On the good and the bad 2

I related a story of my own. It happened, I believe, before zero hour, but I’m not sure. I was reading The Lucifer Effect by Dr. Zimbardo, the man responsible for the Stanford Prison Experiment. The book uses the SPE as a springboard into the nature of evil and authoritarianism as an expression of evil. I began the book before zero hour and was determined to finish it even after that horrible night. In the background I had the television on. Food Network was running one of their big challenges. The contestants were making cakes, HUGE cakes celebrating the glory that was Food Network, the golden calf of a certain kind of foodie and lovers of food porn everywhere. As in most Food Network competitions, the participants had to move their cakes from their respective kitchens to the display table. One group simply couldn’t move it, the mammoth cake was simply too much. They struggled and struggled; they got nowhere. They were on the verge of being disqualified. Out of nowhere one of the participants from an opposing group came over to help, then another participant, and so on and so on. It took everyone, at least six people to move this cake; but they moved it, and the live audience cheered.

Goodness comes in small doses, unexpected places, the gaps.

From this day forth

I’ve decided on a name: zero hour. Dramatic, yes, but it defines things in the cleanest way possible, without insulting me.

Life before, life after. Zero represents the pivot, the transition, the center point.

On the good and the bad

At the reunion I got into a discussion with a former classmate about evil. This was the classmate to whom I clumsily revealed the events of late April. We bounced around a bit, but I wanted to share a few of the details. Like any good conversation about evil we discussed the holocaust. I had taken a graduate course: the holocaust and film. She had read a few books on the subject, and visited one of the camp sites. The holocaust was about …well it was about a lot of things. Without going off on a tangent it is, among other things, about the capacity of human beings to inflict suffering and to cope with suffering, and the strange microcosm formed by representatives from both groups as they etch out a gaunt coexistence.

This, in turn, led us to talk about goodness. I’m afraid I can’t do her story justice—and I might get the details wrong-- but here goes. In the barracks a woman preached: God, etc. There were insects in these barracks, nasty ones torturing the prisoners. The woman said that even the insects should be loved. Of course the prisoners scoffed. These bugs were hateful things, eating them alive.

There was a cruel SS guard (there usually is in these stories). But the guard wouldn’t bother the women, while they were in their barracks, thus allowing the women to practice their religion. As it turned out, she refused to enter thPublish Poste barracks because of the same bugs.

I suppose the power of the “good” in this little ditty depends on which you’d rather be, eaten by bugs or at the mercy of an SS guard.

Ten Year Reunion

I went to my high school graduation this weekend. It began as unreal. Many-a-girl had gained quite a few pounds. In most cases I think it was pregnancy weight, but I wasn’t gonna risk asking that question. The guys weren’t much better, that’s not to say that everyone was morbidly obese, but I’ve always been a bit weight conscious. (My weight hasn’t fluctuated much at all). When people broke off into clusters, and I found myself watching from afar THAT’S when it felt like high school. I wasn’t excluded or an outcast in high school. It just always felt there was this large emotional gulf between me and everyone else; I experienced this even with the groups of people I was friends with.

Most everyone attended, thirty five out of a possible forty one. A large chunk of my class have advanced degrees—several J.Ds, at least two Masters, and one M.D.

I told one person, about what happened to me. I try not to just so I don’t have to answer a lot of questions about my girlfriend. Unfortunately, my inner monologue collapsed on me, so I didn’t have much of a choice. Her reaction, of course, was shock and concern.

Getting my asked kicked: its raining very bad men

I will be elated when the BJJ class becomes a true Gui BJJ class, and not merely an opportunity for high school wrestlers to throw me around, content to pummel me with their superior stamina and knowledge of strength based grappling. Don’t get me wrong, I think it is good to mix things up. Its good for BJJ practitioners to get a taste of Greco-Roman and Freestyle wrestling, but we’re not being instructed in classical wrestling so its really frustrating when we start to spar and those wrestling fucks chuck the stuff we learned out the window and wale on me. Wrestling sparring is like a sprint or trying to run a fast mile. Your conditioning has to be tip top. Although mine is certainly above average, I got a painful lesson last night in how wanting it is. How wanting? About 15 oz of vomit wanting. And the worst part about that was I couldn’t do it in the dojo where there was a bathroom, nooooooooo. My body waited until I was on the road, in what felt like the longest ten minute drive in the history of ever. I was light headed. I was exhausted. When I got home I lay prone in the bathtub while the shower blasted a stream of water that beat my chest like some kind of machine gun percussion instrument.

