I bought a pack of cigarettes today (for those that must know, I bought them to sell; there's quite the amount of money to be gained from selling cigarettes to desperate college kids who are too lazy to go to the store themselves. One pack of cigarettes is about 20 cigs at around 5 bucks a pack depending on brand; sell those at two bucks a piece, you're making a 35 dollar profit. And people will pay it, because people are lazy) and on the front is a notice about how the tobacco contained in these cigarettes "mostly" comes from family-owned and operated tobacco farms. Camel filters, Turkish blend. You think the starving family tobacco farmers in Turkey care about how their crop is being used?
Before you go off on me, keep in mind I'm utilizing this as an extreme way to illustrate a point. People have been farming tobacco across the pond since before we were a twinkle in the New World's eye. I have little doubt that for millenia the various hashish smoking cultures have been cutting their grass with tobacco (or a very similar herb) in order to make it more 'friendly'; I know the old adage that if you don't cough, you don't get off, but c'mon; who actually likes hacking up a lung in an attempt to get high, other than dumb preteens in middle school who think being high is the single most awesome attempt you can make at being an adult? (Kids: Don't do drugs irresponsibly. I'm a Doctor, and I approve this message.) So what's the upshot? Guilt.
Guilt is a powerful motivator in American society, especially since that whole Recycling boom in the 80's and 90's, which is yet another bullshit thing but I may touch on that later. Nowadays you can't spit without hitting a product that has been partially recycled to save the planet, or grown in a free-range chemical (or "enhancement")-free environment in an attempt to ensure the least possible amount of suffering. So now we have this whole subculture that is convinced that helping free-trade is THE way to exist.
Now, I have no problem with free-trade. It helps the global economy in a general sense and, more importantly, it makes people feel special. (Dear reader: please keep in mind I really have no issue with helping the global economy, but there are multiple ways to accomplish this goal, none of which are inherently bad with the exception of the reinstatement of slavery. YOUR VOTE COUNTS.) But there's this push, especially in the US, about buying all-organic or torture-free or something that would benefit the non-commercial. Now, keep in mind I found this on a package of cigarettes, an item known to kill, perhaps the single most damaging legalized product in the nation (with the exception of semi-automatic ammunition). A little friendly sticker on the front with an image of two hands clasping each other, letting me know about the poor Turkish farmers I was benefacting by buying this particular pack of cigarettes.
I swear to fuck this is some sort of guilt-trip for the rich, for people who don't have real problems. Because now they KNOW Camel is the brand that supports the global tobacco market, they have to buy Camels to show they care, care in supporting farmers while killing their own kin. It underlines a deeper problem, that of supreme dissatisfaction, of not being a real human unless you take these asinine measures to show you care... which beggars the question, how much can a smoker really CARE about starving families in Turkey who supply their habit?
Something to ponder.
Showing posts with label Dry Shitties. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dry Shitties. Show all posts
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Wherein Life Is Discussed
You know, there's not a whole lot I like about this area, I have to be honest. I don't like the smells, I don't like most of the people, I don't like the lack of connectedness. I don't like the size, I don't like the sounds, I don't like the weather. I don't like the mentality, I don't like the way it's expanding, I don't like the industry. I don't like the fact that it shuts down at 9 PM, that if you don't drink or own a boat there's nothing to do, that if you're hoping for a good time you're looking at traveling at least two hours in any direction to find entertainment.
But one thing I do like is this: I love how dark it gets. I love how remote it is. I love that, despite everything, you can get away with relative ease. I was out walking just a little bit ago and was left marveling at how alone I actually was. Nobody was out driving despite it being Friday night/Saturday morning, and Leap Day at that. Nobody was wandering the streets being vagrants or looking for transients. I didn't have to explain to any person who I was, why I was here, and what I was doing not at home. There were no drug-sniffing dogs, no gangbangers, no skaters with an attitude. Just me, the road, the wind, and the sky. And oh, what a sky it was.
The thing about here is that it doesn't get much precipitation. We're high desert. We get lots of wind, but as far as rain goes we're left pretty dry. So the clouds tend to be a bit on the pathetic side. I stood for half an hour just staring up into the sky, watching the thin wisps streak across the sky in an intricate spiderweb of chaos, without form or function, trying desperately to gather strengths and become a storm. It created an interesting illusion, where the sky was interconnecting layers on a two-dimensional plane, with neither depth nor substance to differentiate. There was one sky, the True Sky, which was deep black, a window to the heavens, constellations shining brightly against a backdrop of nebulous space, our arm of the Milky Way. And then there was the Cloud Sky, catching the light from elsewhere in the Tri-Cities, everything reflected off the great Columbia, giving the sky light but no illumination.
