Vox’s posts tagged psychology

A Waste

nobody@vox.com(Sierra Elizabeth) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 15:07:36 +0000

I went to college right after high school because that's what you're supposed to do. If you tell people that you're taking time off they look at you sympathetically and think to themselves that you'll never end up going to college. I wish I would have taken time off. Here I am, a senior in college with a major in psychology and when I graduate I will basically have the qualifications to work in a department store. A psychology degree doesn't give you any opportunities unless you continue to graduate school. I was thinking about going to graduate school to get a masters in social work but then I realized that I don't want to do social work. I don't want to deal with abusers, molesters, alcoholics, and people that don't want me around in the first place. What I should have done is taken some time off before college to figure out what I wanted to do instead of randomly picking psychology because I didn't like any of the other majors. If I had taken time off I would have realized that I needed to pick a specific job that I wanted and get the education that would lead me to it. I would have decided to be a nurse, or an elementary school teacher, or something that would guarantee me a job. I don't want to graduate because I know that I'll be stuck reading job classifieds for the rest of my life and probably earning minimum wage. My college degree was a waste. The past three years of school have been a waste.

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Thu Oct 9 14:28:26 2008

nobody@vox.com(Cecilia) — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 21:28:31 +0000

Read an article on perception of death--found it very interesting, especially in relation to Conto Curto...and I guess artmaking in general.

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And then you doubt your sanity...

nobody@vox.com(PurpleShoelace16) — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 19:46:10 +0000

If you're reading this post that means u somehow stumbled upon my blog, which is always nice.

Well this post might not exactly be the most intellectual thing on here, since I'm quite tired, having spend the past 2 and a half hours studying for my psychology test (psychology as a class... ;D) not to mention the half hour spent on homework. I know that I'm complaining about nothing but hey, who doesn't complain? :P

One thing I noticed though, when you read 6 pages of typed up personality theories notes you start to doubt your own sanity. Seriously, all of those symptoms of disorders all seem to suddenly relate to you. I'm not quite sure if I should be laughing or crying about that :D

So anyways, my energy level is quite low, so don't expect any wisdom or wit from me now, so I'll go ahead and end this post.

Thanks for reading it, and feel free to add me as a friend :)

I promise to read all of your blog entries :)

Love.

emo15.jpg

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Totally Awesome

nobody@vox.com(marthaflatley) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 04:24:35 +0000

This is a blog of a person who is a human lie detector--a truth wizard--as identified by Maureen o'sullivan, collaborator of Paul Ekman ...see article the Naked Face by Malcolm Gladwell or the book Blink. SHe watches stuff on the news like and tells you what the people are really thinking. SHe's weird alright, but her analysis is incredible! It's called eyes for lies.

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Watch Paul Ekman tell his story in his own words

nobody@vox.com(marthaflatley) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 02:31:10 +0000

Paul EKman

although this is long, it is totally worth it. if you want to hear something extremely interesting, watch this!!

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Take an IAT

nobody@vox.com(marthaflatley) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 02:22:58 +0000

malcolm gladwell discusses IAT

This is a very cool vid of Malcolm Gladwell on OPRAH, talking about our subconscious associations about race. Take the implicit association test online for sexuality, an implicit preference for obama or mccain, disability, native americans, religions, weight, asians, age, skin tone, race, gender-career!!!! WOW!

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The Compendium

nobody@vox.com(Bollocker) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 16:09:12 +0000

This is a collection of things I have written that I think are at least half worth putting back up. Since last I did one of these, I have added two short stories and maybe ten other forms of writing. With 19 solid "Stories," 7 short fiction pieces, and over 25 others, I would like to think that what I do for enjoyment is steadily becoming something I could do for money. Years down the road, that is. Enjoy.

STORIES(with no organization whatsoever):
Salvia Gets Too Real - Fourth and worst trip on Salvia.

The Most Puke I Have Ever Seen - Imagine this next scene. Try to visualize it with me. My eyes open to the ceiling, my body shocked out of deep REM sleep. My legs and waist are moist. . .

Perfect Night Ruined by Marriot, Morning -- It turns out that drinking in the dorms is a bad plan. But, for me, I have a great night, only to have it ruined by a morning hangover and the loss of my license.

Hunter Takes it to the Limit, Throws Up Everywhere - In The Top Five Drunkest Nights

JMU, PART I - The first and, since, only time I have been breathalyzed. There is no part II. Part II would be better though, as it includes doing mushrooms, a starving French guy, five plus parties, nearly getting run over, really drunk chicks with australian accents, and BLOODHOUNDS. But this story has none of that.

Pissing in Pools I & II - My double standard on people who pee in pools.

To Move My Body - When reality sinks in, when you think you've got nothing, you become psychic, telepathic, and shameless. This story has procession of Segways!

Hunter Blacks Out, Goes To Patient First, Blames Free Beer - Pretty self explanatory.

Drunk People - An interesting twist-- I'm not drunk in this story. For once in my life.

A Tucker Emulation, It Seems - The very first story I wrote.

The Things I Remember - I somehow wake up at 2PM in my dorm, still drunk from the night before. A rough bus ride does me in.

Handcuffed, Robbed, and 6 O'clock Rush - Pretty self-explanatory. Breakfast club.

Hunter Gets High, Driving Barely Ensues - I get high, and drive. Sort of.

Lebanese: A "Nice Guy" Failure - Nine Guys, One Girl. I get the girl and ride off into the sunset(upstairs), but turn out to be a "nice guy."

