When I see you. When I see myself with you. I wonder: what does he have that I do not.
I see that he has a several few things. A successful family and a family that communicates with itself. A family that loves and is open. Brothers and sisters that can get along. And then I look at myself.
A family with a brother that can get along with one sister. A sister foreign. Another brother that is foreign. Extended family that is all strangers.
I ask myself what I actually have to offer and the answer is pretty stark. Pretty stark and pretty pretty in it's own way. Pretty pretty in it's own way, but damn near not the same.
What do you want to be associated with? By definition, that.
I ask myself every day.
I tell myself 'nough said.
I hate myself more and love myself more.
I ask myself what do I need to do more to be more accessible and then I ask myself what I need to do to be more of a person. I have no idea. In all consuming rage everything makes sense. I think we were working around that. No?
The rage tank is deep and has many chambers. We will explore them soon.
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label ass hats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ass hats. Show all posts
10/16/15
5/28/13
Sex Sells, and Tolerance Versus Promotion
Sex sells. Everybody know's that. America is becoming a more tolerant place, probably more tolerant than ever before when it comes to homosexuality. It's becoming a little more tolerant when it comes to smoking weed, but that's something for another time. Still, though, a soused conversation I had, a quick back and forth really if not for doing it through twitter drawing it out over a couple hours (if we were speaking face to face it would have been maybe a two minute conversation), brought back to mind that actual tolerance is a long way off and it's kind of annoying.
Sex does sell. Everyday, everywhere you go, everything you watch on television, every fourth commercial on the radio, hetero sex is promoted. It's fired into you constantly. It can't be avoided and as a gay person I don't really have a problem with it. Sure sometimes it gets particularly awkward or annoying when I'm hanging out with straight friends and they want me to comment and I'm completely blank faced because it has nothing to do with me or what actually tips my scales or fires me up. For the most part though, I'll make something up or laugh or do whatever to move on and just like that, it's done and I'm fine and they're fine and the world turns on and everyone is okay. Sex sells. It is promotion of the hetero relationship and it's not the end of the world. I'm tolerant. I don't go grab pitch forks and torches and raise a mob every time some couple gets married or a guy and girl get all kissy touchy feely in front of me. I'm okay with it and it doesn't hurt me, but I also don't go out of my way to express the fact that I could care less.
Back handed tolerance is different. The back handed tolerance is the kind where people do go out of their way to express that "hey, whatever, I don't care, that's your business" sentiment to the point where it becomes obvious that they do care, and it does irritate them, but they are saying what they're supposed to say because they're supposed to say it because it would be a million times worse for their image and relationships with others around them if they did express whatever hate or revulsion they felt. It's better than nothing, but when it happens it makes me want to roll my eyes, yawn, and just walk away from the crap coming out of the person's mouth.
Back handed tolerance comes in other flavors too. It also comes in the "I'm okay with gay people, but you don't have to promote it, come on" flavor. Which is simply silly. If the world is to become a more tolerant place you can't say tolerance and "shut the hell up about it" in the same sentence. That's just asinine. Obviously there is going to be some degree of promotion. There has to be. Sex sells. If sex sells you can't just say you refuse to sell to an entire segment of the population. If you did simply black out promotion that would be pretty intolerant. That sort of behavior would also reduce people's exposure to homosexuality as a normal thing or at least damage their ability to observe and understand it as a normal thing. It's aggravating. It's annoying. And it's pretty back handed.
What does that even mean? To be okay with gay people, but intolerant of them talking about their lives the same way other people do because it's promoting a gay lifestyle? Didn't America finally more or less get beyond the "is it a choice or not debate"? What are these people even worried about? Promoting homosexuality is not going to turn people away from heterosexuality. It's not going to magically revolutionize someone's long held beliefs or belief system. What are they possibly afraid of? If anything it would make life more comfortable or normal for homosexuals. Could you imagine seeing commercials with gay couples selling things like lawn mowers, dinners, dating websites, concerts, and credit cards. Are these promotion haters afraid they'll see a commercial for something they like and refer to it to their straight friends and be made fun of because it was a gay commercial? If they are, I could understand. How hilarious would it be if the major hang up was feeling that tiny pang of discomfort I feel throughout a day, that I'm so used to it barely raises a blip in my mind most of the time.
I don't understand what the big deal is, but I do understand back handed tolerance and I do understand that sex sells. Maybe it's not a bad thing. It's a step in the right direction for people and I'm happy for that. I just wish people walked a little faster. It makes life a little more comfortable for me and people like me to at least know if someone were to openly persecute us, there would be massive support for us, not them. It's tiring and annoying knowing that the newer intolerance is this whole anti-promo sentiment, but at least no ones telling me I'm going to straight to hell and should be killed for my sexual orientation. Don't be scared 'merica, sometimes a little discomfort is part of life.
///Grimes - "Genesis" gots to start somewhere
10/18/12
Crying and Everybody Gets One
Sometimes I feel like all the tears I did not get to cry from the age where my memory starts in patches, five and sometimes six, to where it starts to form a continuous timeline, ten and on, are coming now. Balancing books and things. I've been thinking about it somewhat hard nosed and what I came to was, especially given what came down the pipe at twenty, I'd rather have them now than not at all.
Playing emotional catch up.
I'd rather be emo now, however, than be emo at age fifty (assuming I can make it to fifty iterations. that's a pretty tall order, nah mean?). Part of what I was taught, in writing classes that were worth their weight in gold when they weren't taught by tenured dick faces and holier than though masters ph.d cock tip cum nuggets whom I would still like to punch in the craw and who prevent me from going back to the English department because I will try to strangle them with their own belt, was that you have to exorcise the junk first and everything else will come with time.
That's what she said. Still, there's some merit to that. Problem is I have junk for years. When did everything turn into a fifteen year plan?
Anyway, when I'm rich and famous I'm going to work out my short list of simple assaults. When I'm set for life I'll start chipping into my kill list. First things first. Gotta lay down the work first. Get the junk out of the way. Everything else will come in due time. I can abide by that principle. The hard part is not letting other people jump your gun.
///Vangelis - "One More Kiss Dear"
4/5/12
Stand Up Act 7 (the sex chapter part deux)
Stand Up Act 6
I'll start this off by saying sometimes you just have to not listen to yourself. In fact there are a lot of times you have to not listen to yourself. It's probably the one thing that stands out the most, if there is such a thing, that tells you that you do in fact live in a society with rules and that those rules keep things civilized and that the reason this is called a civilized society is because these rules are in place to keep you from killing people and that you are not as civilized as you want to be, but not because you could, as Dov put it, kill someone if they were close to the couch, because you could on most days, but that these rules are in place to keep you in your place and let a very small fraction of the population do whatever the hell they want. And so that you can't off people that serve an essential function without repercussions. American Idol would not exist in a society without well thought out murder rules. You have to remind yourself that you can't kill everybody. Don't listen to yourself.
At most you get one. If you're crafty you get several dozen. If your religious you get several thousand. Civilization is nice though. You can go to the corner store and buy Wise potato chips. You get internet access and a toilet that flushes and a shower that can put out two kinds of water. Two kinds! Which is always good, because life is hard for most people and the stink of work definitely needs to be washed off on a regular basis or everyone will know just how hard everyone else is working. But you get one, and you have to spend it wisely. So don't waste it on a union rep.
I went to my union rep and asked about health benefits. A natural course of action. I haven't had health insurance since 2007. Or was it '06. I can't remember. When you're in college you go to the hospital only when going to the on campus nurse yields the kind of results where you are pretty sure you've been shitting blood and their best answer is not even a note that will excuse you from missing class, but is instead a baggie with a Popsicle stick and a list of instructions for getting your poo on it, as though you don't know that shitting black is probably a bad thing and that pain in your intestines that feels like pac man driving around on razor blade tipped twenty twos inside you is something you would totally fake to postpone turning in a paper you already finished. But anyway, my job is killing me, and I've gotten to a point where I feel entitled enough to ask that I not have to pay for the repairs, so I don't feel like my body is coming apart every morning, because I've been told several times by various upper management folk that I am a "good worker".
"Good" meaning malleable, I think. Easy to force. At any rate, I quit that job. Partially because I realized that I didn't need that job to be able to buy deluxe toilet paper. It was an insurance policy for a different time. And after I quit I went out and bought toilet paper that's like four sheets thick and still fits on the standard toilet paper roll bar. If that's not the joy of science I don't know what is. I mean, you're telling me that this thing has twice as many individual squares with four times the thickness and that engineers spent years finding ways to make every square centimeter of it feel like wiping my ass with a frostingless cupcake? You're telling me that every single time I have to use the toilet for an extended, and embarrassingly so, period of time, the upside is I get to wipe my ass with a slice of three layer wedding cake? Hell yes.
Everyone should get to enjoy that at some point in their life. "For just a few cents more, every child in the Congo can enjoy the runs in a way they never knew possible." Not that extreme though. I guess that's how you know you're kind of poor. When toilet paper and drinking too much milk because you're not getting enough protein through solid foods turns you way the fuck on and you're main thought throughout the day is "I am going to shit so good tonight, you have no idea." But that's beside the point. The simple pleasures in life should not be overlooked. Neither should the "everybody gets one" rule. Even with the everybody gets one rule, there's some flexibility. But anyway, let's get to the sex.
There should be another rule. Besides everyone getting to wipe their butts with cupcakes, and getting to off exactly one (sometimes more) people. There is another. That rule is this: if you are not at all athletic you are not allowed to propose threesomes. Ever. I'm just saying, three people engaging in sex at once is a difficult proposition to wrap a head around, mentally. It's a pretty huge burden. Especially when the three people already get along decently well to begin with and just like hanging out. When you throw the three banger on the table it's like placing a stack of unbanded 100 dollar bills on a table with a bunch of drunks and waiting to see who will move first.
Is someone going to try and sneeze and blow it off the coffee table and offer to pick the bills up and pocket a few. Is someone going to place their beer a little off and spill it and rush to be the first to clean it up. Is someone going to spill their beer and everyone just watch the liquid spread. Who's going to be the first to touch it? The answer is me. I am going to grab that stack, hold it up to my nose, and fan the bills, because it smells so damn good, but I'll put it back down, sans Criss Angel magic tricks. Because I don't have time for nonsense and staging and camera work. For instance, I know this trick called "is this your wallet" and in this trick you have to guess what I'm holding behind my back. If you guessed one standard red clay brick, you are correct. The illusion is complete when I come see you in the hospital two days later and ask you "is this your wallet?"
