I can't stop bursting into tears every few hours. Food won't stay in me when I do try to force myself to eat. It's heart rending. My body is physically rejecting reality like an immune system trying to defeat a bacterial infection. Half of the country would prefer you don't exist. Half of the country said that you are what's wrong with the country. Half of the country said you are worthless. Half of the country said do us a favor and keep it moving. Sickening. Half of the country said your life is good enough, you should be happy no one is tying you to a tree and that should be good enough for you. Half of the country said we don't want to be bothered with you anymore. Go away.
I wish I could fucking disappear. Just evaporate into thin air. Maybe you voted for him because he had that one campaign promise that you could really get behind. Maybe you voted for him because Hillary is a woman and you just can't have a woman in an office with that much responsibility. Maybe you voted for him because you flipped a coin and whatever it landed on was what you were going to vote. Maybe you voted for him because you truly believe some of what he says or you thought he's a strong leader capable of leading America back to some made up glory from the past. Whatever reason you found for yourself, whatever mental gymnastics you made yourself do: what you said with that vote was fucking get out of our lives because we are sick of you and this country is not for you, it is for us. I want to kill myself.
You may continue to justify your vote with "well, I don't believe that and I don't think he really thinks that. I love minorities. I'm friends with them. I love women, they should have the same rights as men and jobs..." oh of course. "He only said that to get people riled up. He tells it like it is, but he doesn't mean what he says..." you are so full of insane bile it is nauseating. If you are willing to overlook everything he stands for to find the one thing you can hold on to and make yourself okay with casting a vote for him you are saying you are okay with everything else about him and can get behind everything he says. You cannot pick and pull little bits here and there and throw blinders on toward the rest of the hatred and disgust. That's like riding in a car with some people who are on their way to beat someone to death and shrugging because you're in the car to get a lift from your house to the store. What the fuck should you care who gets beaten lifeless, it wasn't you holding a chain or bat, hell you didn't even get out of the car and turned the radio up when they stopped.
What you said with your vote was disappear. I wish I could. My body will stop convulsing soon. I'll get back in to the movement of life. Half of the people I see I will wonder what hatred is hiding underneath that smiley "good day, to you" mask. What part of his hate speech is inside you word for word that you've managed to mask with "I like his healthcare ideas." What part of his hate speech is inside you, but with a gentler paraphrase because you would never say it that way exactly. I will wonder what fears lie behind half of their eyes. I can't kill myself. You'll always be there and disappearing won't change how you feel. My pain will always be there and I'll have to learn to live with this latest greatest example. I'm just tired of fighting and trying to fit in around the margins near the shadows. What you said with your vote will never not be disgusting, will never not bring tears to my eyes. You say get over it, we've come so far since slavery. What half the country said with their vote with proud chests and big smiles begs to differ.
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 disappointment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disappointment. Show all posts
11/11/16
9/3/15
Nearing the End of the First Week With a Fractured Jaw
The fracture or break is very high up the ramus and very close to my ear. Every time I poke it hard enough I can hear and feel it flex a little so I try not to touch it or shift my jaw left or right when I do yawn with my teeth locked together. Of course I didn't go see a doctor. I have no health insurance. What's the doctor going to do? Wire my teeth together and tell me to get plenty of rest and not move my jaw. I can do that without the wires and the $5000 bill. Sure there may be other fractures along the side of the jaw bone, but inspection says they're only fractures if they do exist and not clean breaks. Thanks to wisdom teeth that were never removed growing up because they were so badly impacted the surgery was out of the question for one reason or another by the time I was screened for them, the inside of my cheek took some thick lacerations at the point of impact. I think one or two of molar roots may have cracked causing swelling and pain in the angle. Time will tell. Hell, if my wisdom teeth on that side die and eventually fall out, I'm all for it. Who am I going to be kissing in the next two- three years anyway.
The first week of a liquid diet and I'm down 17 pounds. I'm not fat, but I always feel fat, so it's helping my body image issues a great deal, oddly enough. I keep thinking over the evening last Saturday. After a great pow-wow with a buddy and his friend who had to leave a little earlier we decided to head out and grab some ice cream and, I was thinking, a pack of smokes on the side for me, happy to be alive and a little agitated, but more than anything else, happy to be out for a walk in the deep night air with a gorgeous moon. Hopping along, we came across a bunch of teens loitering in a schools front yard and a police van telling them to disperse and we walked on, exchanging glances. They were obviously doing it wrong. Mulling in the shadows instead of out beneath the street lights on your way to get some tasty ice cream and smokes and then hop back home to finish the night off with a few beers and your friend.
They were doing it wrong and it was funny and in my happiness and joy with the night and my pal and the prospect of ice cream, I shouted to them so, with a few more curse words and some gestures, but simply poking fun at how they choose to spend their time when they could be walking to get ice cream instead of haunting a schools front lawn. They shouted back and I shouted back, because there's so much more to life than trying to intimidate people all of the time. There's friendship, and the moon, and ice cream, and cigarettes, and the fun a Saturday unperturbed by anyone who dares believe they can rain on my happy day with a friend I haven't seen in far too long. Who cares if a couple of happy travelers don't clutch their purses or speak in hushed voices as they pass you by. You're a bunch of kids on a schools closed front lawn trying to intimidate and strike fear into the "mean streets of Pittsburgh" from the shadows. Ooga booga! It was hilarious.
Those boys took it the wrong way and decided to follow and encircle us. "All of this happiness must be stomped out!" is what I think they said collectively. I had no desire to fight. Those roads are way behind me and ice cream was ahead of me and the police were just up the block a moment ago. I do not live in a world where I will trade ice cream for police questioning. Ever! I figured there'd be some yelling and shoving and they'd go on their merry and moody and belligerent way after pushing us around and we'd continue on ours and get those evening treats and continue our happy Saturday. It wasn't to be. I was hit from a blind angle right in the left corner of my jawbone just beneath my ear and dropped like a bag of rocks for a few seconds. My friend, struck too, was lucky enough to get hit from a direction his head was more or less facing and did not suffer more than cosmetic damage in a black eye and a cut or two.
I didn't realize the discomfort I felt the following day was far more than a bruise on my cheek until the day after when the pain got worse and worse until I couldn't chew anything, much less open my mouth. I guess those boys won. My happiness silenced by a fractured jaw bone and quite possibly broken molars inside the bone itself (hoping that's not the case, but we'll know in another week or two or if the violence of them being forcefully shifted a few millimeters out of their homes has caused inflammation that will take some time to heal [or if infection is underway as we write *cue doom music*]).
I keep thinking through that fateful stretch of night. I keep asking myself why the hell would they do that? Keep telling myself it was entirely uncalled for. I know why I was sucker punched. Their fear. That moment when my friend was hit and they thought "now or never because if this other larger guy wasn't going to put up a fight before he just may A: decide to put up a fight now, B: shout or call for help, C: both a and b." I keep wondering why they didn't just yell back and go their separate way. There was no chance they considered he and I, a couple of drunk 30 year old men out on a walk together, to be a threat to them. Why would they do that? Why would they attack us so viciously?
And then it dawned on me. Thinking back 12 years. How righteously furious I was then for dozens of reasons, some complex some as simple as I wanted an excuse to pass on the hurt inside of me to anyone who gave me an excuse to. Ready to fight anyone and any inanimate object that didn't "respect" me no matter how pointless or stupid. I didn't want to rob you. I wanted to hurt you as badly as I could get away with. Year after year after year, getting more angry, more sensitive, more irrational, but always questioning it, breaking it apart, tearing down the engine, trying to figure out what the hell it was making this bomb of my body go tick tick tick. I still haven't figured it out exactly.
Through years of study, years of violence toward others sometimes warranted, often times not, culminating in things I will never be able to take back, I left those courses behind me. Thirty years old all I care about is writing, getting home in one piece, spending time with my cats, seeing my friends when I can, and taking care of the only body I have left until my brain breaks apart or my body just will not run anymore. I could care less who respects me and who doesn't. I could care less who breaks my jaw and who decides to be merciful. Save for a handful of very specific, very important, exceptions, if I ever get so mad that the only language I can speak is the original dialect, violence itself, I will speak through breaking my own skin and nerves, not someone else's. The simpler truth is that for most of those kids, they will never learn or even begin to learn how to learn that things could be different. Some of them will end up dead. Others will circle their private drains until their live's dwindle and die out.
Those idiots aren't there yet. It was stupid of me to believe a 12 year gap in understanding what a good night with a friend really is, and what it can mean in the face of a world, in the face of my world once dominated by violence. They didn't silence my happiness. If worst comes to worst and I can never quite use my jaw the way I could before that night again, I have always wanted to learn sign language.
Do I hate them for it? Of course. Would I like to find one of them, knock him senseless, wrap him duct tape and put him in the bed of my truck and take him home? Would I like to duct tape his arm to a sheet of plywood after gagging him with #0 steel wool and use my belt sander grind away the first knuckle of each digit of his immobilized hand and then shatter the wrist of his other? Would I like to drive down river and dump his body at a drainage gate? Of course. That would achieve nothing. I'd be happy for a while until the next week when the pain set in again and I would need to find another one and that life is not for me as long as I continue to refuse it and allow the rest of myself to flourish. Maybe they'll learn. Maybe a few of them will think about and ask themselves essential questions.
Happiness and love are precious and not to be squandered under all but the most extreme circumstances. Especially not in this world's economy.
///=sigh= I could really go for a slice of pizza right about now. I'll melt some ice cream instead.
The first week of a liquid diet and I'm down 17 pounds. I'm not fat, but I always feel fat, so it's helping my body image issues a great deal, oddly enough. I keep thinking over the evening last Saturday. After a great pow-wow with a buddy and his friend who had to leave a little earlier we decided to head out and grab some ice cream and, I was thinking, a pack of smokes on the side for me, happy to be alive and a little agitated, but more than anything else, happy to be out for a walk in the deep night air with a gorgeous moon. Hopping along, we came across a bunch of teens loitering in a schools front yard and a police van telling them to disperse and we walked on, exchanging glances. They were obviously doing it wrong. Mulling in the shadows instead of out beneath the street lights on your way to get some tasty ice cream and smokes and then hop back home to finish the night off with a few beers and your friend.
