No one gives a fuck. You know that thing you think people should give a fuck about? No one does. They give only fucks about things they give a fuck about and sometimes that thing is the same thing that you do, but if it doesn’t, they don’t give a fuck.
There are a lot of things happening in the world today. The whole internet is full of people claiming that they give a fuck, but they don’t really. It’s one thing to say you give a fuck, but it’s quite another to act like you do.
There are a lot of
people men sexually assaulting people. People are saying they give a fuck. Unless of course it is inconvenient to give a fuck. If a comedian is funny, is it sexual assault? We need to accept that artists are truly tortured and is the side effect of creating great works of art. Some people give more of a fuck about politics than a little sexual predatory behavior.
It’s fine that Michael Jackson paid about $200 million to about 20 different victims of his affections for young boys. Billy Jean and Thriller won’t stop people hitting the dance floors at weddings and night clubs everywhere. This is because no one gives a fuck. These same people will bemoan the Catholic church since it’s easy to not go to church.
Uber is a terrible company. They fight laws that protect workers’ rights, and hide and fight sexual assault allegations. They have the ethics that make Enron blush, but yet when people need to get home from dancing to Thriller at the clubs, they will open their Uber app with no fucks given. Then they bitch about how terrible President Trump is for all the same reasons the company they choose to use is guilty of. It’s easier to not give a fuck for convenience, but give a fuck for the person you didn’t vote for.
A person will give a fuck about diamonds being conflict diamonds, but won’t give a fuck snorting a line or two of cocaine in the back of an Uber. All coke is conflict coke.
I’m not in any way trying to say you should stop giving a fuck across the board. I am saying that you should give a fuck across the board. Act like you give a fuck.
Giving a fuck requires actual action and accountability. Writing what people should and shouldn’t say and do on social media doesn’t actually mean you give an actual fuck. It just means you are a lazy person. All your friends who still follow you also think that. They give a fuck about the same things you give a fuck about. No one’s fucks giving has changed.
This “essay” doesn’t even mean that I am really giving a fuck. It might seem like I’m saying I give a fuck, but it’s just words. You have no idea what I say or do that would actually mean I give a fuck.
I want to give a fuck when people are hurt. I want to give a fuck if it’ll make the world a better place. I give a fuck about other people. I give a fuck about people I have never met.
It’s hard to give a fuck when your convenience is jeopardized. Buying from Amazon is really easy, but that means you don’t give a fuck about local businesses. Using Uber is really simple, but then you don’t give a fuck about sexual assault, corporate ethics, worker rights, and cab companies. Dancing to Michael Jackson is really fun and social, but that money from playing that song goes to hush money for the children he molested. Using Facebook to proclaiming your giving a fuck is really a great way to not really do anything, but you are not giving a fuck about political democracy, foreign interference with our sources of information, truth, advertising and marketing, privacy, the hegemony of our culture, the laziness of communication, and being addicted to online attention.
Say whatever you want, no one gives a fuck. Keep pretending you do.
At the end of today I will be shutting down my Facebook account. I just don’t feel that there is anything good that happens on here anymore. It is just an advertising and big-media platform.
I think back to a time when I didn’t have Facebook. Some people I would never have relationships with if it weren’t for Facebook, and I’m not unhappy I do, but sometimes running into someone randomly, but already knowing everything about them passively is just gross. It would be awesome to be able to have a full conversation instead of, “Yeah, I saw that on Facebook.” Some people will need to require more work on my part, and their part, to keep a relationship going. Other people are in my life everyday and I want a pure active nourishing relationship with.
Yes, the events function make getting huge people together a lot easier. I just hope that if you really want me to go to your event, you’d ask. If me not being on Facebook is too much work for you to invite me to your event, then your event will have a great time without me.
I have been on the fence about taking myself off Facebook for about a year now. There have been many reasons. I am addicted, it has become too political, it has made the world too small and too fast, on its board sits Peter Thiel who is a supporter and contributed to Donald J. Trump making money off of me, and this last bit of news about Russian Trolls using Facebook to win the presidential election for Russia.