But that should be a rule. Have you ever tried having a three wide NASCAR race with cars that can't keep up? It's frustrating as hell. It's like trying to cross the street when you're six years old, on your way to school, and the crossing guard keeps shoving you back onto the sidewalk, saying "stop right there. no wait. not yet. hold on. Just sit still for a minute" and half of the hour is waiting for them to get back into the state of the moment and green light you while you do suicide sprints across the two feet of concrete before the black asphalt. It's insane. If you can't have effective sex with one person, you are not allowed to talk to a second party period. Because, believe it or not, masturbating on your knees on someone's coffee table while everyone else watches, gets old. Pretty quick.
It's like taking children out of remedial mathematics and believing they can somehow do differential equations. It's just not going to happen. What do you mean you need a smoke break? Are you insane? We're ten minutes in to this and you need a breather... to be able to breathe less effectively? What kind of sense does that even make? And then you're standing in the middle of the room with one person nodding off from too much alcohol and the other dry as a sandbox, but trying to fake their way through it like a job interview, so you wipe your spooge on their collection of tv remotes and pack up shop and leave expecting to be done with it and you go to bed and the first thing you wake up to is a text message asking what you're up to at 8 fucking A.M. when you just left their place at 5, didn't get home till 5:15 and didn't fall asleep til 7:30 A.M. because you had to yank it all over again except this time everything went the way it was supposed to the first time you schemed it up when they first asked you.
If you are not athletic enough to entertain one person you are not allowed, at all, at anytime, under any circumstances, to complicate, what is otherwise a healthy relationship by Rocco Siffredi's standards on a reserved day when he's not feeling it or otherwise coked out of his mind, a healthy friendship between persons. Let's face it, it's easier to hang out with people that meet your criteria of people you don't mind being seen with without people asking questions to the tune of "wow he/she must have a great personality because they're ugly as hell... I wonder what keeps them together", than it is to hang out with ugly folk with good hearts. The bonus being they're attractive and have good hearts to boot. If you physically can't keep up, you keep your Goddamn fantasizing mouth shut. Period. It's not that hard. Nothing worse than an orgy of one. Well, there are some things worse, but the list is thin.
Alls I'm saying is, there have to be rules. The rules that are in place are there for a reason and there need to be more rules to cover other basics. If you are grossly overweight, you do not get to propose anything. If you are not grossly overweight, but have exceedingly poor musculature you do not get to propose anything, because keeping yourself happy is sometimes a chore, and the last thing anyone needs is to have their hands full trying to do the jobs of two other bodies and yourself at the same time. It's like going out with friends and everyone says: yeah lets get the giant nacho boat. The truth of the matter being that the friends just want to watch you eat it. How is that fun, at all? Spoiler alert, it isn't.
Goddamn, people are retarded. But rules are important. You can't kill idiots. At least not all of them. Apparently you can't fuck 'em either. Life lessons. Just trying to pass on the knowledge with a smile. A bitter smile? Sure, why not. They both look the same if your toasted.
I'll start this off by saying sometimes you just have to not listen to yourself. In fact there are a lot of times you have to not listen to yourself. It's probably the one thing that stands out the most, if there is such a thing, that tells you that you do in fact live in a society with rules and that those rules keep things civilized and that the reason this is called a civilized society is because these rules are in place to keep you from killing people and that you are not as civilized as you want to be, but not because you could, as Dov put it, kill someone if they were close to the couch, because you could on most days, but that these rules are in place to keep you in your place and let a very small fraction of the population do whatever the hell they want. And so that you can't off people that serve an essential function without repercussions. American Idol would not exist in a society without well thought out murder rules. You have to remind yourself that you can't kill everybody. Don't listen to yourself.
At most you get one. If you're crafty you get several dozen. If your religious you get several thousand. Civilization is nice though. You can go to the corner store and buy Wise potato chips. You get internet access and a toilet that flushes and a shower that can put out two kinds of water. Two kinds! Which is always good, because life is hard for most people and the stink of work definitely needs to be washed off on a regular basis or everyone will know just how hard everyone else is working. But you get one, and you have to spend it wisely. So don't waste it on a union rep.
I went to my union rep and asked about health benefits. A natural course of action. I haven't had health insurance since 2007. Or was it '06. I can't remember. When you're in college you go to the hospital only when going to the on campus nurse yields the kind of results where you are pretty sure you've been shitting blood and their best answer is not even a note that will excuse you from missing class, but is instead a baggie with a Popsicle stick and a list of instructions for getting your poo on it, as though you don't know that shitting black is probably a bad thing and that pain in your intestines that feels like pac man driving around on razor blade tipped twenty twos inside you is something you would totally fake to postpone turning in a paper you already finished. But anyway, my job is killing me, and I've gotten to a point where I feel entitled enough to ask that I not have to pay for the repairs, so I don't feel like my body is coming apart every morning, because I've been told several times by various upper management folk that I am a "good worker".
"Good" meaning malleable, I think. Easy to force. At any rate, I quit that job. Partially because I realized that I didn't need that job to be able to buy deluxe toilet paper. It was an insurance policy for a different time. And after I quit I went out and bought toilet paper that's like four sheets thick and still fits on the standard toilet paper roll bar. If that's not the joy of science I don't know what is. I mean, you're telling me that this thing has twice as many individual squares with four times the thickness and that engineers spent years finding ways to make every square centimeter of it feel like wiping my ass with a frostingless cupcake? You're telling me that every single time I have to use the toilet for an extended, and embarrassingly so, period of time, the upside is I get to wipe my ass with a slice of three layer wedding cake? Hell yes.
Everyone should get to enjoy that at some point in their life. "For just a few cents more, every child in the Congo can enjoy the runs in a way they never knew possible." Not that extreme though. I guess that's how you know you're kind of poor. When toilet paper and drinking too much milk because you're not getting enough protein through solid foods turns you way the fuck on and you're main thought throughout the day is "I am going to shit so good tonight, you have no idea." But that's beside the point. The simple pleasures in life should not be overlooked. Neither should the "everybody gets one" rule. Even with the everybody gets one rule, there's some flexibility. But anyway, let's get to the sex.
There should be another rule. Besides everyone getting to wipe their butts with cupcakes, and getting to off exactly one (sometimes more) people. There is another. That rule is this: if you are not at all athletic you are not allowed to propose threesomes. Ever. I'm just saying, three people engaging in sex at once is a difficult proposition to wrap a head around, mentally. It's a pretty huge burden. Especially when the three people already get along decently well to begin with and just like hanging out. When you throw the three banger on the table it's like placing a stack of unbanded 100 dollar bills on a table with a bunch of drunks and waiting to see who will move first.
Is someone going to try and sneeze and blow it off the coffee table and offer to pick the bills up and pocket a few. Is someone going to place their beer a little off and spill it and rush to be the first to clean it up. Is someone going to spill their beer and everyone just watch the liquid spread. Who's going to be the first to touch it? The answer is me. I am going to grab that stack, hold it up to my nose, and fan the bills, because it smells so damn good, but I'll put it back down, sans Criss Angel magic tricks. Because I don't have time for nonsense and staging and camera work. For instance, I know this trick called "is this your wallet" and in this trick you have to guess what I'm holding behind my back. If you guessed one standard red clay brick, you are correct. The illusion is complete when I come see you in the hospital two days later and ask you "is this your wallet?"
But that should be a rule. Have you ever tried having a three wide NASCAR race with cars that can't keep up? It's frustrating as hell. It's like trying to cross the street when you're six years old, on your way to school, and the crossing guard keeps shoving you back onto the sidewalk, saying "stop right there. no wait. not yet. hold on. Just sit still for a minute" and half of the hour is waiting for them to get back into the state of the moment and green light you while you do suicide sprints across the two feet of concrete before the black asphalt. It's insane. If you can't have effective sex with one person, you are not allowed to talk to a second party period. Because, believe it or not, masturbating on your knees on someone's coffee table while everyone else watches, gets old. Pretty quick.
It's like taking children out of remedial mathematics and believing they can somehow do differential equations. It's just not going to happen. What do you mean you need a smoke break? Are you insane? We're ten minutes in to this and you need a breather... to be able to breathe less effectively? What kind of sense does that even make? And then you're standing in the middle of the room with one person nodding off from too much alcohol and the other dry as a sandbox, but trying to fake their way through it like a job interview, so you wipe your spooge on their collection of tv remotes and pack up shop and leave expecting to be done with it and you go to bed and the first thing you wake up to is a text message asking what you're up to at 8 fucking A.M. when you just left their place at 5, didn't get home till 5:15 and didn't fall asleep til 7:30 A.M. because you had to yank it all over again except this time everything went the way it was supposed to the first time you schemed it up when they first asked you.
If you are not athletic enough to entertain one person you are not allowed, at all, at anytime, under any circumstances, to complicate, what is otherwise a healthy relationship by Rocco Siffredi's standards on a reserved day when he's not feeling it or otherwise coked out of his mind, a healthy friendship between persons. Let's face it, it's easier to hang out with people that meet your criteria of people you don't mind being seen with without people asking questions to the tune of "wow he/she must have a great personality because they're ugly as hell... I wonder what keeps them together", than it is to hang out with ugly folk with good hearts. The bonus being they're attractive and have good hearts to boot. If you physically can't keep up, you keep your Goddamn fantasizing mouth shut. Period. It's not that hard. Nothing worse than an orgy of one. Well, there are some things worse, but the list is thin.
Alls I'm saying is, there have to be rules. The rules that are in place are there for a reason and there need to be more rules to cover other basics. If you are grossly overweight, you do not get to propose anything. If you are not grossly overweight, but have exceedingly poor musculature you do not get to propose anything, because keeping yourself happy is sometimes a chore, and the last thing anyone needs is to have their hands full trying to do the jobs of two other bodies and yourself at the same time. It's like going out with friends and everyone says: yeah lets get the giant nacho boat. The truth of the matter being that the friends just want to watch you eat it. How is that fun, at all? Spoiler alert, it isn't.