They were doing it wrong and it was funny and in my happiness and joy with the night and my pal and the prospect of ice cream, I shouted to them so, with a few more curse words and some gestures, but simply poking fun at how they choose to spend their time when they could be walking to get ice cream instead of haunting a schools front lawn. They shouted back and I shouted back, because there's so much more to life than trying to intimidate people all of the time. There's friendship, and the moon, and ice cream, and cigarettes, and the fun a Saturday unperturbed by anyone who dares believe they can rain on my happy day with a friend I haven't seen in far too long. Who cares if a couple of happy travelers don't clutch their purses or speak in hushed voices as they pass you by. You're a bunch of kids on a schools closed front lawn trying to intimidate and strike fear into the "mean streets of Pittsburgh" from the shadows. Ooga booga! It was hilarious.
Those boys took it the wrong way and decided to follow and encircle us. "All of this happiness must be stomped out!" is what I think they said collectively. I had no desire to fight. Those roads are way behind me and ice cream was ahead of me and the police were just up the block a moment ago. I do not live in a world where I will trade ice cream for police questioning. Ever! I figured there'd be some yelling and shoving and they'd go on their merry and moody and belligerent way after pushing us around and we'd continue on ours and get those evening treats and continue our happy Saturday. It wasn't to be. I was hit from a blind angle right in the left corner of my jawbone just beneath my ear and dropped like a bag of rocks for a few seconds. My friend, struck too, was lucky enough to get hit from a direction his head was more or less facing and did not suffer more than cosmetic damage in a black eye and a cut or two.
I didn't realize the discomfort I felt the following day was far more than a bruise on my cheek until the day after when the pain got worse and worse until I couldn't chew anything, much less open my mouth. I guess those boys won. My happiness silenced by a fractured jaw bone and quite possibly broken molars inside the bone itself (hoping that's not the case, but we'll know in another week or two or if the violence of them being forcefully shifted a few millimeters out of their homes has caused inflammation that will take some time to heal [or if infection is underway as we write *cue doom music*]).
I keep thinking through that fateful stretch of night. I keep asking myself why the hell would they do that? Keep telling myself it was entirely uncalled for. I know why I was sucker punched. Their fear. That moment when my friend was hit and they thought "now or never because if this other larger guy wasn't going to put up a fight before he just may A: decide to put up a fight now, B: shout or call for help, C: both a and b." I keep wondering why they didn't just yell back and go their separate way. There was no chance they considered he and I, a couple of drunk 30 year old men out on a walk together, to be a threat to them. Why would they do that? Why would they attack us so viciously?
And then it dawned on me. Thinking back 12 years. How righteously furious I was then for dozens of reasons, some complex some as simple as I wanted an excuse to pass on the hurt inside of me to anyone who gave me an excuse to. Ready to fight anyone and any inanimate object that didn't "respect" me no matter how pointless or stupid. I didn't want to rob you. I wanted to hurt you as badly as I could get away with. Year after year after year, getting more angry, more sensitive, more irrational, but always questioning it, breaking it apart, tearing down the engine, trying to figure out what the hell it was making this bomb of my body go tick tick tick. I still haven't figured it out exactly.
Through years of study, years of violence toward others sometimes warranted, often times not, culminating in things I will never be able to take back, I left those courses behind me. Thirty years old all I care about is writing, getting home in one piece, spending time with my cats, seeing my friends when I can, and taking care of the only body I have left until my brain breaks apart or my body just will not run anymore. I could care less who respects me and who doesn't. I could care less who breaks my jaw and who decides to be merciful. Save for a handful of very specific, very important, exceptions, if I ever get so mad that the only language I can speak is the original dialect, violence itself, I will speak through breaking my own skin and nerves, not someone else's. The simpler truth is that for most of those kids, they will never learn or even begin to learn how to learn that things could be different. Some of them will end up dead. Others will circle their private drains until their live's dwindle and die out.
Those idiots aren't there yet. It was stupid of me to believe a 12 year gap in understanding what a good night with a friend really is, and what it can mean in the face of a world, in the face of my world once dominated by violence. They didn't silence my happiness. If worst comes to worst and I can never quite use my jaw the way I could before that night again, I have always wanted to learn sign language.
Do I hate them for it? Of course. Would I like to find one of them, knock him senseless, wrap him duct tape and put him in the bed of my truck and take him home? Would I like to duct tape his arm to a sheet of plywood after gagging him with #0 steel wool and use my belt sander grind away the first knuckle of each digit of his immobilized hand and then shatter the wrist of his other? Would I like to drive down river and dump his body at a drainage gate? Of course. That would achieve nothing. I'd be happy for a while until the next week when the pain set in again and I would need to find another one and that life is not for me as long as I continue to refuse it and allow the rest of myself to flourish. Maybe they'll learn. Maybe a few of them will think about and ask themselves essential questions.
Happiness and love are precious and not to be squandered under all but the most extreme circumstances. Especially not in this world's economy.
///=sigh= I could really go for a slice of pizza right about now. I'll melt some ice cream instead.
4/18/13
A Definition for Addiction
Searching for a definition of addiction, I came to an impasse.
If you think about it every day, are you addicted?
If you think about it sometimes, maybe once a week, are you addicted?
If you run into your dealer and have an exceptionally awkward conversation, are you addicted?
Does it really matter what it is that you're talking about?
If you run into the son of a bitch that sold you crack at the dollar store are you less for not having talked to him while you were buying cereal?
I don't know what the rules are. I don't pretend to.
Sometimes, however, I do wonder though. It's not a matter of being clean or dirty or anything along those lines. It's just a matter of defining what is.
Are you addicted to television? Are you addicted to the thrill of the mainline, no matter what is? The surprise of what you get versus what you paid for? Are you addicted to the cliffhanger of a t.v. show? Are you addicted to crossing words with people? Are you addicted to waking up? Are you addicted to waking up fuzzy? Are you addicted to waking up next to another body? Are you addicted to waking up to a body, live or not?
I dunno. Spending a few days thinking about addiction and definition and words, and most importantly, trying not to try to mimic voice sounds from other people while they're in earshot. that's all. a life without definition is no life at all, right? said a wise someone to a soon to be wise soandso. Right?
///Ellie Goulding - "Only You" This one goes out to you McCourghty. I miss you. I hope you're not dead. Haven't seen you around in a long ass time, but whatever. For what it's worth, you were a project to find and a handful to corral and I had an easier time keeping a glass of water in my hand sans glass than it was to keep track of you. I feel awful cuz I still can't spell your last name right. Anyway. Miss you, bro. Thanks for everything.
If you think about it every day, are you addicted?
If you think about it sometimes, maybe once a week, are you addicted?
If you run into your dealer and have an exceptionally awkward conversation, are you addicted?
Does it really matter what it is that you're talking about?
If you run into the son of a bitch that sold you crack at the dollar store are you less for not having talked to him while you were buying cereal?
I don't know what the rules are. I don't pretend to.
Sometimes, however, I do wonder though. It's not a matter of being clean or dirty or anything along those lines. It's just a matter of defining what is.
Are you addicted to television? Are you addicted to the thrill of the mainline, no matter what is? The surprise of what you get versus what you paid for? Are you addicted to the cliffhanger of a t.v. show? Are you addicted to crossing words with people? Are you addicted to waking up? Are you addicted to waking up fuzzy? Are you addicted to waking up next to another body? Are you addicted to waking up to a body, live or not?
I dunno. Spending a few days thinking about addiction and definition and words, and most importantly, trying not to try to mimic voice sounds from other people while they're in earshot. that's all. a life without definition is no life at all, right? said a wise someone to a soon to be wise soandso. Right?
///Ellie Goulding - "Only You" This one goes out to you McCourghty. I miss you. I hope you're not dead. Haven't seen you around in a long ass time, but whatever. For what it's worth, you were a project to find and a handful to corral and I had an easier time keeping a glass of water in my hand sans glass than it was to keep track of you. I feel awful cuz I still can't spell your last name right. Anyway. Miss you, bro. Thanks for everything.
12/17/11
Low Lighter
I've been mulling craft over. Disappointed in the body so far. I try to grade myself week to week. Did I nail it? Did I glance it? Did I make something I can stand behind? The answers are easy in a lot of fields. Harder in writing. One thing I miss about college was workshops. Sure, half the people there are only there because they need to have creative arts credits or just needed something to add to their schedule they could coast through. That's the major difference between writers and other people. At least at that level.
The classes are only as hard as you make them. Writers make them some of the hardest classes they've ever taken. Other people don't. Humanities and social studies is like that. How deep do you want to drive into the subject matter? The same goes for many of the other largely subjective classes offered at university.
I've been asked more than once and probably too many times how a person, or how I, know that I am or they are a writer. The answer can be answered fairly simply in many different ways using very simple, and also very personal, tests. I am not saying the answer to the question is simple. It's always complicated, but can be simplified in terms of the writing being done. One of the tests, I believe, is the level of dissatisfaction with "good enough." Not the good enough that tells you that item A or B is amusing or digestible to other people, but the good enough that hits the points and edges, lines and graphs, of the things you want to map. If that lack of good enough directs you to work harder than you are a writer. If that lack of personal good enough draws you to an "oh well, I tried" sort of answer than you are probably not a writer, but did manage to put words together into a coherent string. I dunno. It's tough. Goes without saying at this point.
I haven't been disappointed with the effort as much as the second effort. I usually relied on working with criticisms to see where things were failing and where things work better. Part of learning how to write is learning how to simulate workshops within yourself. Time consuming stuff. What I have been doing is working on very short time scales. Hours instead of days and weeks and months. The pressure works well at sharpening the blade or at least keeping it sharp, but does not do enough, for me, to make progress. So I'm working on a new idea, an old one, but new to the times, on a new channel. A low line.
I've been riding the high line for a very long time and the problem is it does not leave enough time for gestation and things get excessively hit and miss and I'm not happy with that. I have to give myself time to step away and look at it again and punch it right in the craw until it's disfigured and see how I can make it better and then do it better and then look at it again. Give things time to precipitate. I haven't given myself that time partly because I over estimated what I can do (arrogance), but also because running back over what you've done is rarely pleasant. It's not fun or enjoyable to see how badly you put something together and that's a lack of discipline.
So a second Auralport is coming at a much lower line. It's not going to be about cranking out and pushing forward as much as it will be trying to put one gem together in a week. We're going dual channel. A thing for every place and a place for everything. Or something like that. Just trying to satisfy the urge to put pen to paper and make it something worth seeing just once. I want desperately to be better at it, but all I've got is me, so we're gonna figure this shit out and make something ill.
