I've been trying to chart my work books, but I don't want to see them. At all. Fantastic difficulty. I did the first class and the reminder came up to do the second class and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Part of it is horror. Part of it is blatant stupidity. Part of it is just not wanting to know how much further I am going to have to work to get back to zero.
I just want to put my fist through something. Anything! Not even through, but just break my hand. Null it. But I need my hands, both of them. And I need the ability to ambulate. I need my knees and my elbows and I have to protect them the same way people protect their investments. It breaks my heart sometimes knowing that I can't do what I need to do. It makes me cry a lot. I won't go to "it's not fair" because it's just a fact. I could probably cut a finger off. I think I would save it. Maybe eat it. Cook it somehow like a ham hock. Stew it or something. It's tantalizing and aggravating because I know where the knuckles join and have cut limbs apart before but I don't trust my left hand to operate the scissors on my right hand. Maybe just the pinky.
Gauging my pain threshold. I'm still not sure where it is exactly and I probably shouldn't be losing sleep about it, but I am. I think I get that from my father. How far are you willing to go before you jump to get what you need. Would I have to cauterize it myself? Probably. I don't know why I need to do these things, but I do and its getting more powerful and harder to swallow it down between suggestions. I don't know what that means! It scares me. It's getting harder to pretend to be normal. Normative? Baseline. Nullification. Talked to Martin about that for a while. It was a good conversation.
Relying more and more on emulation and I'm afraid I will be found out. Not about being gay or anything that trivial, but being found out about being a fucking psychopath. I want blood all the time, I don't care how it comes. I need help. I need assistance and I keep saying I can run this car until the wheels fall off, but I've been rolling on brake discs forever. So many years.
It would be easier if I was not aware of the degeneration, but I think a piece of the awareness has lent itself to a belief that I'm making it up and even as I'm speaking I know it sounds contrived. It isn't. It's motor and I know less and less how to change the fucking oil. I don't know what to do about it. I know where to go, but you better believe I'm not going there. Like I need more debt, don't make me laugh. I'll spit ice tea everywhere. I'm not getting interned again! No! I will never put down the ax! If you want it out of my hands you better be fucking prepared to take it from me.
I'm not a gun, but I will put one between your eyes and kiss you while I do it if you think it was going to be that easy. Don't touch me. Do not fucking touch me. Ever. I will break your fingers one by one while I sit on your chest so you don't move too much. Escalation. Take the escalator back down.
I know what's wrong with me, but I need a checkup and I don't know where to get one without the internment trap. I'm not doing that again. We're not doing that again. Just handle it. Just grab your ears and pull up your socks and eat it. Life hasn't been all that bad to me. I'm just tired of having to emulate to squeak by. Doing it by the skin of my teeth and I'm pretty sure some people have started to see through it so I have to work harder at it because the people that I do love I love dearly and want to keep them and want them to keep me to and the last thing that should happen is giving them a reason.
It's tough. Everything worth having is hard. Is a myth. Perpetuated by people who think "difficult" is possession in the material sense or the kid rearing sense. Everything worth having is hard in the interpersonal intrapersonal sense. Having ground you do not need to give inside your skull is worth having. Maintaining relationships with the people you care about and trust is worth having. Put in work, no doubt, but put in secondary work too.
///Amon Tobin - "Back from Space" I wish I could fly, but not just to the atmosphere, to the stars. I want to explore the Oort cloud and be the first man to land on an asteroid and be out there in the zero cold and see the sun without atmospheric interference. I want to see Jupiter up close at all costs and I want to die out there. But I'm stuck here. And have to keep coming back to this fucking planet every time I wake up. Bullshit.
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 fags. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fags. Show all posts
10/21/13
10/17/12
What Makes You Laugh
I was just thinking about unfortunate super powers and I laughed a little bit because of a dream I had. Not a dream, but a day dream while I was riding. I was burning down Center Avenue on my bicycle next to a tanker truck that had the high polished aluminum finish that was so glassed I could see my face and helmet and glasses in it when I glanced to my right. I was going fast enough to pass it, but the light was red so I cruised next to it while we rolled up to the intersection together.
I could of waited, but I was about to pull a right turn at the next light after the stretch of 200 feet, once the next light came up, so I figured (correctly) I would be out of the gate fast enough to beat him there by enough of a long shot and why suck truck exhaust and obstruction when you know what the score already is. Plus, sometimes it's just fun to flirt with disaster when you know the whale couldn't give two blinks for what you want to do, you being so small and flit a fish. They know you know if you knew what was good for you, you'll stay away from their fins and wheels, and I for the most part do. Sometimes I am a reckless jackass, but most of the times, this being one of those times, we both know I'm operating at my own risk and out not to cause trouble and enjoy the sights and speed. At least that's what I think.
It occurred to me, in day dreaming about it, how awesome it would be to see the tanker explode in slow motion, but not have to actually be there physically, yet have my point of view so close and so slowed down to see it happen. And then I wondered if, in real time, I would be able to see the flash or if my eyes would be disintegrated and turned to mist before my brain could know what was going on.
