I think I was always afraid of success...

That moment you realize some of your friends are slowly becoming a thing you despise.  In this case, greedy capitalist.  It doesn't surprise me one bit. After all, greed is good.  Especially in the black community, which can scarcely be called community frankly.  (Disclaimer:  This blog isn't on some pro black shit, or 'fuck them otha' niggas' shit, I'm just remarking on something I've observed over a stretch of time).  How many of us work 12, 14, 18 hour days making money for some super rich asshole in the hope of one day becoming a super rich asshole, or at least a moderately rich asshole?  How many of us have aspirations of becoming the next Bill Gates, or Jay Z or whoever the hell, and break our face and put on errs just so friends and family can tout us as such?...How many of us go to college or grad school, or pursue a career and life under the pressure of being 'the smart one', 'the talented one', 'the one that made it out' or 'never got in trouble?'  That isn’t to say such accomplishments should be downplayed, dismissed or otherwise unappreciated.

Truth be told I am slightly afraid success.  I was afraid of it academically, when it seemed the only thing my family had to say whenever they saw me was "When ya graduratin'", "You got a degree cuz, you can make dat money nah!" or something equally presumptuous. And I was afraid of it financially, with prosperity often breeding jealousy and with leeches coming out of the woodwork.  I wouldn’t know who I could trust, especially among family.  In their defense they were genuinely happy for me and my accomplishments, but I couldn't help feeling like little more than a circus monkey.  A well-trained animal attraction that my parents wanted to parade about and brag on, saying all these wonderful things in public,  and then telling me how stupid and lazy they thought I was behind closed doors.  

It didn't help when my mother would make declaratives or requests in the form of inane questions, in that way southern black women have: "Don't you wanna take care of mommy when you start makin' money?"  Money again.  That's what it was all about after all.  A job, a car, a house, wife, kids, and keeping the man off your back.  All that good shit...forget doing what you love, no money in that.  Forget the anxiety that walks hand in hand with the excitement of graduation (not too many of my people been to school, so I can’t blame them for not knowing what that’s like), forget the depression that starts to creep up, knowing this will be the last time you and some of the best friends you've ever had will be in the same room together...you 'bout go get that guap.   Don't even trip about them student loans, you gon' be stackin' that bread.  Just go get a piece of paper, get ready to devote your life to greed (yours or someone else's), and oh, try to ignore that the Bush administration wrecked the economy something fierce and there are very few dignified jobs left.  Plus you live in the bible belt and you were born to a family of reprobates and jesus-freaks that hold on to their ignorance like Whitney when she's down to her last crack rock.  So no mom, couldn't have taken care you.

Ok, back from that detour (this rant is turning out longer than I expected).  I've never been real keen on money for money's sake.  It's a tool, a resource meant to make life a little bit easier.  You want food, or a place to stay, quid pro quo.  Simple as that.  That's all a job ever was to me when I was a kid, my parents left home, did whatever for about 8 or 9 hours respectively, and came back home, got paid friday.  It seemed simple enough until I started college.  As an undergrad in the early 2000s I was bombarded with all this blather about resumes and networking and marketing yourself.  There was something very...impersonal about the whole process I guess.  This was the beginning of what would become YEARS of cognitive dissonance in regards to seeking employment.  Making myself presentable and sweating bullets, wondering if I said or did the wrong thing...this shit was like dating!

It took me very long time to reconcile with my parents invectives, to come to the realization that I was not lazy, I simply knew what I wanted. I didn't want a 9 to 5  that would consume my day, my life, my spirit.  Punch in, do what I'm told, get ready to punch out, get dragged back for 5 more hours, punch out, go home, sleep for 4 hours and repeat. For what? To pay for an apartment I barely spend any time in? To live off processed foods and coffee 7 days a week? Being business minded, clean cut and coloring inside the lines has its upside, but me, I was and I AM just a guy who likes to draw and all I’ve wanted was to make my living doing that. But I am starting to realize that am an island...unless you look through a lens that has dollar signs etched all over it, to them you are blind.  Virtually without worth.  You are laughable.  My roommate is one of the most awesome people in existence but listening to him talk about money and budgets every time we see each other is beginning to stick in my craw....

This thing really got away from me.  It felt good to get so much of this off my chest but I don't think I'm anywhere near making my point.  I'll touch on it later.

Paying it forward for a cup of water

Just on the other side of my apartment complex there is a group of enterprising 8 year old girls.  As I took out the trash they ran up on me and asked if I wanted to buy a cup of water.  I had just come off a mildly frustrating painting session and didn’t feel like being bothered and so I offered to buy tomorrow provided they were outside.  And to top it off, they're out there in this dreary overcast weather, nowhere near hot enough and my first thought was 'they are seriously wasting their time'. But as went back inside and shut the door it hit me like a steel chair, these girls are in the same boat as me; they’re offering a service, they have a product, and nobody is really of a mind to buy.  Yet and still they out here hustlin' like a sonovabitch.  I had to respect that. Seriously what kind of asshole would I be to deny them the experience of owning a service stand.  Soooo not wanting to be that guy, I went out and bought a cup.  Those smiles man.

