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My fourth blog. Amazing yet disconcerting. Don't worry; this'll go away in a year or so. |
First there was "I'm Studying You" ![]() ![]() ![]() Until now. Welcome to the Buffalo in your soul... ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
![]() ![]() The non-stop party people are at it again, y'all! Look at us go...fresh off yesterday's house party madness, we're takin' it now to the final frontier: Outer Space. Charlie ~ ![]() ![]() It's funny...when I first saw this prompt, I started making a list of songs I didn't want to use. No obvious tunes that everyone associates easily with space, which meant no "Intergalactic" by the Beastie Boys, nothing associated with Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, and definitely not that song from the movie Armageddon (because fuck Aerosmith). Then I started listing songs I thought would fit, and they were mostly pretty obvious as well. And I'm not judgin' anyone else putting out their playlists, and it's cool when we all have a duplicate track or two, but if we're all pluckin' tunes from the same thought processes then how fun is that? ![]() And by the way, I've seen a couple people complain mention that "a ten song playlist isn't enough music", and at first I wholeheartedly agreed...but the more I thought about it, it hit me: sure, we might be getting judged for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place prizes, but it's not about that. We're working together! Five people yesterday submitted I don't even know how many songs...Elle - on hiatus ![]() ![]() Ok, well, I've said enough for now. Time to let the music do the talking while I attempt to talk over it, only to find out the hard way that gravity doesn't just apply to weight or mass. ![]() ![]() 1) "Blast Off!" by Weezer ![]() ![]() 2) "Set Phasers To Stun" by Taking Back Sunday ![]() 3) "Pump Up The Volume" by MARRS ![]() ![]() 4) "Planet Telex" by Radiohead ![]() 5) "Rocket Skates" by Deftones ![]() 6) "Bring Back Pluto" by Aesop Rock ![]() 7) "In The Meantime" by Spacehog ![]() 8) "The Joker" by the Steve Miller Band ![]() 9) "Us And Them" by Pink Floyd ![]() 10) "Starpainters/Vancouver Divorce" by Gordon Downie ![]() ![]() There you have it...ten more songs to add to today's party. Not perfect by any means, but suitable enough at least for my tastes. And besides, between all of us in the "Invalid Item" ![]() ![]() |
![]() ![]() What's up you guys! Y'all know it's "Invalid Item" ![]() ![]() And out I come, straight up Dick Clarkin' on your tv screen like some sort of marriage between American Bandstand ![]() ![]() I've tried to assemble this in the best order as possible (without making too much of an all-day project out of it...I'm good at fretting over playlists and track orders like Carson Daly screws up relationships with hot actresses by being Carson Daly [call me, Jennifer Love Hewitt ![]() 1) "Body Movin'" by the Beastie Boys ![]() 2) "Song 2" by Blur ![]() 3) "Scenario" by A Tribe Called Quest ![]() 4) "Party Over Here" by Atmosphere ![]() ![]() 5) "The Rockafeller Skank" by Fatboy Slim ![]() ![]() 6) "The Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats ![]() 7) "Come On Eileen" by Dexy's Midnight Runners ![]() ![]() 8) "Brick House" by The Commodores ![]() 9) "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC ![]() 10) "What I Got" by Sublime ![]() There it is. I'll hang up now and listen. Feel free to share your concerns...since the last paragraph I've already thought of three more songs I've forgotten about that could've ended up on this list, so I better quit now and post this up before I change my mind. Peace, too hype, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
** Image ID #2059438 Unavailable ** ![]() Boom shaka laka! It's October first and foremost, the 1st, and I feel comfortable blogging again because I'm not writing prompts or anything. So what's up, you sexy people? I have nearly twenty tabs open in my browser, which has already crashed once, so I better do this in hurry because I'm open for business. I have no clue how this entry is gonna turn out, which is part of the beauty of only writing like four entries in the month before...I haven't established a pattern of any kind. My problem, not yours. Let's begin then. ![]() My September? It was a mess of anxiety tinged with an unfamiliar love for humanity within my hermitage, and it ended with a small marker of hope encased with my therapist telling me basically (these are his words, not mine) I have no purpose in life right now. And that's kinda accurate. I just am, searching for some kind of deeper meaning...or any meaning. What my purpose for being here is. Lots of existential questions. The upside and the follow-thru. Lots to work on. But I'm here, and that's always a good start...at least that's what I figure. I had my state-sanctioned disability appointments in Syracuse, which I was terrified about (see: "This one's about importance, imagination/humor, and music." ![]() But not all of this month was a loss. I recovered some feelings. I know what it's like to love and to appreciate. My gratitude has always bubbled under the surface, and it sprung to a head briefly. Something to build on, as forgotten tendencies can be. I managed two poems as well, because the urge to write anything was strong even though the will to create anything like a blog entry wasn't there to my satisfaction (so yes, it was a down month for me). I stopped setting goals awhile ago, because I wasn't hitting them (even if they were attainable)...but I wrote "Bangaround" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() And the rest of this prompt...what I like about October? ![]() ![]() I have a soft spot in my heart for dumb girls dressed in oversized sweaters and tight leggings who claim autumn is the "best time of the year" because "it's fall, duh!"...and then they trip over themselves trying to prove how "fall" they are by walking around in silly boots with a scarf tied in some ridiculous bow around their neck and no jacket. I like a lot of things about October- leaves changing colors, football season is in full swing, hockey season is around the corner- but if the person in charge of the universe can just take me away from everyone else's bullshit and plant me in a place where it's always 72 degrees and sunny, I promise I'll try to be a little happier and tolerant. I know it's a lot to ask, but I'm good for it. I'll even tax what's left of my body a little more for it as long as I don't have to consider what another shitty winter will bring. ![]() Nope. I respect life in all forms and all that, but I also know what pleases me...and sometimes, it's a belly fulla meats. Not that I need to justify it to anyone, but listen...if a goddamn animal in the wild had a chance to eat the fuck outta me and my fat ass, it would. I'm game. I'm not long for wilderness survival...I don't hunt, I don't carry a gun, and I generally don't give a shit. I'll do my best to defend myself with some kind of karate kicks learned from whiskey-fueled nights of solitude spent hovering over a television while cheap dollar store DVDs of kung-fu flicks played, but dammit, my survival instincts are way different than the wildebeast waiting for me should I ever step out beyond past nature's velvet ropes. But y'all know that'll never happen. My wilderness days are pretty much over, save for rare occasions...and even then, if I'm that far in, I'll admit my defeat. Bears? Peace, I'm out...until it gets me (and I can't convince it to cuddle with Charlie ~ ![]() ![]() So there. I'm not vegetarian because neither are the animals who would consider me dinner. ![]() ![]() Besides, I love beef and bacon way too much. That's not to say I've never thought about it though. I did at one point in my life do some research about becoming a vegetarian...to the point that I was almost all for it. I couldn't bring myself to it. I know those tiny animals suffer so so much, but it's for the sake of being so so tasty. And especially now, when you're poor as fuck like me, any chance you get to eat a grilled animal steak that isn't canned albacore tuna (c'mon man, I still have some limits, and "chunk light tuna" sucks ass) is a treat like you can't believe. I'm not even gonna pretend like my always insisting on "well done" steaks or burgers makes it better, or that less than "well done" makes me not destroy porcelain cleanliness. I figure that's my payback. Shitty food gained from inhumane means equals ridiculous results from the back end of the digestive process. That's karma, slicing into your life...sooooo good, yet sooooo not good. And I know it wouldn't kill me to make the sacrifice...all the "let the animals live in peace and harmony" and whatnot. I'm down with that. I'm all for it. But I get pissed when I go to CVS and they're out of beef jerky, and that's the only reason why I went there besides the cute girl that is nice to me when I go there. Poor girl...don't be nice to me! I'm buying jerky and flavored water! You're doing your job! Just do your job! Fuck vegetarianism. Fuck the public. I just need a button I can press that gives me food without hassles, smiles, or expectations. ![]() ![]() Why is this too much to ask for? I won't even get into how I once (recently) thought I was allergic to lettuce. Some painful lessons are often best to keep to self. <insert poop emoticon here> ![]() Naw man. Sorry Megan. Quite bluntly, I don't decorate. Not for autumn; not for anything. Where I live now isn't conducive for decorating. Just a small room, and no one else in my building cares either way. I'm kinda glad about that...it makes my not giving a shit feel less