The whole thing made me think, in the few seconds before the light turned green, what an awful super power that would be. The power to make flammable things explode as long as you were close enough to be exploded too. You wouldn't die, but the one drawback, because super powers with no actual drawback besides responsibility makes you a comic book caricature, would be that you always experience the pain of death even though you are immediately reconstituted and the pain stays fresh. Furthermore you experience the compounded pain of everyone else who dies in the blast, directly and indirectly, so that even the people that don't immediately die still channel and communicate their living, burn ward, debilitated, living pain for as long as they live directly into your brain beneath the layers upon which drugs can intervene. So you have to really think about who and what you blow up and when and where, but not necessarily why.
Unfortunate super powers. Like the power to make yourself drunk. Like you can think about a specific BAC and put yourself there instantaneously. Instantaneously. However, you still get to deal with the health repercussions and you still have to figure out ways around hangovers and you still have to live your life. But, you get to be as drunk as you feel like, whenever you feel like, because you can call upon a secret power within yourself to generate alcohol directly into your blood stream from your bones. So, if, for instance, you have painted yourself into a corner and you know you are about to get the ass beating of a lifetime, you can instantly push yourself up to .2 BAC and not feel a thing and then meter yourself when you wake up at a solid .05 and continue to not feel a thing, but still be functional enough to ride a bus to work and do your job and go home. You could, potentially, never be hung over again, but will likely poop out your foam sponge liver by the time you're 40. I don't know, man. Every boring movie would suddenly be interesting. Every bad hookup would be forgettable, because you could have the power to black out instantaneously. It would be one hell of an unfortunate super power.
Speaking of explosions, I got an exploding pound today at the gas station. It was pretty absurd, because it came out of the blue. From a man who was clearly in his sixties. I don't know what that means. I wish I knew why I was attractive to older people. I have no idea. And why, of all things, the explosion pound? Is that what they think we're up to? Because I have no idea what the kids are up to today being the age that I am, I guess I probably would have no idea what the people my age are up to when I will be his age so I guess I will probably fire shots in the dark after the same fashion when I meet people my age when I am his age so I will probably go for some antiquated (but what I consider timeless) dap and talk about long resolved issues and the merits of industrial music, dub step, and the last relevant artist I knew or maybe go on a good fifteen minute rant about Goldie and underground hip hop by people that sold out decades before.
I have no idea why they love me, but I have no misgivings about loving them back. I think we ended up talking for a solid five minutes in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes. When I was walking home I couldn't help snickering a little bit. Still though, it was nice to connect briefly. I've been taking some talking point notes in working this up, mostly because I couldn't sleep, still can't, and didn't want to have to comb through my voice recordings to find the parts I wanted to expound upon.
Which brings to the point that people that fire their cum must have a hard time jerking off on short notice. Not super short notice, but I mean like you just rubbed one out and someone rang your doorbell, but you didn't go get toilet paper because you are almost broke and you're down to your last bit of lotion anyway, and who rings a doorbell at 1 P.M. on Saturday anyway and you're already downstairs opening the door before you realized you spooged four feet away from your computer and your chair is angled in such a way as to avoid spraying your monitor, but is pointed directly into the swatch of sunlight where your cum landed and when your guest comes upstairs to shoot the shit with you it'll be there sparkling like pixie dust on a Pan's head if a Pan's head were floor boards and pixie dust were cum? Did that turn into a question half way through? The next time you feel like less of a man for not having rocket cum, just remember it's a two edged talent. And everything will be okay.
Which is more than I can say about late night commercials. It seems every commercial after ten at night is about talking to people while jerking off, jerking off better, having sex with strangers, having sex with strangers better, buying cars, buying food that is somehow more expensive than it was last year even though it is in principle the same fucking thing it was the year before, buying cars, buying cars that cost the same for less money somehow and letting strangers jerk you off over the phone if you sit on your hand long enough and download the latest application that lets you download the latest application for getting strangers wet in the pants or making you feel less inadequate in your powers to make strangers wet in the pants. That and sleep aids that are non-addictive, and what fun is a drug without the blown relationship of all out love? An excuse, is what that is. Is what that is? Nyeh. Television outside of the hours of ten P.M. and 5 A.M. is garbage anyway, unless it's football. Plus, we all know commercials are lies. Sexy, colorful, somewhat intriguing lies.
Kinda sort of brings me to comics. Comedians. You like to think that maybe if you met them you'd be good friends, but they actually hate you. In real life. Which is in itself a little bit hilarious. They can't stand you. But they're so accessible, aren't they? The trip up is that you get excited and thrilled about the small, obscure, things they don't give two shits about. Where the common ground lies, they find very little joy because the joy in them is in the spaces where differences are most acute. I'm kidding. I'm sure they're nice people in real life if you are a part of the things they don't like. But they don't like so many things. Do they do that on purpose? I suppose this is a bad venue for dissecting comedy. The dissection simply reminds me of when you tell someone that you're going home, and sometimes suffix that comment with "to jerk off" or "to play some video games and then jerk off" and the person you are talking to comes back with some absurd bullshit like "well, I'm going yachting tomorrow so I should probably turn in."
