Anti-Hero

How about a study in obsession? What about an insight into fixation?

Our hero lives at home with his mother. He lives in a basement apartment, an apparent coup for such an obvious dependent. Despite the illusion of autocracy, he does very little for himself. He is of an age that the law would consider him an adult, accountable for his own actions, at least in a court of law.
She buys his clothes, and fixes his lunch, and does his laundry. She goes downstairs once a week to change his sheets and tidy his room.
Our hero works at a sporting goods store although he has never actually participated in any sport.
He had asthma as a child and although he has grown out of it as an "adult" (and I use that term sparingly with this particular lad) he has never actually exerted himself in any activity that could be considered sporting competition.
He is however an active member of a Live Action Roleplay club, LARP for short. Those are the dudes that you might see at your local public park pretending to be wizards and rangers and clerics. They hit each other with foam swords. They add and subtract hit points. It's exactly like it sounds, dorky.
Our hero is a fan of many sports. He is a sports fan. His is a fanatic.
His favorite team to support is the Texas Longhorns Football Club. He bleeds burnt orange. Much of his wardrobe is burnt orange in hue. Many of his accessories bear the color and the emblem of The University of Texas. He owns several footballs that are UT themed. Some of them are signed by players past and present. Much of the space in his room is reserved for such sports memorabilia.
He attends all UT home games. His mother presents him with his season tickets each year for his birthday.
The season that the Longhorn's won the National Championship was a dream come true for our boy.
He owns a copy of a DVD entitled Live The Dream which chronicles the story of the 'Horns "Magical March" to the National Championship. He watches it every night before he falls asleep. He is obsessed.

That's your boy, that's your hero. How do you think a Joe Shmoe like that would react to a situation that called for bold action and decisive courage? How do you think your boy would handle it if greatness were thrust upon him?

This is a character I would like to explore.
What happens when we vicariously live through sports stars instead of living our own lives?

The me I left behind.

I was reading a blog today. It was someone else's blog but it reminded me of someone I used to be.
This person lives in a place where I once lived and in that place I was someone that I am just a faint shadow of today, here and now.
I left that me behind because he was on a behavioral pattern arc that I could clearly see would someday soon lead to destruction, of that me and this me and any future me there ever is or was to be.
Oh yes, behavioral patterns that were consistent with an imminent spiral of death, not just of the spirit, but of the flesh. I felt that if I died in that place there my soul would always roam, diseased in perennial decay.
I had fun as that me that I once was, oh the fun we had, even though it is debatable whether or not that was the really real me.
Many nights I would stare into a pit of myself splashed against the lights and blights of the city.
I would rationalize the things that I was doing to achieve a state of decadent and amusing enlightenment.
Incantations on wind battered cliffs high above the ocean.
All my arguments seemed very convincing.

Luckily
by some miracle I suppose
I had the insight or foresight to up and leave that place
and in doing so I left that me behind.

The me that I am today is a combination of an ancient me and a newer me with all the wisdom of the lessons I learned as that misguided me that I was talking about before.
But in reading that blog and looking at the pictures of a life and a city that I once lived
I found myself wishing to be back in that life and that me I left behind.
And that scares me.

Fear my Dear

The fear mongering in this country, this system, is totally out of control.
Some of you don't even know why you are so afraid.
I know why I'm afraid
and it has to do with the ubiquitous, subtle manipulation in almost every aspect of our culture.
One of the fever pitch moments of the day is during the nightly network news.
See, they alternate between justifiably frightening news stories,
and fear frothing advertisements from the pharmaceutical companies.
You weren't even worried about your prostate or your restless leg syndrome
until some cgi animal or some heartwarming scene
tells you that you should be concerned.

But don't get too upset, cause whatever you got, they got a pill to fix it.
I hate the pharmaceutical companies.
But not as much as I hate the insurance companies.

Under Attack

What if Texas were being invaded by hordes of barbarians.
What if dark forces were aligning against Texas right now building a massive army of fierce fanatics.
What if said army of fanatics were preparing to stream over the borders to take this land that we took from the ones that came before us.
Would this be a time to defend our land?
Would we come together in this time of turmoil and displacement?
Would we find out who we really are?

I would not go overseas to fight in an idealogically unsound war on foreign soil, but I sure as hell would stand and fight to defend Texas.

Inscrutable

Sometimes people do things that are totally beyond reason and understanding.
From our postion in the cosmic soup, we can't understand their motives.

Should a character in a story have clear motives?
Should one's audience be privvy to a characters movtives?
Methinks only if it serves the story.

Drama can be created in so many ways.

When someone does something so redonkulous as to warrant a moment of brain bending the audience should become intrigued in the misguided motive.
And when the outcome of that tragic mistake or carless action begins to ruffle and brush against my personal space I am sometimes compelled to scutinize the motives behind the foolish action.
And sometimes you come up against this thing that people call good intentions.
Sometimes that adjective is accurate and warranted.
Other times, it is a pathetic crutch, carved by the hands of the fool.
And in the end, intentions matter very little.

You can let these things pass unless they infringe on your god given right to enjoy your powers of reason in the time that you have been given.

God, please help us deal with all the bullshit.
your humble servant
Rampage.

New Beginnings

I feel like a new man.