An inverse torus.

If you listen to the universe,
You can hear it breathing.

Not expanding, nor contracting,
But in a superposition of the two;

Petition to City of San Antonio: Save Our Strip

Sign the petition here.

To the San Antonio City Council, Economic Development Board, and Department of Cultural and Creative Department:

Save our culture. Save our identity. Save our Strip.

Fear and Powerlessness in the Shadow of Trump

Among the urban core of San Antonio, the idea of a Trump presidency usually provokes one of two responses. The first is ridicule. It’s great fun to poke at Trump’s cartoonishly hyperbolic litany, but as I sat watching the presidential debate at Burleson yard last week, the crowd seated among benches and picnic tables struck me as indistinguishable from a similar group watching videos of kitten antics. The gaggles of young men “bro-ing out” over their common disdain and couples tittering into each other’s ears preceded time enough to critically analyze the individual arguments presented by the orange one.

Am I an Adult?

What is it to be an Adult? When is a person an Adult?

Is it when they reach a certain age?
Is it when they lose their virginity?
Is it when they have killed their first man, as is held in warlike cultures?
Is it when they are able to independently and financially support themselves?

I would posit the view that an individual reaches complete maturity when, after a realizing their life until then has been marked by an age of others’ tutelage, strangers trying to ‘fix’ them, that they understand that while the endeavor was noble, the age has come to fix themselves.
When after absorbing history, fact, and anecdote after anecdote, and after a period of learning how to view everything that exists outside of themselves objectively, they may finally view themselves in the same light.

It goes beyond mere recognition. A hypocrite who knows himself as such and can only sigh in reply has not demonstrated anything beyond a childish tendency to rely on the forces of nature for change.

There are many times when I thought I had become an adult: when I had moved out on my own and supported myself, when I was able to conduct myself with dignity, when I have handled situations of terrible consequence and overcome adversity.
It may, or may not, be now for myself, when I have come to know that the time for reliance on regimented conditioning from the universe is over, for it to drop a book of protocols in my lap, to learn from it the grammar of existance. The time to be sculpted is over; it is time to assume the sculptor. To examine the cracks and pores, to lament them briefly, but seek out and make ready the plaster, and to cut and mold as I see fit.

When you know your flaws, when you no longer rationalize your wrongs, when you accept absolute accountability for who you are and what you have done. Inner peace is no guarantee, but I do hope there will be a satisfying moment when we know.