Goddamn, people are retarded. But rules are important. You can't kill idiots. At least not all of them. Apparently you can't fuck 'em either. Life lessons. Just trying to pass on the knowledge with a smile. A bitter smile? Sure, why not. They both look the same if your toasted.
8/2/11
The Right One In
This entry was about a thousand words longer, but I thought about it some more and boiled it down beyond harping.
There are people that are there for you and there are people that think they are there for you. People that listen to you talk and try to participate in your dreams and delusions and end up sounding like hollow eyed parrots. People that try to hug you and have no idea how to actually hug another human being. People that think being there means saying "hey come by anytime" when you're not actually able to get there. Or, saying "sure come and stay as long as you need to except we'll have you moved to a homeless shelter if you don't find a place to stay in fourteen days." Amongst other things, it's just galling and conceited of a person to insist that they're "there" for you when they have no concept of what "being there" actually means to you and they believe themselves to be a saint to you when what they're doing is about as useful as giving a homeless man an end table and saying "my work here is done."
Don't tell me we have everything in common because we both had bad parents and should suddenly be bonded for life with endless stories to tell each other. Suffering maybe universal on a general level of human experience, but personal suffering is just that. Exceptionally personal. Never tell someone, after they tell you explicitly that you have nothing in common, that you have everything in common because you both had a bad dad, or wanted to play sports when you were little. How arrogant do you have to be to tell someone that you know them better then they know themselves. It's just plain stupid.
Don't ever tell me you're there for me and I won't let you in or don't want to be your friend because I'm afraid that you're "there for me," and I'm running away. It's a thing I don't want to dignify with a response.
I know myself pretty god damn well (though there's still so much I still learn) and know one knows me better than my former psychiatrist because I've told him things I haven't and will never tell anyone. Don't tell me, ever, that I'm afraid to let you in. Any person can want to be let into your life. Any person can want to be there for you and stand outside the windows of your eyes asking why you treat them so badly because they've been there for you all this time and you never once thanked them. Any person can want to be like you and have everything in common with you. But what it takes to "be there for me", trust, you cannot and have not done. Why should I thank you. When I tell you we have nothing in common, it's because I know myself well enough to be able to say so with certainty. And when it comes to who you let into your life, everything else becomes secondary, as long as you let the right one in, and I'm sorry, but it isn't you.
I'm sorry about that last part. It wasn't written directly to you, but to the person who is causing some problems because they thought and probably still swear to themselves up and down that they are all of those things that I just explained to you, so many people are not. It's grown tiresome, and I just had to get it out of my skull.
Some people really are there for you. Some people can be let into parts of your life. Some people do have things in common with you and me. But most people aren't, can't, and don't and one thing life has taught me through the years is that if you don't let the right one in, it makes it tough to move anything else forward when they start to ask you why you push them away.
Anyway, missed ya. Be back later with more items de arte.
Massive Attack - "Man Next Door" ...from here... onto the night.
There are people that are there for you and there are people that think they are there for you. People that listen to you talk and try to participate in your dreams and delusions and end up sounding like hollow eyed parrots. People that try to hug you and have no idea how to actually hug another human being. People that think being there means saying "hey come by anytime" when you're not actually able to get there. Or, saying "sure come and stay as long as you need to except we'll have you moved to a homeless shelter if you don't find a place to stay in fourteen days." Amongst other things, it's just galling and conceited of a person to insist that they're "there" for you when they have no concept of what "being there" actually means to you and they believe themselves to be a saint to you when what they're doing is about as useful as giving a homeless man an end table and saying "my work here is done."
Don't tell me we have everything in common because we both had bad parents and should suddenly be bonded for life with endless stories to tell each other. Suffering maybe universal on a general level of human experience, but personal suffering is just that. Exceptionally personal. Never tell someone, after they tell you explicitly that you have nothing in common, that you have everything in common because you both had a bad dad, or wanted to play sports when you were little. How arrogant do you have to be to tell someone that you know them better then they know themselves. It's just plain stupid.
Don't ever tell me you're there for me and I won't let you in or don't want to be your friend because I'm afraid that you're "there for me," and I'm running away. It's a thing I don't want to dignify with a response.
I know myself pretty god damn well (though there's still so much I still learn) and know one knows me better than my former psychiatrist because I've told him things I haven't and will never tell anyone. Don't tell me, ever, that I'm afraid to let you in. Any person can want to be let into your life. Any person can want to be there for you and stand outside the windows of your eyes asking why you treat them so badly because they've been there for you all this time and you never once thanked them. Any person can want to be like you and have everything in common with you. But what it takes to "be there for me", trust, you cannot and have not done. Why should I thank you. When I tell you we have nothing in common, it's because I know myself well enough to be able to say so with certainty. And when it comes to who you let into your life, everything else becomes secondary, as long as you let the right one in, and I'm sorry, but it isn't you.
I'm sorry about that last part. It wasn't written directly to you, but to the person who is causing some problems because they thought and probably still swear to themselves up and down that they are all of those things that I just explained to you, so many people are not. It's grown tiresome, and I just had to get it out of my skull.
Some people really are there for you. Some people can be let into parts of your life. Some people do have things in common with you and me. But most people aren't, can't, and don't and one thing life has taught me through the years is that if you don't let the right one in, it makes it tough to move anything else forward when they start to ask you why you push them away.
Anyway, missed ya. Be back later with more items de arte.
Massive Attack - "Man Next Door" ...from here... onto the night.
5/3/11
dear (______):
Dear "poor" person,
Please stop talking about how "poor" you are. Please stop citing bogus examples of your destitution. If you own a fucking charge card that starts with "Am" and ends with "ex," you are not poor. If your job pays so much that it would be silly to talk about an hourly rate, you are not fucking poor. If your cold cuts are sliced at the deli counter and your cheese doesn't come individually wrapped with disclaimers on the packaging about its nutritional value, your are probably not fucking poor. Manage your money better. Stop being an asshole. And for the love of grilled cheesus stop talking about it like being poor is some sort of club whose membership somehow qualifies and dignifies your spoon fed existence and gives you "perspective".
I sware to god. If you make one more fucking quip that ends with "...that's how poor I am..." I'm going to come to your house and belt bricks through your fucking windows at 4 AM until I can't feel my fingers anymore.
Please stop talking about how "poor" you are. Please stop citing bogus examples of your destitution. If you own a fucking charge card that starts with "Am" and ends with "ex," you are not poor. If your job pays so much that it would be silly to talk about an hourly rate, you are not fucking poor. If your cold cuts are sliced at the deli counter and your cheese doesn't come individually wrapped with disclaimers on the packaging about its nutritional value, your are probably not fucking poor. Manage your money better. Stop being an asshole. And for the love of grilled cheesus stop talking about it like being poor is some sort of club whose membership somehow qualifies and dignifies your spoon fed existence and gives you "perspective".
I sware to god. If you make one more fucking quip that ends with "...that's how poor I am..." I'm going to come to your house and belt bricks through your fucking windows at 4 AM until I can't feel my fingers anymore.
3/9/11
A Sense of Urgency (or The Real Reason Black Men Don't "Get Ahead")
So I'm at work and I basically kill it every night. Sure I'm a little hyper. Sure they probably think I fire a couple lines into my brain before my shift. Whatever, I don't care all that much. One thing that happens in the disincentivized environment is that the only reward for a days work is the satisfaction you personally derive from putting in a solid days work becomes its own reward. That and the paycheck.
Where was I? Oh yeah... I'm trying to keep this tight... so I basically go in to work with the perspective: I am going to destroy my work load today. I see everything that management does as a direct challenge to my capabilities and every single work day is staked with taking their expectations and ramming them down their throats. "So you think I'm going to struggle with X or Y, well check this shit out: I'm gonna set X on fire with how pro I am and Y is gonna get put in its place like a redheaded step child and go tell its friends about how badly I kicked its ass and its friends will rue the day I show up to work 'cause its gonna be on from the second I walk through that front door."
Which brings me to why black men, aged 18 to 40 will, by and large, never get ahead. They're way too busy trying to convince everyone that they're unruffled. It's beyond "too cool for school" or "too cool for pants that fit" or even "too cool for rules." It's this projection of well in hand that, more than anything else, fires flares of stupidity in all directions. Well, not even that. It's not about being on time, or late, or clothing, or rules, or education. More than anything else it's this projection of such super lensed self consciousness that is so tightly clamped around their throats that you just want to shake them and scream "will you wake the hell up!?"
Maybe it's a symptom of the layers upon layers of stereotypes that are, essentially, the new slavery. Growing up beneath that burden and governance can turn the most capable human being into a club footed clown. I feel bad for them. Well alright, I'm getting loose again and dropping a lot of "wells". Let's refocus. I'm training this kid and the equipment I'm trying to explain to him is located in a lot of different areas and we have to keep criss-crossing to see the things that I'm trying to teach him about and so much time can be killed walking too and fro so I'm walking at a little better than my usual clip. I walk like I need to get somewhere unless I'm just getting lost for the sake of forgetting the world. Time is short already, without adding in the burden of having to stop and explain everything I'm doing, so I'm making tracks and this guy is just lagging.
I have no idea why. There's no one else in the area except him and me. There is no one to judge him or make fun of him for walking fast. There's no one to make fun of his pants if he tightens them up so he can actually use his gotdamn legs for ambulating. Is he worried that he might get made fun of later or that I'm made fun of for moving so quickly and speaking fast and sure? I have no idea what his problem was. I get where I'm going and the whole time I'm thinking, well hell if he would make an attempt to keep up I could explain more shit to him en route instead of having to do it all onsite. So I get there and I have to wait for him to come moseying along.
I'm all for taking time where time is available, but for the love of God when you're on the clock will you pull up your fucking socks for once and act like something more than whatever the hell you fucks are into is worth showing up for? No, I don't always want to be at work. No, I am not always buzzing at 100 miles per hour. No, I am not best friends with management, but fuck my life if someone is paying you to do something then do it right and do it on time and fuck image. At some point you have to just say to yourself "I do not care what the rest of my peers think of what I'm doing because THEY DO NOT WRITE THE CHECKS THAT BUY ME FOOD OR (insert whatever thing it is that sustains your well being).