I just can’t in good conscience keep logging on to Facebook to see what opinions you are wrong about or a hundred of you saying the exact same thing. It makes me think the people I know are a herd of sheep. I don’t want that perspective. I want your unique personality when you and I are talking.
I can’t feel good about myself partaking in an advertising & big media platform that is actually changing our society for the worst. The world does look like it’s spinning into oblivion when you are glued to a feed that tells you so. I’m not saying the world is great, but Facebook is a megaphone for humanities’ worse selves.
When a hundred of you post the same link about how terrible something is, it makes it a lot worse than if one of you posted it. I get it, people need to know. There is one thing that I know is people don’t want to know what they don’t know and want to just keep knowing what they already think they know. The link and opinion becomes void except by those who are assholes and argue for funsies and those that feel the same way you do.
If Facebook had the amount of positive impact on society, and it does have some worth there, I would be less inclined to log out, but it doesn’t. Because I like you and you post about antifa, I get ads focused at me about balaclavas from Land’s End. Your struggle now has monetary value for someone else.
I’m going to post this on my blog, http://www.davideverettfisher.com for if you want to read this after today. I’m also going to post my email address, so you can reach me if you don’t already know. firstname.lastname@example.org. I am going to log off tonight.
Hey, I might be back, but until I hear that the pros outweigh the cons, I’ll be on Twitter and Instagram @defisher.
I hope I don’t lose too many friends, but this is a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Somehow I’ve left writing.
It didn’t leave me, but I am a child who waits for the perfect environment.
I need to be alone.
I can’t be tired.
I must have the perfect Jazz album playing.
I have to have had a good day.
I need to feel like I’m not being pressed for time.
Time is really the greatest enemy of mine. I don’t look at it right. It takes four hours to get to work. (It takes 15 minutes on average [but it takes an hour to get home]) I won’t start something I don’t think I can finish. I panic. It’s better to never try then to either miss a deadline or be late for something.
I read these essays on how other writers manage their time. Some writers wrote while working, parenting, spousing, and getting into other parts of life. Others didn’t do anything but write. Some wrote on napkins and small pieces of paper that they compiled into a great work of literature. Others wrote on a typewriter. Others use a MacBook Pro, and they write where the coffee is the color of toffee and the steamer interrupts the hip hop.
I wrote a blog post everyday for a year. None of the above environments ever happened. I wrote a lot of those posts on my back and on my IPhone. It might have helped me write a lot, but it didn’t actually grab me that discipline I thought it would. I stopped.
Now I have rewritten this several times and I feel like everything I write is stupid.
I went from a Joe Henderson album to a James Chance album.
And why do I even care about writing well? No one reads unless it’s boy wizards or a book that vindicates a feeling. No one even reads the hours on a store’s door. No one reads a menu. It has to be obvious.
Sometimes I lie in bed at night and be watching TV or trying to sleep and I just think about how I wish I was doing something creative. I lie there thinking about the process. I see myself writing, drawing, painting, designing, but when I come down to my “office” and open the laptop, I stare at a blank screen for a few minutes before drooling on myself scrolling through Facebook.
Everyone is writing more than me.
So I left writing.
I didn’t have anything to tell you on Facebook.
No declarations of adulting better than you.
No kid pictures.
No links to questionable news sites.
I just hang on to the awful thing to be invited to things. It’s also handy for birthday reminders or any news from my softball team.
Honestly, if I wasn’t on my softball team, I’d quit Facebook forever.
It’s ruining my writing. It’s ruining my reading. It’s ruining the world.
So I lie in bed with my back to my computer while I think of what I want to write instead of writing it.
Some say it is just as easy as just doing it.
Just do it.
No excuses, bro.
Just fucking write!
I will sit and scroll through Twitter or Instagram instead of write. I will stare out the window and stare at the cars driving by. I will turn on TV. I’ve got Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, and I have the MLB package. I am savvy with YouTube. I will watch porn. I will do all of this instead of write. Draw. Paint. Create.
It sickens me. I have turned my back on who I am.
The world spirals and spirals closer to being something I don’t recognize, but I won’t write.
I have thought I was gonna die, but I won’t write.
I am on my second, third, or fourth chance at life, but I won’t write.
