The Pointless Posts

My elementary (by comparison) take on Aldous Huxley’s, Doors of Perception. Not by any means a repetition of what was written by him, but it is the way I feel most content viewing it.

Do not fear opening the doors of life. Within they conceal untold riches; a
world neglected by our manic desire for a normalcy created within our
biased ranks, only taking the path most traveled, through a gaudily
decorated corridor of all materialistic possessions and carnal desires we are
told to covet, a form of imprisonment. All there to tempt those reduced to
communal idealism into false emotional security, rather than explore the
realms which call to them singularly; an opportunity to truly see and accept
themselves as nothing more or less than Simply “alive”.

Though You would be a fool to not be cautious of what you may become, as
with every door you open, the unknown rears its head. You are aware of the
fear of leading yourself to potential oblivion, however, the focus
encompassing what lay ahead, what awaits you; the will to move on, to
“break on through to the other side” with no remorse, and no regrets, just a
pure, innocent passion to enjoy life as it exists as itself, not as we were bred to envision it. And
to experience those doors without the tainted approval of the public,
opening those port holes to infinite knowledge, refusing to close them as
we walk through. For we have limitless psychological capabilities and yet
so often, we ignore or are incapable (sometimes unwilling) of hearing the call.

Love is not something you can just make. It isn’t forged of steel or extruded from decaying dinosaur remains. It is found in ourselves. The moment it happens, we know. Yet so many people force the feeling to match up with their physical desire that it all ends up lost in translation with nothing but a dead end and a satiated sexual craving.

With this new Millennium, it has brought along a new culture; one more focused on physical sexuality rather than matters of the heart. And this is not to say that I feel as if “sex” has no room in a loving relationship when in fact “making love” is a perfect example of what the act might entail. It shouldn’t just be something we throw around like a chew toy as if our heart is secondary and our body is simply a wasteland for all of our dirty deeds.

I know I must sound like a prude with all of this nonsense, and I am not here to say that “sex” is bad and abstinence is the way to go because it’s not; It’s just an form of emotional slavery instilled by too many different religions to name at the moment. But just stop and think to yourself the next time you are hovering over a beautiful queen or a chiseled Greek God that you claim to love beyond limits: “Can my love exist through all that may come?”. If the doctor says they only have months to live, or when an un-treatable disease robs them of normality or their reproductive organs were marred in some unfortunate accident (I’m just spit-ballin’ here); would you still love them the same as before? Are there emotional qualities that would keep your heart tied to them in their time of need? If you can’t truly say that you would stick behind them at their worst, then why would you think you deserve them at their best?

“True ’till death” It’s what true love should be about.


So, I have come to a realization, I should stop blogging. I won’t stop writing though, that is just a part of me. The only reason I am continuing with the GlassJaw posts is because I wasn’t lying when I claimed my devotion to them. And I am happy that I have garnered a few new advocates of GlassJaw, I hope you all continue listening to them. Once I finish up my GlassJaw posts (which still gives me about thirty days for those who enjoyed reading) I’ll be packing up. It’s been real, it’s been fun, it’s been real fun.

For a change, I wanted to expose some of you to what is potentially my favorite band of all time. Some of you have probably already been graced with their hectic hymns, and some may have already banished them to a place in their memory where “watching the paint dry” falls into place.

But I hope that I can garner some new followers of GlassJaw by letting Daryl Palumbo do what he does best. Enjoy.

This is something that I wrote for my creative writing class as an exercise in sensory detail. Now this is something that any writer can do and I promise you it will be a good relaxing exercise for those who feel their work may be lacking some detail to really tie everything together. Or you may just want to do it to kill some time and enjoy the scent of your favorite candle  while you write. In my opinion it really helps to keep your eyes closed when you write everything down because you really allow the scent of your chosen candle to transport you to an entirely new world. One you may have never visited before. Or one that you know like the back of your hand. Either way, I hope you all enjoy the passage 🙂