A Trip To Walmart - Seriously one of the best destinations while high. Interesting, entertaining, sometimes a little creepy.

A Retelling of the First Time I Smoked

THE WEEKEND - A three day bender, with a decadent interlude of cheating debauchery. All set to the soundtrack of the very trite Garden State.

Rape, Tacos, and Love - I get raped, noticed for my writing at a party, have sex for the first time high, eat really good tacos, and listen in on a nasty girl shit.

Bloody in '08 - A New Year story, complete with someone who attempts to smash a full, unopened champagne bottle over his head.

Short(or long) Stories(Fiction):

Nine-Tenths is Nothing - Our children are here to replace us. One man attempts to slow this process by proving he is better than them and protecting his wife from kid perverts.

Saint Dympna - My favorite.

The Sink at Sunset - Guy has mobile home of a heart. This is life at 20.

Shells - My drug induced interpretation of the scramble suits in A Scanner Darkly caused this short. Later turned into a short fiction piece (for a class) called Mise en Place or The Writer.

The Last Boat to the Disappearing - A seven vignette fiction piece about flaming zombies. As much as I wish I had written them gay, they are actually on fire.

Solipsism - A creation story. A story with Robots and Gods and space battles. A story with a twist. A story that kind of sucks, but has novelty.

Story Starter Exercise - A brief story about a friend who got kicked up and did a lot of drugs while living in the woods.

Some others:

Can Blood Cells Have Car Accidents? - Thoughts after the fire.

Janus - Girl cheats on me. Girl dies in short story Sink at Sunset.

Black and Mild - I'll miss drinking with friends on top of the roof at my old apartment. I will miss that Mediterranean market, with its natural soaps and cheap spices. I will miss all those families who called the cops on me when I played music too loud on Monday nights. Ahh

Under a Hot Chicago Sun - I didn't even know my neighbors name.

H-D-P-E Does Not Spell "Hope" - Recycling is hopeful. I am not.

It Is Only Hubris If I Fail - Childhood with a heavy dose of failure, sprinkled with Sloane Crosley.

Sick Dream D.A.N.C.E. - Dreams are fun. Dreams about partying and religious fanatics that all have the same face... strange. Sick dreams are most disturbing.

Tainted Elephant Oil Prices Dowsed in Sickly-Sweat-Stained Dreams - More sick dreams, musings on family life and relationships.

Zombie Christ Day

Metal Shows - Are awesome. Especially when you know the band. Even if it's at a lame venue.

Derelict Father, Are We the Cause of Our Suffering?

Shit's Run Its Course - I inherit a bike from a metal head who stole it from a crack head.

The Bear, The Bee, The Rhino - I connect with mother nature, understand things I never thought possible.

Night Luck - I have only gotten in trouble with the law when sober. Sobriety really takes the spine out of me.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part I -- I test my voice recorder during a toking session. Heavy on the dialogue.

Transcribing the Knowledge of The Smoke, Part II -- The better half of the overall recording experience. A lot of in depth high conversation.

Friend's Mom Finds Out About Hunter's Livejournal, Missiles Fly - Probably one of the more significant events in the history of my online writing.

Jesus Freaks - I lament about my hatred for street-preachers. This is a Facebook classic.

Bloody Knuckles - It wasn't a game that gave me these.

Diphenhydramine - The first time I ever tripped on a deliriant.

Bulgarians are Hardcore - Intoxicated 5 times the lethal limit, this Bulgarian gets hit by a car and sent to the hospital for minor head trauma.

A Little Funny and The Encroaching

Sunchips? - Do you know why they call them sunchips?

LIRICKES - The funniest rap "lirickes" you'll read all week.

The Binary Universe and How Choice Works - With diagrams and shit.

Poems - A little too sing-songy.

Soundscape - High times.

The Nature of Souls and Soulmates - Got a decent response for this one.

Condom Debacle - A young Hunter hides a partially used condom in duct-tape.

Scanner Darkly and the Universe as a Vague Set of Prepositions

Demon Play, Demon Out - Your shoes are not an extension of anything that matters to your person.

Clocked Out - A New Year - 2007. Some things get better, other things are mentioned less.

New - I miss writing.

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Mise en Place or The Writer

nobody@vox.com(Bollocker) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 21:13:13 +0000

State Sanctioned
I swipe my hand past the scanner. The mechanized box-- plugged into the wall, the wall into a grid, the grid into the network-- lights up from black. White light shines on my hand and a spinning gear whirs. With a click, the door opens. My door. To my house. Mine and everyone elses-- all the same box, lined up the same distance apart.
I step inside my world, my prison, beyond the foyeur and into the living room. Papers clutter the coffee table. The couch opposes the table, green with arm rests three times that of what you would need. The home is the only place where excess is allowed.

Excess. Like a wealthy class. Like poverty. We had enough of both to fill multiple Earths. Maybe that's what they did, started Earth A: Upper Class, Earth B: Original Earth and Middle Class, and Earth C: The Forsaken. It's not a big deal, space colonization. My father, if you can really call those cold machines "paternal," showed me captures of the first lunar city. His speech, staggered by contrived fragments, told me this was the beginning. His prerogative was to, like all parental units, teach without compassion. To train youth, detached. As a boy, I believed in our ability to reach out into the universe and change. Now I only see the reaching.

Excess. Like animals we don't eat. They were pets. No longer allowed. Shipped off to the Sun, all of them. Launched, in missile caskets, to the depths of blanketed nothingness. Maybe burned in a big heap, burried in a large ditch. If it is possible for humans to sell out individuals from their own species, what makes dogs exempt?

