Monday, January 4, 2016

Day ?/365 - exhaustion

Dear Internauts,

I really wish I could be better. Post-depression. Post-post traumatic. Post-feeling too tired all the time. 

Sometimes I'm so hype I can hardly stand still. 

Other times are more like today when I'm so tired all day I can barely move. 

No more blog a day. I'd rather quality over quantity anyway, and to be honest this is my quality most days. 

I'll keep trying, pushing forward and doin what I can, but to anyone out there who can relate...well, you already know. 

Keep it real, 
O. A.

Friday, January 1, 2016

Day 1/365 - Beginning

Dear Internauts,

Resolving to blog every single day of this freshly squeezed year is a test unto itself. The every day of it will be a test but as is the resolution. Perhaps you too have resolved to do something new or different this year. Perhaps, like me, an history of poorly maintained wish gardens has knotted your resolve for resolutions into a choking, pringly mess. Perhaps the very idea of doing something daily other than self-loathing and vague pining seems comical in the least and often with the joke on us.

No matter.

The goal--I theorize--shall best be achieved not by a mind set out to write 365 entries but simply to write 1 entry a day.

Semantics.

But how often is the wording of a task the foundation for its achievement.

I believe I wrote to you at some point mentioning the virtue I perceive in valuing preparation over planning. Again, more a matter of wording than weight, but where I find disappointment in failed plans, I can more fully parse the inadequate moments within unpreparedness. Expectations, really, are the noose of flexibility.

So here I go with hopes which may stray too close to both wishes and almost plans.

Can I ever get or do or be what I want it I don't know what that is?

How about....

Writing everyday to move both plot and characters forward in stories and to process your journey each day. Don't be worried about sucky first drafts. First drafts are supposed to suck. Write for and submit to at least one short story contest/publisher a month.

Finding then getting then working at a job which doesn't counteract your growth toward mental and physical well-being.

Save money. Not sure right now how much you'll be getting in or what your needs will be all year, but be purposeful about saving some from any income.

Start saving, researching, and working toward moving out to a place of your own, preferably in a big city, preferably in New England.

Stop using snacks between meals like a security blanket. Stick to fruits, veggies, beans, nuts, and grains. Don't go a whole day without eating.

Drum, walk, run, bike, or find some other way to get your heart racing in a positive way at least four times a week. Build back the strength in your limbs and core so you can play music again.

Sing, play, practice, and/or write music every day. You feel better when you do.

Be kind to your body. Don't punish yourself with eating or not eating. Find something constructive to do--like blogging perhaps--instead of insulting, cutting, beating, or otherwise hurting yourself.

When you wake up, get out of bed and don't go back to bed until bedtime. The exceptions are in cases of illness and being kind to yourself. Still, even reading, playing games, and watching movies/shows/YouTube can be done sitting instead of lying down.

Spend more hours reading than you do watching.

Draw at least three times a week, including making cards for family and friends.

Spend more time on loving yourself and connecting with those who care about you than on those who  don't give you the time of day. Just because they don't love you anymore doesn't mean you're unlovable.

Go to therapy at least twice a month. Take your medication. Don't forget how far you've come no matter how small it may seem at times.

Go to at least one open mic a week as much as possible. Try out new material. Be bold. Be honest. Have fun. Focus nervous energy into excitement.

Look online for shows. Email venues. Build experiences playing live as much as you can.

Whenever the easiest thought is to hate on or berate yourself, consider something positive you've done that week and something you want to do. Think of and thank those who care about you. Be mindful of negativity. Show love and caring to family and friends whenever you feel too alone to function. Love yourself.

Check the news everyday. Stay informed.

Breathe. Stretch. Breathe some more.

You can do this. Believe it. Trust yourself.

Forgive yourself.

........

And that's plenty for now. I'll prob think of more and sand these down as we go along. The goal is to work toward good not to beat myself up for bad.

So I guess I'll be back here tomorrow. Thanks for reading and for being you. Remember all those times last year you thought you couldn't make it? Well guess what? You did it!

I'd love to hear or read about any of your hopes or goals for the futuristic sounding 2016.

Keep it real folks,

O. A.










Friday, December 11, 2015

Trump Card/Hate-Speech

Dear Internauts,
Over the past year, I've become heavily infatuated with the website Quora.com

I thought this here blarg might be as good a place as any to repost an answer I tappity-tapped to this question posed by username Amal Ali. (original page found here)


Q: Despite his hate speech towards Muslims, Trump's popularity stays high compared to other Republicans. Americans, what does this mean?

My Answer:
It means that fear is still a decent motivator for people.
 
