The Congress in my Head.

Visit the Congress made of the voices in my head.
Voice 1. Alexander! Your destiny awaits you. Do not toil in lesser tasks. It is your duty to *radio static*
Me: Wait what?!
Voice 2. Duty, scmooty. Keep a regular job. Pay bills. Have fun in your spare time. If you focus on being happy it’s easier to not be shitty to other people. Changing the world is for psychopaths. Do your music in your spare time. That makes people smile and laugh, and makes you a more bearable person to deal with.
Voice 3. Hey Alex. You have special talents. Being a good humble person is swell. But wasting those talents is no good. You were given a lot of advantages others were not. Your parents put a lot of effort into making you into something. Don’t waste that! You can do great things with simple practical goals. Your music habit is largely a waste of time. First try working on your public speaking then next step *radio static*
Me. Wait, what? Not again!
Voice 4. DO WHAT THOU WILT SHALL BE THE WHOLE OF THE LAW. LOVE IS THE LAW LOVE UNDER WILL. Alexander, you are a star in the company of stars. Feel the burning in the core of your being. Feel the pump of your heart when you sit still in silence. That is your True Will. Sit in silence what of you remains? Your music, your dedication to logic, your obsession with obscure religious groups? The things that are natural to you like the beating of your heart. They are the pull of your orbit in the constellation of universal Will. The first voice is the call of your Holy Guardian Angel. Part revealed and part concealed.

Me: Ahck! Crowley-Christ you are loud. Hey, you didn’t get cut off? Oh I get it. It’s still incomplete because you speak in metaphor. I have to complete it with literal action.

Voice 5. Hey that fourth voice might sound crazy. But you know? Why not? It’s not the worst kind of crazy. It’s the fun kind. That second voice sounds practical and all. But when you put so much time into establishing a stable life you are really fighting for a life that other people would want. Not one you need. You wouldn’t know security if it tied you to a bed. Don’t waste too much on that. Besides, if you keep being weird, people won’t forget you easily. That’s pretty damn swell to me.

Me: Cheerful nihilism much?



I hope you enjoyed hearing my voices!


Alexander the Zounderkite


Chuck was often afraid.

Chuck was often afraid. (an unedited spontaneous short story.)

Chuck was often afraid. That’s one thing he detested about himself.  He would think of times that made him afraid, and the memory would make him wince.  Memories of fear would bring him physical pain.  Even memories from as far back as high school could cause this.  Between now and then, he had binged his way through a bachelors and master’s degree.  Both of his degrees were in business and some sub-designation he did not remember.

“D’s make degrees,” he always said with a cavalier cynicism.  So when he barely glanced at the books and acted as if he was devastated and innocent to professors at the end of the semester he would manage the points to pass.

He had a good day today. He sold some used cars at a decent markup.  He was looking to beat his quota. But a particular memory of fear kept clenching him up like a strobe light.   He was back in high school.  He and two of his wrestling friends were stomping into the woods to drink.   Their special spot was on a wooded hill.  For some reason, unknown to them, the top of the hill had a concrete cross.   The ground around the cross was covered with broken beer bottles, like jagged sand on a filthy beach.   It may have been the drinking spot for teenagers for over thirty years, for all they knew.  But they didn’t think of these things.  Chuck was carrying a 12 pack of beer.  Him and his companions were quite load when they approached the cross, and as they got closer they saw two figures sit up from a few feet away from the cross. A boy and a girl they knew from school.

Chuck and his wrestling friends didn’t think much until they recognized the boy.  He was red haired and skinny, and not well liked at the school.  His friend Steve snarled at the boy and girl, “Well what have we here? Were you two gonna fuck?”   Without asking himself why Chuck became very angry at the sight of this kid, a loser alone with a girl.   He felt it was wrong that a loser should have a girl. The other wrestler Rick walked closer and kicked up glass at them.  The girl shrieked and the boy grunted.                     They looked at the red haired boy and said “Tell your bitch to get out of here, or WE are going to fuck her!”

The red haired boy blurted “Stacey just run! Don’t worry about me.”  Stacey began to run while sobbing. Steve and Rick began to walk in towards the red haired boy. Steve kicked more glass at him and the boy shielded himself from the flying shards with his arms. The boy wanted Stacey to have time to run off, so he argued meekly, “Fuck off!”

