Whether or not I agree with Karl Marx that Religion was the Opium of the People - A.K.A. four pages of bullshyt

Religious distress is at the same time the expression of real distress and the protest against real distress. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is required for their real happiness. The demand to give up the illusion about its condition is the demand to give up a condition which needs illusions.
Karl Marx, Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right

           When people typically hear this idea of Karl Marx, or read the -shortened- quote, it is simply that “Religion is the opium of the people”. On occasion, “Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature” is included also. Abridged as such, it is commonly taken to speak negatively of or against religion. When the quote is read in full, it is clear that a lot more is being dictated than simply “religion is the opium of the people” (which Marx never actually said).

      What Marx is conveying in the above quotation is that religion’s purpose is to give those who are not in positions of power or fortune (a.k.a. ‘oppressed creatures’) the ability to create an illusion, or fantasy, of happiness by following their religion and believing that while they may not be truly happy due to economic reasons in their current life, that their next life or place of existence is where they will be.

       He goes on to say that in order for people to truly be happy, they would need to give up the idea of religion, or that this world and life is just a trial period or audition for the next one. That instead of living by a certain text or outline, people would find happiness in their current lives by what really makes them happy and how they enjoy living. He is not 100% constituting that religion is a bad thing, or that it’s wrong for one to follow any given religion. As he states that people are in distress in a “heartless world” and that religion is their opiate which soothes their inner pain , can be directly compared to a person who is physically injured and given an opiate-based drug which in turn soothes their physical pain.

     As previously noted, Marx is not against religion or unsympathetic toward those who believe in one. To read that “Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature” alone leaves out the fact Marx went on to state “the heart of a heartless world”. Anyone who refers to anything as being the heart of the world, or what essentially gives the world life and without which the world could not exist, could not also be saying that this thing or conception is unnecessary or a bad thing to have.

       By saying that “The demand to give up the illusion about its condition is the demand to give up a condition which needs illusions” is stating that until society has fixed itself and its economic conditions thereby rebuilding its heart and no longer needing a coping mechanism, society will only need to continue administering this drug known as religion, without focusing on the actual problem.

      When broken down from it’s broader context, Marx is talking more about society, and how it essentially lost its original heart, therefore needing to fill the void with something, and not religion providing solace or being an opium of the people. Marx is saying that if it weren’t religion, it would be something else. Almost like in Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”; What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet. Or in Marx’ opinion on religion, would fail to fill this void society has carved out for itself same as any other form of ideas. Religion is a symptom of a disease, not the disease itself.

        An opiate does nothing more than relieve the pain of a physical injury and help you to forget the suffering which your body is going through. Once the opiate wears off, the injury is still there unless you are, at the same time, actively doing what you need to do to cause the injury to heal and the pain to reside. As with religion, the set of ideas of there being an after life or made up future does not take away the true nature of what is causing a person’s pain and suffering and distress, but it can help them get through their days, their years, their lives by helping them to forget what is the true nature of why they’re unhappy.

      When one studies Marx more in depth, they will find that he wrote more about economic and political structures than he ever did religion, namely because he found these were the more important issues and serious enemies. The very formation of Marxist Communism proves that many people entirely missed the point and focus of what Marx was even saying in his ideologies. After the Paris Commune (in 1871, being the first time in history that the working class seized state power, only to eventually be overthrown by the state army and many of the workers were slaughtered) Marx revised his theory and concluded that the oppressed needed to destroy the “state machine” instead of trying to revolutionize it or leave it intact.

       I wish I could say I don’t believe that the economy and political structures are as conducive to ones overall happiness in today's world as they were in Marx’ 20th century existence, and that John Lennon’s Imagine could be reality. Unfortunately, the truth comes down to it that love is not all you need. You need food, a roof, other basic (and nonbasic) material things to be happy in the society we’ve created for ourselves over the years, because yes, society is pretty damn spiritless and yes, the world has yet to show me its heart.

I'm In Love Alright, With My Crazy Beautiful Life.

Here's a little misuse of the word "Irony". Or maybe it will be proper use. I neither know nor care enough to look it up prior to getting on with this.

Anyone who's known me for a decent amount of time knows that I've always, ALWAYS kept a journal in some way shape or form. That I have a box of diaries from my childhood (hey, wait, where'd that go? Shoot, I'm 26. Oh yea. That happened) and then eventually a Dead Journal (ha) and then a Live Journal (double ha). Which then brings us to this. Although this isn't necessarily a daily log of my oh-so-interesting life (I'll get to the "How To Set Your Microwave on Fire...Twice" entry another time), it's a place I put down words. It's a sporadic record of my life. I've always felt the reason I do this is because (and I've even mentioned this here) sometimes it's hard to believe that the past actually happened, and I like to have proof that it did.