I don't know. I guess I'm venting. I'm sure there are exceptions because I know some of them. But until we get over this weirding thing we're socialized and typed into we are going to have a black history month that says to the rest of the world "hey, we do stuff sometimes too."
Idiots. Give me two of this guy I'm training and I'll have half the output I need. Disappointing. I'm sure he's a great kid too. But personality by itself does not get shit done.
///Goldfrapp - "Deer Stop" pick them off, one by one. There is no urgency among them.
P.S. it really is just sad how self... self... what's the term... self reciprocating? I sware it's like an entire segment of the population is involved in this recursive loop. I'm no social climber, but how is it that the things I view as standard are viewed among them as exceptional, strange, and ridiculous. So mad. Retards. When the world ends, they're all going to die like lemmings. Worse than lemmings. Like deer before intelligence. Why is intelligence so eschewed???? I need to relax. No I don't. Obviously it's not just them, but I feel among them this weirding thing is most rampant, rooted, and disgustingly viral.
Where was I? Oh yeah... I'm trying to keep this tight... so I basically go in to work with the perspective: I am going to destroy my work load today. I see everything that management does as a direct challenge to my capabilities and every single work day is staked with taking their expectations and ramming them down their throats. "So you think I'm going to struggle with X or Y, well check this shit out: I'm gonna set X on fire with how pro I am and Y is gonna get put in its place like a redheaded step child and go tell its friends about how badly I kicked its ass and its friends will rue the day I show up to work 'cause its gonna be on from the second I walk through that front door."
Which brings me to why black men, aged 18 to 40 will, by and large, never get ahead. They're way too busy trying to convince everyone that they're unruffled. It's beyond "too cool for school" or "too cool for pants that fit" or even "too cool for rules." It's this projection of well in hand that, more than anything else, fires flares of stupidity in all directions. Well, not even that. It's not about being on time, or late, or clothing, or rules, or education. More than anything else it's this projection of such super lensed self consciousness that is so tightly clamped around their throats that you just want to shake them and scream "will you wake the hell up!?"
Maybe it's a symptom of the layers upon layers of stereotypes that are, essentially, the new slavery. Growing up beneath that burden and governance can turn the most capable human being into a club footed clown. I feel bad for them. Well alright, I'm getting loose again and dropping a lot of "wells". Let's refocus. I'm training this kid and the equipment I'm trying to explain to him is located in a lot of different areas and we have to keep criss-crossing to see the things that I'm trying to teach him about and so much time can be killed walking too and fro so I'm walking at a little better than my usual clip. I walk like I need to get somewhere unless I'm just getting lost for the sake of forgetting the world. Time is short already, without adding in the burden of having to stop and explain everything I'm doing, so I'm making tracks and this guy is just lagging.
I have no idea why. There's no one else in the area except him and me. There is no one to judge him or make fun of him for walking fast. There's no one to make fun of his pants if he tightens them up so he can actually use his gotdamn legs for ambulating. Is he worried that he might get made fun of later or that I'm made fun of for moving so quickly and speaking fast and sure? I have no idea what his problem was. I get where I'm going and the whole time I'm thinking, well hell if he would make an attempt to keep up I could explain more shit to him en route instead of having to do it all onsite. So I get there and I have to wait for him to come moseying along.
I'm all for taking time where time is available, but for the love of God when you're on the clock will you pull up your fucking socks for once and act like something more than whatever the hell you fucks are into is worth showing up for? No, I don't always want to be at work. No, I am not always buzzing at 100 miles per hour. No, I am not best friends with management, but fuck my life if someone is paying you to do something then do it right and do it on time and fuck image. At some point you have to just say to yourself "I do not care what the rest of my peers think of what I'm doing because THEY DO NOT WRITE THE CHECKS THAT BUY ME FOOD OR (insert whatever thing it is that sustains your well being).
I don't know. I guess I'm venting. I'm sure there are exceptions because I know some of them. But until we get over this weirding thing we're socialized and typed into we are going to have a black history month that says to the rest of the world "hey, we do stuff sometimes too."
Idiots. Give me two of this guy I'm training and I'll have half the output I need. Disappointing. I'm sure he's a great kid too. But personality by itself does not get shit done.
///Goldfrapp - "Deer Stop" pick them off, one by one. There is no urgency among them.
P.S. it really is just sad how self... self... what's the term... self reciprocating? I sware it's like an entire segment of the population is involved in this recursive loop. I'm no social climber, but how is it that the things I view as standard are viewed among them as exceptional, strange, and ridiculous. So mad. Retards. When the world ends, they're all going to die like lemmings. Worse than lemmings. Like deer before intelligence. Why is intelligence so eschewed???? I need to relax. No I don't. Obviously it's not just them, but I feel among them this weirding thing is most rampant, rooted, and disgustingly viral.
3/4/11
dear (______):
Dear person outside my window shouting someone's name,
THEY OBVIOUSLY CANT FUCKING HEAR YOU. Please shut up.
Thanks.
THEY OBVIOUSLY CANT FUCKING HEAR YOU. Please shut up.
Thanks.
9/8/10
Predictive Power of the Bible, Religious Cunts, and Cowboy Coffee
Being the coffee addict I am today, I've been trying to figure out ways to cut costs from making coffee and ensure that I will never be in a situation where I can't drink coffee if said substance is available in absolutely any form. Having read Cormac McCarthy's Cities of the Plain I have ingested another serious dose of tough guy-dom the likes of which I haven't shot into my veins since I watched hard boiled noir where every ten minutes a cigarette was being rolled, a shot of whiskey downed, and a strong man got his lights put out with a "you'll find my appointment with your boss under 'screw you', sonny."
Which brings me to cowboy coffee. Easily on par with "badass things that will probably kill you" that I love, such as Marlboro Red 100s and high proof whiskey on rocks, is cowboy coffee. From what I've gathered from Cities of the Plain is that they don't use coffee filters at all. Or at least, they seem to have to throw out the last of their coffee pretty often because of left over grounds, and that got me to thinking that cow hands and outdoorsmen in general probably don't carry coffee filters out into the field. That's like throwing light bulbs in a ruck sack and somehow believing you'll make it to where you're going without breaking a single one. At least I think keeping coffee filters dry while being outside in the elements for weeks would be something akin to that kind of challenge. So it must be possible to drink coffee brewed from grounds with the grounds still in the water if you let them settle to the bottom of whatever you brewed it in. So that's what I've started doing. I've always liked the bitter bite of black as night coffee and I've found that throwing the grounds in a big ol' mug and brewing it straight in the mug and letting the grounds settle down to the bottom seems to work out just fine. Coffee filters are officially for pansies. Of course drinking it this way might turn my teeth black, but lets hope I have a job and never have to rely on the quality of my smile again long before that happens. Sure the last sips are grainy and if you swish the mug around too much it takes on the consistency of a snow globe full of pine chips, but if you've got a steady hand, and an iron gut, and like things like whiskey and Marlboro Reds and Ice grade beer, I highly recommend giving it a try.
Plus if you ever find that your co-workers have bought coffee grounds instead of instant coffee and stuck them in the common break room knowing full well that the only coffee machine in the entire god damn building is behind the key coded doors of the administrative wing where lowly salesman and customer service associates are not allowed, you can go ahead and make yourself a cup anyway. You may not come to work in a tie, or slacks, or a sport coat, but while they look at you from the corner of their eyes in the break room wondering if you're thinking about shanking them all with a hunting knife while you watch your mug spin around in the microwave and they try not to look directly at you and your cowboy coffee sitting at the table across from them, they'll know where the real power sits between them and you. And they'll know that the only thing keeping them on top of the darwinian bureaucratic food chain is a sheet of paper from a business school and an economy that says you have to play nice if you want to keep your freedom.
I am sick of religious cunts. I know you are too. That idiot who is organizing the book burning for the sole purpose of doing unto others is a cunt. A stupid, sad little man. All of the people who will take personal religion fueled offense to what he is organizing and proposing to do are cunts. In this case I am defining cunt as: reactionary imbecile far too pleased with causes to examine effects. Cunts love cunts and their relatinship simply sucks for everybody, especially when they get together for date nights. And for the last time, the Bible does not predict the future anymore than Nostradamus or that Chinese book whose name I can't remember. For every person who raises their child based on precedents set by the Bible, proclaiming it as the ultimate authority on human behavior, can I just say will you please stop reading and start listening to and learning about the human beings in your house that for better and worse have to rely on you for whatever reason. Stop holding up the Bible to life and looking for answers. Spoiler Alert: They're not in there. When you start holding up something you believe to be a map or a blueprint, but still attempt to find you're own way or allow free expression, guess what happens? If you answered "a shit load of self fulfilling prophecies" you answered correctly. If you answered "a shit load of pain and suffering for everyone who does not share your special insight from heaven" you also answered correctly.
Well, anyway, sorry I just had to let that go. I heard about someone being lectured about how their parents believe the Bible says the youngest child will do everything the older children did except ten times worse and so their parents sat them down and gave them an earful for things they've never done and never intend to do and the sheer ridiculousness of it all just pissed me off. If you spent half as much time taking an actual interest in your children as you did combing through the all knowing scriptures you might find that you actually had a family instead of a brood of complete strangers who don't talk to you because you've become a shell of a human being replaced by selected passages of a book that happened to be relevant to you as an adolescent that grew into a sick and warped crutch as you grew older and quietly refused to mature. I think I'll still write my own Bible, just to prove a point about the power of that kind of story telling. Maybe I'll save the project for my twilight years so I'll have a deeper catalog of crap to draw from and smear out into images that can applied to any and all ages that involve fallible people dealing with fallible people in a search for overarching meaning, an incorruptible truth, and the reason, their own tailored to fit reason, for being on this rock. Maybe that's what my life's work really is. I'll get back to you about that in 25 years when I'm on my death bed from smoking Reds and pounding cowboy coffee.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Thalidomide" Our defects are inherited from the ignorance of those that walked before us and are incorporated into our character. That's still no excuse. For bringing darkness instead of light. This song rolls and burns like staring directly into a halogen bulb till your brainstem goes numb with the over powering presence of particulate everything blowing your eyes to pieces. Only minus the permanent blindness.