Twelve minutes. That’s the time total I did sparring drills. I had breaks for christ’s sake! I am wracking my brain trying to figure out how to get my body into proper shape for the Martial Arts and now I’ve got to work on conditioning on top of everything else. I have patella femoral syndrome (knee problems) I don’t even know if I can run a hard mile safely! Fuck fuck fuck!!!

I need short burst, intense cardiovascular training. I need power. I need skill, flexibility, and the knowledge to facilitate these things, and kids I am scrounging for it.

Don’t mean to whine. It’s just frustrating. I have an easier time being out skilled than I do being beaten by poor cardio. The first is external, the latter is internal.

The bad man is gassing

My groin is feeling better, not 100% but I’ve been playing things conservatively. Even though I didn’t want to, I skipped BBJ tonight to give it more time to heal. I did some weight training though (back), and 45 minutes on an elliptical rider.

My tummy is feeling a bit queasy.

Trauma and Body Blows

I just experienced a moment of absolute frustration. My girlfriend was raped and I couldn’t do anything. I lay on the floor wondering if my last meal would be a Stouffer’s French Bread Pizza (supreme). I’d be lying if I said my dive into Martial Arts had nothing to do with the event. Clearly it does, in fact, I’m almost certain I want to work towards a black belt, but that would mean staying here.

I was accepted into the film MFA production program at University of Miami, but I deferred for various reasons: not sure if our relationship could stand the stress, cost, and they waited to the last second to tell me. I hadn’t even looked at the campus. If I stay here I’m going to have pursue another degree of some kind. I am, unfortunately, one of those poor unfortunate souls addicted to student life. I have an MA in lit, but theory isn’t my passion, although some aspects of it fascinate me. The world of nine to five bores me, I tire of it easily. Academics are paid in free time moreso than cash, which does allow them opportunities to pursue other interests, but like I said I’m addicted; I never said I loved it passionately. There are times when I’m disgusted by the beaurocracy, the absurd tendency to overspecialization. You can’t just get a degree in creative writing, you have to focus on fiction OR poetry OR nonfiction etc. This discourages experimentation and gives the Ivory tower a little bit too much say in what qualifies as good writing—genre writing, no matter what anyone says, is seriously downplayed.

Make the bad man stop 2

I’ve tried to tread lightly with the groin injury today, and boy howdy I hate treading lightly. I kept an ice pack between my inner thigh and my scrotum on and off for about eight hours today. I think I succeeded in sterilizing myself; my girlfriend will never have to worry about a leaky condom again.

I’m lucky to have parents who run their own medical practice. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as ibuprofen cream.

Normally I do my leg workout on Tuesdays but thought better of it, opting to do my shoulders instead. I didn’t do any cardio work at the gym, rather I just did a beginner JKD workout at the dojo. I think it was 85 degrees in there. Add that to the one hour workout and I think, considering my injury it’s a sensible cardio workout. Once this heels I’m going to start attending both the level 1 workout and the level 2 workout proceeding it, but learning the choreography of these combinations is driving me batty. Plus, I feel a little guilty. I’m not exactly a wiz when its my turn to hold the..er..target thingies. I don’t like thinking I jipped someone out of their workout (even the beginners seem light years ahead of me).

I’m starting to rethink my whole approach to weightlifting, cardio, etc. I need to develop a workout that will promote better flexibility, focus on increasing strength even at the cost of muscle mass.

I need power, I need speed, I need better endurance, and I need better flexibility.

I hope I’m not going to have to make a lot of changes to my diet.

BTW While I’m thinking MMA, my partner tonight was pushing me to keep my guard up, but is it me or do a lot of the UFC/Pride/WEC guys employ a low guard? Mere sloppiness or is there a tactical reason for doing so?

Make the bad man stop

BBJ was nasty tonight. We spent most of practice doing drills where the man in the guard position couldn't use his hands, AND he had to keep an open guard. This drill is a great way to build endurance and make you stronger in the guard position...Too bad my left inner thigh told me to go fuck myself. On the very first drill I felt something...pop?...give?..I'm worried. If I'm lucky I merely pulled my groin, if I'm unlucky I tore it. SO naturally I had to tough it out and cycle through the drill as many times as Sifu ran it. I'm icing it now, and it ain't easy trying to ice your inner thigh without freezing your testicles.