Which brings me to the irony part. Or potentially ironic if used correctly part. After my last entry, February 5th, 2010, where I was saying how content I was with life, I haven't written anything down anywhere. Probably because between then and somewhat recently, everything that was going on in my life involved having a drink in my hand. Kinda hard to type with a drink in your hand. Yea, you can go on vacations, take road trips, canoe, go bowling, watch movies, host parties, go to brunch, play scrabble, put together a puzzle, etc. etc. etc. All while having a drink in your hand. But typing, or at least actually writing, requires one to have both hands readily available. And a somewhat clear head on their shoulders.

I played kick ball in Astoria Park last Sunday. Four hours, with about 40 awesome strangers. Not a single person was drinking anything alcoholic. This is not something that would have happened in my life two months ago. Maybe the kick ball part, but not the sobriety part.

It's nice to not always have that drink in my hand. And to write again. This was short and sweet, but I'll be back. And not in a year and a half.

Happy vs Content

I'm currently at a point in time where I can honestly say things are going well. I'm back in school, a real four year college, taking classes which I enjoy and aren't overwhelmed by (so it's the first week, shh), I still can hardly believe I live where I do, in a very decently sized apartment on the upper east side of Manhattan (borderline Harlem, but technically not by more than a few blocks!) with a bedroom large enough to fit a queen...and whatever else I need as well. Which at the moment is more drawer space, or maybe I just need to utilize that walk in closet a bit more =x

I recently acquired both a new best friend and a new boyfriend. They're both blond and easily excitable, just one of them happens to weigh four pounds and has a passion for pig ears..which almost sounds poetic. I'll let you figure out which is who is what. Huh? Exactly.

There's more, but rather than ramble (...brag) about how awesome my life is, let me get to a point. Hopefully the point. I've taken to describing my current internal feeling as simply 'content'. To me, this sums up everything. By definition, it means to desire no more than what one has and to be satisfied. Not satisfactory, but satisfied. Big difference in my opinion. What comes to mind is going out to eat and experiencing just enough of everything to be full, but not overly so or uncomfortable. Walking away from a dining experience satisfied is one of the best feelings in the world (to me, at least. Let's not forget I AM still a foodie after all),

So I found it somewhat odd that when asked if I was happy, and I replied that I was content, this was seen as a downgrade. In my eyes, happiness is fleeting. It's more of an erratic emotion than a constant feeling. No one can be happy all the time. Or if they are, I want what they're taking. I won't lie, I've certainly said numerous times in the past that I just want to be happy, and is that so much to ask for? I guess I'm now answering my own question that yes, it is. I just want to be content. Fuck it, I'd rather be content.

Happily content works, too.

Honesty Is The Worst Policy

I don't remember my first flight. Which is fine, considering I was only a few months old and my passport photo from then features a head of hair so fine and white blond you could barely tell I wasn't bald.

The first flight I DO recall was when I'd just turned seven years old. My parents had taken me out of school one week prior to the start of Summer break and we were on our way to London, England.

The plane was a double decker, actually the only one I've been on to this day. We had two seats on the upper level and two on the lower. A spiral staircase connected the floors and the cabin crew was given the daunting task of repeatedly telling my brother and I to return to our seats during the duration of the seven hour flight.

My brother, who was almost 10, sat with my mother initially as I was your typical Daddy's girl and I suppose you could say my brother was a Mama's boy. I think the origin of this being that they both liked to shop and keep up with the latest fashions whereas I was perfectly content to be dressed in cute-enough-to-make-you-barf matching jumpers and animal print leggings.

So I was sitting next to my dad on the runway, a couple spots back in line to enter the sky, when the realization of what was about to occur fully hit me. I turned to my father and asked him if planes ever crashed during takeoff. To which he replied, do you want me to lie or tell the truth? I said the truth and obviously he then said that yes, they do.

I don't remember if I said anything after this. That's the end of that memory. I do know though that on every flight since then this exchange will replay in my head as we prepare to leave the runway. Seeing as how in the past three months alone I've been on 13 different planes (direct flights are a luxury, one which I'm not privileged with often), I think its safe to say over the past 17 years I've recalled this memory hundreds of times.

The other 'highlight' of that flight which sticks out in my mind is a stewardess and my mother holding paper cups over my ears while I wailed that the cabin pressure was unbearable. Sometimes I'm tempted to do that now, as well. But I guess chewing Juicy Fruit will have to do.

