Bananarchy: Why Eductation, Sex, Drugs, and Happiness Are All Connected (Part 1)

     Society is a mess these days, and its probably not for the reasons you think.  As youths in America we know first hand the inequities that are served cold on our plates.  For the first say, twelve years of our lives we are taught that the only path for a sustainable future is to give in to the authority of our institutions.   Early on we are graciously bestowed with the knowledge that has been prescribed to keep us functioning in a system designed by others.  A system that today some believe is failing us.  A system that may have been designed to fail us.  One thing that it is hard to deny when you reach higher education is that by the time you are there you are already trapped.  There are few options left, but to accept that you either enter the system as a producer, as a spring in the mechanism, or get out and have no hope of ever living a fulfilled life.  But look at the lives that are promised.  Look at what we get if we accept this program.  We are told that if we study long enough, work hard enough, kiss enough ass, grovel at the feet of our masters long enough, that one day we can have it all.  One day you'll get that four bedroom house with the lawn and the wife, and maybe even the kids, and the dog too.  Today we see the truth.  We see that the system that promised freedom and prosperity was simply a propaganda tool to keep us quiet.  A blind over our eyes so we wouldn't question the process.  As a young person today what do we have to hope for?  What is there left that the elders of this nation haven't already swindled.  How do we take back what is rightfully ours?  Not what is owed to us by them, but what is owed to us by God.

     Most of us probably remember a time early in our eduction when one of the most important things for us to learn was how to stand correctly in line, and how to follow directions.  Sometimes the completion of a task was not even as important as if it was done using the correct process.  One thing I have considered a lot lately is how the imagination of children is so different from that of adults.   I saw a study that tested the genius of a person based on their ability to imagine innovative ways to solve problems.  The study consisted of a test in which the participants were asked how many ways a paperclip can be used.  Groups were separated by age.  Interestingly, the youngest groups always produced the highest number of "geniuses" based on the parameters of the test because children were able to imagine a paperclip in non-conventional ways.  For instance a paperclip that was 30 feet tall would certainly have a variety of uses.  However, older groups could only think about a paperclip in the way that it was designed to be used or the way they understood it to function based on what they knew or had learned.  My theory is that eduction, especially eduction in theoretical fields causes one to learn about something in a preconceived way.  This immediately introduces preconceived notions about how problems can be solved, and the process in which they must be solved in.  This brings up another problem in the eduction system.  Especially in mathematics students are generally taught only one way of solving a problem, and penalized when this process is deviated from even if the correct answer is reached.  This goes back to the problem of obeying authority.  It seems that more focus is put on following directions, obeying authority, and coming to conclusions in the prescribed manor rather than making the right conclusion itself.
     This system works for some.  It no doubt has yielded many very smart children.  But how do we measure how "smart" someone is?  In the United States we do this by a practice of standardized tests.  A process that again rewards those who are best a following instructions and are good at taking tests of this nature.  But what happens to the rest?  Are we to say that if a person can't pass a test he or she is not worthy of a higher education.  Who designed the test?  Can we conclude that everyone who fails a test is an invalid.  My belief is that we cannot.  I believe that some of the most creative, and imaginative thinkers in this country have been left behind.  People that could have brought innovative solutions to pressing problems were never given the right medium to show their true potential.  And why has this happened?  It is because the entire system of eduction in this country is flawed, at every level.  From kindergarten to college the system was created to develop a group of people who think the way they have been programed to think.

      Eduction is a government mandated and government run operation in the United States.  Everyone is forced to pay for it and everyone is forced to go.  From the very beginning we are given no options, no choice.  If you don't go your parents get fined or go to jail, if you don't pay they take your house away.  The real problem is inherit.  If you look at who is in charge then you will see the obvious complication.  You may be thinking, what benefit would the government have in influencing the way that I think.  The answer is every possible benefit.  If you think the way they want you to think then you will never disobey orders, you will never question the system, you will always pay your taxes, go to church, vote down party lines, and you will always play the game.  It isn't a conspiracy, but it is happening.

