From the journal of Dr. Herbert Blaquemac

And thus begins the journal of Dr. Herbert Blaquemac...

Oh the beauty of this Universe! The wonder of these people, so unique yet all so inherently different! Regardless of birth, despite circumstance, they thrive, in all manner of developmental obstacles, they continue to survive! It's all so breathtaking, this Human race! I hardly think it could have been envisioned what this experiment would become. A continuation of our race, grown from the ground up, raised from infancy to enlightenment...Did they know it would take so long? At this stage of the existence of the Human race, knowledge has yet to be unlocked, and I fear little progress will be made in this regard for the next 100-150 years. They have tremendous ability, the Humans, to attach to their emotions. The animal instincts have yet to evolve and absolve- these Humans are still tied to their animal brethren. These characteristics, these genes, these limitations the Human race was born with- they have yet to be defeated. What power these Humans are ignorant of! Everything they need is there; if they would listen! With pain, I recall the inconvenience of Jesus. His defiance of the truth created inquiry and mystery, both of which have lasted thousands of years now on the Human Planet...

And thanks to this Mystery, thousands of years of evolution have been prolonged. It is the concept of Faith. These Humans have come to the evolutionary point of being acutely aware of their impermanence, and yet, are peculiarly accepting of it. How is a battle to be won without fear? Lack of acceptance is paramount to fear... How can it be that this Human race was closer to enlightenment in the days of Aristophanes and Simonides than it is in the supposed 'prime' of its' existence? What the Egyptians and Mayans had accomplished has long been forgotten and eclipsed by the spectacle of modern achievement, even though modern Humans cannot explain the precision of the Architecture from their own family tree. They are oblivious, and often times I fear the entire experiment has progressed beyond the point of salvation, but the deadline for such events is still lifetimes ahead of my own. All I can hope, in a strange connection to the Human experiment, is to contribute to something greater than myself while I am fortunate enough to spend time in this manifestation of existence.

To be frank, I do not understand the gravity in which our current preoccupation with "physical" existence is held. If the object of a conscious existence with a physical body is to obtain consciousness without the necessity of a physical body, well, then, what are we wasting our time for? The majority of the Human race wants what we possess in galactic proportions: an understanding of existence. Although there have been certain minds capable of grasping an understanding of the Future of Energy, any revelation in regards to this insight would inevitably be met with growing choruses of (Human) discontent. The problem with intelligence is that it breeds resentment amongst those who are unable to possess it. In this regard, I feel compassion for the Humans. They are prisoners to their emotions, and have very little ability to perceive a reality beyond their current misery. Again, it is their "acceptance" that gets in the way. They have a stunning inability to challenge the things they do not understand, and thus, the things they do not understand have begun to define them. Answers to riddles such as this are better left as mysteries; or so goes the intellect of the Human race...

This assignment is, without a doubt, a dream come true. Although I criticize the necessity for the physical manifestation of existence, I can appreciate the desire to study such a critical evolutionary point. The necessity for a physical body is little more than an on-demand service required for procreation. We have all been there; it's our own roadblock in evolution...And from my own experience, I can understand why some make the decision to never come back...But, it is certainly not the end. There is so much more, and even in our current point in what the Humans call "History", we are quite infantile. There is so much more...

How Many More Need to Die?

Let's start a movement. Fuck alcohol. Let's get the truth out so other generations don't end up screwed before they have a choice. Every time I see a beer commercial, I don't find it funny or cute. First of all, these commercials are not the product of the company being advertised, they are the product of hipsters at advertising firms, and trust me, these people are not concerned with whether or not you get in your car and try to drive home after a few drinks...

They are concerned with promotions, bank accounts, reach, impressions, demographics, and overall success with advertising campaigns. It's a game. It's a smart ass (much like myself, because this is what I was trained to do), sitting in a cubicle in New York or Chicago who is trying to come up with the Next Big Thing so they can sell YOU enough shit to get a bigger apartment, a nicer car, and a hotter girl. It's a fraud, and every time you put that fucking poison to your lips you are aiding in perpetrating that fraud.

Alcohol companies don't want you to stop, just as cigarette companies have mastered the art of reverse psychology. Think about it. When is the last time you looked at the Surgeon General's warning and didn't chuckle at the obviousness of their message? We laugh in the face of warnings because we are stubborn as hell, and nobody wants to be told what to do. So the warnings become a joke.

These warnings, the skull and crossbones on cigarette packs in Canada, and the dead baby photos that are squarely tucked into packs of Marlboros in other countries, become badges of honor. We defy the truth because when facing the truth, most of us cower like puppies who've messed the carpet. Yet the proprietors of this sick substance continue to make a profit, and in the end, that's all that matters, right?

Dude. That's bullshit.