I am told on a daily basis that I am creative, but I won’t write.
So here I am trying to find writing again. Or something.
Mostly I am disgusted with myself.
I am better than this.
When you work in customer service, especially the retail version, a lot of people will point out what kind of weather it is. They will complain that it isn’t what they want or that it’s perfect, but they have to be inside at work. When weather is threatening to be awful, every single person will tell you the forecast.
“It’s supposed to snow on Thursday.”
Nobody wants it to snow on Thursday. One of the main reason that nobody wants it to snow on Thursday is that people will have to change the way they live to deal with the snow.
This is the season of depression. I have it. I have had this deep down melancholy since before I could remember. Life has always felt heavy. I have made peace with it. I try and take care of myself the best I can and know that this too shall pass.
This winter has found me with a different kind of depression. It feels heavier and everyday it is still there not passing. I stare out the window at the falling rain and the grey charcol colored low clouds and I feel the ceiling of reality smothering me like a giant hand. It is a feeling of being trapped with no where to go but the same way as everyone else.
If I look over at other people that are walking under this weight, I see no light in their eyes. What I see is a look of hopelessness and utter lack of self-confidence. I see a darkness in even the jovial of friends.
I think about that extra heaviness, that bonus darkness, and I wonder what it is. I evaluate and research the root of that sadness. I have had to deal with the dimness of light in my soul every year, year after year, so I know how to root around in that mud with skill.
I figured it out: I am mourning.
I am mourning the death of reason. I have watched rational thought expire and fall into the darkness of madness. We live in a world where feelings are marked as 100% fact. If one believes something, this makes it true. I am grieving the word of a person.
When a person used to put their hand on a bible and make an oath, even if that person has no belief in the myths and legends of that book, the person has sworn an oath to be honest and honest that person will be. Now that is either not true, or no one that disagrees with what that person is saying will believe that person. If you don’t agree with an outcome, then the outcome is false.
Belief is a strange and curious curse of consciousness. Philosophers and scientists have speculated for a millennia if what one person sees, all sees it too. Is my green the same green you see? For a long time, excepting those that suffer the hex of color blindness, but even then we can still agree that my green is your green because grass is often green. That has been true until someone needs a different thing to be green so will stop believing grass to be green and then dismiss all who claim grass being green.
Truth has become subjective. Our government and it’s conservative machine are now using the same tactics that hippies use, if I don’t feel that it is true, it isn’t true. Don’t say that, it is false news because I don’t feel good about the truth, so the truth needs to change.
Even with knowledge of all civilization sitting in our pocket, we are more subject to falling for a false narrative than it was when we had to rely on ourselves to be knowledgeable. Books, newspapers, teachers, professionals, and our elders were our guides to how the world was. Now knowledge is prefered to be found on an online forum that was originally built to help ivy school kids party and hook-up.
This land used to have giants walk it. Now there are none. Nobody is great anymore. All people are riddled with fault and sin that smother the greatness in the darkest of shadows. People read all the opinions of what the truth is, but nobody wants to find out what is behind that truth. How did we get to this point?
I am mourning the fact that while people have great intentions, people aren’t wanting to change their life to help change the way our world is now. It is snowing, but people are still leaving their house at the same time to get to work and then get so mad when other drivers are going so slow or that the roads haven’t been plowed or that their car is sliding all over the place or that they grew up having snow days and believe that as an adult should get snow days still!
There is no greatness anymore. It probably happened before I noticed, but it is hard to see that greatness is no longer a goal. We worship rich spoiled brats. There are people with millions of dollars that believe the earth is flat. Instead of outrage, it just becomes a joke. Ignorance is almost rewarded. Mediocrity can earn millions. There is nothing that talent can be showcased anymore.
That sadness is dripping heavy with a thick layer of grief. I am perpetually walking around with a lump in my throat. I want something to blame, but then I would just become them . . . you.
It was hard to disagree with so many, but there wasn’t this fear of the fundamentals ideals of what a human should be being completely disregarded. I am scared that we have turned a direction that we may never come back from.