    My goal isn't to change your mind, and it isn't even to change the way things work.  I simply hope that one day people will see systems of government and society in a different light.  Not as protectors, and stabilizers, but as perpetrators of a silent tyranny.  A tyranny in which we live a life a achievable goals only to realize that the happiness that was promised by the fulfillment of those goals was an illusion.  The question you have to ask yourself is, what would truly make me happy?

Nowhere (A Stoner's Paradise)

Made this video during the week.  I've been to "Nowhere" a few times and I must say it is a pretty inspirational place even if you're not high.  Thought I would share this video interpretation of the experience with you.  The video is best watched with headphones, and perhaps a healthy dose of cannabis.
-C.T. Cilver

Bangin' Asians: Spring Break in the DPRK

One spring we decided to take a trip to the DPRK
because we heard the country was lively and gay.
We went for the women because they are loose,
but figured we’d stay for the cooked dog and goose.
We flew to Pyongyang by way of Beijing,
and had to leave behind most everything.
We bribed a guy at the Chinese consul.
For commie ass our dicks did drool.
Upon arrival there was no bright sun.
No girls in bikinis for us to hunt.
Good for us we weren’t upset.
Gook ass did await us yet.
A group of guards took us to a hotel.
No one else was there, but the digs were swell.
We tasted the food which tasted like crap,
but gave it a chance because of where we were at.
We sampled the dog and mulled over the cat,
and even tried the beer (it was a little flat).
We toured the city and went to a ship
that had been captured during a spy stint.
We went to a place called the DMZ,
and laughed at the people whom we could see.
We sang Karaoke with some ladies one night,
but getting in their pants became a big plight.
They weren’t allowed to drink with us,
and when we made our moves they put up a fuss.
We went back to our room with our drunk guards,
as they laughed at us for being such tards.
We came to the next morning and went for a drive
to a tea shop in the mountains that was kind of a dive.
The fortunate thing was that the tea girl was hot,
and in a matter of minutes we all hit it off.
We drank her tea, and chatted a bit,
I even tried to plead for a kiss.
But schedules they had (so we had to follow),
and she had no phone for us to caller her tomorrow.
We bid adieu and continued on
thinking that something was dreadfully wrong.
Where were all the girls?  The beautiful ones?
Most we had seen reminded me of nuns.
The brochure had promised a wonderful time,
but we were forced to stay in state controlled lines.
On our last night we went to a show.
Would any of us get laid, or even a blow?
The show was amazing, and there were thousands of girls
Some of them with straight hair, some of them had curls.
We sat and we watched amazed at the sight,
thinking that this would be a wonderful night.
Suddenly out of the corner of my eye
came into sight a funny little guy.
He was quite round and wore a simple grey suit.
He had funny hair, puffy lips, and glasses to boot.
He walked straight to us, and without hesitation said,
“Which one of these girls would you like to take to bed?”
We were dumbfounded, how could we choose.
There were so many we would have to do two’s.
The funny little man took us back to his house,
and we ate and drank and starred down a blouse.
We took girls back to our rooms by two and threes,
But woke up the next morning with bad cases of herpes.
The man he had screwed us, but we couldn’t complain.
The lovely girls of the north were worth all the pain.
We flew back to the states on that very day
What stories we had from the DPRK!
For the ladies of the North our hearts will ache
whenever we remember our communist spring break.