Chuck didn’t remember much of what happened next.  But he saw Rick stomp on the boys hand.  Chuck heard a crunch either from the hand or the broken glass or both, and he ran.   Fear overtook him. He felt sick from how he ran.    He knew he didn’t have too.  Rick’s father was the police chief.  Steve’s father owned a factory in town.  No one would touch them.  So Chuck was haunted by how cowardly he had been.

Not tonight.

Chuck was wincing and aching from the memory.  But Chuck wasn’t going to do that tonight. He had a good day today.   He was passing his quota for selling cars, so he knew he could do anything tonight.  He ordered another double-whiskey.   He drank it as if he had found the only water he had seen for miles.  He felt the warm imbalance hitting his head.  Something released and he turned in his barstool.  The alcohol made the room continue to move without him.  But he felt still inside.  He was not afraid.

At the other end of the bar he saw a group of three men in suits.   They really didn’t match the bar.  “What they hell were they doing there?”  He glanced down at his stained polo shirt, and back up at the strangers.  It felt as if the room kept moving up as his eyes focused on the men.

He walked over, stood conspicuously near the one furthest towards him.  He wait for the man to attempt to drink, and shoved his shoulder. The man moved with the motion and did not spill his drink.

The man said, with boredom in his voice “Can I help you?”

Chuck leaned in to look the man right in his eyes and said with a threatening voice “Everything is fine.”

The man then attempted to take another drink.  Chuck grabbed the glass from his hand and put it on the table.  The man put up no resistance.
He then spoke in a formal tone of voice.

“I know you think this is some kind of game.  But I do not wish to play it.”

“Oh really?” Chuck wheezed a sardonic laugh.

“Understand, if you can, “the man proceeded with his formal tone.  “I’m the kind of man, that, if provoked, might literally feed you to a demon–that may or may not exist.”
Chuck did not understand what the man said, but he was overcome with an emotion that felt somewhere between joy and rage.   He wanted the man to threaten him.
“Oh is that a fact?!”  He coughed and laughed.
“Then what are you going to do about it?”  Chuck asked this, and he was completely oblivious of the fact that this particular threat seemed unrelated to the current conversation.  He was only here to not being afraid.
“Oh well,” the man resigned.
“If you must, meet us in back in ten minutes.”

Chuck said “Well-hell-hell, how do I know you won’t run away?”

“If you knew better, you would,” the man said sadly.

Chuck sat feeling confused but satisfied. He was too drunk to have a sense of time passing so he went to the lot behind the bar a moment later.  He felt as if he were waiting a long time, and felt proud thinking  that the three men had left.  But then he saw a black car backing into the lot. The first man and the second man emerged from the side doors. The third man was still backing up the car, then he parked it a few feet from Chuck.

Chuck noticed that the second man has a baseball bat.  The third man opened the trunk expectantly.  Chuck was not going to run away.  He was hit in the back with the baseball bat.  Chuck, while barely conscious attempted to protect his face as he was unceremoniously stabbed by the disinterested first man.  He felt the trunk close above him.  His place of employment saved money on paying out commissions that month.


Alexander the Zounderkite

WordPress and stuff

My plans to blog regularly/ take over the world have been relegated to the theoretical as of late. I’m trying to be strategic. Have a plan with measurable goals. There are still stylistic issues I want to hammer out. I want to court controversy to be trollish and develop a group of fans that will help me viral market my pursuits. With one essay about the so-called “Men’s rights” activists I want to lure them into reading but give a clear thumbs up to the feminists that would find me a concurring ally. How do you get someone you disagree with to read your essay? Probably the best way is to look like an easy target. If my title and opening statements make me appear weak those who feel they can mock or correct me will show up–unaware they are utterly ill equipped. Thus my arguments will piss them off and when they aren’t on the defensive may begin to think.  Another way is a title that is such and insult they cannot resist attacking, but that won’t attract the cowards the same.

Cultural Handicaps, conservatism, and the collapse of a civilization, AND Birdman

Here are some scribbled thoughts.

I have my somewhat offensive idea of a cultural handicap.
I’m begining to think a cultural handicap is what could be declared the cause of a civilizations collapse.

So my theory of cultural handicaps:
A person or society is afflicted with a cultural handicap when the person is socialized with a set of values, but not provided with the knowledge or situation to achieve a sense of thriving towards those values.