It was almost like two worlds, one that was black and deep, True Sky, and another that was so dark it was white, Cloud Sky. The two danced and twirled together, advancing, parrying, parleying, prying, guarding, attacking, defending, pushing, falling, like playing children or quarreling lovers. The distinction between the two is rarely more than an issue of semantics, really. I watched Cloud Sky change shape, forcing True Sky into submission in its own right, forced to give way... and then I watched True Sky punch a hole in Cloud Sky, creating its own version of shape and form and life, a smirking show of one-upsmanship. And I came to understand how this mirrors life in a strange, almost caustic way.
We come into life at a disadvantage, trying desperately to differentiate ourselves, to prove our worth over our 'better man', our brothers, our fellows. We do this following codes of conduct instilled from us since the moment we've left the womb, rules and guidelines that are somehow ineffable and unchallengeable. It's an awkward ploy, a facade of fragility, demonstrating in an amazing microcosm how far we have yet to go to to achieve any sort of enlightenment. A philosopher whose name escapes me put it best: "The wisest man is the one who admits he knows nothing at all." It is the acceptance of ignorance -- true ignorance -- that allows us to expand. A difficult task in a society that is determined to keep us bound and boxed, compartmentalized and forgotten. Like Cloud Sky and True Sky, we are at odds with each other, when really it is those around us that shape us and mold us into what we are, what we once were, and what we will become.
But one thing I do like is this: I love how dark it gets. I love how remote it is. I love that, despite everything, you can get away with relative ease. I was out walking just a little bit ago and was left marveling at how alone I actually was. Nobody was out driving despite it being Friday night/Saturday morning, and Leap Day at that. Nobody was wandering the streets being vagrants or looking for transients. I didn't have to explain to any person who I was, why I was here, and what I was doing not at home. There were no drug-sniffing dogs, no gangbangers, no skaters with an attitude. Just me, the road, the wind, and the sky. And oh, what a sky it was.
The thing about here is that it doesn't get much precipitation. We're high desert. We get lots of wind, but as far as rain goes we're left pretty dry. So the clouds tend to be a bit on the pathetic side. I stood for half an hour just staring up into the sky, watching the thin wisps streak across the sky in an intricate spiderweb of chaos, without form or function, trying desperately to gather strengths and become a storm. It created an interesting illusion, where the sky was interconnecting layers on a two-dimensional plane, with neither depth nor substance to differentiate. There was one sky, the True Sky, which was deep black, a window to the heavens, constellations shining brightly against a backdrop of nebulous space, our arm of the Milky Way. And then there was the Cloud Sky, catching the light from elsewhere in the Tri-Cities, everything reflected off the great Columbia, giving the sky light but no illumination.
It was almost like two worlds, one that was black and deep, True Sky, and another that was so dark it was white, Cloud Sky. The two danced and twirled together, advancing, parrying, parleying, prying, guarding, attacking, defending, pushing, falling, like playing children or quarreling lovers. The distinction between the two is rarely more than an issue of semantics, really. I watched Cloud Sky change shape, forcing True Sky into submission in its own right, forced to give way... and then I watched True Sky punch a hole in Cloud Sky, creating its own version of shape and form and life, a smirking show of one-upsmanship. And I came to understand how this mirrors life in a strange, almost caustic way.
We come into life at a disadvantage, trying desperately to differentiate ourselves, to prove our worth over our 'better man', our brothers, our fellows. We do this following codes of conduct instilled from us since the moment we've left the womb, rules and guidelines that are somehow ineffable and unchallengeable. It's an awkward ploy, a facade of fragility, demonstrating in an amazing microcosm how far we have yet to go to to achieve any sort of enlightenment. A philosopher whose name escapes me put it best: "The wisest man is the one who admits he knows nothing at all." It is the acceptance of ignorance -- true ignorance -- that allows us to expand. A difficult task in a society that is determined to keep us bound and boxed, compartmentalized and forgotten. Like Cloud Sky and True Sky, we are at odds with each other, when really it is those around us that shape us and mold us into what we are, what we once were, and what we will become.
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