Anonymous

I love the internet and I love anonymous posting.  Last night a friend contacted me because she thought that I was responsible for a series of posts on a website called CollegeACB.  I can neither confirm nor deny these claims, however, I have begun posting on the site now under the name C.T. Cilver, and I will probably continue to do so from time to time for some quick laughs.  Today I wrote this: 

 Sunday Slampieces

Last night came back to the house after the game. Wasn't that drunk, but found some chick who def was sleeping in my bed. Tried to move her, but she was fucking dead assing me so I just ended up fucking her. Spent 10 minutes trying to bust nut, but couldn't so I kicked the bitch out and called my slampiece. She was over like twenty minutes later getting sloppy on my dick. All of a sudden my bros fucking bust in and start screaming about someones sister. Turns out the fat bitch was someones fucking sister. I'm like, "can a nigga bust a nut in this joint....fuck!" Apparently this girl was like the sister of some kid who wasn't a brother during the Bush white house, so idgaf. Anyway ended up having to just jerk it on this chicks tits and call it a night. Shit the things I do on sundays. 

Sunday Slampieces Thread on ACB

Drone: Chapter Four (prelude)

      There are places I go, places I can barely remember now, but for some moments.  Quick flashes that make me remember that they were real.  That things really happened.  A last cigarette smoked in a place that has no name except for what we called it.  The party where the deck collapsed and our lives changed, but not really.  The party where we drank to much and threw up the stale pizza we had eaten at the dinning hall.  The party where we first met where there were neon lights and ecstasy, and cocaine, and Bacardi, and a kid who was drinking from a boot.  The party we left to find another party.  The room we slept in so many nights when the nights were cold and there was no one else.
      We did everything so fast just so we could talk about it the next day.  Hungover again and afraid to mention what we knew we had said last night in the heat of the moment.  That was the life we lived and we lived it well for a while not realizing that we would only look back on it with a blurring remembrance.
      I imagine a life sometimes where I stayed there with you.  Where I published a book about it all and made money and graduated and moved to Los Angeles and you came with me.  And we lived for a while doing the same things we did in college, and we were happy.
But soon the nights merged together like they had before, like lights on that dark highway fused in the reflection of the headlights.  The life we had desired was gone just like those nights we couldn't remember. Time disappeared, and on that couch where it all started I can see myself.  Outside my body.  Maybe I'm drunk or maybe I'm dreaming, either way the only explanation is that this is just another tragedy.  Another life that could never be.  Another dream wasted on you.  And then I'm awake.  I forget that I was dreaming, and for a moment it seems real.  For a moment I am back in that bed starring at the ceiling as the blue shades of morning light stream in the window behind me.  The moment when I could still feel you next to me, breathing.  Then it is gone, and I am back in this place trying to remember how I got here.  Trying to remember what happened last night.  Trying to remember all those nights, and realizing that sleep will be the only remedy.

~

Death to all ye hipster scum!

Hipsters appear to be harmless creatures on the surface, but few know of their true origins.  Until now.  In the early 1940s during the rise of Hitler in Germany several teenaged boys in the Hitler Youth were selected for a special program that would ensure the security of Fascism as the primary ideology in the world for generations to come.  

The boys were taken to a private training facility in the Swiss alps, and systematically brainwashed using techniques that would later be tested in the little known CIA endeavor MKULTRA.  The boys were beaten, tested, beaten and the tested again.  They were systematically raped by the Fuhrer himself until they believed themselves to actually be homosexuals.  Finally, they were taught the principles of all communist revolutionaries and leaders in history, given copious amounts of marijuana, and released into the liberal arts colleges of the United States.  

Hitler believed that communism would eventually be an even bigger threat to fascism than the allied powers.  His plan we to create a generation of liberal idealists to infiltrate American society and turn the Americans against the communists and in a sense create an unlikely ally.  Unfortunately for him, the American's had other plans.  However, the hipsters were already in place, and even to this day they continue to spread their communist ideology amongst American youth.  

Today the original hipsters are gone, but what was started nearly seventy years ago continues on to this day as the rebellious nature of the hipster was specifically formulated to appeal to American youth, and continues to do so.  

Ironically the irony that hipsters so love to point out is truly the greatest irony of all since their entire lives are perhaps the most extraordinary irony since irony was invented.