The kind of fear that drives people to shrug off human rights violations and spew hate speech to their grand kids. The kind of fear that keeps ratings high for Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh. The kind of fear that turns otherwise well-mannered schoolchildren against their peers because mom and dad say that "those people" hate America. The kind of fear that roars against higher taxes but would never dare to question exorbitant defense spending. The kind of fear that justifies acceptable losses in the name of a war on some vague political buzzwords. The kind of fear that spends two terms of a presidency still questioning the elected's nationality and using racially motivated doubts to hold congress at gunpoint. The kind of fear that has turned the armed forces into the giant bully of the international schoolyard. The kind of fear that can see a white mass murderer as a troubled individual or a brave hero but makes out an entire race of people to be inherently evil. The kind of fear that drives hard-working people to believe that if only they had worked a little harder they wouldn't be facing any debt. The kind of fear that keeps a collection of economic, socio-political, racial, gendered, sexual, and otherwise ill-conceived, overly simplistic monsters in a box to show off whenever its to the best interest of the head monster to keep people scared and boxed off. The kind of fear that keeps walls between people who are so much more than the reasons for those walls. The kind of fear that says you must always hold tight to what's yours 'cause there's always someone out to take it. 
 
That kind of fear is Lv.1 skills for players who've chosen the Dictator, Cult Leader, or Political Opportunist classes. And to continue that metaphor, we Americans are a pretty cheap mount. 
 
-------------
 
So anyways, what do you think? Americans? Non-Americans? 
 
Feel free to comment on here or any of my social media about this or anything else you want. I always love hearing from other people since it makes me feel a bit less Sam Rockwell in Moon. 
 
\,,/.
 
-Odist

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

ACAB

Dear Internauts,

Several years ago, I took a Psychology 101 class where the students fit three basic categories. There were Psychology majors, Social Work majors, and Criminal Justice majors. While us Psych students had a large variety of opinions on the subject—and often less passion behind those opinions for how often they changed—the SW and CJ students varied distinctly in their views of people. The trend for Social Work was to see people as neither good nor bad but products of their circumstances. If the circumstances were changed through better role models, education, food, housing, then the moral direction of a person’s life would change alongside that. Criminal Justice, however, tended to see people as either good or bad, with a much more definite line of demarkation between the two. 

Some philosophers might argue that we need these different sets of people to hold such opinions, one more fluid and the other more rigid, in order for society to work at its best. The problem is that while the one group may argue about how to shape a better world, they often get overwhelmed by the day to day work of managing the lives of broken people and fixing immediate problems. This leaves room for the work of actually shaping the world to those with simpler goals. This keeps those in power who can only see the world in black and white. And we give them lethal weapons which they use to kill off any gray.

While I lived on Boston’s South Shore, I observed the discriminatory treatment of lower income and homeless people by the police and other city officials including as the Occupy Wall Street movement made its way onto Boston’s Dewey Square. This systematic enforcement of class inequality became especially apparent when I first moved back to Nashville in the Summer of 2012. For the first few months, I spent most nights sleeping in my car or couch surfing with local friends. In looking for places to park for the night, I awoke on at least three or four occasions to an officer tapping on my window with his hand on his firearm or with it drawn. On around five or six of those nights, the bright spotlight from a squad car woke me and I was able to come up with some excuse before the officer reached my window. Though, in retrospect, these situations were not immediately hostile, the assumption in the officer’s words and attitude was first and foremost to put distance between himself and myself through either verbal or insinuated threat, such as the show of weapon.

Later, in conversations with others who’d had such experiences, I realized how fortunate I was to be young, relatively clean looking, male, cis-gendered, and especially white. 

Before I found a job and later a more fixed place of residence, I experienced some subtleties and not-so-subtleties of poverty-based discrimination in cities like Nashville. I learned to wash my face and clothes, try to smell nice, shave, and only carry as much as I absolutely had to not as general rules of polity but rather from seeing how those without access to a car, friends’ showers, or basic hygienic products were treated by both police and the staff or restaurants and stores. I began to see city planning very differently as the bars in the middle of public benches came no longer to mean an arm-rest but a device to keep the exhausted from being able to lie down off the dirty ground. Especially post-Occupy, signs against tents and a crackdown on all forms of makeshift shelters has become more commonplace, especially anywhere public where the vocal middle and upper classes may interact with the poor and displaced. 

