(Untitled)

The rage in pudding, the guacamole of sorrow, and the solidarity in masturbation. I grew up with these afflictions and virtues, and I feel their disconnection. A disconnection I've long forgotten.

It's been a while, and, such a short time has passed, I don't feel the change anymore. I could say that the change has been the only constant, and, thus, I've grown accustomed to it such that I don't feel it anymore. Like a burning sun after the fifth hour: the burn is there, but somehow it isn't anymore, as the skin absorbs it, and you become the burn.

Or I could say that there isn't a change, and that I've peaked to whatever being my sub-conscious has decided to flourish into. This alternative appears as the most satisfying, but you and I know this isn't the case. I've seen myself after all these years, and I know the incessant change has only altered the way I look at the world, but not who I am, indicating that the change hasn't even begun. This may seem as a paradox, as I still don't know who I am, but, alas, I feel the same. If symbolic logic has taught me anything, is that you don't need to know the value of something to know that it hasn't changed, just the differential from one point to another.

This year, the differential seems null. The same pudding, the same guacamole, the same solidarity. And I ache for some change, some improvement, some sort of evidence that here lies a less egotistic being that acts more upon his written words. The struggle has been evident, however, and the fire and the sun and the moon have witnessed it. Have they? Darn, I'm not sure. Cold blood serving beside a table of witchcraft still lingers; the scratches still appear, and the weary stillness of my stare towards the sky still account for it. That's my struggle, and it's still there... is it?

Maybe I've been looking at this all wrong. Maybe the wall that I'm pushing has been altering itself. Maybe that's the change that's been happening: I'm the same, but the struggle is different, and my old tactics aren't working against this new enemy. New bullets need to be fired towards new targets. New abilities need to be learned. New ways of changing, new alternations for a new oblivion.

... Thus, I need to reboot. I need to start over. Clean slate, empty mind, a bowl and nothing more. And then, reabsorb, refill, look at things anew, and re-comprehend their meaning.

I'm too full, too big, too fat with self-contradicting truths: I need to find myself amidst these weeds of ego-filling pseudo-knowledge. Throw myself from a hill, let myself loose pieces of myself and look at me downstream. Symbolic logic has done all it can, now its time to open up the variable and find out what's in there. The fact of the matter is I've been teasing myself of what lies inside, trying to remember from pieces of memory of what's locked in there. In reality I honestly can't remember what I've been repressing all these years, only the legend-like remembrance of it being "bad".

All this bullshit that I've grown fat from has served as the wall of a prison of myself... My God, that's the same wall I've been fighting! The outer has turned inner, and I've been too scared to look at the other side of the wall. The change has occurred, but in a part I haven't been looking at. Yes, I've been definitely looking at this all wrong.

It's time then... the pudding, the guacamole, and the solidarity are going to see themselves in the mirror. Strangely, a feeling of familiarity is present, as if I've done this before. Yet, as whenever uncertainty points to a misty road ahead, I can't help feel frightened of where I'll end up, of what lies buried beneath my fattening presumptuousness and delusions of grandeur.

Logic implies that I should be frightened of finding a deep sense of evil, but such definition actually calms me. "Evil" is misunderstood, and by comprehending it, it can be salvaged. Another possibility is that "ego" winds up being my fuel, but that just would mean that the locked up enemy was the one that I've been battling all along: the misty road would end up where I am right now. No, what I'm frightened of the most is that I find nothing there: I don't know what to do with that. What would that mean? How would I go about after that?

...

I'm grinning right now, because I realized that I've been so foolish. Of course I know what to do with that: fill it up, exactly as I was preparing to do a couple of paragraphs ago. The mean becomes the end. By preparing to tear down the wall, I would be tearing down the wall. I get it now.

While staring at the keyboard, I can't feel anything, and for the first time I'm actually content with that. That's why my sub-conscious chose "Nihil" as the title for my blog and my electronic children. It was right there all along. I am nothing, and I haven't done anything about it since ever. But, should I? There's a part of me that wants to enjoy this as it is, and another that wants to begin filling it up... I'm grinning again:

Fuck it: I'll do both. It's a misty road after all, I haven't travelled it yet, why not embrace its uncertainty? Why define what can and can't be done so early?

It's time to look at things with wonder again, to relearn things I supposedly know, to fuck up where I've fucked up before, and to let myself enjoy it this time around.

I am nothing and nothing am I
~><~

I LIKE DILDOS, AND AM PROUD OF IT!

Now that I got your attention, lest talk about Privacy.

I have a Facebook page, I have a Twitter page, I have a blog with a sidebar that has all my other "Internet profile" stuff. My name is Caleb Rascon, and if you google me, you'll probably know all you need to know about me.

