Tagged: creative writing

On the Ignorant’s Religion

I’m going to keep this short for today. But I need to jot down some thoughts for future reference.

For a long time now the question, “What precisely does the general claim, ‘religion is accepted and believed more readily by ignorant people’ mean?” has plagued me. My approach to answering the question has been to study the history, chronologically and conceptually, of math with an eye for what are the non-math-ers (“I’m not good at math” adherents) actually doing with their mind throughout life. Simultaneously, I have also been digging deep into what the more ignorant “Christians” believe.

Two conclusions:

Firstly, I now define math as the unbounded study of absolute obedience.

Secondly, the ignorant “believers” can hardly be called such. Part of the very definition of “ignorance”, I am convinced, is an absolute freedom of word use. For the ignorant, there is no truth. There is no consistency. There is no coherence. There is no alignment, no integrity. The ignorant cannot possibly be labeled as religious or even holding a worldview at all. The ignorant are quite literally sheep, being led astray by who knows what, for who knows how long, before another thoughtless route is taken.

In short, the problem of religion is not that it somehow exists as some inherent trait or behavior of the ignorant. The problem of religion is ignorance. Put inversely, if you find yourself to be religious, your main task is education. And, similar to math, education requires consistency, coherence, and obedience. Most of all, education requires truth.

I’m Getting Hot This Winter

The power company sent a letter informing me of my newfound power to save money.

Oh joy! Tell me more!

The method?

When I need to see, turn off the lights.

When I need to cook, turn off the stove, turn off the oven.

When I need to do laundry, turn off the washer and dryer.

When I need to shower, turn off the water.

Get it? Isn’t it brilliant? I bet they had their monkeys working ‘round the clock to develop that one.

What next? Restaurants saving me money, putting the power in my hands by charging less between 9:01 and 9:02, both AM and PM? What a deal!

Gas stations down the road from each other now give dramatic discounts immediately after you fill up at the competition, ‘Just bring your receipt!’? Count me in!

Trash companies now let me save by skipping my house for five years straight and then it’s only a fraction of the cost for one big pickup? Let’s go!

I have no idea how much “energy” should cost. Or food. Or fuel. Or trash removal. But I do know that I know best, and with pinpoint accuracy, absolute certainty, and perfect timing, exactly what I need, why I need it, and when I need it—not you.

Beasts vs. Bits, A Joint Movie Review of Beasts of the Southern Wild by Benh Zeitlin and Tron: Ares by Joachim Rønning

How does one land on 2012’s Beasts of the Southern Wild in 2026? Easy—if you’re a helicopter pilot.

Here’s how.

You call a friend, a fellow helicopter pilot, and while talking entertainment, he recommends True Detective (only S1). You watch it. During the call to discuss and thank for the recommendation, the conversation includes “really like the setting as character” and turns to Louisiana, and fears and love of that place. Next you recall that your friend has spent some time there because of “flying in the gulf”. Intermix some marriage and family chatter, mostly involving cross-cultural marriage, and the self-same friend mentions Beasts.

That said, here is what I sent him after my viewing.

1. Not in category of my “favorite movies” but definitely in category of “perfect movies”.

2. Can’t say I have ever seen a better performance by an actress than that girl.

3. I’ve been reading books on Jesus’ parables for a couple months now (on second book…) and this movie definitely fits as parable or allegory—but on steroids. It is amazing how many aspects of life it covers, and that I want to think more about all of them.

4. I think a lot about death and dying, and the lack of dignity we give it. The “plug you into a wall” line is the best summary of what is wrong with modernity’s handling of it that I have ever heard. And I cannot think of a better way to go than while holding someone I love.

Today I will add another thought I had—which will connect to Tron: Ares.

5. I love when a movie is clearly made by one and only one person. Beasts is so singular in its focus there is no doubt in my mind that we are watching a true artist at work—not the shapings a committee or AI.

Tron: Ares on the other hand is clearly, and unsurprisingly, the work of a ‘system’. The ‘system’ being the largest contributor to the death of art. Even when only one director is named, everyone (who cares) knows Mr. Fancy “O” didn’t make the movie he wanted to make. Instead, he made the movie he was allowed to make. Who gave him permission? Unspoken facial expressions. Indirect, latent meanings to rhetorical questions. The lowest common denominator of risk aversion. At every level, Tron: Ares was adulterated. I’m not trying to start a new conspiracy theory, but very really and truly Tron was made using the precise methods AI uses. Unfortunately for us, that is not how good art is made.