As I close my eyes, I sense a faint light in front of me. The source comes from a fluttering flame, attempting to find a balance in its chaotic existence; burning its wick without fear or choice of an inevitable end. I imagine the color of the glass enclosure; simulate for the hue of coconut pulp, and inside lays a molten wax of similar origin.  I am sure a factory in distant lands used some of the precious coconut meat to extract part of this fragrant bouquet gently massaging my olfactory receptors. The scent takes me back to a beach of an exotic locale as a motion picture plays behind  closed eyelids. I can feel the sand bursting between my toes with each step as I make my way out of the warm, translucent water. With each bound, I grow closer to an intoxicating aroma filled with fresh coconut –as mentioned -, pineapple and a slight citrus note here and there -a tangerine tree maybe?- at any rate it seems to be coming in and out of range with the ever-changing sea breeze. Back to reality as I open my eyes and see the white-glass candle sitting in front of me, still lit with determination. The sea-breeze turns out to be just the buffeting fan in my room. As I blow the flame away, it smolders and gives off its last remnants of the tropics as the emblazoned wick returns to its black, carbonized state. 

So today I start my second job at a Hobby shop in my hometown so I won’t be very active on my blog for the day. Don’t fret, for I will not be a walking zombie during work since working at a hobby store has been a dream of mine since I was a kid haha. Just think about it, I get paid to fly RC helicopters, play with games like Rock ’em Sock ’em Boppers and Mouse Trap and watch the “Company Dog” named Chloe, chase the micro helicopters as they ascend to the vast reaches of the low hanging ceiling. In short, Chloe is now a deadly warrior in the art of aerial warfare.

So with that boring nonsense, I’ll give you all one passage later tonight when I get off. WIll it be sad? Will it be happy? Will it even be a poem? Who knows, so stay tuned folks!

Oh and wish me luck! This is my first retail job after all 🙂

I wish ALL human beings could still enjoy the classic artists such as Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Dinah Shore, Dorothy Collins… (I could go on) …as much as I have been able to through the years. And not just the mainstream standards that have been played-out by nearly every blockbuster Rom-Com to-date (although that is in no means a slight against the artists’ talent). I am talking about the songs that don’t make the mainstream; the ones that don’t always make you feel like you are living in a fairy tale. The songs that make you think about your trespasses and those who have trespassed against you (This will not turn into a bible reading. I Promise). When the woman/man you loved is now a person you loathe. Or when life gives you lemons, and your juicer breaks mid-squeeze. These are the songs that have kept me sane in times of need; the hands that picked up my lemons and said “Try a Little Tenderness”.   

And do you know why this music has such an impact on those that take the time to listen? Because the artists who performed them are somehow capable of morphing their words into an audible specter that will possess all who allow their thoughts to run free instead of locking them in a cage like an untamed beast. With each note, comes a soothing euphoria. Yet at the same time, it brings back the memories that once found you immobilized in fear.

Take Frank Sinatra for instance. This man, whether you’d like to believe it or not, had a rough life living with himself on a daily basis. It has been said that through Frank’s career, he was clinically depressed. Always wanting to find that everlasting love, that feeling of universal acceptance, yet nothing could quite fill the void that presided within. And you hear that in all of his songs. Whether it be the up-beat “Summer Wind” or the heart-crushing “Bewitched”, his emotional state is reconstructed with each air.

Aside from that possibly poor attempt at justifying my diatribe, I guess I just think that people would be able to offer a love more tender, laughs more genuine and smiles much brighter if they let some true emotions bang on their ear drums for a few minutes. And I am not saying that Rap, Hip-Hop, Rock and the like are all bogus genres which do not deserve respect. I too love some good death metal from The Black Dahlia Murder, Rap from Biggie, Rock from The Deftones, and Country from Trace Adkins. But if you pay attention to the lyrics; the very meaning of these songs, has become so irrelevant, so vulgar, so repetitive, that it just voices pointless frustrations like scoring hoes and “talkin’ ‘bout that honky-tonk badonkadonk”. So few artists these days express true emotions in their songs, and so many gifted acts are left on the sidelines with little support. I don’t know, maybe I am just talking out of my ass. But people just don’t respect these old school legends like they should. After all If it wasn’t for them carving a path to expand the musical genres, the meat industry would have never received such a committed advocate in Lady Gaga. Not the best comparison, but In my mind I laughed my ass off after saying it. 

May the Rat Pack be with you.

-Chris Gonzalez