Which brings me to cowboy coffee. Easily on par with "badass things that will probably kill you" that I love, such as Marlboro Red 100s and high proof whiskey on rocks, is cowboy coffee. From what I've gathered from Cities of the Plain is that they don't use coffee filters at all. Or at least, they seem to have to throw out the last of their coffee pretty often because of left over grounds, and that got me to thinking that cow hands and outdoorsmen in general probably don't carry coffee filters out into the field. That's like throwing light bulbs in a ruck sack and somehow believing you'll make it to where you're going without breaking a single one. At least I think keeping coffee filters dry while being outside in the elements for weeks would be something akin to that kind of challenge. So it must be possible to drink coffee brewed from grounds with the grounds still in the water if you let them settle to the bottom of whatever you brewed it in. So that's what I've started doing. I've always liked the bitter bite of black as night coffee and I've found that throwing the grounds in a big ol' mug and brewing it straight in the mug and letting the grounds settle down to the bottom seems to work out just fine. Coffee filters are officially for pansies. Of course drinking it this way might turn my teeth black, but lets hope I have a job and never have to rely on the quality of my smile again long before that happens. Sure the last sips are grainy and if you swish the mug around too much it takes on the consistency of a snow globe full of pine chips, but if you've got a steady hand, and an iron gut, and like things like whiskey and Marlboro Reds and Ice grade beer, I highly recommend giving it a try.
Plus if you ever find that your co-workers have bought coffee grounds instead of instant coffee and stuck them in the common break room knowing full well that the only coffee machine in the entire god damn building is behind the key coded doors of the administrative wing where lowly salesman and customer service associates are not allowed, you can go ahead and make yourself a cup anyway. You may not come to work in a tie, or slacks, or a sport coat, but while they look at you from the corner of their eyes in the break room wondering if you're thinking about shanking them all with a hunting knife while you watch your mug spin around in the microwave and they try not to look directly at you and your cowboy coffee sitting at the table across from them, they'll know where the real power sits between them and you. And they'll know that the only thing keeping them on top of the darwinian bureaucratic food chain is a sheet of paper from a business school and an economy that says you have to play nice if you want to keep your freedom.
I am sick of religious cunts. I know you are too. That idiot who is organizing the book burning for the sole purpose of doing unto others is a cunt. A stupid, sad little man. All of the people who will take personal religion fueled offense to what he is organizing and proposing to do are cunts. In this case I am defining cunt as: reactionary imbecile far too pleased with causes to examine effects. Cunts love cunts and their relatinship simply sucks for everybody, especially when they get together for date nights. And for the last time, the Bible does not predict the future anymore than Nostradamus or that Chinese book whose name I can't remember. For every person who raises their child based on precedents set by the Bible, proclaiming it as the ultimate authority on human behavior, can I just say will you please stop reading and start listening to and learning about the human beings in your house that for better and worse have to rely on you for whatever reason. Stop holding up the Bible to life and looking for answers. Spoiler Alert: They're not in there. When you start holding up something you believe to be a map or a blueprint, but still attempt to find you're own way or allow free expression, guess what happens? If you answered "a shit load of self fulfilling prophecies" you answered correctly. If you answered "a shit load of pain and suffering for everyone who does not share your special insight from heaven" you also answered correctly.
Well, anyway, sorry I just had to let that go. I heard about someone being lectured about how their parents believe the Bible says the youngest child will do everything the older children did except ten times worse and so their parents sat them down and gave them an earful for things they've never done and never intend to do and the sheer ridiculousness of it all just pissed me off. If you spent half as much time taking an actual interest in your children as you did combing through the all knowing scriptures you might find that you actually had a family instead of a brood of complete strangers who don't talk to you because you've become a shell of a human being replaced by selected passages of a book that happened to be relevant to you as an adolescent that grew into a sick and warped crutch as you grew older and quietly refused to mature. I think I'll still write my own Bible, just to prove a point about the power of that kind of story telling. Maybe I'll save the project for my twilight years so I'll have a deeper catalog of crap to draw from and smear out into images that can applied to any and all ages that involve fallible people dealing with fallible people in a search for overarching meaning, an incorruptible truth, and the reason, their own tailored to fit reason, for being on this rock. Maybe that's what my life's work really is. I'll get back to you about that in 25 years when I'm on my death bed from smoking Reds and pounding cowboy coffee.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Thalidomide" Our defects are inherited from the ignorance of those that walked before us and are incorporated into our character. That's still no excuse. For bringing darkness instead of light. This song rolls and burns like staring directly into a halogen bulb till your brainstem goes numb with the over powering presence of particulate everything blowing your eyes to pieces. Only minus the permanent blindness.
7/2/10
Behold Again!!
Pchow Pchow, goes the Buck Rogers laser gun as I fire off good idea after great idea. Seriously though, I am just tired. While it's great to exercise my brain it also makes me tired, especially because the fridge has been particularly short on brain food and good scotch.
Check out that new banner! Is it or is it not the cats pj's. It counterbalances the chaos down that right side bar pretty nicely. I got rid of that text obstructing thing down at the bottom of each post too. See, I listen to you sometimes when I'm not arguing amongst my selves.
Speaking of arguments, I watched 500 Days of Summer recently. Great movie. Great writing in the movie is what I think made it so spectacular. The subtle bias toward the male pro-stagonist/underdog was very well done. It played off of the understood theme's in relationship movies and then flipped it quite handily on its head through- actually, hold on. I was going to talk about something else, but now I can't remember what.
Oh, the banner up there! Yes. So I might tweak it some more later on, and by later on I mean tomorrow. Just to help it blend more seamlessly. On second thought, scratch that. I think I may play up the difference to highlight and cut it off from the rest of the page to give the entire blog a more clearly defined personality instead of a mix mash of boarders and impressionistic pictures.
Ah, yes. Arguments. Today has struck me as something of a frustrating day. The two people I really want to talk to are not talking to me. Petty and self centered of me to say that right? Wrong! I am never wrong! You are wrong for even suggesting I may ever be wrong about anything! Mainly, I wonder what they're doing because I want to be a part of it, but I'm beginning to suspect that the role I thought I played in their lives is actually a tiny forgettable fraction. Or perhaps not so much forgettable as extremely occasion specific. I've niched myself. Or have I. The whole thing is confusing and the most frustrating thing about it all is that its probably almost entirely a product of differences in free time and my own insecurities. God damn it, just answer your phone and tell me you don't want to talk ever. That's what a nice person would do. Or maybe that's what an asshole would do. My interpersonal skills might be regressing, but the plus side is that my amateur psychology is progressing. No, wait, that might be a negative too.
I bet Kanye West thinks he's being a nice person every single time he opens his mouth (old I know). I wonder if he's having fun in India finding his soul. Ha, more like finding his soul's "dear john" letter! Pchow! Buck Rogers. Count it. Look out for the addition of more bells and whistles in the future. This place is always developing. Occasionally moping along like the progress of a blinking light around a string of Christmas lights still on in August of the following year, but like those lights we keep it changing.
///Jay-Z - "Empire State of Mind" maybe I'll move to NYC and seek my fortune there. Or even anywhere else in the state of New York. I think I'm out of options here. Either way, from where I stand the coasts feel like they're glittering.
Check out that new banner! Is it or is it not the cats pj's. It counterbalances the chaos down that right side bar pretty nicely. I got rid of that text obstructing thing down at the bottom of each post too. See, I listen to you sometimes when I'm not arguing amongst my selves.
Speaking of arguments, I watched 500 Days of Summer recently. Great movie. Great writing in the movie is what I think made it so spectacular. The subtle bias toward the male pro-stagonist/underdog was very well done. It played off of the understood theme's in relationship movies and then flipped it quite handily on its head through- actually, hold on. I was going to talk about something else, but now I can't remember what.
Oh, the banner up there! Yes. So I might tweak it some more later on, and by later on I mean tomorrow. Just to help it blend more seamlessly. On second thought, scratch that. I think I may play up the difference to highlight and cut it off from the rest of the page to give the entire blog a more clearly defined personality instead of a mix mash of boarders and impressionistic pictures.
Ah, yes. Arguments. Today has struck me as something of a frustrating day. The two people I really want to talk to are not talking to me. Petty and self centered of me to say that right? Wrong! I am never wrong! You are wrong for even suggesting I may ever be wrong about anything! Mainly, I wonder what they're doing because I want to be a part of it, but I'm beginning to suspect that the role I thought I played in their lives is actually a tiny forgettable fraction. Or perhaps not so much forgettable as extremely occasion specific. I've niched myself. Or have I. The whole thing is confusing and the most frustrating thing about it all is that its probably almost entirely a product of differences in free time and my own insecurities. God damn it, just answer your phone and tell me you don't want to talk ever. That's what a nice person would do. Or maybe that's what an asshole would do. My interpersonal skills might be regressing, but the plus side is that my amateur psychology is progressing. No, wait, that might be a negative too.
I bet Kanye West thinks he's being a nice person every single time he opens his mouth (old I know). I wonder if he's having fun in India finding his soul. Ha, more like finding his soul's "dear john" letter! Pchow! Buck Rogers. Count it. Look out for the addition of more bells and whistles in the future. This place is always developing. Occasionally moping along like the progress of a blinking light around a string of Christmas lights still on in August of the following year, but like those lights we keep it changing.
///Jay-Z - "Empire State of Mind" maybe I'll move to NYC and seek my fortune there. Or even anywhere else in the state of New York. I think I'm out of options here. Either way, from where I stand the coasts feel like they're glittering.
4/13/10
dear (______):
dear aol:
i am going to punch you in the mouth hole until it fills up with tooth parts and bone parts and stops making noises at me.
i am going to punch you in the mouth hole until it fills up with tooth parts and bone parts and stops making noises at me.