Excess. Like listing off another crime of permittance or domination, authored by the human race.

And here I am, standing at the edge of my living room, my suit still on. There is a photo of some of my friends on the coffee table, hidden almost entirely by legal papers. I grab it and head to the kitchen. The papers slide over top of each other. Some float to the floor behind me, reading "State Sanctioned" at the top.

I don't know one of the persons in this picture. The one at the center, the one everyone crowds around. That is me, that guy in the center, with black hair, grey eyes, and a smile like everyone else. But I don't know him, because I've never really ever seen myself. Not for who I am, anyway, just who I want to be. But that's the same with everyone in this picture. I don't really know them behind their grey and green eyes. I just see them and interact how I feel I should. It doesn't really go any deeper than that. These people, my friends, are nothing more than fractal images, rearranging, shifting, combining to become absolute in their projection.

I set the staged smiles on the counter. Eyes look back, but they don't see me. I go to my refrigerator wall unit and type in a string of numbers. My order to the machine is five-three-six, a rare strip with mashed red-skin potatoes. And water. It begins humming, replicating the biology of yeast. A molecular structure is laced within, and soon I will have a perfect copy of something delicious. A perfect copy, just like Elz, this girl coworker of mine. She's dead now, a copy in her place. No one should know this, but I know this. I am not sure why, but I know this. Something in me, something separate from the deterministic circuits.

I am a digital gene pasting associate for the Hub. I sit down at my desk and submit a new thinking code into the mainframe. An evolving code. It is telescoping, refining itself through failures, finding an efficient rhythm of progression. Within an hour, this code will know simple addition. Within days, it will know the self, have an ego, and think, perhaps, it should eat something. I add a line for recognition. If this contributes to the overall mainframe experience, maybe it will seek its creator. My grin is brief.

I take a break and breathe. I, God in exile, think of Elz, who left me shortly after we met. I remember the first time I ever saw human skin on another body. It is hers. Inexcusable that she enter my home without express permission from the Hub! So she dies. Assisted suicide. She dies and they copy. A replacement takes over and the syntax of society continues, missing not a single fabric of code.

My meal takes a few minutes for the processor to work out, so I head back to the bedroom. I unzip my suit. From head to toe, my body emerges from its Shell. Shells, these suits we all wear, projecting what viewers want to see. You might think I'm blonde, you might think I'm "white," or "black," but you'll never think wrong, because everyone is correct in perceiving. Projections are always what you want to see. Biologically, there's something we are most comfortable with seeing in other people. Usually ourselves, sometimes the exact opposite. Whatever restricted life conditions have created our desire for sensory comfort, these suits provide. Neural pathways all networked, anchored to the shores of a bigger system. The system of monitors and analyzation. Assessments. Assessments on what we need, relayed to all other suits. In our hands, unique digital addresses bind to everything we do. Our bodies, networked, like a microcosm of God's perfection.

The last of my suit drifts to my feet and I step out. I look out the window, dust settling in the sunlight, and the world is everything I can imagine. I see the steel walls that enclose this six block neighborhood. Six houses each block. Six neighborhoods every Trans exit. A perfect social dynamic. Easy to witness. Easy to calculate.

My steak is done and my opaque water is cold. I set them down on some papers and pick up the important legal ones from the floor as I sit on my big couch. It is comfortable and I am happy that this is my last meal. A simple favorite of mine. It feels false though. There are no cows.

Just us.

And them.

I look at the last paper I pick up. It reads "State Sanctioned." There is a line for my signature at the bottom, right under the final letters.

Highly advanced, near-human intelligence automates information centers. Computers. Sorting, watching, reviewing. Making sure everything is in place. Make sure we make it through to reach further into the depths of blanketed, muted oblivion. Safety and the progression of humanity is assured. At least, for everyone that chooses to partake. Treatments exist for those who don't. All of them.

I sign the document with a finger-tip pen. The LCD-paper processes my action and thus follows a delayed dance of lines and curves. I look at my calligraphic identity under the last line. It reads:

"State Sanctioned Self-Termination."

Afterworld

I ride in my hearse. It is a square cell. My chest and upper back touch cold metal as I inhale. The compartment hovers out of the neighborhood and down the street, passing smiling faces. They see a maintenance vehicle. Or a tour bus, ha! Whatever it is, I am suffocating inside this tiny tortoise. "Shells are there to protect you when you need them most. Should you ever cross the road." My unit teaches me this when I am a child.

The hearse arrives in a large garage and rumbles. My clamped feet and waist allow little movement. I strain to twist my face to a grate. Shutters close behind the vehicle. Darkness enchroaches. One sense gone. The hum of the undercarriage evaporates. Two senses. I feel a pinch in my spine. I struggle to reach the small of my back as my arms go limp. Three senses, and I fall to a helpless lean. An acrid primer thins across my tongue. A burning hair smell drifts up my nostrils. Overwhelmed, they too shut down. My mind lingers for a moment. I will see her light skin again, I think. I pass into darkness.

I dream a floating conveyor in the sky, transporting my skeleton over the tip of an icy mountain. The other side is a smeared blackness across an open canvas. The world closes behind, consuming the conveyor, siphoning the sky. A sutured wound. Before me, a giant bipedal canine growls, "I am Surma. You may never leave this place." His tail, a hissing serpent, coils in my direction and stares.

"You chose this chaosss, and now you will sssuffer. Forever," Surma's tail licks, tasting the brittle air. The belt ends and I descend into the gaping maw of God, screaming.