What the fuck is that? Number one: I did not ask you what you were doing tomorrow. Did you decide to throw that in to make me feel worse about what I'm doing for the rest of tonight? That's kind of fucked up. It's not like I'm thrilled to say "yeah, my big plans are pretty much encapsulated in two hours of shame followed by sleeping into Saturday until the NCAA games start and then I'll get up and jerk off some more while half watching them and then go back to bed until the bars open and I can thinly veil a little afternoon sousing in catching late afternoon games." Did you want me to feel bad about myself for not having plans as grand? Because if you wanted me to feel included in your adventures you could have invited yourself over for the yankfest, but that would have been understandably awkward, but at least give me the chance to say so and decline instead of feeling left out of your life altogether, if that's where we're going. Because I mean, I only broached the topic of plans so you would know that I know my plans are not as great as yours, but at least you know that I know I'm not leaving the party because I don't want to be there, it's just because I can't over stay my fucking welcome.
I didn't ask you what you were going to go do, and you didn't ask me either, but I'm rolling over. It's a complement to your party. Why can't you take a complement? And that's why comics will never be your friends. Because you get excited about dumb, irrelevant, shit that is basically the frills and lace on the sides of granny panties to life. Granted, I'm not going to break into your house, duct tape your wrists together behind your back, drive you out to New England in the middle of the night until dawn, haul you out of the trunk in the middle of nowhere, and shove your face into the leaves by the side of a one lane road and scream "this is Fall!!! This is what autumn tastes like!!!" That's just not me. Plus, who has the time to do that these days? I don't. But forgive me if I don't give a !@#$ about the latest tech or music or who's hot on what coast and is performing half price and where. I'm never going to be in that sphere and the people that are also are not particularly fond of folks like me anyway.
And that's what's made me laugh these days.
I could of waited, but I was about to pull a right turn at the next light after the stretch of 200 feet, once the next light came up, so I figured (correctly) I would be out of the gate fast enough to beat him there by enough of a long shot and why suck truck exhaust and obstruction when you know what the score already is. Plus, sometimes it's just fun to flirt with disaster when you know the whale couldn't give two blinks for what you want to do, you being so small and flit a fish. They know you know if you knew what was good for you, you'll stay away from their fins and wheels, and I for the most part do. Sometimes I am a reckless jackass, but most of the times, this being one of those times, we both know I'm operating at my own risk and out not to cause trouble and enjoy the sights and speed. At least that's what I think.
It occurred to me, in day dreaming about it, how awesome it would be to see the tanker explode in slow motion, but not have to actually be there physically, yet have my point of view so close and so slowed down to see it happen. And then I wondered if, in real time, I would be able to see the flash or if my eyes would be disintegrated and turned to mist before my brain could know what was going on.
The whole thing made me think, in the few seconds before the light turned green, what an awful super power that would be. The power to make flammable things explode as long as you were close enough to be exploded too. You wouldn't die, but the one drawback, because super powers with no actual drawback besides responsibility makes you a comic book caricature, would be that you always experience the pain of death even though you are immediately reconstituted and the pain stays fresh. Furthermore you experience the compounded pain of everyone else who dies in the blast, directly and indirectly, so that even the people that don't immediately die still channel and communicate their living, burn ward, debilitated, living pain for as long as they live directly into your brain beneath the layers upon which drugs can intervene. So you have to really think about who and what you blow up and when and where, but not necessarily why.
Unfortunate super powers. Like the power to make yourself drunk. Like you can think about a specific BAC and put yourself there instantaneously. Instantaneously. However, you still get to deal with the health repercussions and you still have to figure out ways around hangovers and you still have to live your life. But, you get to be as drunk as you feel like, whenever you feel like, because you can call upon a secret power within yourself to generate alcohol directly into your blood stream from your bones. So, if, for instance, you have painted yourself into a corner and you know you are about to get the ass beating of a lifetime, you can instantly push yourself up to .2 BAC and not feel a thing and then meter yourself when you wake up at a solid .05 and continue to not feel a thing, but still be functional enough to ride a bus to work and do your job and go home. You could, potentially, never be hung over again, but will likely poop out your foam sponge liver by the time you're 40. I don't know, man. Every boring movie would suddenly be interesting. Every bad hookup would be forgettable, because you could have the power to black out instantaneously. It would be one hell of an unfortunate super power.
Speaking of explosions, I got an exploding pound today at the gas station. It was pretty absurd, because it came out of the blue. From a man who was clearly in his sixties. I don't know what that means. I wish I knew why I was attractive to older people. I have no idea. And why, of all things, the explosion pound? Is that what they think we're up to? Because I have no idea what the kids are up to today being the age that I am, I guess I probably would have no idea what the people my age are up to when I will be his age so I guess I will probably fire shots in the dark after the same fashion when I meet people my age when I am his age so I will probably go for some antiquated (but what I consider timeless) dap and talk about long resolved issues and the merits of industrial music, dub step, and the last relevant artist I knew or maybe go on a good fifteen minute rant about Goldie and underground hip hop by people that sold out decades before.
I have no idea why they love me, but I have no misgivings about loving them back. I think we ended up talking for a solid five minutes in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes. When I was walking home I couldn't help snickering a little bit. Still though, it was nice to connect briefly. I've been taking some talking point notes in working this up, mostly because I couldn't sleep, still can't, and didn't want to have to comb through my voice recordings to find the parts I wanted to expound upon.