///Bowery Electric - "Freedom Fighter" ... cue dreams.
The classes are only as hard as you make them. Writers make them some of the hardest classes they've ever taken. Other people don't. Humanities and social studies is like that. How deep do you want to drive into the subject matter? The same goes for many of the other largely subjective classes offered at university.
I've been asked more than once and probably too many times how a person, or how I, know that I am or they are a writer. The answer can be answered fairly simply in many different ways using very simple, and also very personal, tests. I am not saying the answer to the question is simple. It's always complicated, but can be simplified in terms of the writing being done. One of the tests, I believe, is the level of dissatisfaction with "good enough." Not the good enough that tells you that item A or B is amusing or digestible to other people, but the good enough that hits the points and edges, lines and graphs, of the things you want to map. If that lack of good enough directs you to work harder than you are a writer. If that lack of personal good enough draws you to an "oh well, I tried" sort of answer than you are probably not a writer, but did manage to put words together into a coherent string. I dunno. It's tough. Goes without saying at this point.
I haven't been disappointed with the effort as much as the second effort. I usually relied on working with criticisms to see where things were failing and where things work better. Part of learning how to write is learning how to simulate workshops within yourself. Time consuming stuff. What I have been doing is working on very short time scales. Hours instead of days and weeks and months. The pressure works well at sharpening the blade or at least keeping it sharp, but does not do enough, for me, to make progress. So I'm working on a new idea, an old one, but new to the times, on a new channel. A low line.
I've been riding the high line for a very long time and the problem is it does not leave enough time for gestation and things get excessively hit and miss and I'm not happy with that. I have to give myself time to step away and look at it again and punch it right in the craw until it's disfigured and see how I can make it better and then do it better and then look at it again. Give things time to precipitate. I haven't given myself that time partly because I over estimated what I can do (arrogance), but also because running back over what you've done is rarely pleasant. It's not fun or enjoyable to see how badly you put something together and that's a lack of discipline.
So a second Auralport is coming at a much lower line. It's not going to be about cranking out and pushing forward as much as it will be trying to put one gem together in a week. We're going dual channel. A thing for every place and a place for everything. Or something like that. Just trying to satisfy the urge to put pen to paper and make it something worth seeing just once. I want desperately to be better at it, but all I've got is me, so we're gonna figure this shit out and make something ill.
///Bowery Electric - "Freedom Fighter" ... cue dreams.
12/7/11
Moving Pictures
I have been dodging, though I hope artfully. I have been fairly thick into writing as I should be. I had a bad spate of poetry that was sexual frustration pure and simple. It never got resolved but like the urge to work out or smoke it went away with time so I could get back to imagination. It's still there on the back burner crisping up into something unrecognizable, but it's a thing I can at least be okay with.
Had a major identity crisis. Not really a crisis as much as a realization that there is no way I can use somebody or let somebody use me again. Even if it is a mutual causation, a mutual understanding of the fact of the reduction of the human being to object. Basically I came to the understanding that shifting my expectations of what fucking is backward to the level of what someone else understands it to be, successful or not, is a failure on my part. It gets to the point where trying to meet someone halfway, because they don't believe knives should be involved and pretending you think that is okay with you when you are on the hunt for someone at least as open and screwed in the head case as you and also homosexual and who will not turn pale when you describe your dream date, becomes an effort to use someone to fulfill, by most standards, bad fantasies. And I'm a user of many things, but I will never use a human being. Hell, I would never use an animal for that matter.
I don't care two licks for most classes of emotions just because I don't feel many of them as they relate to relationships and friendships fairly often unless they fall into my pretty obscure and unrecognized code of ethics and procedure, but I do care for the idea of the preservation of happiness. I think that should be the governing principle in life. If everyone did everything they possibly could every day to disappoint the least amount of people... who am I kidding. That would be a terrible policy. On an individual level, an isolated level, it works, but scale it up and you don't have to go far before it produces stinging and awful results.
The point is I have been dodging you. At first I was dodging you because I had nothing to show. Then I had something to show, but I was so long away I was ashamed to return. And then I had something to show and was ashamed and then on top of that I was gone so long I felt what I had to show did not justify the length of the absence. And it went around and around and around until I came to be here to face the music, my own music, an orchestration I gestured on my own, all the while missing you and the me that could still make sentences. The worst is over, again. Missed out on health insurance. Not by my own lack of action. I was excluded because of how the time line fell into place. So I don't have to worry about meds in the short term. Which means I do have to worry. It's aggravating. Disparaging? Is that even the right word? No it is not. Disappointing. Anti-soothed.
I did put together a pair of stories. It was difficult. They were souping up and I ended up forcing both endings because I ran out of time. The problem was that the stories still had a few thousand words to go before they reached reasonable clipping points where they would sew themselves up nicely and I jumped the gun. Not an honest mistake. Just a regular mistake, but sometimes being able to move on to other things is a good thing. It's not like I can't go back and reopen the sutures, dig my fingers back in, and get the knife out. That's the best thing about having them out there in the bin. And they're not complete still births. Some things worked well and part of the work is learning what works and then using the structure and pieces later on to make other things better. Same thing with poetry. Anyway. Rearranging some things to get more out of myself without pushing too far over the line and shutting down.
Take care. I'll try to. I've been thinking of what I actually use facebook for. I think at this point my wall is basically an art space. Just one big ball of expression. An interactive art piece of sorts. I think I'm happy with that. I don't really use it for connecting with people. I don't think people use it for connecting with me. Maybe they do. Maybe it's pretty much as close as some people should get. I think I am okay with that too, most of the time, as anger management and interpersonal relations are not exactly fortes these days. Those social skills keep eroding because I hardly use them. Partly my own fault. Circling the camps. Every time I go in I'm reminded of why I shouldn't be there. So I'll keep balling up art.
Later on.
///Tricky - "Excess" I believe in people being.
Had a major identity crisis. Not really a crisis as much as a realization that there is no way I can use somebody or let somebody use me again. Even if it is a mutual causation, a mutual understanding of the fact of the reduction of the human being to object. Basically I came to the understanding that shifting my expectations of what fucking is backward to the level of what someone else understands it to be, successful or not, is a failure on my part. It gets to the point where trying to meet someone halfway, because they don't believe knives should be involved and pretending you think that is okay with you when you are on the hunt for someone at least as open and screwed in the head case as you and also homosexual and who will not turn pale when you describe your dream date, becomes an effort to use someone to fulfill, by most standards, bad fantasies. And I'm a user of many things, but I will never use a human being. Hell, I would never use an animal for that matter.
I don't care two licks for most classes of emotions just because I don't feel many of them as they relate to relationships and friendships fairly often unless they fall into my pretty obscure and unrecognized code of ethics and procedure, but I do care for the idea of the preservation of happiness. I think that should be the governing principle in life. If everyone did everything they possibly could every day to disappoint the least amount of people... who am I kidding. That would be a terrible policy. On an individual level, an isolated level, it works, but scale it up and you don't have to go far before it produces stinging and awful results.
The point is I have been dodging you. At first I was dodging you because I had nothing to show. Then I had something to show, but I was so long away I was ashamed to return. And then I had something to show and was ashamed and then on top of that I was gone so long I felt what I had to show did not justify the length of the absence. And it went around and around and around until I came to be here to face the music, my own music, an orchestration I gestured on my own, all the while missing you and the me that could still make sentences. The worst is over, again. Missed out on health insurance. Not by my own lack of action. I was excluded because of how the time line fell into place. So I don't have to worry about meds in the short term. Which means I do have to worry. It's aggravating. Disparaging? Is that even the right word? No it is not. Disappointing. Anti-soothed.
I did put together a pair of stories. It was difficult. They were souping up and I ended up forcing both endings because I ran out of time. The problem was that the stories still had a few thousand words to go before they reached reasonable clipping points where they would sew themselves up nicely and I jumped the gun. Not an honest mistake. Just a regular mistake, but sometimes being able to move on to other things is a good thing. It's not like I can't go back and reopen the sutures, dig my fingers back in, and get the knife out. That's the best thing about having them out there in the bin. And they're not complete still births. Some things worked well and part of the work is learning what works and then using the structure and pieces later on to make other things better. Same thing with poetry. Anyway. Rearranging some things to get more out of myself without pushing too far over the line and shutting down.
Take care. I'll try to. I've been thinking of what I actually use facebook for. I think at this point my wall is basically an art space. Just one big ball of expression. An interactive art piece of sorts. I think I'm happy with that. I don't really use it for connecting with people. I don't think people use it for connecting with me. Maybe they do. Maybe it's pretty much as close as some people should get. I think I am okay with that too, most of the time, as anger management and interpersonal relations are not exactly fortes these days. Those social skills keep eroding because I hardly use them. Partly my own fault. Circling the camps. Every time I go in I'm reminded of why I shouldn't be there. So I'll keep balling up art.
Later on.
///Tricky - "Excess" I believe in people being.
8/21/08
the big 101 (p2)
Subject : the big 101 part 2
Posted Date: : Aug 21, 2008 9:00 AM
achievements... teh greatest hits of all time, so check it...
cut down part of a forty foot tall tree.
drank a thirty pack in one night.
drank a forty in less than ten minutes.
crowned take down champ on high school wrestling team, once.
wrote a seven page paper in two hours, got an A.
got a perfect score on final paper in highschool.
smoked half a pack in three hours.
beat off 9 times in one day.
slept for 22 hours.
dead lifted 315 pounds.
got published 4 times.
won 3rd place in mlk writing contest with poem about dr. king being racist.
had a love story published.
stayed awake for more than fifty hours.
finished a three hundred cig tub of tobacco.
wrote more than 220 poems.
almost finished a 400 page story.
beat super mario 2 in one sitting.
ate an entire can of spam in less than five minutes.
ran a mile in five minutes twenty one seconds.
did 75 push ups at once.
doggy paddled the length of a pool once.
accumulated over 100 gigs of porn.
read the bible cover to cover.
drew a 12 issue run of a 20 page original comic book.
jumped through the cieling twice.
sigh what else...
you know what, these achievements suck. just listing them makes me wanna say, well what the hell have you done that actually mattered? and the answer for now i guess is nothing. thats depressing. this was supposed to be a super happy time... but i guess ive just been down pretty much 24/7 for the past five days. its difficult to find meaning in the daily commercial inundated crap fest. its like trying to walk around in a shit storm with a clean cup of tea. every sip gets worse than last.
then again maybe im just being too hard on everyone and everything. maybe these are pretty awesome things... at least in the right context. the right context can make anything awesome. kind of.
whatever
phat ass track list coming, eventually.
do a shot for me. make it a double.
