Being Told Who/What You Are/Aren’t

This is an utterly lovely experience, isn’t it? You being told who or what you are or aren’t by someone else who, clearly, must know you better than yourself.

Often times, I find this crime against humanity is perpetrated by a class of citizens — if these mangy mongrel pups can be called such — known at hypocrites. Now, I say “class” because they are a group unto their own. They have their own set of rules that they follow which society at large does not and have logic which is egregiously erroneous at all turns.

Their strict adherence to their codified falsehoods presents them with every opportunity to demean others — even their own kind. Often their attack begins with something that, at their peak of brilliance, contradicts something within themselves. In other words, they say someone is something in a way that implies that they themselves are not when in fact they are.

Their prudish behavior is based upon human psychology,  though I will never give them the benefit of the doubt that they know what they are doing. Their aggressions are timed in such a way that the victim is left in a state of mental unrest and therefore incapable of adequately clear thought. Their victim, then, plummets into a state of agitation once the realization has been made that what has occurred is contradictory in nature. That agitation then throws the victim back into the fog of mental unrest but with the added ‘benefit’ of cyclical, vengeful disdain.

Ultimately, the reason behind their actions is to bring unto themselves a state of euphoria.

In times of an attack, there is little a person can do beside remain weary and conscious of efforts of these kinds of things. But that would be tiresome and, I would imagine, lead to some degree of paranoia. The favored reaction is the anti-reaction.

This anti-reaction is one that the hypocrite does not anticipate and is not allowed within their codex. They do not know how to handle such a reaction and thus causes them to become confused. Then within that confusion, they are open to a counter attack.

They do not expect acceptance of their accusations.

Now, of course, such acceptance is dangerous as then the victim must have irrefutable evidence as their, shall we say, ‘ace up their sleeve’. However, with this evidence in hand, the victim may fain — bluff — in an effort to unmask the gruesome, grotesque hyena behind the guise of a fellow human being.

If the counter attack is successful, the outcome is often in the form of a stage comedy where the hypocrite sudden lets loose a barrage of practiced and/or improved excuses, reasons, or otherwise theoretical facts that show that they are not part of this infamous class of individual.

Today, I was assaulted by such an individual. I was accused of “not even trying.” This statement, at its base, is so far from the truth that it is hilarious. I won’t go into the details, but I will just say that their attempts were fruitless and through their attempts to cover up their failure, this individual’s class-nature came through: to smooth it over by shows of friendliness.

Ay, mis amigos, do not let yourselves fall into these creatures grasps! For each and every one of you are far better than these villanos intocables.

Until later, be safe and enjoy y’all’s days,

Bae

P.S.: There will be a rather large update soon in regards to the Princess 300 that I ended up doing a ton of work on. I ended up getting help from a fellow typist that y’all might know. 😀

My Dearest Readers

I will be taking a short/small break from technology.

It will last until Monday (when I post up the Weekly Update) then continue until the story is finished — my guess is Wed or Thu of this coming week.

The motive behind this is that… well, it’s actually hard to explain.

A small story then…

A year back now, maybe two, I ran an experiment. This was before I had started taking Wellbutrin or the like but I’m not sure if it is before or after being hospitalized due to my heart. The purpose of the experiment was to establish something: does technology provide a catalyst that encourages or otherwise brings about negative side-effects?

During this experiment, I went without TV. I did not use a computer either. However, I made the allowance of my smart phone. TV was replaced with books and during the experiment that lasted… oh, at least a few weeks to maybe a month or two (can’t remember definitely), I just utterly devoured scores of books. I remember starting one and nearly finishing it the same day. Most research was done via the small library I had at the time, rather than using Wikipedia or Google.

What the experiment provided was precious data that showed conclusively in the affirmative that technology did, in fact, provide that catalyst. As the experiment went on, I became more active and attentive. My mood became uplifted and motivation returned. Overall, it was a startling difference between the start ‘personality’ and the end personality.

A key result that the experiment did not provide was why does technology do this to me. The most obvious conclusion is simply input overload. But I’m not entirely sure if that is 100% the answer. This is something that I continue to ponder.

So, I hope you’ll understand better now why I’m stepping away from all this stuff. I’m honestly tired of it. I can feel it. Technology  (modern) is tiresome and boring. And along with fast cars, I’ll never understand the drive to have the latest and greatest.