It has come as a knuckle in the face to many thirty-something-year-old users the fact that they can know more about their children through their Facebook statuses then knocking on their door and talking about the birds and the bees. Also, that same knuckle has given a black eye to many teenagers bragging about their crazy nights and having their mothers and teachers know about it. And the knuckle has come full circle to me, as these groups of people have become very vocal about it and I just don't get what the problem is.

I keep reading about them "being forced into" a situation in which everybody will know things about them that they didn't want disclosed, and that "privacy is a right that is being violated". However, I always come back to "Were you really forced into it? Or did you just click without reading?" and "If you didn't want somebody else to know about your dildo fascination, why did you put it in your Facebook page?"

A borderline conspiracy theory is being woven: the government is tapping into your Twitter feed to know about your behavior and... well, that's where I get stumped. Why is it considered so gruesome the fact that people can know about my behavior? It's not like I don't tell people about it, and they tell their friends, and so forth.

I read the following in the comment section of an article about privacy:

If you don't mind being Facebook friends with Obama, consider what happens when future President George Z. Bush gets to read every anti-conservative comment that is on your wall. Be afraid.

Afraid of what? Of the government knowing I don't support them? I don't. If they knew about it and forced me into a van, I won't be thinking "I shouldn't have put that anti-government piece in my blog". It would be more in the lines of "This government is crap!", and I'll be yelling it through the van windows.

If people are concerned of what other people might do or think if they knew what they do or think regarding controversial topics, they're wusses that shouldn't be posting it in the web in the first place. Yeah, you read right, wusses.

Here is a small sample of my "dirty laundry". Enjoy:

• I watch porn (sometimes gay, depends on my mood).
• I proud myself of being woman-like. I even get mood swings in a monthly basis.
• I want consistency in legalizing drugs: either all should be illegal, or all legal. It's stupid that alcohol is legal and pot isn't, while both are hazardous in the hands of a doctor during surgery.
• If I ever got the chance, I may hesitate saying no to water-boarding George W. Bush.
• When people tell me that God spoke to them or that God wants them to do something, I usually give them the number of a psychologist.
• Legalizing gay marriage is an idea as stupid as legalizing heterosexual marriage, and I think we should be focusing on other things. If two persons (of any sex) want to get married because they love each other, why get the government involved?
• I like Belanova.
• [I'm putting an extra one here just to give all my metalhead friends time to soak in that last one]
• When people say "this tastes like dick", I always answer "tastes good, doesn't it?"
• If a slutty-dressed girl is allowed to slap me in the face when I look at her cleavage, I should be able to slap her in the face if I dress slutty and she keeps staring at my junk, even more so if she laughs after.
• If blacks "are allowed" to say nigger to each other without care, they have reduced the meaning of the word irrelevant of its history. Having it as an "insider word" only provokes confusion and awkwardness when a person from another ethnicity wants to carry out a conversation with them. Tell you what, they can call me beaner, if I can call them nigger.
• Ethnic pride and patriotism are an insane state of mind when used to put down another ethnicity or country; they're based on the accomplishments of people that aren't alive anymore. "You enslaved me," or "You would be speaking German if it wasn't for us" are idiotic: you weren't even alive when that happened?!
• I find endearing the relationship between persons and their dildoes. It really does show how shared memories between two entities is what really makes a friendship grow. This goes also for toilets.

There. If a future employer googles my name and finds all these things about me, and denies me a job because of it, then I don't want to work for that employer. He's a douche that thinks gay porn is relevant in my work.

There are legitimate reasons for the right to privacy, and most are life-preserving and preventive of identity theft. I will only disclose my home address, my credit card numbers, my current geographical position, etc. to a very exclusive group of people. And Facebook, Twitter, and Google give you the option to do just that, or even to not disclose any information at all. I don't know where this "forced me into it" deal we are so worried about came from (read before you click, damn it!). Oh, and of course, there's always the option of not posting it.

But if you don't want people to know about you because of "what will they think of me?" then you're a wuss. A flat out coward that has gone through life showing different masks to different groups of people, to make everybody like you. Unfortunately for you, the Internet has come, and what you say in one site is transferred to another, with which people get to know you better. And you're scared of that, of somebody not liking something about you. Well, guess what? That's why we're here: to dislike, to bitch about things that we don't like. However, while talking about it, we get to know you, the real you. And based on that, we decide if we still don't like you.

It can be so liberating, though: no more hidden curtains, no more masks. The people that stick with you do so because of the real you, and you stick with them because of the real them. It becomes real, more so than it has ever been. Why would you opt out of that? Privacy is important, but using it as a shield for hiding a part of you that you feel ashamed of is just wasteful, and counterproductive of what the Internet can do for you. There's a whole world out there of people with your same afflictions, in which they congregate in forums to talk and chat openly about those afflictions. Where you can feel connected to people that truly see the person that you are: a weirdo, just like everybody else there. If your mom, teacher, and/or employer doesn't like what they find about you, google their names and point out how they are weirdoes too.