Posted Date: : Aug 21, 2008 9:00 AM
achievements... teh greatest hits of all time, so check it...
cut down part of a forty foot tall tree.
drank a thirty pack in one night.
drank a forty in less than ten minutes.
crowned take down champ on high school wrestling team, once.
wrote a seven page paper in two hours, got an A.
got a perfect score on final paper in highschool.
smoked half a pack in three hours.
beat off 9 times in one day.
slept for 22 hours.
dead lifted 315 pounds.
got published 4 times.
won 3rd place in mlk writing contest with poem about dr. king being racist.
had a love story published.
stayed awake for more than fifty hours.
finished a three hundred cig tub of tobacco.
wrote more than 220 poems.
almost finished a 400 page story.
beat super mario 2 in one sitting.
ate an entire can of spam in less than five minutes.
ran a mile in five minutes twenty one seconds.
did 75 push ups at once.
doggy paddled the length of a pool once.
accumulated over 100 gigs of porn.
read the bible cover to cover.
drew a 12 issue run of a 20 page original comic book.
jumped through the cieling twice.
sigh what else...
you know what, these achievements suck. just listing them makes me wanna say, well what the hell have you done that actually mattered? and the answer for now i guess is nothing. thats depressing. this was supposed to be a super happy time... but i guess ive just been down pretty much 24/7 for the past five days. its difficult to find meaning in the daily commercial inundated crap fest. its like trying to walk around in a shit storm with a clean cup of tea. every sip gets worse than last.
then again maybe im just being too hard on everyone and everything. maybe these are pretty awesome things... at least in the right context. the right context can make anything awesome. kind of.
whatever
phat ass track list coming, eventually.
do a shot for me. make it a double.
7/28/08
its all SHIT
first of all... this has nothing to do with the graphic novel. second of all... i dont hate post modernism. third of all... the term post modernism has been severely abused. fourthly... why did i have to born into the post modern world?
good job paul auster. youve written a novel that is ambiguous enough to generate 8 million interpretations and garnish all kinds of praise and at the same time be uncategorized or unable to be categorized. the only surprising part? oh wait there is nothing surprising.
it cant be categorized: is it detective fiction? is it meta-fiction? is it poorly written? is it masterfully written to appear poorly written? do you have to be high minded to get it? are you an idiot for thinking its pointless? is the meaning hidden? or is the meaning just not there? does it challenge conventions? ignore them? or create new ones? is it a study of authorship? is it tongue in cheek? hmmm... finding yourself unable to answer any of those questions definitively? well clearly the only thing to do is say its so good you would have to be (insert negative categorical descriptor) to want to put it in a box... cuz thats how people who are not in touch with the post modern era must think. to resist it is to resist the asking of questions. and thats what post modernism does right? it asks questions? or does it challenge conventions? no it does that too, right? or does it explore humanistic themes? yeah, sure it does, right? or does it do all of those things? well, it would have to, because post modern things do that. to be post modern you have to question what isness is, right? or is it that to be post modern you have to ask questions without answers? or is it that you have to question the questions to be post modern?
the praise: everyone from professors to students to "regular people" (?) to scholar/model/athletes to the people who say what is and isn't worth praising have all (or at least a lot of them) come to the conclusion that this book is the shiznite. But is it really? So we've established that the book asks a lot of questions both directly and indirectly. check. and thats the end of the checklist. so from the morass of questions we come to conclusions. these conclusions are that its: supremely thought provoking, amazing and unexpected, convention defying, food for the brain, breathes new life into fiction, a pointless exercise in fiction, lays bare the framework of fiction, achieves new awareness, and so on and so forth. so what? anyone can ask a million questions of anything or anyone. children can be thought provoking in their stupidity. defying conventions can and does lead to incoherence. the framework of fiction can be explored in other ways. and on and on we could go. but of course at the same time we could go on and on in a positive way too. we could say the novel exposes the fear that drives convention. we could say the novel edifies through questioning. we could say the novel makes the reader aware of what they once took for granted. so duality == praise worthy. dividing the audience along fundamental lines == praise worthy. or is it that challenging what is traditionally praise worthy == praise worthy? or is it that post modernism == praise worthy? or (it follows) that generating thousands of miles of analytical and argumentative mileage (fodder for critics, prize judges, scholars) == praise worthy to the people that count == praise worthy for everyone else who wants to be counted as a person that counts in a world that is governed by the post modern measuring rod? or is that even enough removes to capture what's going on? or is it praise worthy because it can draw questions like that out of us? does that make it "the shit"? last question here: is it really all that surprising that it has drawn praise? not really. >_< 8 million interpretations: do i really need to describe them? really? well im not going to. just take my word for it... theyre there. see above. read the back cover. combine with post modern definition (wiki it if you have trouble just taking the known definition and flipping it inside out) of reality/individualism/perception/language/whateverelseyouwanttobetickledorfrustratedorchallengedabout. shake vigorously. consume as quickly as possible. vomit it all up. stir for ten minutes. then interpret. therell be no right answer to what you see. youll feel bad for not caring after doing so much work. and then youll feel bad for feeling bad at all. and then youll feel good that you noticed that you felt bad about feeling bad. and then youll feel smart because you recognized that the good feeling was a response to the convention of feeling bad which was a rejection of the initial convention of feeling bad which was a response to the rorschach blob and the convention of seeking meaning. and then youll feel like post modernism is so intriguing because, by feeling smart and recognizing that the good feeling was a response to the bad was a response to the bad was a response to conventions, you've raised yourself to an awareness you didn't have before. from that day forward youll see everything and question everything and becoming a contributing member of post modern society by creating new interpretations of everything. congratulations. give yourself an award, a fellowship, quit your day job, go on a signing tour, shake the right hands, and retire to an edgy artistically rich community, but no so edgy that you have to be near the lesser hands that keep societies wheels greased, and not too rich either, because you have to be post modern now which means you have to raise questions about what wealth is, and you cant do that by obeying conventions. or is it that by obeying conventions your really challenging the convention of challenging conventions? if you're feeling really good about it, kill yourself and leave your wealth to someone undeserving of anything positive, or better yet, leave it to a foundation that will confer it upon later generations of post modernists to forever seal your legacy and legend that the world never really understood your work to begin with. god damn i am sick of that word. post modernism is a garbage catch all. cant describe it? must be post modern. doesnt fit in its category? must be post modern. different from what came before? must be post modern. unconvetional? no, post modern. raises lots of questions? duh, post modern. muddles boundaries? one word. post-modern-ism. questions the questions? post modern. questions the question's questioning the answers to questions that questioned other questions? post modern. seriously: "?" might as well equal post modern. and what do you think comes after post modernism? post post modernism? questioning the structure of questioning? does the tide really have to swing: formalism > rebellion > anarchy > new formalism> next rebellion > new anarchy? who the fuck can seriously care in the current climate of near unreality?
if you care then you have to question why you care, right? its really getting out of hand. or is it?
i dont hate post modernism as a thing. it was inevitable as a thing. of late it has been horribly abused in its implications, diluted in its meaning, and misused as a metric. just because something can raise questions does not make it praise worthy or a masterfully concocted introspection. just because something can be interpreted 12 different ways does not make it a masterpiece. just because something can dissect forms and fudge boundaries does not make it justified.
but at the end of today, if it means winning fellowships, putting food on my plate, gaining fame and fortune, and retiring a fat bastard carried on the backs of the wheel greasers, guess what kind of writing im going to do? the kind that puts money in my hand, thats what kind. fuck you paul. I couldve written that book.
good job paul auster. youve written a novel that is ambiguous enough to generate 8 million interpretations and garnish all kinds of praise and at the same time be uncategorized or unable to be categorized. the only surprising part? oh wait there is nothing surprising.
it cant be categorized: is it detective fiction? is it meta-fiction? is it poorly written? is it masterfully written to appear poorly written? do you have to be high minded to get it? are you an idiot for thinking its pointless? is the meaning hidden? or is the meaning just not there? does it challenge conventions? ignore them? or create new ones? is it a study of authorship? is it tongue in cheek? hmmm... finding yourself unable to answer any of those questions definitively? well clearly the only thing to do is say its so good you would have to be (insert negative categorical descriptor) to want to put it in a box... cuz thats how people who are not in touch with the post modern era must think. to resist it is to resist the asking of questions. and thats what post modernism does right? it asks questions? or does it challenge conventions? no it does that too, right? or does it explore humanistic themes? yeah, sure it does, right? or does it do all of those things? well, it would have to, because post modern things do that. to be post modern you have to question what isness is, right? or is it that to be post modern you have to ask questions without answers? or is it that you have to question the questions to be post modern?