I wake up naked, faint needles pushing at my back. I open my eyes. I look down and see my uncovered skin, dark against the hairy emerald earth. I sit up, resting my hands by my side. I am confused and squint in the brightness. The sky is patchy. In the distance, a great wall of clouds surge-- marching. The air rumbles and vibrates from a distant wave of thunder. I jump up and scramble for a nearby tree. I am almost entirely exposed. I gaze across the open field, the whole ground bent and moving in my direction. No walls. Nothing. Just my tiny frame against a large tree, an open field, and a looming storm in the distance.

Her suit unzipped and powered down, I could see through the tight translucent skin that she was pale. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. I had never seen such a pulchritudinous geometry. I had never seen a nose, eyes. I had never seen a face.

"What's wrong," she sang, staring into my bright suit, her eyes hooked to the reel.

"You're pale." My monotonous statement reverberated within my suit.

"Oh, no. This was a mistake. Let's stop," she pleaded, her suit halfway down her chest. Draped on one shoulder.

"No! You. You're beautiful. It's just that," I hesitated, but unziped my suit. "I'm dark."

She gasped, trembling, "You too."

I asked her what she meant.

"You are beautiful."

At that moment, we shed our Shells and embraced. No amount of Supplement could have enthralled us so. Without Shells, the windows explained a crying world. Rain pelted the window and thunder tiptoed across Earth's ceiling. Neon flickers lit our bodies on the floor, illuminating unfettered smiles. We became the children we would never have, elated and giggling. Our heart beat rhythm matched-- we had never known the sinking drip of love as anything more than calculated lines and taboo. Captures, screens, and noise.

A round face swings into view, upside down. It connects to a scrawny body. The body to hands and feet. Hands and feet to a branch. The face's tongue dangles. Saliva oozes from the ringent gawk. I yelp and scuttle around the tree. Right into the trunk of a man-- two wide-spread sets of long, skeletal roots. I stare at them for perhaps a moment longer than comfort allows. He shifts his weight.

"They're toes," he sings. I look to his mouth in awe.

"Dog! It's a dog! All fours!" The swinging ghoul drops and waddles round the tree, hunched and panting.

"Don't mind him. He doesn't recognize humans. This is why he is here." He pauses, gazes across the open field, his khaki face airy and pleasant, relaxed and comfortable. His gaze pierces the imposing storm and he frowns. "Here. In Afterworld. The road to Neverwhere."

His eyes nearly disappear in a fleshy trench as he squints. A cone of hair drops with his chin. And a sigh, "Come with us," he looks to me, "all iterations are of use to us. Many are special. But few, a handful, hold the truth."

"Seen your fur before, seen your fur," barks the ghoul. "Seen hers too, seen hers."

I ask what they mean.

"We will explain everything when we return to the Enclave. We must go now." He points to the sable clouds, "Today's test."

Alone and confused, I follow my only connections to this new world.

Delirium Written

I inquire to their names. One, the bearded watcher, is Gage. The dog with visual form agnosia, that's Phin. They do not ask for my name. Instead, Gage tells me he was born here. Born. He was little. No one in the mainframe is ever little. This is why the Enclave allows Gage a name. I ask him why Phin has a name. Phin, who pants as we walk. Gage looks at me and grins. Phin bends, scratches behind his ears with his foot and continues trotting on all fours. I nod to Gage, Phin is special. A hiccup in paradise.

"Always hot when fury," Phin pants.

"You don't have fur though. You're free," I tell him. Free from the wires. Thrall to nothing digital. The weather here touches skin. The wind. Thin droplets wet my hair. No facade.

Phin yelps, "My fur stands! God pulls it!" He gallops on all fours, passes Gage.

Looking over his shoulder, Gage agrees and quickens his pace, saying, "We waited too long." Quickened pace becomes a full-on sprint. I let them go and stare into the storm. I am planted, transfixed. "Newcomer!" I ignore. Gage stomps to a stop, grabs my bare shoulder, and begins to run again. This breaks the hex. "Come, we run for the cave ahead!"

Behind and above, a groan mounts the air. Charges it. Fear floods my blood. Each raindrop pelts against my naked body, stinging. No protection. I hold my genitalia lest it bounce and slow my pace. Lest it suffer exposure. Like the tortoise, humans have a natural defense against the elements. Logic and emotion. We settled on only one ages ago.

A stream of light hammers the ground, blasting bits of earth in all directions. The groaning air thins into something like a laugh and dissipates. Dust to water, smoke to air, the clouds retreat into themselves and disappear. It reminds me of the sky in my dream, before arriving here. A wound, stitching itself up. The sky clears and the rumbles cease. Nothing now but the sound of weeping.

Phin cradles Gage in his arms, squeaking with tears. "Why did he take him?"

"He?"

"God."

"He refers to the Hub," a voice strains from behind. A woman with grey lumps of hair on her head. "We seek to destroy it. Today." She pauses. "Phin. Take Gage to the burial grounds." Desperation taints her voice for a moment. She then composes herself and continues to speak with Phin as he passes, Gage in his arms. "Are you ready for your job?" She looks into Gage's eyes and closes them with a light press of her light, wrinkled hand.

"'Course, 'course I am, Elz-2," he barks.

"Elz? You work at the mainframe! I have know you," I urge her to remember.

Her eyebrows disagree, arched.