I just read a book called The Mercy of the Tide by Keith Rosson. In the book there is this fictional book called the The Looming Error which was explaining the impending doom of nuclear annihilation. The argument was that since we dropped the bomb we can’t escape our destiny to drop the bomb again. We can’t take a step back.
This is how I feel about the world today. We have made ourselves a parody of ourselves and now we will never be able to be real or authentic again. Truth and knowledge will never be needed again to justify any decision, just feelings and fear will be the deciding factor. I don’t feel good when that happens so that needs to never happen again. Don’t say those words around me. Your opinion is wrong. I believe that to be true.
I feel extra sad because we are turning our backs on the one thing that actually made us great: Reason. If Reason can’t win, then we are just animals. Animals with religion.
All the email said was 3:18. This is how I found out that the Death with Dignity drugs had finally worked for my grandmother. It seemed all so impersonal. I had just been at her bedside two days before basically saying good-bye and now I just happened to be refreshing my email and seeing 3:18. This impersonal set of numbers was enough to have grief wash over me.
Grief has visited me in so many different ways. Not just death, but heartbreak, loneliness, and seeing the world ignore beauty were other ways that grief had sought me out. I have clenched my jaw in anger, cried, and ignored the pain of loss. I react so many different ways. Best friends’ deaths get the, “you get used to it” stoicism, but a cartoon dog will bring tears to my eyes.
I don’t think anyone really ever gets used to losing someone so permanently. I don’t know how anyone ever could. It’s one thing to wait for someone to come back from a long trip, but the idea of never ever seeing the person again is not an easy task. Some of us act tough, but loss is loss.
I called my grandma granny. She never seemed like a granny. She was young for a grandma, my other grandma was much older, and she and her husband, papa, lived such full exciting lives. They just wanted to be called granny & papa.
When I saw the number 3:18, I thought, “my granny.”
I’m adopted. I have the best adopted family an adopted guy could ask for. There are times where my different blood is very apparent. I can see my differences in my parents, my brother, my grandfather, but for some reason my granny would be my granny no matter whose kid I was. She loved me so unconditionally and so absolute that I would be blind to my origin story when I was drinking cream sodas in the kitchen out on the farm.
Papa died on Father’s Day, 2013. It seemed like in a matter of one year he had turned from a strong man into a withering little body. Granny had taken care of him till the end and he kept saying how much he loved her. It was from the bottom of his heart.
At my brother’s wedding they did this dance thing where they would announce years married and if you hadn’t gotten there yet you would step off the stage. At last my grandparents were still there slow dancing and looking into each others crying eyes. No one that stood there watching could deny the beauty and love that danced on the floor that day. I think that that was the biggest gift to my brother and his wife, this look at long lasting love. This is what Disney means by living happily ever after.
Grandmas are supposed to die. If a grandma lives long enough, she will die. My other grandma lived to be 103. I think that is a little too long for a grandma to live, but on the other hand the world would be a better place if grandma’s never died.
Rationally it makes sense that living things stop living. When other people lose their grandmas, I think to myself how that makes sense that a grandma would die. That rational thought doesn’t extend to my granny. I almost wailed I cried so hard.
Grief is so unpredictable. Sometimes a pile of griefs will collect before some cat dies and all those griefs come out at once. Sometimes the cat is in a movie. Sometimes that cat is Robert Redford not returning to Meryl Streep in Out of Africa. Sometimes that grief is real because your granny just died.
Granny had three kids, my mom, a son, and another daughter. The three of them took turns and together waited for my granny to die. This was their mom. When I came over that evening that she died, they were all in good spirits. They laughed and were sharing this moment. In the other room she was lying in bed with her mouth open. She didn’t look asleep, she looked dead.
My dad decided that this was a good idea to announce an earlier retirement.
They were all in good spirits until her body was finally taken away. This was another moment that reminded all of us that we have lost her. We would never see her again. We only have our photographs and memories to see her.
It seems that a lot of kids movies are made to help kids understand grief. The idea of grief almost seems like it isn’t natural. Why is such a natural and organic thing cause such pain? It almost seems like the discovery of Santa Clause’s fiction is to help kids understand loss. This is the loss of your childlike wonder.