When I came home there was glass all over the kitchen floor all the dogs were loose, and somebody peed on the side of my bed. Suffice to say I was nonplussed.

BTW A Sifu is like a Sensai. I think the difference is a sufi is a title for Kung Fu practitioners...at least I think that's what it correlates to.

Saturday Night

I'm watching Saturday Night's Main Event. Why? I have an extra chromosome....an extra chromosome made of wrestling! Seriously though, I'm not expecting much.

JKD

I've mentioned before I've started taking a class in BBJ/Submission Wrestling. I'm also taking a beginner's course in Jeet Kune Do. The more I learn about JKD the more I like it. (I think Bruce Lee's impact on history has been severly underestimated).

I went outside to practice some boxing combinations, but I could only remember two! So I did my best to flow from one to the other and alternate lead hands.

If anyone could recommend some training texts for beginners I'd be much obliged, as I need something to compensate for my absent mindedness.

Re: Benoit 2

There was something else I wanted to make note of from the comments. If I understood correctly someone was taking issue with the length of the piece. Originally, I had submitted this as a reader column/letter to the fans for PWinsider.com, so it was intended as a long piece from the get go, not a series of easily digestible nuggets. I admit sometimes bloggers can get carried away; I don't think 'puter screens are conducive to sustained periods of reading, but every once in a while I think it needs to be done.

Re: Benoit

I was very nervous about the Benoit column. Would anyone like it? Would anyone sympathize? Would there be trolls? Would anyone who read it even bother to respond? The answers to all of those questions has been a resounding yes. Heck, this place is starting to look like a real blog.


I hope one day we have all the answers to the case, but it seems unlikely. At one point, Chris Newinski (sp?) , who has become an expert on concussions, petitioned for a gander at Benoit's grey matter. I don't know if he got the chance; i believe the body has been cremated.

Its easy to play armchair detective in this case. There are a dizzying variety of clues, red herrings, puzzling symbols, and half-truths. But if I were a betting man I'd call this death by a thousand cuts or even insanity by a thousand cuts. In other words I don't think it was steroids in and of themselves but steroids plus concussions plus the stress of constant little injuries plus the grueling travel schedule plus et cetera et cetera.

Benoit Is Us: Facing Evil Head On

I've been working on this post for sometime. If you are visiting this site by way of PWinsider.com thank you for stopping by. Be advised this post is not for the feint of heart. Also, I'd like to thank Dave Scherer for agreeing to post a link.

Benoit. Chris Benoit. The Wolverine. The Rabid Wolverine. The Crippler. The Canadian Crippler. Former WWE Heavyweight Champion. The man who won said championship at the main event of Wrestlemania 20 at Madison Square Garden. Revered as quite possibly the greatest in ring worker of all time. His technique, superb. He could adapt to any style: lucha libre, Japanese, American Strong, hardcore, Sports Entertainment. So gifted was Chris Benoit at his craft that at the 2000 Royal Rumble, after losing a 20 minute match with Kurt Angle, he, and by he I mean Benoit, received a standing ovation from the crowd. It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t the last. If we lived in the Marvel Universe, Benoit would have been a mutant, or at the very least, rumors of genetic mutation would have dogged him to the grave.

Then again, no one really knows what dogged Benoit. The stories twist and turn on themselves, but something dogged him. Something chewed at his mind—chewed up his mind. He killed his wife. He killed his son. He killed himself. For me, Benoit was a personal hero. Some guys had John Wayne, others had Clint Eastwood or Michael Jordan; I had Chris Benoit.

I’m hesitant to talk about this, how Benoit relates to me. He is survived by an ex-wife, two more children, and his parents. Whatever my connection to Benoit, its pails in comparison to theirs, and then there’s the parents of his wife Nancy, who I imagined are pretty fuckin’ pissed at Chris for taking their daughter and grandson to an early grave. Still, I’m compelled.

My girlfriend was raped. I was forced to watch, the barrel of a gun pressed against my head. (If I’m extremely unlucky she’ll be reading this right now). We thought we were going to die, but we didn’t. We survived, but survivors need reasons. They need reassurance that life is worth living, that despite all the evil and cruelty in the world Hawaiian pizza is great, that the letter to a certain Virginia about a certain fat man wasn’t bullshit, that people still love them, and that Chris Benoit is the best in the biz.

