For all of you who subscribe to my blog, I just wanted to let you know that I've started another one on a separate site.  I'm going to use it to detail my post-military travels (which have already begun so i've got some catching up to do) and stuff so check it out if you are so inclined.  I plan to update it regularly

http://decembersfirst.blogspot.com/

I put a bulletin up about it too but we all know no one reads those.

Let it never be said that I lack the courage to admit my mistakes. For some time I was certain that robots would be the conquerors of the earth, and I wrote a blog espousing this view to you, dear reader.  At other times I have seen the most imminent threat to come from our closest biological relatives; those distant cousins who, with their sign language and tool usage, threaten man's dominion over this planet.  It is, of course, the primates of whom I speak.  But again, on this count, I was wrong.

It is with a heavy heart that I direct your attention to this breaking news:

http://www.news.com/Monkeys-thoughts-propel-robot,-a-step-that-may-help-humans/2100-11394_3-6226344.html

The answer –so tantalizingly close, yet so far, and exponentially worse- was both.

While you must read the entire article for the full effect, the first 2 sentences should be enough to make you collapse into a quivering ball of terror.  This is the normal accepted reaction for all human beings, with the small exception of a certain sect of robotics scientists apparently bent on world destruction.  I hate to belabor a point; my last blog had a similar theme.  However, the circumstances require, indeed demand, another response.  Those developers of robotics technology have seen fit to outfit notoriously mischievous and savage beasts with what amounts to an externally controlled suit of armor.  200 pounds of steel and electricity and pure hydraulic power, placed not in the hands of a learned scientist or a technician with years of experience, not in the hands of a great mind with both the intellect and willpower to control such a monstrosity, not even in the hands of a human, but in the grime covered paws of a excrement wallowing monkey.  This is worse than folly; this is a clear indication of nefarious intent.  Rather than turning the world over to the robots alone, these "scientist" have decided to replace the extant civilization with what will soon be a cyborg driven monarchy.  "A step that may help humans" indeed.

Animal testing, in years past, has been carried out with the purpose of protecting humans from harm during clinical trials of potentially dangerous products. But what harm is there in wearing a few electrodes on the forehead, I ask you? Why the necessity to give that singularly critical task to a simian rather than a human when there is absolutely NO risk involved?  The answer is simple: To hasten the end of our world.

In attempting to discuss the implications of this new and horrifying development, I have broken it down into its most basic elements and shall discuss each in turn.

1)      Where has science gone wrong? This question is extremely nuanced and involved; however, I will attempt to boil the answer down to its essence.  Science went wrong when it gave animals control of machines.  It is as simple as that.  Picture, if you will, the logically predictable outcome of this scenario.  See the 200 pound robot with augmented strength prancing about erratically swinging its deadly arms about in primitive rage.  See the feces-slinging robot omnidirectionally hurling detritus.  Inevitable permutations of this phenomenon include: badger-tanks with savage rage-induced surface to air missiles blasting through a woodland near you.  How about a dog-controlled semi-truck joyfully careening about on the ruins of what was once living room.  That certainly sounds safe and practical…if neither of those catches your fancy, try the rhino-linked forklift on for size.  I would advise never going outside again.

2)      Do you prefer savage beatings or electroshock robot reeducation?  Trick Question… because you are getting both.  It is important to understand that human rebellion will simply no longer be tolerated. Logic driven mechanoids will soon realize that the swiftest way to ensure compliance is to deliver a swift blast of electricity to the face.  The ape side will be far less concerned with compliance and far more concerned with seeing how far your arm will bend the wrong way before you stop thrashing and screaming. Rebellion in the eyes of Primate-bots will be vastly different than how it is viewed now.  Sneezing, for instance, will be punishable by death or maiming.

3)      Paper or Plastic?  Which type of bag would you like placed over your head as you are led to a human internment camp by your Gorobot (gorilla-robot) overseer?  The answer, of course, should always be plastic.  Far better to die quickly from asphyxiation than slowly by forced labor.  The Apebot overlords will surely keep you busy for the rest of your short lifespan performing such critical tasks as ore mining, chrome polishing, and rooting termites out of holes using a small twig.  Groomers, charged with maintenance and upkeep of simian and electrical personnel, will hold a particularly dangerous job, though relatively "cushy."  The obvious and inherent risk in this job is efficiency and stealth.  Groomers will likely have a much higher death rate due to the phenomenon of Simiandroid rage.  This will occur when the primate in question happens to have a hair pulled along with a pesky tick, or perhaps is momentarily startled by the sound of a breaking dish, or a sneeze perhaps.  Such noises will quickly send both the primate in question and his robotic counterpart into a melee of violence and death.  Imagine being pounded into the ground by both piston driven robot drone and an enraged silverback gorilla.  Groomers must, above all, remain quiet and unobtrusive.

