ah, the genius guys at South Park have done it again.  This time they show the battle between the “goth kids” and the new breed of annoying “vampire kids” at South Park Elementary.

There are some fantastic observations in this little 22 minute bit that cut right to the heart of things I saw a lot at SCAD

the source of all that is lame

Vampire kids in Hot Topic Duds

I’ll start by saying “nothing is wrong with dressing up like a vampire.”  Mostly because i’m sure somebody will get all upset.  But the truth is, vampires were popularized as a cautionary tale to warn young ladies against having sex with men from other countries.  Sure, there were lots of mythological vampyric creatures.  Every culture has them.  In japan there’s one called a “kappa” that looks like a big turtle.  He lives in ponds, and will drain away your life unless you feed him cucumbers.  So where are the annoying kids dressed like giant cucumber sucking turtles?  No, they dress in a fashion originally meant to portray what was then “Euro Trash” instead.

Nothing is wrong with fashion, and experimentation as entertainment.  It starts to bother me when it becomes your 24/7 modus operandi. Walking the dorms at SCAD were a small batch of kids dressed as Naruto characters.  They didn’t don those metal headbands and pointless scarves as a Halloween event, no, they wore them all the time.  Actual wardrobe.  No kidding.

If you ask them, they all had stories about studying “martial arts” but none practiced.  They knew all about the “jutsus” from the show (cartoony fighting techniques, like summoning sand storms or turning yourself into a chick to confuse an enemy) but nothing of the history behind ninjutsu… like the story of an assassin sent by Oda Nobunaga to kill Uesugi Kenshin.  He hid in Uesugi Kenshin’s pit toilet for 3 days with a spear, and stabbed Uesugi when he took a shit.  Is that anything like “the sexy jutsu?”  Do you think he had blue hair, eyeliner, red contact lenses and plastic fangs on when he did this?  Did he scream out “ninja anus spear-jutsu” as he plunged the thing into the guy’s ass while shit was streaming down?

there is a ridiculous aesthetic at work when young people from privileged families can appropriate the pop-bastardization of cultural and historical legend for fashion.  On one hand, anime and manga led me to learn more about ninja and samurai.  On the other hand, I didn’t walk the halls wearing tshirts and chains pretending to be badass.

Most people who know me don’t know what I study, or what my interests are.  Only now do I have my first visible ink, in fact.  Prior to this, even that aspect of my life was hidden.

I was walking the mall in Savannah with a friend of mine one day.  He wanted to stop by Hot Topic to visit someone he knew. While we stood there I noticed a t-shirt I thought was cool (at first, anyways.)  It had the silhouette of hands making the kuji-in.  The kuji-in is a sort of sign language used by asian martial artists, and the ninja in particular.  There is a spiritual side to the practice, where the expression of various hand positions are meant to imbue a fighter with the meaning they represent.  There is also a practical side, as the nine basic hand positions could be used to silently signal allies during a stealthy mission, or to unbalance a superstitious opponent prior to combat.  The practice of using the Kuji-in is known as Kujikiri.

I mentioned it to my friend, and the (cute, unfortunately) girl working behind the counter said “Oh, you like Naruto too?”

Ah, shit.

So there you have it.  Maybe the next episode will have the “anime kids” vs. the “vampire kids” in an epic battle that will leave none standing.

either way, Butters is the best character ever.

There is an old myth around which a variety of fun short stories and novels have been based:  every person, object, and creature has a secret special name.  Knowing that name gives you the power of life or death over them, gives you the ability to tap into their essential life force for magical purposes.  It is, according to this legend, the goal of every being to keep his True Name a secret, as a means of self defense.

Ever since I was young I’ve been interested with what my True Name is.  Not in a literal sense, but in the sense that I knew there was more to me than “Mark.”  The names I had in my early childhood seemed mildly demeaning, and woefully incapable of expressing anything about how I felt or what I thought.  “Mark” doesn’t state much about my heart or mind, and “Markleberry Dressing,” “Marky,” or my co-spawn’s favorite endearment: “Mark-ina.”

Even at that young age, I was dealing with some very deep concepts and feelings.  Examinations of life and death, ponderings of abuse, musings about christianity and the afterlife… in no way did “Mark-ina” express the sort of complex person I was at the age of six or seven.

In the next phase of my life I started to make my first friends.  I met Spike, who had an unconventional name.  He became my closest friend, and there was a sort of potential to his name that fascinated me.  “Spike” could be a superhero (I often drew him as one, weilding giant spikes that shot smaller spikes,) he could be a scientist, or a wilderness adventurer.  In short, someone named “Spike” could be anything heroic, and that certainly has appeal to a young boy.