As far as the movie goes, the visuals were exactly what I wanted to see and watch. The jet ski chase seen being a definite win. The story was lame for anyone who knows the word that follows “paperclip” when talking about AI.

But the nuance I want to emphasize here is that Tron fails for every reason that Beasts succeeds, and yet Beasts is not made by Beasts.

In short, there is a terrifically false urban legend that tribal peoples have some great “lore” or stories from which they draw strength and unity of purpose and longevity. The sober truth is nothing could be farther from the truth. It is the leading civilizations, it is Western Civilization that has the great “lore” or stories from which we draw strength and unity of purpose and longevity.

To be clear, all that needs to occur for me to be proven wrong on this point is some tribe, be it one with truly no contact with modernity, or, say the Somalis, to make Tron: Ares. Or even the first Tron. Hell, I would happily recant if they used an ink pen of their own creation to write a story, or a Somali assault rifle to board a ship, or even musket in the case of piracy. But they don’t, won’t, and haven’t. This lack of good story is not the result of some external circumstances, it is the reason for external circumstances.

In using Somalis, I am not bashing some “race” here. I am merely making the point that even the film and story Beasts, for all its Beast-y-ness is not being told by its own protagonists, unless we alter it to the most metaphorical sense, more like “beast mode.” Instead, it is being told by Western Civilization. The strength of the story is contained in its unflinching depiction of truth, which includes some welcome criticism of WC.

If there is one feature that primitive peoples and the communists behind Disney movies share, it is that in storytelling, success aligns perfectly with honesty.

Nearly Unremarkable, My Review of “One Battle After Another”, By PTA

Solon’s sentiment (provided by Plutarch, circa 100 AD) is my entire review.

But to add one additional measure to Solon’s opinion, I would say, “The opening scene made me think, ‘I don’t want my kids to know I watched this garbage.’”

I share that not because I am going to fulfill my feeling, but because the only other movie that provokes me so was Babylon and its elephant opening.

PTA has obviously earned a hearing, but, unlike his others, this movie has too many flaws to be anything more than a “sign of the times”.

Just Feel Like Doting On My Son and His Father

He’s down in the family room, riding a wooden rocking horse around the room. In his hand is a stuffed “stick” which is part of a marshmallow roasting stuffed toy. He doesn’t think it’s a stick, though. It is a rifle.

Oh. And don’t forget the Christmas tree and other seasonal decorations. And a giant grizzly bear, lovingly known as “Papa Bear”. And a toy helicopter that over 2 ft long!

Want to know how you too can reproduce this scene in 2025? It’s easy: no tv!

Happy Thanksgiving! And Merry Christmas!

On Being a “One Mistake” Man

It just occurred to me that I am a “one mistake” man. The way this came to mind just now was while driving. Picture me in the classic post-stoplight intersection need to merge right (to get to Freddy’s) and there are cars zipping into the new right lane with whom I need to merge. Rather, we all need to zipper merge.

If you drive a good car and can’t merge, I respect you—you’re probably just decompressing from a hard days work. If you drive a disproportionately small car for an adult man who can grow a decent beard and can’t merge, then that’s one mistake too many. And I do not respect you anymore.

One mistake at a time please.

Everyone Who “Knew This Would Happen”…

…now owes the rest of people, those without the gift of foresight, what happens next.

Predicting moohammedans’ boom in America is now merely part of history. There is no rhetorical power in claiming, “I told you so.” The rhetorical power now in great demand is, “What happens next, Oh, Great, Divinely-Touched, and Accurate Doom-Foreteller?”

This isn’t a “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” taunt.

My foresight says two, and only two, options remain available.

  1. Insufferable mediocrity until America is a caliphate.
  2. Actual religious war, which results in everyone losing, except “hope”.

How’s that for Negative Nancy, on this Happy Hump Day?

“I Can Fly. I’m a Pilot” Movie Review of F1, Starring Not Tom Cruise

So Brad Pitt really wishes he was Tom Cruise? Is that what we’re to understand?

He explains that there are exceptional moments during a race, which in fact drive him to race beyond all barriers, when he “feels like he is flying”.

And apparently this is supposed to be confusing to everyone else in the racing business, who is only motivated by money.

Ridiculous.

And what’s more, I can happily report that flying feels nothing like what he describes—something he has no reason to not know, given he flies on planes all the time and has surely asked his pilots.

As I pilot, I can tell you the main two reasons “feels like flying” does not in fact feel like flying, are, “human vision isn’t bird-like,” and “there are others flying through the air too”.

Please indulge me as I re-write the script.

****

“Then why do you do it?” she asks.