I'm Not Bitter, I'm American

Life is full of little ironies and "fuck you" moments. Take, for example, my present situation. Here I am, currently in the smack dab center of the 1st legitimate vacation I've taken in literally five years where I'm not with a boyfriend, a kinda sorta boyfriend (see: boyfriend) or have a boyfriend (kinda sorta or otherwise) at home. I'm not seeing anyone, lying to anyone or lying about anyone. No guy next to me at the bar wondering how many more drinks I'm going to insist on ordering before requiring help back to the room, and no guy a plane ride away wondering who is going to help be back to the room in their absence. I am 100% totally and completely single. Not only am I single, but I just may be on that little thing known as the rebound.

I'm traveling with my -also single- girl friend Jami and her elderly father. Island hopping the Mediterranean on a cruise ship equipped with all the necessities (numerous bars, dance floors, drink specials, a casino and more) for an unforgettable eventful time full of somewhat fuzzy or forgotten events and bad decisions. You'd think this wouldn't be hard to accomplish, taking into account a few of my last cruises which included (but aren't limited to) a threesum-gone-wrong with a somewhat odd young couple from upstate New York who may or may not have stolen my Coach bag and credit cards before depositing me at the door of my cabin where my then boyfriend (for about, oh, another week or so) was happily waiting for me with open arms. Or not.

Or a couple years later when I went away with my kinda sorta boyfriend whom I began referring to as my kinda sorta ex by the 2nd night after ending up half naked (OK, it could have been fully, but half sounded slightly better) in an empty conferance room at 2am with a sweet guy from Jersey. I say sweet mainly because he had a girlfriend back home, so nothing REALLY happened. Pretty sure by the end of that week I'd thrown a beer bottle at my kinda sorta boyfriend's head in the diner one night and then the next night almost got into a physical altercation with another girl for making a negative comment about my kinda sorta boyfriend's appearance. Come to think of it, I have no clue how I didn't get thrown off that ship. But anyway.

Then last year I went away with my 78 year old godmother and fell head over heels in lust (and in bed and in the hot tub and in the back of the ship) with an ex heroin addict I'd found a 'true' connection with after six or so drinks. Nevermind the fact he was technically breaking his parole by having those drinks with me or that he couldn't over exert himself due to his bad heart from all the drugs hed done in his past (and unknown to me at the time, would continue to do in his future). I think we convinced both each other and ourselves by the end of that week, that wed be able to have an actual relationship afterward between Connecticut and New York. One extended weekend at his Aunt's in Westchester and a year of spiradic text messages back and forth later, I have to admit I think the spark is gone.

Which brings us to the now. The now being day five of an 11 day cruise, and the only guy I've shared a drink with has been Jami's father. Granted, due to time zone changes and a Rx bottle of Sonata sleeping pills curtosy of my therapist (I feel as though I should send him a thank you card. Possibly Hanukah themed) I've been in bed by 6pm almost every night and have slept more these past few days than I have the past few weeks combined, so I could be hindering my opportunities of meeting people, but from what I've heard from the few people I've conversed with, I'm not missing much

.

Maybe its the time of year (finals weeks for college student, all of the holidays) or maybe its the economy (the airfare was dirt cheap! Really!) Or maybe its the itinerary (I can see how the Carribean may sound more appealing to my generation over pyramids and Greek temples) but whatever it is, this ship is all but devoid of anyone between the ages of 21-31. Those that are, are either newlyweds or don't speak English. Neither of which are much fun to socialize with in my current mind set.

I chatted with one couple at a lounge yesterday evening during happy hour. They were from Oregon and might have been fun to hang out with were they 15 years younger and not only trying desperately to pretend that they were. I almost wanted to tip the wife off that having their eight year old daughter sitting between them at the bar sipping ginger ale out of a champagne glass (oh, how cute! She's in training) while her parents got sloshed over predinner drinks was probably what was giving them away.

And so I'll have to conclude, at least thus far, that there will be no threesums, drunken brawls or late night hot tub adventures during the course of this cruise vacation. Although that's not about to stop me from ordering a more likely than not sickingly sweet drink of the day. The Acropolis. Thank you, Athens.

Oh. And bartender, I think the eight year old will take hers in a sippy cup, you can just send her parents the rehab bill.

(402): i was just texting to let you know that my facebook chat is working again so you can talk to me more.

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Savannah Daniels

omg!

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Kyra Deutsch

true love, baby

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That's all it takes, really. The significance an online relationship status change can have in an IRL (ahem, in real life) relationship is astounding nowadays. Due to our constant "communication" and total access we've given to one another, its come down to sheer lack of communicating that eventually dooms these same relationships.