Their parents were happy too.  Clapping and cheering, telling me I made their kids' day.  I don't care for capitalism in any form, but I'm not gonna sit there and discourage ANYONE from their goal.  Buying that water didn't get me a job or a payday, it didn't get me a gallery opening or a girlfriend, but fuck if I didn't walk away feeling good about myself. Feeling...human.

I guess what I'm trying to say with this rant is that a little bit of encouragement and acknowledge of one's actions and efforts can go quite a ways for both parties.  Keep on rockin' little rockers.

I'm so full of hate it's not even funny

I hope they never stop protesting in Ferguson...I hope the violence escalates.  I hope the body count rises and all this hate and murder bleeds into every surrounding state including this one.  I hope every single southern state wipes itself off the map and when I hightail it to the north west I'll look in my rear view and laugh like a maniac...Any part of the world OOZING with this much STUPID deserves to be destroyed completely.

Depressed? Maybe...A little...I don't know.

8/11/14

A comedian died tonight.  Just found out Robin Williams is dead.  63 years old.  My dad was a year older.  Both died within a week after my birthday.  There is no correlation between the two, I just wanted to point out that lately my birthday isn’t that great an event…who am I kidding, it never really was.  When I was a child I at least got a cake and a VERBAL happy birthday.  Can’t even say I got a card this year.  But I digress.

Williams’ death was reported as a suicide, as he had been grappling with depression.  Anyone that manic and funny in his performances, anyone who gives that much of themselves to their craft has to be fighting more than a few demons.  I’ve had the same suspicions about my mom.  Years and years and years spent trying to be happy, trying to make herself happy.  Hard to do when you have a boorish husband and spoiled, nerdy, self-absorbed son.  She’s been piling up losses for a while now, but that’s another story. 

I am now 32 years old, the exact same age as Bruce Lee when he died.  I thought to myself, ‘what a good age,’ still in your physical prime; handsome, strong, still able to something, anything, everything.  Robin Williams, twice my age, accomplished everything he set out for (and a lot of things he didn’t), and then some.  Bruce Lee, arguably the greatest pure fighter of his time, and one of the most revered martial artists of ALL time, at 32.  One died unexpectedly, his best years and work still ahead of him, the other a seasoned showman, possibly weary of life, weary of the world around him and didn’t see anything more he could do.  

Bet you can figure out where this one is going.  No?  I’ll spell it out for you.  Yesterday (August 10^th) was my birthday.  I wound up getting a fuck-ton of face book posts wishing me happy birthday. I thought it was convenient more than anything.  For the well-wishers I mean.  If not for the reminder on their timelines I doubt ANYONE would remember another human being’s birthday anymore (just how I feel).  I received a few unexpected and cheery phone calls.  Hearing from them did make me smile a bit.   Regardless of this, all that ran through my head was that I was 32, still not enough done, not enough to say that I am be wholly self sufficient. Not enough to say ‘this shit fucking matters in the long run’.  Life will always be a zero sum game, one that even at my relatively young age I am growing weary of participating in.  Another year…of what?  Worrying where my next meal is coming from? Worrying if my work is good enough to build a solid career?  Worrying if I’m going to have to break down and get some shitty nine-to-fiver, or worse actually LIKE IT like everybody else around me seems to do...

I was seriously contemplating taking ALL of my blood pressure medication along with my dinner yesterday, and wound up deciding against it.  Then I hear about Robin Williams…Along with that come thoughts of my dad on his deathbed, my mom in the hospital, this kid I knew in the 7^th grade that drowned and how my neighbor came to me and delivered the news in tears, Kurt Cobain Chris Benoit, and Yukio Mishima’s beautifully written short story Patriotism.  All you accomplish, all you give…All I can think is ‘I couldn’t go through with it, but someone did.’  They ran their race then decided not to run anymore, they’re decision and no one else’s, the conscious decision to no longer exist.  I spend days, DAYS on end wondering if it could ever get that bad for me.  Could I ever make that choice? It scares me.  

-Ryan Scales, 2014

Born Unplugged Pt. 6

(Click here for Part 5)

In the fall of 2001 I was a sophomore college.   America was attacked by group of religious fanatics and the face of the country had changed politically, economically, and perhaps worst of all, spiritually.  Lines were being drawn as the world’s attention turned to our country and its newly ‘elected’ president.  Spring semester would find me in an introductory philosophy class with the opportunity to study greats like Kant, Descartes, Socrates and so many others.

              

  At one point the instructor began a discussion involving the concept and nature of evil.  We talked about forms of evil, where it comes from (or potentially comes from), and how to truly define it.  With much of the class being of one Christian denomination or another, and mostly (if not all) black, a fair amount of the discussion consisted of either one-way communication (teacher to student) or one or two students professing the unfettered might of their god and his goodness; “All I know is god take care of everything”.  I didn’t know it then but statements like these were a solid indication of the inability to reason hypothetically, especially in the face of Epicurus’ legendary hypothesis.