Being "normal" is for wusses. Embrace your weirdness, be the person that you are, and let the Internet help you be that person in an international level. Go to forums around the web, and type with all caps "I LIKE DILDOS, AND AM PROUD OF IT!" You'll see that it will make you feel much better, and get you a lot of interesting friends.

Perspective

I was talking to my office-mate about her plans regarding going abroad for some time to think things through. She admitted to being scared of the prospect of being somewhere unfamiliar. I said that it was normal to be scared, but that there was a worthwhile reward of overcoming it: to gain perspective. While saying that, it dawned on me the weird mechanism the human psyche has on acquiring perspective: it needs to compare its current state to another to know what both states mean.

From understanding our social behavior, to taking for granted what we have (material and not), all the way to the manner in which our body goes about its day-to-day routines: everything is based on comparison.

• You can't know what it is to be happy until you have been sad.
• You can't really measure how rich is somebody until you compare their earning to others'.
• You can't know the direction and the distance of someone calling at you until, respectively, the sound and light has hit both your ears and both your eyes.

Perspective is such a complex but ultimately elegant solution to our social standing. Once you gain it, not only does it grant you a better understanding of your current state, but also of others'. It is in that regard that you can reach a better conclusion of "both" our current states. And, even though you won't be able to understand every type of state there is (monetary and temporal limits), the process is filled with a humane vive that seems... right.

In addition, and most importantly, if you have the vision to pass that perspective onto others, it gives me hope that one day we, as a human race, will be able to proceed onwards with a universal perspective. A perspective that will be able to really account for every living and non-living entity out there, and provide a sound and viable argument to why and why not do or say something.

The only way to do it, though, is to compare; and to compare you must comprehend; and to comprehend, you need to reach out; and to reach out, you need to get out there. And in that process (while planning to pass on the acquired perspective), I believe, lies the true nature of our existence: to experience, to get to know, and build on the universal knowledge. Yes, I'm basically stating that the meaning of life is to live, which seems boringly benign, but, if you pass on your knowledge, that meaning becomes a purpose. That's why, I believe, we procreate and have schools (even though our animal counterparts don't share that sentiment as formally as we do). The meaning becomes a purpose and:

"That the powerful play [that is life] goes on, and you will contribute a verse."
Walt Whitman

Although your contribution may not be overwhelming, it will be something. A grain of sand in the beach that is humanity's shared consciousness:

"Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it."
Mahatma Gandhi

Pure elegancy; I'm really glad now I've gone through everything that I have. It makes sense, I'm where I want to be, I'm happy here, and the only way I could really cherish this moment is by having something else to compare it to. I get it now... thank you, Teacher. I'll pass this on to others.

Land of Dichotomies

FOREWORD: These thoughts are from a visit to Cairo, Giza, Alexandria and Saqqara. The author is well aware that defining the whole of Egypt based on only those four localities is cause for an unfair, poorly-based generalization. The reader is asked to consider the term "Egypt" to be applied only as if it were the aforementioned localities. The reader is also encouraged to point out (in the comments section) any inaccuracy that (s)he feels needs to be addressed.

At 4 am everything looks surreal. Cairo is no exception. We chose a hotel near the pyramids because it felt appropriate, but that meant that we needed to cross all Cairo and Giza to get to it from the airport; the cab took an hour, with little traffic. It was a blessing in disguise though, as that first hour set the tone for the whole trip. It started out with the sight of dirty streets and unkept temples, and finished out with a pristine hotel with a friendly staff and a perfect room.

Egypt is a land of dichotomies. Its outer shell may be rough and unwelcoming, but inside lies a gem that is eternally beautiful. Everything from the women, that are flirtatious even though they dress very conservatively, to their social culture, which is very religious but tolerant of others, all the way to the land itself, with Cairo being the very definition of an oasis with tropical fruits being grown in the middle of a dessert (by the way, the fruit juices, which are the drink of choice, are more like smoothies). I found Christian cemeteries beside Muslim ones, sandy dunes beside watery palm trees, and a palace beside a ghetto. Christmas is celebrated alongside Ramadan, and traffic in the streets is utter chaos but nobody seems to mind.

Emotions are bared on the flesh and anger is rampant; but Egyptians are a family. They pray together, joke together, and curse each other within literally seconds of a first meeting. They trust. They're a family. And if you're able to handle it, and show sensibility for their ways, they're quick to welcome you to it.