8/5/09
i walk to work. no. NO, youre not listening. 08/05/09
they are turning it into the worst fucking investment ever. you know the thing. that thing that "no one can take away from you." that thing that unlocks the power and magic of learning. that thing that lets you make 35K a year on average. yeah, that thing. fucking education. the worst fucking personal investment ever. no one should be saddled with this personal burden. ever. its a fucking business.
they let you sign yourself up (and hopefully one of your parents too) to recieve a bacterial infection. Since you cant pay your way or get perfect grades and be in every club (probably because you're a normal fucking person with real concerns in life from a less than absolutely supportive and financially endowed family and youre probably in that big square part of the standard distribution of human beings under the age of 25) the rules clearly state that if you receive this infection you can go to college. the infection degrades your health and your prospects and your financial reputation and your bank account for up to 30 years and is removed if you pay the people that gave you the infection the cost of tuition plus an arbitrary amount of additional money so that they dont have to work and can go on vacations to exotic places and pay for their kids to go to college. but if you dont pay them back and pay for their vacations, and their kids to go to college, within 30 years, sometimes as little as 15, then the infection metastasizes and kills your work life, financial, family life, and cuts you off from all sources of material/meaningful help.
actual phone call today. keep in mind i answer at least 4 of these a day. I recieve between 8 and 12 every god damn day. "hi im calling on behalf of ers a collection company for UIC. we're calling about 6k you owe. will you be able to close that out today?"
"no. of course not. if i was able i would have done so months ago."
"well the account has been... is delinquent" (i made the fucking payment to keep it out of collections the business day before... but hey its my "deadbeat" word against their "without fault" system. the account was never delinquent before either hence its newly minted arrival at ers) "and we need to close it out immediatel-"
i interrupt her "look, if i had the money i would give it to you. i just started a new job a couple of weeks ago and making barely enough to pay rent, keep my phone on, and pay out my 600 a month in student loans" (my job pays about 19k before chicago and fed taxes)"i cand do some kind of payment plan."
while we're talking my phone rings again and its AES on the other line. calling about one dollar and eighty fucking cents, i shit you not.
"well sir, how much do you make" exasperation tinges her voice. "im not authorized to do a payment plan until i know that along with your mortgage or rent."
"well i make 19k and my rent is 200 a mo" i live wth my gf. it should be 450 but shes letting it slide for now
"thank you sir" she interupts me
"well wait a minute" i interupt her "hold on a sec. i have 70k in student loan debt. doesnt that matter?"
silence. then "well its not really a part of our equations. we do our calkalations based on housing and income" WHAT THE FUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS? how fucking caniving is that? well next time ill just lump the 6 to 7 hundred a month i pay out to student debt in with my rent.
"based on what i calkalated can you make a 234 dollar good faith payment today?"
"no, if i could do that i would have just paid UIC directly and avoided all this mess."
"can you make a 100 dollar payment?"
"i dont know. maybe."
"okay i need your routing number and check number" WHAT!
"no, i said maybe. i need to do some calculating too and find out what i can afford to pay. i dont have any debt information in front of me because im at work right now"
"do you have your check book?"
"no im at work. im standing at the front counter right now, at my job, so i can make money to pay you people."
"well can you go and get it on your lunch break?"
"no, i walk to work. i cant get home and back here on my lunch break."
"well cant you just give me the routing number?"
what the fuck. listen to the words coming out of my fucking mouth!!!
"no, im at work. i dont have a car. if i could afford a car i could afford to pay you people."
pohone rings again. guess who? its ers. on another line. in another office. calling about the same fucking thing. literally to the T. i switch and then switch back to cynthia.
"i am car less. i have a hard enough time just keeping my phone on just so i can get calls from you people six times a day. i walk to work. i dont have my checkbook because when i left i planned on going to work. not to the bank. its what i do on week days."
"well can you call me tonight then so we can discuss this matter?"
"there isnt much else to discuss unless you're coming up with smaller monthly payments. i need to go home and review some information and my finances and ill get back to you as soon as i can and hopefully itll be with good news."
literally twenty minutes later phone rings again. ERS. about the same thing. i tell the new lady i just talked to cynthia. must be a fake name because she had no fucking clue who that was. i tell her everything i told the first lady. she tries to play the "oh i know youre struggling but i just want to help you. do you have a routing number today? well call me back tomorrow at 9am." which turned right before she hung up to "ill call you tomorrow at 9am." which i promptly corrected
"dont call me. ill call you with information."
but she tries to play the "i identify with your position and want to do whats best for you and my company and get this resolved as quickly (left out satisfactorially) as possible" but i wasnt buying it. they always do that. see the thing is... that person on the other end doesnt fucking identify with you. they dont know what it feels like to get these calls year after fucking YEAR after FUCKING YEAR. they have no fucking clue. and thats why i want to strangle them. i want to put their eyes in meat grinders. i want to beat their children till their skin comes off in wet sheets. i want to pull their teeth out one mm at a time, suck the ripped nerve ending out of it and spit it into their empty eye sockets. they have no idea what its like to not sleep... to grind your teeth... to jump everytime your fucking phone rings.... to miss job opportunities because you didnt recognize the incoming calls number... agonize over spending 99 cents on a fucking piece of candy because it might make or break you that month.
its a fucking industry. and every day this goes on. it makes me wish more and more. that i hadnt aspired to anything more than dropping out of highschool and learning how to fucking dig ditches, flip burgers, and never look past the end of my own dick. fuck education. thats how the lending situation as it stands today makes me feel. its gonna take decades before i can even dream about telling my future kids differently. let alone anyone else who asks me for advice. the wonderful usa is pay to play. and you better be fucking prepared to pay or your fucked. they might not smash off the back of your head with a hammer and fuck your gray matter today... but theyll get you. they got nothing but time.
///nine inch nails - right where it belongs (year zero): yeah i get that feeling sometimes trent. your a poet and a scholar, but mostly you're just honest.
they let you sign yourself up (and hopefully one of your parents too) to recieve a bacterial infection. Since you cant pay your way or get perfect grades and be in every club (probably because you're a normal fucking person with real concerns in life from a less than absolutely supportive and financially endowed family and youre probably in that big square part of the standard distribution of human beings under the age of 25) the rules clearly state that if you receive this infection you can go to college. the infection degrades your health and your prospects and your financial reputation and your bank account for up to 30 years and is removed if you pay the people that gave you the infection the cost of tuition plus an arbitrary amount of additional money so that they dont have to work and can go on vacations to exotic places and pay for their kids to go to college. but if you dont pay them back and pay for their vacations, and their kids to go to college, within 30 years, sometimes as little as 15, then the infection metastasizes and kills your work life, financial, family life, and cuts you off from all sources of material/meaningful help.
actual phone call today. keep in mind i answer at least 4 of these a day. I recieve between 8 and 12 every god damn day. "hi im calling on behalf of ers a collection company for UIC. we're calling about 6k you owe. will you be able to close that out today?"
"no. of course not. if i was able i would have done so months ago."
"well the account has been... is delinquent" (i made the fucking payment to keep it out of collections the business day before... but hey its my "deadbeat" word against their "without fault" system. the account was never delinquent before either hence its newly minted arrival at ers) "and we need to close it out immediatel-"
i interrupt her "look, if i had the money i would give it to you. i just started a new job a couple of weeks ago and making barely enough to pay rent, keep my phone on, and pay out my 600 a month in student loans" (my job pays about 19k before chicago and fed taxes)"i cand do some kind of payment plan."
while we're talking my phone rings again and its AES on the other line. calling about one dollar and eighty fucking cents, i shit you not.
"well sir, how much do you make" exasperation tinges her voice. "im not authorized to do a payment plan until i know that along with your mortgage or rent."
"well i make 19k and my rent is 200 a mo" i live wth my gf. it should be 450 but shes letting it slide for now
"thank you sir" she interupts me
"well wait a minute" i interupt her "hold on a sec. i have 70k in student loan debt. doesnt that matter?"
silence. then "well its not really a part of our equations. we do our calkalations based on housing and income" WHAT THE FUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS? how fucking caniving is that? well next time ill just lump the 6 to 7 hundred a month i pay out to student debt in with my rent.
"based on what i calkalated can you make a 234 dollar good faith payment today?"
"no, if i could do that i would have just paid UIC directly and avoided all this mess."
"can you make a 100 dollar payment?"
"i dont know. maybe."
"okay i need your routing number and check number" WHAT!
"no, i said maybe. i need to do some calculating too and find out what i can afford to pay. i dont have any debt information in front of me because im at work right now"
"do you have your check book?"
"no im at work. im standing at the front counter right now, at my job, so i can make money to pay you people."
"well can you go and get it on your lunch break?"
"no, i walk to work. i cant get home and back here on my lunch break."
"well cant you just give me the routing number?"
what the fuck. listen to the words coming out of my fucking mouth!!!
"no, im at work. i dont have a car. if i could afford a car i could afford to pay you people."
pohone rings again. guess who? its ers. on another line. in another office. calling about the same fucking thing. literally to the T. i switch and then switch back to cynthia.
"i am car less. i have a hard enough time just keeping my phone on just so i can get calls from you people six times a day. i walk to work. i dont have my checkbook because when i left i planned on going to work. not to the bank. its what i do on week days."
"well can you call me tonight then so we can discuss this matter?"
"there isnt much else to discuss unless you're coming up with smaller monthly payments. i need to go home and review some information and my finances and ill get back to you as soon as i can and hopefully itll be with good news."
literally twenty minutes later phone rings again. ERS. about the same thing. i tell the new lady i just talked to cynthia. must be a fake name because she had no fucking clue who that was. i tell her everything i told the first lady. she tries to play the "oh i know youre struggling but i just want to help you. do you have a routing number today? well call me back tomorrow at 9am." which turned right before she hung up to "ill call you tomorrow at 9am." which i promptly corrected
"dont call me. ill call you with information."
but she tries to play the "i identify with your position and want to do whats best for you and my company and get this resolved as quickly (left out satisfactorially) as possible" but i wasnt buying it. they always do that. see the thing is... that person on the other end doesnt fucking identify with you. they dont know what it feels like to get these calls year after fucking YEAR after FUCKING YEAR. they have no fucking clue. and thats why i want to strangle them. i want to put their eyes in meat grinders. i want to beat their children till their skin comes off in wet sheets. i want to pull their teeth out one mm at a time, suck the ripped nerve ending out of it and spit it into their empty eye sockets. they have no idea what its like to not sleep... to grind your teeth... to jump everytime your fucking phone rings.... to miss job opportunities because you didnt recognize the incoming calls number... agonize over spending 99 cents on a fucking piece of candy because it might make or break you that month.
its a fucking industry. and every day this goes on. it makes me wish more and more. that i hadnt aspired to anything more than dropping out of highschool and learning how to fucking dig ditches, flip burgers, and never look past the end of my own dick. fuck education. thats how the lending situation as it stands today makes me feel. its gonna take decades before i can even dream about telling my future kids differently. let alone anyone else who asks me for advice. the wonderful usa is pay to play. and you better be fucking prepared to pay or your fucked. they might not smash off the back of your head with a hammer and fuck your gray matter today... but theyll get you. they got nothing but time.