"Perhaps it was another iteration. My model has failed numerous times in the system. And look at me now. I age. I choose this. Remove the chip in your hand. Sever its ties to your brain, young one. That is what I did, and now I see. I age, but I see. My eyes are free from the reel." She looks to her shoulder, her peripheral. A crowd staggers from the darkness of the cave into the light, shielding their eyes, massaging them. Elz-2 continues, "We plan to destroy the Bulwark first and then move into the mainframe. From there, we will march to the Hub." The crowd behind her, their eyes cleansed, stands fully erect, listening intently. "Since Gage," she swallows, "cannot speak for your entrance into this realm, you must stay behind."

"I am looking for someone. A girl. A, uh," I hesitate,"an Elz. She terminated herself. Even if we are dead here, if this is a stage set for suffering, testing-- I will remain. If it means I see her again."

She laughs, "Dead! Then you have no reason to protest, tyro. Stay. Find her. I have known love, too." She smiles, tears in her eyes, and nods to the cave. She begins walking, passes me. Phin returns from the cave and trots alongside. The crowd marches onward, a snake of humans from within the cave. For a good hour of standard time, they emerge. I sit next to the cave and watch their faceless backs. I take a nap and awake to the tail rattling over a hill and beyond sight. Soon, the head of the snake will reach its destination. As this thought reaches my mind, they do.

The ground trembles and little beams of light crack through the blue sky. Clouds swirl to the top of a radiant blue ceiling, evaporate, and burst into water. More and more clouds to the top. A backward sink. Up, up, up. Rain begins to fall as the clouds burst. They immediately rise passed the popped clouds and into the invisible sink. Trees uproot. Blades of green hair rip from the ground. A fury of pastels reach upward. Twisting, they blend. A familiar groan expands and echoes through the air. This time, there is no doubt this is a voice.

"This is no beginning to revolution. This is the final chapter in this world. Gone to far. Free will does not exist. Stasis, all of you in stasis." A blinding light detonates in some foothills of what could be the icy mountain I passed on my way here.

I rush into the cave for cover. A rock separates from the rocky wall and knocks me out. When I come to, I am on a flat plane of grey and white, welded panels. They stretch into the distance, upward, into a dome. In the distance, I see a man crawling toward me. I squint, strain my eyes, reach out with my sight. It is Phin.

"Phin! What happened?"

"Newcomer!" he runs up, grunting. "Elz-2 made me useful. Let me defeat Surma." Most of the inhabitants of Afterworld refuse to give up their agelessness, and thus, they will never see the truth, if lies project. Elz-2 needed substantiation from someone else that Surma was, in fact, not a horrible monster. "And they said they learned of a bitch. Pregnant. They can't terminate them, never do. They all stay. Your bitch. Your bitch and now you're trapped in here! They destroyed the bridge. Prevented evil dogs from catching them."

"Bitch?"

"Girl dog. Elz. Elz twenty-one!" He smiles and wags his butt in the air.

I grind my ivory teeth. "I don't need a bridge. I need a computer," I tell him, adding that I once programmed for the mainframe. "If you can climb a tree, if the rain here can soak us, if lightning can electrocute us, I don't need a bridge. I'll write one."

"Writers can tell any tale! Tail, I have a tail!"

"But first. I need something to cover my body with."

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QotD: Hello, My Name is...

nobody@vox.com(John) — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 16:50:32 +0000

If you were born the opposite sex, what would your name be?

There are a few assumptions in the question that need to be cleared up before it can reasonably be answered. First, of course, is the question of exactly what is meant by "sex" [1]. Do you mean the act of sex? The physiological appurtenances for sex? The "sex/gender roles" of a particular society? The mental perception of sex and or sex roles?

You see, sex is much more complicated than most people think. Even on a purely biological level, there are more than two sexes. There are the genetic intermediates whereby a person might have both male and female generative organs (aka "hermaphroditism"); this happens in approximately 1 in 10,000 births [2]. There are those with ambiguous genitalia, which occurs on a somewhat more frequently. And then there are the cases in nature of "third sexes" in which individuals with like dangly bits like the dangly bits that are like their dangly bits; this behaviour has been seen in nearly every bisexual [3] species studied, from insects to sapiens.

And then there is the psychological and social level. Though many societies claim that there are only two sexes, there are others that claim otherwise. For example, the Hijra of India, the Kathoey of Thailand, and the "Two-spirited" of some Native American tribes [4] are examples of those with a sexuality that is neither male nor female.

Added to this olio of gender confusion, there is the conflation of the act of sex with the identity of sex. Though Kinsey famously constructed a seven-point scale for sexuality, it does not work well with groups such as the Marin-anim and Etoro of Melenasia, which restricted heterosexual intercourse while encouraging homosexual intercourse. Nor does it work well for the Afghanis who keep both multiple wives and kuch-i safari ("traveling wives" - young men that are married to older men but can travel with them on caravans). And we will completely ignore the hentai and the octopus from which it gets its thrill.

OK, so "sex" is complicated. Can we at least agree on the meaning of "opposite"? Probably not. You see, opposite implies that the two are opposed [5] in some way, whereas many would argue that the various sexes are better described as complementary. For example, some aspects of the yinyang of many oriental philosophies exhibit this interaction, as did some proponents of birth control (e.g., Margaret Sanger). Including the multiple genders and their interactions leads to a fractal solution with many strange attractors [6].

Thus, as you can see, the question is meaningless as too many of the terms are ill-defined. Once you have cleaned up the language [7], I'll answerr the question. Until then, you'll just have to call me

John

[1] We will, for the moment, leave alone the question of what "is" is.