Which brings to the point that people that fire their cum must have a hard time jerking off on short notice. Not super short notice, but I mean like you just rubbed one out and someone rang your doorbell, but you didn't go get toilet paper because you are almost broke and you're down to your last bit of lotion anyway, and who rings a doorbell at 1 P.M. on Saturday anyway and you're already downstairs opening the door before you realized you spooged four feet away from your computer and your chair is angled in such a way as to avoid spraying your monitor, but is pointed directly into the swatch of sunlight where your cum landed and when your guest comes upstairs to shoot the shit with you it'll be there sparkling like pixie dust on a Pan's head if a Pan's head were floor boards and pixie dust were cum? Did that turn into a question half way through? The next time you feel like less of a man for not having rocket cum, just remember it's a two edged talent. And everything will be okay.
Which is more than I can say about late night commercials. It seems every commercial after ten at night is about talking to people while jerking off, jerking off better, having sex with strangers, having sex with strangers better, buying cars, buying food that is somehow more expensive than it was last year even though it is in principle the same fucking thing it was the year before, buying cars, buying cars that cost the same for less money somehow and letting strangers jerk you off over the phone if you sit on your hand long enough and download the latest application that lets you download the latest application for getting strangers wet in the pants or making you feel less inadequate in your powers to make strangers wet in the pants. That and sleep aids that are non-addictive, and what fun is a drug without the blown relationship of all out love? An excuse, is what that is. Is what that is? Nyeh. Television outside of the hours of ten P.M. and 5 A.M. is garbage anyway, unless it's football. Plus, we all know commercials are lies. Sexy, colorful, somewhat intriguing lies.
Kinda sort of brings me to comics. Comedians. You like to think that maybe if you met them you'd be good friends, but they actually hate you. In real life. Which is in itself a little bit hilarious. They can't stand you. But they're so accessible, aren't they? The trip up is that you get excited and thrilled about the small, obscure, things they don't give two shits about. Where the common ground lies, they find very little joy because the joy in them is in the spaces where differences are most acute. I'm kidding. I'm sure they're nice people in real life if you are a part of the things they don't like. But they don't like so many things. Do they do that on purpose? I suppose this is a bad venue for dissecting comedy. The dissection simply reminds me of when you tell someone that you're going home, and sometimes suffix that comment with "to jerk off" or "to play some video games and then jerk off" and the person you are talking to comes back with some absurd bullshit like "well, I'm going yachting tomorrow so I should probably turn in."
What the fuck is that? Number one: I did not ask you what you were doing tomorrow. Did you decide to throw that in to make me feel worse about what I'm doing for the rest of tonight? That's kind of fucked up. It's not like I'm thrilled to say "yeah, my big plans are pretty much encapsulated in two hours of shame followed by sleeping into Saturday until the NCAA games start and then I'll get up and jerk off some more while half watching them and then go back to bed until the bars open and I can thinly veil a little afternoon sousing in catching late afternoon games." Did you want me to feel bad about myself for not having plans as grand? Because if you wanted me to feel included in your adventures you could have invited yourself over for the yankfest, but that would have been understandably awkward, but at least give me the chance to say so and decline instead of feeling left out of your life altogether, if that's where we're going. Because I mean, I only broached the topic of plans so you would know that I know my plans are not as great as yours, but at least you know that I know I'm not leaving the party because I don't want to be there, it's just because I can't over stay my fucking welcome.
I didn't ask you what you were going to go do, and you didn't ask me either, but I'm rolling over. It's a complement to your party. Why can't you take a complement? And that's why comics will never be your friends. Because you get excited about dumb, irrelevant, shit that is basically the frills and lace on the sides of granny panties to life. Granted, I'm not going to break into your house, duct tape your wrists together behind your back, drive you out to New England in the middle of the night until dawn, haul you out of the trunk in the middle of nowhere, and shove your face into the leaves by the side of a one lane road and scream "this is Fall!!! This is what autumn tastes like!!!" That's just not me. Plus, who has the time to do that these days? I don't. But forgive me if I don't give a !@#$ about the latest tech or music or who's hot on what coast and is performing half price and where. I'm never going to be in that sphere and the people that are also are not particularly fond of folks like me anyway.
And that's what's made me laugh these days.
7/12/10
Small Victories
Life is like a fire breathing tiger at an Origami swap meet. All you want to do is trade bits of beautiful things with other people and then, descending from on high with no warning comes life, tearing people in half, exploding fire over everything you value, and using your favorite couch as a really big scratching post. I need more hours in my day. The good news is (did you see it yet? Seriously, look around for a second. Did you see it?) I fixed the footer. Yaaay. A small victory three days after the fact, but the point is I did it and it looks way better than it did. More legible, more sexy, more everything. So while the universe burns hotter than a gay man with gonorrhea inside a green house buying last minute flowers for his parents on their anniversary while figuring out how to explain the answering machine message he accidentally left them while high on lsd at a rave, I managed to accomplish something tangible. Bang. One goal down, 9000 to go.