There are obviously endless aspects of this which we could discuss, but why dwell on the inevitable.  In time, quite soon possibly, you and I will reside in 4 by 4 foot boxes during the night, and spend our days wondering whether the next blow will come from a metallic or a hair covered fist.  We will have brought this on ourselves, and, as such, will have no right to complain.  By giving "scientists" their free reign, and trusting in their objectivity and common sense, we will have doomed ourselves to be the subjects of those whom we presently oppress.  Until that time, if I am needed, I will be in my garage sniffing a combination of wet dog hair and engine oil… to accustom myself to the smell.

I awake to look through foreign eyes at landscapes I have never seen.  I drink in sights remembered vaguely, as if recalled from some long forgotten dream.  I am lost and yet move as one with purpose.  I drift through mundane tasks with studied deliberation, without even a semblance of sentience, and walk through endless days mechanically, constantly wondering: Whose life is this? 

Like broken steamships off of forgotten shores, I drift through fog, uncertain where I am heading, or from whence I came.  And yet I, inexorably, move forward, like a marionette conducted through life to the faint tune of an orchestra far of in the distance.  I laugh and drink and smile and stare, but always in my mind I am elsewhere, wondering what my life is like, for this is just a role I play; humor just a parlor trick, solemnity simply scripted silence. 

And I am a prophet to the voices in the haunting haze; a scion to the misplaced morning.  I am wistfulness like memoirs spoken to wind.  I am peacefulness like fogged glass, coarse yet smooth.  And I am sorrow like stormy seas, ancient and always; a darkened lighthouse overlooking the iron ocean.  And the warmth of my heart hits the cool night air.  And the fog covers all.

Currently, I am standing on a ball of infinitesimal size, hurtling through a vast and empty blackness, seemingly without end.  I am standing on this ball and trying, in vain as always, to feel that movement.  Alas, I cannot.  This does not stop me from standing, however, or walking, or sitting, as it were, all the while straining to feel that ineffable speed.  Invariable I am confronted by a stranger perplexed or offended by my slack jawed mien.  I cannot help it that feeling the universe requires my mouth to hang open; I do not make the rules.  In any case, whenever this happens I usually cease my sensory experiment and go about my daily routine.

Upon waking in the morning, my first order of business is a visit to the bathroom to wash my face and hands, admire my haggard morning face, stretch, et cetera, et cetera.  When I am done with this, I commonly dress and begin my day in earnest.  This beginning to my day, however, as commonplace as it may seem, is anything but.  Millions of cells operating together are responsible for all of these actions.  They die by the thousands with every move I make, and are born in just as great a number synchronously.  They themselves operate by mechanisms with strange names such as mitochondria or Golgi apparatus, which in turn are composed of even smaller particles called atoms, which are made up of electrons, protons and neutrons and so on and so forth.  These atoms and ribosomes and cells, sad to say, do not care about me.  This is not a reflection of my own worth, but merely a function of the nature of such things.  They are simply too small and too stupid to care about their host body.  And yet if I die, they die. It is also true, however, that if they die I also die; so in that respect we are even. 

Digression aside, my contemplation of size on a galactic scale is obviously futile.  I have neither the frame of reference, nor the synapse strength required to fathom such a thing.  I continue to try.  This is not out of a stubborn refusal to accept my limitations, nor is it an innate arrogance which drives me to attempt the impossible. No, this is something much simpler: an inability, of sorts, to relinquish the nuances of a concept once introduced to the idea.  Perhaps relinquish is the wrong word since, technically, understanding of the nuances was never really mine, nor anyone else's for that matter.  A man who could envision the boundlessness of space in its entirety would likely be instantly driven mad.  His insanity would not come from the vastness of his vision, but from his impotent fury at being trapped on this godforsaken speck.  And at the same time, his presumed insanity would merely be a function of our limited viewpoints.  As sanity and its opposite have always been functions of the prevalent perspective, this, unfortunately, would make him no less a lunatic.  And yet, still there are those like I, staring upwards into the night, worshipping that awesome gyration, gleefully attempting to calculate those eons of light, and clawing recklessly towards that beckoning madness.