For example: I could be raised with a strong value of knowledge and education, but the resources to pursue such are not available to me.
Or a society could teach all it’s people to honor wealth yet, make amassing wealth, or the sense of approaching amassing such wealth practically impossible.

A civilization is a group of people sharing values, and social norms much like genes.(E.G. sharing memes)

If people with a certain cultures socialization are made miserable to the point of refusal to participate then they will reject the social norms necessary for the promulgation of that society.

Thus the civilization will collapse.

Typically I describe my political philosophy as Hobesian classical conservatism. But my values are along the lines of Nolan chart liberalism.(I.E. People are not fully socialized by society and not fully the manifestation of an individual…sounds as if I’m  straw manning though perhaps I’m stupid)

Conservatism as I utilize it is the idea that enacting great social change is akin to having a six year old fix a plumbing problem.  Sure it’s broke, but that plumber will only exacerbate the situation.

Yet, over zealous conservatism may be the major cause of civilization collapse.  Because circumstances change perpetually in the world.  Technology has allowed the toppling of governments in new ways in just the past 15 years.

Hypothetical the influx of foreign socialization could be to blame as well. But the careful adaptability of a society may be important.

These thoughts seem significantly less profound, once written down.

They came to me while watching “Birdman” with Michael Keaton so perhaps the drumming and the lightly David Lynch vibe has abstracted my intellect.

But while I’m rambling I might as well talk about other distractions lately.

Theater has been distracting me.  Partly because reading about it is stress free for me, and partly because it seems like less of a long-shot than usual for achieving my goals for existing.(go me?)

Unfortunatley, I am a philosopher. Finding a way to market that exist into something that provide me the time to develop in that respect is daunting task. Perhaps marketing it in the form of theater could help?

I’ve recently read some critical essays about the theaterical style of Bertolt Brecht.  His dialectical theater intended to use items that generally took someone out of the theatrical experience to convey his message as a dialectical piece. Brecht was unashamedly a communist.  I am very much not! But his theatrical style interests me as a way to convey the philosophical.

Birdman employed interesting features to take someone out of the film. In the very beginning of the film they had the sound of a skype communication panned all the way to one side of the theater, thus prompting me to almost yell “Turn your damn cell-phone off. It played with the concept of being taken in and out of a piece of theater.

Thank you for reading my nonsense.
Now go see Birdman!

1. Do you think there is such a think as a cultural handicap?
2. Have you studied theater much?

Alexander the Zounderkite

Busy busy busy

It’s been a very busy few months of me trying to hatch plans to fund my lifestyle.
I have not finished anything of substance to post.
I actually, for the first time in my life, went completely broke in the process. So I’m going to try yet another direction!
Some other autobiographical stuff. I began a romantic relationship in May with a long time friend of mine.  It’s so far been a reassuring and rare experience of my fuzzy wuzzie feelings and just random sense of fun correlating together.  We make music and read about weird spiritually. We live somewhat vanilla lives and our friends are a band of bohemian eccentrics.
Shortly after we became a couple she asked me “We aren’t an open relationship are we?”
To which I responded “I’d greatly prefer not.” and with relief she agreed.
It makes me very happy that she thinks it’s important to cover such bases explicitly.  A lot of people make their relationships more difficult but having too many assumptions about relationship rules.

She’s also amazing because she simply doesn’t give a crap that my career is in such a state of reconceptualization.
But I might be distracting her with my guitar skills.

So in order to actually post something worth responding to.

Do you ask at the beginning of a relationship whether or not you are an open relationship?
What questions do you ask when a relationship starts, and how early do you ask them?

How Aleister Crowley’s Liber Al Vel Legis made the biblical story of Job not seem so terrible.

The Wholeness Formula

         There is a formula for happiness that appears in many literary works and traditions. The basic of the formula is to justify the disdain for strife by attempting to perceive strife, or misery, as part of a whole that contains the things we appreciate in life. I will call this, the “wholeness formula.” It seems intuitive that if a person can apply this formula to his or her attitude toward the world it would achieve happiness. The difficulty lies in how one would successfully apply this formula to his or her attitude
In Liber Al Vel Legis, the main Holy Text of Thelema, we find a method for training oneself to accept this attitude. The text instructs readers to identify simultaneously with the goddess Nuit and the god Hadit. Nuit and Hadit are lovers. Thus the reader is expected to identify with the lover and the loved. Hadit is said to represent any specific point in the universe and Nuit the totality of possibilities in the universe.
Nuit speaks in Liber Al. saying “I am divided for loves sake.” Thus the romantic exchange between the one who desires and the desired are part of a felix culpa that allows for love. It is the totality of the situation that makes the joy possible. The separation is part of the whole. To meditate on these symbols is to attempt to teach oneself to experience the wholeness formula for happiness.