the praise: everyone from professors to students to "regular people" (?) to scholar/model/athletes to the people who say what is and isn't worth praising have all (or at least a lot of them) come to the conclusion that this book is the shiznite. But is it really? So we've established that the book asks a lot of questions both directly and indirectly. check. and thats the end of the checklist. so from the morass of questions we come to conclusions. these conclusions are that its: supremely thought provoking, amazing and unexpected, convention defying, food for the brain, breathes new life into fiction, a pointless exercise in fiction, lays bare the framework of fiction, achieves new awareness, and so on and so forth. so what? anyone can ask a million questions of anything or anyone. children can be thought provoking in their stupidity. defying conventions can and does lead to incoherence. the framework of fiction can be explored in other ways. and on and on we could go. but of course at the same time we could go on and on in a positive way too. we could say the novel exposes the fear that drives convention. we could say the novel edifies through questioning. we could say the novel makes the reader aware of what they once took for granted. so duality == praise worthy. dividing the audience along fundamental lines == praise worthy. or is it that challenging what is traditionally praise worthy == praise worthy? or is it that post modernism == praise worthy? or (it follows) that generating thousands of miles of analytical and argumentative mileage (fodder for critics, prize judges, scholars) == praise worthy to the people that count == praise worthy for everyone else who wants to be counted as a person that counts in a world that is governed by the post modern measuring rod? or is that even enough removes to capture what's going on? or is it praise worthy because it can draw questions like that out of us? does that make it "the shit"? last question here: is it really all that surprising that it has drawn praise? not really. >_< 8 million interpretations: do i really need to describe them? really? well im not going to. just take my word for it... theyre there. see above. read the back cover. combine with post modern definition (wiki it if you have trouble just taking the known definition and flipping it inside out) of reality/individualism/perception/language/whateverelseyouwanttobetickledorfrustratedorchallengedabout. shake vigorously. consume as quickly as possible. vomit it all up. stir for ten minutes. then interpret. therell be no right answer to what you see. youll feel bad for not caring after doing so much work. and then youll feel bad for feeling bad at all. and then youll feel good that you noticed that you felt bad about feeling bad. and then youll feel smart because you recognized that the good feeling was a response to the convention of feeling bad which was a rejection of the initial convention of feeling bad which was a response to the rorschach blob and the convention of seeking meaning. and then youll feel like post modernism is so intriguing because, by feeling smart and recognizing that the good feeling was a response to the bad was a response to the bad was a response to conventions, you've raised yourself to an awareness you didn't have before. from that day forward youll see everything and question everything and becoming a contributing member of post modern society by creating new interpretations of everything. congratulations. give yourself an award, a fellowship, quit your day job, go on a signing tour, shake the right hands, and retire to an edgy artistically rich community, but no so edgy that you have to be near the lesser hands that keep societies wheels greased, and not too rich either, because you have to be post modern now which means you have to raise questions about what wealth is, and you cant do that by obeying conventions. or is it that by obeying conventions your really challenging the convention of challenging conventions? if you're feeling really good about it, kill yourself and leave your wealth to someone undeserving of anything positive, or better yet, leave it to a foundation that will confer it upon later generations of post modernists to forever seal your legacy and legend that the world never really understood your work to begin with. god damn i am sick of that word. post modernism is a garbage catch all. cant describe it? must be post modern. doesnt fit in its category? must be post modern. different from what came before? must be post modern. unconvetional? no, post modern. raises lots of questions? duh, post modern. muddles boundaries? one word. post-modern-ism. questions the questions? post modern. questions the question's questioning the answers to questions that questioned other questions? post modern. seriously: "?" might as well equal post modern. and what do you think comes after post modernism? post post modernism? questioning the structure of questioning? does the tide really have to swing: formalism > rebellion > anarchy > new formalism> next rebellion > new anarchy? who the fuck can seriously care in the current climate of near unreality?
if you care then you have to question why you care, right? its really getting out of hand. or is it?
i dont hate post modernism as a thing. it was inevitable as a thing. of late it has been horribly abused in its implications, diluted in its meaning, and misused as a metric. just because something can raise questions does not make it praise worthy or a masterfully concocted introspection. just because something can be interpreted 12 different ways does not make it a masterpiece. just because something can dissect forms and fudge boundaries does not make it justified.
but at the end of today, if it means winning fellowships, putting food on my plate, gaining fame and fortune, and retiring a fat bastard carried on the backs of the wheel greasers, guess what kind of writing im going to do? the kind that puts money in my hand, thats what kind. fuck you paul. I couldve written that book.
7/20/08
notes to self 07/20/08
Subject : notes to self
Posted Date: : Jul 20, 2008 7:48 PM
things not to forget in this late hour:
the arts are still largely the realm of the landed gentry... for those with the liesure time (read ain't gotta work all day everyday for a penny to pay their landlords & lenders) to indulge in the creative work it takes to become successful in a lasting impactful way. of course there are exceptions. classism in america is built on accentuating those exceptions so everyone can feel better about their meddling and dabbling. sure some people work at it for years and make it but they are the mutha f kin minority.
the problem with starting from a now state is that all the reference to the past is lost at the blocks. so retreading, albeit in grand and eye popping fashion to some, is still a retread for the ones that were there before the now. should that matter to the starter? probably not. it might be harder to find fresh ground to break. it might take longer. it might never happen. but then again a lot of things might never happen. so let the critics place the position where ever it may fall and keep walking.
being put in a box. to be feared? flaunted? or simply ignored? should a person be worried that the work they are doing is like the work someone else halfway around the globe is doing and that when held up to the general standard, if there is one (i think there has to be), they might get lumped in with people that are not as great as they think they should be considered? i mean, is c.d. wright an elliptical poet? should someone care if they're considered part of a "school" of thought and action or be concerned when they are left free floating and unaffiliated by anyone to any greater human art project? well, it shouldn't make the project any less worthwhile. but maybe it does...
the problem with education in creative writing is that its taught through emulation. if you don't succeed at emulation you must be failing at understanding where the art has come from. i dont like that. historical orientation should not be the function of- there has to be a better way to learn forms. i agree that you cant break rules till you learn them, but god damn it. for fucks sake.
carnegie mellon was recently praised for its "strict disciplinary structure" that somehow, through the magic of perspective and self righteous justification, unites the woefully disparate schools. i dont agree with that. im an example of what inflexible disciplinary structures can do to anyone who doesnt fit the prototypical student mold. you fail. at all classes. despite your knowledge, despite your growth, despite your ability to demonstrate said knowledge, synthesize your own ideas from said knowledge, and create new ones of your own design, its all for nothing because you missed four classes out of the entire semester. its all for nothing because you changed majors and none of the units transferred. its all for nothing because you had to work a part time job to support yourself and it cut in to your ability to produce a paper that regurgitated information from another paper that had nothing to do with your final project (which you subsequently aced) anyway. f l ustration.
take more notes. i lost two ideas today that held promise because i didnt write them down. thats two things i could have added to my co activated knowledge that now leads to dead end neurons.
get more sleep. lack of sleep is where it all starts... you dont want to be back on pills, do you? no. i dont.
Posted Date: : Jul 20, 2008 7:48 PM
things not to forget in this late hour:
the arts are still largely the realm of the landed gentry... for those with the liesure time (read ain't gotta work all day everyday for a penny to pay their landlords & lenders) to indulge in the creative work it takes to become successful in a lasting impactful way. of course there are exceptions. classism in america is built on accentuating those exceptions so everyone can feel better about their meddling and dabbling. sure some people work at it for years and make it but they are the mutha f kin minority.
the problem with starting from a now state is that all the reference to the past is lost at the blocks. so retreading, albeit in grand and eye popping fashion to some, is still a retread for the ones that were there before the now. should that matter to the starter? probably not. it might be harder to find fresh ground to break. it might take longer. it might never happen. but then again a lot of things might never happen. so let the critics place the position where ever it may fall and keep walking.
being put in a box. to be feared? flaunted? or simply ignored? should a person be worried that the work they are doing is like the work someone else halfway around the globe is doing and that when held up to the general standard, if there is one (i think there has to be), they might get lumped in with people that are not as great as they think they should be considered? i mean, is c.d. wright an elliptical poet? should someone care if they're considered part of a "school" of thought and action or be concerned when they are left free floating and unaffiliated by anyone to any greater human art project? well, it shouldn't make the project any less worthwhile. but maybe it does...
the problem with education in creative writing is that its taught through emulation. if you don't succeed at emulation you must be failing at understanding where the art has come from. i dont like that. historical orientation should not be the function of- there has to be a better way to learn forms. i agree that you cant break rules till you learn them, but god damn it. for fucks sake.
carnegie mellon was recently praised for its "strict disciplinary structure" that somehow, through the magic of perspective and self righteous justification, unites the woefully disparate schools. i dont agree with that. im an example of what inflexible disciplinary structures can do to anyone who doesnt fit the prototypical student mold. you fail. at all classes. despite your knowledge, despite your growth, despite your ability to demonstrate said knowledge, synthesize your own ideas from said knowledge, and create new ones of your own design, its all for nothing because you missed four classes out of the entire semester. its all for nothing because you changed majors and none of the units transferred. its all for nothing because you had to work a part time job to support yourself and it cut in to your ability to produce a paper that regurgitated information from another paper that had nothing to do with your final project (which you subsequently aced) anyway. f l ustration.
take more notes. i lost two ideas today that held promise because i didnt write them down. thats two things i could have added to my co activated knowledge that now leads to dead end neurons.
get more sleep. lack of sleep is where it all starts... you dont want to be back on pills, do you? no. i dont.
7/17/08
sunrise? maybe 07/17/08
Subject : sunrise? maybe
Posted Date: : Jul 17, 2008 3:56 AM
I've been thinking about this entry for quite some time. Not this entry, the one before it. Well the one before and also this one since this entry has everything to do with what came before, in most respects.
I'm not going to degrade the concept of perfect and true happiness. Well actually just in saying that I believe everyone can recognize that there is a difference between perfect happiness and true happiness: the former stemming largely from circumstances and the latter being born exclusively from within the self. What I want to point up is that you are right. Life is not about scrounging for happiness or at least it shouldn't be.
Human's are meant to adapt to their circumstances. Adaptations don't occur in a vacuum. Stimulus is imposed on the static situation of existence and adaptation happens. What happens when the stimulus occurs is what we read as happiness, sadness, pain, insecurity, etc. What we do in respsone, how we adapt is what causes us to change, to remain happy, to lift our spirits, to alleviate pain, to frustrate insecurity etc. No person is static. If they are static then they are in affect dead within... a virtual non-person (as far as im concerned). We are always performing to either maintain our emotional levels against stimulus or to change them.
Life is not /about/ scrounging for happiness. it is about survival over varying spans of time. survival through unremitting waves of stimulus and change. stimulus that may last a moment or that may last decades. change that is destructive or constructive. sometimes it's easier to survive... sometimes it's more difficult.
the sunset moment can be easy for some to survive because it can generate happiness and contentment. but it is also a very short spanning moment. perfect happiness is easy to accept and live in and live through. but to be truly happy in such a short spanning moment one would have to be able to adapt to the stimulus of the coming night... or fall into the possible depression that nightfall may precipitate with the loss of perfect circumstantial happiness.
happiness should not be exogenously determined, but when it is it can be easier to feel true happiness. when life's stimuli are definitively negative it takes a strong sense of self to generate truthful and positive responses to adapt to them.
take me for example. not looking for any pity here, but just for examples sake consider the following:
my stimuli in life are (but are not limited to):
75k of loan debt-
joblessness-
a healthy relationship+
some self esteem+
horrible wardrobe-
satisfying location (chicago)+
hobbies+
and the list goes on. these stimuli act with varying strength over varying spans of time. debt is hugely negative and will haunt me for decades. self esteem is a little positive and comes and goes. i live in a nice city everyday. my interest in hobbies comes and goes. my clothing sucks and i have to face that everyday. and there are other things that come and go for varying spans of time... things like sunsets, a particularyly enjoyable commute to school, a nice long vacation, a visit home, a stubbed toe, a reprimand from a professor that lingers on the mind, etc. All of these things are acting on me from the outside and it is up to me to produce countervailing forces or complimentary forces from within myself to survive the ebb and flow over varying time spans.
so its (in my opinion) correct to say that life isnt about scrounging for happiness, but scrounging for happiness within one's self is a necessary part of human survival and maintenance of the self. if that makes any sense at all.