Hearing a person say they care about you face to face tends to have a greater impact than words and symbols read off a screen. Yet we've shorthanded our lives to 140 characters or less and <3's have replaced saying to one another how we actually feel. If you've already texted the play by play of your day to someone, what's left to tell anyway? Even if it was just the abbreviated version.

Anyone who knows me knows that my Blackberry is pretty much an extension of my hand (expect when it's being drunkingly left in a cab...or burger king...or bar bathroom...or - Okay, you get the point). I've all but forgotten that yes it is rude to read and reply to text messages mid conversation with someone who is actually right in front of you. That blinking red light has become my heroin and when it vibrates the world will end if I don't check it that very moment. After all, Victoria's Secret's 20% off sale is ending tomorrow (!!!) and there's no way I could have lived without knowing this immediately.

Smart phones aren't even the half of it. It's the overexposure we've all grown accustomed to indulging in divulging these past few years. It started way back with beepers (suddenly we could reach out to each other no matter where they were and let them know we needed to speak to them RIGHT AWAY) , then evolved through INSTANT messaging, cell phones, text messages, online blogs (oh! hi =] ), social networking sites whose sole purpose is to tell the world just what you're doing at that very moment in time and everything in between. Yes, even websites devoted to broadcasting the dumb shyt we'd felt the need to share with people the night before.

But with all this so called 'communication', is anyone even saying anything anymore? I've said, and been told, countless times that emotions are all but impossible to decipher via an LCD screen. That as long as you throw a smiley face or strategically placed "LoL" into what you're typing, you can get away with anything. Hell, we even have an emoticon for when you just don't know what to say.

Isn't this evolving? Isn't this progress? Aren't these all ways to bring the world closer together? Sure...kinda. But whatever happened to that age old adage "absence makes the heart grow fonder"? Cause I for one know that even if you don't have physical contact with someone for weeks, months, YEARS even, it's more than likely that you'll still have a general idea of what is going on in their life. And no, not even through the grape vine of spoken communication as was done back in the dark ages of the early 1990's, but rather right here on the screen you're currently staring at. Progress has taken us so far that we need to hit a "block" or "ignore" button in order to erase a person from our lives.

And there are definitely times when my text messaging privileges should be revoked...namely after about three or four drinks (LoL).

18th and 2nd

Published: 5 hours, 59 minutes ago by Karen.w.



p.s. And just for the hell of it, I was on Look Books today =]

What I Really Meant To Say Was Nothing

Someone told me recently that because I'm such a seemingly open person that I must keep the darkest secrets to myself. This baffled me, because in all honesty I'd been just that...honest (well, with this person at least). If anything, maybe -probably- to a fault.

One of the few things I was able to take from my brief encounter with community college and my Oral Communications class many years ago (apparently they require you to actually go in order to pass courses and gain credits. Who knew?) was that relationships (either romantic or platonic) are built upon and grow from mutual disclosures about ones self. This can range anywhere from your favorite flavor of ice cream to being touched by your uncle when you were little (no, this is not implying anything about myself! I swear!). It's gradually testing the waters between the two of you and determining when it's okay to go a little deeper.

Most people keep a lot to themselves, I've learned. Which is understandable. There's a lot about me that, say, my parents don't know and for good reason. But then there's been people I've known who've lived entirely double lives even to their boyfriend, fiance, husband. Whether it be concerning their job, an addiction, a fetish, a health disorder, whatever. And that just seems exhausting.

My problem is pretty much the opposite. If I feel comfortable with someone, and want to be with someone, I open up entirely too soon and say things like the fact I'd most likely make myself throw up ice cream sooner than I'd say what flavor it'd be. Just as an example. I have a few theories as to why I'm like this. There's the "shock & awe" theory, to simply intrigue them with my extreme life stories, for fear of feeling boring otherwise. There's the "weeding out the 'weak'" theory, which means this is me, if you can't deal with me, don't waste either of our time...which could probably also be referred to as the "scare them away before they get close enough to hurt you" theory. Or there's the "I'm just being honest" theory which is that I feel not saying something is the same as lying about it.

Or maybe it's a little of all three. Needless to say, whichever or whatever it is, hasn't really worked for me thus far. Apparently you shouldn't tell a potential partner things you wouldn't tell your therapist and putting up walls is the best way to let someone in. This seems to be what "normal" people do at least. What my friends who've been with their significant others for years, are married and have kids do. They just...fail to mention that aspect of their past or current life. And if it never comes up? All the better.

Everyone has their skeletons. Most people just keep them in the closet whereas mine come out to the bar with me. I guess this must mean I have something even more sinister and dark in my closet. Like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.