///nine inch nails - right where it belongs (year zero): yeah i get that feeling sometimes trent. your a poet and a scholar, but mostly you're just honest.
7/25/07
change the channel 07/25/07
Subject : change the channel
Posted Date: : Jun 25, 2007 7:53 PM
alright so im basically complaining again, but its legitimate this time. i swear. on my eventual grave.
america is raising a bunch of pussy ass punk bitch kids. and the most pussy punk ass bitchiest of the bunch are the ones that are gonna run things. just think about it. all those emo mother fuckers who sware ... or is it swear... whatever... who sware they cant deal with life for a single additional day or that everyday is the worst day mankind has witnessed to date are likely not so weak willed because they cant change but probably because all the shit they listen to tells them to be miserable. its like high fidelity... except there is no ambiguity. music is making people miserable, fearful, shallow, and worthless.
kids are afraid to speak up for themselves. kids are afraid to be different from what industry tells them to be. theyre fearful of so many things that have no bearing on real life. theyre distraught over emotions that dont matter. and theyre hateful over differences that are purely cosmetic. they have goals that are pipe dreams and engineered stories designed to sell unsustainable lifestyles. and they see themselves as warriors in fights that dont exist. its more than a manipulation of emotion for effects that can be enjoyable or inspirational or cathartic or whatever the hell you wanna call it. its basically creating ideology for children. yaaaay. childeology. copyright. true story.
its not all music either... duh... its just that the people with half a brain to change the channel instead of being brain washed by recycled beats and redundant guitar riffs have better things to do than try to reform a music market for the masses who are so geared into their own worthlessness to accept that things could be different.
your music is offensive and your brain is under utilized. please see vh1, cmt, bet, and mtv top "music" countdowns for further examples. then burn your tv. then buy a new black and white tv and keep it tuned to public access. jerks.
dont eat ice cream all day. itll make you fat and a waste of space. however much it contributes to the GNP.
///del the funky homosapien - "3030" quality 7 minute anthem. listen to it. rebuild something. more and better and different music to come. for serious.
Posted Date: : Jun 25, 2007 7:53 PM
alright so im basically complaining again, but its legitimate this time. i swear. on my eventual grave.
america is raising a bunch of pussy ass punk bitch kids. and the most pussy punk ass bitchiest of the bunch are the ones that are gonna run things. just think about it. all those emo mother fuckers who sware ... or is it swear... whatever... who sware they cant deal with life for a single additional day or that everyday is the worst day mankind has witnessed to date are likely not so weak willed because they cant change but probably because all the shit they listen to tells them to be miserable. its like high fidelity... except there is no ambiguity. music is making people miserable, fearful, shallow, and worthless.
kids are afraid to speak up for themselves. kids are afraid to be different from what industry tells them to be. theyre fearful of so many things that have no bearing on real life. theyre distraught over emotions that dont matter. and theyre hateful over differences that are purely cosmetic. they have goals that are pipe dreams and engineered stories designed to sell unsustainable lifestyles. and they see themselves as warriors in fights that dont exist. its more than a manipulation of emotion for effects that can be enjoyable or inspirational or cathartic or whatever the hell you wanna call it. its basically creating ideology for children. yaaaay. childeology. copyright. true story.
its not all music either... duh... its just that the people with half a brain to change the channel instead of being brain washed by recycled beats and redundant guitar riffs have better things to do than try to reform a music market for the masses who are so geared into their own worthlessness to accept that things could be different.
your music is offensive and your brain is under utilized. please see vh1, cmt, bet, and mtv top "music" countdowns for further examples. then burn your tv. then buy a new black and white tv and keep it tuned to public access. jerks.
dont eat ice cream all day. itll make you fat and a waste of space. however much it contributes to the GNP.
///del the funky homosapien - "3030" quality 7 minute anthem. listen to it. rebuild something. more and better and different music to come. for serious.
7/19/07
dear person i snapped at 07/19/07
Subject : dear person i snapped at today
Posted Date: : Jun 19, 2007 12:49 AM
sorry. i know, you probably thought it was the right way to respond to my inane ramblings and i probably shouldnt have taken it so seriously and besides we are coworkers you know? co-workers dont fight. ontop of that we went to get sodas afterward too. it might have been easy for you to fall into a position where the only way to get a word in edgewise was to criticize me directly, and i know it was easy to put you there (if thats what happend at all) because i am very good at carrying on long dialogs with whoever will listen, so im sorry. im sorry because i probably shouldnt have made you feel like a moron for criticizing me and i probably shouldnt have called you a coward and i probably shouldnt have told you to fuck off, so ... my bad.
its not that i dont give a fuck... its just that i have my own short comings when it comes to things like people who use criticism as an in for interaction. i didnt mean to be a jerk, but then again you probably didnt either. you probably just wanted to join in on my never ending monologue... or maybe not... maybe you were just tired of hearing me ramble. i get tired of hearing me ramble sometimes and i know for a fact its not half worth listening to 75% of the time. well maybe fifty percent. what im trying to say is i was wrong to assume you were wrong, but i was also wrong (assuming you were right) by virtue of the way i reacted. sorry again. hope i didnt crush your self esteem by any means. mine is already pretty fragile as it is and would probably implode if i wasnt constantly forcing it outward with my long winded diatribes about how awesome i may or may not be....
anyways... i guess i should say thanks for bringing my longwindedness on the job to my attention. ill try to talk a little bit less while im there. for the rest of the time however i will probably keep on talking. mainly because i like to talk and shutting up is for cowards, introverts, the subjugated and military men/women. i believe that last sentence counts as posturing. performance. but in a good way. call it hyperbole mixed with something along the lines of a lack of self control. i feel compelled to talk so i do and i make it sound like its a great thing. because it is. dont be a communist. bye.
///planetary assaul systems - "gated" wanna know what it sounds like in my brain when my synapses really get my mouth going and i dont talk it out to keep things somewhat organised? it sounds like something going 360 beats per minute with a violin trying to catch every third note while sticking to a 4:4 meter all while an alarm sounds just out of synch enough to make you wish you woke up five hours later in the morning and without having to take a huge dump before you could function. but you still like it because after the first thirty seconds of feeling and hearing that way you start to see how it all fits together better than anything you could have written yourself.
Posted Date: : Jun 19, 2007 12:49 AM
sorry. i know, you probably thought it was the right way to respond to my inane ramblings and i probably shouldnt have taken it so seriously and besides we are coworkers you know? co-workers dont fight. ontop of that we went to get sodas afterward too. it might have been easy for you to fall into a position where the only way to get a word in edgewise was to criticize me directly, and i know it was easy to put you there (if thats what happend at all) because i am very good at carrying on long dialogs with whoever will listen, so im sorry. im sorry because i probably shouldnt have made you feel like a moron for criticizing me and i probably shouldnt have called you a coward and i probably shouldnt have told you to fuck off, so ... my bad.
its not that i dont give a fuck... its just that i have my own short comings when it comes to things like people who use criticism as an in for interaction. i didnt mean to be a jerk, but then again you probably didnt either. you probably just wanted to join in on my never ending monologue... or maybe not... maybe you were just tired of hearing me ramble. i get tired of hearing me ramble sometimes and i know for a fact its not half worth listening to 75% of the time. well maybe fifty percent. what im trying to say is i was wrong to assume you were wrong, but i was also wrong (assuming you were right) by virtue of the way i reacted. sorry again. hope i didnt crush your self esteem by any means. mine is already pretty fragile as it is and would probably implode if i wasnt constantly forcing it outward with my long winded diatribes about how awesome i may or may not be....
anyways... i guess i should say thanks for bringing my longwindedness on the job to my attention. ill try to talk a little bit less while im there. for the rest of the time however i will probably keep on talking. mainly because i like to talk and shutting up is for cowards, introverts, the subjugated and military men/women. i believe that last sentence counts as posturing. performance. but in a good way. call it hyperbole mixed with something along the lines of a lack of self control. i feel compelled to talk so i do and i make it sound like its a great thing. because it is. dont be a communist. bye.
///planetary assaul systems - "gated" wanna know what it sounds like in my brain when my synapses really get my mouth going and i dont talk it out to keep things somewhat organised? it sounds like something going 360 beats per minute with a violin trying to catch every third note while sticking to a 4:4 meter all while an alarm sounds just out of synch enough to make you wish you woke up five hours later in the morning and without having to take a huge dump before you could function. but you still like it because after the first thirty seconds of feeling and hearing that way you start to see how it all fits together better than anything you could have written yourself.
5/27/07
stop putting tae diggs in movies 05/27/07
Subject : stop putting tae diggs in movies
Posted Date: : May 27, 2007 3:50 AM
i dont even know if his name actually is tae diggs. all i know is he's been the token black anti-hero on more tent-pole pics than i can count on one hand. the other problem is that i know he's been in more movies that i just cant remember in their entireity because they were too shitty to stick. all i have are commercial clips with indistinct hip hop and that ominous movie dude voice going.
he's a terrible actor. he's worse than jamie foxx was when he did his first movie. worse than snoop dogg in the movie about black vampires. worse than the voice acting in american anime. worse than a grilled cheese sandwich made with powdered parmesian and olive oil.... worse than the fucking godzilla versus king kong dvd i bought for 2.50 a couple weeks ago. if anyone is paying this person anything it should be dirty kleenexes with sad faces on it used to wipe the asses of people in retirement homes. he should be paying the industry... or at least be forced to do a thousand hours of community service for every half million a movie makes that he even shows his face in. i hate his acting.
on another note. i just stopped being sick today. it was pretty strange. it started off almost a week ago with a sore throat that turned into a completely raw throat featuring spitting up blood and other unmentionable etceteras (bastardised i know, but i dont care that much). then a fever kicked in a few days ago that kept rising until this morning, ending at the wonderfully heady peak of 102 degrees centaheit. and then i coughed up a pair of jagged grape sized wads of blood and my raw throat suddenly downgraded to a sore throat. a lot less blood in the spit. which is nice. i still wonder what those jagged things were but i havent developed the stomach to go poking around my wastebasket for them... let alone disecting them. i just hope they dont hatch into something. that would be gross as ... something really stomach turning. im probably going to have nightmares about that. ah well.
