Take a Bite of the Apple, and Pass It Along

Since I began studying the great philosophers, in particular Neitzsche, I've found myself considering at even greater length the paradoxical nature of the Christian religion. This thought process has only been exacerbated by a number of personal experiences. Somewhere along the line, I came to a realization of my own accord in terms of the specifics that really illustrates many of Neitzsche's points, and that is the most fundamental and most often repeated story in the Bible: the story of Adam, Eve, and the apple.
We all know how it goes. Eve was tempted, ate the apple, and tricked Adam into eating it, thus condemning him to the same life of damnation she earned herself (in true female fashion, am I right, guys?). What eats away at me about the whole story is that nobody ever questions why the apple was forbidden. Well, God said not to eat from that one tree, so what more do you need to know? What was that one tree again? Oh yeah, it was the tree of knowledge. Allow me to say that again. It was the tree of FUCKING KNOWLEDGE!!!
All the land in paradise was theirs for the taking, and yet their only rule was that they could not possess knowledge. This, to me, perfectly illustrates the point that education is the truly enemy of religion., and that faith and all it's supposed benefits can come only through ignorance.
You know, I could really go for an apple right about now.

Robert Frost Sucks

Yes, I said it. Robert Frost sucks. I don't care if he's a beloved literary figure. I have always disliked his work. To me, Robert Frost is the Nickelback of classic American literature. What I mean by that is that he's purely formulaic. Nearly all of his poems are at their roots, exactly the same. Talk about nature and the simple life. Trees, birds, water, painting fences and such. Picturesque rural white America in all its picturesque wonder. And yet, if you look into it, the nature means something more. Something deep. Right? I suppose it could be taken that way. Kind of like in Animals when Chad Kroeger says "gear", but he really means "penis." Clever, I suppose, and perhaps that's a bit of a prurient example, but the idea is the same. We got the idea the first couple of times. Do something different! And yet it's this sort of singular methodology of writing that people seem so quick to embrace. Nobody wants change, or differentiation. It's that sort of comfort in the familiar that I feel inhibits true creativity, both in the writer and the audience, and I can't help but think that Robert Frost is one such example of this. Literary laziness, if you will.

On another note, I'm not afraid to admit that the constant positivity kills me. Perhaps it's just because I'm a bitter cynic who cut his poetic teeth at an early age on Poe, but it all seems so contrived. Yes, even I can see the beauty in nature at times. I enjoy woodland scenery, long walks on the beach at sunset and all, but there is so much more to life than that. It's not all dewdrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. The world that Frost attempts to paint seems almost too idealized to even be believable. And in doing so, I feel that he causes the reader to get lost in a world of fantasy painted in photorealistic colors. It's great at the time, but by putting too much faith in it, the reader only sets themselves up for a great deal of disappointment once the reality check comes in.

It should also be noted that he spent his life in the city. The only time he actually spent in his beloved rural America was spent failing as a farmer on land that was bought for him by his wealthy grandfather.

Once again I say it: Robert Frost sucks. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cut down a tree.

The Experiment (Part 1)

It's the saints that we fuck and the stars that fall from pedestals of grace, with their halos of thorns bound fast around gilded plastic faces. We're all just hypocrites and liars, dreaming wide awake on our beds of dead roses. Let the curtain fall on this great tragedy. The endings been written from the start. And slit the wrists of emptiness, because fulfillment is the greatest of all myths. Still, we stand fast on the barren wasteland of civility and reason. Let us say goodbye to all that we thought we believed in.

An Intruduction

I suppose like all things, it's best to begin this with an introduction. That being said, you may call me Johnny. And no, that's not my real name. Those that know me know it, but really, there's nothing in a name anyway. A name is simply a label, an identifying mark, and all to often, the basis of unfair judgment. A person cannot be truly defined by a name alone. On that note, I suppose this is the point where I should try to define myself in greater detail. I could sit here and list trivial information; my hobbies, interests, experiences, etc... But in doing so, I'd just be wasting everyone's time. The idea of definition is one that is completely subjective anyway. What may be great to one person could be completely reprehensible to another, and so on and so forth. As such, I'll simply say this: I eat, I sleep, I breathe, and I bleed. I am a human being, just as you are. Anything beyond that is not for me to determine.