///mum - "weeping rock" probably the best track on their album summer make good. granted the whole album is a departure from the dream states of their previous work... and that sucks cuz their old stuff was damn good... but i cant fault them for change. who wants to here the same shit 90 times in a row. who even plays songs 90 times these days?
Posted Date: : Jul 17, 2008 3:56 AM
I've been thinking about this entry for quite some time. Not this entry, the one before it. Well the one before and also this one since this entry has everything to do with what came before, in most respects.
I'm not going to degrade the concept of perfect and true happiness. Well actually just in saying that I believe everyone can recognize that there is a difference between perfect happiness and true happiness: the former stemming largely from circumstances and the latter being born exclusively from within the self. What I want to point up is that you are right. Life is not about scrounging for happiness or at least it shouldn't be.
Human's are meant to adapt to their circumstances. Adaptations don't occur in a vacuum. Stimulus is imposed on the static situation of existence and adaptation happens. What happens when the stimulus occurs is what we read as happiness, sadness, pain, insecurity, etc. What we do in respsone, how we adapt is what causes us to change, to remain happy, to lift our spirits, to alleviate pain, to frustrate insecurity etc. No person is static. If they are static then they are in affect dead within... a virtual non-person (as far as im concerned). We are always performing to either maintain our emotional levels against stimulus or to change them.
Life is not /about/ scrounging for happiness. it is about survival over varying spans of time. survival through unremitting waves of stimulus and change. stimulus that may last a moment or that may last decades. change that is destructive or constructive. sometimes it's easier to survive... sometimes it's more difficult.
the sunset moment can be easy for some to survive because it can generate happiness and contentment. but it is also a very short spanning moment. perfect happiness is easy to accept and live in and live through. but to be truly happy in such a short spanning moment one would have to be able to adapt to the stimulus of the coming night... or fall into the possible depression that nightfall may precipitate with the loss of perfect circumstantial happiness.
happiness should not be exogenously determined, but when it is it can be easier to feel true happiness. when life's stimuli are definitively negative it takes a strong sense of self to generate truthful and positive responses to adapt to them.
take me for example. not looking for any pity here, but just for examples sake consider the following:
my stimuli in life are (but are not limited to):
75k of loan debt-
joblessness-
a healthy relationship+
some self esteem+
horrible wardrobe-
satisfying location (chicago)+
hobbies+
and the list goes on. these stimuli act with varying strength over varying spans of time. debt is hugely negative and will haunt me for decades. self esteem is a little positive and comes and goes. i live in a nice city everyday. my interest in hobbies comes and goes. my clothing sucks and i have to face that everyday. and there are other things that come and go for varying spans of time... things like sunsets, a particularyly enjoyable commute to school, a nice long vacation, a visit home, a stubbed toe, a reprimand from a professor that lingers on the mind, etc. All of these things are acting on me from the outside and it is up to me to produce countervailing forces or complimentary forces from within myself to survive the ebb and flow over varying time spans.
so its (in my opinion) correct to say that life isnt about scrounging for happiness, but scrounging for happiness within one's self is a necessary part of human survival and maintenance of the self. if that makes any sense at all.
///mum - "weeping rock" probably the best track on their album summer make good. granted the whole album is a departure from the dream states of their previous work... and that sucks cuz their old stuff was damn good... but i cant fault them for change. who wants to here the same shit 90 times in a row. who even plays songs 90 times these days?
11/15/07
even jesus had mental problems 11/15/07
Subject : even jesus had mental problems
Posted Date: : Nov 15, 2007 7:47 PM
i mean, come on. with the amount of pressure he was under he would have had to have something coming loose in his all knowing brain. maybe he was ocd. maybe he could only put on his sandals at the same exact time or he would have to spin around five times and do a sommersault backwards before he could attept it again. maybe he was a cutter. maybe he was a total jerk to himself in private. he obviously heard voices... i mean, seriously... was he a fucked up dude with a lot of charisma, or wasn't he?
i know i am kind of screwed up in the head and i also know i have some charisma, but that doesnt make me jesus. that makes me committed again. i got 301'd for the second time in my life. not fun. i was in the lock up for about 9 days, maybe 10 if you count the day they held me in the lobby for observation. it sucked. they take away your clothes, they strip search you, they take away everything of value to you and leave you with nothing but a pair of socks, a frock, and if you're lucky, pants. i had to wait three days for a pair of pants. everytime i go to the mental clink i learn something new about myself though. it was a trip i'd been running from and putting off for quite some time, but now that i've been through it again i can see that from the outset it was bound to happen and should have happend sooner. the last thing i want is to be branded "a threat to the community at large" again.
so what now.... new meds... new outlook... new job hours... new everything. if only life was easy to reset all the time. i've also decided im going to take a year off between bachelors and masters degrees just so that i can bask in having no homework and nothing academic to crack my head open for a while. itll be nice to focus on studying for gre's, learning a language, and planning my eventual escape to spain. thats right. spain. i plan on leaving this country for spain forever because im tired of it hear. i am totally serious. i am so serious i would not bet against myself. i will sware on my mother's eventual grave. thats how serious i am. i am serious sam. and i love spain even though ive never been. i honestly dont feel tied to this country at all. bleh. ah well.
thats it for now. ive explained my absence yet again... one of the themes of my life... and so im out, again. but ill be back to write some more. probably about the quality of life in spain and the general mulletry witnessed there by my girlfriend. also maybe some commentary promoting the mulleted life style in general. it obviously cant be all bad if an entire population of a city does it. right? HAHAHHA wrong jerk face. but seriously. more of that to come.
///the flaming lips - "the W.A.N.D." a tune i discovered in my library after owning it forever. I think i must have acquired it almost two years ago and just never listened to it till i heard it on an HP inspiron commercial. which is embarassing... or funny... i dunno. when you think of yourself as something of a musical afficionado things like that scratch your back in the wrong way, but the end result is a good feeling so you can't complain too much without sounding like a douche. k. bye.
Posted Date: : Nov 15, 2007 7:47 PM
i mean, come on. with the amount of pressure he was under he would have had to have something coming loose in his all knowing brain. maybe he was ocd. maybe he could only put on his sandals at the same exact time or he would have to spin around five times and do a sommersault backwards before he could attept it again. maybe he was a cutter. maybe he was a total jerk to himself in private. he obviously heard voices... i mean, seriously... was he a fucked up dude with a lot of charisma, or wasn't he?
i know i am kind of screwed up in the head and i also know i have some charisma, but that doesnt make me jesus. that makes me committed again. i got 301'd for the second time in my life. not fun. i was in the lock up for about 9 days, maybe 10 if you count the day they held me in the lobby for observation. it sucked. they take away your clothes, they strip search you, they take away everything of value to you and leave you with nothing but a pair of socks, a frock, and if you're lucky, pants. i had to wait three days for a pair of pants. everytime i go to the mental clink i learn something new about myself though. it was a trip i'd been running from and putting off for quite some time, but now that i've been through it again i can see that from the outset it was bound to happen and should have happend sooner. the last thing i want is to be branded "a threat to the community at large" again.
so what now.... new meds... new outlook... new job hours... new everything. if only life was easy to reset all the time. i've also decided im going to take a year off between bachelors and masters degrees just so that i can bask in having no homework and nothing academic to crack my head open for a while. itll be nice to focus on studying for gre's, learning a language, and planning my eventual escape to spain. thats right. spain. i plan on leaving this country for spain forever because im tired of it hear. i am totally serious. i am so serious i would not bet against myself. i will sware on my mother's eventual grave. thats how serious i am. i am serious sam. and i love spain even though ive never been. i honestly dont feel tied to this country at all. bleh. ah well.
thats it for now. ive explained my absence yet again... one of the themes of my life... and so im out, again. but ill be back to write some more. probably about the quality of life in spain and the general mulletry witnessed there by my girlfriend. also maybe some commentary promoting the mulleted life style in general. it obviously cant be all bad if an entire population of a city does it. right? HAHAHHA wrong jerk face. but seriously. more of that to come.
///the flaming lips - "the W.A.N.D." a tune i discovered in my library after owning it forever. I think i must have acquired it almost two years ago and just never listened to it till i heard it on an HP inspiron commercial. which is embarassing... or funny... i dunno. when you think of yourself as something of a musical afficionado things like that scratch your back in the wrong way, but the end result is a good feeling so you can't complain too much without sounding like a douche. k. bye.
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.
5/29/07
zoetrope 05/29/07
Subject : zoetrope
Posted Date: : May 29, 2007 11:53 PM
here we are again. writing to you from my cave. i realized i enjoyed living in caves a while back. i built myself a den instead of a loft. it was great. i had a mattress that was bigger than a queen size. and christmas lights. everythings better with christmas lights. and fireflies.
so im a little docile. i ate a couple of mouthfulls of robitussin to help me sleep. so i can wake up rested you know. i was gonna go jog today but i ended up walking around in my flip flops for half an hour instead. im really looking forward to sleeping so early. its only 1am. the good thing about having so much energy during the day is that it feels so satisfying when its all gone.
what is not satisfying is that my paycheck is going to be delayed by about two weeks on top of the two week waiting period. im too tired to cuss and spit about it so i wont. i am really bushed. i miss sex. and smoking cigarettes.
i saw some children playing today. riding tricycles as hard as they could. i thought about how hard i tried to grow up so fast and i felt something stab through me that was probably regret. could've been disgust. or envy. but if i had to lay money on the table i would put my chips on 22 black. everything is wasted on everyone. whatever happend to contented living. its the one thing i think im going to really take away with me this summer. few things feel better than watching the sunlight slide down the window pane after work with the moon grasping for its tails.
i watched the first stars pop out tonight. they felt warm.