On a completely unrelated note- no that's not true, it's semi-related- on a completely semi-related note, I'm trying to figure out how to master Wordpress. I was browsing some job listings and a few looked mighty tasty, but the job poster demanded a "mastery of Wordpress." That is about as vague a requirement as I have ever seen. That's like those listings that require a "mastery of Mac machines." Do they want me to be able to write applications for Macs or something? Do they want me to able to turn it on and navigate the interface? Or does mastery mean I must have owned one for several years? I bet it means that I have to dress like that guy who used to be in those Mac commercials when Mac was trying to justify their outrageous prices for marginal differences by making everyone who didn't own a Mac feel like they were being total assholes for not having the money to plunk down for one.
What is there to master in Wordpress? I guess I'm missing something, but I'll look around and see what the big deal is. Maybe there's more to it than using the interface that is essentially the same as blogger. Maybe there isn't and it means that I just have to go into the interview with the posture of someone who knows his shit. Or maybe it means I just have to sprinkle in some Wordpress jargon. Its probably the third thing. Pepper there ears with some sugar sweet tech talk. I should purchase some fake glasses too to make my face more approachable. Not that I look like an idiot, but I do look like I should be out in the wilderness firing a 24 inch chainsaw and smoking Marlboros (which is kind of the job I would like to do, but I don't live anywhere near any logging operations).
At any rate, I lost my train of thought. The thought of deforestation gives me boners. Well, just one boner over multiple time frames. Obviously. But, there was something else.
Oh, I got it. Nabbed it. The story site for my fiction is what I'm working on piecing together. Hopefully that'll be up sooner than later. I've got a story to tell you that I think you might like.
///Yeah Yeah Yeahs - "Phenomena" When the White Stripes came out with their album Icky Thump a lot of critics said, "oh my God this is completely and totally awesome," but in my opinion the YYYs nailed a much ickier harder thumping sound the year before with their album; this track being one of my favorites on the whole thing. If the universe ever does catch fire and we're all going to die, I hope they play this song when the curtain comes up.
On a completely unrelated note- no that's not true, it's semi-related- on a completely semi-related note, I'm trying to figure out how to master Wordpress. I was browsing some job listings and a few looked mighty tasty, but the job poster demanded a "mastery of Wordpress." That is about as vague a requirement as I have ever seen. That's like those listings that require a "mastery of Mac machines." Do they want me to be able to write applications for Macs or something? Do they want me to able to turn it on and navigate the interface? Or does mastery mean I must have owned one for several years? I bet it means that I have to dress like that guy who used to be in those Mac commercials when Mac was trying to justify their outrageous prices for marginal differences by making everyone who didn't own a Mac feel like they were being total assholes for not having the money to plunk down for one.
What is there to master in Wordpress? I guess I'm missing something, but I'll look around and see what the big deal is. Maybe there's more to it than using the interface that is essentially the same as blogger. Maybe there isn't and it means that I just have to go into the interview with the posture of someone who knows his shit. Or maybe it means I just have to sprinkle in some Wordpress jargon. Its probably the third thing. Pepper there ears with some sugar sweet tech talk. I should purchase some fake glasses too to make my face more approachable. Not that I look like an idiot, but I do look like I should be out in the wilderness firing a 24 inch chainsaw and smoking Marlboros (which is kind of the job I would like to do, but I don't live anywhere near any logging operations).
At any rate, I lost my train of thought. The thought of deforestation gives me boners. Well, just one boner over multiple time frames. Obviously. But, there was something else.
Oh, I got it. Nabbed it. The story site for my fiction is what I'm working on piecing together. Hopefully that'll be up sooner than later. I've got a story to tell you that I think you might like.
///Yeah Yeah Yeahs - "Phenomena" When the White Stripes came out with their album Icky Thump a lot of critics said, "oh my God this is completely and totally awesome," but in my opinion the YYYs nailed a much ickier harder thumping sound the year before with their album; this track being one of my favorites on the whole thing. If the universe ever does catch fire and we're all going to die, I hope they play this song when the curtain comes up.
3/30/10
note to self
make a note later about how shitty guy/girl spy action adventure movies are. also about why jews seem so god damn depressed all the time.
3/23/10
dear (______):
dear adult swim:
freaknik was a disappointment mainly because i assumed t pain would have the 30 second cameo, not george clinton, bootsy and snoop. maybe they all gave to the music in some form or another, but next time i want to hear two hours of shitty rap ill roll my windows down when im stuck in traffic. thanks, fagz.
freaknik was a disappointment mainly because i assumed t pain would have the 30 second cameo, not george clinton, bootsy and snoop. maybe they all gave to the music in some form or another, but next time i want to hear two hours of shitty rap ill roll my windows down when im stuck in traffic. thanks, fagz.
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.
7/25/07
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.
5/27/07
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.