[2] The true incidence varies by population, for obvious reasons.
[3] In the biological sense of having different types of generative organs, not in the sense of having both sets in one organism or in the sense of enjoying both sets of dangly bits.
[4] Not all tribes, of course. Many either followed the European tradition or quickly adopted it.
[5] Opposite" and "opposed" even have the same root: opponere, to fight against.
[6] Sorry, couldn't resist.
[7] Though please don't remove the adult language [a]; it is what separates us from those who vote a straight-party ticket.
[a] To quote Tom Lehrer, "A current production of Tomfoolery describes the show as "containing adult language," and this is the first time that I've heard that phrase used correctly. It is usually used to mean adolescent inarticulate language; that is to say, using naughty words to compensate for a lack of intellectual content."

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An Unrelenting Vapor of Black Bile

nobody@vox.com(Ty) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 22:14:19 +0000

I came across this quote today:

The insane [have] brains [that] are impaired by . . . an unrelenting vapor of black bile.
--Rene Descartes, "Meditation One"

My first thought: Thank Goodness for research!

My second thought: I wonder what "black bile" would feel like?

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Find a Therapist, Psychologist, Counselor at Therapist Concierge.com

nobody@vox.com(drkcbugg) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 14:29:20 +0000

It's finally live! After 6 months of labor, Therapist Concierge.com is finally live! Now people looking for a therapist can go to www.therapistconcierge.com and browse mental health professionals via their zip code. Unlike Psychology Today or Find-a-Therapist, individuals will be able to watch videos and listen to audio files to get a feel for the therapist before they even call to set up an appointment. I hope this will help individuals locate therapists, psychologists, and marriage and family counselors with much ease. Here's a brochure that explains the website in detail:

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Weekend Update: Nurse Mom, Bitch Lit & Such

nobody@vox.com(Mahoganie) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 19:39:55 +0000

How I Spent My Saturday

Nothing much to this weekend. Friday I took the Snickerdoodle to the doc and it was discovered that an ear infection was on the horizon. Which I'm sure explains her off and on crankiness in refusing to eat and the next day when she was out for her morning walk.

She's doing fine. We're both doing fine with minor occasions where the cold has us down. Friday night I took TWO night time Tylenol cold/sinus tablets. Needless to say they didn't work their magic, or maybe I'm too use to Benadryl; which knocks me out only seconds to minutes prior to taking it. I was in and out of sleep, restless, mainly because I was tending to the Snickerdoodle who was full of energy at the time.

When I finally did lie down - around 2 am - I slept soundly until 4 am when the phone rang. It was my grandmother in a frantic state. The situation was really nothing. Just that my grandmother is experiencing another episode of deep depression that is wearing on everyone's patience. Needless to say... she is fine... for now.

The Bitch Posse

Martha O'Connor

I did manage to get to the library in between submitting the Snickerdoodle's prescription (she got the pink bubble gum stuff.. yum?) and waiting for it. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just something that looked to be a good read. I checked out The Bitch Posse by Martha O' Conner. So far it makes for a twisted, interesting read, though I haven't gotten to the crux or the meat of the book yet. In a way it reminds of The Craft sans the practice of witchcraft - unless you count the girls cutting a wound into themselves and placing each other's blood in three glass jars to signify their bond - and a revamped dangerous and edgy version of the Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood; more so because the bond between three friends with different situations is really strong. However, O'Conner makes it clear in the beginning of the book, this is not chick lit. So right now, I'm not sure what to make of it until I read further. It is a page turner to say the least, even though I catch myself reading a line or two twice for the logic of it to kick in.

Speaking of which... did the show Degrassi really exists in the late 80's? Never mind.. I JUST looked it up. The early shows aired around 1987.

Other than being Nurse Mom and engrossing myself into this edgy "bitch world," I've been pushing myself to beat an upcoming deadline. I'm still tweaking a short story for submission. Ironically I broke down and did something I NEVER do when I write a short story. I gave my characters names. Normally, because the bulk of my writing is in first person, and sometimes in third, I usually refer to my characters simply as "she," "he" and "I." I'm not sure why I do it that way. I think it's more so of the mysterious factor of it all. Giving details, but laying off just enough for the reader to perhaps say "she is me" or "he is so and so."

What prompted me to give my characters names this time? I figured they deserved some kind of identity. In reality, who really wants to be nameless? Even the most humble of them all still wants their name to stand out or be known for something. Outside of the name giving, I've been stumped in a few places. Basically for this piece I took my Growing Pains Lane blog entry, exaggerated it, twisted, expanded it, and morphed it with other thoughts swirling in my head. The more I write the more I realize it is straight from the heart. The more I write from the heart the more I worry.

You see, this submission is really part of a contest with a mainstream media outlet. As much as I want to put myself out there, mainstream frustrates me as well as excites. Trust me, if I had the time, energy and resources to self publish my art, my love, my heart, my other baby (-ies) I would. Since I don't, I've been pussyfooting around, doing research here and there and realizing that mainstream may be the way for me to go at this point. What excites me is the wide audience I can reach, but what frustrates me are the demands and expectations that come with the territory.

Mainstream is known to only want to keep the audience on a one track mind. A lot of artists have fallen prey to having their art form compromised or even... REJECTED. In that same token, there are those artists who don't compromise their art. Some may succeed and others may suffer. I know I should know better, especially in this "growing" stage I'm in and learning more about faith and trying to hold onto mine and just believe.. whatever is to come of this.. it will come. Fruitation on it's own time and not mine (per se')

Me being stumped is just me being cautious or fearful of who will get it, who will judge it, who will say..