Their cities are not kept up to the standards that we as Mexicans are accustomed. Their museums and their streets are seemingly dirty. Most of Cairo and Alexandria seem like a rundown part of any Mexican city. But, considering that they are surrounded by sand, they're in fact pretty clean. Being at peace with that, you are given a treat when you actually step inside any house, which are mini temples focused on hospitality and warmth and, well, cleanliness.

Egyptians are known for their bargaining skill, instigated by suspicion of abusive prices, but when both parties settle on a deal, no receipt is given, a handshake is enough. Commerce is an art form, and even though we knew our driver directed us to shopping centers he had contact with and that he was being paid to do so, the products sold there were of high quality with good prices. In addition, in every one of them we were treated with the utmost respect and hospitality, giving us an explanation of their product beforehand. It is important to state that this was always done in our native tongue, which my mom greatly appreciated as she doesn't speak English. Maybe this was a ploy in their sale pitch, but it was very entertaining and played well in our visit.

I've read somewhere that most of the touristic part of Egypt is filled with con artists, scamming money out of tourists. We were perfect bait for this, as the trip was improvised and little research was done beforehand. So, if we were scammed, I didn't notice. At every step we wound up pretty happy with our acquisitions and their quality (my mom and me are very picky when it comes to shopping), and every price was negotiated (my mom is pretty good at that). Obviously, Mohammed and Ashref (both our drivers) and their local friends wound up happy as well. And there lies the ultimate dichotomy.

Egypt is ripe for misunderstanding. Horror stories abound of how foreigners are treated as gold pots. The fact of the matter is that, well, I am a gold pot, and the modus operandi is a back-and-forth of fixing prices. In Egypt, you are the money that you carry, and there's no disrespect intended in that; they're merchants, they want to make a deal, because that is what will make both parties happy.

Getting your head around that lets you see that in that process, you are being welcomed into the country, into the family, and that you are one of them, experiencing the real Egypt. It may sound too convenient, and that feeling may only be part of a sentiment-based process to get you to buy something, but, isn't that suspicion too paranoic? And even it it's true, why is it wrong? Considering me part of their family first, and a customer second, is a dream in other parts of the world. I know their names, I shook their hands, and I saw an honest smile while leaving their store every time. I actually felt good about shopping their products, where else does that happen? Isn't that worth the 5% off the bargain price?

Those horrors stories are from people that didn't get that, and felt scammed; of people who always look for a cheaper and cheaper fixed price to prevent feeling scammed. Unfortunately, in doing so, they become the scammer.

Me and them, that's the ultimate dichotomy; the foreigners and the locals. In Egypt, however, such a dichotomy does have a chance to coincide, if only the latter extends a hand of understanding to the former, and the former keeps doing what he has been doing for the last couple of millennia.

Away

The word "away" sounds like such as a smooth, calm word. "Ah waayy", like a wave humming, mesmerized by its own beauty. Its connotation, however, is very passive aggressive. It implies absence of something, not from existence though, just from where it belongs. Surprisingly, and, ironically, it's full of hope: that 'something' is in fact somewhere, it just isn't where it is supposed to.

In fact, you could say that, all in all, the word "away" is a largely positive sentiment. If something is "away", it belongs somewhere, and in that "somewhere" its absence is being noticed, usually by the entity that is saying the word. "Being away" is beautifully bittersweet; there's hope in there of not only someday coming "back", but of having a place to come back to.

Lately, "being away" is mostly what I've been feeling, but I don't know from where anymore. I used to say it was from my hometown, but I'm not sure that it is still my home. In fact, the whole concept of "home" seems like just a vague pleasant memory. Now, it feels more like a base station, where I report to periodically of my apparently unending endeavors. It is this that seems the most sad, of being away, but without its sweet side.

I used to crave this feeling, of being a free vessel; no map, no direction, just wonders and notes. But I am a man of discord and contradiction, as, I suppose, most humans are. Everything comes with two slates, it seems, and for some reason, I haven't been able to let myself see the bitter one in many of them. And, I suppose, this is probably the reason of my recent slight agoraphobic behavior. I want my space, my land, my indestructible castle. Yes, I want to feel the sensation of home again, but I know it comes with a bitter side to it. No more free vessel, with a map and direction, always; coincidentally, that has always been my modus operandi. I wonder if, without knowing, I've been trying to pursue a weird combination of both? To be at home, wherever I may be. I've had plenty of practice, that's for sure, but this "away" feeling is new. Maybe this is me trying to settle down; what a weird way to do it... and I wouldn't have done it differently.

If that's the case, then, like when in love, I'll just have to wait and keep my eyes open. Maybe there is a place I am coming back to, it just hasn't presented itself yet.