4/17/07
"god called, he wants his sandals back" 04/17/07
Subject : "god called, he wants his sandals back"
Posted Date: : Apr 17, 2007 5:45 PM
yes... god is in fact on the line and would like his sandals back. im just passing along the message. he mentioned something about needing to walk on water and tap dance on eggshells... basically save the world from the forces evil while juggling three chainsaws, two penguins, and spinning a plate on a two hundred foot long broomstick with his nose while lobsters hung from his balls by their claws. all of this while winning a fire ant eating competition and shitting out an entire combination brick and extruded, galvanized, steel factory.
he also mentioned that your over the top attitude is entirely uncalled for and that your ability to walk on water, tap dance on eggshells, impregnate people with the mere thought of sex, and fart out entire arms of a galaxy, does not entitle you to belittle everyone. he suggests you take your head off your shoulders and place it on someone elses for a few minutes to see that, though you could make the universe spin around your little finger while wearing his sandals, you really shouldnt because it makes everyone else around you sick to their stomachs.
he kindly pointed out that you were only supposed to borrow the sandals for ten minutes to go to the bodega for another case of OE and to give the guy outside the store front your change. he even said he looked the other way when you whizzed behind the store hard enough to cut your name twenty feet straight down into the ground and then cut the front off the car you recognized as belonging to that guy who told you to shut the fuck up when you talked out of your ass behind his back.
he was really nice about the whole thing. very respectful. he said you were supposed to be back three days ago... and he also says if you dont return them he will remove the concept of collared shirts from mankind forever... and smite the polo player from every swatch of fabric known to man. just between you and me i think he's a little ticked... and besides, everyone really did like you more before you became a complete douchebag. you should really call him back and let him know what's up. later.
///the future sound of london - "the galaxial pharmaceutical" not a great song, not a top ten playlister, not even a really good song. just some down tempo easiness...to ease the business of isness, cuz as we all are quite aware "OMG my life is so hard, you have no idea" is the anthem of too many people's lives. chill the fuck out.
Posted Date: : Apr 17, 2007 5:45 PM
yes... god is in fact on the line and would like his sandals back. im just passing along the message. he mentioned something about needing to walk on water and tap dance on eggshells... basically save the world from the forces evil while juggling three chainsaws, two penguins, and spinning a plate on a two hundred foot long broomstick with his nose while lobsters hung from his balls by their claws. all of this while winning a fire ant eating competition and shitting out an entire combination brick and extruded, galvanized, steel factory.
he also mentioned that your over the top attitude is entirely uncalled for and that your ability to walk on water, tap dance on eggshells, impregnate people with the mere thought of sex, and fart out entire arms of a galaxy, does not entitle you to belittle everyone. he suggests you take your head off your shoulders and place it on someone elses for a few minutes to see that, though you could make the universe spin around your little finger while wearing his sandals, you really shouldnt because it makes everyone else around you sick to their stomachs.
he kindly pointed out that you were only supposed to borrow the sandals for ten minutes to go to the bodega for another case of OE and to give the guy outside the store front your change. he even said he looked the other way when you whizzed behind the store hard enough to cut your name twenty feet straight down into the ground and then cut the front off the car you recognized as belonging to that guy who told you to shut the fuck up when you talked out of your ass behind his back.
he was really nice about the whole thing. very respectful. he said you were supposed to be back three days ago... and he also says if you dont return them he will remove the concept of collared shirts from mankind forever... and smite the polo player from every swatch of fabric known to man. just between you and me i think he's a little ticked... and besides, everyone really did like you more before you became a complete douchebag. you should really call him back and let him know what's up. later.
///the future sound of london - "the galaxial pharmaceutical" not a great song, not a top ten playlister, not even a really good song. just some down tempo easiness...to ease the business of isness, cuz as we all are quite aware "OMG my life is so hard, you have no idea" is the anthem of too many people's lives. chill the fuck out.
2/15/07
teh never ending story 02/15/07
Subject : teh never ending story
Posted Date: : Feb 15, 2007 7:36 PM
so. ive recently become acutely aware of the difficulty in ending aim conversations and im pretty sure its just me (so no experiments are planned). Aim conversations continue on and on and when you stop talking its not like you can walk away from the person. they're still 'there' in a metaphysical sort of way. its like having a table for two and you simply decide not to say anything to this person who is sitting two feet from you because there is nothing more to say. not that its a bad thing, but still its pretty awkard. i've literally spent fifteen minutes at a time wondering if i should close the little instant message box or leave it open in case they say something else.
i mean nothing is more rude than getting up in the middle of someone's thoughts and saying 'well, its been fun. bye.' no one wants to be rude. i think im just taking it all too seirously. like body language. i take body language way too seriously. i think its because my dad always comented on my body language as though it were some ultra secret window into what i was actually thinking. not true. body language is just like words. sometimes people gesture what they dont mean and sometimes people mean what they are not gesturing. the whole system is unreliable.
elizabeth is back. my life with her is like an aim conversation that wont quit for the right reasons. its kind of strange, i suppose. i never thought i would be in this position. i never thought this position would be a good one, but it is. the burden of proof is on me this time around and im okay with that. we are still as fiery as ever. we still fight sometimes. argue. yell. all that. but its good. i like it. i love her. she's the kind of opinionated, sometimes petty, sometimes wrong, always beautiful, sometimes moody, better than me at "things that matter" person that i want to be with. red aura and all. i feel kind of weird about the idea that i may marry her (being that i still havent managed to resolve the task of graduating, still do not have a functional resume', and still have absolutely no idea where im going to end up working or how much money i will even have a chance of making) but its a dream that refuses to quit and i like it.
speaking of dreams, i dreamt i killed a fat little boy with a hammer because he was weak willed. more on that later.