Continuum

Why do we go to school?
To learn that we have to be taught to learn.
To see what others have seen.
To do what other have done.
To make what others have made.
To try what others have tried.
To fail where others have succeeded.
To fail where others have failed.
To finish what others have started.
To think what others have thought.
To be what others have been.
To live the way others have lived.
To lose your imagination,
and die where others have died.

Drone: Chapter Three

    “I think I need something to sleep.”
    “You’re having trouble sleeping?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “How long do you normally sleep?”
    “It’s hard to say. I usually get distracted by things, and end up staying awake.  Then I sleep for maybe a couple of hours.  Whenever I can really.”
    I was sitting on my psychiatrist’s leather chair.  I couldn’t help from thinking how useless these sessions had been for me.  I hadn’t actually been prescribed anything and this was my fourth visit.  It was suggested by my parents that I see someone.  Since I refused to declare my major on the grounds that I didn’t have a good grasp on who I was and therefore what I wanted to do with my life.  They thought that a professional could help me “gain direction.”
    “How long has this been going on?”
    “Three...No maybe four months.  I don’t know I guess since around the beginning of the semester.”
    “Why do you think you’re having trouble sleeping?”
    “I don’t know.  Isn’t that you’re job.  Can I smoke in here?”  I asked with the cigarette already at my lips. 
    “Sure.” The doctor said as if he didn’t really want me to.
    I lit it anyway, with my gold Zippo.  Inhaled and tried to keep myself from looking at Dr. Shultz directly.  “What were we talking about?”
    “Your sleeping habits.”
    “Right.  So what do you think?”
    “Do you honestly think you have a problem sleeping.”
    “Again doc, I don’t know.  That is your job.”
    “Okay.  Let me ask you another question.  How is your outlook.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Your current condition.  How do you feel about you’re current state.”
    “Well...I’m very pessimistic.”
    “What are you pessimistic about?”
    “Well, I’m not really doing anything with my life.  I mean, school just seems very...unfulfilling.”
    “I see.  Are you seeing anyone?”
    “Well yeah.”
    “Is it serious?”
    “Of course it’s not serious.”
    “Have you been drinking a lot lately?”  He asked me plainly.
    “Not really.  Maybe three or four nights a week.”  I exhale more smoke.
    “How much do you drink on average?”
    “Maybe fifteen a night.  I...I don’t know.” 
    “I see.”  I saw him scribbling something on his pad.
    “What about drugs?”
    “Just pot.  I don't like it that much.  I don’t use it that much.”  I said this quickly, and then thought. “And some coke.  Only natural stuff, you know?”
    “Okay.”  He again scribbled something in his notes.  “Perhaps you should consider cutting back on your drinking habits.” 
    I stamped out the cigarette in a crystal ashtray that topped a mahogany stand.  Smoke streamed from my nostrils.  There was a stale silence in the room.  It smelled like wood varnish, but it still smelled like a doctors office.  I slight hint of rubbing alcohol seemed to be present, but I might have just been projecting.  I looked at the doctor finally, “Heh, that's a good one doc.”
    He responded mildly, “Look, I think you might be depressed, but I can’t prescribe you anything.  It wouldn’t mix well with your current lifestyle.  If you want to see a change you have to make an effort to change.”
    “Christ.  This is pointless.  I’m a fucking college student.  I drink, Okay?”   My persona was still stable, but his logical analysis was  honestly pissing me off.
    “You have to see that if you are truly depressed your alcohol and drug use is probably an attempt to self medicate.”
    “I don’t think that’s what it is.  I’m not depressed.  I’m just trying to figure out what I’m looking for.”
    “Well, what do you want?”
    “I don’t know.”  I Looked down for a moment to think about it.  “I know I want more than this,” I said finally.
    He scribbled another line on the pad.  Then looking at his watch said, “Okay.  Well ponder that for next week.  Our time is up.”