important. Less things I have to concern myself with. I'm not trying to outdo my neighbors with some crazy scheme of elaborate spookiness, like my ex and her kids were into. There's just more important shit to worry about in life than whether the wreath on the front door is "Halloween enough". Dig? Even when I lived at 542 and had the run of the whole lower half of the building...it wasn't like I was gonna spook the fuck outta anyone. I was just too busy going to work or coming home and decompressing. If I had some extra scratch around trick-or-treat time I'd leave my light on, but no one came. More candy for me I guess, but back then I wasn't really a sweets eater either. Maybe someday I'll be back into it...the whole "decorating for holidays". I'm just...not now. Not for me. Next year might be different, and maybe I'll feel better about it. There's a chance that I could move into a different place, but I don't want to get my hopes up just yet. For now, it is what it is. I've never been one for decorating, and I've preferred to cede that to the ones who are. ![]() ![]() The calendar is inevitable though. It's October, and that means it's only going to get shittier outside with the wind and the rain and eventually snow. And I hate it. Weather-wise, it was a good summer, and I wasted it, with being stupid fearful of the outside world and my indecisiveness. I miss the love of the autumn air, and the love it brings to people, but I know it also brings the death of many other living things. The bridge to winter. The things that once grew, that we can't get back. It was around this time of year two years ago that I was involved with patching up family relationships when I learned my uncle passed. I didn't know him well beyond what I knew of growing up with him around my grandmother's house; I learned a lot in the aftermath. A transitional time in the midst of a transitional time for myself. It makes me sad, because of everything I missed out on...because of what I left behind at the time. I had a dream about him last night. It was so weird. So...real, but not real. But I hate talking about dreams. And I know I try to be ol' "ha ha" guy and want to be funny or irreverent or whatever, but I always get a little solemn around this time of year anyway, personally. Things die out, things start anew. Anyway, I love this song, and as much as I want to be the fun guy at your party (and I will be, I promise...probably too much, and I have the scars to prove it), you won't play this because it'll make you cry. The album version is completely bonkers with the emotion and instrumentation, which is why I went with the stripped-down acoustic. Autumn's here. ![]() ![]() Alright...let's ramp up the fun, shall we? ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() And it's terrible, because it doesn't look like me at all. I was limited with the traits, which you can find out for yourself on the website linked within the article I linked. I really hope that's the most disappointing part of a movie I probably won't see until it's on DVD in a bargain bin ![]() See? There's fun in everything! Now, if you don't mind me, I'm gonna scurry on outta here and so I can legit find something positive I did today for myself and jot it down in a Moleskine ![]() |
![]() What's up y'all? I'm just here to help push along the next 24 hours, most of which will be nerve-wracking and confusing, so don't mind me as I use you in an attempt to take my mind off some stuff and misplace emotions in different baskets for the time being. I'm looking at this prompt in two ways: the short term, and the long term. For me, the idea of something being "most important" is fluid, and can evolve based on situations. What we search for of importance today may not be the same a week from now, or a year from now...the idea of life today and life overall can be mutually exclusive. Take, for example, today and tomorrow. I need to try and get a good night's sleep, and get a start on that as early as I can, because I need to be up at 4:30am Tuesday morning. I need to remain calm and focused, because I'll be taking a bus to Syracuse from Cortland for two doctors' appointments. I tend to get nervous for doctor's appointments; I've been told before that I have "waiting room anxiety" which elevates my blood pressure, and I assume that's because I'm always worried that this might be the time they find something physically wrong with me. I've also never been on a trip like this to Syracuse (if I've been there before, it's only been to pass through on the way to somewhere else). Once I get to the Centro bus station, I'll have to take two more buses to get to my destination. I'm very apprehensive about this, mainly because I'm unfamiliar with anything that has to do with where I'm going. I'm not sure what the extent of each appointment will entail. Maybe a routine physical, and then a consultation with a mental health specialist? Or will they want to look further at my surgically repaired ankle also, and maybe determine why standing and walking still aren't the easiest things to do? I don't know the breakdown of the two appointments. All I know is they're for my disability claim, which I've been told by a few people will most likely be denied anyway, and I'll have to appeal the decision (which, again I've been told, is almost always successful). I'm compounding a lot of my biggest triggers into one big, giant clusterfuck of everything I try to avoid. Externally, it will look like I'm fine and everything's as normal as can be...but inside, I'm terrified; I don't know how else to explain it. There are approximately 1,867,392 things that can go wrong between now and this time tomorrow, most of which are absolutely out of my control but can still ultimately change the course of my future. I don't know how people survive this kind of stuff, but I'm about to find out. But anyway, that's what's most important for me, today, in the here and now. Come Wednesday, it'll be something else...most likely of lesser significance, or a lower priority. Whether we realize it or not, everything comes with degrees. Rankings. Status (or lack thereof). Perhaps it's good to have a certain idea of potential importance over time..."It's important for me to be content, no matter where I am." Let that be a good place to start, and hopefully never see where it ends. Maybe it'll keep moving back, the finish line just out of reach, so that happiness is always visible enough to never stop fighting to attain it, or the destination doesn't become more disappointing than the journey. ![]() Maybe I'm overthinking this...or maybe this is harder to answer than it seems. Isn't anything possible through imagination? Isn't that where the genesis of everything is? I can imagine a sense of humor, and I can joke about imagination, so in reality aren't I really getting two for the price of one if I learn how to use one properly to generate the other? Is the weaker of the two still passable to some, even in a diluted sense? I look at myself in this prompt, and I'd like to think I was gifted with both a healthy sense of humor and a robust imagination; I don't know what I'd do with an absence of either one. I would've had to learn at some point which area I was more proficient in, and adapt my weakness to...well, I guess the word I'm stumbling into, is compensate. By logic then via this prompt, that would mean I was given the imagination as a means of making up for not being funny or finding humor in anything...were I to feel closer the need for consolation, it would've been the other way around. Either way, lighten up, Francis ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Today in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() And for someone like me, who lives every day according to a different soundtrack as it is, picking out just one song that triggers a memory is hard because there's so many to choose from. I've been thinking about this off and on throughout the day, and nothing's coming to mind that separates itself from the other ideas. What I'm really trying to think of is that one big "Aha!" moment where suddenly a song comes on and everyone just looks around at each other like "Yep...this is happening right now!!"...everyone's got at least a couple of 'em, right? Somethin' better than dancin' with a brown-eyed girl to Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl" ![]() ![]() Ahhh yes. I may have referenced this event before, not for a song, but for Apple being totally shady as fuck regarding the songs played in shuffle mode during certain situations. A few years back I was dating a woman whose parents lived about a half hour or so away, and practically in a fancy-ass version of a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. I definitely don't think they lived on a road so much as it was just a plot of land with a trail to get to another set of trails to find their place. Anyway, we went to visit them one evening for who the hell knows why. It wasn't dinner, because we went there pretty late at night as it was...it may just have been for a bonfire, and for me to actually meet her folks. I don't know why else to be honest; it was probably ten years ago. But on the way home, probably 1am-ish, my iPod started playing songs as if it had its own nighttime, "spooky music in the dark middle of nowhere" playlist. Every song had a theme of night, sleep, or darkness. I even tried skipping a few songs, and still, songs that fit this category would come up. My girlfriend was half-asleep in the passenger seat, and I wasn't too sure of where I was or where I was trying to get to (other than home), which made the idea of imminent horror movie-style death more appropriate. I don't remember exactly all of the songs that came on at that time, but this one stands out as the one I most easily recall. Certainly not sonically frightening, but lyrically and in its visually dystopian bleakness it was not something I needed to hear at that moment as part of a larger soundtrack of maybe falling asleep at the wheel, or worse. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Ok, well, easier said than done on my end, anyway. I think I'm gonna go off in search of some kind of comforting baked goods so I can put off the inevitable panic that's bound to happen regarding tomorrow, and hope that me wanting to fall asleep early so I can wake up early doesn't lead to me worrying about oversleeping so much that I don't sleep at all. Peace, may pretty horses come to you, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() What's happenin' y'all? This is twice in one week...it almost feels like the old days ![]() ![]() ![]() Glad we understand where I'm comin' from. Let it be said, before I tear into this self-inflicted prompt, that I've always had a tenuous relationship with authority. Harmony for the sake of harmony...I get it. Learning where to pick your battles only comes with experience. When you're told as a child to ask questions about everything, and you take it to heart from someone you trust, don't be surprised when that comes back on you. And it only gets weird when you let it. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I have a pretty good relationship with my mom now, after years of not having one at all (it's a long story that I don't care to get into), and I'm thankful for that. And I know I shouldn't be surprised that I don't have a relationship anymore with Pop Diesel (that's how I used to refer to my dad in previous blogs and entries), but that is how we're wired, I guess...that's how the men are in this idea of family that I didn't have a say of being born into. Men are dicks. I'm in therapy and on anti-depressants for a reason...there isn't one major outlying reason for it other than the two people producing me did their best and worst to create me. But I have no choice, so let's go on and so forth... I don't have kids, so I am deep-seated in the tremendous position of being able to give advice without giving a shit! And if y'all have read me before, you'll know then that I'm rollin' up my sleeves and I'm ready to spit child-rearin' game from the comfort of my bed with zero fucks to give [Disclaimer: I've been involved with girls who have kids. I know you're all crazy about that when it comes to them.]. ![]() ![]() I get to see what y'all parents do to your kids, and I laugh. It ain't like the old days...peer pressure makes kids want to do shit we could never dream of back in the day, and most of y'all try to keep it that way. Your kids are dying to be accepted in ways we could only imagine...and what we imagined has slowly become commonplace, much to your chagrin. The freedoms we wanted back in the 80's are all that the parents of today are either trying to scare their own kids from, or are finding out firsthand that they are exactly their parents' kids. Discovery and experimentation never go out of style, regardless of what today's fashions tell you. And take all the pictures you can...that should go without saying in this infinite camera-phone society. Only the shittiest kids like me have destroyed their film-camera legacies back in the misbehavin' 70's...now, the tightest parents have their kids' Camera Roll on the cloud, and can access that shit whenever their whimsical fancy strikes them to be so god damn creative with the editing software and the filters and the HOLY FUCK CAN YOU BELIEVE IT NOW MY KID IS 17 WHERE DID THE TIME GO WHAT WAS I DOING IM THE WORST PARENT EVER FML DONT GO AWAY I ONLY REMEMBER YOU WHEN YOU WERE SWADDLED IN BLANKETS. Gawd I hate all of you. But that's just how I am, because I'm not in it. I always swore to myself it'd be my mission if I had kids to raise them differently than I was raised. Not that I'm slaggin' on my mother or my father, but for fuck's sake who would I be if I didn't think I could do a better job? After all, don't all parents want a better life for their kids? Isn't that why working and being decent people happens? Setting a good example. There were times when I could've been that...but I hadn't met the compatible person. I would've been the awkward dad. I would've fallen into a complacency trap, in a marriage where two people exist only to raise a kid who gets bored watching and waiting to see which one of his parents annoys the other the least. Luckily, all I have to worry about usually is how much I'm annoying myself (which is a lot, if you're still keeping score on me at home). So hey, if you have kids, be proud. I know I'd be that parent with a hundred pics in my WDC port of that kid doin' the dumbest shit instead of the already dumb shit that's in there meme-wise. I'd be shovin' how cute my genes are up everyone else's ass, just to make up for all the times I was told I was the ugliest kid anyone'd ever seen. And then I'd make sure I had that kid's back through anything...I understand a lot of things better now than I did when I was growing up, and I need to figure out how to convey that. Well, I don't need to, because I'm not babydaddying anyone, so OH MY GAWD WHY AM I TALKING ABOUT THIS. Ugh. I'll prolly straight-up ruin a kid. LISTEN TO YOUR MAMA. IF SHES GON WHOOP YOUR ASS, BEST BELIEVE I'M GON WHOOP YOUR ASS, CUZ THEN SHE'S GON WHOOP MAH ASS FO HAVIN TO WHOOP YO ASS. Circle of life in families of divorce, my friends. I'd rather give up all the fun of procreation than risk the continuation of some quote-unquote ideal parenting. Please don't ever make me give up the fun of procreation though. I know that was a lot of rambling with almost zero conclusion... ![]() ![]() Oh man...what a conundrum. I guess it depends on what you're looking for out of life, and what your situation is. I can't tell you how many times in the last couple of years I've woken up in the morning hoping that the time to fall asleep again would happen very quickly. And before you chirp about how depressing that sounds, well, I have Severe Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety. What saddens you offhandedly is pretty much my everyday life. So eat a bag of dicks and let's just live our own lives before we judge others, ok? While an extra day of the week might be fun, given that it's what it's meant for, how am I supposed to know I'll be up for it? I can plan for it all I want as long as the days are, but when it hits how am I to know how I'll really feel about it? What if I wake up on the extra day each week and all I really wanna do is chill and recharge? My therapist and I had a similar conversation about this yesterday...I used to throw a lot of spontaneous parties back in the day, and people from all phases of my life (friends, family, coworkers) would show up and it would be a really good time for everyone. But if I tried to plan a party, hardly anyone would come. Why was that? I couldn't just gift people the extra hours to do whatever they wanted and still make time for me. I'm selfish, but not that much. I've put myself into a shell, not just since I've moved out to Cortland but in general. I've been that way for a long time. I don't bother anyone, and no one bothers me, and life goes on, and we're cool. I was tired of opening myself up to people only to be let down, whether it was because of them or my own expectations or actions. I know I don't need an extra day to push anyone away from me. ![]() But I've been talking a lot to someone lately, and she's helped me tremendously to not only get over myself and all the little things that get in my head's way, but to see who I am as a person and how I express my thoughts to others. I wasn't looking for it so much as she just came to me, and I hope she's not mad for calling her out by name, but pinkbarbie ![]() I'm going through a weird and complicated stretch in life right now. I'm thankful for all my WDC friends and their words...but Aisha has been a constant and a source of happiness that I can't begin to describe. She's the best friend a silly, lovelorn boy like me could ever hope to have. I'd rather have an extra hour every day with her than a bonus day, or any day, without her ![]() ![]() Y'all know I couldn't turn down a music prompt, right? Especially not my girl Princess Megan Rose 22 Years ![]() Music is so much more than just "the art of thinking with sounds". It can build bridges and break down walls. It's there when no one else is. The song in your head is stronger than the wherewithal of your enemies. I love little things with music, like Charlie ~ ![]() ![]() But yo...I'd go batshit without music. Sounds, lyrics, momentum, postures...there's so much more to music than just "sounds". Oh my forgiveness, just jam earbuds into your ears during Sgt. Pepper or Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or Hey Ladies. Sonic treasures! Lay back and let the music take you somewhere! It's there when your heart is broken, and it's there when you want to put it back together. When you're angry, or when you're pumped. Finding the right song for your mood, to me, is paramount when getting your day on in public and you need some swagger. Can't nobody front on my flow when I'm feeling like it's a musical masterpiece, but if you can hear what I'm dealin' with then that's cool at least ![]() ![]() ![]() I can't talk about music without getting a little itchy in my drawers or my typy-fingers about Blur. So, so many good songs. All the good feelings. Star-shaped, and whatnot. Oh good lawd, whew...it's only me. Still a fantastic song/video, no matter how many times I've shared it before. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Alright...I've had a long day and I promised myself (and Aisha) I'd relax. I don't have to do anything for the next couple of days, so I think that's what I'll do. Peace, across the Ganges, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() What's up you guys? Sorry to drop in on y'all like this, practically unannounced and whatever. I guess if you really want a blog entry out of me badly enough you'll ask me on a somewhat consistent basis for one, like the beautiful <not naming names> has been lately, or my <not naming names here either> does when it's really been a long time. And it does seem like I go awhile between entries nowadays...like I'm always startin' these things off with "I know it's been a long time, but..." and then I cheese out with the excuses. Whateva man. Anyway, may as well start today with my own prompt for the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() ![]() So you guys know I like music. I love music. All kinds...well, almost all kinds. And I'm cool with it being used in so many different applications. I'll listen to my iPod if I'm making the one minute trip across the street to CVS, so I can have beats while I shop. I'll take it with me when I go to the church across my building's parking lot for lunch, because it's so much more enjoyable than socializing with some most of the people there...even if I plan on reading a book over my meal (because under normal circumstances, you should always leave people alone if they're 1) reading; or 2) listening to headphones; or 3) both). On the bus, or waiting for prescriptions to be filled, or wherever I am in between, so is my music. That's me. And that's a lot of other people as well. In their homes, or jobs, or showers, or cars, or wherever they are, it don't matter. It's in commercials, movies, and television shows. It plays in the supermarket. Bands show up in bars. Downtown streets at Christmastime pump in holiday frickin' cheer. It's a great, wonderful time to be alive! This era of everywhere music! But you politicians, like everything else you do, are trying to ruin it for the rest of us. I understand it. The number one goal of a politician is to get elected/reelected. You want to prove that you're more popular than the next guy. You want us to think you care about things that are important to us. And you want want want the hip, young vote...presumably because you think we'll be around for awhile and that by winning us over you're cementing your legacy for as long as we're alive (which doesn't always pan out...ask any successful professional athlete who has wound up broke and/or in jail how that's worked out). So you do that by co-opting what you think are these quote-unquote generational anthems, and you present yourself at your rallies like a professional wrestler running down the ramp, flexing America across your back while threatening to suplex your partymates on your way to Corporate America's World Championship Belt. Not even realizing just how much of an ass you look like. Arguably the most notable instance of this happening was the Clinton/Gore campaign of, I think, '92, when they came out dancing to Fleetwood Mac's "Don't Stop" ![]() What we have now in 2015 though is an entirely different ballgame. A bunch of entitled white dudes The Republican party and its clown car of candidates seems to think they can just pick a song as a rallying cry, play it, bob their bobbleheads along to it, smile, and win over the masses. It's that simple! Instead, they look just as ignorant in this charade as they do when they open their mouths and claim platforms for "the people" without actually understanding who "the people" are that they should be trying to reach. There have been at least three different instances in the past few months worth noting: ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() In the most basic of terms, what it boils down to is a copyright violation...using someone else's work to further your own agenda, without permission or proper compensation. If I were selling a product for profit and needed a quality professional picture for my advertisement, I'd hire a photographer. If I want to use a song in a television show, I have to pay the songwriter a licensing fee, and/or the appropriate royalties. Politics isn't much different. If you're gonna straight-up use a song as part of your campaign- as part of selling us yourselves as the answer to the world's troubles- you need to take care of where you got it from. You need to make sure it's ok. I'm not saying you have to trot out a bunch of aging rock stars everywhere you go like they're your geriatric back-up band, but can we at least get a band-approved statement that says you're not stealing their ideas to hopefully further your own? It's the decent thing to do...especially in creative circles, where the ends don't often justify the means. ![]() ![]() ![]() Nothin' like not bloggin' for two weeks and then comin' back to a good ol' science prompt. (For the uninitiated, the sciences of most kinds are not my strongest suits.) In a general sense, it is my belief that science can (and probably already has) cure damn near anything. You name it, and it's been defeated in the name of science. The only problem is this: curing this isn't lucrative. There's less money to be made in the answer than there is in the prolonging of the question. And unless the solution to fixing a problem is to create a different yet related problem, there are so many truths that may never see the light of day because of the politics in the money-making machinery behind every great worldwide lie. George Carlin, the late comedian, once said a great thing about knowledge, and how it relates to people working: ![]() ![]() The truth is out there. It's a known quantity. But it's something we'll never see in our lifetimes, because The Man is tryna hold us down. And before I spiral completely outta control and y'all think I'm crazier than normal, I think I need to reiterate that this goes for empathy and the identity of an empathy circuit ![]() If we're just common people and we know there's a lot of things out there that we know better about, imagine what smart people, like scientists, know. Now, imagine all that they know, but aren't telling us...and then ask yourself why they aren't telling us. Why would we want to give a convicted criminal the sense of empathy? In the for-profit criminal justice system, prisons make a lot of money filling their cells by keeping these psychopaths off the streets. The United States has a ridiculously high prison population. Overcrowding in correctional facilities is more than common. What stake do the prison corporations have in rewiring the criminal's mind with the intention of curing their lack of empathy? Even if it only worked in one out of every ten patients, that's a ten percent loss in revenue. That's like discouraging a repeat customer. The criminal justice lobbyists would never stand for it. Then again, if you're asking me, I'll tell you that the real criminals- the true psychopaths- are the ones holding the elected offices and the suits that line their paths there with their green pockets, side deals, and winks and handshakes. Those people are the ones in need of an empathy circuit descrambling and rewiring. But do you think it's ever gonna happen? ![]() ![]() ![]() Trust isn't just knowing what's right and true, but being able to identify the truth within the significance. You might know of a restaurant, but if you want to know how their food is you'll ask someone else who's been there before. You want assurance from experience. That's why we have stories...to add color to the existence we know about but aren't entirely familiar with because to know all that would just not be fun. And what gets people movin' their asses and being excited about something? Fun. You don't want to know how the restaurant was built. You probably don't care about the cooks. All you wanna know is that the food they serve is gonna fill your belly up right. The important details- the higher priority, in your eyes- is what you seek to be fulfilled. And why do we sometimes trust the stories of our friends more often than the educated truths presented to us by smarter people? Why is it more important that we believe certain whimsical facts, and not ones of a higher practical standing? Because we're only human, and all that matters to us is that our immediate needs are met. We want to know what we want to know as efficiently as possible. Point A to Conclusion B, please, and step on it! No time for origins and back-up plans. Just gimme what I want to hear, the way I want to hear it. That means Johnny Sixpack's neighbor's girlfriend's ex-sister-in law's dead roommate's opinion means more to me than Doctor Professor Huffnpuff's research-backed statistical data analysistoramalamadingdong. It means more coming from someone you know that's been there, even if you only kinda know them, as opposed to someone you don't know at all who's definitely been there and can tell you how, where, when and why. That's great and all, but it's not as relatable on a personal level. Us humans are pretty great and damning like that. Facts! Ha! ![]() ![]() The world is made of stories, because in the end, that's all we're willing to put in the effort toward believing. ![]() ![]() ![]() "Can't fight the future. Can't fight what I see. People they come together. People they fall apart. No one can stop us now 'cause we are all made of stars." Lyrics. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() There are no longer boundaries in place. If it is consumable, it will be pumpkin spiced, packaged, and sold for profit. Why? Because autumn, son. That's why. My snack this evening will be Kellogg's Pumpkin Spice Frosted Mini Wheats. And it will either be so incredible that I'll be tempted to email their customer service department, where some intern screening their emails will read and delete my pleas to make this cereal a year-'round treat; or it will be so spectacularly terrible that I won't even try to throw them out through the proper channels, like putting the box in the trash and then taking the trash to a larger can, where a maintenance man will then carry that garage down from the second floor to the dumpster in the back of the parking lot...I will actually launch the box out of my window like a cardboard and shredded wheat frisbee in the general direction of that dumpster. And if I'm lucky I'll do it right around the time some random girl loiters in the parking lot below, screaming one of my neighbor's names, because the savages in this community don't know how to respectfully let people know you're coming to see them, and the box will hit a power line on the way to the dumpster, causing the contents to rain down in a spray of electrified frosted amazingness that only the eyes and not the palette can appreciate. And I'll swear she deserves it too. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I'm with ya. I know your pain. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Alright, well, this entry is long enough I think...plenty of words here to get me through at least another week or so of conversations with my <still not naming names> or that gorgeous <also not naming names> without being asked if I'll be blogging today or if I even write at all anymore. At least no one's asking me when I'll get married...it's nice and a little sad when you realize that other people have realized that that ship has pretty much sailed, sank, and failed to list any survivors. More time for me to watch football in my underwear and swear I'll catch up on all the things I owe people on WDC (a newly-reoccurring and equally unfortunate theme in these entries, as of late). Peace, I sing in the reaches, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() What's good everybody? It's another first of the month, and that means another round of the eventually world famous "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() And if I'm being honest, if this particular prompt came along in any of the other blogging groups I occasionally participate in, I'd be inclined to sit this one out. As much as I'd love to be one of those helpful, courteous, enthusiastic review people, I've learned that I'm not. I don't even know if I'm good at it, to be honest. I get reviews once in awhile, and they're fantastic in that there's a template with structure and wisdom and advice and shit...while I just can't get myself around phrases like "I really really like this!" or "Cool, thanks for sharing this!". It's embarrassing. And my default mode is to use myself and my own writing as a standard, which is probably a big no-no because who am I to judge; like, who do I think I am? Check my stats...in 14+ years on WDC, I've given like 400 reviews. There are people around here who do that in like, a week...and they're all top-shelf 2500-word breakdowns. I'll never be known as that guy. And I'm ok with that...let the experts tell you what's up. I'm just there for the cheerleading and the esteem boost (and I also hate telling someone their heart-and-soul life's work sucks). But I really need to get back on the blogging bus. I've discovered that part of my writing process is starting to mirror my life, in that it's just that...it's becoming a process (italics used as a non-positive emphasis). I really have to convince myself to do it. It's not easy, or at least, it's not as easy as it used to be. I mean well; I have every intention when I come across certain prompts at night that come the next day I'm gonna bang out an awesome piece of my mind...and that morning comes and I'm like "Naw homie, maybe not today..." and I sidetrack myself, and by dinnertime I chuckle at my silliness for thinking I might contribute anything. I'm a god damn head case like that. So anyway I came up with this prompt because I want the participants in this month's 30DBC to become familiar with one another...most of you will probably stick around for the whole month, which means you'll become more familiar with each other, and that's what I want to foster between everyone. Before I took over, I competed in a bunch of these...and by the end it felt like everyone was a little family. It's another great way of making friends around WDC. That's my biggest hope each month for everyone...that y'all have a good time, get creative, and make a few friends. But enough of me rambling on about that. We've got a couple of newbies in this month's go 'round, and my first thought was to pick one of them in hopes that they'd feel encouraged and then inclined to stick around...but instead I went a little more comfortable route and chose someone I'm more familiar with. skeason ![]() I jumped over to "December Haiku and Senryu Challenge" ![]() So here's my thoughts on it: Review of "December Haiku and Senryu Challenge" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Anyway, mingle with your fellow challengers this month! That makes it all the more fun and real and whatever. Good luck to everyone, and get them words!! ![]() Joy ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() As for what I'd write in a different sense? That's tough. I'm a creature of habit. I write what I know and what I feel...going outside of my comfort zone, as with a lot of other things in life, tends to work me into states of confusion and self-doubt. I recently started trying to write fiction for kiyasama's "Musicology Anthology" ![]() ![]() ![]() But man, do I wish! Big dreams! I've started what I thought would be novels of some sort. I have one buried in a storage tub...maybe only a few pages long (they're all "a few pages long", and that's it) about lktropuckr and developing a story out of that through poems that never really materialized. But there were fake names and hopeless dreams and good christ that was like ten years ago, or something. Before blogging, after my self-inflicted poetry embargo, and being bored with everything but catching light in a different direction. I start little projects like that...and then I get sidetracked with other stuff. To pick them back up seems like too much of a challenge after the moment of dire inclination has passed. I'm all or nothing, unfortunately. Would I love to recreate the past in my casting? Of course...but that impedes my future and the "here and now" that I feel like I'm so one-track driven on. It's a balance I'm struggling to not teeter off of, and like many I choose to be the heavier weight. Some writers- fuck it...most of 'em- can get out of their own heads to create these wonderful places people can get lost in. Alternate realities. I'm not there. I can appreciate that, but I can't sustain that. I want crossovers and genre-flipping. I want to donkey-punch words so they submit into places you've never seen them. The internet has watered down content so much now...as easily as people are offended by a flag or "privilege" or religion or shaming of whatever, so are people being enlightened by anyone who doesn't give a fuck and spits true game in a place that makes you relocate your thinking of whatever topic. Don't just tell; color it. Don't be satisfied with personal details...relate. And don't just relate like the masses want you to relate...drop in the unexpected. If you have a pulse, follow it down to where it comes from and make it your own for everyone to admire. Separate yourself. Be the fruitful difference between a biography and an autobiography. I could go on, as the metaphors rollick through my head, but I'm missing the point. I kinda do that at times. I guess what I'm saying is...try as hard as I might, I'm comfortable in certain aspects with my voice when writing. Venturing out, away from that, to me would sound contrived. I can't be what I'm not, and I am who I am. No more, no less. Guaranteed fresh ![]() ![]() Imma tell you what my bones keep saying, because they're still alive enough to avoid the past tense. They fucking hate me. They're rebelling against the rest of my body over the abuse they took twenty-some odd years ago. The invincible kid who fought to prove his worth beyond big ol' glasses and nerdy pretenses. I had something to prove, and I full-force proved it. The playground hero...pick me last and I'll make you wish you picked me first, and next time you will. Some people just get respect based on who they are and who they know...kids like me had to earn it, and earn it, and earn it all over again. The playground mentality memory is short until you consistently drop triple-doubles on the court or rip off ankle-breaking jukes on the way to the end zone. And in the long run, all of that means nothing. I repeat: nothing. All that striving for acceptance. Being able to fit in because you could do something others couldn't. Making a difference to friends with your body at stake. Playground fucking hero. Look at you now. Sure, those with long memories hold close to them and paint a slightly different picture. But you forget that time breaks you down physically when you're too caught up in what was. I wake up every morning assuming that my knees will withstand what the rest of my upper body can put on them, and hoping that the side affects from my sleeping and depression/anxiety meds won't leave me toppling over in dizziness. Some