Nothing Sacred

Call it a rant.
Call it a mission statement.
Call it whatever the fuck you want to...this is my approach from here on out!
Nothing Sacred

I discovered my love of writing in the fifth grade. My teacher gave us an assignment to create a book from start to finish--story, art, and binding. The only stipulation was that it had to be funny.

My first awkward story was called THE COFFIN SQUAD. It was—if I remember correctly—a silly little piece about two Italian brothers who came to America with the dream of starting a coffin business that they could use to help their friends in the mob. You can imagine that—while my classmates thoroughly enjoyed it—I found out quite quickly how much commotion saying the wrong thing to the right people can cause. It was not intentional, but the effect was the same as if it had been.

For years, I continued to write. Everything that grew from my imagination drew some type of negative attention. The truth is that, at first, I was not doing it on purpose. My writing has always been offbeat. I have always had an affinity for the shadowy side of the human condition. I meandered, however, from that first stereotypical endeavor through a series of mediocre short stories and essays. There was no real style. No real substance. No real heart to speak of...just words and situations thrown out onto the page.

High school found me still without focus. I enjoyed writing, and yet it began to feel as if it was just something I did to bolster my grades. It was the one thing I was good at and—even at my least enthusiastic—I could always put enough quality on the page to please a high school English teacher. However, with nothing substantive to speak of, this collection of mediocrities failed to impress even myself.

At some point, someone realized that I was bored. My grades were slipping in areas that I used to navigate with my eyes closed. A move to AP Math and English classes was the prescribed remedy. It worked!

I was given an assignment that had something to do with the holidays. If I remember correctly, it was to come up with a new twist on your favorite holiday. I blended Christmas and Halloween—five years before THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS—into a delightfully evil little funfest--that not only skewered two of my favorite holidays, but also managed to question the existence of God! The Teacher loved it and that felt good. Half of the class, however, was appalled, and that felt even better!

From there all bets were off. I started to push the envelope as much as possible. As much as I liked the good reactions I received, I always found the negative ones to be more honest. It is always easy for a friend to tell you that your story is good. That is usually an emotionless transaction though. Occasionally someone will show genuine excitement for the words on the page. However, for the most part, "Great Story" means that they either did not read it, or worse—they totally missed the point.

The opposite reaction is filled with life. If they are angry, or disturbed, or sad, or confused then they are thinking. They are connecting with the words on a level beyond the meaning of those actual words. They are involved enough to react and that is what I have been striving to achieve since the moment that fact dawned on me.

The point is that people do not have to agree with, or even like the things that I--or anyone else, for that matter--write. If it strikes a nerve; if it draws a tear; if it causes the mind to shudder than it has done its job. I want people, above all else, to think! Think about things that the hustle and bustle of our ordinary lives keeps hidden behind the veil that separates the mundane from the truth...

The truth is that we do not look into the shadows because we are afraid that what we find there might upset the status quo. Or, even worse, that what lurks in those shadows might be just a little to close to who we truly are. God forbid we have an 'abnormal' thought. God forbid we question authority. God forbid we tackle the hard issues. God forbid we stand up and fight! All of these things would discomfort us. All of these things might flash us a glimpse of the wizard behind the veil.

I want to shatter what we call reality. I want to draw the veil and peer into the darkness. I want to open the soft underbelly of our psyches from navel to neck and see what falls out!

When I was fourteen, I wrote a short essay/poem on abortion. It has offended nearly everyone I have ever shown it to. It appears on hubpages now as GENERATION NEXT. I hate that story for being misunderstood, but I love it because I now it touches a nerve.

Now here is the important part. Shock value in and of itself is meaningless. Anybody can find a way to offend. You can skim the internet right now and find millions of examples of heartless exercises in hatred and anger. That does no good.

I see writing as the conquering of a great beast. A beast with no heart is easily slain. It is loosely connected bits of flesh and bone and—while it may strike terror in the heart of the first soul it comes upon—someone with even the mildest will to live will quickly dispatch it. However, if you give that beast a heart and a purpose it becomes something altogether different. Even a hint that this beast has any type of emotional ties to the real world will give a victim pause. Did it have a family? What brought it to this lowly state? Is there a possibility of redemption? Can the beast be saved? These questions can only exist if there is heart!

In my darkest hour, and on the bleakest note, there is always heart, and love. Shock alone can neither raise a question, nor change a mind. If your path lies along the darker corridors of this great existence you must love that very existence enough to cut it wide open, and trust it enough to know that is stronger than any, save a few, on this earth have ever given it credit for.

About seven years ago, I lost that trust. Fear and doubt crowded my mind. I was terrified that if I kept going the way I was—and writing the things that I did—I would lose some of the people I loved. The ideas piled up in my mind and created a great depression. I grew resentful towards those people whose love I was trying to hold onto. No one—with the exception of my wife—had read anything I had written since GENERATION NEXT. Until, that is, about four weeks ago when the damn broke.

I do not know what brought me out of it but I simply had to write. For the first time in my life, I truly do not care what anybody thinks. My friends and family love me and this is what I need to do.

For anyone who is kind enough to spare their precious time and read this—or anything else I have written for that matter—please understand one thing that I believe to the very core of my being: NOTHING IS SACRED!

That is the point of all of this. The stimulation of new thought and the desire to evolve spiritually are the most important endeavors a human can undertake. I do not care what anyone says—that growth can be achieved only after one’s demons have been confronted. There is no nice way to go about confronting the darkness. It must be confronted steadfastly and without remorse. It must be loved until it is light.

I will not be held down. I will do everything in my power shove you—kicking and screaming if need be—out of your comfortable little hiding spot. It is okay if you hate me for doing it. I hate the dentist for the pain he inflicts. However, when the Novocain wears off and the wound heals I am better off than when I stepped into his office.

I do this because I love to write. I do this because I love to make people think. I do this because I have demons of my own to face down. I do this because, above all, I love humanity, and the chance to be a part of it!