Posted Date: : May 27, 2007 3:50 AM
i dont even know if his name actually is tae diggs. all i know is he's been the token black anti-hero on more tent-pole pics than i can count on one hand. the other problem is that i know he's been in more movies that i just cant remember in their entireity because they were too shitty to stick. all i have are commercial clips with indistinct hip hop and that ominous movie dude voice going.
he's a terrible actor. he's worse than jamie foxx was when he did his first movie. worse than snoop dogg in the movie about black vampires. worse than the voice acting in american anime. worse than a grilled cheese sandwich made with powdered parmesian and olive oil.... worse than the fucking godzilla versus king kong dvd i bought for 2.50 a couple weeks ago. if anyone is paying this person anything it should be dirty kleenexes with sad faces on it used to wipe the asses of people in retirement homes. he should be paying the industry... or at least be forced to do a thousand hours of community service for every half million a movie makes that he even shows his face in. i hate his acting.
on another note. i just stopped being sick today. it was pretty strange. it started off almost a week ago with a sore throat that turned into a completely raw throat featuring spitting up blood and other unmentionable etceteras (bastardised i know, but i dont care that much). then a fever kicked in a few days ago that kept rising until this morning, ending at the wonderfully heady peak of 102 degrees centaheit. and then i coughed up a pair of jagged grape sized wads of blood and my raw throat suddenly downgraded to a sore throat. a lot less blood in the spit. which is nice. i still wonder what those jagged things were but i havent developed the stomach to go poking around my wastebasket for them... let alone disecting them. i just hope they dont hatch into something. that would be gross as ... something really stomach turning. im probably going to have nightmares about that. ah well.
fuck you & hell yes 05/27/07
Subject : fuck you & hell yes | hell no summertime
Posted Date: : May 27, 2007 3:02 AM
fuck you people that do dumb shit like post comments that say things like "hmmm interesting just thought you would want to see this GREAT WEBSITE." if this is you, you should probably not kill yourself. what you should probably not not do is tickle and elephants hind legs until they buckle, causing the elephant to sit on you, possibly asphixiating you with its asshole, but otherwise crushing you to death. it wont be easy finding an elephant... but click HEARE for GRRRREAT WEBSITE where they are giving away 500 dollar tickle sessions. fuck head.
the summer time is awesome. beautiful. depressing. happifying. all that good stuff that reminds you why you love waiting for it, hate it when its ending, and sleep through a lot of it while its here. that being said... my summer time is not awesome. summertime. summer time? who really cares. my summer time is sucking. my lady love is in spain. one of my favorite passtimes (in case it hasnt been made clear yet, masturbation) is not working at all... and i dont have internet access at my desk so my elbows keep going numb cuz im using the half laptop (accidentally ripped the lcd off) i have laying on my bed. the only thing i have to entertain me is my furniture moving job andmy other shit. shit being writing. im going to read a book about narrative design. since i cant seem to win anything at my school narrative wise. they can all go to ... i dont know... fuckin chuckie cheese for all i care. assholes. im just unhappy. not happy with the summer time. i feel like writing some philosophical stories might help me feel less worse. eh. fuck you. hell yes? hell no. i hate summertime.
and one more thing. what the hell is homestyle white gravy anyway! i hate commercials. and bad anime. and i hate how commercials are just taking turns portraying whites and blacks as idiots. what is that racial sparring bullshit. RAWR.
///dj acucrack - "platinum" heavy strobe lights. annoying swells. sore ears. and somehow it keeps feeling good. unlike summer everyday. fucking sound life.
Posted Date: : May 27, 2007 3:02 AM
fuck you people that do dumb shit like post comments that say things like "hmmm interesting just thought you would want to see this GREAT WEBSITE." if this is you, you should probably not kill yourself. what you should probably not not do is tickle and elephants hind legs until they buckle, causing the elephant to sit on you, possibly asphixiating you with its asshole, but otherwise crushing you to death. it wont be easy finding an elephant... but click HEARE for GRRRREAT WEBSITE where they are giving away 500 dollar tickle sessions. fuck head.
the summer time is awesome. beautiful. depressing. happifying. all that good stuff that reminds you why you love waiting for it, hate it when its ending, and sleep through a lot of it while its here. that being said... my summer time is not awesome. summertime. summer time? who really cares. my summer time is sucking. my lady love is in spain. one of my favorite passtimes (in case it hasnt been made clear yet, masturbation) is not working at all... and i dont have internet access at my desk so my elbows keep going numb cuz im using the half laptop (accidentally ripped the lcd off) i have laying on my bed. the only thing i have to entertain me is my furniture moving job andmy other shit. shit being writing. im going to read a book about narrative design. since i cant seem to win anything at my school narrative wise. they can all go to ... i dont know... fuckin chuckie cheese for all i care. assholes. im just unhappy. not happy with the summer time. i feel like writing some philosophical stories might help me feel less worse. eh. fuck you. hell yes? hell no. i hate summertime.
and one more thing. what the hell is homestyle white gravy anyway! i hate commercials. and bad anime. and i hate how commercials are just taking turns portraying whites and blacks as idiots. what is that racial sparring bullshit. RAWR.
///dj acucrack - "platinum" heavy strobe lights. annoying swells. sore ears. and somehow it keeps feeling good. unlike summer everyday. fucking sound life.
4/17/07
"god called, he wants his sandals back" 04/17/07
Subject : "god called, he wants his sandals back"
Posted Date: : Apr 17, 2007 5:45 PM
yes... god is in fact on the line and would like his sandals back. im just passing along the message. he mentioned something about needing to walk on water and tap dance on eggshells... basically save the world from the forces evil while juggling three chainsaws, two penguins, and spinning a plate on a two hundred foot long broomstick with his nose while lobsters hung from his balls by their claws. all of this while winning a fire ant eating competition and shitting out an entire combination brick and extruded, galvanized, steel factory.
he also mentioned that your over the top attitude is entirely uncalled for and that your ability to walk on water, tap dance on eggshells, impregnate people with the mere thought of sex, and fart out entire arms of a galaxy, does not entitle you to belittle everyone. he suggests you take your head off your shoulders and place it on someone elses for a few minutes to see that, though you could make the universe spin around your little finger while wearing his sandals, you really shouldnt because it makes everyone else around you sick to their stomachs.
he kindly pointed out that you were only supposed to borrow the sandals for ten minutes to go to the bodega for another case of OE and to give the guy outside the store front your change. he even said he looked the other way when you whizzed behind the store hard enough to cut your name twenty feet straight down into the ground and then cut the front off the car you recognized as belonging to that guy who told you to shut the fuck up when you talked out of your ass behind his back.
he was really nice about the whole thing. very respectful. he said you were supposed to be back three days ago... and he also says if you dont return them he will remove the concept of collared shirts from mankind forever... and smite the polo player from every swatch of fabric known to man. just between you and me i think he's a little ticked... and besides, everyone really did like you more before you became a complete douchebag. you should really call him back and let him know what's up. later.
///the future sound of london - "the galaxial pharmaceutical" not a great song, not a top ten playlister, not even a really good song. just some down tempo easiness...to ease the business of isness, cuz as we all are quite aware "OMG my life is so hard, you have no idea" is the anthem of too many people's lives. chill the fuck out.
Posted Date: : Apr 17, 2007 5:45 PM
yes... god is in fact on the line and would like his sandals back. im just passing along the message. he mentioned something about needing to walk on water and tap dance on eggshells... basically save the world from the forces evil while juggling three chainsaws, two penguins, and spinning a plate on a two hundred foot long broomstick with his nose while lobsters hung from his balls by their claws. all of this while winning a fire ant eating competition and shitting out an entire combination brick and extruded, galvanized, steel factory.
he also mentioned that your over the top attitude is entirely uncalled for and that your ability to walk on water, tap dance on eggshells, impregnate people with the mere thought of sex, and fart out entire arms of a galaxy, does not entitle you to belittle everyone. he suggests you take your head off your shoulders and place it on someone elses for a few minutes to see that, though you could make the universe spin around your little finger while wearing his sandals, you really shouldnt because it makes everyone else around you sick to their stomachs.
he kindly pointed out that you were only supposed to borrow the sandals for ten minutes to go to the bodega for another case of OE and to give the guy outside the store front your change. he even said he looked the other way when you whizzed behind the store hard enough to cut your name twenty feet straight down into the ground and then cut the front off the car you recognized as belonging to that guy who told you to shut the fuck up when you talked out of your ass behind his back.
he was really nice about the whole thing. very respectful. he said you were supposed to be back three days ago... and he also says if you dont return them he will remove the concept of collared shirts from mankind forever... and smite the polo player from every swatch of fabric known to man. just between you and me i think he's a little ticked... and besides, everyone really did like you more before you became a complete douchebag. you should really call him back and let him know what's up. later.
///the future sound of london - "the galaxial pharmaceutical" not a great song, not a top ten playlister, not even a really good song. just some down tempo easiness...to ease the business of isness, cuz as we all are quite aware "OMG my life is so hard, you have no idea" is the anthem of too many people's lives. chill the fuck out.
1/31/06
the next time (p2) 01/31/06
Subject : the next time someone says PART 2
Posted Date: : Jan 31, 2006 8:03 PM
the next time someone says "what the hell did you spend all of your money on?!"
you should answer by saying you spent it all on 8 inch diameter plastic penises and then refer them to jtstockroom.com
Posted Date: : Jan 31, 2006 8:03 PM
the next time someone says "what the hell did you spend all of your money on?!"
you should answer by saying you spent it all on 8 inch diameter plastic penises and then refer them to jtstockroom.com
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