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing?
Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing?
Then why call him God?

             

   I was quick to point out that none of us had a sufficient answer to this, nor could my fellow students articulate a reason for their belief (which isn’t to say I had it all figured out my damn self).  They just believed.  It was god.  That was it for them.  Throughout the discussion I maintained that evil in and of itself is intrinsic to whatever was viewed as good.  Each needs the other; if there’s a god and he was the standard for good and the devil was the embodiment of evil, then neither one could or would destroy the other.  They kept each other in business.  That was the gist of my argument anyway.  This earned me more than a few puzzled looks and grumbles.  It also led me to make the acquaintance of a couple of classmates, not necessarily freethinkers, but thinkers all the same.  One of whom was a devout Christian who tirelessly sought to bring me into the fold.

                For anonymity’s sake, we’ll call my friend “Jay”.  Jay was a pretty cool guy out of DC, a real low-key dude who loved golf and hip hop.  He made it abundantly clear that he was committed to his ‘great commission’ of bringing others to the ‘light of the cross.’  Strangely it was this eagerness that prevented me from slamming the door in his face flat out. That plus I don’t like being a dick.  And thus was the first of many days where we sat and studied the scripture. 

             

   Very interesting conversations ensued, enlightening debates that served us both well intellectually.  I even attended a few services just to see what all his excitement was about (that and the weekends could get pretty boring and it was good to have someone to hang with). That entire time I couldn’t help thinking I was something of a pet project. Perhaps I was to be his first actual convert.  With each session Jay and I would constantly come to a stalemate, with him professing his love for ‘the word’ and how he perceived it to work in his life, while I despite not having read the book nearly enough to point out it’s many atrocities, simply countered with sheer common sense.   The conversation that comes to mind most often is the one we had over the book of Job.  The story where god and satan make a wager to see how long an innocent man keep going after receiving one divine screwjob after another, including but not limited to his slaves, animals, and children being killed  (Job 1:13-19). 

                 At that time my knowledge of history, philosophy and science could have been measured as very little, but it turned out to be enough in defending my position.  I raised questions, offered counter arguments and didn’t hesitate to throw out a handful of zingers that were oozing with blasphemy.  “I can tell that you don’t respect this”, Jay once responded.  And why should I?  I loved the guy to death but did he really think I would give him a pass?  “This book has the answer to EVERYTHING."  What?  “We were made from the earth; he took a pile of dirt and made it something glorious” Huh?  ‘Do what I say or burn’… See where I’m going with this?

                Try as my dear friend might his efforts for conversion proved futile.  And it’s not like I didn’t approach this with an open mind or heart; I chewed on for weeks, came at it from almost every angle I could at the time, it was just wooden nickels to me.  All the same, I understand why he got such a kick out of it. If the salesman’s got the right rap, seems like a pretty sweet deal, and it’s “new and hip”, who wouldn’t snag a one way ticket out of reality.  

--Ryan Scales, August 2014

Beat the Brat?

Sometimes I see joke memes that remark that beating a child when they "act up" teaches them respect, though from what I've seen the outcome is appears to run more along the lines of fear and numerous forms of psyschological and emotional anguish.






I don't have children and I don't want any, but I don't have to be a parent to know that striking a child for any reason DOES NOT help. YES it happens and yes there are 'results'. But do these results provide a lasting lesson that shapes the child for the better, or is it just an immediate solution to the natural childlike behavior that parents sometimes find inconvenient?



I think you can discipline a kid without putting your hands on them and that they can turn out to be pretty swell. Beating your kids doesn't solve behavioral problems and it damn sure isn't funny or cute, and to grow up in a culture that views it in such a manner is, to put it mildly, particularly disturbing.

Here endeth my rant.

<Drops the mic>

Off My Chest No.1

I'll be brief....What I really loved about my last girlfriend, Leah, was that not only could she make me laugh, but she had a way of making me feel like everything was going to be ok. I always felt like that way of think was delusional, especially when my mother would say it, but not her. With her it was some kind of believable, palpable even. Regardless of my shit job at the time, and making just enough to be broke, I felt like I would be fine. That’s probably why I miss her so much. Because I don’t feel like it’s going to be fine…I feel like it’s worse than ever. Way worse. I’m scared. That’s all I was ever taught to be. I was never “prepared” for life. Just told what would happen if I didn’t do this, or say that or act this way or dress that way. Go to school, graduate, get a job…it was supposed to be that simple. If you were an EDUCATED black man the sky was the limit. The Bush administration killed that noise. I’ve spent my entire adulthood playing it safe and I have nothing to show but a mountain of debt and developing heart condition. Starting to think it’s better I jump off the cliff, at least I know the ground is coming sooner or later.