The Book Of The Law - Aleister Crowley - Books Covers
Why the romantic metaphor? It hurts so good!

         By my interpretation the romantic metaphor is used to evoke a set of feelings we can identify with that we may attempt to apply to our goals for our attitude change. People engage in feats of patience and resolve in order to pursue their romantic love. Many songs depict working hard and long-hours joyfully to make a life with a beloved.

         John Mellancamp sang “Hurts so good. Come on baby make it hurt so good. Sometimes love don’t feel like it should. Babe it, hurts so good.” The pain associated with his love is paradoxically part of the good feeling. The beard-stroking-term I would use for this would be “didactic metaphor.” A didactic metaphor is a metaphor used to teach something. Often didactic metaphors are used in literature, ritual, or meditation, to evoke certain attitudes. Liberal al, encourages us to use the didactic metaphor of Nuit and Hadit in our rituals and meditations.

The Biblical Story of Job

         Job does nothing but good and praises God. But the devil dares God to test Job’s faith by doing all kinds of horrible stuff to him. Long story short, Job’s family dies, and he ends up homeless and covered in open sores. But Job stays faithful almost all the way through. Then at the very end Job cries out asking why God would let all these bad things happen to him. God then chews Job out for not appreciating him. Saying something to the effect, “I created the universe. I call the shots beeyotch.”

         In a modern context this can be taken as a deeply upsetting story of abuse. But since the more direct application of didactic metaphor I found in Liber al, I have begun to see this as an application of the wholeness formula.

Did Job grow up in Game of Thrones?

          In the time of writing the bible tribal conflicts were common place. Normal life was likely subject to rigid rules we would today consider more appropriate to the military. A tribal leader who would exact cruelty, quickly and without warning, would command the respect necessary to maintain battle-ready military order. Perhaps a reputation of this kind would be useful even for keeping potential invaders at bay. (In the first season of Game of Thrones, Eddard Stark observes rules of authority with a similar rigidity. The order is kept even when it seems unfair, because it protects the realm.)


         But the subjects of such a leader would need to learn to love and respect the tribal leader whatever cruelty he would exact. The love and respect of the leader would be essential to survival. So the metaphor of God representing the cruel and fickle forces of the universe, as something we must learn to love, is analogous to seeing the misery and pain as part of the pleasure and joy of the whole. Thus it was an application of the wholeness formula.

         We couldn’t have the safety of a fierce tribal leader without the cruelty. It was part of the whole. Thus when contemplating the cruelty exacted by the universe, a person in the time of the old testament may have sought his comfort, by learning to see it as coming from the same hand as the joys of the universe. It would have been a more accessible metaphor.

Alexander the Zounderkite

1. What do you folks think?
2. Can you come up with any traditional, or New Agey, passages with potential didactic metaphors?
3. Are you hoping I will get over this metaphors-of-the-bible stage soon?
4. Are you proud of me for hitting this month’s blog deadline?
Please criticize my writing. I don’t want my brain to turn to mush.

You should start reading my blog again.

I know. I’ve let you down. Ever since Xanga broke my heart and left my silly internet persona homeless, I haven’t found the time to troll you into debate like I used too.
I promise I’m going to try better.
Right now I’ve got another blog post written on paper that I intend to post August 1st. So monthly I will infect you with the ideological food poisoning that the under-cooked meat of my thinking grows.

Deep down, I think you miss, my intellectual probiotic supplements. Along with my excessive use of obscure metaphors, which are like that layers deep reference how a band named after modern architecture developed a style of music that became named after a gaudy medieval style of architecture.

I hope to see your comments, and complaints again. Check my last post for my most recent post-sized post. Let’s go back to the days where you encouraged me, challenged me, and when Curtis, in earnest, accused me of being secretly African American. I miss those days. I think you do too.


Alexander the Zounderkite