“My dad was a mechanic. He gambled. He got me into racing. When I’m out there,” Pitt pauses, eyes impossibly seeing triply turn 4, the entire track, and the Redeemer God, Jesus, at once, “when I’m out there, on the track- it’s a controlled environment. There is no oncoming traffic, no intersections, no work, no family, no teachers, no law, no disease, no death, no surprises. Or at least that’s how it feels ehhhhhhvery once in a while. And ehhhhhvery once in a while, I am in complete control of this shitbox we call ‘life’. Those moments of life?” here, another perfect Pitt pause, his eyes being led by his soul over to her eyes where they stop, as it were, in victory lane before continuing, “They’re my favorite.”

Using Nebraska-Corn-Fed Boobies in 2025 and Beyond

This is mostly intended to entertain international readers who find themselves daily longing for Americana. But the wisdom herein is universal just the same.

I grew up in the suburbs of Kansas City, KS. Picture an endless, rolling sea of clothesline-less backyards in neighborhoods of single-family homes. Try and imagine that the size of the houses and yards grows proportionately to their distance from the city. Got it? Good. That should give you some idea of it.

Our perspective on girls was probably exactly that of any group of boys anywhere on earth. There were hot ones, “doable” ones, and ugly ones. Also similar to any group of boys, these designations were perfectly harmless as no boy was actually going to approach a girl, no matter her place on our assessment.

After highschool came college. I chose to go to a small, private college in a small town of the neighboring state of Missouri. This was the first time I heard the description “townie” as applied to the citizens of that small town. These townies were, as expected, totally different than us college kids. It was fascinating to me. Also fascinating was how the girl situation suddenly changed and its vocabulary too. It was here that kids from all the across the midwest and bread-belt of America gathered, mostly on-scholarship, and it was here that I first noticed, what I quickly learned were colloquially known to rural boys as, “Nebraska-corn-fed boobies”.

The concept at once made me chuckle. My mind was flooded with questions. Was such a thing really possible? If so, why did Nebraska’s corn, in particular, produce big boobs? Why had I not heard this before? How many other people knew? Why wasn’t Nebraska’s population booming? Was Nebraska’s population booming? What else about our world do I not know?!

Okay, hook over—expect a return of concept. But here comes the wisdom.

About two years ago, as I discussed the merits of homeschooling with my brother and his wife, I noticed something that I hadn’t before noticed. They continually shot down every benefit of homeschooling, while also agreeing that the weaknesses of public school I identified were real. Finally, and proudly, I said what I thought was the fairest thing I could, being, “Here’s the thing. You’re sniping everything I say, but you haven’t made one positive claim. I know what you’re against, now I want to hear what you are for.”

That was the last line and last conversation on the matter. I still have no idea what they would do with their kids, which, as should be expected, is moot because they don’t want kids anyhow.

The other day, Scott Jennings was doing his thing, the topic being the No Kings events. He said the exact same thing to his co-panelist. “Okay. But what are you for?”

This is very sad to me. It is sad because I believe we, those in the right, should be able to make a dent during conversations. If we can’t make a dent, then the new question and problem is, “Why even try?”

So when I listen to the current, only critical mind-set of the Left, I would say that it can be fairly summarized in some relevant sense by, “DJT is the source of all my problems.”

In my most empathetic attempt at understanding them, I say to myself, “Just give them this as a fact”. So I do.

I concede, not just for argument’s sake, that it is gospel truth that Donald J. Trump is the source of all their problems.

There.

I said it.

Truth be told, it wasn’t as hard as I expected.

Okay. What happens next?

Because while Trump is the source of all your problems, Donald J. Trump is not the source of all my problems.

And this is where “Nebraska-corn-fed boobies” re-enter the picture.

Like Archimedes, Newton, and Gauss before us, we have two sides of an equation in apparent inequality. Who among us can find the missing variable?

Symbolically, we can write [DJT➡️p] ~ [DJT,p] = 1.

Spelled out, “IF -Trump-THEN-I-have-problems is relationally equivalent to Trump-unrelated-to-problems EQUALS UNITY”.

Put plainly, how can one person, one man, simultaneously be and not be the source of problems?

I submit to you that the variable is Nebraska-corn.

Now, you might be tempted to generalize and say, “I think I see. You’re saying, Pete, that the variable is ‘internal’ to the person—nurture, though, not nature. Something like ‘the way someone is raised inescapably equips them for life, and these people for whom Trump is the source of their problems weren’t raised right’, correct?”

No, I mean Nebraska-corn. 😘