Wish in one hand, shit in the other: Do not get me wrong—I love ties like the next guy. But I draw the line at singing ties. Horse shit, whoever invented the singing tie should be lined up and beaten with every fucking singing piece of shit they are responsible for bringing into a world that did not ask for them. And do not even get me fucking started on Pete Rose. Do not even pretend that the other players are angelic—they are all fucking crooked. Where in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, did that come from?
Quite frankly, that just made me pee. But only just a little. It will be dry by the time I get up from my counter space where I am allowed to write in the kitchen, giving me time to have a cigarette, change, and be piss-free by the time my wife realizes I am in bed. That, my friends, is time management. It is also the story of Jesus. Most people would save their mangers for last when it came to cleaning them, so the last place on earth people would look for the Mini-Him would be the garage, which is all a manger is really.
A stable is just a garage for your horses and shit, or, more to the point, their shit. Managers will only rent those rooms if they are stacked for the night. The thing about wrath is you have to know your buttons and who has got their grimy mitts on them. For instance, I hate driving in L. I do not mean hit them in their cars. I mean I hit their bodies with the car I happen to be driving. This is not my fault.
The residents of Los Angeles plod across streets and around corners like they are again either looking for addresses or waiting to be touched by actual angels. These fucking idiots just trot out into the middle of the goddamn street, so they are begging to be weeded out of the fucking gene pool. But because of this, I have officially hit forty-seven people in almost as many cars.
It seems California has cornered the market on buffoonery. Almost everyone there has a lifetime contract for retardation, so it is not my fault if they end up maimed or limping from a collision with a Chevy, know what I mean? Fuck them—any group of people that shiny, that handsome, and that stupid deserves a few wounds. It builds character; I only wish it made them a little fucking smarter. I have no doubts that somewhere in me I am actually quite fond of my gala ctic traveling pants brothers and sisters hitching a ride on this semicircular celestial body we call home.
But for the most part, no, I do not like you. It is yours. I do my best to get along. You keep fucking it up. And that, in turn, pisses me off. So do you know what that means? Very simple: If rage is a sin, then I am still not guilty because you guys make me inadvertently sin. You are all vicarious sin carriers, spreading godlessness like cooties. Rage gets the bolt of lightning because of you.
Nah, just fucking with you; thanks for buying my book. Besides, I thought rage was a reaction. Rage is not really something you practice. It is a by-product of adverse stimuli. This changes the whole study. I mean, who should be blamed for something other people bring out of you? Numbnut humans bring out the worst in each other and walk away scot-free. That is a fucking truckload of monkey shit. If you make someone feel mad, you get the sin. If you make someone feel greedy, you draw the technical foul on the court.
This is just common sense. If you ask someone to kill someone and they get caught, you can still be charged right along with the other person. So what is the fucking difference? The reason people are afraid of rage is the violence associated with it. Violence makes people nervous and nervous people cut up the land and stay on their own side. Like I said, everyone gets mad, but not everyone reacts the same way.
Violence makes people hesitant to display their true feelings. Violence makes people flinch at loud noises on subways. Violence makes people think twice when dealing with—who else? It is the main reason we hold in our frustrations. It is why we waste time and money telling our worries to impartial therapists. Sometimes the stagnation of fury builds a conflagration of seething retaliation, bent on burning the churches and soiling the fields of our collective satisfaction. I know I sound like some kind of malevolent Nipsey Russell, but I watch the world without presumption, so I can safely say the rot of our reaction will always spoil the fruits of our creation.
If you treat a situation a certain way, you will get a specific result. A long time ago I still had faith in people doing the right thing. When I was nineteen, I landed my dream job of working in a music store. I could listen to music all day and I got a sweet discount on all the CDs I wanted. It was a great gig even if I had to dress nicely, which I hated doing, but I did it with relish because for the first time, with the exception of actually playing music, I was good at something.
It may seem stupid, but that made me feel normal, and even for me, normal is sorely needed once in a while. There was one problem. I had long hair. I was not dying it, I did not have dreadlocks, it was not a crazy hairdo; I just had long hair. What was wrong with that, right? I could give three-fifths of a red shit about that, but I was not told that or made aware of that when I was hired. So a few months in, the owner showed up to do a walk-through to see how the store was doing.
Without a clue, I introduced myself. They fucking fired me. Are you ready for the really fucked up part? As a small-town hero in the early '90s, he threw himself into a fierce-drinking, drug-abusing, hard-loving, live-for-the-moment life. Soon Taylor's music exploded, and he found himself rich, wanted, and on the road. His new and ever-more-extreme lifestyle had an unexpected effect, however; for the first time, he began to actively think about what it meant to sin and whether sinning could-or should-be recast in a different light.