Further proof is the response by the citizens of Brentwood to the presence of salespeople from the Contributor, the Nashville area’s homeless-employing newspaper. On at least four occasions I can recall during my year living in Tennessee, there were calls by the wealthy electorate of Brentwood, Franklin, and Nashville to curtail the ability of the Contributor to provide jobs for the poor and displaced. Sighting the safety of drivers and pedestrians as a cover for class and racial prejudice, at least two of these calls were brought before local government as rules against street vendors. With a bubble of protection by the generality of that category, their intentions were still clear as the only major source of street vendors in regular circulation is by the Contributor. Of course all this prejudicial behavior is only a cursory inspection, highlighting a few of the many mechanisms of class discrimination. 

Every act of discrimination, whether legally promoted or inspired by personal grievances, is punctuated within the context of law enforcement. Loitering, while an innocuous enough term for those who have places to go, acts as justification for police discrimination and brutality against those who do not. The monitoring of public spaces is severe and unrelenting. Looking at police action, it is not only illegal to exist in areas which are closed to the public, but anyone can be treated as criminal for simply being in a public space for too long. Other unspoken infractions include existing in a public space while looking unkempt, while falling asleep, while having a mental illness, while going through drug or alcohol withdrawal, while having a conversation or interacting in any way with someone who looks like a “good, upstanding citizen” no matter how that person feels about the interaction, or for countless other reasons. Most often, it’s simply up to the discretion of the officer, who has the unquestioned authority to take out their bad day, inner prejudices, and/or pressure from City Hall to “clean up the streets” on anyone they deem unworthy of existing in a particular space. 

Sadly, this is not simply rhetoric, but a circumstance I’ve seen personally occur in Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Virginia, Georgia, Tennessee, Florida, and California. That’s, of course, not counting the thousands stories from advocacy groups, independent news organizations, civil defense sites, friends, fellow artists, and people I’ve met on the street, in bars, at the library, or at the park. 

While the will of rich citizens influences City Hall and City Hall pressures developers who are similarly pressed by companies aiming to make a profit off pushing out the poor from a community, it is ultimately the enforcers of the law who interpret and bend that law to the detriment of real lives and families. During my time working at a Hotel in eastern Nashville, there were over ten situations wherein it became necessary for me to call 911. Most of those cases were specifically related to the health and well-being of guests under my care, and at least four of them were because I or someone else were in immediate physical danger. No matter the case, the first to eventually show up were the police. Their relation with me was at all times uncaring, mocking, disrespectful, and often openly hostile. 

Violent drunk men running around the hotel threatening myself and several rooms worth of guests? Police never found him, so after fifteen minutes they just left without telling me anything. 

Robbed at gunpoint? Police joke about the thief and it being just one guy. They prefer to yell at and condescend to me and my assistant manager (who didn’t have to come but woke up and came over especially so she’d be there to help me when the manager and owner arrived) about why she didn’t retrieve the security footage fast enough. 

Traumatized young woman covered in blood and bruises having trouble staying conscious in the lobby? Police take an hour to show, yell at her, rip her purse away and throw everything out of it onto the floor, all while loudly joking about how she’s most likely a hooker, how she deserved it by wearing that dress, how it was just some drunk dates gone bad, how this is a shitty neighborhood so what do you expect, how I probably see more violence in my job then they do in theirs, or how I just shouldn’t have let her in the hotel in the first place. At the time of this last incident, there were around fifteen officers just milling about the lobby, joking with eachother, not helping the young woman her with her still bleeding wounds, and asking me why there wasn’t any coffee out at 4am. 

Considering all of this from a personal standpoint, I feel I have a right to be a little wary. However, in the two years since I left Tennessee, I’ve begun to follow more blogs, activists, news stories, and fact-sharing sites centered around the incidents which became and have been a part of the Black Lives Matter initiative. At this point in American History, it is abundantly clear that the systematic discriminatory actions of local police forces are not simply local phenomena, nor do I feel are they a generally representative product of our national collective prejudices. While a consistent thread of hateful bigotry based in classism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, and sexism is at the core of what drives our national permissiveness toward such militarism, there can be no doubt that the particular foundations of our criminal justice system amplify these vices beyond the control of any individual police officer. 

While each individual is responsible for their own actions, the judicial system upon which our society relies for some semblance of moral order continues to fail us by dismissing calls for indictment, ruling against any penalty for unlawful deaths, and presiding under the delusion that a trained officer is within their rights to claim self defense after beating, choking, shooting, and/or otherwise murdering unarmed civilians. This includes children, and especially people of color. Such a continually egregious affront to legality is one of the most injurious paradigms of injustice in the post civil rights era United States. 

Perhaps one thing that allows such an obscene cycle to continue is the commonly held belief that the civil rights era distinctly resolved with equality under the law for every citizen. My personal experiences and those I’ve read, heard, or seen from others paint a very stark picture of just the opposite. 