///boards of canada - "zoetrope" a song featuring all the shifty mixed feelings starlight can induce. but also a song that pulses and thins like sun streaks from an aperture that catches too much light... like dreaming at 3.33 in the afternoon.
Posted Date: : May 29, 2007 11:53 PM
here we are again. writing to you from my cave. i realized i enjoyed living in caves a while back. i built myself a den instead of a loft. it was great. i had a mattress that was bigger than a queen size. and christmas lights. everythings better with christmas lights. and fireflies.
so im a little docile. i ate a couple of mouthfulls of robitussin to help me sleep. so i can wake up rested you know. i was gonna go jog today but i ended up walking around in my flip flops for half an hour instead. im really looking forward to sleeping so early. its only 1am. the good thing about having so much energy during the day is that it feels so satisfying when its all gone.
what is not satisfying is that my paycheck is going to be delayed by about two weeks on top of the two week waiting period. im too tired to cuss and spit about it so i wont. i am really bushed. i miss sex. and smoking cigarettes.
i saw some children playing today. riding tricycles as hard as they could. i thought about how hard i tried to grow up so fast and i felt something stab through me that was probably regret. could've been disgust. or envy. but if i had to lay money on the table i would put my chips on 22 black. everything is wasted on everyone. whatever happend to contented living. its the one thing i think im going to really take away with me this summer. few things feel better than watching the sunlight slide down the window pane after work with the moon grasping for its tails.
i watched the first stars pop out tonight. they felt warm.
///boards of canada - "zoetrope" a song featuring all the shifty mixed feelings starlight can induce. but also a song that pulses and thins like sun streaks from an aperture that catches too much light... like dreaming at 3.33 in the afternoon.
5/27/07
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.
3/11/07
starside 03/11/07
Subject : starside
Posted Date: : Mar 11, 2007 4:04 PM
heading out to the maryland colony to visit my little sister and make some cash.
the only thing that makes riding the greyhound interesting is just thinking about it as a space shuttle. a really crappy, really square, really smelly, but moderately inexpensive, space shuttle, and you are the intrepid... uhm... business man being sent out to the stars to double check some standards and regulations issue for your company that didnt have the loose change to send you first class. now thats interesting. like that jetsons movie.
so here's the plan. disembark monday morning. cut down some trees. chill out.... play some games... maybe watch a movie.... eat... sleep... and repeat until friday afternoon.
embarassing moment of the week: i had so much trouble having an orgasm today that i ended up masterbating from around 4 am till like 7.30. either i really suck at masterbating or something is wrong. i probably just need to give the nerve endings a break.
happy/sad moment of the week: anne's spiraling success. its getting out of control. the only way for things to continue at this pace is if she just started finding thousand dollar bills laying around on the sidewalk. its happy because she's worked hard and is already getting to see some benefits... but its also sad... because im not seeing any returns on my efforts yet... and probably wont for another year. ah well. i can wait. im a patient person. and if it takes too long i can at least learn how to cheat the game a little from watching it so long from the sidelines. hopefully cheating wont end up meaning acquiring a drug problem.
funny moment of the week: i was typing some drunken text messages and i dont know how many of them even got sent... but the thing was that i've been missing anne while shes in florida and at the time i was typing the messages i couldnt think of the words i was trying to say. i knew how i felt but there was a tangle of non responsive brain matter between feelings and typing fingertips. so i eventually just admitted i couldnt find the words... and for some reason i felt ashamed. but god damn it, did i try. there are six or seven saved messages that look like a two year old got their hands on refrigerator magnet letters and spilled the box... on a jigsaw puzzle.
///meat beat manifesto - "what does it all mean" a pretty cool song to listen to when youre gettin 'r done. you know moves are never fake. society is a drag so why not drop it?
Posted Date: : Mar 11, 2007 4:04 PM
heading out to the maryland colony to visit my little sister and make some cash.
the only thing that makes riding the greyhound interesting is just thinking about it as a space shuttle. a really crappy, really square, really smelly, but moderately inexpensive, space shuttle, and you are the intrepid... uhm... business man being sent out to the stars to double check some standards and regulations issue for your company that didnt have the loose change to send you first class. now thats interesting. like that jetsons movie.
so here's the plan. disembark monday morning. cut down some trees. chill out.... play some games... maybe watch a movie.... eat... sleep... and repeat until friday afternoon.
embarassing moment of the week: i had so much trouble having an orgasm today that i ended up masterbating from around 4 am till like 7.30. either i really suck at masterbating or something is wrong. i probably just need to give the nerve endings a break.
happy/sad moment of the week: anne's spiraling success. its getting out of control. the only way for things to continue at this pace is if she just started finding thousand dollar bills laying around on the sidewalk. its happy because she's worked hard and is already getting to see some benefits... but its also sad... because im not seeing any returns on my efforts yet... and probably wont for another year. ah well. i can wait. im a patient person. and if it takes too long i can at least learn how to cheat the game a little from watching it so long from the sidelines. hopefully cheating wont end up meaning acquiring a drug problem.
funny moment of the week: i was typing some drunken text messages and i dont know how many of them even got sent... but the thing was that i've been missing anne while shes in florida and at the time i was typing the messages i couldnt think of the words i was trying to say. i knew how i felt but there was a tangle of non responsive brain matter between feelings and typing fingertips. so i eventually just admitted i couldnt find the words... and for some reason i felt ashamed. but god damn it, did i try. there are six or seven saved messages that look like a two year old got their hands on refrigerator magnet letters and spilled the box... on a jigsaw puzzle.
///meat beat manifesto - "what does it all mean" a pretty cool song to listen to when youre gettin 'r done. you know moves are never fake. society is a drag so why not drop it?
1/24/07
time to play... 01/24/07
Subject : time to play name that mental disorder
Posted Date: : Jan 24, 2007 8:15 AM
"characterized by delusions (of persecution or grandeur or jealousy); symptoms may include anger and anxiety and aloofness and doubts about gender identity; patients are usually presentable and may function in an apparently normal manner. can also suffer from hallucinations, thought disorder, poor social functioning, disordered perception, retreat from reality, regressive behavior, and flattened emotions."
that sums me up almost too perfectly. big surprise. sometimes i love being unmedicated... sometimes i dont.
Posted Date: : Jan 24, 2007 8:15 AM
"characterized by delusions (of persecution or grandeur or jealousy); symptoms may include anger and anxiety and aloofness and doubts about gender identity; patients are usually presentable and may function in an apparently normal manner. can also suffer from hallucinations, thought disorder, poor social functioning, disordered perception, retreat from reality, regressive behavior, and flattened emotions."
that sums me up almost too perfectly. big surprise. sometimes i love being unmedicated... sometimes i dont.
1/22/07
email anxiety 01/22/07
Subject : email anxiety
Posted Date: : Jan 22, 2007 5:18 PM
email anxiety has kept me from going anywhere near textual interfaces on the web. i know there are a million emails there. i know they are unread. i know many of them have absolutely nothing to do with me... but i dread seeing them. i hate thinking about them building up like ticks on my in box. can you imagine what a dog absolutely covered in ticks looks like? i fucking can and its disgusting. absolutely disgusting. i would rather just throw the dog in a furnace than go to the trouble of de-ticking it into a big bloody but somehow tick free mess. plus my inbox hates me. nothing good ever turns up there. just a whole lot of imperatives.
so thats where ive been. ive essentially been hiding from the internet. but ive buckled down and took it on the chin like a champ and bought a new dog to replace the old one. mass deletion isn't a bad thing. chances are good most of the stuff wouldnt even be relevant since most people i know send emails about things they want or need within a day or two. its the rare email thats even worth archiving if you ask me. ill never understand those people that keep every single email ever. that's just scary. and inefficient. im gonna go eat cake now and temporarily vegitate.
Posted Date: : Jan 22, 2007 5:18 PM
email anxiety has kept me from going anywhere near textual interfaces on the web. i know there are a million emails there. i know they are unread. i know many of them have absolutely nothing to do with me... but i dread seeing them. i hate thinking about them building up like ticks on my in box. can you imagine what a dog absolutely covered in ticks looks like? i fucking can and its disgusting. absolutely disgusting. i would rather just throw the dog in a furnace than go to the trouble of de-ticking it into a big bloody but somehow tick free mess. plus my inbox hates me. nothing good ever turns up there. just a whole lot of imperatives.
so thats where ive been. ive essentially been hiding from the internet. but ive buckled down and took it on the chin like a champ and bought a new dog to replace the old one. mass deletion isn't a bad thing. chances are good most of the stuff wouldnt even be relevant since most people i know send emails about things they want or need within a day or two. its the rare email thats even worth archiving if you ask me. ill never understand those people that keep every single email ever. that's just scary. and inefficient. im gonna go eat cake now and temporarily vegitate.
12/26/06
home for the hole days 12/26/06
Subject : home for the hole days
Posted Date: : Dec 26, 2006 10:18 AM
thats what they are really. they are days that represent holes; holes in your otherwise "busy" life, holes in your pay checks, holes in your souring days, holes in your routine, just lots and lots of holes. its not all bad.
sometimes its nice to crawl into a hole for a while and watch the world whirl by. im glad that this has been the least superficial christmas ive had the pleasure of living through. we didnt pretend to be super rich. we didnt pretend to have big dreams for big gifts. we didnt make dumb ass christmas lists. and we didnt have to sit through a sermon delivered by my overly pious and ultra conservative father. we just had some time to sit in a hole just big enough for the six of us in my family (mommy daddy sister brother me and sister) and enjoy the close company. its been good.
i like to think im gonna write another book of poetry someday. i want to call it "from the bottom of my well" because i dont have enough perspective to pretend i write for the "everyman." my life as it stands right now is sitting at the bottom of a 60 foot well. every now and then i manage to pull some bricks out and stack them up under me; i get a little closer to daylight, but the trick has been keeping the whole thing from collapsing. the funny thing is that until i get out the clouds over head, the shaft of sunlight, could be anything from a hurricane to a sunrise and im too closed up to know the difference.
im planning on going to new york for new years, but it wont happen. i can feel it already. im just going to go home to pittsburgh. im feelin home sick anyway. its an odd place to feel homesick for three different locations at the same time. hopefully my eventual graduation from college will fix that.
speaking of growing up. i thought i would do so while i was at home. i thought i would be able to say "yeah pop i smoke now and then" or "yes i drink in the afternoon, sometimes a beer goes well with lunch (or breakfast depending on what day it is)," but i didnt. there are a couple of things i fear in this world and one of them is my father's disgust. that's why i dont show him writing. that's why i dont talk about my real life when he's around or even in ear shot. that's why i still have to hide who i am from him. maybe when i can fully support my own god damn weight ill finally be able to tell him that this is what im made of. maybe not.
four more days and it wont matter again because ill be on the greyhound with a fresh pack and limitless potential. or at least potential that can rise to the threshold of possessing a bachelor's degree, cuz i still dont have one yet. << its thoughts like that... they make me angry that everyone will be getting on with their lives come may. angry... but also... heart broken.
