notes from underground

I am not a political person and don’t have national flag in my yard and want now look upon the recent “terrorist” activities in Mumbai more as kind of spectator event like sports.  At the onset of the Civil War in the US when battles occurred around the cities, people would take a carriage and a picnic lunch with them to watch from afar in amusement.

Firstly I would just like to comment on the stupidity factor of this recent event.  Not that the occurrence was unjustifiable, terrorists too have to make their way in the world, but rather the stupidity of the kamikaze nature of temporarily hijacking hotels and train stations and taking hostages.  There is simply no sustainability. Personally, I think drug cartels in Mexico and other Latin American countries have greatly superior strategists.  And despite the well planned operation in Mumbai, the intrigue could have been much grander and made much more of an impact if there was something symbolic done.

For example, when twenty or so people are murdered in Mexico, nobody hears about it until the bodies are discovered, the perpetrators get away, move up in the ranks for a job well done, are available to perform again, and cartel leaders don’t seem to have as much turnover as their gang members don’t kill themselves or in the case of Mumbai face imminent capture.   In addition, these acts are more precise and strategic, a politician knocked off here, a speed bump in the drug business there.

Another advantage that the drug cartels have is that they are quiet about their killings and projects and as result don’t attract international attention.  They also don’t go the extra mile to do aimlessly sensationalistic projects like in Mumbai, have set objectives, and as a result do not have the US military breathing down their necks, which if you head an underground organization is probably nice.

Nevertheless, the organization operating in Mumbai does provide an outlet for reckless, kamikaze types (the US military does as well, as often times becoming a soldier is a decision made coinciding with suicide cloaked by patriotism and discipline).   And if you ever wanted to be an underground star, I would recommend joining a Muslim group, as they receive more press, are more sensationalistic, have a US tank looking to ram its barrel up your as constantly and as a result there is added intrigue value.  The downside, your career is more like a fire cracker than a slow burning, jungle holiday snorting cocaine.

Surely just about everyone these days has seen tattoos of Chinese characters.  I imagine the people who have them are attempting to access mystical, exotic, foreign energies by having these done or of course even more stupid, “Oh, what pretty designs.”   I don’t really have any morals and think of myself akin to The Marquis de Sade in his writings about the complete and utter lack of morality.  Of course this doesn’t mean I go around raping, murdering, pillaging which for some reason or another I don’t think I could develop the impetus to do so and probably am too lazy; although, as a side note, I wouldn’t mind tossing a nuke down the throat of Hollywood and running for cover. Nevertheless, despite my complete lack of a moral compass, there is a few things that are serious no no’s.  What this girl did in the picture above is one of them.  One day a while back I was sitting with a Chinese man, from China, at the local gym, and as we were talking several people with Chinese character tattoos walked by.  My Chinese acquaintance asked what I thought about the Chinese character tattoos and I said they were absolutely ridiculous and he was in entire agreement and of course the whole point was that he wanted to point out how ridiculous it was and I am sure many many Chinese people feel this way.  I speak one other language besides English: Spanish, and I definitely don’t even feel comfortable doing this- it just isn’t quite right-  not that I am pro-American, or proud of my historical heritage and culture, or patriotic, which I am none of these.  From what I hear many people translate names or sayings from English to Chinese for their tattoo, which is just a serious faux paux.  How could one represent themselves with another culture like this that they obviously have no ties with a deep and meaningful connection? These people might as well write China on their forehead to go along with just about every other thing around that has the word China on it.  Even better, I would love to sponsor trips for people with these tattoos and pay for them to travel to China and watch all of the Chinese people laugh and make fun of them.  Despite the unlikeliness of my two day dreams of spite becoming a reality, I still have the consolation of being entertained by the people running around with Chinese character tattoos which is basically the equivalent of the little signs that were taped on an unsuspecting victims back in grade school with “loser” or “stupid head” written on it that gave everyone a good laugh while the victim had no idea what was going on.  I have to agree the aesthetic qualities of the Chinese written language is far superior to English characters (although I have to mention the calligraphy on the US constitution with the very beautiful and exotic cursive writing is quite spectacular), but the ideas expressed in both languages or any language really is the same.  It is strange how generally the mainstream masses of people are shallow, read celebrity magazine, and in short are rather airheads are the same people who would probably have a Chinese character tattoo that represents some deep, profound, spiritual, philosophical, mystical, exotic part of their lives.  May God strike you down if you have Chinese character tattoo and you are not supposed to.

I have been off track thus far in this blogging spree from the trajectory that I had initially intended; namely writing from Underground and inspired by Dostoevsky’s book Notes From Underground.  Today as I sat down to breakfast there was a calm in the restaurant full of people quietly munching on their breakfast, each guest quietly carrying on in subdued conversation and everything was rather peaceful.  My mind at that point strayed towards some metaphysical wall in which the process of eating, subsistence, and eventually existence became quite remarkable - as regularly occurs, in which the 3-D physical world is enchanted by thoughts of wonder and awe - which, in the end, to me is the equivalent of a sort of a pre-meal prayer or consecration.  At that time I matter of factly realized that Thanksgiving was just two days from now and something cold in me, something conditioned or obtained from the experience of life kicked in; a psychological program if you will.  I don’t celebrate any holidays, as a personal custom, and rather designate days on a personal basis like the Day of the Chipmunk. This day I sat outside of my house and a small chipmunk approached me, and quite aside from the regular behavior of being deathly scared of humans, sat just five feet in front of me for quite some time, unphased, as if greeting me, and then continued to run off and in doing so passing closer to me than before, again displaying a kind of kinship.  That day, I won’t mention any particular details, was a regular hell hole, and this event was quite uplifting and warm and provoked genuine smiles and laughter.  I can’t remember any holiday ever carrying this kind of weight in my life.  I am not close to any of my family members and would probably be closer to the characters of Fitzgerald’s, The Beautiful and Damned, in which the offspring of the rich gathered in California “awaiting the death of their parents.”  So much for Thanksgiving and family.  And even if Thanksgiving is a beacon in the year to give thanks, I look to Notes From Underground, and read these lines:  “But I repeat to you for the hundredth time, there is only one case, one only, when man may purposely, consciously wish for himself even the harmful, the stupid, even what is stupidest of all: namely, so as to have the right to wish for himself even what is stupidest of all and not be bound by an obligation to wish for himself only what is intelligent.  For this stupidest of all, this caprice of ours, gentleman, may in fact be the most profitable of anything on earth for our sort.”  And of course Thanksgiving seems like the simple rational equation of profitability established by mans rational system and the “crystal castle,” 2+2=4 (established in Notes From Underground), and of course this is not my way and I turn towards the alternative quoted above.  And as a result of this, what I would consider a spiritual experience occurring at breakfast in tune, so to speak, with the holiday, cascaded with the aid of  my psychological program in which such musings were quickly transformed into a desecration of life, of this holiday, this food, this wonder, this awe.  I am unsure how I became this way, perhaps it is simply an automatically programmed predisposition and a natural affinity to Notes From Underground.  Nevertheless, today I offer my happy desecration.