{So what do I do? I just lost my favorite reason, but I am more sad than angry, more frustrated than betrayed, yet I feel all these emotions as does every wrestling fan.}

I don’t know if the memory of Chris, both the character and the person, can be rehabilitated, that seems too just, too fair; fairytales, despite their popularity, exert no influence on physics, have no sway in the kingdoms of chance and uncertainty.

There is something I want to address though, something that has maddened me as I listen to hotlines and lurk through message boards and chat rooms:

“We will never understand why Chris Benoit did what he did; and we shouldn’t, that will make us more like him”

I’ve heard several variations on this asinine drivel over the last few weeks and I’d like to take the time to squash it now. It is time for this bad idea to do the J-O-B.

First, I’d like to accuse anyone subscribing to this philosophy as engaging in an act of moral and intellectual cowardice. You are horribly misguided. Second, I’m going to prove it…once I subsume my rage.

(pausing to subsume rage, which sits in my throat like a hot ball of iron)

What facilitated the crime is secondary, ( I am concerned with the “why” not so much the “what”) and I cannot speak to the nuances of the case, but Chris Benoit killed his wife and child because he was afraid of losing them, a gruesome act, yes, but a normal part of the animal kingdom. It happens every day, whether it is in the wild or by domesticated pets.

Congratulations, you’re a bit more like Chris Benoit now. Are you going to murder someone? Do I need to call 911? Is a suicide watch more appropriate? Of course not, knowing why he committed murder is no different than listening to a Judas Priest song. Maybe you don’t believe me. Maybe you think I’m being glib. Then consider this. There is an entire science devoted to the study of crime: criminology. Criminologists study crime statistics, the power of the media on crime and how it shapes our perceptions of crime. They study the impact of crime on victims, and the hold trauma can have on a person’s life. And yes boys and girls, they study criminals. Why they do it, what happens before, during, and after the act; and they construct profiles. Oh yeah, guess what! Do you know who is most likely to steal from you? Rape you? Murder you? Most likely someone you know, and often times someone you love.

Hmmm, but if we follow the logic of the given quote to its conclusion, that means criminologists are more like Chris Benoit because they understand more about trauma and the nature of evil! Folks, we are gonna need a lot of prison cells.

No, it is the refusal to understand what Benoit did and why he did it that really makes a person MORE like Chris Benoit, because he, in a state of ignorance, with no sense of context, is far more likely to fall into a hell like Benoit’s because he lacks the tools to see the signs, to diagnose the symptoms in himself or someone he loves! This is why genocide happens over and over again. It is why rape is used as a tool to terrorize entire populaces, and it’s why no one who knew Benoit anticipated his descent: ignorance makes us susceptible to evil! What’s wrong? You don’t want to know what made the SS commit atrocity upon atrocity against the Jews? Wonderful! Consider yourself one step closer to being part of the next SS. Evil doesn’t merely thrive on ignorance; evil works through ignorance.

Human nature isn’t pretty. We are capable of astonishing ugliness, all of us, Benoit, McMahon, me, and you. I’ve studied terrorism. I’ve studied pedophiles. I’ve studied the holocaust—and god damnit I didn’t let the nightmares stop me--been the victim of a heinous crime, and with each book I read, each film I watch, I become less and less like them, and in return they are demystified, stripped of their gimmicky boogie man powers, and I see them as they really are: broken people. If you don’t have the constitution to plunge into these materials the way I do, that’s ok, some of it is gruesome stuff, but don’t sit there and tell me that you are preserving your humanity or keeping yourself pure from the taint of evil because we’re covered in it. Your shit, my friends, does in fact stink.