Atoms in my shins and femurs, eyes and nose, arms and heart, live and die in silence, dreaming, perhaps, of endoplasmic reticula and cells, of bones and tissues, of organs at a stretch.  If they imagine those things, and dream them as they are, as I, in my personifying arrogance might imagine, then they have transcended my dreams by miles; but still, they have never dreamed of me.

I take those things I do not need and set them in black plastic bags by the curbside, to go wherever such things are taken.  I turn my back on them and go to complete other tasks, but they, in their opaque solitude, seem to watch me as I go, like abandoned children in rearview mirrors who know not what they are. 

Those things I cherish I wrap in paper and plastic and pack tightly in cardboard boxes marked "this side up" and, "fragile handle with care."  I look at them and smile, in my mind unwrapping them already, eager as a child.  They shift inside their boxes ever so slightly, settling themselves, secure in their place.  And I secure in mine.  

The things I need, I efficiently swaddle and shove in bins filled high with necessities.  I barely notice them anymore.  They are my drunkard's bottle, my mendicant's cart.  Silverware and dishes, scissors, pencils, twine; they are my tender escorts, my multicolored shadows.  Like all shadows, they grow longer as the day wears on.  At day's end, they too, like shadows, are all that remain.

I am left, then, with the sundries of my life; the odds and ends I don't remember packing, which, nevertheless, greet me wherever I go.  At times they are things I thought long lost, and  I welcome them as estranged children; those who left seeking fathers, and who now find instead a place of comfort as sons.  At times those forgotten things are a hurricane.  A closet thought empty, but for a dust covered breeze; a long forgotten corner in which lies a draft, face down, that, when turned, becomes a storm.  Rattling window panes and shattering calms, they come, one by one, up from their resting places like weevils in July.  They are my dying children, my bitter lovers, the fragments of my shattered dreams.  They are my scars, and when the storm is over they disappear, like broken clouds, but for the shade on my heart. 

I take my boxes, bins and bags, and load them into cars or trucks or wagons.  I pack them tightly so that nothing is damaged, books on bottom.  I check and recheck them to ensure nothing is lost.  As I prepare to go, I always feel that I've left something, forgotten something.  I am usually right,  but I needn't worry; nothing is ever truly lost, and as I leave I smile up at clear skies.  When next I move, who knows what pieces of myself I will find.

I'm fed up with the mundane problems of the world today.  When's the last time someone knocked on your door and when you opened it you got hit in the face with a Mongolian mace?  How long has it been since you were fed to a lion in a Roman Gladiatorial pit?  See any good nuclear explosions lately?  What about those intelligent apes that used to run the planet, what happened to them?  Oh wait!  That was a fucking movie.  Robot/cyborg armies bent on the destruction of all things flesh?  Crap that was a movie too.  Hell, has anyone reading this ever even had their brain eaten out by a zombie?  It's ridiculous the degree of safety we enjoy on a daily basis.

Now don't get me wrong, in other parts of the world these thing are a daily occurrences (except for the apes, cyborgs and zombies).  You got your Darfur genocide, your Middle East hourly suicide bombings, your North Korean nuclear tests, and of course the occasional isolated instance of a bear mauling, but in our daily life in the U.S. we got nothing.  All that other stuff is sufficiently horrible granted, but do we care?  Not really.  We make a show of caring when it suits our needs but deep down it doesn't affect our mental well being unless you have a general guilt complex.  Why?  Because humans aren't built like that, we don't look to the long term or the far away with the passion with which we view the immediate and imminent.  Until we go out to get the paper one morning and notice a nuclear cloud where the rising sun should be we're not going to start stockpiling and gathering munitions (unless you are from the south in which case you are probably already doing that). 

And that's fine!... No use fighting eons of evolution.  All I'm saying is that I'm getting bored with all this stability.  None of the skills I've cultivated in my life are put to good use in this world.  I can climb over rubble VERY well, but unless I go to a construction site, I'm shit out of luck.  I am very good at being quiet for long periods of time, but what Zombie armies do I have to evade?  I have very good balance and don't fall down easily, and then the one sissy ass earthquake we have I'm lying in bed!  I have a mean knife throwing arm, but what use is that except ensuring that I won't be getting my security deposit back?