Posted Date: : Dec 26, 2006 10:18 AM
thats what they are really. they are days that represent holes; holes in your otherwise "busy" life, holes in your pay checks, holes in your souring days, holes in your routine, just lots and lots of holes. its not all bad.
sometimes its nice to crawl into a hole for a while and watch the world whirl by. im glad that this has been the least superficial christmas ive had the pleasure of living through. we didnt pretend to be super rich. we didnt pretend to have big dreams for big gifts. we didnt make dumb ass christmas lists. and we didnt have to sit through a sermon delivered by my overly pious and ultra conservative father. we just had some time to sit in a hole just big enough for the six of us in my family (mommy daddy sister brother me and sister) and enjoy the close company. its been good.
i like to think im gonna write another book of poetry someday. i want to call it "from the bottom of my well" because i dont have enough perspective to pretend i write for the "everyman." my life as it stands right now is sitting at the bottom of a 60 foot well. every now and then i manage to pull some bricks out and stack them up under me; i get a little closer to daylight, but the trick has been keeping the whole thing from collapsing. the funny thing is that until i get out the clouds over head, the shaft of sunlight, could be anything from a hurricane to a sunrise and im too closed up to know the difference.
im planning on going to new york for new years, but it wont happen. i can feel it already. im just going to go home to pittsburgh. im feelin home sick anyway. its an odd place to feel homesick for three different locations at the same time. hopefully my eventual graduation from college will fix that.
speaking of growing up. i thought i would do so while i was at home. i thought i would be able to say "yeah pop i smoke now and then" or "yes i drink in the afternoon, sometimes a beer goes well with lunch (or breakfast depending on what day it is)," but i didnt. there are a couple of things i fear in this world and one of them is my father's disgust. that's why i dont show him writing. that's why i dont talk about my real life when he's around or even in ear shot. that's why i still have to hide who i am from him. maybe when i can fully support my own god damn weight ill finally be able to tell him that this is what im made of. maybe not.
four more days and it wont matter again because ill be on the greyhound with a fresh pack and limitless potential. or at least potential that can rise to the threshold of possessing a bachelor's degree, cuz i still dont have one yet. << its thoughts like that... they make me angry that everyone will be getting on with their lives come may. angry... but also... heart broken.
11/15/06
moving on 11/15/06
Subject : moving on [also: why omalara will fuck her gardener]
Posted Date: : Nov 15, 2006 8:17 PM
so i think ive moved on. i think ill always vasilate on how much i love her, but i know there is a basic unit of love there, im just not sure of the units numeric value. chalk it up to a last year of college and a first real college relationship.
anyway... moving on from what was [its been nearly a half year process including the two and a half weeks of withdrawal] it recently occured to me on a trip home this past weekend why a girl i knew in high school even spoke to me at all.
omalara. she was carribean, big boobies, nice twists in her hair, nice lines, all that and/or a bag of chips. she never seemed to notice me unless it was a monday. on the bus rides home on mondays she'd give me blow jobs. no not really, but it woulda been awesome if she had. she did chat me up pretty hard until she had to get off the bus. so this one monday i was sitting next to her and i was pissed off because there was still some gasoline in my back pack (i was a lawnmower in the spring to make money) and it stank up my books. The minute i pulled out my texts for my class there she was on the back of my chair saying whats up. i told her about how fuckin pissed i was cuz my shit smelled like gasoline and she just completed threw her arms around me.
she said she loved the smell of gasoline. that explained it all. thats why she only talked to me on mondays after a weekend of riding my bike to gas stations with a gas can in my bag to fill up my little lawn mower. i wish i could have mowed her lawn. that woulda been nice. but anyway. i think that little fact is why she will definitely be one of those people who fucks her gardener. all that fuel in the air... rippling muscles... probably no shirt on... she wont be able to resist. at this point in my life my only chance of ever getting in her pants will probably be to literally mow her lawn. hopefully itll work out nicely.
otherwise ill have to stick to my other plan of attending doctorate parties and picking up phone numbers of soon to be very wealthy and career minded women. that way i can call them up later on in life when im still sprye and they're too burnt out to find a man to ring their bells. call it an investment strategy. i couple of purchase cosmopolitans now may very well equal set-for-life later.
i think im gonna redo my front page too. eventually. its nice to move on. its been a long war.
Posted Date: : Nov 15, 2006 8:17 PM
so i think ive moved on. i think ill always vasilate on how much i love her, but i know there is a basic unit of love there, im just not sure of the units numeric value. chalk it up to a last year of college and a first real college relationship.
anyway... moving on from what was [its been nearly a half year process including the two and a half weeks of withdrawal] it recently occured to me on a trip home this past weekend why a girl i knew in high school even spoke to me at all.
omalara. she was carribean, big boobies, nice twists in her hair, nice lines, all that and/or a bag of chips. she never seemed to notice me unless it was a monday. on the bus rides home on mondays she'd give me blow jobs. no not really, but it woulda been awesome if she had. she did chat me up pretty hard until she had to get off the bus. so this one monday i was sitting next to her and i was pissed off because there was still some gasoline in my back pack (i was a lawnmower in the spring to make money) and it stank up my books. The minute i pulled out my texts for my class there she was on the back of my chair saying whats up. i told her about how fuckin pissed i was cuz my shit smelled like gasoline and she just completed threw her arms around me.
she said she loved the smell of gasoline. that explained it all. thats why she only talked to me on mondays after a weekend of riding my bike to gas stations with a gas can in my bag to fill up my little lawn mower. i wish i could have mowed her lawn. that woulda been nice. but anyway. i think that little fact is why she will definitely be one of those people who fucks her gardener. all that fuel in the air... rippling muscles... probably no shirt on... she wont be able to resist. at this point in my life my only chance of ever getting in her pants will probably be to literally mow her lawn. hopefully itll work out nicely.
otherwise ill have to stick to my other plan of attending doctorate parties and picking up phone numbers of soon to be very wealthy and career minded women. that way i can call them up later on in life when im still sprye and they're too burnt out to find a man to ring their bells. call it an investment strategy. i couple of purchase cosmopolitans now may very well equal set-for-life later.
i think im gonna redo my front page too. eventually. its nice to move on. its been a long war.
7/8/06
facebook no more 07/08/06
Subject : facebook no more and other paranoias
Posted Date: : Jul 8, 2006 3:34 PM
i am a paranoid person. i am a very paranoid person.
in light of the facts that i try to keep no secrets and am racked periodically with undeniably powerful bouts of paranoia and am incessantly talking to myself (the only times im not talking to myself are during sexual activities {including masterbation}, during video games, and while im writing) i have cancelled my facebook.com account.
i hated it for many reasons.... damn it i just paused for a minute and i started talking to myself again. sometimes i wonder where the voices come from to begin with because it says things i wouldnt say... or at least i dont think i would say. but then ... ugh... i just did it again. fuck this.
Posted Date: : Jul 8, 2006 3:34 PM
i am a paranoid person. i am a very paranoid person.
in light of the facts that i try to keep no secrets and am racked periodically with undeniably powerful bouts of paranoia and am incessantly talking to myself (the only times im not talking to myself are during sexual activities {including masterbation}, during video games, and while im writing) i have cancelled my facebook.com account.
i hated it for many reasons.... damn it i just paused for a minute and i started talking to myself again. sometimes i wonder where the voices come from to begin with because it says things i wouldnt say... or at least i dont think i would say. but then ... ugh... i just did it again. fuck this.
6/27/06
bureaucracy... yeah... 06/27/06
Subject : bureaucracy... yeah...
Posted Date: : Jun 27, 2006 8:56 AM
i dont even know if i spelled it right... but anyway... i just wanted to say that it sucks. it sucks horrible horrible prickly donkey balls.
im at work right now and there are 8... count it... EIGHT head honchos on my floor. theyre never up here for any reason (cuz they have to climb stairs to get to the floor i work on) and now there are 8 of them up here. why? well im glad you asked.
theyre installing new microfiche/film readers. well actually they are installing one new microfiche/film reader. why does it take 8 of them to do this??? dont they have better things to do like managing and improving the library catalog system (which fucking sucks dicks) at the university??? there are 8 honchos and 3 technicians.
when we had to shift the entire periodicals collection (literally about two thousand items) to physically make space for new items being added the following year we had all of TWO people working on it. me and some other guy who you wouldn't know anyway. installing one 100 pound machine takes 11 people, but shifting a couple of TONS of materials takes only 2??? they can all go to hell and die. god damn them.
i dont fuckin get it. i guess thats why im just an assistant.
Posted Date: : Jun 27, 2006 8:56 AM
i dont even know if i spelled it right... but anyway... i just wanted to say that it sucks. it sucks horrible horrible prickly donkey balls.
im at work right now and there are 8... count it... EIGHT head honchos on my floor. theyre never up here for any reason (cuz they have to climb stairs to get to the floor i work on) and now there are 8 of them up here. why? well im glad you asked.
theyre installing new microfiche/film readers. well actually they are installing one new microfiche/film reader. why does it take 8 of them to do this??? dont they have better things to do like managing and improving the library catalog system (which fucking sucks dicks) at the university??? there are 8 honchos and 3 technicians.
when we had to shift the entire periodicals collection (literally about two thousand items) to physically make space for new items being added the following year we had all of TWO people working on it. me and some other guy who you wouldn't know anyway. installing one 100 pound machine takes 11 people, but shifting a couple of TONS of materials takes only 2??? they can all go to hell and die. god damn them.
i dont fuckin get it. i guess thats why im just an assistant.
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