///hooverphonic - "pink fluffy dinosaurs" because when you meet someone that makes you do things you never thought you would you know that person means something more to you than your heart may have let on. also because its finally snowing like its supposed to and this song makes waking up to a winter wonderland of ice covered trees magical. as gay as that sounds.
Posted Date: : Feb 15, 2007 7:36 PM
so. ive recently become acutely aware of the difficulty in ending aim conversations and im pretty sure its just me (so no experiments are planned). Aim conversations continue on and on and when you stop talking its not like you can walk away from the person. they're still 'there' in a metaphysical sort of way. its like having a table for two and you simply decide not to say anything to this person who is sitting two feet from you because there is nothing more to say. not that its a bad thing, but still its pretty awkard. i've literally spent fifteen minutes at a time wondering if i should close the little instant message box or leave it open in case they say something else.
i mean nothing is more rude than getting up in the middle of someone's thoughts and saying 'well, its been fun. bye.' no one wants to be rude. i think im just taking it all too seirously. like body language. i take body language way too seriously. i think its because my dad always comented on my body language as though it were some ultra secret window into what i was actually thinking. not true. body language is just like words. sometimes people gesture what they dont mean and sometimes people mean what they are not gesturing. the whole system is unreliable.
elizabeth is back. my life with her is like an aim conversation that wont quit for the right reasons. its kind of strange, i suppose. i never thought i would be in this position. i never thought this position would be a good one, but it is. the burden of proof is on me this time around and im okay with that. we are still as fiery as ever. we still fight sometimes. argue. yell. all that. but its good. i like it. i love her. she's the kind of opinionated, sometimes petty, sometimes wrong, always beautiful, sometimes moody, better than me at "things that matter" person that i want to be with. red aura and all. i feel kind of weird about the idea that i may marry her (being that i still havent managed to resolve the task of graduating, still do not have a functional resume', and still have absolutely no idea where im going to end up working or how much money i will even have a chance of making) but its a dream that refuses to quit and i like it.
speaking of dreams, i dreamt i killed a fat little boy with a hammer because he was weak willed. more on that later.
///hooverphonic - "pink fluffy dinosaurs" because when you meet someone that makes you do things you never thought you would you know that person means something more to you than your heart may have let on. also because its finally snowing like its supposed to and this song makes waking up to a winter wonderland of ice covered trees magical. as gay as that sounds.
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.
6/8/06
the forest for the trees 06/08/06
Subject : the forest for the trees... people still do that?
Posted Date: : Jun 8, 2006 7:48 AM
i conducted an interview of a co worker last month and then converted the interview into a piece of non-fiction for a class. i drafted the piece and then re-drafted the piece and then reinterviewed and then let it sit for a couple of days. then i edited the piece again and then redrafted the whole thing.
not only was the piece recieved to a near standing ovation from my professor, but i personally felt like it was one of the better things i'd written that year. it was long, but not overly so. it had twists and turns. it was not self promoting nor biased. it was brutally honest and uplifting. this piece of biographical non-fiction is so good i am going to submit it to some minor non-fiction journals and see how well (or poorly it does). this piece was art.
at least that was what i and others thought for the past month until about ten minutes ago. the co-worker whom i interviewed and promised to remain true to in giving him a copy of the piece just told me what he thought of it. this is what he had to say:
"okay there were a few things, first of all you should delete all of the quotes because those quotes don't sound anything like me. secondly the books i read are not on any middle school book lists. they are deep and dark works by world renowned authors. thirdly im not gay because its kind of insenuated in there that i am, but im not."
those were his exact words. there were more. in fact he went on about the books and the gay thing for quite some time before he remembered to harangue me some more about the quotes. where he got those problems from i have no idea.
in the paper i say that we share the same sexual preference and im not gay... so i guess he's just a homophobe.
in the paper i say that im jealous of how well read he is and that he didn't just pick books off of an obscure list for the sake of reading obscure authors like other people with no taste in books often do... so he pulled that book shit outta of two or three words i said in the beginning of the piece to set up the revelation of his deep knowledge.
in the paper i quote him word for word... its not my fault if he doesn't believe he actually sounds like that or not. he said the words. i didn't make them up. and its not like i just stuck on a speech impedement or bogus accent either.
in short it is clear to me that he has completely missed the 99% of the paper that is nothing but positive toward him. the man is ugly. i did capture that faithfully as well... but he didn't have issue with that at all. he only found problems with the 99% that was true, honest, accurate, and positive.
yes, people still miss the forest for the trees. im not making any of the changes he asked me to.
i am going to make one change though. his name.