"Ah! the breath of fresh of air."

I know I know I know.....

I can't help this nervousness.. this slight fear.. this need to be perfect....

It's the writer in me. It's the artists in me...

It's the superwoman in me that wants to the save the literary world, particular in the African-American realm, from going in a downward spiral of tactless, tasteless, mundane, one track minded, thoughts and words that come out without logic, without reason, without a lesson, without beauty, without embracing, without.... real meaning.

Then again, maybe it's me. Maybe I'm too judgemental of what's out there and from this I commit the ultimate crime of comparing myself to others.

One thing I learned a long time ago through my psychology class in high school. It's one of the cognitive classic lessons.

Never compare yourself.. your worth... your total being.. to someone else's. It's a real distraction from your own happiness.

Hopefully, I can work out the kinks before the postmark deadline of Sept 30th.

Other than this, I do have some upcoming things to look forward to...

1. A week in Myrtle Beach, that's coming up in two weeks. The drive will do me some good.

2. A "cold contact" responded to me and we're working on a possible steady gig for me. Speaking of which I need to send a response to her once I'm done with this blog.

In the meantime.... I need to pop another Halls. Throat is still a bit scratchy. Ouch!

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Faces of Autism: A Documentary

nobody@vox.com(Ty) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 05:24:47 +0000

I worked with a few kids with autism last year. Many of my friends work with such kids and their families almost everyday. It’s an awesome task. And these kids are awesome kids. They’ve taught me a lot about what it means to be a human being.

In tribute to these kids and those who work with them, here’s a brief documentary on students with autism. It does a nice job highlighting the complexities that surround the disorder, and the students themselves offer candid and insightful remarks about what being “autistic” (to use their word) is really like. No one knows better than them. Listen up.

But before you watch it, a caveat is needed: This documentary just focuses on students who are on the “high functioning” end of the spectrum. So you won’t get a comprehensive picture of how vast autism really is. Sorry. Also, as a psychologist-in-training I don’t necessarily agree with the educational accommodations portrayed in the video. I’m a believer in inclusion, not segregation. And I think kids with autism can teach their so-called “normal” peers and teachers a lot—and vice versa, of course.

They should be as free as they can be.

With that said, enjoy.

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Touch

nobody@vox.com(Libertine) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 18:13:17 +0000

"Touch is the meaning of being human."
Andrea Dworkin

I find this quotation rather interesting because Andrea Dworkin was a feminist who once expressed the very extreme view that all sex between men and women is, at some level, a form of rape; that women cannot truly give their consent to it in a patriarchal society.

Despite disagreeing heartily with that view of heterosexual sex, I find myself in agreement with the quotation that inspired this entry. Though I realize that Dworkin didn't mean this quote as pertaining particularly to sex, I will confine my remarks to that particular kind of touch.

I never feel quite so alive and human as when I'm engaging in the act of mating with a woman. It's not an emotional thing, per se, as it doesn't really matter who my partner is at any given time; rather, it's a primal and instinctual thing I feel down to my very DNA. Even when it's bad, it's exhilarating and it always recharges my batteries.

To be obliged to be celibate for any extended time would make me feel not fully human, and I'm sure I would become depressed if this were to happen. Nor do I understand those who actively choose to be celibate for long periods of time, or for a lifetime, such as priests and nuns. I function best in all endeavors when I'm well fed, well rested, and well fucked. If any of my core needs is not being met, it will distract me from doing my best in other activities until that need is met.

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myers-briggs.

nobody@vox.com(shehab) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 19:31:34 +0000

inspired by the meebo blog, i took a personality test called the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) today:

Your personality type is INTP.

Introverted (I) 79% Extraverted (E) 21%

Intuitive (N) 91% Sensing (S) 9%

Thinking (T) 60% Feeling (F) 40%

Perceiving (P) 77% Judging (J) 23%

Possible Career Paths for the INTP:
    * Scientists - especially Physics, Chemistry
    * Photographers
    * Strategic Planners
    * Mathematicians
    * University Professors
    * Computer Programmers, Systems Analysts, Computer Animation and Computer Specialists
    * Technical Writers
    * Engineers
    * Lawyers / Attorneys
    * Judges
    * Forensic Research
    * Forestry and Park Rangers

unfortunately, media tycoon doesn't feature. university professor would be my pick of this bunch.

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Social experiment

nobody@vox.com(Garth) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 18:56:31 +0000

I just signed up for a motorcycle safety course in Alemeda yesterday and today I decided to see if I could find the course on google maps. This one is at College of Alemeda which has a large parking lot where the class will likely be held:

College of Alemeda parking lot

I couldn't find any sign of a course painted on the parking lot (they probably just have cones) but I did notice an interesting pattern. Note the dark splotches in each parking space. This comes from years of various car engines sitting in one place dripping oil. About 99% of all cars have the engine in front leading to a splotch at one end of the sparking space directly under the engine.

However many parking spots have two splotches. This is undoubtedly caused by fancy parkers parked head out, thus creating a second splotch at the opposite end of the space. What's strange however, is that fancy parkers only seem to park on one side of a row, the side closest to the campus buildings. There is virtually no evidence of fancy parking on the far side of any one row.

Why is this? Are they getting even fancier and setting themselves up to point towards the preferred exit? If so, fancy parkers are truely at a higher level of parking consiousness.

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Selamat menyambut bulan Ramadhan

nobody@vox.com(banie) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 15:02:52 +0000

isuk puasa boh~ banyak2 minum air..sahur usuly bila bangun sipit berabis mata atu..pyh kn buka..hmm newaz i would like to share something good :fadilat sembahyang terawih,
FADILAT SOLAT TERAWIH

Diriwayatkan oleh Saiyidina Ali (r.a.) daripada Rasulullah S.A.W., sebagai jawapan
dari pertanyaan sahabat-sahabat Nabi S.A.W. tentang fadilat (kelebihan) sembahyang
sunar terawih pada bulan Ramadan :

Malam 1 - keluar dosa-dosa orang mukmin pada malam pertama sepertimana ia baru
dilahirkan, mendapat keampunan dari Allah.

Malam 2 - diampunkan dosa-dosa orang mukmin yang sembahyang terawih serta kedua
ibubapanya (sekiranya mereka orang beriman)

Malam 3 - berseru Malaikat di bawah Arasy supaya kami meneruskan sembahyang terawih
terus menerus semoga Allah mengampunkan dosa engkau.

Malam 4 - memperolehi pahala ia sebagaimana pahala orang-orang yang membaca
kitab-kitab Taurat, Zabur, Injil dan Al-Quran.

Malam 5 - Allah kurniakan baginya pahala seumpama orang sembahyang di Masjidilharam,
Masjid Madinah dan Masjidil Aqsa.

Malam 6 - Allah kurniakan pahala kepadanya pahala Malaikat-malaikat yang tawaf di
Baitul Mamur (70 ribu Malaikat sekali tawaf), serta setiap batu-batu dan tanah-tanah
mendoakan supaya Allah mengampunkan dosa-dosa orang yang mengerjakan sembahyang
terawih poda malam ini.

Malam 7 - Seolah-olah ia dapat bertemu dengan Nabi Musa serta menolong Nabi
Alaihissalam nenentang musuh ketatnya Firaun dan Hamman.

Malam 8 - Allah mengurniakan pahala orang sembahyang terawih sepertimana yang telah
dikurniakan kepada Nabi Allah Ibrahim Alaihissalam.

Malam 9 - Allah kurniakan pahala dan dinaikkan mutu ibadat hambanya seperti Nabi
Muhammad S.A.W.

Malam 10 - Allah Subhanahuwataala mengurniakan kepadanya kebaikan di dunia dan di
akhirat.

Malam 11 - Keluar ia daripada dunia (mati) bersih daripada dosa seperti ia baharu
dilahirkan.

Malam 12 - Datang ia pada hari Qiamat dengan muka yang bercahaya (cahaya ibadatnya).

Malam 13 - Datang ia pada hari Qiamat dalam aman sentosa daripada tiap-tiap kejahatan
dan keburukan.

Malam 14 - datang Malaikat menyaksikan ia bersembahyang terawih, serta Allah tiada
menyesatkannya pada hari Qiamat.

Malam 15 - Semua Malaikat yang menanggung Arasy, Kursi, berselawat dan mendoakannya
supaya Allah mengampunkannya.

Malam 16 - Allah subhanahuwataala tuliskan baginya terlepas daripada neraka dan
dimasukkan ke dalam Syurga.

Malam 17 - Allah kurniakan orang yang berterawih pahalanya pada malam ini sebanyak
pahala Nabi-Nabi.

Malam 18 - Seru Malaikat : Hai hamba Allah sesungguhnya Allah telah redha kepada
engkau dan ibubapa engkau (yang masih hidup atau mati)

Malam 19 - Allah Subhanahuwataala tinggikan darjatnya di dalam Syurga Firdaus.

Malam 20 - Allah kurniakan kepadanya pahala sekelian orang yang mati syahid dan
orang-orang solihin.

Malam 21 - Allah binakan sebuah istana dalam Syurga daripada nur.

Malam 22 - Datang ia pada hari Qiamat aman daripada tiap-tiap dukacita dan kerisauan
(tidaklah dalam keadaan huru-hara di Padang Masyar).

Malam 23 - Allah Subhanahuwataala binakan kepadanya sebuah bandar di dalam Syurga
daripada nur.

Malam 24 - Allah buka peluang 24 doa yang mustajab bagi orang berterawih malam ini,
(elok sekali berdoa ketika dalam sujud)

Malam 25 - Allah Taala angkatkan daripada siksa kubur.

Malam 26 - Allah kurniakan kepada orang berterawih pahala pada malam ini seumpama 40
tahun ibadat.

Malam 27 - Allah kurniakan orang berterawih pada malam ini ketangkasan melintas atas
titian Sirotolmustaqim seperti kilat menyambar.

Malam 28 - Allah Subhanahuwataala kurniakan kepadanya pahala 1000 darjat di akhirat.

Malam 29 - Allah Subhanahuwataala kurniakan kepadanya pahala 1000 kali haji yang
mabrur.

Malam 30 - Allah Subhanahuwataala beri penghormatan kepada orang berterawih pada malam
terakhir ini yang teristimewa sekali, lalu berfirman:

"Hai hambaKu : makanlah segala jenis buah-buahan yang engkau ingini hendak makan di
dalam syurga, dan mandilah engkau dariapda air syurga yang bernama Salsabila, serta
munumlah air daripada telaga yang dikurniakan kepada Nabi Muhammad S.A.W. yang bernama
Al-Kauthar."

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Introverted (I) 79%	Extraverted (E) 21%
Intuitive (N) 91%	Sensing (S) 9%
Thinking (T) 60%	Feeling (F) 40%
Perceiving (P) 77%	Judging (J) 23%