High and Dry

High and dry,

satisfied.

Memories flood me
of the waves slapping, crashing, bounding, and lashing.
The sea’s ceaseless battery.
Helplessly panicking, beating, and thrashing.

Sinking like a rock, and heavy as one too.
Soaked as a dog with mange
Shivering, descending into the blue.
Saturated, destined to a watery grave.

Yet here I am,
my land legs still intact, my body still sound.
The sun warms my face, my skin supple and tanned.
I smile at my time in the water, the times that I almost drowned.

I appreciate the warmth
and look forward to the coasts.
My back to the tides.
Onwards I go,

to stay high and dry.

The Incel Scare is Directed At the Wrong DC Movie (and Why I Think So)

Photo Credit: Quentin Rey

Recently, it has been floating around various news sites and sources that the US Army and other law enforcement authorities such as the FBI and the LAPD have released statements warning the general population to be wary of potential gunmen at screenings of the movie Joker, to be released on October 4th, 2019. The aforementioned gunmen belong to a fringe group of delusional and disillusioned young men who refer to themselves as “involuntary celibates” or “incels”, in the case that you haven’t spent more than 5 minutes on the internet and didn’t know that. The controversy surrounding Joker is that the titular clown, played by Joaquin Phoenix, may be considered a sort of champion to the incel community as they may identify with a single, awkward, and lonely man who violently lashes out against the world in response to the cruelties that society and life has repeatedly subjected him to. We do, indeed, live in a society.

As a disclaimer, I am not an incel myself nor am I associated with the incel community in any way. While I am going to elaborate my thoughts on incels and the senseless violence that they perpetrate on innocent people, it can be boiled down to the immortal words of Larry David, “I couldn’t get any dates, either, you don’t see me taking it out on anybody.” I also do not celebrate or condone any of the recent gun violence caused by incels or otherwise. As a second disclaimer, I do not claim to be an authority on anything. This article is just some jackoff’s thoughts and opinions. Got it? Good, let’s continue.

On the surface, it would be easy to think that incels believe the world owes them sex, owes them good looks and a rockin’ bod, owes them unyielding respect from women and peers alike, and other entitled nonsense. While I wholeheartedly believe that incels are extremely entitled people, I also believe that the incel mindset is deeply rooted in insecurity. A short incel believes women only like tall men, a poor incel believes women are “money-grubbing whores”, the incel who is insecure about his facial structures believes women are helplessly attracted to Rob Lowe, an incel into fitness thinks he has to attain Zac Efron’s shredded abs before women will even look at him; you get the idea. It is simple masculine insecurities projected on to society and especially on to women. I don’t even place all the blame on the incels; they are usually impressionable young dudes who get trapped into online echo chambers that enable and exacerbate their anger when instead they should be focusing on improving other facets of their life and improving their confidence in doing so. They may just not have the tools to do that. I know this as someone who has dealt with insecurities, myself, as I am sure most of us have. It is a sad trap that I legitimately hope the young men in it can pull themselves out of.

What does this have to do with a fictional clown, you ask? Incels are typically young men who have an interest in things like comics and video games, which is NOT the issue. Lots of people are into that, both are multi-billion-dollar industries that are typically consumed by healthy, stable people. I think the problem stems from the incel community consistently engaging in separating fiction from reality, whether that be with the warped ideas on attraction and beauty or fictional violence against women or the “Chads” (a good looking, popular male) that they despise in the form of forum fantasies and manic manifestos. The concern is that an incel seasoned in delusion will take inspiration from Jack White, or Arthur Fleck if you’re a pleb, and real-life 2012 theatre murderer James Holmes and open fire on people during the screenings. In fact, the scare is so great that some theatres have outright banned moviegoers from wearing masks and costumes to the movie.

While incel-caused violence is undoubtedly escalating in North America, I don’t think that this is a movie that they will strike at. Put yourself in the shoes of an incel for a moment: you’re a guy in between the ages of 18 – 30, single, somewhat of a loner, you spend too much time online and in front of the TV, probably don’t have a whole lot going on in life and, I don’t want to say it – but c’mon – let’s be real, you’re a white guy. You want revenge on the world because absolutely none of the bad things happening to you are even a smidge of your fault and couldn’t be improved on with just a little bit of effort. No, you must make the Chads and the Staceys (a placeholder name for the women who incels project aggression onto, usually also portrayed as attractive, vapid, and popular) who have been so cruel to you pay. With that in mind, why shoot up Joker? Why shoot up the movie that many critics claim is one of the few pieces of media that actually gets you, man? If the Joker is the champion of the incels, why shoot up a theatre room that is likely filled with your comrades? At the very least, why take out your misogynistic rage out on a room filled with far more men than women? None of this adds up. However, there is a movie, a DC movie, coming out soon in which an incel shooting would make sense in the sad, warped way that anything makes sense to an incel.