Injustice reigns in an era where civil liberties are unilaterally denied by federal agencies and ignored as a matter of policy by local law enforcement. 

Maybe I’m generalizing too much. Maybe it’s not my place to speak up. Maybe writing some rambling blog post is just another shout into the void to serve as a balm for my white guilt or make me feel like I’ve done my part for justice. In fact, I’ll say not only maybe, but probably. 

Still, every single time I get to thinking that I should STFU and go write a love song or some shit, another story hits my screen...my twitter feed...my tumblr dash...some news front page...my email inbox... Another unarmed civilian shot down by the cops. Another child brutalized and killed by the cops. Another family torn apart by the cops. Another future ruined by the cops. Another transgendered teen beat and molested by the cops. Another black man or woman around my age treated like a lethal threat just for walking down the street. Another cop who broke the law and gets a paid vacation for it. Another long list of white Christians raising money for a man who shot a hand-cuffed child in the back. Another day. Another killer cop. 

Most of those stories will never be told and the ones that are fade all too fast. While we live in a world where I can know almost anything in a few seconds if I know where to look, these stories of brutality are laid out plain and yet killer cops continue to walk free and even come out richer or promoted for the trouble. 

But what about the good cops, doing their job and protecting us from harm? Well, what about the good men, not raping women or sending them death threats online? The difference is I didn’t choose to be a man in a society that oppresses women. Even so, I have a responsibility as a member of the human race to disrupt patterns of misogyny, to call out other men on their sexist behavior, and to always be vigilant against the internal prejudices within my own thoughts and behavior. 

If a police officer—an adult who made the choice to be a part of such a plainly corrupt institution—cannot at the very least find a way to bring order to a situation as they were trained to do without first firing their weapon at an unarmed child, then that person should either be considered an outlier and fired from their job at the very least or counted as one more amongst the orgy of damning evidence. 

The American criminal justice system is a castle built on crooked deals, gang and mob ties, racist and otherwise prejudicial indoctrination, and the idea that there are only two types of people—those with the guns and those who must bow to those with the guns or get shot. Stand up even just to mourn a murdered family member, and the whole town is in wartime. Tanks roll down the street. Community-wide curfews are strictly enforced. Tear gas, tasers, rubber bullets, smoke grenades, and water hoses are just safer enough than guns that if you're lucky they won't kill you right away and only maim you or make you fatally ill.

To ignore the severe injustices going on would be an horrendous, if not uncommon misstep in judgement. 

One misstep is all it takes to fall into a hole. 

How much deeper might we fall offering excuses and ignoring the lives deemed illegal and thus dispensable by those sworn to serve and protect?

Sincerely,


Odist Abettor

___________________________

Interested in what inspired me to write all this tonight, why not check out my 
new music video right here.

Monday, November 9, 2015

Super Secret Special Project 2015 REVEALED!!!

Dear Internauts,

On and off for the past several months I've been working on something new.

This past month I dove in and dedicated myself to finishing this super secret special project for realz this time. And after several weeks of exhausting, confusing, frustrating, exhilarating, yet still quite enjoyable work I present to you the official music video for Pigs on Patrol (Cardboard Cut).




It's taken a lot of work, and I've learned a whole lot about a creative process I've never really had much practice in before. I had something like this in mind from the start, but felt like it had been so long since I released the track, I should record a new version just for the video.

If you'd like to download the first version of the song from 2014, click here.

If you'd like to download the audio for this new version, click here.

As a note on content -

I am very much against the vial treatment of real life pigs. Their lives, the environment, future generations, and your own health could benefit from remembering to eat food, not friends. For more on the wonder of the real life animal, check out http://www.onekind.org/be_inspired/animals_a_z/pig/

From the start of this project, I struggled with questions of respectability and appropriateness. Whether it be the lyrics or the imagery associated with them, I thought at times that I'd gone too far in the name of making fun of an institution meant to serve and protect people. As some of you know, I've had my fair share of interactions with the police, and as with any large group of people, I can attest that some seem altogether not half bad.

However, over the past almost two years since I sat down and wrote the original song, any doubts I have had about my position have been shaken away. Though statistical anomalies and oversimplified trends can confuse the issue, what is clear is that every time I thought maybe I shouldn't keep going, another report would pop up of a police officer killing an unarmed civilian. These killings were most often against people of color and many were of children.

A reality that I as a cis white male have rarely, if ever, had to even see in the least is that there is a vastly and horrifyingly incompetent level of policing going on. Further, the standard of serve and protect has been flipped entirely to the complete dismissal of the value of human lives.