Oh! how I long for the days of letters again. The days when people actually knew how to write their names and practiced penmanship. The days when people actually knew what penmanship is! When people knew how to write letters instead of sloppy emails with no salutations or closings. When people knew how to actually use this thing called a vocabulary. Wen ppl didn’t uz abbrvs 4 evrtng! Are we truly evolving or simply degrading into a lazy masses of blood and flesh?

Until later, be safe and enjoy y’all’s days,

Bae

Everyone Has a Road to Take

Typecast or not typecast… that is the question. I actually started typing this post on the Skyriter while in the hotel after I had posted a comment on Twitter (which got Specialized to follow me… which is very cool) about cycling. I… I think I’m not going to typecast this post. So… here we go.

There are a few major things that hold my love. First and foremost is my partner (and our family). But two others battle it out on a near daily basis: typewriters and cycling. And right now, I want to talk about the latter.

Cycling is dangerous. But not in the traditional sense. It is dangerously good. Sure, there is the possibility of physical harm, but I feel there are a lot of “loves” that can cause that. What I mean by “dangerously good” is that without you knowing, you suddenly become addicted and through that you become healthy in some way — almost the anti-definition of what often being addicted to something implies. It is “dangerously” addictive but the results are oh-so-good.

I’ve never been good at sports or fitness. I either don’t like the idea of the competition or it simply doesn’t hold my attention. I rather fancy myself as a numbers person, a mathematician. So, I guess, I fall into a kind of stereotypical mold. But that doesn’t bother me — not sure why it should…

But cycling is different. Cycling is a sport in as much as a discipline and a lifestyle. I am not sure the same could be said for football, soccer, golf, rugby, ultimate Frisbee, swimming, or a handful of other sports — or more. Cycling is a sport of the highest level, complete with a long history, old events, worldwide recognition, an Olympic placement (that includes several events), world championships, and an illustrious history of drug abuse and drama. I think that defines a sport rather well… don’t you?

I feel like I needn’t explain why it is a discipline but for the sake of completeness: cycling is one of the best cardiovascular exercises one can do. Not only can you get a cardiovascular work out and thus strengthen your heart (and increase your overall health), but it also works out your core muscles. I’m a road cyclist. And in the typical position, people often think we hold ourselves up with our arms, placing weight upon our palms, etc. This is true — but only to some extent. Because we, in fact, if trained properly, actually use our back and core muscles to hold ourselves up mostly. This allows us to be light on the pedals, keep pressure off our palms, and all sorts of good things! (That is a little known fact, it seems…) The saddle is there for us to just sit, the bars the guide the front wheel. A road bike (really, any bike) is a near perfect example of how man and machine can meld seamlessly.

Now… cycling is a lifestyle. This point can go on for hours, if not days and weeks. Cycling is all consuming because of one simple fact: it is a form of transportation. This applies all too well to joggers, runners, walkers, etc. You can’t be transported with a soccer ball or a football or a Frisbee or a golf ball or… But it isn’t just transportation: it’s a totally different mindset. You see things differently all together. You see curbs and streets and sidewalks and other things as avenues to get from point A to point B with as little effort as possible (and as safely as possible). Little lines start forming as you pedal along, showing you possible routes of where to go: you become your own GPS, knowing the streets, the drivers, the environment, far better than any driver or pedestrian ever possibly could. This teaches so many things… so many. Self discipline. Strategy. Planning. Safety. Not to mention cycling skills like bunny hopping, tactical up/downshifting, and accurate bike handling skills.

Every cyclist has a road they take. Some route they adore or aspire to conquer with the grace and agility of their idols. My road is a bit complicated, to say the least, but mine is paved by none other than Olympic medalists. I have AFib and Mitral Valve Prolapse. An Australian triathlete by the name of Erin Densham won the bronze medal in the London 2012 Olympics after defeating a heart issue that causes a racing heartbeat. Mine simply doesn’t beat steadily. But if she can conquer the Olympics with a heart issue (even if corrected with surgery), why can’t I?

My road certainly isn’t the Olympics but instead to… simply live and enjoy life. AFib isn’t a death sentence if managed. That is my motivation. That is my drive. Cycling is my life but not because I rely on it for fitness, to exercise my heart, but because it gives me the drive to learn self discipline, to strategize over how to do things better, how to plan my dietary low cholesterol/low(er) sodium needs, and to safely carry all these things out.

I am many things. But always in the top 3 things that come to mind — even if my body doesn’t reflect it! — is that I’m a cyclist.

I am a cyclist.