Like a lot of things in this life, grief is so complicated. For such simple jumble of cells, we sure complicate the most simple of things, like the cycle of life. I feel so sad and depleted that I want to smoke a cigarette. Granny was dying of cancer, and she never liked that I smoked, and she sat there while I was in the hospital bed when I had cancer telling me that a grandma should never see a grandchild in a hospital bed, but the sadness makes me want to escape the sadness. I think, “one cigarette.”
I won’t smoke.
Mortality is such a tricky topic. We still live in an age where so many people believe in this life after death. She is looking down at us. She is with papa. She feels no more pain. Did she think life was short?
She was ready, I know that. She didn’t voice regret or how she wished anything. She wanted to go. The pain, the loss of papa, the loss of a few bridge partners were enough to warrant an escape from this world. Her last words to her kids were, “be kind to each other.”
Tomorrow a new president takes office. I don’t care if you hate him or think he is really going to make America great again. Just be kind to each other. It takes a few minutes on Facebook to see how much people are not kind to each other and then in the next breath wonder how the world got this way. We don’t do a good job of being kind to each other.
Granny was a bright light in my life. I was the first grandchild. I was bathed and adored by her. She bought me star wars action figures and told me they’d be mine some day. I would ask if I could have the farm when they, and I’d look up to heaven. I ate shepard pies and helped make cider and watch as she helped birth sheep.
I might be getting sentimental in my old age, but a great lady has passed. The very kindness and compassion I hold in me is from my granny and my mom.
Now the ice has melted away. I feel a huge loss. I grieve. It rains. I still have a job, I still have a girlfriend, I still have responsibilities, I still wake up and eat and drink coffee. All of it seems so dulled.
Be kind to each other.
The Last One
January 11th, 2016 I decided to commit to writing a blog everyday for a year. I was recovering from cancer treatment and my head had taken a heavy blow from chemo. I had cognitive issues and reading and writing, two things that I love, and I struggled to read a sentence or write one.
So I decided to write a meditation blog making fun of the spiritual, psychobabble, woo-woo, recovery based culture that I see on my Facebook feed all day.
I had a lot of fun. I got to creatively make fun of things. I’d write it and think, ‘I can’t wait till _______ reads this, they’ll get so bummed.’ I’d also get stoked if someone would like what I wrote.
All the negative responses were about spelling and grammar and not the actual content, so I rolled my eyes and felt fine.
I write most of these on my iPhone lying down next to my girlfriend before going to sleep hoping that she’ll read it and laugh.
As the year went on, my head started to clear and writing got easier, and then reading for easier. Doing this for a year helped me get back on my feet. Words got easier to remember, ideas became more fluid, and I started to feel more confident in my thinking.
Thank you to all the people that read all of them, a lot of them, or even some of them. I had to give myself a commitment and be accountable for it, and publishing it for all can see was the way I found to be accountable for.
I don’t know what the future holds for my writing. I want to get more into visual arts. I don’t want this to be the end of my creative process. I’ll still blog.
I am 40 years old. I don’t want to disappear into my job or creating a family. I want creativity to be a major part of my life. This year has helped me know I can do it. All I need is self-discipline.
So thank you. I hope that I made you laugh or touched you in some way in these silly little Cracked Pot Meditations.
Meditation for January 10th, 2017
The Gentrification of Weather
It is winter here in Portland, Oregon and it has snowed three seperate times and there is a snow coming later this evening. We aren’t getting feet of snow, this also isn’t a desert or tropical place where snow never happens at all, but just the touch of snow to Portland’s streets is the same as Hurricane Katrina to New Orleans.
New Orleans is in hurricane territory. Portland is in a place where snow can happen. Both cities have invested in apparatuses that will hopefully help deal with snow and hurricanes, yet too much snow, like too much hurricane, is too much for the city to endure.
The immigrants from the upper Midwest and New England laugh at us for our inability to deal with our snow. They tout that life goes on in -23 degree Fahrenheit and 13 feet of snow while we close outside at half an inch.
The southerners, be it California, Texas, or Florida, can’t even handle it if it gets under 70 degree Fahrenheit let alone we do a few days of sun. A southerner will contemplate suicide if we have seven days of sun, but one day of rain.