The death toll from alcohol in the past 20 years is greater than the death toll of every war we've ever fought combined. Are we to sit idly by as the brains of our peers become sodden with the dregs of whiskey and vodka and beer? For what? So we can get laid? Alcohol dependence and abuse cost the US approximately $220 billion in 2005. For the sake of comparison, this was greater than the amount of money spent to combat cancer ($196 billion) and obesity ($133 billion).*

Do you really want to support companies that not only advertise, but subliminally encourage cancer? They want you hooked, they want you out every night, they want you telling "dude, I was so drunk" stories at work because ALL of it adds zeros to their bottom line...

WAKE THE FUCK UP, PEOPLE.

The truth is out there and if you're not willing to stare it in the face and do what is right, you're a coward.

Not EVERYBODY who drinks is an alcoholic, and I understand and respect those who can put it down just as quickly as they picked it up. But alcohol is cunning, and often times, it hijacks that choice from us. I'm not calling out casual drinkers of alcohol, and for what it's worth, if you can put it down without a moments hesitation, then you're a better man than I. But, I think we all know, for many of us, that isn't the case. If you've ever had to consider whether or not you have a problem with alcohol (or any substance), chances are you already do. Nobody wants or likes to admit defeat, especially when everybody around you appears to still be winning...

It doesn't have to be that way, though. It doesn't have to get any worse than it already is. You don't need to get another DUI, or have another person you care about turn their back on you. It can all end right now.

The choice is up to you.





*Statistics from link provided below. Click on it. These numbers will blow your fucking mind.

http://www.treatment-centers.net/alcoholism-statistics.html

Requiem of Innocence

Simply astounding.

Mr. Rockie Blunt's testimony during his interviews with the History Channel for 'WWII in HD' has left me in awe. To imagine the dreadfulness of the emotional torment Mr. Blunt (and his fellow soldiers) endured during their heroic efforts throughout WWII is to push the human mind to the very limit of sanity.

Blunt was a jazz musician, thrust forth into the bloody rampage of one man's (Hitler) horrific and murderous quest for acceptance, met with the full atrocities of war, yet was lucky enough to escape the throes of such idealistic madness. To be there, to hold within one's grasp the final breath of his fellow man, rising with premeditated remorse to the challenge of murder, ultimately fulfilling a promise no man should ever have to make...

Mr. Blunt is a man, if ever there was one, and he and his comrades deserve the full recognition and appreciation of my generation, a generation lost in an orgasm of the senses. His confessions of Darwinian weakness shatter the illusion of what one can be capable of during times of unparalleled duress. Saying thank you simply isn't enough, for what Mr. Blunt (and his fellow soldiers) sacrificed was far greater than their lives.

That war and those experiences took with it a part of their minds, a part of their universal human innocence that otherwise would be left undisturbed, and trying to convey my appreciation by simply saying "thank you" would be an insult to Mr. Blunt and the memories of the men he served with.

And although I know nothing of the sacrifices these gentlemen had to make, I watch the footage of their darkest hours with pools of sympathy collecting in my eyes and a broken heart sinking in my stomach. These men were men, and long after they have gone, it is our duty, and the duty of future generations, to ensure that their stories live on...

"He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother..."*

Please permit me, Mr. Blunt and the remaining members of the Greatest Generation, to say, perhaps at last, welcome home. We shall never forget.




*Portion of St. Crispin's Day speech from Shakespeare's Henry V.

Neruda's Ghost

It should be about the passage of time, lost opportunities, chance encounters, and stolen moments of shared possibility. But, when it strikes, it’s almost always about the attraction. Love. Destroyer of appetites, inciter of emotional riots, and purveyor of late night blog entries…

There are certain moments in life when the true gravity of a missed opportunity lies heavy upon one’s shoulders. It is in these moments of impossible despair that we are often given the clearest view of ourselves we will ever have. Never are our desires, wants, and, in many ways, needs, more apparent than in the wake of the truth. Some things, regardless of how unjust they may seem, are simply not meant to be. Such is the curse of possibility. One never truly knows if he has made the correct decision.

Understanding the idiosyncrasies of love is an impossible feat, one that would require many lifetimes and imperviousness to pain. Seeking the why to such a powerful impetus will only lead to sleepless nights and utter disappointment. In other words, it’s unattainable for anybody with a pulse, and even then, I believe the dead can still feel the fanatical anguish of unrequited love.

Men have gone to war for love. Empires have risen and fallen as part of love’s preposterous notion of a shared existence in which we try to allow ourselves to let another human being in. Love is the acme of the human condition. If one can find a way to master his emotions while simultaneously being attracted to other human beings, he has indeed achieved some variation of Nirvana.

To define love is to teach a class in absurdity, for no one definition can fully encompass love’s unlimited boundaries. Love takes many forms, and defies classification. It cannot be eradicated nor can it be prevented. When all else is gone love will, in one form or another, remain. "Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always," wrote Dante, and in my opinion, few things are as pure and historical as the moment love is born.