A year after that Hackett showed up in our school, slinging around nicknames with reckless abandon.  Suddenly the ass who had dubbed me “Mark-ina” was known by the goofy sobriquet “Fred,” and everyone was calling me “Cannonball.”  Now there was a name I could be proud of.  I won it by being one of the “little kids” who could pound the kickball over the giant sagging pine tree behind the church.  I EARNED it.  It belonged to my personality, my physicality, it told a story about me.

In the later teens I learned about goofier nicknames between buddies.  “Cannonball” became “Ball” and boys named Stephen and Jonathan were suddenly “Lurchin’ Urchin” and “the MackLess Wonder.”  Though the names were still insulting, they had a playful edge to them, they commented on what made us human, and what made us friends.

The only names I can remember having given were to pets, and to women whom I loved.

The reasons for naming women are very similar to the reasons I was unhappy with my own name:  their given names didn’t quite express the mystery or depth of their personalities.  There was also an undercurrent with the naming conventions; they were often a means for me to express my frustrations in understanding a woman.

Amanda became “Gwenllian,” a character from a book by Stephen Lawhead.  The character was portrayed as a mysterious red-haired priestess, someone who the protagonist viewed as beautiful, but unreachable.  She died a pretty dramatic death, a scene that generated a lot of pathos.  Something about that name just seemed to fit our relationship.  I understood her, but I didn’t.  She was religious in a way that made her intentionally unreachable, and yet she wanted to be reached… just not by me.

With Kat the connotations were obvious.  I bought her a pair of costume cat ears because of her fixation with all things feline.  When we were together there was something about how she stretched and moved that seemed intentionally non-human.  I remember a late night phone conversation where, in my sleep, I called her a “Leopardess.”  Something about how she spoke, her manner, reminded me of a sleek predator in a tree.  Not something that takes particular joy in killing, but something that will occasionally kill for sport.

My other name for her was “Goddess.” This came from a conversation where I was floundering about, looking for a way to explain how I feel about relationships.  In my hopes and fantasies, being in a relationship isn’t about being a man and woman leaning on one another, but rather about being ourselves to the greatest and fullest realization of self.  The ultra me and ultra her, together, like some sort of dualistic pantheon.

One of the odd things about many of my nicknames and memes for the women in my life is that they seem to stick in an odd way.  With buddies, a name my fade in or out, they tend to follow the rules of how easy they are to say, and how much fun can you have with them.

With women there’s something more potent about that process that leaves them using my language and images long after I’m gone from their life.  It’s just odd to me that, when nothing else about me sticks or makes an impression, my names for them stay.

I think if i could capture that little spark, that moment of inspiration, and somhow carry it through all aspects of my relationship, I might find a way to build something lasting.  Not sure… just a random musing about names

not THAT kind of experimentation Jonny, you sicko

http://markroma.com/slidingDiv1/redo2/test2b.html

I’ve wanted this since… well before I hit my 50 lb mark several months ago.

Best artists ever at Shaman ink… at least Justin is anyways

the masters too also had their bad days.  even buddha found that he was missing something from his life, and went on a quest to find it.  this is something to remember on the dark days when something seems missing.

And what is really missing from my life?  A lady-love.  some more friends perhaps.  some more funds.  a better car.  when in life will I have everything at once?  Is it not the nature to always be missing something, whether we are aware of it or not.  I tend to be introspective enough to notice, and obsessive enough to cling.

What is the path to mastery if not the journey designed to build ourselves and enjoy our lives despite what is missing?  mastery itself is the horizon, the finish-line in a race we may not live to cross, and yet the path of that race is meant to carry us through beautiful vistas.

***

the negative blogs, do they send out bad karma?  do they hurt others, or cause others pain?  Maybe I should password and hide those dark moments when i have them, lest they cause someone else to share those feelings.

it seems a bit like being ashamed of myself, which I’m not in the least.  I’m not ashamed, in fact I’m proud.  I’ve survived, and now i Thrive despite some very hard situations and and a frightful beginning.  I beat the odds, opened my eyes, and now there’s light for the first time.  for almost two decades I was dominated by fear, by regret, by anger, by self hatred.

in this recent third of my life I’ve begun the work of crawling out of those feelings, and looking at the world free of the structure once imposed on my by the “christian church.”  I’m learning how to make friends, how to better my body, how to have a skill worth decent pay, and how to love others and myself… despite the fact most of that was programmed out of me for twenty years.

i’ll have to think about it, whether those things should be kept silent, or if that act will make it worse.

Everybody has bad moments and hard thoughts, and it seems like getting mine “off my chest” has been a good way to work through them.