Seven Deadly Sins is Taylor's personal story, but it's also a larger discussion of what it means to be seen as either a "good" person or a "bad" one. Yes, Corey Taylor has broken the law and hurt people, but, if sin is what makes us human, how wrong can it be? About the author. What Does This Button Do? Reviews What people think about Seven Deadly Sins 4. Rate as 1 out of 5, I didn't like it at all.
Rate as 2 out of 5, I didn't like it that much. Rate as 3 out of 5, I thought it was OK. Rate as 4 out of 5, I liked it. Rate as 5 out of 5, I loved it. Rating: 0 out of 5 stars. Write a review optional. Reader reviews stang50logan. In several places the book became a bit preachy and long in the tooth. So why should we be saddled with inferred differences when we all feel the same?
Just because we think something does not really make it a sin. Just because we want something, doing so does not make us sinful. Just because we feel, it does not make us sinners. There is real vitality in letting yourself indulge in what life has to offer. Quicken your spirit and you might just save your soul.
Okay, maybe I am offering a hint of salvation after all. There is, of course, also nothing wrong with depriving yourself of sins. But too many people put themselves on a pedestal for denying themselves simple things. Maybe with this book, you can figure some things out.
Most likely, it will just help me work out some serious shit from my own life. I may be a fuck, but I am not an absolute fuck. Sure, I have done some things I am not proud of, but I would not call them sins—I would call them mistakes. You are not allowed to learn from sins because they are held against you for the rest of your life. That is, unless you are Catholic. Confession is like the fine print in an airtight contract, and I am sure most of the faithful envy you.
Well, hell, we all make mistakes. It is part of our journey. It is how we move from innocence to resounding wisdom. It is how everyone keeps from shitting themselves in public and on each other. It is our ever-learning, ever-adapting GPS for this thing called life. Let me give you an example. It was so easy to steal from this place that even the managers were doing it.
So I joined in, not because I am inherently wanton but because I was fucking broke and I made less than jack shit. Now, I had not stolen anything in years. So it was a novel sensation to skim tills, steal merchandise, and have sex in my place of business. To put it another way, I basically became the Caligula of the graveyard shift. I was a total scumbag: I stole more money in one night than I actually made in one week.
I had orgies in the backrooms. And I walked away with thousands in retail products. But the real reason I did it was because I could. Is that a good reason? Not at all. To this day, it makes me sick to think about it. It was a period in my life that I look back on in shame. It should not have mattered if everyone was doing it or if the people who owned the store might have deserved it because they were crooked as fuck, keeping hundreds of thousands of dollars off the books while paying us serfs like newsies.
I have always been vehemently against theft, but there I was, robbing people blind and not giving a shit what the consequences were.
I took advantage of a system I was entrusted to maintain, and I squandered it on avarice and greed. When it was over, I never stole another thing again. I do not take pride in that fact; I just know my boundaries and that is one I have vowed never to cross.
But in retrospect, if I had not gone that far in the first place, who is to say I would feel that way now? If I had not done these things, who is to say I would be as indignant about it today? So the misguided acts of my past have brought me to the virtues of my present and will hopefully lead me to the grace of my future.
I found my moral limit because I crossed my own line and did not feel good about it. No one can hold me accountable. That is a job for my conscience and my soul.
I am the only judge of what I am capable of, because who really knows me but me? The difference between knowing yourself and trusting yourself is minute, but its repercussions are infinite. Now a lot of the devout will refute that by saying He knows you better than you know yourself. Yeah, that is great and all, but seeing as I have never seen any proof of his existence besides the nihilistic ramblings of billions of followers, I will take my chances with myself, thank you very much.
Like I said, n obody knows me better than myself, and I learn from my mistakes. Can you imagine how boring life would be without the seven little spices? You talk about sloth, but why would men and women get out of bed if there were no lust? Why would anyone want to be a bleeding heart without even a hint of greed in their dirty little soul?
A few revolutions to make? Sure, I am making a case for the defendants, but then again most petty sins are simply excuses to buck the system and feel alive.
Why have free will if you cannot put a few miles on it first? It is like comparing felonies and misdemeanors: Stealing candy is not the same as murder, and lust does not always mean rape. It is important to remember these distinctions before we go any further. Oh, who am I kidding? I could just be looking for any excuse to be a lecherous mook. That is half the fun, right? Remember when you were a kid and you would try any improbable excuse to get out of trouble?
That could very much be the case here. I do not want to be saved; I just do not want to burn. I mean, I am a cynic, but I am not an idiot.
0コメント