Portland has some infrastructure when it comes to snow, but it is built to deal with 399,00 people deal with one day of snow. Since 2010, 40,000 people on average have moved to the city of Portland and immediately demanded the infrastructure of a large northeastern city.
If we aren’t dealing with snow snobs, we have to endure the endless onslaught of people complaining of the rainy grey weather. Never mind that it is one of the mildest climates in the country, and other than the possibility of a large earthquake, Portland is home to zero natural disasters.
The human being not only got knowledge of right and wrong from the tree of life in Eden, but humans also got the inability to ignore the weather. You say the exact same thing to your dying relative about the possibility of snow as you do when you are buying Draino and condoms from the corner market.
We have built climate controlled structures to hide from the weather, yet it is all we notice from our Nest controlled homes is that it is raining outside.
People who have no business going outside bemoan the lack of sun and warmth as if they are suddenly avid outdoorsmen. Video games happen no matter what the weather is like, so why does it matter to the most dedicated basement dweller?
Here is what helps me. I like all the weathers. If it’s sunny and warm out, I hav things I like to do out there. If it is cold and rainy out, I have enjoulyable things I like to do inside. Snow, wind, thunder, lightning are all things I like to experience.
My life is not over when it rains. Rain is more beautiful than sun. The sun is trying to kill us with cancer and drying up our drinking water supply. We are 93 million miles away from the sun for a reason. We are less than a mile away from the genisis of a raindrop.
Sometimes it is cold and that raindrop becomes a snow flake. It does nothing but inconveniencing you. Us who take our lives slow and purposeful don’t mind a little snow now and then.
Meditation for January 9th, 2017
For most of the life of religion and spiritual practices has been the reduction of the human ego so that one may be humbled in the face of the gods.
Christians have used self flaggelation to punish oneself for even daring to think about sin (I would like to have sexual intercourse with that person). Christians even fully believed in the torture and ego banishing of others who dared to worship the wrong god or the right god wrong -see Spanish Inquisition.
The Shi’a Muslims march around while hitting themselves to commemorate a sacrifice and martyrdom of the Imam Hussein. Other sects of Islam believe in martyring themselves for their religion as a whole, and one would need to banish all ego to achieve that kind of sacrifice.
The entire teaching of Buddhism is the banishment of ego. One must get rid of identity, personality, and ego to achieve enlightenment. Some take it to the point that only physical death can rid a man of his ego.
Hinduism also have many cases where humiliation and self-harm is used to try and reduce the ego. Fasting, walking backwards for miles, cutting off ones limbs are all methods used.
Other religions use hard rituals, lifestyle sacrifices, and adherences to religious law to keep the ego in check.
Even in the 20th century people have tried to find ways to rid self of ego by adapting ancient rites, hallucigenics, and modern psychology therapies.
Now this need to rid self of ego is disappearing. Modern Christianity has become a prosperity church where god supposedly wants to bless those who worship him with wealth and power.
Social media is a platform that is all me, me, me, me, me, me, me, and here are some pictures of me. Getting a like on one of your posts stirs up dopamine, the same brain chemical that comes up in alcohol consumption, cocaine, gambling, and sex. Ego is getting us high.
Most of the message we receive as children are that we are special and unique. We are having our egos inflated. We need to be told good job at work, even if we are just doing our job. We want A grade comments for a C grade performance.
When people reach out for ancient religions, they are finding ways to make themselves more unique and therefore keep more ego. No one is willing to undergo the ego-deflating sacrifices that most of these old practices require. Yoga has just become an exercise practice and the ‘spiritual’ feeling is just endorphins.
Ego is everything that has made Culture bland and mediocre. Capitalism is making thee masses narrowolly define themselves, requiring a lot of ego, so that the system can sell to you.
We have made an ego stroking media, even if that stroking is negative, so that all people do is love or hate a thing. Ego can grow from negativity too.
We have created a caste system based on ego. We have created recipes for what gets you into different caste levels. You hav those that you can egotistically look down on, and there will always be those that have more than you. You are always climbing or giving up.
If you want truth, freedom, and peace; give up everything you have including your identity and flog yourself silly for a god.