There is another reason though. One that is more important. Chances are that the “men”—I use the term to denote biology only— who violated us will never be caught. My girlfriend and I will not have the satisfaction of staring them down in a courtroom, in the presence of a judge and a jury of our peers. We will never know why one of them raped her, nor will we know why the other never made a real effort to stop him. Ignorance hurts. Now consider the family of the deceased. Chris’s parents will never know what made their son, a quiet kid who loved to read, into a killer. He threw all his passion into become a professional wrestler, an entertainer, someone who takes pleasure in making other people happy, not crushing them under the heel of his boot. Nancy’s parents will never have the chance to confront Chris, never have the opportunity to interrogate him “Why did you kill our daughter? Why did you kill our grandson? We trusted you” But it may be Benoit’s remaining children who suffer the most. They must have more questions than surely you or I could anticipate and they burn, these questions, like a drop of uranium on their broken hearts. Their loyalties divided: the shame, the agony, and the guilt reaching cancerous levels. What could heal such astounding suffering? I don’t know, but every time someone says “We will never understand why Chris Benoit did what he did; and we shouldn’t, that will make us more like him” they deny the survivors the balm of knowledge. They make it sinful—evil—to search out those answers. I will not stand for this. I will not accept it. These survivors have a right to know why they have been made to suffer, regardless of whether or not it makes anyone feel icky inside.

Feel the power of Owie

My chest bone hurts! Another night another BBJ beatdown.

A few words on the bad guys

A Decree: A few words on the bad guys

I will not refer to the two perps as men, not ever again. They do not fulfill any definition of man that I find worthy. I am not trying to dehumanize them. They aren’t animals they aren’t monsters. I think it is fair to refer to them as children, stupid children, or ignorant, or assholes or bastards or dicks or perpetrators or perps but I think I like children best. These were the crimes of powerless children, fumbling desperately for some form of control. They couldn’t exert it over the direction of their own lives; they lacked the gravitational pull of intellect, the energy generated by character. They made us powerless, afraid, but they were never in control. They were fumbling idiots who stormed into the wrong apartment, could never agree on a course of action. What they took from us was temporary, whether they know it or nor they are wanted me—children, wanted by the police. They have no idea how fragile their own lives are. When those lives crumble, we will be waiting to confront them. The moment they wronged us they surrendered any hope of true empowerment.

I have no thirst for vengeance though. I believe in the justice system, flawed as it is, I believe in justice not merely as an idea, but as an achievable goal. They should be tried by a community.

I have very definite ideas of what should happen to perpetrators. But I will bring this up in a separate post.

Heros and Villians

So far, most of my posts have been short, as I'm trying to establish a pattern of blogging, while learning the ropes. Very soon, sometime tonight, I'm posting an extended--very extended entry--tying together aspects of the Benoit family tragedy and a pattern of response to the tragedy I've observed within the community of smart marks (wrestling nerds). Although I'll deal with Benoit (and a few references to what happened to us) I believe the discussion can be extended to issues of trauma and power writ large.

Oy

You know that feeling when you're at a loss for words? Imagine experiencing that every time your girlfriend needs your support. I need a speech writer. I'd like to expound on this, but I just got my ass kicked in a Brazilian Ju-Jitsu class. Ah, the healing power of violence.

Night Lights.

A few nights ago. I was lying in bed trying to go to sleep. I became scared. bam! out of nowhere. I don't even think any though triggered it. I couldn't sleep without a night light.
I'm living with my parents right now--it's a long story I'll go into it later--their marriage is strained. They sleep in different rooms. Some nights I don't feel comfortable unless I sleep in her room with three dogs.

I think about my girlfriend, wondering if I failed her. I've almost succeeded in convincing myself I haven't. We made it out alive. Most of the guilt I felt about the rape has subsided, but now I feel guilty for a different reason. I've experienced...hot flashes of rage..as if I was suddenly reach out and strangle her, screaming rabid vitriolic garble. I would never hurt her, but when I experience THAT I get a little scared, a little afraid.

When the bastards slip into the dark the only people you have left to hurt are the ones you love. And as the poetry gods would have it, your the only one around to prevent it. In other words, I have a conflict of interest.

In Search Of...

I'm currently looking for Trauma related resources. If anyone out there in the great wide can suggest possible links drop them in the comments section.

A Perfect Circle - Counting Bodies

Triumph! I figured out how to post videos on my blog. Instead of giving you a thirty minute spiel on politics, I decided to post this video; cut to a remix of a track by A Perfect Circle, which can be found on the Emotive album.

First Post

The genesis of this blog begins with a rape, not mine, but one I was forced to watch at gunpoint. Then again, a very good argument could be made that I was raped too, but I don't wanna do that today. I just want to set the stage. For now, just know that I'm male, I like prowrestling, the UFC, and reading among other things. You'll get to know more about me as time goes on. I don't want this blog to be exclusively about anything because I find it boring, but if you are curious about how sexual trauma affects males, well boy howdy you have struck gold.