days are better than others. I've always fluctuated as far as weight goes, and I think my body got used to a certain threshold as I got older and more settled than before...but breaking my ankle a few years back destroyed all of that. I got sucked in to being a patient. I still can't run...I can't do anything I would've been able to do prior to the bonfire-jumping atrocity I became when I landed in a frozen pit made by a truck's wheels in mud and crumpled when I tried to walk it off. I've broken bones before, but never like this...fractured, torn ligaments, muscles in the way impinged. Screws, a plate, surgeries. A permanent limp. I'm not the man I used to be...who could scale defenders and plow over bigger impedences and shit. I'm just an old guy. 40. Fuck. A twice-broken shoulder that was misdiagnosed the first time. A broken thumb. A mangled pinky finger. No cartilage left in my knees to tear, so my kneecaps keep rubbing on bone. And all the years I spent working out and "building a bigger, healthier body" mean nothing now. Sure, I hastened the physical wreck...but I didn't think it'd be this bad. No one does. When you're in it, you're not concerned about the future. In a results-based situation, NOW is all that matters. Not one or five or twenty years. Fuck. And people think I'm lazy or entitled. Piss off. I want to scream. So what if I "did this to myself". I didn't ask for a broken body. I was just doing what I had to do to survive in situations where I was fighting for respect. No one expects the ![]() But anyway...my bones are beat. They're always tired; always spent. I'm way more comfortable laying down than being upright. I shouldn't be this way. My mother warned me something about abusing my body the way I did when I was still a formidable teenager, but she was right. I'm not an All-Star anything, and my vessel is busted. Of all the anythings I could've been, I guessed hella incorrect. And all I have left now are memories, and my bones reminding me daily of how great I was in a snapshot of time...and how I'm paying for it now. ![]() ![]() Because this is learning, when you get old and older and learning to learn... ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() And I'm sure I had a buttload of other things to add to this fractured pile of discussionary pieces of things you're kinda in the mood to talk about but I'm not, so I'm gonna cut this off so I can catch a nap before I hafta smash my brain against my pillow when I wake up and need to figga out another proimpt. Ugh...worst part of owning a cool-ass forum. Peace, I don't want to be crippled and cracked, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() Have you ever imagined what a blade of grass feels like on a hot day? What kind of things would the grass be thinking about and why? What if torrential rain started; how would the grass feel and why? Let's see your creativity with this one. We will be wildlife viewing today on a guided tour with a ranger, another great camera op in the morning; the afternoon will be yours until we get together for dinner and then the rodeo. There are more people hurt by bison than by bears each year in Yellowstone. Park regulations state that visitors must stay at least 25 yards away from bison or elk and 100 yards away from bears." What's up campers? No better way to pass the time than a blog entry before dinner and a rodeo, right? After we get the little things outta the way, of course. Little things, like a blade of grass...that we so often take for granted. How does it feel on a hot day? If it's in the solitude amidst peers, I'd say it's doin' alright. It tans and browns like most of the rest of us. Earnin' its keep from the soil and whatnot. Unless it's festival grass...then god bless it. That's like the suicide bomber of the grass world. "Hi, we're here just to promote our green living concepts until we get trampled on by the party crowd!" And there isn't much that can be done about that. But as a blade of grass, don't you kind of know your fate based on the surroundings you were born into? You could end up with the life on someone's lawn, getting yourself hewn all the time by someone else who wishes for your conformity within the community of like blades...or you could get to sprout free amongst the illest patches yearlong, save for that one time millions of people trod upon you and your soulmates in the name of human concert-going. My preference would be to be free and take my chances. The blade the lawnmower refuses to cut. The untrimmed edge. That blade. The one that flaps in the summer wind, uncouth and uncut. So I die once a year the hard way, at the feet of the music lovers. I'll still get to come back to where I feel loved the most, and not forced into the crew-cut patio-outlining lifestyle. I'm not your regular greenery, dammit! But hot damn! Ok, back to me, and not my grassblade persona. I'm not one for rodeos...unless it's a Burger King Rodeo Cheeseburger (are those still a thing? It was just a cheeseburger with some onion rings and barbecue sauce; a dollar menu gem.). Like, IDGAF. Cowboys and giant sides of animated beef. I've been domesticated to see past that, I guess. Another display of Americana pagentry...where eventually we roast and devour the losers? I dunno. Does that happen? You can tell me if I'm wrong. I'm all against cannibalism, so why wouldn't it be fair if...never mind; I'm losing my train of thought. How is this fun? Oh gawds, so many things going on, and I don't wanna tell anyone who's right and who's wrong. Luckily, we have Lyn's a Witchy Woman ![]() ![]() ![]() But I've been there, and I've fallen off fast. I'm willing to engage my crowd at the expense of my lack of buckin' ability. I'll put on a good show for three seconds...long enough to wave my cap in the air like I'm actually a-ridin' this dinner like whatshisname- that John Wayne guy. Fuck him, and fuck this beast! I'm in it to wi---- Nope. I buckled when the animal bucked. Ass over horns did I go. I guess I'm thankful enough to have rolled out of the way the way I did, because I could've been trampled. Why do we tease these animals? I could've been Norbmeat for a god damn family of rodeo animals! And then what? I'm not endangered, so it ain't like anyone would be all Cecil the lion ![]() I made it back into the grandstand and was greeted with jeers from my fellow campers...so I lashed out. "How many of you would've been willing to do that?" Shut them up pretty quick. I got a heroic backrub from Princess Megan Rose 22 Years ![]() ![]() I guess I should preface this by saying that I never set out with the intention of offending anyone. That's not in my heart; it's not my nature. I understand that people from all walks of life will see this, and most won't have the benefit of walking a mile in my shoes. Deep down, I wanna love everyone...can't we all just get along? ![]() But we can't. I know this. Because despite one's best efforts at inclusion, there are gonna be some people out there who no matter what are gonna get pissed for one reason or another. You can't please everyone. You can't make everyone happy. The best you can do is work on yourself, and do your best to warn others...but even then, not everyone gets the memo or, worse, thinks it "won't happen to them" (and that's dangerous territory...sometimes, the people who claim they don't get offended by anything are the first to raise holy hell at the first sniff of subversive content). Personally, I don't give a fuck about anything (for the most part). And I know better than to think most of you feel the same way. I have lines, sure...but most of 'em are drawn farther away from yours. On the header of this blog I have not one, but two warnings for the uninitiated: ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I'd be a fool to think that those are heeded with the same urgency I think they should...just like I'd be if I thought everyone else understood things the same way I did. It's a fact of life that sometimes what we intend isn't the same as what it's interpreted as. It's a hard lesson to learn. Especially when it's repeatedly taught upon you. All that said, look...I can only do so much. And I'm fully aware that we've all been brought up with different values. We like what we like, and that's a big part of the mix that makes us individuals. Some of us were just born with higher doses of fuck-all than the others. And that's ok. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna hide from who I am just so it doesn't upset your pretty little sensibilities. It's the classic American trait...Why should I change when you're the one that needs changin'? What a piss fight that is, don't ya think? We're so hellbent on coagulating around similar interests and hating on things that aren't like us that we fail to see the real beauty in the expressionism itself. The reasons behind why people do or say the things they do or say. We're so wrapped up in creating our own little worlds that not only can't we appreciate the other worlds of anyone else, but we also take that to mean that they're making war on ours. And let me tell you, friends...that's some bullshit. I live on one simple tenet: Live, and let live. That's it. No more, no less. Everyone has value, everyone has opinions, and they also have the right to express them, whether you agree or don't. That doesn't make them lesser than you. That doesn't invoke some right to discriminate. Fucking deal with it, like you were taught to in, I dunno, kindergarten? And truthfully, interpersonal relationships don't start at the elementary age...it happens at home, before school. It's hard to understand now, in the age of participation trophies and whatnot. That wall has been broken, by one butthurt mom who couldn't take her sucky kid's crying at not being good enough at not sucking. And that's ruined it for the rest of us...who were worth being distinguished by our actions with a little trophy. Now everyone gets one, and maybe one kid gets a bigger one, but the rich kid pissed and moaned that he didn't get as big of one, and where does it fucking end?? In WDC parlance, I always feel a little sketched-out whenever I enter something that offers a prize for participating. Like, I show up, drop my words off in a parking lot, pick them up afterwards, and at the end of the month or whenever there's a "Thanks for playin'!" sticker on 'em just for doing what I pretty much would've done one way or another anyway. Maybe it's a bad example, because some folks are genuinely happy to have people play along in their whatevers, but I'd rather just be told I suck and go home and never bother. This is where I think I'm maybe getting off the point, so I'll wrap it up. If you're worried about pissing people off, think about what you're doing/saying that'll piss people off. And if you're easily offended by whatever, then either reevaluate your thinking as to why you were in such a position and stick to needlepoint or Puritan artisan crafts, or grow a pair and understand that whatever it is you're doing is available to all sorts of people who might not hold the same beliefs as you. "Politically correct" was a great thing at one time, helping people who were singled out and/or disadvantaged. Now it's become a rallying cry for everyone who doesn't get their way. Truth shocker: no one wins. There isn't a master plan tilted to benefit one segment of the population over another. And every subsect within any division is filled with advantages and disadvantages. When the final tally is taken, is it really gonna matter? You'll be too dead to notice. Just don't be too much of a dick in the here and now, and you'll be alright. ![]() ![]() Who do I speak to at the rodeo about not riding on the proper animal? "When the hell did one goddamn thing go right in my life but you? You said you weren't sure. You said you were scared. Well, guess what? I was scared too." Lyrics. ![]() *stargray* To sort of accentuate my point from up above about "political correctness", while understanding that it's neither here nor there necessarily in the actual topic, fuck politics. When you and I both understand that neither political party in America truly has the common person's interests in mind when they want to run for the highest office, then we'll agree. I have a lot of Conservative friends who love to use hyperbole when voicing their opinions, and think that by resorting to name-calling us Liberals we'll just "see the errors of our ways". "You idiot Liberals! You must be stupid..." etc. How does that win me in your favor? I'm disaffected by whole process already, but that really doesn't help. When your party needs umpteen candidates to hold a debate televised on the network that constantly pumps your tires, and the one dude that sticks out slashes them, you're in trouble. The last time I checked, voting was done behind a closed curtain. It was between you and your deity of choice, I guess. If you're prepared to vote in public, be prepared to defend your choice...and not with something like "There was blood coming out of her wherever." ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Ok, I'm kinda done with this for tonight ...I'll hide my feelings just out of spite so I don't upset anyone who hates people with feelings that need to be felt. Eat a plastic bag of dicks, unless you're allergic to them; in that case, use canvas. Peace, our hands bond, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
![]() Hey yo...look who decided to make an appearance nearly two weeks into the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() So I think that's it...I'm probably leaving out stuff and straight up forgettin' stuff, but I think now I've got the built-in "I'm 40" excuse to match up perfectly with the fact that I actually do forget shit on a much more consistent basis nowadays. Now, where were we? Ahhh yes, the camping trip. I haven't exactly not been participating; I've read some entries here and there and tried to keep abreast of most situations, but when the first of the month rolled around my head wasn't right ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I didn't exactly forget about Perseid happening, but it did take Lyn's a Witchy Woman ![]() And I'll also admit that I don't look up at the stars nearly as much as maybe one should, not that there's any bit of quantifiable math that suggests there's a benefit to it. It's hard where I live to appreciate a good, clear sky when you're surrounded by tall buildings and the people around you make you not wanna look out the window at 'em. When I go home to visit my mom though, I like to have a cigarette on the back deck and just look up...it's definitely more rural out by her, and I swear if it's not cloudy you can see something resembling the formation of the Big Dipper most nights. I could totally be wrong, because I'm not astrologically inclined, but please let me have that one thing if you're gonna give me anything. I don't have a whole lot more to add about this, unfortunately. I made it through a nice non-camp food dinner that I didn't disrupt by tossing a can of beans all loosey-goosey-like into the fire, and I swear I only wanted to take a nap but that turned into me always missing the cool stuff, like always...and then not being able to fall back asleep because my body isn't used to odd hours and just thinking it made itself through an entire night. Noting the silence of seeming like everyone else was settled, I figured I might as well try to collect my thoughts and try to write something, like I've been itchin' to do lately but not knowing where to begin. All I could manage was a look back to my past, when I thought life was starting to settle down...I just kept reading "The Day the Stars Became Round" ![]() ![]() I won't say I agree or disagree, but I'll certainly go along with the notion of beautiful dreams being a component of a healthy future. The trouble I run into is that more often than not, my dreams wouldn't fall into the "Beautiful" section in the Netflix of dreams, ya know what I'm sayin'? I'm more or less at the point now where I'd rather just disable the queue once I fall asleep instead of taking my chances and winding up waking up to something I wish I didn't have to remember. And I'm not saying that dreaming is bad and you shouldn't do it just because I have bad experiences with it. By all means, dream your lives away, you dreamin' dreamers. Just know where to draw the line between what you want and what you need. Not that you need me to tell you that or that I think you'll listen to me anyway. Figured I might as well just tack another disclaimer onto every famous last piece of advice I give that I don't personally follow. Also, stay in school ![]() ![]() Like, a legit fortune teller (or as close to one as possible)? Naw man, I ain't that blessed. I mean, it sounds like a nifty idea in theory, and maybe ten or twenty years ago I coulda been talked into it and risked gettin' swindled, but I'm a grown-ass man now. I'm skeptical of everything. I don't need Miss Cleo ![]() But I get it. Everyone wants to hear some crazy mystical shit about themselves. In my teens and early twenties, it was like there were two groups of girls: the ones who wanted to own tarot cards, and the ones that couldn't wait to have their palms read because they were convinced they were either famous in a past life or would hopefully marry some rich dude off the tv. And that's not even touchin' all the occultists and flat-fuck scary-ass intimidatin' chicks who always traveled alone under dark clouds of doom and sorcery. Is that, like, some kind of phase girls go through, just like guys either wanna be athletes or rock stars? I realize I'm gender-stereotyping from 1994, but has the world changed that much since then? I just don't see myself now going for it. You want to pay someone you don't know to hear them "analyze" your future? Send me $20, and I'll make up some wild story that'll make you feel good about losing that cash. And if you wanna know all about your past, well, see a therapist. My insurance covers one, and every three weeks or so I leave thinking I've spent the majority of my forty years on this planet being an asshole. Of all the poor choices I've made in my life, the biggest one I missed on was not getting into the counselling field...them, and tv weatherpeople, don't tell me they don't have the easiest positions in the world, where they can be wrong half the time (or more) and still have job security because weather doesn't stop weatherin' and the crazies don't stop being crazy. The awesome part of going through my cds is coming across songs I forgot I owned, whether it was on a mix disc or a soundtrack or label sampler, whatever. Sometimes songs just get buried...anyone with a large collection of music- you know what I'm talkin' about. I found this track on a disc I burned years ago...and when I pulled it up on YouTube, man, what a great era of music just based off the recommendations they list on the right side of the screen. I could DJ a crazy 90's prom afterparty just off that list. So good. "I thought she'd be there holding daisies; she always waits for me. She thinks she missed the train to Mars. She's out back counting stars." Lyrics/interpretations. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Anyway, I'm gettin' outta here. I missed you guys, and thanks belatedly for all the birthday love back when it was actually my birthday...but in lieu of all that next time around, let's just treat people like every day is their birthday, ok? Except that douchebag from accounting, because he's a douchebag and probably won't be around long enough to celebrate anyone else's birthday. But yay everyone else! Peace, I finally broke her, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