So here's the deal:

Mad scientists, get cracking.  You guys are not churning out nearly enough homicidal genetic freaks.  I can count on one hand the number of Sharkmen I have had to fight off in the last year.  Unacceptable.  How hard could it be to create like two Spogs (that's spider-dog for you new people) they're 2.5 feet tall, have canine teeth, 8 legs, bite at the slightest provocation AND have venom… scariest thing ever.  Tell you what, you wake up to one of those crawling across your ceiling you better hope it doesn't see you reaching for that broom.  Seriously though, what's the use of science if not to make the world a more interesting place?  No one cares about nanotechnology; making stuff really small isn't impressive anymore.  How about making something big.  Like a spider.  By mixing it with a dog. 

Plus they have like a thousand babies per brood so you get the added bonus of ending society as we know it.

Space people.  What are you doing?  Mars rover?  We've been sending shit into space for like 50 years now and you're telling me the goddamn Mars rover is the best shit you can come up with?  One:  no one gives a shit about Mars.  Two:  Even I can tell you what's up there:  a shitload or red dust, we've established that.  And three: If you absolutely must make a Mars rover at least try to make it cool by giving it transformation abilities, or kung-fu grip.  Wonder why people don't support the space program?  Because you spent 8 billion dollars on a toy tractor with a built-in shovel.

Seriously though, if you're going to spend a ridiculous amount of money on something I expect it to at least be interesting.  Lets get a space war going. Killing people on Earth is so last 50 centuries, its time to expand into new mediums.  Come on government… Space war... I see you guys over there looking… you know you want that.  Hey, better yet team up with the mad scientists and create some sort of crazy space spider thing that eats satellites or something.  And then fight the spider.

Speaking of governments what are they up to these days.  They're like that kid in math class who went to the bathroom and never came back and no one noticed till it was has turn to explain the Pythagorean Theorem.  Where IS that kid?  Where IS the government? Shouldn't you guys be making war somewhere?  And no, Iraq doesn't count.  I figured after dropping two nukes on Japan in WW2 we'd have gotten a taste for it, right.  I mean, any problem you want solved or any time you want to test out the effect of a new toy, or hell, even if you're just bored, throw one of those babies out there to get the party started.  And what happened to progress?  What are we done with making bigger better bombs now just because we found the nuke?  That's a little bit defeatist don't you think?  A little bit complacent?  I have faith in you guys.  I know you can come up with even more crazy weapons that can kill even more civilians in an even shorter period of time.  Bio-weapons?  We haven't explored that enough... get with the mad scientists on that one too.  Or, get this: make a time machine that opens like a door, then just, like, cycle through history tossing grenades through it every few seconds, see what kind of changes take place in the present.

Armageddon, Ragnorak, End of Days, Apocalypse or whatever you want to call yourself, what the fuck is your deal?  You think you can foretell your coming and then just sit back and make everyone await your pleasure.  Fuck that.  You say you're gonna be somewhere, you damn well better be there.  This is just rude.  Going on 25 years now I've been teaching myself post-apocalyptic world skills and what do I have to show for it…  No practical skills.  I can spear a polar bear on the move from 30 yards away with a rebar pole, but I can only type like 15 words per minute.  I earn minimum wage because apparently there's no job that requires you to make a storm shelter out of cardboard pallets, copper wire, and electrical tape.  Do you know how embarrassing it is to almost beat your girlfriend to death because you've trained yourself to react with hostility to any foreign presence while sleeping?  No, I bet you don't.  I bet you sit around in space or wherever the crap you live and drink daiquiris all day just watching me squirm.  Bet its real funny that I'm working at Burger King, huh?  You'll get yours my friend. 

In closing, I'm ashamed of all of you for the sorry state of affairs.  We have lost the courage of our convictions friends and neighbors; we sold them for a lawn chair in the sun.  we traded our natural born gifts for the Macdonald's monopoly game.  We sacrificed our basic human right to be enraged and break things on the alter of "Its Not That Bad."  Wake up people. It's Not That Bad is the problem!  I'm fucking bored!

Protestors: Try rioting; what you're doing doesn't work.

Political dissidents:  Try assassinations it's a surefire method, pun intended.

Environmentalist:  Burn down the rain forest just to show people that, yes, it really would be that bad.

Politicians:  Continue to deny global warming, also re-legalize CFCs and make Hummers mandatory.

Anti-abortion fanatics:  Kill more doctors, sewing seeds of crazy always helps. Also keep driving that truck with the dead baby picture on it, you really gain support for your cause that way.

Parents:  Beat your kids more.

Animals in zoos:  you don't have to put up with that shit.

Ice cream men:  Just stop it, you're ruining everything.  Wait! …Give me a rocket pop first.