You know I've seen some injustice where police are concerned, in how they've treated me or others around me. What is far worse than any of that, though, is the continued devaluing of POC lives by those who have sworn to protect them. Too many lives have been ripped away at the hands of someone who decided to shoot first and think never. Afterwards, these officers are often given paid leave, transferred but not fired, or at best publicly reprimanded while privately cheered.

A change in policy is necessary. A change in society is crucial. A change in what we pay attention to and what we speak up against is the key to changing our world for the better and saving lives.

After all, this is only some silly music video from a practically unknown songwriter. But for the moment, this is something. Hopefully it might keep our thinking in a direction of change.

Stay woke. Don't forget.

thanks for listening,

Odist Abettor

#blacklivesmatter

Thursday, October 22, 2015

One Freshly Frozen Fowl

Dear Internauts,
In the grand tradition of this bloggity blog, the following is a probably-too-personal-but-vulnerability-is-the-diet-off-brand-of-sincerity-ramble-through-the-brambles-of-my-tired-mind post. Let's get into it.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. 

I sincerely hope anyone who is in an abusive relationship of any kind is able to find a safe and healthy way to get the help and distance they need. That is a definitive stand. In no way am I trying to contradict that in the least. I’ve got a whole host of people who I can no longer be around or be in communication with because they were too manipulative, triggering, or a bully.

Here’s what I am saying, in light of all that:

If you’ve got an issue with a friend, family member, close acquaintance, significant other, or anyone else whose life would be severely affected by your absence from it (but again, is not themselves abusive), I urge you, please, don’t cut them out with no warning.

If you care or cared at all about this person, at very least find a way to let them know why you can no longer be in contact with them. Please, try to make it as clear and specific as possible. I would even encourage actually having a conversation or some sort of correspondence about the issues before you decide to never talk to them again. 

(again, please understand, this is in cases of seemingly healthy, positive relationships being ended suddenly by one party—not about abusive relationships were one must get away for health, safety, and/or sanity)

Ceasing communication with someone who cares about you and is a regular part of your life with no explanation, warning, or concern for the effect of your actions is heartbreaking. Losing a friend or loved one is devastating enough without the constant question of why. Should I blame myself? What did I do wrong? Let me parse through every conversation and make wild mass guessing about what could possibly have caused this. When is it okay to ask mutual friends (if you have any)? When is it not legitimately caring and wanting to be true to the relationship that once existed versus a form of low-level obsession/pre-stalking levels of investigation?

Am I crazy for just wanting to know why? 

If I hurt you, I want to know so I can apologize and understand your feelings.

If you just don’t want to be my friend anymore, I want to know what changed. 

But mostly I just want you to be honest with me like how I thought we once were with eachother. 

After enough of this same treatment, y’know what becomes the through-line: I’m the common denominator in all these situations. They say it’s best to give folks the benefit of the doubt and not take things personally. We are all self-centered and even the empathetic among is only ever as close as the next body over. 
Still, I thought we were good.
I mean, screw some random whoever’s opinion of me, but if my best friend cuts me off like the flick of a switch with no explanation or consideration, it does severely chop into any sense of self-worth I may have had. 

If nothing else, isn’t the relationship at very least worth a goodbye. 
People drift apart. It’s tough to stay in touch over a distance of lifestyles, schedules, and or physical space. But that’s not the issue. I can see someone from high school who I haven’t talked to since ‘09 and we can have a fun, positive catch up then part ways. That’s very different than the one you love more than anyone or anything else acting like you don’t exist at the word go.
Y’know? 

Your friendly neighborhood,
Odist Abettor

-p.s.- sorrynotsorry for the emo ramble. working really hard on finishing up the semi-secret project before the end of the month. i know, i know, i’ve been working on it all year. to be fair, I didn’t take it very seriously until this fall season. still, the last big-ish thing i did was the From 9 video. Speaking of, how bout checking that out for old (2014) time’s sake? 

Friday, September 25, 2015

Finding Home

I think for more than a few Americans what’s double-heartbreaking about the news coverage of those escaping Syria, especially that picture of the young child on the beach, is that for far too long we’ve had no coverage of migrants into the States from Mexico or South and Central America.

How many families have been separated?

How many kids have died?

 How many women raped?

How many people have tried to find a better life only to lose theirs?

I don’t know, but our political leaders sure like to talk about building walls, forcing families apart, and making it as difficult as possible for this country to be a welcoming place of hope, opportunity, and acceptance.

Somehow, we have before us a multitude of wealthy fame-gluttons who want to make America a place even less likely to represent those most basic human ideals.