Posted Date: : Jun 8, 2006 7:48 AM
i conducted an interview of a co worker last month and then converted the interview into a piece of non-fiction for a class. i drafted the piece and then re-drafted the piece and then reinterviewed and then let it sit for a couple of days. then i edited the piece again and then redrafted the whole thing.
not only was the piece recieved to a near standing ovation from my professor, but i personally felt like it was one of the better things i'd written that year. it was long, but not overly so. it had twists and turns. it was not self promoting nor biased. it was brutally honest and uplifting. this piece of biographical non-fiction is so good i am going to submit it to some minor non-fiction journals and see how well (or poorly it does). this piece was art.
at least that was what i and others thought for the past month until about ten minutes ago. the co-worker whom i interviewed and promised to remain true to in giving him a copy of the piece just told me what he thought of it. this is what he had to say:
"okay there were a few things, first of all you should delete all of the quotes because those quotes don't sound anything like me. secondly the books i read are not on any middle school book lists. they are deep and dark works by world renowned authors. thirdly im not gay because its kind of insenuated in there that i am, but im not."
those were his exact words. there were more. in fact he went on about the books and the gay thing for quite some time before he remembered to harangue me some more about the quotes. where he got those problems from i have no idea.
in the paper i say that we share the same sexual preference and im not gay... so i guess he's just a homophobe.
in the paper i say that im jealous of how well read he is and that he didn't just pick books off of an obscure list for the sake of reading obscure authors like other people with no taste in books often do... so he pulled that book shit outta of two or three words i said in the beginning of the piece to set up the revelation of his deep knowledge.
in the paper i quote him word for word... its not my fault if he doesn't believe he actually sounds like that or not. he said the words. i didn't make them up. and its not like i just stuck on a speech impedement or bogus accent either.
in short it is clear to me that he has completely missed the 99% of the paper that is nothing but positive toward him. the man is ugly. i did capture that faithfully as well... but he didn't have issue with that at all. he only found problems with the 99% that was true, honest, accurate, and positive.
yes, people still miss the forest for the trees. im not making any of the changes he asked me to.
i am going to make one change though. his name.
10/26/05
stupider than paris hilton
Subject : stupider than paris hilton
Posted Date: : Oct 26, 2005 11:27 PM
i am stupider than paris hilton. this dawned on me today when it occured to me that all of her less savory and reprehensible exploits are actually marketing moves under the guise of being a jetsetting bimbo slut face with too much money and no one to do. In comparison all of my stupidness is actually just me being stupid. I am unmarketable as a human being. At least on the surface i am unmarketable as the lap dog I intend to be.
I suppose if i am going to continue to pursue my career as a kept man i will have to change the targeted bracket of ditzy older women looking for a neat and tidy lap dog papyone. i think my new target will be the prim and prude on the surface older woman looking for the refined but otherwise rough finished husky pinscher mixed breed that chases the mailman, mauls exboyfriends, and over confident yuppies at her cocktail parties and tears up her slippers when she leaves him at home all alone.
that said, i would also like to point at an example of my stupid behavior involving a small friendly scuffle that ended up leaving me with 7 stitches and a scar on my head. damnit! there go my chances of modeling in the upcoming cmu fag pageant. ah well. this move was stupid and did not land me on the cover of tabloids to put my clothing label in the limelight or direct people to watch my new series on mtv to see if i really act this way all the time. i suppose however that it did further my end goal of being a slightly gristled kept man with a swagger that leaves everyday pool boys peeing their little pants and double life bdsm 50+ y/o women wetting their little panties.
nevertheless i still feel more stupid than paris hilton. and that is one dumb bitch. i need a marketing staff on my side to spin my life into a staple of pop culter and give me cool things to say and then patent/trade mark them into icons that appear in trend riding television shows, commercials, and sex ads. FUCK how will i ever make it into mtv's "hot brat bastards of the week" when i keep shooting myself in the face? guess ill have to settle for a spot on vh1s "awesomely unsuccessful but still okay to mention nostalgically" list with the likes of 4 non blondes and the spin doctors.
I suppose if i am going to continue to pursue my career as a kept man i will have to change the targeted bracket of ditzy older women looking for a neat and tidy lap dog papyone. i think my new target will be the prim and prude on the surface older woman looking for the refined but otherwise rough finished husky pinscher mixed breed that chases the mailman, mauls exboyfriends, and over confident yuppies at her cocktail parties and tears up her slippers when she leaves him at home all alone.
that said, i would also like to point at an example of my stupid behavior involving a small friendly scuffle that ended up leaving me with 7 stitches and a scar on my head. damnit! there go my chances of modeling in the upcoming cmu fag pageant. ah well. this move was stupid and did not land me on the cover of tabloids to put my clothing label in the limelight or direct people to watch my new series on mtv to see if i really act this way all the time. i suppose however that it did further my end goal of being a slightly gristled kept man with a swagger that leaves everyday pool boys peeing their little pants and double life bdsm 50+ y/o women wetting their little panties.
nevertheless i still feel more stupid than paris hilton. and that is one dumb bitch. i need a marketing staff on my side to spin my life into a staple of pop culter and give me cool things to say and then patent/trade mark them into icons that appear in trend riding television shows, commercials, and sex ads. FUCK how will i ever make it into mtv's "hot brat bastards of the week" when i keep shooting myself in the face? guess ill have to settle for a spot on vh1s "awesomely unsuccessful but still okay to mention nostalgically" list with the likes of 4 non blondes and the spin doctors.
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