I recently read a news article about a man (Zhang Xinyan) in China who was arrested for biting a Panda at the Beijing Zoo.  I am not bullshiting about this, check out the article: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/14922482/

As the story goes, the highly inebriated man entered the panda enclosure in order to get closer to the majestic beasts within.  Soon however he found out the hard way that even majestic beasts will bite you in the fucking legs if you get too close, especially when you are sleeping.  No bitch, the man then kicked the bear in retaliation.  Not to be outdone the bear then bit the man's other leg.  At this point let's pause and recognize this bears restraint, had this been a less forgiving bear, the man might have found himself the subject of a severe panda mauling.  Anyway long story short, the man then threw himself on the bear in an impotent rage and bit it.  Soon after he was dragged off and taken to a hospital or something.

Now, to the man's credit, he did only bite after he himself was bitten, twice no less.  However, one might argue that jumping into the animal's cage in an attempt to hug it is suitable provocation for a bear to attack.  Hell, I know people that will attack you for less. In honor of this mans failed attempt to defeat the giant panda, reigning champion of the Beijing Zoo, I offer this abridged guide to panda fighting.

1) When approaching the giant panda, be careful to stay out of arms reach.  Unlike other bears such as the grizzly, panda's lack huge talons.  However, in a freakish twist of nature, they make up for it with the possession of opposable thumbs, which are typically used to grasp stalks of bamboo, but can just as easily be used to grab you by the throat, and/or make a fist and repeatedly punch you in the face.

2) Do not attempt to bite the panda.  As our unlucky friend found out, the panda's skin is much too thick to bite through and you will likely only enrage the beast worsening your inevitable beat down.  Instead bring a weapon of some sort such as a knife to substitute for your wimpy teeth.

3) Do not drop the knife.  As we learned before, pandas have opposable thumbs and may stab you with your very own knife, and let me tell you, there is nothing more embarrassing than being stabbed by a fucking panda.

4) Before attempting to defeat a fully grown panda, do not drink 4 jugs of beer.  One or Two jug of beer should provide enough courage for this pursuit while still leaving you enough hand-eye coordination to slap-box the beast into submission.  At 3 jugs, this coordination worsens considerably, and by 4 it is an achievement to even recognize a panda as anything but a moving black and white blur.

5) Wear protective goggles, panda's are not above gouging out the eyes of their enemies.  The goggles will also protect you from any potential urine spraying, possibly your own due to over-consumption of alcoholic beverages.

6) Male panda's have balls.  Use this to your advantage.

7) Do not underestimate the panda.  While pandas may look soft and cuddly like a big teddy bear, they are still animals, and as with any other animal, if you don't play your cards right they will bite your goddamn face off.  Our foolish friend was lucky to escape with such minor injuries.  This panda was likely suffering from over-domestication. A wild panda would have probably ripped off Zhang's legs and beaten him to death with them.  It wouldn't be the first time.

These are only a few tips that can be used to help defeat the giant panda, or at least to hold your own.  The techniques outlined here are not proven to work on other endangered species so do not attempt to use them across the board.  Let it also be noted that this is not a pursuit which should be attempted unsupervised.  If possible bring a friend to provide encouragement and assistance, as well as an eye-witness account if necessary.  This friend should also be equipped with a video camera of reasonably good quality, and should understand that any cries for help, or pleas for intervention, should only be answered after the action is over.  Also be sure to post that video on the internet. 

Who I am, is not who I set out to be.  

I am not the man I once saw standing before me, and he, looking back, does not see me, but some boy who dreamed him once, long ago, in a place I cant remember. 

I am not who I wanted to be.  I havent done the things that he has done.  I havent seen the things he has seen; I havent breathed life as he has; he who never existed. 

The things he said, I said differently, and, in doing so, became who I am. 

I see him sometimes when I close my eyes at night.  I see him in his world that is not mine, moving through it like water as I stumble through mine.

I wasted the gift I was given by the boy I was.  I squandered it in petty pleasantries, drowned it in small talk and burned it on the pyres of embarrassment and shame. 

I smothered it in routine, and all that is left is me. 

But I realized something. 

I realized that, while I havent seen the things hes seen, been the places hes been, or done the things hes done, neither has he done the things which I have done. 

Neither has he loved as I have loved. 

My accomplishments are not his. 

And that boy who I was... when I look back, I see him too.  I love him too.  And, in that, we are the same. 

But I am not that boys dream; I am that boy, and he is me.

I am not who I set out to be. 

But I am who I am, 

And that is enough.