A few months ago, it was announced that Batman would be getting yet another reboot (I wonder what happens to Bruce’s parents this time) starring none other than Robert Pattinson, the “Twilight Guy”. The movie is scheduled for release in 2021, and guess who the fuck Batman will be fighting this time around? That’s right – Mr. “Gamers Rise Up”, himself, The Joker (though not the same Joker from the 2019 movie). Put yourself back in the shoes of our fictitious incel for another gross moment. As you are somewhere in your 20s, you likely grew up rolling your eyes at the Twilight movies and watched so many girls and young women fawn over the scrawny Pattinson and his portrayal of the bedazzled vampire, Edward Cullen, back in the 2008/2009s. Every high school in the US and Canada was littered with posters, notebooks, t-shirts, and oh, Lord, was there ever fanfiction. The series even inspired a short-lived vampire-themed fashion and musical fad in youth culture. Like it or not, the Twilight series was an unstoppable cultural force at the time driven mainly by females. A decade later, you see the same effeminate vampire that all the normie girls adored playing Bruce Wayne: a mega-rich, handsome, ripped playboy who breaks all the rules but still gets the girls and is praised as the hero. Sounds a little bit like a “Chad”, no? It’s a Chadception of Robert “Chad” Pattinson playing Chad Wayne, who will likely kick the snot out of the downtrodden, incel underdog. A straight-on Batman movie starring Robert Pattinson is also going to attract more normies, more casual moviegoers, and most notably more women to the theatres than the Todd Phillips-directed Joker fanfare released this year will. The Stacey’s of your high schools who grew up as Twilight fangirls are now young women with stable careers, a healthy social life, and, Hell, maybe even a loving family of their own. Stacey has all of that and you don’t, doesn’t that just make you see red? Well, they’re the ones who might check out a Batman movie if Rob Pattinson is it, or tag along with their Chad husband (who hasn’t even read a real Batman comic!).

At the end of the day, I hope that the hype surrounding these shootings is wrong and that everyone who sees the movie is safe and enjoys it. I also hope that I am wrong about the upcoming Batman movie in 2021, as well. The cynic in me believes that the incel-shooting hype is a sick publicity stunt cooked up by some marketing boardroom attempting to shove down the tired trope of what an edgy character the Joker is. A person must be vigilant when going out to a movie with the Joker in it, but I believe that the movie is going to be coming out two years from now.

Turn My Mind Off

What goes up,
must come down.

What comes around,
goes around.

Fiesty fatigue feasts
on original obligations.
Greedily glued to the game.
Anointed to an apex.

Where are my next steps?

Aren’t I always in motion?
Will day not always become night?
Can I not do anything without reactionary notions?
Can I not get out of light?
I’m going to try my best to not be on,
time to turn my mind off.

What It’s Like to Leave

The damp dirt soothes my soul
as I walk to my Jeep through damp grass,
pouring rain.
Go get gas.
Come back to me.
I choke, tears roll.

I swallow, it’s easier to quickly bail.
The pedal dictates my forced escape
trapped in a mobile, ironic jail.
My journey just now taking shape.

Darkness descends desperately
surly skies sulk
cigar clouds cumulate
enraged emotions ejaculate
belittling bellows balk.

crying, cool, creepy. 

Hands gripped on the wheel
and my heart.
Eyes on the road
never on the goal.
Burning gas and burning time.
Coffee, tea, Swisher Sweets, and the grind. 

    Hello

is so much easier than goodbye.
It doesn’t take a fucking poet to figure out why.
She needs me, I’ll take the pain, accept the crying.
Nothing concerns me, not the eye-rolls not the sighs.

I start my ignition,

to do it all again.  

 

 

Au Revoir à Rien

Sometimes I wonder what’s in the dark.

Sometimes I wonder what lurks behind closed eyes.

Does the world end with a nap?
Or does the soul emerge from the mortal cocoon,
shedding the drudgery, the prejudice, the shackles of our pathetic past?

What was I supposed to do here?
I’ve been told that I need to find my Dad.
I called out for him, he went out for a jug of milk.
So I shrug and I sulk.
What’s the purpose of finding a purpose? I’d be dead lyin’ if I didn’t say that my deadline happening at any moment makes me feel alive.
Bless my poor little heart and the stress that I put it through
Earth returns to earth.
My hot blood spurts a scorching statement, it spits in the face of chance.

Fuck you and your comfort.
I’d rather be full of piss and vinegar
than full of regret.
Fuck me and my polite reserves
this is my life, it belongs to me.
I’d rather ruffle some feathers
than be a bird in a cage.

Stay on guard
Stay pissed off.
Smile in the face of anxiety
We chose half-truths and easy answers
over hard decisions
over rethinking our biases.

We chose of life of being
Docile, infertile.
Medicated, sedated.
tame, lame.
simple, limp.
Formulaic, archaic.

 

Choose life.

 

I’ll Carry You

When you can’t feel your hands,
when you can’t weather the storm.
I’ll Carry You,
back into familiar lands,
back into the warmth.

When your legs tremble,
when you cannot stand on your own
I’ll Carry You
until your strength assembles
and your name the world fears
and your name the world knows.

Yes, I’ll Carry You
when you’re yellow, when you’re green and when you’re blue.
When you’re healthy, when you’re sick,
when you’re ornery, when you’re ticked,
I’ll Still Carry You,
It starts with an “I Do”.

But much like my gold,
I’ll get spent, I’ll grow old.
I’ll Carry You
with a broken back, one knee
and a smiling face.
Like Depends, my bladder might be a maybe
I’ll Still Carry You

Much like this song,
soon I’ll be gone.
I’ll Still Carry You
when I’m laid to rest,
do not fear, do not fret.
I’ll Carry You
through our daughters and our sons
in my arms, in your love.

I’ll sit with St. Pete,
He’ll lean into me.
He’ll ask, “how did you get through life?”
I’ll say, “If I can bum a smoke and light,
I’ll tell you it’s alright.
You know what? It was kinda easy.
Because I had a great woman,

who carried me.

Large Richard

The bartender gave me his most sorrowful look as I limped to the bar.

He already knew what I wanted but went through the motions, perhaps out of pity, to ask anyway.

“What’ll it be?”

“Two beers.”

“That’s one for you and one for your friend over there?”

“Yeah.”

My hands wrapped tightly around the brews and I trudged back to my booth. I tried to prolong the trip back to him as much as I could stretch it. I wish I could just walk out the door and go home.

“Got the suds?”

“Yeah.”

“Aw, yeah!”

Nearly three-quarters of Richard’s beer was gone in one greedy slurp.

“You’re welcome.”

“About time, man. I was dying over here.”

“How much longer do we have to stick around here for?”

“Until I feel like leaving. That gon’ be a problem?”

I stared at Richard. I stared right through his fat face and into his shriveled soul.

“No.”

“Good,” Richard laughed. “Try to lighten up, would you? You asked me to hang with you, not the other way around. You used to literally drag me here.”

Richard slurped the last of his beer and gave me a “friendly” slap on the back that knocked the wind out of me. He was a large man and becoming less aware of his strength as he continued to feed beers into gullet at my expense. God, I hate this dude.

“Hey, Rich. I think that I’m gonna go hit the dancefloor, see if we can maybe find some women to hang out with tonight for once.”

“You think you’re gonna find a skirt, do you? By all means, then, Casablanca.”

I opened my mouth to correct him but decided against it. What would be the point? I sauntered towards the dancefloor and boldly hung out on the outside of the crowded throng.

As I awkwardly picked the label off of my beer bottle and did my best to stay out of Richard’s sight I could have sworn that I had heard someone speaking to me.

“Hello? I’m speaking to you!”

I recoiled in both the amazement that someone was talking to me at a bar and that someone was the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen.

“Y-yeah?” I sputtered.

“Is that your friend over there? The big guy?”

Of course.

“I know him. Why?”

The instant that my sentence was over my face met a lukewarm and sticky assault. I could taste the lime and cranberry as her cosmopolitan dripped down my face and onto my shirt.

“If you or that pig ever comes near one of my friends again we are pressing charges. Last chance, perverts!”

She stormed off and I was left standing with a drink on my face, no money in my wallet, and alone in a room full of strangers. The only thing that I had was the lesson that I had learned: finding women at the bar scene does not work better if you have a Big Dick.