

“…thus ego does make assholes of us all.”

Schubert. Listen to that and see if it doesn’t hurt just...

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 19:19:00 -0400

Schubert. Listen to that and see if it doesn’t hurt just a little.

Citites,
abandoned cities,
always in my dreams.

My bare feet on cold stone,
I awake between stuccoed roof tops
as an exhale blows down a
drifting cobble stone street.

Oh.
I’m here alone again.

The winds whisper two ways out.
By train or the river canal that empties into the ocean.
A blind man caught between sirens,
I tear to the river side to see the
last full sail duck behind the horizon.

Sick with my mistake,
I lunge for the station.
As always,
Someone I’ve never seen is
standing in the back window
-A glint waving goodbye- as the
blackness of the tunnel blinks
away the last train and then it’s quiet.
So quiet.

Make your night sexier. Play these two TOGETHER. (As in, at the same...

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 00:01:24 -0400

Make your night sexier.

Play these two TOGETHER. (As in, at the same time)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPodpYu_Ruo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wh0cr2PF_5s&playnext=1&list=PLC31F666996E961A3&feature=results_main

You’re welcome.

This is Kasey Gay reporting live from Front Campus. Bringing you the actiony-est action news and...

Sat, 09 Mar 2013 21:32:00 -0500

This is Kasey Gay reporting live from Front Campus. Bringing you the actiony-est action news and his personal observations on the student body as it staggers downtown on a Friday night.
Stay Tuned:
(No seriously. I’m only gonna edit this post, so check back if you want in.)

1. (Thought) Girls, why is it that you go shivering your asses downtown in skirts and sheer tops without a coat on cold nights? Like seriously… Why do you do that? It’s despresing and it makes me laugh at you. I promise, proper coats soak up heat, not your alcohol intake, and guys won’t refuse to fuck you because you display some level of self preservation instinct.

2. (Observation) Frat boys remind of elementary school-ers on field trip. They’re those packs of church kids all in identical highlighter shirts so they don’t get lost at six flags… Just all grown up!
Scene:
Drunk frat boy stumbls around the Elvis. ”Hey… HEY! Have you seen my group? They all look like me and I’m lost.”

3. Actual dialogue snippet snatched from two frat boys passing under Atkinson:
“Dude… You’re like… my brother… and I’m trying SO hard to understand you right now, but what you’re telling me is so like… deep that I can’t even keep up.”
(Caption contest anyone?)

10:02
4. I don’t know why, but packs of guys just roaming in drunk mobs towards downtown weirds me out. . Seriously. Why so many? What is it that you hope to accomplish when you arrive there with so many males. Are you fielding a rugby team? No? Then why so many? It has to get cumbersome having that many people together and you just look like a rape gang waiting to happen.

"Whoever came up with the idea for the single-day gas boycott (you know, the one that says..."

Fri, 08 Mar 2013 22:51:15 -0500

“Whoever came up with the idea for the single-day gas boycott (you know, the one that says “Nobody buy gas on [INSERT DAY] and we’ll stick it to the gas companies” ), we should find that guy and award him a Nobel Prize. No joke, it’s genius.
Think about it:
He invented a cost-free self-identifying take-home-test for morons. Everybody sees the test and those that repost it? Well you know where they stand on the intellectual side of things… It’s like a sex offender registry for your facebook: shows you right where all your idiot friends are.”

To The Duchess, Born in Exile

Fri, 08 Mar 2013 22:49:19 -0500

Hold
(Ignore Me. I’m a place holder for an incoming poem. Nothing like a stain on the pages to force the writer back to this spot)

Oh wow. I just about got into a fight with spell check because...

Wed, 06 Mar 2013 02:06:00 -0500

Oh wow. I just about got into a fight with spell check because it kept telling me disapparate wasn’t a word. Then I realized it wasn’t.
Well played Ms. Rowling. Well played.