What's up everyone? I am, and I haven't done this in a few days so I guess I should...I haven't really been in a mood to be productive lately and I feel like the longer I put off trying to come up with an entry the less likely I'll actually finish one. Let's get started. All you really need to know about this picture is what's happening in the upper left corner...but before I distract you with that allow me to set the overall scene. This is the next logical evolutionary step from Google Glass (remember that? ![]() But at our core, we're still human beings...and our priorities are still the worst in the entire universe. The grand wizards of gadgetry are well aware of this. They know we're a self-absorbed society that cares more about what the Kardashians are (or are not) wearing than any impending global nuclear disaster. We want to know what's trending on Netflix so we can better fit in, and we demand a constant flowing stock ticker so we know exactly how rich we are. The least of our concern happens to be World News, because if it doesn't have our names on it, attached to it, or languishing as a cosigner, it's worthless. Every section of the virtual screen is smudged, but the most wholly informative icon station for knowledge remains virginal like new-fallen snow. If you think people spend too much time now, in 2015, tethered to their devices...just wait until this reality becomes commonplace. Why bother with the worthless interaction between yourself and a pithy human being when the all-knowing, omnipotent super-mega-internet is a mere wish away? Imagine...a world where all you need to do is twitch your nose and blink like I Dream Of Jeannie ![]() Nope. As I once said while living vicariously through a superhero movie I may not have seen in its entirety (Google it...the internet is a real, awesome thing), "With great power comes great responsibility." And with more cool technologies comes bigger dangers, more threats to personal and national security, and a fuck-all of indecencies we haven't been able to bring ourselves to fathom yet...stuff they dunked women in lakes over; threw rocks at otherwise knowledgeable and saintly men for until they bled out of their skulls; set fire to innocent children to cleanse them in Jesus' name of their demon-colored souls. All of this, in real time and back before the black-and-white era of television temporarily delayed our descent into a cultural madness. Don't do it. If you see something that looks as if it's directly in front of you, untethered and longing for the touch of your lonely fingertip, you must abstain. You shan't let this new modernism in. You have to remain in control, lest you become the new zombie of the oncoming Technological Ice Age. Only you can prevent yourself from...yourself, or something. ![]() I'm almost ashamed to say this, but if we're just talking about art museum paintings and whatnot, I don't have a favorite. I've only been to maybe one major art gallery that I can remember, maybe more, I'm not sure, to be honest (and wow, what a crappy sentence that turned out to be...I'm not even gonna try to fix it, it's so bad). I'm just not that interested or fascinated by it, which is fine in my opinion because how many painters who've won their equivalent of the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ![]() And what's worse is, as society further deteriorates (and as much as even I'd like to admit it isn't, I'm not blind) and strays from classicism and the raw beauty of <pick your favorite, long begotten time frame>, future generations will have no idea who the Rembrandts and Picassos were. Hell, I couldn't name a contemporary painter or famous artist in that respect without the internet if you offered me a million dollars or free tacos, because that's how much the arts have been minimized by the average population. How sad, really! I would love to say I'm cultured beyond a half-year 9th grade art class (where I did an enlarged drawing of a baseball card that I probably threw out a month later), but I'd obviously be lying. There's just no time in my boring life for it, sorta like some hippie-ish snot with a beret is too busy trying to visualize his hipster-chic girlfriend naked so he can reproduce it in oil paint on a canvas to read my loud opinion of not giving a damn about his hobby. That's how the world works nowadays. That's the artist's cycle of mutual non-admiration. We're not friends. We're not even frenemies. We don't even exist beyond an easel or a notebook. There will come a day when youths will go on museum field trips, and instead of boring-ass classic paintings of dudes in wigs we were forced to interpret, they'll be studying our stupid internet memes. "On your left are the Rotten E-Cards everyone found hiii-lar-eee-us and posted repeatedly on Facebook...and over here you'll find the famous dogs and cats that were popular in the early 2010's. After lunch we'll look at Bad Luck Brian, that guy from Futurama who's not sure of anything, and the drunken babies who either fell asleep on a pair of giant titties or somehow managed to become mafia heroes and are sick of your shit." Yup, that's what we have to look forward to, connoisseurs of the finer arts. May as well put all that training scrolling through Facebook to use somehow. ![]() To the best of my knowledge, I have never been intentionally shown on television before (outside of someone's home movie footage, and even then it was probably accidental and unflattering). Check that...one time in high school I went along with some group or club I probably only joined for the purpose of this one moment where we all got on a bus and went downtown to a Buffalo tv station so we could be on their weather broadcast. I don't remember anything else about it, other than it was Channel 7 and there were mostly girls involved. It's more likely I did it because I had a crush on someone else that was going than I actually cared about whatever it was we were trying to promote. My apathy for most things started young. The closest I came recently to being on tv was last summer. I'd just gotten off a bus- not sure where from, but probably a supermarket- and was trying to get home before the rain when a reporter with a camera accosted approached me. He identified himself as a someone who probably thought he was important over at channel whatever, and if he could ask me a few questions. In a rare moment of public captivity I agreed, and he proceeded to ask me about the SUNY Cortland riot ![]() ![]() ![]() Why? Because as much as I'd like to think I'm interesting or calm under fire, I'm probably a terrible interview. If I'm not entirely familiar with what you could ask me, I can't necessarily trust how I'm gonna respond in a timely, socially acceptable manner. Even in situations where I might be put on tv, or when a cute girl is cashing me out at CVS and there's an issue with my coupons and while we're sorting that out, she's making small talk with me and all I can think about is how embarrassed I am that I misjudged a coupon and now have to pay a leftover balance of 54 cents between the nickel and quarter I have in my pocket, and put the rest on my debit card, and my golly she's adorable and has a beautiful ass (yes, I'm that guy, and I don't care). Just like I babbled that last sentence...that's how I ramble when I'm put on the spot. If I'm not really sure what to say and don't want "dead air", I might talk until I don't even know what's coming out or if I'm actually still having a conversation...I just sorta drift above it like a soul would for comedic effect in a tv show. "Not good copy", as a producer might say. I imagine my eyeballs also roll toward the back of my head, yet I manage to remain upright and breathing while my mouth is on autopilot. And when it's over and I come to, I wonder what the fuck just happened, while hoping I didn't sound too much like an idiot. It's not that I'm a bad person to talk to...it's just that my mind is thinking about the next five steps ahead and the exponential amount of things that could happen, and I've already predetermined how the situation in front of me should end, so when it doesn't quite go as planned I turn into a big ol' ball of WTF. I don't know where my improvisational skills went, but somewhere in the last five to ten years I may have inadvertently flushed them and gotten some money back for the empties. And somehow I still don't consider myself a control freak. It's not that I have to hold serve over everything like it's the main or first step in a process, but I have to feel like I know what's going on and where everything stands in relation to the matter at hand...if that makes sense. I know what I'm trying to say but I don't know if it's coming across the way I want it to. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Alright, well, now that I've admitted some fears and deep secrets about myself, it's time I go off alone someplace and have a good cry while wondering exactly what this world has come to. Or not. I'll probably just eat some kind of snack food like it's a meal and then hope I remember to turn the volume all the way down on my tablet and phone before I fall asleep, 'cuz I kinda don't care about a whole lot else today. Peace, the little gnome that's in your dreams, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |