Note: This whole thing is about language and etymology on the internet. I promise you it's informative and relatively accurate. If you already know about a word, go ahead and skip it. This is a long one. I do realize there are probably a dozen websites that have all these words defined, most notably www.urbandicitionary.com but this is more tailored specifically to the basic words of the internet. I think you might enjoy it.
Language: It is the nature of language to branch and develop and change. It is this beautiful and oftimes confusing element of communication that can cause conflict and misunderstanding more than anything else humans encounter. I recently found a 1991 hacker's dictionary that made this glaringly obvious. Back before the World Wide Web, the only people who had internets were "hackers", who were essentially people who wrote their own ways to each other. These students of MIT and other tech schools, as well as random technophiles were communicating in a manner that only exists in subcultures. As people in a specific field of study, and work, they came up with their own dialect. As doctors speak to doctors or, more closely to me, sailors speak to sailors. "Chief, NIPR'S OOC. SKED's down, and PMS is gundecked." You understand that? If you missed one thing in that quote, you're not a sailor. Entiendes? It's English as it were, but not your English. Modern day internet is full of this. I won't go on for days comprehensively defining internetspeak; you have to learn your specific local lounges. I will list words/phrases/symbols that have become common amongst the internets, specifically in the most popular sites that get mentioned everyday in the ancient Medias, newspapers, TV, and radio.
1. Symbols of enjoyment:
Lol: laughing out loud; or simply, "ha" the minimalist method of expressing positive reaction even if you are nowhere near actually 'laughing out loud'.
Rofl: Rolling on floor laughing; or actually becoming somewhat happier from whatever the subject is.
Lmao: Laughing my ass off; also used harshly as sarcasm, or a lead into a "flame".
Lmfao: Laughing my fucking ass off; someone actually laughed. Yeah, it takes this much.
Ja (Ja): Ha; written primarily by people whose first language is Spanish or Portuguese, as in those languages the "j" is pronounced like the English "h". As far as I know, there is no "lol" equivalent in Spanish beyond the "ja ja".
Corrupted and possibly evil symbols of enjoyment:
Lolerskates: lol combined with roller skates. As if the laughing is continuing.
Lolercoaster: lol combined with rollercoaster, dueling meaning a group of funny things that vary in funny levels, up and down, or simply very funny.
Lulz: Pure evil. Anyone that uses this word likes excessive and exploitive pornography and/or is a racist, or is simply an idiot. The word itself implies a derived pleasure, that is usually through a means of said porn, racism, violence, or in the often media reported misery of other humans. Sadly this isn't a joke. :)
a. emoticons: all the symbols of "emotion"; although many different emotions can be expressed through 'emoticons', it is impossible to actually feel those emotions and use the emoticons. Anyone using emoticons isn't really anything but either happy, or slightly annoyed. Emoticons in practice are the very basic key entries, but many websites automatically force images to replace your text, (insanely enough, my own Microsoft Word has done such a thing) : ) happy : ( sad ;) wink etc. The Japanese have taken it to an art form. My old prepaid Japanese cell phone I bought in 2005 has more emoticons built-in than any 15 year old girl could possibly imagine.
2. Bad English: much of what is common on the internets is simply illiteracy. People who couldn't "speel" for the life of them and instead write what ignorant dumbshit symbolic representation of English makes them feel communicative.
a. Prolly: probably. Probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably.
There you go. 85% of all the correctly spelled "probablys" on the entire web are just above this sentence.
3. Other words/symbols:
"/": e.g. /thread, /argument, /conversation, /sanity, /happiness; pronounced "end", a simplified form of a representation of actual html (see vol. 1). In html when you type ".. (quick note, I did type what I was saying would be html, so it actually acted as html and made what I typed invisible lol so I used parenthesis to break it up)
"(<)(/)" what follows is a command to end a previously written rule. When you want to frame the entire body of your subject, be it text, or images, you start with "(<)(a)(>)" (without quotes, and case is irrelevant) and you finish the "body" with "(<)(/)(a)(>)" (without quotes, blah blah). If someone writes "/thread" or "/argument" or "/discussion" they are saying in cordial internetspeak that the subject should, for politeness or rationality's sake, be discontinued.
Gtfo: Get the fuck out/off; a demand for a person to leave. It may be unwarranted, and is always ignored, therefore simply becomes an insult and a declaration that the person told to "gtfo" has less of a right to be wherever you are than the claimant.
Omg/ omfg: Oh my (fucking) god; this is like having an exclamation mark at the beginning of your sentence. Because English claims no use for such a symbolic warning, internet communicators were forced to come up with a "back door" method. Even though in person to person real life contact, English speakers use an exclamation before they speak in the form of facial expressions, hand gestures, and or vocal reactions like gasping. Whereas the superior (in this instance) language of Spanish, the sentence simply begins with an upside-down exclamation mark.
Noob/ newb/ noobie/ newbie: A person who is inexperienced; there are other definitions, but they are wrong. No one who actually tries to learn something will be a "noob" for very long. Thus many people become highly offended when they are compelled to spend any amount of time helping someone with issues that only a noob would incur. In the real world noobs can remain so despite effort for many months/years. On the internet, which functions for idiots and gets nothing done, to remain a newb makes you worthless.
IM: Instant Message; it's chat, but with one other person, and no "room". Also like email, but with no formality or memory. Also, most IMs let you know when someone you know is signed on. Myspace has an IM, but most people don't use it. I have one IM relationship with a dude named Brian; he's on my friend's list. He's a good guy, eh writes what he thinks and doesn't afraid of anything.
PM: Private Message; IM that people don't get around to much, as most "forums" have PM and most people don't check the forum daily. Also, PMs are always recorded, so like email that only people who sign up on a specific website can use. Myspace has a PM, though they call it "Message". I had a PM relationship with a 16 year old girl once, but she probably killed herself.
Forum: (aka bbs from back in the hacker days) a collection of "threads" on a website; usually possessing an overall theme; www.ronpaulforum.com is a forum that maintains a theme of Ron Paul, but each individual "thread" can encompass a different, or many different subjects. Often forums are categorized with multiple threads in each category, and sometimes each category is referred to as a separate forum, which is technically unimportant.
Thread: A line of commentary provided by one or more people; the "OP" (original poster) physically creates the thread which (usually) appears as its own web page. The only exception I have noted in the entire internet is www.collegehumor.com where each "reply" to a video is considered a separate thread, and each reply to a reply is considered "in thread response". It is considered an act of idiocy and noobishness if a person were to "reply" to the video instead of an "OP" while making a direct comment to a previous individual's reply. This is a special circumstance to the rest of the internet as all replies in all formats appear on the same page as the original video. A contrasted view of terminology is the similar formatted www.youtube.com where all replies are "comments" and there are no "threads". This has altered slightly as youtube has recently made it possible to 'directly' reply to someone's comment instead of the video itself, but has yet to correctly format their webpages or html to make this alteration obvious or comprehensible. In fact, youtube's formatting make conversation tedious and repetitive, making the aspect of "commenting" often times offensive and confusing, which in turn inspires the video 'posters' to disable the ability to comment on their video. Considering most people who comment on youtube videos are idiots to begin with, not much is questioned.
A good example is to see a video on youtube that features a somewhat attractive female, and 1,000 different men actually trying to "hit on" the video in the comment section. If they don't even realize it isn't a live webcam, and this is real life, not their fantasy land, then how can you expect them to understand formatting issues?
OP: Original poster; this person has set the mood for a discussion. Anyone intending to stay on topic will refer to the OP and comment on the OP's subject. Most internet conversations actually stay more on topic than real life conversations. There is no such thing as an "OP" in real life. If someone starts a conversation, or makes a statement in real life, it may inspire others to speak as well, but no one will appreciate the original subject or subject starter within minutes (unless of course the real life OP continues to manipulate the conversation, much as a teacher, or inquisitive person would).
Troll: douchebag; someone who acts with intention to evoke an emotional (usually negative) response from others. A troll may accomplish their goal in many ways, but their purpose is consistent, they do not respect other people, and wouldn't even be allowed near other people in real life. A troll would go to a Christian forum, and start a thread calling Jesus a fag. They may or may not believe in Jesus, and this is moot. They only seek to hurt/anger others. Usually trolls make their trolling statements, and never return. If they do return, it's only to fan the flames. Trolls never provide actual reasoning, nor employ any logic; they will only write what is necessary to achieve said emotional disruption. Sometimes trolls are discovered or are too obvious and no one takes the bait, but more often troll arguments are more successful in starting long meaningful passionate debates than concise, logical statements. This is primarily due to the internet appealing to morons.
Flames/flaming: Arguments/arguing devoid of reason and based primarily on emotion; In real life a "flamer" likes butt sex. On the internet, a flamer is one who 'ignites' other's emotion's specifically through insults. While a flamer can be a troll, and a troll can be a flamer, flaming tends to be "micro" and trolling tends to be "macro". Flaming, or flame warring is a series of insults hurled between 2 or more people over a thread or sometimes an entire forum. Most websites discourage this, and delete the comments and threaten the flamers with banning.
Meme: Cultural gene; the word applies to anything that passes as cultural "knowledge". The idiots of the internet would kill kittens to prove that meme has another definition; "pictures and phrases that are spread throughout the internet". This of course is still the original definition of meme. Though the kind of memes originally thought up were on a grander, more affecting scale, they are all memes. Common memes of a much more ancient manner are idioms. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink" "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush" "That's like the pot calling the kettle black" these idioms are obviously old. Most people have never even touched a horse, and if they had they certainly didn't get to lead it anywhere. Most people don't catch birds; most people don't have any idea why a pot would be worried about being black. But they know what the phrase means, the phrase conjures a concept within them, effectively communicating uses a means other than direct, pertinent language. With the internet, new memes can be passed, rather quickly. The "I can has cheezburger?" meme is legendary, and it spawned entire websites devoted to image concepts based on that one picture. Even after that cat has passed, he has lived on as a cultural gene, a meme.
4. leet (1337) : Leet is a derivative of 'elite'. It in itself is a term used for "hackers" but pretty much isn't properly used. Every computer nerd with some script writing wishes he were a hacker. In fact, this has always been the case, when I was reading the hacker's dictionary; they mentioned that most hackers wished they were more than they actually were. They wanted notoriety. In a system (the old internets) that required actual skill to be able to work/communicate/jest and had many varying levels of difficulty, it became logical that one would want to be known by many. People had to study, and work hard to communicate and use the internets. They were all hackers. No one fed them anything. Since getting in required skills, communicating required skills, it created an environment of people fighting to be the first to do something, or make something. This is why the computer/internet age advanced so quickly. These people wanted internet communication to be on par with real life communication.
In the new generation, there is no such thing as a "good" hacker. No need to innovate, no need to conquer, using the old ways. So there is little incentive to becoming a hacker. We are spoon fed the spoils of the previous generation. In this easy going world, the new concept of hacker became fruitful. Basically, being a douchebag and knowing some binary now makes you a hacker or "haxx0r", in leet.
Hackers take credit for everything. They claim to have reorganized the very foundations of written and spoken English, long before the world wide web. And they possessed so many internal words that they consider it their own language (mostly because they're self absorbed and intellectually lacking in anything beyond electronics, for instance Cultural Anthropology). Modern day wannabe haxx0rs have made up their own language too. But it is so far removed from old hacker language as to be only a long running joke on the internet.
Leet is the language of derivative ignorance. Its simplistic reformation of English serves no purpose save a self claimed superiority and method of higher communication. Leet essentially breaks down to replacing normal English letters with symbols.
Examples: a= 4, b= 8, c= x , o = 0 There really are no rules, and anything normal people start doing on the internet, leet users will adopt to further it's self-defeatist cause. 1337 or l33t = leet, haxx0r = hacker. There are many more and I don't care.
Something to note is that because the old hacker language was so culturally specific, it died. And because leet is so meaningless, it often attains new meaning as it is adopted into common usage. The TV show numb3rs uses the leet letter for 'e', I have never seen the show, but if there are sexy model/nerds and computers involved I wouldn't be surprised.
My absolute favorite is one instance of leet corruption. "pwn" or "pw3d" is leet for "own" and "owned". To be "owned" in internet speak is to have something overcome you in a ridiculous manner. For example when I try to write out blogs on Myspace, I am frequently owned by the shitty "post" function that auto deletes everything I write, if it's particularly long. The corruption is this; most people don't know or care about leet, so when they started seeing "pwn3d" and "pwn" everywhere in some of the first common "memes" on the interwebz, they automatically assumed that the "p" is pronounced like an English "p". This is of course a complete re-corruption. Leet took "p" and used it for an "o" because it still has the circle in it, and that's the essence of leet. People who didn't know pr0n from prawn assumed they should pronounce the p as a p, and THUS ENGLISH RETOOK A LEET WORD. OMFGROFLOLERCOASTER! So everyone that said "powned" out loud is an idiot. But if enough people say it, the rules change. I could say in this instance, leet got owned by its own idiotic language.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Saturday, June 07, 2008
INTERNET TIPS, TRICKS, AND CODES
You might already know everything I post here. But some aren't as hip as you. I'm going to lay out some of the cool stuff I've learned riding the interwebz.
1. html: (hyper text markup link) is what controls the internet, literally. In fact the internet wouldn't exist without it, it was created by the same guy who invented the world wide web (www.) and hyper text transfer protocol (http:) back in the early 90's. There are many websites that can teach you to write html, like here. I used sweet html to make that hidden link to the website.
2. Taking pictures of your screen: You can take a "screenshot" of anything you're computer sees simply by pressing the "prt sc" or "print screen" button. After pressing the button, once, open up mspaint, click the "edit" window and then "paste" the screenshot will then show up in mspaint. You can save it, and use it to proove to people you saw something amazing.
3. Stealing photos: Most images on the internet can be saved by right clicking and saving, making it fast and easy to have an instant porn collection, gore collection, comic collection, dead baby photo collection, etc. But some douche websites have the tenacity to use their html skillz to disable your right clicking right. To defeat their futile attempt to stop your copyright violations you can either; a) take a screenshot, then use a photo editor to cut out the image you wanted, or b) go to the "page" menu and click save as. Save it to somewhere convenient, then find that file, right click on it and choose "edit" if you haven't screwed up so far, you will open the webpage you've just saved, but with the ability to rearrange everything, and right click and save the images on the page. Now some websites have advanced html coding that embeds itself like an evil detective, further trying to stop you from right clicking. If this happens, you're going to have to get creative. You will need to start breaking up the coding, file names, etc. Do whatever you can, save as and change the file names, go crazy. I've only encountered this a couple times in my adventures, and I was always able to defeat the website. Basically if you can see it, you can have it.
4. Saving videos from photobucket to your computer: For legal reasons, photobucket cannot let anyone save videos from their site, even if it's your video. But here's how you can do it anyway; find the video you want. click on it so you bring it to it's own window or whatever, when you see the stack of confusing html below or beside the video left click on "direct link" it will automatically copy the text. Now open a new widow, and paste the text into the url area. Delete the part of the text that reads "?action=view¤t=" (without the quotes) and hit enter, or "return" for you old schoolers. Your computer will then pop up with a message asking if you want to "open or save". Choose save and there you have it. To watch the videos, you'll need a ".flv" player. "Real Player" is a popular and free example, if you don't have it, download it, and open your .flv files with it.
5. Saving other kinds of videos: Often you can right click, and choose "save target as" over the text below videos on websites. Some websites even tell you to do so if you wish. Other times the text is elswhere (like on another page), but the "save target as" still works, because the text is an html embeded direct link to the video file.
Youtube is a bit trickier, because they don't have the "direct link" over to the side, just the "url" and "embed" and because it displays videos in flash, right clicking on the video will get you nowhere. As of yet, I haven't cracked the youtube genome, so if you know how let me know.
There are also programs you can downlod that take video of what your screen sees, which can then effectively (though not cleanly) capture anything you see animated on the nets. These come in handy when you want to hijack webcam footage, and then send copies to all the "camwhore's" friends and family (not that I condone such things). This is just a heads up. If people can see it, no matter how they see it, they can save it, so use discretion on the net.
6. Tab, the wonder button: Most people don't use tab very much, but on the internet, it's a very helpful little tool. You old schoolers might have a good understanding of Tab's usefullness in word processing, here's how it transitions; it highlights things. Tab will move your activity around. For example, if you're on one of the hundreds of pages you'll encounter in your internet travels that's asking for row after row of info, just use tab to move from section to section. In many instances, tab replaces your mouse, and can actually get you where you wanted to go faster. In fact, if you lose your mouse, or it breaks, you can still navigate, and do all basic functions on your computer with tab instead. If you get a malicious pop up, or you're playing a video game that takes up your whole screen with no "close" or "minimize" buttons in sight hold the buttons "alt" and "tab" and whatever you were looking at will be minimized. On some computers, you'll get a choice sometimes of what you want to maximize after pressing the buttons, which will present themselves in symbolic form (for example the option to maximize your Internet Explorer over your video game will appear as the "E" symbol you're familiar with). If all this is getting to complicated, just push tab alot, all over the place, you'll get the idea quickly, and it won't hurt anything.
7.Uploading stuff: Since 2004, uploading has become a common practice for many internet visitors. Before the coming of websites like photobucket, youtube, myspace, and Deviant Art, there was little reason for the common man to ever upload anything. The only people that would were website builders, and content submitters (like animations to Newgrounds.com, independent films to atomfilms.com). Now that people can have their own personal internet space everyone is uploading.
Of course how to upload varies from website to website, but almost universally there will be a button that reads "Brouse" on it, and when you click it, it will access your computer. Each website allows only certain file types and sizes, and each website is different. The first thing to do is read the websites guidelines. Now lets say you want to upload a video to youtube. Youtube has a (I'm pretty sure) a 100mb file size limit. Depending on the file type, the amount of video that fits in 100mb varies. If the video is off your camera, it's probably going to take up a lot of space, but if you process it through a program (any free home video program) you can reduce the filesize if needed. Windows Movie Maker is a good one, about all the videos you see on youtube that look homemade, but with a halfassed effort to look professional were made with "WMM". If you don't have it on your computer, look for it. You can do a lot of easy editing, adding music, moving scenes, cutting scenes, adding text, subtitles, in fact check out my youtube video http://youtube.com/watch?v=Bl_-alLeefA for a good example.
If you wish to upload photographs to a website, the first thing you want to do is edit the photo to a smaller size. Typical digital cameras today have way too many pixels for their own good. Anything over 1 megapixels is going to piss off the website you're uploading to. Even if they say they have a 4mb file limit, there's no reason to do that. Simply open up a photo editor program, (I use MS Office Picture Manager) and compress the photo. I typically compress the file size to 270kb which is very small, and yet retains the size and quality you desire in internet photos. All my myspace photos have been compressed or were small to begin with, and you may notice they are plenty big enough. (If you're uploading cell phone photos, chances are they're already really small, and no compressing is necessary).
If you think this list was cool, let a comment, I'll make a second volume. If nobody reads this, I'll be a sad panda, cause this took me a couple hours.
1. html: (hyper text markup link) is what controls the internet, literally. In fact the internet wouldn't exist without it, it was created by the same guy who invented the world wide web (www.) and hyper text transfer protocol (http:) back in the early 90's. There are many websites that can teach you to write html, like here. I used sweet html to make that hidden link to the website.
2. Taking pictures of your screen: You can take a "screenshot" of anything you're computer sees simply by pressing the "prt sc" or "print screen" button. After pressing the button, once, open up mspaint, click the "edit" window and then "paste" the screenshot will then show up in mspaint. You can save it, and use it to proove to people you saw something amazing.
3. Stealing photos: Most images on the internet can be saved by right clicking and saving, making it fast and easy to have an instant porn collection, gore collection, comic collection, dead baby photo collection, etc. But some douche websites have the tenacity to use their html skillz to disable your right clicking right. To defeat their futile attempt to stop your copyright violations you can either; a) take a screenshot, then use a photo editor to cut out the image you wanted, or b) go to the "page" menu and click save as. Save it to somewhere convenient, then find that file, right click on it and choose "edit" if you haven't screwed up so far, you will open the webpage you've just saved, but with the ability to rearrange everything, and right click and save the images on the page. Now some websites have advanced html coding that embeds itself like an evil detective, further trying to stop you from right clicking. If this happens, you're going to have to get creative. You will need to start breaking up the coding, file names, etc. Do whatever you can, save as and change the file names, go crazy. I've only encountered this a couple times in my adventures, and I was always able to defeat the website. Basically if you can see it, you can have it.
4. Saving videos from photobucket to your computer: For legal reasons, photobucket cannot let anyone save videos from their site, even if it's your video. But here's how you can do it anyway; find the video you want. click on it so you bring it to it's own window or whatever, when you see the stack of confusing html below or beside the video left click on "direct link" it will automatically copy the text. Now open a new widow, and paste the text into the url area. Delete the part of the text that reads "?action=view¤t=" (without the quotes) and hit enter, or "return" for you old schoolers. Your computer will then pop up with a message asking if you want to "open or save". Choose save and there you have it. To watch the videos, you'll need a ".flv" player. "Real Player" is a popular and free example, if you don't have it, download it, and open your .flv files with it.
5. Saving other kinds of videos: Often you can right click, and choose "save target as" over the text below videos on websites. Some websites even tell you to do so if you wish. Other times the text is elswhere (like on another page), but the "save target as" still works, because the text is an html embeded direct link to the video file.
Youtube is a bit trickier, because they don't have the "direct link" over to the side, just the "url" and "embed" and because it displays videos in flash, right clicking on the video will get you nowhere. As of yet, I haven't cracked the youtube genome, so if you know how let me know.
There are also programs you can downlod that take video of what your screen sees, which can then effectively (though not cleanly) capture anything you see animated on the nets. These come in handy when you want to hijack webcam footage, and then send copies to all the "camwhore's" friends and family (not that I condone such things). This is just a heads up. If people can see it, no matter how they see it, they can save it, so use discretion on the net.
6. Tab, the wonder button: Most people don't use tab very much, but on the internet, it's a very helpful little tool. You old schoolers might have a good understanding of Tab's usefullness in word processing, here's how it transitions; it highlights things. Tab will move your activity around. For example, if you're on one of the hundreds of pages you'll encounter in your internet travels that's asking for row after row of info, just use tab to move from section to section. In many instances, tab replaces your mouse, and can actually get you where you wanted to go faster. In fact, if you lose your mouse, or it breaks, you can still navigate, and do all basic functions on your computer with tab instead. If you get a malicious pop up, or you're playing a video game that takes up your whole screen with no "close" or "minimize" buttons in sight hold the buttons "alt" and "tab" and whatever you were looking at will be minimized. On some computers, you'll get a choice sometimes of what you want to maximize after pressing the buttons, which will present themselves in symbolic form (for example the option to maximize your Internet Explorer over your video game will appear as the "E" symbol you're familiar with). If all this is getting to complicated, just push tab alot, all over the place, you'll get the idea quickly, and it won't hurt anything.
7.Uploading stuff: Since 2004, uploading has become a common practice for many internet visitors. Before the coming of websites like photobucket, youtube, myspace, and Deviant Art, there was little reason for the common man to ever upload anything. The only people that would were website builders, and content submitters (like animations to Newgrounds.com, independent films to atomfilms.com). Now that people can have their own personal internet space everyone is uploading.
Of course how to upload varies from website to website, but almost universally there will be a button that reads "Brouse" on it, and when you click it, it will access your computer. Each website allows only certain file types and sizes, and each website is different. The first thing to do is read the websites guidelines. Now lets say you want to upload a video to youtube. Youtube has a (I'm pretty sure) a 100mb file size limit. Depending on the file type, the amount of video that fits in 100mb varies. If the video is off your camera, it's probably going to take up a lot of space, but if you process it through a program (any free home video program) you can reduce the filesize if needed. Windows Movie Maker is a good one, about all the videos you see on youtube that look homemade, but with a halfassed effort to look professional were made with "WMM". If you don't have it on your computer, look for it. You can do a lot of easy editing, adding music, moving scenes, cutting scenes, adding text, subtitles, in fact check out my youtube video http://youtube.com/watch?v=Bl_-alLeefA for a good example.
If you wish to upload photographs to a website, the first thing you want to do is edit the photo to a smaller size. Typical digital cameras today have way too many pixels for their own good. Anything over 1 megapixels is going to piss off the website you're uploading to. Even if they say they have a 4mb file limit, there's no reason to do that. Simply open up a photo editor program, (I use MS Office Picture Manager) and compress the photo. I typically compress the file size to 270kb which is very small, and yet retains the size and quality you desire in internet photos. All my myspace photos have been compressed or were small to begin with, and you may notice they are plenty big enough. (If you're uploading cell phone photos, chances are they're already really small, and no compressing is necessary).
If you think this list was cool, let a comment, I'll make a second volume. If nobody reads this, I'll be a sad panda, cause this took me a couple hours.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Lost, shipwrecked, cast away, blah blah
Why are so many people so completely obsessed with the concept of being stranded somewhere?
This love of the lonely goes back farther than Robinson Crusoe which was published in 1719. The manifestation of this idea appears repeatedly. I could name without thinking too hard many more examples than just the three in my title (Really? yes) ok: "Three", "Swiss family Robinson" (yeah cheap one) "6 days, 7 nights", "Island of the Blue Dolphins" (oooh bet you didn't see that one coming) "Ren and Stimpy" "Mad Magazine", "Saturday Night Live", uuhh almost thinking now, Tailspin, that commercial where the monkeys live with that dude and they get a computer, ok now I'm thinking, how about nearly every cartoon, sketch comedy show, and sci fi show, has at one time or another played on the idea of people stuck in a small area and forced to live with nature and each other.
This isn't necessarily a bad thing. I don't hate the concept, it enamors me too. I'd love to be stuck on an island with some hot girl. Of course the survivor theme, oh duh, "Survivor", anyway it doesn't stop at deserted isles, oh yeah "Gilligan's Island" it also works on apocalypse themes where the actual demise of humanity takes a back seat to a couple people stuck together alone and with only their relationships keeping them alive, i.e. every zombie movie ever including Resident Evil's .Also that movie "Night of the Comet" where those girls wake up to find all of humanity vanished. It's all the same. This fixation on a few people dealing with each other mostly out of absolute necessity.
Why does this seem to be such an inate desire? To conceptualize the island. While I don't so thoroughly question most aspects of our culture, this one gets me. Simply for the fact that it NEVER HAPPENS. Aside from the one Scottish dude 300 years ago that inspired "Robinson Crusoe" and those Japanese soldiers in the Pacific Islands, nobody gets stuck on tropical islands. It isn't one of the normal aspects of human sociological development. We are forever bombarded by uncontrollable change and new characters come in all the time.
You might try to take the easy way out and suggest that it is because it never happens that we dream about it so much. Well, by that logic, there should also be thousands more stories about utopias relative to stories of dystopias. But it isn't true. We are realists. Even our fantasies hold on to our most basic social sets. Name one story about a good government and happy people, and I'll name 50 about horrible governments, and miserable people. Horrible governments and miserable people is our history, and we assume our future. Why then so fixated on a nearly impossible situation of being forced to stick with people you probably didn't know that you will come to love mutually or kill, and must work together to survive, no other option? Or that there are always the resources for you, so you can stay, until you mind decides to leave? (not counting Steven King's take, which really had nothing to do with sociology and everything to do with perserverance).
One could say it is oft repeated because it is the nature of the story ( a couple people, and no illogical complications) that makes it easy to copy. Any shitty writer can get away with a survivor story. There only needs be one story arch. There only needs be 2 to 3 character stories. There needs to be only one relationship. Easy to write. Sure, but then why do we fantasize about it too? I mean, we don't fantasize about shitty "parody" movies, yet every year we get another one. Obviously there is more to it than just the easy money.
My best guess as to why this entire society dreams of being put in a life or death situation with douchebags who will be 50/50 on trying to kill you is that we want our minds to be it. We want our relationships to be THE relationships. We want to be islands, but no man is an island. The island fantasy has nothing to do with getting away and having a bad time, it's just our comparitve visual presentation of a psychological desire to keep things to ourselves, and simultaneously be able to make others understand us. How can this person you love know how you truly feel? What you truly would do for them? Island. How can you ever believe you won't be left for another, or become obsolete at your job, or otherwise replaced? Island. How can you both go on, when everyone around you tries to break you apart? Island. How will any human get to know the real you, without all this pretense bullshit, the part of you that matters, the part that isn't about looking good or telling jokes or hurting others? Island.
Anyway. That's my guess. But if you read this maybe you have a better idea. I just wanted to test the waters, cause I know for a fact how much the island concept means to "us". I wonder how many other people actually realize it too.
This love of the lonely goes back farther than Robinson Crusoe which was published in 1719. The manifestation of this idea appears repeatedly. I could name without thinking too hard many more examples than just the three in my title (Really? yes) ok: "Three", "Swiss family Robinson" (yeah cheap one) "6 days, 7 nights", "Island of the Blue Dolphins" (oooh bet you didn't see that one coming) "Ren and Stimpy" "Mad Magazine", "Saturday Night Live", uuhh almost thinking now, Tailspin, that commercial where the monkeys live with that dude and they get a computer, ok now I'm thinking, how about nearly every cartoon, sketch comedy show, and sci fi show, has at one time or another played on the idea of people stuck in a small area and forced to live with nature and each other.
This isn't necessarily a bad thing. I don't hate the concept, it enamors me too. I'd love to be stuck on an island with some hot girl. Of course the survivor theme, oh duh, "Survivor", anyway it doesn't stop at deserted isles, oh yeah "Gilligan's Island" it also works on apocalypse themes where the actual demise of humanity takes a back seat to a couple people stuck together alone and with only their relationships keeping them alive, i.e. every zombie movie ever including Resident Evil's .Also that movie "Night of the Comet" where those girls wake up to find all of humanity vanished. It's all the same. This fixation on a few people dealing with each other mostly out of absolute necessity.
Why does this seem to be such an inate desire? To conceptualize the island. While I don't so thoroughly question most aspects of our culture, this one gets me. Simply for the fact that it NEVER HAPPENS. Aside from the one Scottish dude 300 years ago that inspired "Robinson Crusoe" and those Japanese soldiers in the Pacific Islands, nobody gets stuck on tropical islands. It isn't one of the normal aspects of human sociological development. We are forever bombarded by uncontrollable change and new characters come in all the time.
You might try to take the easy way out and suggest that it is because it never happens that we dream about it so much. Well, by that logic, there should also be thousands more stories about utopias relative to stories of dystopias. But it isn't true. We are realists. Even our fantasies hold on to our most basic social sets. Name one story about a good government and happy people, and I'll name 50 about horrible governments, and miserable people. Horrible governments and miserable people is our history, and we assume our future. Why then so fixated on a nearly impossible situation of being forced to stick with people you probably didn't know that you will come to love mutually or kill, and must work together to survive, no other option? Or that there are always the resources for you, so you can stay, until you mind decides to leave? (not counting Steven King's take, which really had nothing to do with sociology and everything to do with perserverance).
One could say it is oft repeated because it is the nature of the story ( a couple people, and no illogical complications) that makes it easy to copy. Any shitty writer can get away with a survivor story. There only needs be one story arch. There only needs be 2 to 3 character stories. There needs to be only one relationship. Easy to write. Sure, but then why do we fantasize about it too? I mean, we don't fantasize about shitty "parody" movies, yet every year we get another one. Obviously there is more to it than just the easy money.
My best guess as to why this entire society dreams of being put in a life or death situation with douchebags who will be 50/50 on trying to kill you is that we want our minds to be it. We want our relationships to be THE relationships. We want to be islands, but no man is an island. The island fantasy has nothing to do with getting away and having a bad time, it's just our comparitve visual presentation of a psychological desire to keep things to ourselves, and simultaneously be able to make others understand us. How can this person you love know how you truly feel? What you truly would do for them? Island. How can you ever believe you won't be left for another, or become obsolete at your job, or otherwise replaced? Island. How can you both go on, when everyone around you tries to break you apart? Island. How will any human get to know the real you, without all this pretense bullshit, the part of you that matters, the part that isn't about looking good or telling jokes or hurting others? Island.
Anyway. That's my guess. But if you read this maybe you have a better idea. I just wanted to test the waters, cause I know for a fact how much the island concept means to "us". I wonder how many other people actually realize it too.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Charlton Heston: Hero Of The People
Charlton Heston was a hero by the strictest Ayn Rand standards. His bravery in WW2. His portrayl of heroic men in movies and refusal to compromise in lesser roles. His greatness as a solid husband and father. And his great leadership in many organizations including the SAG, AFI, and of course NRA. "You will get my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers." -Chuck Heston
Don’t worry Mr. Heston, I’ve got a gun in each hand, and they’ll only be prying bullets from those who’d take them from me.
I’ve been a hardcore supporter of the 2nd ammendment for many years now. I joined the California Rifle and Pistol Association in 2001. I bought my first gun, a 1944 Turkish Mauser in January 2002. I bought my second gun, a brand spanking new Glock 36, which is like the smallest most powerfull, badass, handgun in existence. In fact I’ll devote this next paragraph to the Glock.
The Glock 36 sells for about $700 retail which is about the same price as most Glocks, and is incredibly more expensive than most other guns, to give an example a 90% condition Smith and Wesson revolver from the 1860s which is the first pistol on earth to have self contained bullets in a revolving chamber (first modern gun) sells for about $600 today. So national treasure- $600, my Glock - $700. The Glock 36 has an inline magazine making the grip smaller than every other .45 magazine pistol. It is a sub-compact design, so it fits in my pocket. Normally small guns are not very powerful or accurate, but this is a .45 which can kill anyone from pretty much any distance, and I have tried it out on the range many times and I just annihilate the bullseye. Even if a .45 doesn’t kill you, the bullet is so damn big whatever it hits won’t function properly.
Most of the socialist world has banned the right to bear arms, and they are brain washed to think this is the right way of things, so you may find at all times a pro-gun position to be a minority. Especially here on the internet. Even if every American were pro-gun, that would still be an extreme minority on the internet. So if you read this and feel the same way I do about the constitution, know that this isn’t a common belief and we have to stick to together. The Socialists hate individual authority, and that is exactly what a gun represents.
I was reading The L.A. Times obituary on Mr. Heston and in the comments section I noticed a lot of devilish remarks about him simply because he believed in defending the Constitution. They made repeated reference to "babies dying in the streets" which is so absurd that there really can’t be any brain functioning in there.
I don’t know how to put this succinctly because it requires such a background establishment, but I will say this, there is a reason every founding father went out of their way to specifically state why the right for civillians to have guns, and the need for civillians to have guns was so imperitive. And it wasn’t for defense against "the King of England" as lefty Simpsons implied or is oft mis reported. We have the right to bear arms, so we can literally kill our leaders. Our founding fathers knew bullshit evil dicators come about, and they said the need for Americans to have a gun to kill them was priority, to defend all other rights. Without the fourth ammendment, no other rights are possible, without the second ammendment, no rights are guaranteed.
Charlton Heston is as much famous for his acting as he is for his support of the second ammendment, but is much more hated for this than loved. This is a scary thing to me. Only criminals keep guns when guns are outlawed. There are just as many murders in countries without guns as countries with guns. No amount of regulation can remove knives, which kill waaay more people. No amount of regulation can remove cars, which kill compounded exponents of more people. No amount of regulation can remove buckets of water that kill 10-1 kids, vs. guns. No amount of socialism can stop people from dying. Only people who have actually lived can be killed, if you value the life you can’t limit it. A man forced into a box for his own protection will never die unjustly, but he will never justly live either. There can be no compromise about an individual's rights. DON’T FUCK WITH MY LIBERTY.
Charlton Heston was a hero. He made a profound impact on humanity, and will be remembered.
Don’t worry Mr. Heston, I’ve got a gun in each hand, and they’ll only be prying bullets from those who’d take them from me.
I’ve been a hardcore supporter of the 2nd ammendment for many years now. I joined the California Rifle and Pistol Association in 2001. I bought my first gun, a 1944 Turkish Mauser in January 2002. I bought my second gun, a brand spanking new Glock 36, which is like the smallest most powerfull, badass, handgun in existence. In fact I’ll devote this next paragraph to the Glock.
The Glock 36 sells for about $700 retail which is about the same price as most Glocks, and is incredibly more expensive than most other guns, to give an example a 90% condition Smith and Wesson revolver from the 1860s which is the first pistol on earth to have self contained bullets in a revolving chamber (first modern gun) sells for about $600 today. So national treasure- $600, my Glock - $700. The Glock 36 has an inline magazine making the grip smaller than every other .45 magazine pistol. It is a sub-compact design, so it fits in my pocket. Normally small guns are not very powerful or accurate, but this is a .45 which can kill anyone from pretty much any distance, and I have tried it out on the range many times and I just annihilate the bullseye. Even if a .45 doesn’t kill you, the bullet is so damn big whatever it hits won’t function properly.
Most of the socialist world has banned the right to bear arms, and they are brain washed to think this is the right way of things, so you may find at all times a pro-gun position to be a minority. Especially here on the internet. Even if every American were pro-gun, that would still be an extreme minority on the internet. So if you read this and feel the same way I do about the constitution, know that this isn’t a common belief and we have to stick to together. The Socialists hate individual authority, and that is exactly what a gun represents.
I was reading The L.A. Times obituary on Mr. Heston and in the comments section I noticed a lot of devilish remarks about him simply because he believed in defending the Constitution. They made repeated reference to "babies dying in the streets" which is so absurd that there really can’t be any brain functioning in there.
I don’t know how to put this succinctly because it requires such a background establishment, but I will say this, there is a reason every founding father went out of their way to specifically state why the right for civillians to have guns, and the need for civillians to have guns was so imperitive. And it wasn’t for defense against "the King of England" as lefty Simpsons implied or is oft mis reported. We have the right to bear arms, so we can literally kill our leaders. Our founding fathers knew bullshit evil dicators come about, and they said the need for Americans to have a gun to kill them was priority, to defend all other rights. Without the fourth ammendment, no other rights are possible, without the second ammendment, no rights are guaranteed.
Charlton Heston is as much famous for his acting as he is for his support of the second ammendment, but is much more hated for this than loved. This is a scary thing to me. Only criminals keep guns when guns are outlawed. There are just as many murders in countries without guns as countries with guns. No amount of regulation can remove knives, which kill waaay more people. No amount of regulation can remove cars, which kill compounded exponents of more people. No amount of regulation can remove buckets of water that kill 10-1 kids, vs. guns. No amount of socialism can stop people from dying. Only people who have actually lived can be killed, if you value the life you can’t limit it. A man forced into a box for his own protection will never die unjustly, but he will never justly live either. There can be no compromise about an individual's rights. DON’T FUCK WITH MY LIBERTY.
Charlton Heston was a hero. He made a profound impact on humanity, and will be remembered.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Tony Jackson and the bay (long but good?)
The Average reader reads at 200 wpm. There are a little over 2900 words in this post so it might take you about 15 minutes to read it. I think it’s a good story, and I had to write it. It took me about 2 1/2 hours to write it and proofread. So enjoy if you will. Maybe start with the begining and see if it’s the kind of tale for you. Unfortunately this intro I’ve written adds about a minute to you slow pokes.
Tony invited me to go with him to UC Berkeley (aka CAL) (aka most famous liberal college in American history) to see Richard Dawkins give a lecture on his latest book. Now I didn’t know we were going to Cal to begin with, I just thought we were going to Berkeley. Also I didn’t know who Richard Dawkins was. He’s apparantly notoriously anti-religion and was spoofed as a character on a two part episode of South Park where Cartman goes to a future controlled by Atheists (Dawkins’s the guy banging Mrs. Garrison).
Tony lives in Fairfield which is about a 2 hour drive from Stockton in the bust ass truck I’m driving. Now the truck isn’t completely street legal so I had misgivings about driving it there and especially didn’t want to go into Berkeley with it. So we got a ride from Tony’s Mom to the Vallejo Ferry. There we wandered the hard streets of Mac Dre’s town and admired the black people and crossed streets against the lights, because Tony asserts that’s what people do in the ghetto, jaywalk. Then we went back to the ferry and went into the bar across the water from where my Grandpa Wise was stationed for a time in the Korean War while my Grandmother lived in Stockton attending UOP. This isn’t really important except that Tony (who is from Colorado) was trying to tell me about Vallejo like I didn’t know the life story of the man who founded it. Anyway, we got drunk.
After a couple hours the ferry was ready to depart and we hopped on. I got a really cool seat outside on the second deck and saved a spot for Tony, meanwhile I was asked to photgraph some hot latinas.Tony came up with a beer and I wanted one too so I switched spots with him, told him to hold me a seat and went down to the ferry’s drink man. While ordering my beer ( a local brew you will never get to drink, whoever is reading this) Tony pops his head up and asks for a glass of whiskey. Thus establishing us as completely drunk and without sweet seats next to hot latinas. So we went back outside and stood and drank while Tony explained about the Nautical Academy he’s aiming for and how he participated in yacht races out in the bay every week before he started school. The North East San Francisco Bay is breathtaking. You have to see it to know. It looks like another country. It is about as beautiful as any place can be.
The ferry went ridiculously fast, in fact I think it’s the fastest I’ve ever experienced on a boat. The wake was unbelieveable, a skiff would disappear in that spray, the center maintained a water wall at least 10 ft high with a side waves a skier would kill for, or die jumping. The wind got bad with the speed and we retired to some comfortable seats inside up forward and talked as we watched the ship scream across the San Francisco Bay.
It pulled right into pier 39, with Tony explaining the old Navy tender nearby was the "USS Jerimiah O’Brien" which as you might know is a precursor to Tony and Mine’s first ship the DD USS O’Brien. It being a tradition in the Navy to keep names "alive" through generations of ships, like "Enterprise". O’Brien as I recall had at least 5 ships of the same name through the years, all named after an Irish soldier from the Civil War or maybe the Revolution, I can’t remember now. Anyway we were still a bit drunk and walked onto the pier with at least 100 people waiting in line to board the ferry. The sobering came when we had to walk from Pier 39 to the Bart station at Embarcadero and Market. I told Tony about 7 times that there was a street car that went right to it, but he insisted we walked. The weather everywhere was perfect that day. Though the walking got tedious as I watched us encircle Coit tower on Telegraph hill by about 90 degrees.
Eventually we made it to Market Street, where I’ve been literally hundreds of times in my life and went below the street, below the subway, to the BART station deep within. We got the Train to Richmond which was completely packed and rode under the bay about 5 times faster than the Ferry went over it. When we started hitting Oakland stops I whipped out my iPod and we listened to "California :Love" by 2Pac and Dr. Dre. "From Oakland to Sac-Town, the Bay Area and back down" seemed appropriate enough if not completely silly to anybody standing near us, 2 white guys sharing ear phones jamming to 13 year old rap/techno.
Awesomely the BART stops off in Downtown Berkeley about 1 city block from Cal. I have been to Berkeley many times in my life but I’d never been to Cal till this day. College kids abound we walked up hill into the wooded outer perimeter (stopping for a burrito first) I noticed there were emergency phones about every 25 yards. I joked that a rapist would have to be pretty crafty to get a girl in the "point of no return" middle areas that are over 10 yards from any rape phone. "Perhaps he could hide in the gully by the creek and call to women and lure them with his voice away from the safety of the rape phones" or "Perhaps he could hide behind that log" were the jist of it. Not that I encourage sex with Cal girls in any capacity, just noting the absurdity of the frequency of the phones.
Onward and upward we went. The pulse of the heart of Berkeley beating louder as we neared it. One by one the left wing cliche’s began emerging, a group of old white haired scientist looking guys, an over the hill big banked couple ’touring’. An old professor in a brown cordoroy suit. As we passed the great East Gateway there were signs everywhere for various clubs, including I noticed the "UC Berkeley Objectivists Club". The ground was rife with colored chalk propaganda, anywhere from "Bush is evil" to "Living wage for Custodians" At the center of the scrawlings a group of reasonably young hippies. I call them hippies in the scrictest sense for they wore the traditional hippie cloth, and were gathered around in a drum circle, playing drums.
We managed to round these odd creatures following the papers taped to the ground "Dawkins lecture" with arrows to guide to the hall. Upon entering the hall we see a great line that went around the corner. So we walked around the corner, and it went around the next corner, so we walked around that one as well. It further continued to wrap around and we chased its tail to the fourth side of the building. In a matter of 10 minutes the line had passed us and went back to the first side and out the door. We were over an hour early at this point. The lecture was scheduled for 7:00 pm. Around 6:30 and between Tony’s 4th and 5th smoke breaks we recieved our tickets, curtesy of student club SANE (Students for A Non-religious Ethos). Nearing 7:00 pm the doors to the lecture hall were opened and we found our seats luckily about 15 ft from where Mr. Dawkins would give his entire lecture. About 750 people packed into the hall, but for reasons unknown to me they waited a long time to start and the 40 minute lecture didn’t begin until about 8:20 pm. This marked the first time in my life I was completely surrounded in a room of Atheists, and weren’t afraid to be so. Here is where I learned that Atheists are most definitely not necessarily Objectivists, or even particularly rational or moral.
Mr. Dawkins said some interesting things, but since he was focusing the entire lecture on subjects covered in a book I hadn’t heard about until about an hour before I was more absorbed in everything but the details (also I was still a bit drunk and Tony was so bad that later he told me he tried to prevent the woman to his left from smelling the pure alcohol vapors from his breath). He made one interesting point about how no child is a religious child, that there is no such thing as a 5 year old Catholic boy, or a 7 year old Muslim giril. There is a 5 year old boy with Catholic parents, but if the parents were sailors you wouldn’t call him a 5 year old sailor. Somehow religion is given a free pass on personal accomplishment or will. Mr. Dawkins made a lot of jokes about religion, mentioned the teapot theory all the while the audience was laughing and cheering. It was beyond bizarre for me, for in my life I have only known 2 passionately anti-religious people, and even though I myself refuse religion as a concept I don’t really take any particular pleasure in being derisive about it. Maybe because beyond my youngest years I wasn’t told to believe one thing or another and even in my younger years was only expected to attend religious services, not explicitely learn anything from my attendence. Though I suppose I did laugh a little and any jokes I missed were entirely the cause of the day’s sun, walking too much, and beer.
For me religion is an odd juncture. I was born a Catholic. My Father a born again Christian (his parents Atheists) and my Mother the full blown Catholic. My great Uncle or something along those lines on my mother’s side was the top Bishop of San Francisco back in the day. My Mother’s Mother went to a hard core Catholic High School in San Francisco and I assume a Catholic elementary. My Grandfather was a teacher and Councellor at St. Mary’s High School in Stockton for over 30 years. My Mom went to St. Mary’s, as did my uncle. I was baptized at my Great Grandfather’s (mother’s mother’s father) funeral as a baby in what my Grandfather called a "2 for 1 deal" for the priest, who he personally had the priest perform the baptism in a bathroom sink at the cemetery. This went down as a merely informal, though spiritually binding, baptism as I was baptized again at age 12 after proper Catholic classes were taken. I have the distinct pleasure of having only once cheated on any test in my life, during a Catholic class test for the "Our Father" prayer. Also a Sunday Mass marked the only time in my life I literally stared at a clock, and no where else, for an entire hour. I can’t tell you exactly when I became Atheist, only that I thought I knew God existed throughout most of high school, and was definitely unsure by the time I joined the Navy in 2002. My Atheism was solidified by the time I first read Ayn Rand in January of 2004. Though I must point out at this time and not elaborate (as I’ve already done it in previous posts) that technically I am not an atheist by its definition. That is one who wholly rejects even the possibility of a god. Being a creature of logic, this would be a silly and unnecessary leap.
Mr. Dawkins told us that he himself isn’t a complete Atheist either. He introduced a scale of ’knowing there’s a god’ to ’knowing there isn’t a god’ where everything in the middle is agnostic on varying levels. By his scale I was 9/10 10 being Atheist. Then he said he was a 9/10, so I guess we’re on the same page. He described 9/10 as being ’Not being exactly certain there isn’t a God, but living life with the assumption that there isn’t, and equating the possibility of God with the possibility of unicorns and fairies.’ That’s where I am.
When the lecture was over and Mr. Dawkins got a standing ovation we walked out into the night. Wandered the bar scene a bit but did not partake and instead went to the BART. We had been screwed from the begining as the ferry stopped running at 7:00 and never planned on going back to Fairfield that way. We took BART to Richmond which is a ghetto town north of Berkeley. Poor old Berkeley book ended by Oakland and Richmond. Richmond as you may recall is the town featured in the film "Coach Carter" with Samuel L. Jackson. The city where no one graduates from school and kids get capped in the streets for selling shit. Well we made this our destination and right off the train bums were hitting us up for cash. Outside the station there was one bum on a bench singing to himself very pleasantly but from a distance became ominous. Tony for some reason was scared shitless of this town. I tried to explain to him that I lived in the most violent areas of S.F. and Stockton growing up, and had just left an apartment in San Diego that was completely surrounded by the most crazy houses, halfway houses, bum empires and police sirens you will ever see in any place on earth, but this didn’t calm him down. He insisted I hide my headphones which he didn’t know I was using to ironically play to myself Filter’s sugar sweet song "Take a Picture". Apparently he’d been reading about all the killings and thefts going down in Rich town and that just the implication of white headphones being attached to a $300 iPod could get us mugged. I wasn’t so worried, and even somewhat desired a confrontation so I could establish myself as king of Cali and maybe kill a thug in the process. I saw one group of thugish looking kids all hooded and waiting for a bus. Tony got so paranoid he went to the taxi area and wouldn’t move. I told him the taxi drivers were all sleeping and their doors were locked, so that even if he did plan on using them to escape something he’d get shanked long before he got in the cab. There was a sign stuck in the grass that read "I support Not Today www.not2day.org the sign had a silhouette of what appeared to be a dead man. I checked out the website days later, it is a Richmond initiative to go 1 day without a violent crime. We sat on a bench by the taxis and waited about 20 mins. for Tony’s Mom to pick us up.
She came, we rode and got back to his place. I was tired as all hell but Tony is on a night rotation for work, and we ended up staying up to watch a movie from 1983 called "Max Dugan Returns" a woman and her son (Mathew Broderick) who are visited by the woman’s father who hasn’t been in her life since she was 10. He had a couple hundred thousand dollars he scammed off his employers in Vegas and they were after him as well as the feds. The woman is incidentally dating a cop (Donald Sutherland) who gets suspicious as this broke as shit teacher starts getting a lot of undesired gifts from her dad including wads of bills, luxury cars, big stereos, and a whole new house in the place of the old one. I jokingly guessed that Keifer Sutherland also known as SUPER BADASS JACK from 24, might be in the film, and was surprised to spot him in his 5 second appearance in a group of people at the high school where the woman taught. All together the film was oddball. Not stupid slapstick like much of the turn of the 80s comedies it was as serious as it was funny, almost depressing towards the end which is open ended only letting you know that the great Max is gone for good, the woman is broke as shit again, and will probably be going on trial for accessory to larceny or whatever, with most of the police work against her done by her cop boyfriend who she simultaneously kisses, and begs leniency. Quite twisted. Tony believed this to be one of the best films he’s ever seen.
That’s it. I went to sleep. I woke up in day lights savings. I drove home to Stockton around 12:00 on Sunday and didn’t do shit.
Somehow in this entire comprehensive overly detailed story I am not able to capture who Tony is, or why he is so awesome. I guess I can only say, he is a very funny and witty person. He made me laugh all damn day, and every person that we spent even a minute near was in tears laughing at the shit Tony would say. I’m remembering us on the ferry waiting for a toilet to open and Tony just going at it like a stand up comedian just ripping on half the people walking by while anyone listening is laughing their ass off. He wasn’t even rude or personal, just pure tact. Calling on little known stereotypes and idiosyncrasies from people of a specific city and state he noticed were prevalent on the ferry.
This man crush I have on him I guess can be summed up with the name I have in previous blogs (back to the begining since Tony lived with me for 3 weeks while I began my assent into extreme blogging) used to preface his given name; "Legendary".
Tony invited me to go with him to UC Berkeley (aka CAL) (aka most famous liberal college in American history) to see Richard Dawkins give a lecture on his latest book. Now I didn’t know we were going to Cal to begin with, I just thought we were going to Berkeley. Also I didn’t know who Richard Dawkins was. He’s apparantly notoriously anti-religion and was spoofed as a character on a two part episode of South Park where Cartman goes to a future controlled by Atheists (Dawkins’s the guy banging Mrs. Garrison).
Tony lives in Fairfield which is about a 2 hour drive from Stockton in the bust ass truck I’m driving. Now the truck isn’t completely street legal so I had misgivings about driving it there and especially didn’t want to go into Berkeley with it. So we got a ride from Tony’s Mom to the Vallejo Ferry. There we wandered the hard streets of Mac Dre’s town and admired the black people and crossed streets against the lights, because Tony asserts that’s what people do in the ghetto, jaywalk. Then we went back to the ferry and went into the bar across the water from where my Grandpa Wise was stationed for a time in the Korean War while my Grandmother lived in Stockton attending UOP. This isn’t really important except that Tony (who is from Colorado) was trying to tell me about Vallejo like I didn’t know the life story of the man who founded it. Anyway, we got drunk.
After a couple hours the ferry was ready to depart and we hopped on. I got a really cool seat outside on the second deck and saved a spot for Tony, meanwhile I was asked to photgraph some hot latinas.Tony came up with a beer and I wanted one too so I switched spots with him, told him to hold me a seat and went down to the ferry’s drink man. While ordering my beer ( a local brew you will never get to drink, whoever is reading this) Tony pops his head up and asks for a glass of whiskey. Thus establishing us as completely drunk and without sweet seats next to hot latinas. So we went back outside and stood and drank while Tony explained about the Nautical Academy he’s aiming for and how he participated in yacht races out in the bay every week before he started school. The North East San Francisco Bay is breathtaking. You have to see it to know. It looks like another country. It is about as beautiful as any place can be.
The ferry went ridiculously fast, in fact I think it’s the fastest I’ve ever experienced on a boat. The wake was unbelieveable, a skiff would disappear in that spray, the center maintained a water wall at least 10 ft high with a side waves a skier would kill for, or die jumping. The wind got bad with the speed and we retired to some comfortable seats inside up forward and talked as we watched the ship scream across the San Francisco Bay.
It pulled right into pier 39, with Tony explaining the old Navy tender nearby was the "USS Jerimiah O’Brien" which as you might know is a precursor to Tony and Mine’s first ship the DD USS O’Brien. It being a tradition in the Navy to keep names "alive" through generations of ships, like "Enterprise". O’Brien as I recall had at least 5 ships of the same name through the years, all named after an Irish soldier from the Civil War or maybe the Revolution, I can’t remember now. Anyway we were still a bit drunk and walked onto the pier with at least 100 people waiting in line to board the ferry. The sobering came when we had to walk from Pier 39 to the Bart station at Embarcadero and Market. I told Tony about 7 times that there was a street car that went right to it, but he insisted we walked. The weather everywhere was perfect that day. Though the walking got tedious as I watched us encircle Coit tower on Telegraph hill by about 90 degrees.
Eventually we made it to Market Street, where I’ve been literally hundreds of times in my life and went below the street, below the subway, to the BART station deep within. We got the Train to Richmond which was completely packed and rode under the bay about 5 times faster than the Ferry went over it. When we started hitting Oakland stops I whipped out my iPod and we listened to "California :Love" by 2Pac and Dr. Dre. "From Oakland to Sac-Town, the Bay Area and back down" seemed appropriate enough if not completely silly to anybody standing near us, 2 white guys sharing ear phones jamming to 13 year old rap/techno.
Awesomely the BART stops off in Downtown Berkeley about 1 city block from Cal. I have been to Berkeley many times in my life but I’d never been to Cal till this day. College kids abound we walked up hill into the wooded outer perimeter (stopping for a burrito first) I noticed there were emergency phones about every 25 yards. I joked that a rapist would have to be pretty crafty to get a girl in the "point of no return" middle areas that are over 10 yards from any rape phone. "Perhaps he could hide in the gully by the creek and call to women and lure them with his voice away from the safety of the rape phones" or "Perhaps he could hide behind that log" were the jist of it. Not that I encourage sex with Cal girls in any capacity, just noting the absurdity of the frequency of the phones.
Onward and upward we went. The pulse of the heart of Berkeley beating louder as we neared it. One by one the left wing cliche’s began emerging, a group of old white haired scientist looking guys, an over the hill big banked couple ’touring’. An old professor in a brown cordoroy suit. As we passed the great East Gateway there were signs everywhere for various clubs, including I noticed the "UC Berkeley Objectivists Club". The ground was rife with colored chalk propaganda, anywhere from "Bush is evil" to "Living wage for Custodians" At the center of the scrawlings a group of reasonably young hippies. I call them hippies in the scrictest sense for they wore the traditional hippie cloth, and were gathered around in a drum circle, playing drums.
We managed to round these odd creatures following the papers taped to the ground "Dawkins lecture" with arrows to guide to the hall. Upon entering the hall we see a great line that went around the corner. So we walked around the corner, and it went around the next corner, so we walked around that one as well. It further continued to wrap around and we chased its tail to the fourth side of the building. In a matter of 10 minutes the line had passed us and went back to the first side and out the door. We were over an hour early at this point. The lecture was scheduled for 7:00 pm. Around 6:30 and between Tony’s 4th and 5th smoke breaks we recieved our tickets, curtesy of student club SANE (Students for A Non-religious Ethos). Nearing 7:00 pm the doors to the lecture hall were opened and we found our seats luckily about 15 ft from where Mr. Dawkins would give his entire lecture. About 750 people packed into the hall, but for reasons unknown to me they waited a long time to start and the 40 minute lecture didn’t begin until about 8:20 pm. This marked the first time in my life I was completely surrounded in a room of Atheists, and weren’t afraid to be so. Here is where I learned that Atheists are most definitely not necessarily Objectivists, or even particularly rational or moral.
Mr. Dawkins said some interesting things, but since he was focusing the entire lecture on subjects covered in a book I hadn’t heard about until about an hour before I was more absorbed in everything but the details (also I was still a bit drunk and Tony was so bad that later he told me he tried to prevent the woman to his left from smelling the pure alcohol vapors from his breath). He made one interesting point about how no child is a religious child, that there is no such thing as a 5 year old Catholic boy, or a 7 year old Muslim giril. There is a 5 year old boy with Catholic parents, but if the parents were sailors you wouldn’t call him a 5 year old sailor. Somehow religion is given a free pass on personal accomplishment or will. Mr. Dawkins made a lot of jokes about religion, mentioned the teapot theory all the while the audience was laughing and cheering. It was beyond bizarre for me, for in my life I have only known 2 passionately anti-religious people, and even though I myself refuse religion as a concept I don’t really take any particular pleasure in being derisive about it. Maybe because beyond my youngest years I wasn’t told to believe one thing or another and even in my younger years was only expected to attend religious services, not explicitely learn anything from my attendence. Though I suppose I did laugh a little and any jokes I missed were entirely the cause of the day’s sun, walking too much, and beer.
For me religion is an odd juncture. I was born a Catholic. My Father a born again Christian (his parents Atheists) and my Mother the full blown Catholic. My great Uncle or something along those lines on my mother’s side was the top Bishop of San Francisco back in the day. My Mother’s Mother went to a hard core Catholic High School in San Francisco and I assume a Catholic elementary. My Grandfather was a teacher and Councellor at St. Mary’s High School in Stockton for over 30 years. My Mom went to St. Mary’s, as did my uncle. I was baptized at my Great Grandfather’s (mother’s mother’s father) funeral as a baby in what my Grandfather called a "2 for 1 deal" for the priest, who he personally had the priest perform the baptism in a bathroom sink at the cemetery. This went down as a merely informal, though spiritually binding, baptism as I was baptized again at age 12 after proper Catholic classes were taken. I have the distinct pleasure of having only once cheated on any test in my life, during a Catholic class test for the "Our Father" prayer. Also a Sunday Mass marked the only time in my life I literally stared at a clock, and no where else, for an entire hour. I can’t tell you exactly when I became Atheist, only that I thought I knew God existed throughout most of high school, and was definitely unsure by the time I joined the Navy in 2002. My Atheism was solidified by the time I first read Ayn Rand in January of 2004. Though I must point out at this time and not elaborate (as I’ve already done it in previous posts) that technically I am not an atheist by its definition. That is one who wholly rejects even the possibility of a god. Being a creature of logic, this would be a silly and unnecessary leap.
Mr. Dawkins told us that he himself isn’t a complete Atheist either. He introduced a scale of ’knowing there’s a god’ to ’knowing there isn’t a god’ where everything in the middle is agnostic on varying levels. By his scale I was 9/10 10 being Atheist. Then he said he was a 9/10, so I guess we’re on the same page. He described 9/10 as being ’Not being exactly certain there isn’t a God, but living life with the assumption that there isn’t, and equating the possibility of God with the possibility of unicorns and fairies.’ That’s where I am.
When the lecture was over and Mr. Dawkins got a standing ovation we walked out into the night. Wandered the bar scene a bit but did not partake and instead went to the BART. We had been screwed from the begining as the ferry stopped running at 7:00 and never planned on going back to Fairfield that way. We took BART to Richmond which is a ghetto town north of Berkeley. Poor old Berkeley book ended by Oakland and Richmond. Richmond as you may recall is the town featured in the film "Coach Carter" with Samuel L. Jackson. The city where no one graduates from school and kids get capped in the streets for selling shit. Well we made this our destination and right off the train bums were hitting us up for cash. Outside the station there was one bum on a bench singing to himself very pleasantly but from a distance became ominous. Tony for some reason was scared shitless of this town. I tried to explain to him that I lived in the most violent areas of S.F. and Stockton growing up, and had just left an apartment in San Diego that was completely surrounded by the most crazy houses, halfway houses, bum empires and police sirens you will ever see in any place on earth, but this didn’t calm him down. He insisted I hide my headphones which he didn’t know I was using to ironically play to myself Filter’s sugar sweet song "Take a Picture". Apparently he’d been reading about all the killings and thefts going down in Rich town and that just the implication of white headphones being attached to a $300 iPod could get us mugged. I wasn’t so worried, and even somewhat desired a confrontation so I could establish myself as king of Cali and maybe kill a thug in the process. I saw one group of thugish looking kids all hooded and waiting for a bus. Tony got so paranoid he went to the taxi area and wouldn’t move. I told him the taxi drivers were all sleeping and their doors were locked, so that even if he did plan on using them to escape something he’d get shanked long before he got in the cab. There was a sign stuck in the grass that read "I support Not Today www.not2day.org the sign had a silhouette of what appeared to be a dead man. I checked out the website days later, it is a Richmond initiative to go 1 day without a violent crime. We sat on a bench by the taxis and waited about 20 mins. for Tony’s Mom to pick us up.
She came, we rode and got back to his place. I was tired as all hell but Tony is on a night rotation for work, and we ended up staying up to watch a movie from 1983 called "Max Dugan Returns" a woman and her son (Mathew Broderick) who are visited by the woman’s father who hasn’t been in her life since she was 10. He had a couple hundred thousand dollars he scammed off his employers in Vegas and they were after him as well as the feds. The woman is incidentally dating a cop (Donald Sutherland) who gets suspicious as this broke as shit teacher starts getting a lot of undesired gifts from her dad including wads of bills, luxury cars, big stereos, and a whole new house in the place of the old one. I jokingly guessed that Keifer Sutherland also known as SUPER BADASS JACK from 24, might be in the film, and was surprised to spot him in his 5 second appearance in a group of people at the high school where the woman taught. All together the film was oddball. Not stupid slapstick like much of the turn of the 80s comedies it was as serious as it was funny, almost depressing towards the end which is open ended only letting you know that the great Max is gone for good, the woman is broke as shit again, and will probably be going on trial for accessory to larceny or whatever, with most of the police work against her done by her cop boyfriend who she simultaneously kisses, and begs leniency. Quite twisted. Tony believed this to be one of the best films he’s ever seen.
That’s it. I went to sleep. I woke up in day lights savings. I drove home to Stockton around 12:00 on Sunday and didn’t do shit.
Somehow in this entire comprehensive overly detailed story I am not able to capture who Tony is, or why he is so awesome. I guess I can only say, he is a very funny and witty person. He made me laugh all damn day, and every person that we spent even a minute near was in tears laughing at the shit Tony would say. I’m remembering us on the ferry waiting for a toilet to open and Tony just going at it like a stand up comedian just ripping on half the people walking by while anyone listening is laughing their ass off. He wasn’t even rude or personal, just pure tact. Calling on little known stereotypes and idiosyncrasies from people of a specific city and state he noticed were prevalent on the ferry.
This man crush I have on him I guess can be summed up with the name I have in previous blogs (back to the begining since Tony lived with me for 3 weeks while I began my assent into extreme blogging) used to preface his given name; "Legendary".
Monday, February 11, 2008
Crimes and Obligations
I am now unemployed. I am running out of money fast. I am now like a normal person I suppose. I have unpaid tickets, I'm just going to assume there are warrants out on me. I'm still very much living in an apartment I've already paid to leave. In fact I paid more money to buy out my lease than I even have left. There's this one me that knows all this, and he doesn't care. There's the other side of me who is playing video games all day and is thinking about 3 things showers, food, and sleep. I've almost beat Suikoden 4. I've had the game for about 4 years and I've finally gotten around to playing it. I used a walkthrough so I could get all 108 stars of destiny.
This last year was the easiest of my career. But maybe only because I remained aloof. When I left Japan, I left a place that was painful and challenging for me, but it was real, it was life, and it wasn't all bad, I had people well, if you've read my blogs from back then. Anyway.
This is what I strived for, and this is what I got. Mediocrity.
I'm thinking about this life I'm tailoring for myself. I'll take full time classes at Delta College, I might be on unemployment, or some part time job. I'll be staying in my father's house. In a room previously occupied by my brother, until he was kicked out. I shouldn't be there for too long, convenience will fall to sanity. My relationship with my father is much better when we are not actually within shouting distance.
I will take classes, I will work, and I will watch tv. That's it. My understanding of the world, my ability to reason and develop and problem solve, my experience, I will abandon this. I can't imagine ever telling anyone that I ever served except on a resume. I can't imagine ever admitting to people that I've left Stockton. I'll just say I had this or that job. Hell I could just say I apprenticed as an electrician, didn't like it, and leave it at that.
I can never be accepted by Americans. I will always be repulsive, and a freak. I can at least pretend to be normal again. No more globe bouncing, late nights in long seas leaning against various war machines speaking casually about every little detail of every aspect of life. Now is the time for discretion. Time to casually stand by and watch all the beautiful people steal everything from me and keep me in their pen with promise of a gift. The gift of being a stone in a pyramid. I can rest now. Rest in my mind and complain about this or that while everything every decent man has ever worked for is used to further destroy everything every decent man ever valued. Come along mediocrity. Sell me out.
This last year was the easiest of my career. But maybe only because I remained aloof. When I left Japan, I left a place that was painful and challenging for me, but it was real, it was life, and it wasn't all bad, I had people well, if you've read my blogs from back then. Anyway.
This is what I strived for, and this is what I got. Mediocrity.
I'm thinking about this life I'm tailoring for myself. I'll take full time classes at Delta College, I might be on unemployment, or some part time job. I'll be staying in my father's house. In a room previously occupied by my brother, until he was kicked out. I shouldn't be there for too long, convenience will fall to sanity. My relationship with my father is much better when we are not actually within shouting distance.
I will take classes, I will work, and I will watch tv. That's it. My understanding of the world, my ability to reason and develop and problem solve, my experience, I will abandon this. I can't imagine ever telling anyone that I ever served except on a resume. I can't imagine ever admitting to people that I've left Stockton. I'll just say I had this or that job. Hell I could just say I apprenticed as an electrician, didn't like it, and leave it at that.
I can never be accepted by Americans. I will always be repulsive, and a freak. I can at least pretend to be normal again. No more globe bouncing, late nights in long seas leaning against various war machines speaking casually about every little detail of every aspect of life. Now is the time for discretion. Time to casually stand by and watch all the beautiful people steal everything from me and keep me in their pen with promise of a gift. The gift of being a stone in a pyramid. I can rest now. Rest in my mind and complain about this or that while everything every decent man has ever worked for is used to further destroy everything every decent man ever valued. Come along mediocrity. Sell me out.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
It Isn't Ironic!
I am tired of all these fucking 20 something dipshits whose only method of evaluating or describing works is "ironic". People wearing stupid shirts isn't ironic. Shitty presentations of malformed conceptual deveolopments aren't ironic. You're shitty humor isn't ironic. You suck, and that isn't irony either.
You know what's ironic? The Brady Bunch Movie. The entire movie is devoted to making fun of the 70s TV iconic family, set in the back drop of the 90s. The irony comes into play only when one understands that the humor derived from the family is in their absurd attitudes, clothing, and their aparent oblivious nature. In this, the presentation makes such an effort to portray how different and "modern" the 90s are, that in only a few years time the 90s characters appear ridiculous and outdated. The 90s clothing is as unacceptable as the 70s perhaps even more so. The attitudes of the "modern" characters seem childish and narrowminded whereas the family seems completely rational, a good example would be the neighbors willingness to sell-out their lives for a little money, and the high school students who don't seem to appear to possess any means of civility or happiness. The Brady family on the other hand are goal oriented and all possess analytical skills that allow them to attain their goals even if they have been "dropped in" to the 90s.
Although a movie has yet to be made to portray the 21st Century as it is, I would venture the highlight of our social structure at this point is a successful individualistic style of living. in these 00s we have more than one can imagine, our wealth is unprecedented nor is our jaded nature. With the internet firmly planted, we have children who have grown up with the world in their hands and know nothing less. Not that people seem to be any more intelligent, we just found a way to max out our own potential. In a life of unlimited resources, the parent/child relationship changes to be much less instructive, and much more guiding. A parent would now not be preoccupied with fact giving, rather helping develop a child's moral and rational abilities. Even school's fact based methods are becoming obsolete, and can focus more on teaching a student how to learn, and how to apply knowledge. In this I believe the internet has literally lifted the minds of all those who can access it, it has made it possible for humans to reach higher states of knowledge and development much faster or at all if never before.
I have just found out about a new feature on Google Map, "Street View" where you can take a 3D trip down a street and look around. You can even zoom in and read signs, or look at people and things like that. They've only uploaded portions of less than 30 cities so far, but it shows great potential. San Diego is one of them, and my street is one of them, you can move the screen to right outside my apartment. Though when the Photos were taken I hadn't moved in yet. I was able to get an idea of the date when I passed the Spreckles theatre on Broadway, its next show listed was March 15, 2007. Interestingly enough if you look at the front end of the show boards you can see that Arcade Fire will play on April 26, which was the day I got the apartment, and only 6 days after returning from a 4 month underway. I was at the Arcade Fire performance only because I luckily walked by and noticed a few hours before the show. Imagine one day having a live Street View. You could virtually travel downtown and see what's going on. See if there's a good party or a protest. The kind of things you'd either have to see for yourself, or hear about it later, the kind of fun you can't schedule. That's the irony of the old, narrowmindedness mocked by narrowmindedness. In the broad vision of life, we act to live, not to please, we live to please, not to act.
You know what's ironic? The Brady Bunch Movie. The entire movie is devoted to making fun of the 70s TV iconic family, set in the back drop of the 90s. The irony comes into play only when one understands that the humor derived from the family is in their absurd attitudes, clothing, and their aparent oblivious nature. In this, the presentation makes such an effort to portray how different and "modern" the 90s are, that in only a few years time the 90s characters appear ridiculous and outdated. The 90s clothing is as unacceptable as the 70s perhaps even more so. The attitudes of the "modern" characters seem childish and narrowminded whereas the family seems completely rational, a good example would be the neighbors willingness to sell-out their lives for a little money, and the high school students who don't seem to appear to possess any means of civility or happiness. The Brady family on the other hand are goal oriented and all possess analytical skills that allow them to attain their goals even if they have been "dropped in" to the 90s.
Although a movie has yet to be made to portray the 21st Century as it is, I would venture the highlight of our social structure at this point is a successful individualistic style of living. in these 00s we have more than one can imagine, our wealth is unprecedented nor is our jaded nature. With the internet firmly planted, we have children who have grown up with the world in their hands and know nothing less. Not that people seem to be any more intelligent, we just found a way to max out our own potential. In a life of unlimited resources, the parent/child relationship changes to be much less instructive, and much more guiding. A parent would now not be preoccupied with fact giving, rather helping develop a child's moral and rational abilities. Even school's fact based methods are becoming obsolete, and can focus more on teaching a student how to learn, and how to apply knowledge. In this I believe the internet has literally lifted the minds of all those who can access it, it has made it possible for humans to reach higher states of knowledge and development much faster or at all if never before.
I have just found out about a new feature on Google Map, "Street View" where you can take a 3D trip down a street and look around. You can even zoom in and read signs, or look at people and things like that. They've only uploaded portions of less than 30 cities so far, but it shows great potential. San Diego is one of them, and my street is one of them, you can move the screen to right outside my apartment. Though when the Photos were taken I hadn't moved in yet. I was able to get an idea of the date when I passed the Spreckles theatre on Broadway, its next show listed was March 15, 2007. Interestingly enough if you look at the front end of the show boards you can see that Arcade Fire will play on April 26, which was the day I got the apartment, and only 6 days after returning from a 4 month underway. I was at the Arcade Fire performance only because I luckily walked by and noticed a few hours before the show. Imagine one day having a live Street View. You could virtually travel downtown and see what's going on. See if there's a good party or a protest. The kind of things you'd either have to see for yourself, or hear about it later, the kind of fun you can't schedule. That's the irony of the old, narrowmindedness mocked by narrowmindedness. In the broad vision of life, we act to live, not to please, we live to please, not to act.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Bush
On the eve of my departure to the harsh wastelands of Northern Illinois as my father drove me to my fated life, we listened to Mr. Bush give his first State of the Union speech, it was full of promise about how we will get the terrorists in Afghanistan and begin our War on Terror. I was fresh and young, I still had college thoughts in me, bike rides, swimming, great shape, great friends. I was motivated and ready to help fight for America.
6 years later, tonight, on the eve of my departure from the Navy, Mr. Bush once again speaks of Afghan Terrorists and more. It has become much worse. I am leaving the Navy a failure. Unable to stop terrorists. My greatest triumphs slammed in my face by my superiors as my greatest defeats. I have been shamed, humiliated, and left broken and alone. These 6 years have taken nearly everything from me. I could not listen to tonight's speech, because I am so disgusted by this government. I had lost all faith in it, save this trumpeting of my dead soul in the form of Ron Paul, but this too seems fleeting and expensive.
I won't go home tomorrow. I will simply try to get some rest. I've been sick for days, and I haven't slept right in weeks. I haven't felt alive in years.
6 years later, tonight, on the eve of my departure from the Navy, Mr. Bush once again speaks of Afghan Terrorists and more. It has become much worse. I am leaving the Navy a failure. Unable to stop terrorists. My greatest triumphs slammed in my face by my superiors as my greatest defeats. I have been shamed, humiliated, and left broken and alone. These 6 years have taken nearly everything from me. I could not listen to tonight's speech, because I am so disgusted by this government. I had lost all faith in it, save this trumpeting of my dead soul in the form of Ron Paul, but this too seems fleeting and expensive.
I won't go home tomorrow. I will simply try to get some rest. I've been sick for days, and I haven't slept right in weeks. I haven't felt alive in years.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Fotos de Mujeres?
I just made a mixed drink with 12 different liquors. whooo. It has the look of light Kahlua, but its flavor, oh my god, a Jager syrup, a vodka burn, a whiskey tang, oh my god. I took a photo of myself. I want to try to pull a "Noah".
1. Jager 2. SoCo 3. Bailey's 4. Cpt. Morgan's Passion Fruit Rum 5. Grey Goose Vodka 6. Frost Vodka 7. That other rum I'm too drunk to remember, you know, the classic stuff. 8. Amaretto di Amor? 9. Kahlua 10. Jameson Irish Whiskey 11. Chivas Regal Scotch 12. 1800 Tequila
I am watching this move in French right now, I'm sure you knew fiance' was french, but did you know it means "engaged" in French? That is, it isn't a noun it is an adjective(right?)? It isn't a person it is a situation, so the word might be French, but our definition doesn't fit, so it isn't really French. At least, not unless they use the word for everything.
p.s. the title stems from my love of porn. It knows no language barrier.
1. Jager 2. SoCo 3. Bailey's 4. Cpt. Morgan's Passion Fruit Rum 5. Grey Goose Vodka 6. Frost Vodka 7. That other rum I'm too drunk to remember, you know, the classic stuff. 8. Amaretto di Amor? 9. Kahlua 10. Jameson Irish Whiskey 11. Chivas Regal Scotch 12. 1800 Tequila
I am watching this move in French right now, I'm sure you knew fiance' was french, but did you know it means "engaged" in French? That is, it isn't a noun it is an adjective(right?)? It isn't a person it is a situation, so the word might be French, but our definition doesn't fit, so it isn't really French. At least, not unless they use the word for everything.
p.s. the title stems from my love of porn. It knows no language barrier.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Thrown out of a Punk Show
I didn't really get kicked out. Michael did. Michael that crazy rebel who after buying a house in Aurora Colorado with his wife and baby, took a full schedule of college classes without hindering his full time desk job for the Navy. This wild man got me to come along with him to a music show downtown (after special permission from his wife) while there he drank a whole glass of beer and then in the throes of the mosh pit he lost his wrist band. The wrist band was critical in showing that he was in fact over 21, so he'd be allowed by the stage. Now the House of Blues did issue a ticket that also says he's over 21, and a receipt for the ticket, and a stamp on his right hand that verifies this as well, along with his driver's license, his military ID, and my affirmation, but the rebel Michael recklessly lost the paper wrist band in his irresponsible decision to be in a mosh pit that he wasn't allowed in without his paper wrist band that so innocently was weakened by an unexplained presence of sweat. So once security got wind of his wristbandlessness in the pit when the Circle Jerks were on their very last song, security very kindly asked Michael to leave, and even escorted him, like the gentlemen they are.
Meanwhile I was very cordially trying not to embarass these two nice ladies with my flatering glances. As I would tell Michael the full "8" on the 10 scale was dressed in fine evening attire, that complemented the high class crowd. Seeing my best friend being escorted to the exit, I assumed Michael was simply ready to leave, since the show was essentially over so I began to follow, only briefly in repose at the loss of the opportunity to further enjoy the ambiance.
Upon leaving the House of Blues my good friend asked the fine gentleman if his ticket would suffice. That is when I realized Michael had commited a faux pas and hadn't left of his own accord. At this I was momentarily overcome with emotion and I did try with my strongest voice to defend my friend's honor. If I hadn't lost my voice in the pit, I dare say I might have myself been called upon by security, for at the top of my lungs, albeit not very loud at all, I told the gentlemen that my friend was a 24 year old war vet! The gentlemen, with their distinguished careers in music crowd control, seemed not so impressed and went about their noble duty of sweeping up trash.
My good friend Michael was a bit perturbed by all of this (perhaps his heavy drinking was to blame) but I walked with him on a peripatetic and we did discuss the issue quite suffiently. In fact, I suppose the only reason that I wrote this was because I'm getting bored and nervous and this clock bullshit is really wearing me down.
Meanwhile I was very cordially trying not to embarass these two nice ladies with my flatering glances. As I would tell Michael the full "8" on the 10 scale was dressed in fine evening attire, that complemented the high class crowd. Seeing my best friend being escorted to the exit, I assumed Michael was simply ready to leave, since the show was essentially over so I began to follow, only briefly in repose at the loss of the opportunity to further enjoy the ambiance.
Upon leaving the House of Blues my good friend asked the fine gentleman if his ticket would suffice. That is when I realized Michael had commited a faux pas and hadn't left of his own accord. At this I was momentarily overcome with emotion and I did try with my strongest voice to defend my friend's honor. If I hadn't lost my voice in the pit, I dare say I might have myself been called upon by security, for at the top of my lungs, albeit not very loud at all, I told the gentlemen that my friend was a 24 year old war vet! The gentlemen, with their distinguished careers in music crowd control, seemed not so impressed and went about their noble duty of sweeping up trash.
My good friend Michael was a bit perturbed by all of this (perhaps his heavy drinking was to blame) but I walked with him on a peripatetic and we did discuss the issue quite suffiently. In fact, I suppose the only reason that I wrote this was because I'm getting bored and nervous and this clock bullshit is really wearing me down.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
The New Year
I went to an Objectivist chat room. Talked for hours with a 25 year old man in New Zealand about getting him laid. Then a Russian in west Siberia joined in. I told him I couldn't believe a Siberian was allowed on the internet, least-ways in Ayn's territory talking shit about Putin.
The important thing was that I was at home. Sitting on my couch, drinking Chapagne out of the bottle alone. Since it took me two hours to get back to this blog I'll make a list of New Year's Eves I remember.
2008 - Last night. Got slightly drunk long before 12, went to bed completely sober about 12:30. Feeling sorry for myself.
2007 - Watched people who love each other count down the new year in a bar at the Hotel Del Coronado. I was not really welcome there, but nobody stopped me. After that I wandered the beach until I laid down on one of the dunes, and there came up with the idea of killing myself on that beach, which is a resolution I have yet to fulfill.
2006 - The day I tried desperately to get my only love to celebrate with me. She had other plans. My friend Tony, who was on vacation at my house suggested I go with him to Tokyo, but instead I stayed home, played video games, watched TV and probably cried. I didn't even stay up till 12.
2005 - I don't remember. I was in Japan I guess, I was probably at the Navy's "Single Sailor Center" which is like a boys and girls club for loser sailors. I honestly don't remember much of those days. They really sucked.
2004 - I was in Stockton, I drank a glass of Champagne with my father and brother and sister. It was my first time on vacation since leaving America, four months earlier.
2003 - I was in Pensacola Florida. I didn't do shit.
2002 - Honestly I don't remember. I lived with my Dad and bro and sis in Stockton. I probably didn't do anything.
2001 - Don't remember doing anything at all. I lived in S.F. with my Mom, bro, and sis.
2000- I was alone in an empty room in a house In South San Francisco. We had just moved in. Before that we were homeless. I remember being very happy to have a shelter from the rain, and I was writing a detective story that essentially captured my experiences and emotions. Lots of killing involved.
1999-1982- uh, it gets pretty fuzzy from here. Asides, I was a youngn'. Well technically 16 isn't that young, but you know, I suck.
The important thing was that I was at home. Sitting on my couch, drinking Chapagne out of the bottle alone. Since it took me two hours to get back to this blog I'll make a list of New Year's Eves I remember.
2008 - Last night. Got slightly drunk long before 12, went to bed completely sober about 12:30. Feeling sorry for myself.
2007 - Watched people who love each other count down the new year in a bar at the Hotel Del Coronado. I was not really welcome there, but nobody stopped me. After that I wandered the beach until I laid down on one of the dunes, and there came up with the idea of killing myself on that beach, which is a resolution I have yet to fulfill.
2006 - The day I tried desperately to get my only love to celebrate with me. She had other plans. My friend Tony, who was on vacation at my house suggested I go with him to Tokyo, but instead I stayed home, played video games, watched TV and probably cried. I didn't even stay up till 12.
2005 - I don't remember. I was in Japan I guess, I was probably at the Navy's "Single Sailor Center" which is like a boys and girls club for loser sailors. I honestly don't remember much of those days. They really sucked.
2004 - I was in Stockton, I drank a glass of Champagne with my father and brother and sister. It was my first time on vacation since leaving America, four months earlier.
2003 - I was in Pensacola Florida. I didn't do shit.
2002 - Honestly I don't remember. I lived with my Dad and bro and sis in Stockton. I probably didn't do anything.
2001 - Don't remember doing anything at all. I lived in S.F. with my Mom, bro, and sis.
2000- I was alone in an empty room in a house In South San Francisco. We had just moved in. Before that we were homeless. I remember being very happy to have a shelter from the rain, and I was writing a detective story that essentially captured my experiences and emotions. Lots of killing involved.
1999-1982- uh, it gets pretty fuzzy from here. Asides, I was a youngn'. Well technically 16 isn't that young, but you know, I suck.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Burger King Onion Rings used to be made with onions
I decided to go to the movies today. I saw I am Legend and National Treasure: Book Of Secrets. I was planning on seeing The Golden Compass, I even bought a ticket, but I was tired. I bought 24 season 6. And I headed home.
On the way I detoured to Burger King to get dinner. I didn't lock up my bike so I spent the whole time in the restaurant looking out. There was this bum standing by my bike the whole time. I had blown him off when I walked in. A car with a big open bed stopped by my bike, and I imagined what I'd have to do if they tossed my bike in their bed. That's how I lost bike number 3. Being on bike number 11 or 12 now I know how to not get it stolen. If they did toss it in the bed, I imagined droping my stuff hopping the railing, knocking a guy over, breaking the glass door on my way out, jumping into the bed of the truck and calling the police while in the truck. I even thought about how I would speak, how I would navigate the cops, and pondered if I would have to fight them or if they would take me someplace where they had backup. In all this bike worry I ordered my meal. I didn't want the soda, but I started imagining that I could find a way to bring it home with me, I certainly didn't want to spend another minute there. I got my food, went out to my bike and dumped months old gatorade out of my water bottle. I tried to put the cup of soda in the water bottle holder, but the top popped instantly and I knew it was hopeless. This whole time this goddamn bum has been watching me, nobody watches me for minutes on end, especially not entire visits, so thoughts of having to beat him to shit, and what I'd do if he had a knife crossed my mind. I imagined kicking him in the throat rather than trying to kick his knife away, in this scenario he's already on the ground (that's why he'd pull the knife of course). I decided to walk my bike for a while instead.
By the time I crossed the street I imagined throwing my soda into the parking lot or against a building, but I don't litter, I don't make messes, and I knew that God damned bum was still watching. I crossed the street again, about 3 or 4 steps into the street one of the straps to the bag holding all my food and DVDs breaks. I know that soon the second one will go, but I'm juggling a bag, a cup of soda, and a bike. At the exact middle of the street the second strap breaks all my shit hits the ground and spills out. My can of "Duff" energy drink I had purchased as a collector item is fucked up and my food is in the street. I bend over but I still have to hold my bike and the cup of soda in my hand. I start stuffing everything into the bag and I see the street light turn green on me. I move faster pick all my shit up, except for one casualty, a package of zesty onion ring sauce. I move over to the side of the road and toss the fucking cup of soda into the trash. All the while I imagine that God fucking damn bum is watching. I hop on my bike. I glide downhill. Down down. I imagine that the flood of criminals and bums I am passing can't hear me while I am traveling in stealth mode. I get down by the trolley tracks and I illegaly cross them on a red. As soon as I am on the other side I see a cop car parked so I make a right turn onto the sidewalk. I pass by a couple men who had just been talking to a bum. "Merry Christmas" they say to the bum and he walks over to one of the street saplings. He grabs a bag of something out of the tree and walked away. I am amazed by this. I just illegally crossed a street, and then these guys just did a drug deal, and this cop car doesn't move. I keep rolling down down hill. Bums and crazys and criminals. Anyway. That was my day. I know I changed tenses half way through, but my left hand is numb, I need to take a shit, I'm tired, and my food's gotten cold again while writing this.
On the way I detoured to Burger King to get dinner. I didn't lock up my bike so I spent the whole time in the restaurant looking out. There was this bum standing by my bike the whole time. I had blown him off when I walked in. A car with a big open bed stopped by my bike, and I imagined what I'd have to do if they tossed my bike in their bed. That's how I lost bike number 3. Being on bike number 11 or 12 now I know how to not get it stolen. If they did toss it in the bed, I imagined droping my stuff hopping the railing, knocking a guy over, breaking the glass door on my way out, jumping into the bed of the truck and calling the police while in the truck. I even thought about how I would speak, how I would navigate the cops, and pondered if I would have to fight them or if they would take me someplace where they had backup. In all this bike worry I ordered my meal. I didn't want the soda, but I started imagining that I could find a way to bring it home with me, I certainly didn't want to spend another minute there. I got my food, went out to my bike and dumped months old gatorade out of my water bottle. I tried to put the cup of soda in the water bottle holder, but the top popped instantly and I knew it was hopeless. This whole time this goddamn bum has been watching me, nobody watches me for minutes on end, especially not entire visits, so thoughts of having to beat him to shit, and what I'd do if he had a knife crossed my mind. I imagined kicking him in the throat rather than trying to kick his knife away, in this scenario he's already on the ground (that's why he'd pull the knife of course). I decided to walk my bike for a while instead.
By the time I crossed the street I imagined throwing my soda into the parking lot or against a building, but I don't litter, I don't make messes, and I knew that God damned bum was still watching. I crossed the street again, about 3 or 4 steps into the street one of the straps to the bag holding all my food and DVDs breaks. I know that soon the second one will go, but I'm juggling a bag, a cup of soda, and a bike. At the exact middle of the street the second strap breaks all my shit hits the ground and spills out. My can of "Duff" energy drink I had purchased as a collector item is fucked up and my food is in the street. I bend over but I still have to hold my bike and the cup of soda in my hand. I start stuffing everything into the bag and I see the street light turn green on me. I move faster pick all my shit up, except for one casualty, a package of zesty onion ring sauce. I move over to the side of the road and toss the fucking cup of soda into the trash. All the while I imagine that God fucking damn bum is watching. I hop on my bike. I glide downhill. Down down. I imagine that the flood of criminals and bums I am passing can't hear me while I am traveling in stealth mode. I get down by the trolley tracks and I illegaly cross them on a red. As soon as I am on the other side I see a cop car parked so I make a right turn onto the sidewalk. I pass by a couple men who had just been talking to a bum. "Merry Christmas" they say to the bum and he walks over to one of the street saplings. He grabs a bag of something out of the tree and walked away. I am amazed by this. I just illegally crossed a street, and then these guys just did a drug deal, and this cop car doesn't move. I keep rolling down down hill. Bums and crazys and criminals. Anyway. That was my day. I know I changed tenses half way through, but my left hand is numb, I need to take a shit, I'm tired, and my food's gotten cold again while writing this.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Why Superman is a Hero
Why are dreams stuck in with "Supernatural". Dreams are completely fucking natural. Though, seeing as how nobody reads my blogs, and nobody I know writes blogs frequently besides me, I guess it doesn't really matter. On Myspace, the most popular blogs are ALL hot girls writing dumb dumb RETARDEDLY dumb shit, and band/celebrity blogs that aren't even written by the people the blogs are titled for. So blogs on myspace are essentially tits and celebrities. Yay. I lose. So on to my actual blog, which would by itself be beautiful and inspiring, but considering no one will read it. It means absolutely nothing. Just like me.
There was this movie called "Angus". Maybe you've seen it. One scene stuck with me ever since I first saw it. It was the words of Angus' Grandfather, played by the late great George C. Scott. I paraphrase "Superman wasn't a hero because he was invincible. He had nothing to fear when he went out into the world and saved all those people..."
I now realize this isn't true. Because Superman is still a man. He may be invincible, but only physically. He (as portrayed) possesses all the range of human emotions and desires. Certainly he is at least a good man to not turn his powers to hurt others, but then that doesn't exactly make him a hero. What makes him a hero is time. Superman gives his time. Looking at it from a purely selfish, individualist perspective this is indeed a great gift. Just because he can't be hurt and he can save others doesn't obligate him. He could simply live his life and only act when he needs to. Instead this character devotes his entire existance to saving people. He has no life. He has no friends. He doesn't go to parties. He only has one love, and he hardly has that. He trades his very soul to help people, putting himself out there to be judged. Not exactly Ayn Randian. Still hero enough. I get the feeling I've written an allusion here. I assure you I have not. Only a comparison. For I devote little time to helping others. It's hard to. I try sometimes. Sometimes I succeed. But I am a grotesque monster, and the screams of terror wear me down. I can't put myself out there anymore. I am always judged guilty. Even writing this, if you read it, you judge me guilty for not being stronger. For feeling sorry for myself. Well I am not. I am not sorry. Fuck you and I will not change to meet their standards. Still it hurts. But heroes can't cry. So I walk away. Let the beautiful men do all the saving. They'll get the credit either way.
There was this movie called "Angus". Maybe you've seen it. One scene stuck with me ever since I first saw it. It was the words of Angus' Grandfather, played by the late great George C. Scott. I paraphrase "Superman wasn't a hero because he was invincible. He had nothing to fear when he went out into the world and saved all those people..."
I now realize this isn't true. Because Superman is still a man. He may be invincible, but only physically. He (as portrayed) possesses all the range of human emotions and desires. Certainly he is at least a good man to not turn his powers to hurt others, but then that doesn't exactly make him a hero. What makes him a hero is time. Superman gives his time. Looking at it from a purely selfish, individualist perspective this is indeed a great gift. Just because he can't be hurt and he can save others doesn't obligate him. He could simply live his life and only act when he needs to. Instead this character devotes his entire existance to saving people. He has no life. He has no friends. He doesn't go to parties. He only has one love, and he hardly has that. He trades his very soul to help people, putting himself out there to be judged. Not exactly Ayn Randian. Still hero enough. I get the feeling I've written an allusion here. I assure you I have not. Only a comparison. For I devote little time to helping others. It's hard to. I try sometimes. Sometimes I succeed. But I am a grotesque monster, and the screams of terror wear me down. I can't put myself out there anymore. I am always judged guilty. Even writing this, if you read it, you judge me guilty for not being stronger. For feeling sorry for myself. Well I am not. I am not sorry. Fuck you and I will not change to meet their standards. Still it hurts. But heroes can't cry. So I walk away. Let the beautiful men do all the saving. They'll get the credit either way.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
San Diego Apocalypse
There was light this morning, beyond the dark wall looming on the buildings so far removed from the earth. The sun came high but shone not through, but around. The clouds of smoke turned black to blot the light that threatened the fire's glory. Blood red light poured over the wall, ending darknesses celebratory hold. Though the ashen rain reminded us all that the wall was moving, and it was destroying everything it touched.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Guns and guns and guns and bullets
I shot the M240G a few days ago at Camp Pendleton. It's a belt fed machine gun. I was really almost excited to do it. Not many people in America are even legally able to have that experience. I yelled out "Get some!" as I poured the bullets into an old car about 500 yards away. I'm going to shoot the M9 pistol tomorrow. I've already qualified "Expert" on it twice. You can't get a higher rating for shooting. I'm really good at shooting yep. Though my time in the Navy has never involved a need to shoot anything other than inanimate objects.
On October 1 I go to SRF A school. I will run around with real guns shooting quite painful simrounds at mock terrorists. I will be running around getting shot by painful simrounds by mock terrorists. The instructors are all war vets. It may be a lot of fun.
I think maybe if I make it out of this, I might enjoy to some extent reading these blogs that I write. Most of them while trashed. I don't look anywhere anymore.
On October 1 I go to SRF A school. I will run around with real guns shooting quite painful simrounds at mock terrorists. I will be running around getting shot by painful simrounds by mock terrorists. The instructors are all war vets. It may be a lot of fun.
I think maybe if I make it out of this, I might enjoy to some extent reading these blogs that I write. Most of them while trashed. I don't look anywhere anymore.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Not Japanese Poem, Japanese porn
I learned a new word about an hour ago "ecchi". It's Japanese and means "lewd" "sexy" or even "sexual intercourse". At first I thought it was just another one of the many sex words Americans are adopting from it's porn loving best friend. Further investigation has revealed something much more interesting (surprisingly) than its Americanized definition of Anime sensuality.
Ecchi is actually derived from the English letter "H". Which means that the Americans are getting their letter back, all fucked up and sloppy seconds-like. What's stranger is that the word goes back to Meiji era, meaning this is way older than anime, porn, or the Americanization of anything Japanese (like the word "Hentai", which to Americans means naked cartoons, whereas in Japan it is a noun meaning "pervert" and has nothing to do with nudity, sex, women, cartoons, the internet, or drawing. Just perverts.). So I don't buy the theory that it implies the word "hentai". It was most likely orginating of one of the other sex related Japanese words that start with H, like "harenchi".
Regardless, it was actually started by Japanese school girls in the Meiji era as a euphimism for sex. Thus showing its amazing transition from an English letter hiding the true meaning of sex, used by Japanese school girls, to becoming a Japanese word hiding its true meaning of sex, used by American guys jerking off to cartoons of Japanese school girls.
Of course in researching this word I ran across many others that I'm sure a good percentage of American men know and think they understand. Which just pisses me off, since I know none of you have any clue about the REAL Japan. I wish more of their culture than photos of school girls would make it out but I suppose they literally bring it upon themselves.
Ecchi is actually derived from the English letter "H". Which means that the Americans are getting their letter back, all fucked up and sloppy seconds-like. What's stranger is that the word goes back to Meiji era, meaning this is way older than anime, porn, or the Americanization of anything Japanese (like the word "Hentai", which to Americans means naked cartoons, whereas in Japan it is a noun meaning "pervert" and has nothing to do with nudity, sex, women, cartoons, the internet, or drawing. Just perverts.). So I don't buy the theory that it implies the word "hentai". It was most likely orginating of one of the other sex related Japanese words that start with H, like "harenchi".
Regardless, it was actually started by Japanese school girls in the Meiji era as a euphimism for sex. Thus showing its amazing transition from an English letter hiding the true meaning of sex, used by Japanese school girls, to becoming a Japanese word hiding its true meaning of sex, used by American guys jerking off to cartoons of Japanese school girls.
Of course in researching this word I ran across many others that I'm sure a good percentage of American men know and think they understand. Which just pisses me off, since I know none of you have any clue about the REAL Japan. I wish more of their culture than photos of school girls would make it out but I suppose they literally bring it upon themselves.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Que’ bueno suerte
Mi amor, el sol sigue el noche. Pero no hay un ley para cuando la luz llega. Demo, watashi no ai, kyo wa kyo soshite aishta wa aishta soshite kon ban wa ii otenki desu. So just run with it, that without design cannot fail.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Traffic
So I helped smuggle some chronic and counterfit money over the border with a certain un-named person this weekend. Ha ha ha! No, not kidding. Though honestly none of the shit was mine.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
sans reason
Di was assaulted in Hong Kong. Swore to never talk about it. It was $90 for a massage and a harassing bitch of unknown nationality. At least I wasn't had. Just a thought. Mikey got video of me with some whores, but hey. You just don't know. When I think about how stupid I was in Japan, I know I can't go through with it anymore. Here though. Here is just depressing. I think about the origins, and the lies, and I lie to myself, and I punish myself.
She swears she feels nothing. I don't know if it's because she's doing that thing that teenage girls do oftimes, but I know I can't claim I'm any more down than her. I told her she wasn't allowed to die until after I do. You know there's a curious and seldom publicly discussed political/ethical debate about suicide. The two sides have no titles, but if they did, the pro-lifers would do as much as possible to legally ruin any one who thinks about self extermination. The pro-choicers are primarily pro-suicide. The opinion I hold, that reason allows for both life and death, seems a rare if not unique one.
Lately I've been thinking more of my past. I mean a more broad view, not the typical narrow and short version I usually employ in thought.
There was a boy of 5 who know every person on his street by name, because he went to their houses and spoke with them. There was a reality much harsher, in his life. Though the boy resurfaced, a kiss, a lack of kisses, and the ease of corruption in the souls surrounding makes this boy me, and I only talk to who I must, and I think often of the boy's choices, and of the Glock.
She swears she feels nothing. I don't know if it's because she's doing that thing that teenage girls do oftimes, but I know I can't claim I'm any more down than her. I told her she wasn't allowed to die until after I do. You know there's a curious and seldom publicly discussed political/ethical debate about suicide. The two sides have no titles, but if they did, the pro-lifers would do as much as possible to legally ruin any one who thinks about self extermination. The pro-choicers are primarily pro-suicide. The opinion I hold, that reason allows for both life and death, seems a rare if not unique one.
Lately I've been thinking more of my past. I mean a more broad view, not the typical narrow and short version I usually employ in thought.
There was a boy of 5 who know every person on his street by name, because he went to their houses and spoke with them. There was a reality much harsher, in his life. Though the boy resurfaced, a kiss, a lack of kisses, and the ease of corruption in the souls surrounding makes this boy me, and I only talk to who I must, and I think often of the boy's choices, and of the Glock.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
what life this man has wrought.
Backed into a corner. I just want this pain to stop. I know what I've done to deserve this. Oh god. Somehow. End this. My eyes burn. waiting. Kick in this door a kill me.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Mr. Wacy's Push
Here's the short of it, Wacy wouldn't listen to me when I told him my spirit was dead, because of him I ended up dancing with a beautiful half black/ half native american college girl from Novato and her 3 friends. Fucking Wacy quit and went to a titty bar. Don't know how that turned out. I really am unhappy about the matter. If I weren't dead inside I might have enjoyed it more.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Der Words
This liquor on my lips the blood of the German's Hart it is, my Russian is weak but the grain is strong, as we sing this cola song. I remember the nights of pleasures past and the newfound glories of stories that couldn't last. For it is my job to hurt, you and I and oftimes I am so good it makes girls cry. Not that I haven't, I surely wouldn't deny, but those days are over and now only silent night. The dream I had, the skin. the music, the pain, it's only today's arrangement of sugar that I disdain. But I still feel, I still move if only in mockery of the man whose words flourished in ample debauchery.
God forbid my actions and lack of faith, for I remain true in my trials and ways. I will not secede that which I held but if it ripped from me, this life that's been felled. I write this drunk of the fruits I have named, the German, the Russian, and the purest of grain, but that makes it no less true you see, for I am simply siempre a man of honesty.
God forbid my actions and lack of faith, for I remain true in my trials and ways. I will not secede that which I held but if it ripped from me, this life that's been felled. I write this drunk of the fruits I have named, the German, the Russian, and the purest of grain, but that makes it no less true you see, for I am simply siempre a man of honesty.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Nadie or the Purses
My roommate Mr. Mikey brings a girl over every day. I don't know who they are, and I don't really care. But I noticed I can remember them by the purse they leave on the counter. I've become the drunk roommate. The girls don't really acknowledge me. I just am drunk and siiting abouts. It reminds me of Ai's (Thai woman) roommate who was always home when I came over and made fantastic happy time. She made me dinner once. Also we went to her restauraunt, where she was a waitress once. Those were good times. Now I'm out on my drunk ass.
I sometimes wonder if I'll ever have to deal with one of these women. I wonder if any of them care. I don't think so. But I'm stuck on the double standard. Where I felt no connection to Ai, but assumed she felt a connection to me. Well, not me, but I mean a more a general idea that women are more emotional about sex. (btw thank buddha I learned how to type, cause I'm litterally too drunk to read this)
Anyway. The only reason I can imagine that Mr. Mikey can pull these girls into bed is that once these girls come to our apartment (or lair of awesomeness as it is) is that he plays completely "understanding" completely "fascinated" by everything she says. I am litarally sitting next to Mr. Mikey and girl of the night (tonight it's an AC) while she's blabing about her roommate and he's "yes sir" ing her. Also I'm trashed. So it's a wonder of science that I can write this, listen to her babble, and listen to TV. I am like a superhero.
I'm not jealous of him. He has no standards. If I had no standards, I could fuck a girl every night. All I feel on this subject is that I need to die.
"So how did you become a lightweight then?" - My roommate about to fuck girl number whatever, purse: red aligator skin/ leather.
"I don't know, I think it's because I haven't gone drinking out much since "C' school" since then." -Girl who Mikey saw today, therefor invited to come over today. (It's hella the only reason I know she's an AC cause they clean the hall right next to us.)
Hey she's on "Blue Moon" number 2!
Did you know, stupid people make more sense when your trashed?
I sometimes wonder if I'll ever have to deal with one of these women. I wonder if any of them care. I don't think so. But I'm stuck on the double standard. Where I felt no connection to Ai, but assumed she felt a connection to me. Well, not me, but I mean a more a general idea that women are more emotional about sex. (btw thank buddha I learned how to type, cause I'm litterally too drunk to read this)
Anyway. The only reason I can imagine that Mr. Mikey can pull these girls into bed is that once these girls come to our apartment (or lair of awesomeness as it is) is that he plays completely "understanding" completely "fascinated" by everything she says. I am litarally sitting next to Mr. Mikey and girl of the night (tonight it's an AC) while she's blabing about her roommate and he's "yes sir" ing her. Also I'm trashed. So it's a wonder of science that I can write this, listen to her babble, and listen to TV. I am like a superhero.
I'm not jealous of him. He has no standards. If I had no standards, I could fuck a girl every night. All I feel on this subject is that I need to die.
"So how did you become a lightweight then?" - My roommate about to fuck girl number whatever, purse: red aligator skin/ leather.
"I don't know, I think it's because I haven't gone drinking out much since "C' school" since then." -Girl who Mikey saw today, therefor invited to come over today. (It's hella the only reason I know she's an AC cause they clean the hall right next to us.)
Hey she's on "Blue Moon" number 2!
Did you know, stupid people make more sense when your trashed?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The Ice Bridge
So if you pour yourself a glass of 151 and Sprite, is ice the bridge? I mean the 151 is a liquid and the Sprite is a liquid, but the ice, it's as cold as the 151 but isn't toxic, just like the Sprite. Drinking while ironing, and fixing bike flats is more than just fun, it's intoxicating.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Arcade Fire
I got an apartment! The same day I saw that Arcade Fire was playing, so I saw them play.It was probably the best single-band concert I've ever been to. A Mr. Mike Canales is signing on with me for this brand new place downtown. Its only a 5 minute walk to the Gaslamp! I would say its is in fact the coolest apartment under half a million dollars in San Diego. You can all come sleep in my living room, soon to be stocked with Goodwill's finest!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
A Day in San Diego
Walking alone I let the World possess me.
They are beautiful and many, yet I could consume them all. Passing briskly by a sign a glow blurs my sight and burns me. I see a woman at this moment and I judge her. I think of ways to dismiss her even as the chill of winter drains me. I think of how much better I am but as this light blinds me. It is not but a few more steps and I find my place again. Left to my own accord, left unthreatened, I drop my guard, my wings, my shelter. I see children beautiful and young. I see women of all types of beauty and I think I could be happy the rest of my life with the stay of the women within my sight at this or any other moment out on the street. I think should I do something about it? There was a beautiful woman about my age and the Buddhist had gotten to her, she was shelling out something and I watched a man of great poverty approach, he hung around the nearby trash can but I imagined him going for the opportunity of her generosity. It was in this same place I stood an hour earlier with two apples. I had paid $4.00 for 4 apples at a Vons. The grocer noticed me eyeing them, I asked if these "Grapples" were just sweet apples, or a hybrid. He indicated the later and went and got a knife. He opened a package and shaved an apple, then cut a piece for me to try. It was very sweet and unusual. I watched him carry away the package. It would be thrown out so I could take one bite? I bought a different package of 4 and headed out. I ate one right away, a second while watching fire trucks pass me. I didn't want the last two. I thought I was going to see a movie so I was in that spot looking for a bum that I had passed twice. The second time I passed him I doubted him. He moved as a man of ability. Although he wore the same clothes the man walked as if he had a place to go, and it is by that, that I judged him to be someone else. I was wrong. I felt this cold. I thought how strange it me, since the last time I gave anything to a bum was because I was scared of where I was living. In the most dangerous area in San Francisco, I lived, barely housed with nothing but my mother to provide any food or clothing or shelter. I gave a bum $6.00 in hopes that he would not try to harm me or my existence on another day. So it was that the last time I gave to a bum was when I was on the verge of being one myself. None of this I was thinking about as the beautiful young woman was giving to this Buddhist who had books on Yoga. I only thought it would be funny if I took my approach as I oft tend to do in a manner most dominating and mocking by walking up to her as the Buddhist and bum try to get something from her I would ask for money too, because it would be funny, but the thought hurt me, since it's a truth I was feeling. I may not be on the verge of homelessness, though I have no home, I have recently dumped away about as much money as I make in a year, it was most of my savings, and all I get in return for that is that maybe I saved the house my mother couldn't. In her death a void was created and this void sucked away my $10,000 with no promise of anything. The Grapples as they were called could go to no one it seemed so I took out a third and ate at it. I read completely the plastic container that held the apples and I read something that set fire to my heart like a lighter, small annoying, but not so dangerous in it's standard dose. These "Grapples" were not hybrids, they were artificially flavored apples. I had paid a dollar a piece for grape flavoring on dime a piece apples. I threw what I had not eaten into the trash feeling it's better there than these lies going into the mouth of an innocent bum. I did not go to the beautiful woman handing out to the Buddhist, and none of this did cross my mind at the time, for the World was possessing me at that moment and when I turned to continue in my effort to kill my day I was blinded by the light of a sign and in my blurred vision I judged a woman as I passed.
They are beautiful and many, yet I could consume them all. Passing briskly by a sign a glow blurs my sight and burns me. I see a woman at this moment and I judge her. I think of ways to dismiss her even as the chill of winter drains me. I think of how much better I am but as this light blinds me. It is not but a few more steps and I find my place again. Left to my own accord, left unthreatened, I drop my guard, my wings, my shelter. I see children beautiful and young. I see women of all types of beauty and I think I could be happy the rest of my life with the stay of the women within my sight at this or any other moment out on the street. I think should I do something about it? There was a beautiful woman about my age and the Buddhist had gotten to her, she was shelling out something and I watched a man of great poverty approach, he hung around the nearby trash can but I imagined him going for the opportunity of her generosity. It was in this same place I stood an hour earlier with two apples. I had paid $4.00 for 4 apples at a Vons. The grocer noticed me eyeing them, I asked if these "Grapples" were just sweet apples, or a hybrid. He indicated the later and went and got a knife. He opened a package and shaved an apple, then cut a piece for me to try. It was very sweet and unusual. I watched him carry away the package. It would be thrown out so I could take one bite? I bought a different package of 4 and headed out. I ate one right away, a second while watching fire trucks pass me. I didn't want the last two. I thought I was going to see a movie so I was in that spot looking for a bum that I had passed twice. The second time I passed him I doubted him. He moved as a man of ability. Although he wore the same clothes the man walked as if he had a place to go, and it is by that, that I judged him to be someone else. I was wrong. I felt this cold. I thought how strange it me, since the last time I gave anything to a bum was because I was scared of where I was living. In the most dangerous area in San Francisco, I lived, barely housed with nothing but my mother to provide any food or clothing or shelter. I gave a bum $6.00 in hopes that he would not try to harm me or my existence on another day. So it was that the last time I gave to a bum was when I was on the verge of being one myself. None of this I was thinking about as the beautiful young woman was giving to this Buddhist who had books on Yoga. I only thought it would be funny if I took my approach as I oft tend to do in a manner most dominating and mocking by walking up to her as the Buddhist and bum try to get something from her I would ask for money too, because it would be funny, but the thought hurt me, since it's a truth I was feeling. I may not be on the verge of homelessness, though I have no home, I have recently dumped away about as much money as I make in a year, it was most of my savings, and all I get in return for that is that maybe I saved the house my mother couldn't. In her death a void was created and this void sucked away my $10,000 with no promise of anything. The Grapples as they were called could go to no one it seemed so I took out a third and ate at it. I read completely the plastic container that held the apples and I read something that set fire to my heart like a lighter, small annoying, but not so dangerous in it's standard dose. These "Grapples" were not hybrids, they were artificially flavored apples. I had paid a dollar a piece for grape flavoring on dime a piece apples. I threw what I had not eaten into the trash feeling it's better there than these lies going into the mouth of an innocent bum. I did not go to the beautiful woman handing out to the Buddhist, and none of this did cross my mind at the time, for the World was possessing me at that moment and when I turned to continue in my effort to kill my day I was blinded by the light of a sign and in my blurred vision I judged a woman as I passed.
THE MAGICIAN AND THE PRISM
Transparent. To call something such is to insult. Why? Is not a window the most appreciated feature in a room? Is not the truth of all things the most sought after goal? As if knowing what is, is the end of what was. Maybe so. Dissecting a movie critically, angularly, edictally, plot-wise, ruins the entertainment. Respect is lost, not gained when someone knows how a magician does tricks. As if knowing is being. Maybe so.
Transparency in itself isn't beautiful without something behind it to appreciate, without light to dance through it, like through a prism. Though, nothing is beautiful without light. The physical transparency is then not so logically associated with the conceptual transparency. Though they are associated.
To see through, conceptually, is to understand. Understanding though, is not passing through; it is entering and staying, and being. So to understand, that is what is what the negative connotation implies. Not a glass of water, but the water within, it's molecules, it's temperature, it's mass, it's reaction to, or remarkably abreaction to what it surrounds, physically, chemically, lovingly.
Understanding is the great sin. It is the original sin. God would have you believe this. I don't fear God though. I fear you. Your ignorance, it isn't natural, it is by design. It is not my design. It is not my ignorance. It is not my God. It is my understanding.
Tell me now Great Silence, what is substance? Tell me now Great Silence, why do you exist? How do you exist? I am transparent because I am honest. My path, my actions are with reason and morality, they can not distort. I am transparent because I hide nothing and I show you the world around me as it passes through me. You are transparent because I can understand you. Because even your lies are clear to me. You are transparent because there is nothing to see.
Transparency in itself isn't beautiful without something behind it to appreciate, without light to dance through it, like through a prism. Though, nothing is beautiful without light. The physical transparency is then not so logically associated with the conceptual transparency. Though they are associated.
To see through, conceptually, is to understand. Understanding though, is not passing through; it is entering and staying, and being. So to understand, that is what is what the negative connotation implies. Not a glass of water, but the water within, it's molecules, it's temperature, it's mass, it's reaction to, or remarkably abreaction to what it surrounds, physically, chemically, lovingly.
Understanding is the great sin. It is the original sin. God would have you believe this. I don't fear God though. I fear you. Your ignorance, it isn't natural, it is by design. It is not my design. It is not my ignorance. It is not my God. It is my understanding.
Tell me now Great Silence, what is substance? Tell me now Great Silence, why do you exist? How do you exist? I am transparent because I am honest. My path, my actions are with reason and morality, they can not distort. I am transparent because I hide nothing and I show you the world around me as it passes through me. You are transparent because I can understand you. Because even your lies are clear to me. You are transparent because there is nothing to see.
Silence
You've found your screams are nothing to the silence and still. You know your matter is no match for 3 inches of cement. There is no light but you can see. There is no answer but you understand. You prepare. I hoped you would. I gave you nothing, I made you weak. Everything you value means nothing here. I hoped you had learned. I dreamed about it. I am my own justification for my actions. We share this loneliness. You know it doesn't matter who you are or what you've done. This emptiness fills you. A smile could save you. No one smiles at me. I can't even get a smile! They stare. They glance. They dance profoundly and make it hard for me to breath but never do they smile. What am I worth? Not even enough to be despised. Despise me. I can't take forgiveness. Forgiveness is more nothing. I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to hurt you more. I fed you. I kept you warm. You may have been confused. I really had no intention of treating you well or using you in any way but this, to kill me. I will open the door. I will stand in your way. You will have no choice. I am sorry if this haunts you. If you do manage to escape, and I remain living, I don't know how I could stop myself then. So I keep you here. I make you weak. I just need your finger. I just need your passion to finish me. Your desire to live must be greater than mine. Your desire to destroy me must defeat your desire to show compassion. I am sick of your compassion. This world's pity makes nothing of me. If only I could be loved! You all stare at me. WHAT IS THERE? You do not say. Silence, and you fade away.
Wrote this in my nowhere
My heart pounding, my mind racing. Perhaps it is only in my sleep that I know of these wonderful times of excellence and understanding. Times of whelming pleasure and satisfaction. Though some aren't dreams, some trancend what a dream could possibly generate.The warmth of someone beside me, someone whose focus is on my pleasure, and my focus is on theirs. Or the little triumphs in life hearing the buzzer go off as I'm busy drowning some poor bastard who dared to score on me, and knowing it is nothing but glory that awaits me when I get out of the water. The feeling I get when I finish a race and I pull my head out of the water and watch in calm as the hands of my opponents finish their struggle.
Though I know these feelings. It's the lasting feelings that I truly strive for. They may as well have been dreams. You look at me now, I am not swimming in a race. I'm not stopping a ball. I am not going to bed with someone in my arms. I am slow, and weak, and alone. This is the torture of my everyday. I wear no mask. I cannot lie. I respect this beautiful world more than you can imagine. I love reality and
I could never betray it. I find though that it is only in evil can the lasting pleasures exist. You do not respect the man that won't lie, you respect the image of the liars facade. You do not value the accomplishments of the intelligent analyst, you glorify the perpetual ignorance of the uneducated unthinkings perveyors of insurmountable feats of illogic expressed in media, and social gatherings. You see it
is with great selfishness that I declare you guilty. That I declare my refusal to submit. Truthfully though I am unable to submit. It isn't a choice for me, I am not a man who chooses truth, I am truthful. I am not a man who chooses logic, I am logical. My actions though, I choose them and mightily do I destroy myself in recognition of my ineptitude in ignorance. Plainly I punish myself for being right, by doing wrong.
Little left is there for me to imagine. I have conceived my way through every plot. I have only to actually face life before I can die. Now I find it repulsive. I see these sources of infinite pain and loss bursting around me, the shrapnel ripping holes in my soul I am a monster from a distance.
I am to be feared if I am right, I am to be feared if I am wrong. I will not play along in these games.
What can I say when I love you all and fear you all? I am disarmed. I am a source of destruction. Every wasted minute. Every misplaced trust. Everyone of you who put faith in anything kills me.
Dear God all I want is for the pain to subside. You won't do that though will you? No I have to hurt. I must endure. I must be the epitome of perseverance. everything has to be ten times harder. I can't even be literate in my own torture. Ouch, how about that? Can you understand that? Ouch is the expression of every fucking breath I take. Every thought I possess. I cannot be taken seriously. Nowun could possibly suffer as I do. I must be lying. I can't even be granted this o lord. You even take from me all credibility. My life is so absurd it makes laughter as vomit blood
and tears pour to the Earth. This Earth that I love is hard and unforgiving. Thank you lord for the bottle which I am about to receive, the alcohol within can take away my fear. Thank you lord for the bullet which I am about to receive, the gun can propel it into my brain and my solution becomes permanent. It is only one more thing that I ask of you my lord. Give me the strength I need to commit this act of treason. It is only with your strength my lord that I can destroy the monster. The great sinner. The destroyer of hope that I have become. I am a joke my lord
I shall laugh myself into oblivion.
Though I know these feelings. It's the lasting feelings that I truly strive for. They may as well have been dreams. You look at me now, I am not swimming in a race. I'm not stopping a ball. I am not going to bed with someone in my arms. I am slow, and weak, and alone. This is the torture of my everyday. I wear no mask. I cannot lie. I respect this beautiful world more than you can imagine. I love reality and
I could never betray it. I find though that it is only in evil can the lasting pleasures exist. You do not respect the man that won't lie, you respect the image of the liars facade. You do not value the accomplishments of the intelligent analyst, you glorify the perpetual ignorance of the uneducated unthinkings perveyors of insurmountable feats of illogic expressed in media, and social gatherings. You see it
is with great selfishness that I declare you guilty. That I declare my refusal to submit. Truthfully though I am unable to submit. It isn't a choice for me, I am not a man who chooses truth, I am truthful. I am not a man who chooses logic, I am logical. My actions though, I choose them and mightily do I destroy myself in recognition of my ineptitude in ignorance. Plainly I punish myself for being right, by doing wrong.
Little left is there for me to imagine. I have conceived my way through every plot. I have only to actually face life before I can die. Now I find it repulsive. I see these sources of infinite pain and loss bursting around me, the shrapnel ripping holes in my soul I am a monster from a distance.
I am to be feared if I am right, I am to be feared if I am wrong. I will not play along in these games.
What can I say when I love you all and fear you all? I am disarmed. I am a source of destruction. Every wasted minute. Every misplaced trust. Everyone of you who put faith in anything kills me.
Dear God all I want is for the pain to subside. You won't do that though will you? No I have to hurt. I must endure. I must be the epitome of perseverance. everything has to be ten times harder. I can't even be literate in my own torture. Ouch, how about that? Can you understand that? Ouch is the expression of every fucking breath I take. Every thought I possess. I cannot be taken seriously. Nowun could possibly suffer as I do. I must be lying. I can't even be granted this o lord. You even take from me all credibility. My life is so absurd it makes laughter as vomit blood
and tears pour to the Earth. This Earth that I love is hard and unforgiving. Thank you lord for the bottle which I am about to receive, the alcohol within can take away my fear. Thank you lord for the bullet which I am about to receive, the gun can propel it into my brain and my solution becomes permanent. It is only one more thing that I ask of you my lord. Give me the strength I need to commit this act of treason. It is only with your strength my lord that I can destroy the monster. The great sinner. The destroyer of hope that I have become. I am a joke my lord
I shall laugh myself into oblivion.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Measure, Glow, Tie
His time is running out sir. The gun is in his hand sir.
Let it be she said; let him see he said.
There are a thousand more like him and they will not be so weak.
Then he is no priority sir? We can let him go sir?
To the wind go the patterns; to the ashes go the matters.
We will take what we can until there's nothing to lose.
His light will not die sir, the spark flares in the night sir.
Close your mouth in jest; shut your eyes to the rest.
Follow it in the dark, he has no path but there is an end.
The light I will follow sir. I see that which we destroyed sir.
The focus will turn away; the gaze will disintegrate.
Speak not a word, should the light bear you down.
He eats it up sir, the world as he passes sir.
The river has edges; the mountain has ledges.
The soil is his poison and the flow is his confusion.
Indeed sir! He is dead sir!
He'd never be she said; its better now he said.
Stand up straight, now tilt and bow. Send away the bitter taste and
enjoy what we can take from even the strangest, weakest, and most lost
of them in their waning hours.
Let it be she said; let him see he said.
There are a thousand more like him and they will not be so weak.
Then he is no priority sir? We can let him go sir?
To the wind go the patterns; to the ashes go the matters.
We will take what we can until there's nothing to lose.
His light will not die sir, the spark flares in the night sir.
Close your mouth in jest; shut your eyes to the rest.
Follow it in the dark, he has no path but there is an end.
The light I will follow sir. I see that which we destroyed sir.
The focus will turn away; the gaze will disintegrate.
Speak not a word, should the light bear you down.
He eats it up sir, the world as he passes sir.
The river has edges; the mountain has ledges.
The soil is his poison and the flow is his confusion.
Indeed sir! He is dead sir!
He'd never be she said; its better now he said.
Stand up straight, now tilt and bow. Send away the bitter taste and
enjoy what we can take from even the strangest, weakest, and most lost
of them in their waning hours.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
This Suicide Is Ripe
The reigning passion of the dawn is an ominous perception of all that matters in the life that is chosen. I wake each morning with a vague apprehension for my continual breath and a sense of astonishment towards the aching of my life. This is merely a natural response to the transition from dreams of my mind to the nightmare of my reality. Not a decidedly pleasant experience, nor one I seek in any matter, the masochist that I am. I simply lose myself in the process of consciousness and know only that my life is no longer anything I enjoy. In the developing of my actions I let my thoughts die and my spirit subside, I let to the wind and the plants of my environment all my decisions. Alas to my best efforts go my failures and all my glories go to the earth. It is at this cross point that my mind becomes active again and longs for only one solution. In my nights I am free, but only to wake again and this is no longer tolerable. So it is that as soon as I begin to care again, I only think to end my pain. I want the strength of resolve, so I practice each day. I tell myself what I think I need to believe. I tell myself what my other options would produce, and let my mind seethe in self-hatred.
It is this way unless I can fully distract myself with some mind numbing exercise that can able my willing mind to spend as much time as possible in a state that isn't actively planning it's own destruction. So it is that only when I am in performance of special circumstance do I feel any waking relief. Writing, eating, watching movies and television, are easy outs, but the information must come fast and must be relatively original or I begin to become very active in analysis and too often conclude that in order for such a situation as I am experiencing to suck less I am only to put a gun to my head and relieve the first round into my brain.
Rarely do I find such waking fantasy that equals dream life and so I go to bed quite active in desire and planning. I spend at least an hour each night as I do most of my more lethargic and monotonous day periods thinking up ways to insult myself and destroy any fathoming of self respect or love. It is in this calm that I can then once again get to planning my inevitable suicide. Always promising my wary self that such finality although perfectly evil is the only way, and that I needn't worry too much this night for this finality will not take place tomorrow. For one year now this has been a frequent passion of mine. When the sun breaks on the life I am choosing you now understand why there is no smile on my face or any perception of what this day will develop into in the scheme of my nullified existence.
It is this way unless I can fully distract myself with some mind numbing exercise that can able my willing mind to spend as much time as possible in a state that isn't actively planning it's own destruction. So it is that only when I am in performance of special circumstance do I feel any waking relief. Writing, eating, watching movies and television, are easy outs, but the information must come fast and must be relatively original or I begin to become very active in analysis and too often conclude that in order for such a situation as I am experiencing to suck less I am only to put a gun to my head and relieve the first round into my brain.
Rarely do I find such waking fantasy that equals dream life and so I go to bed quite active in desire and planning. I spend at least an hour each night as I do most of my more lethargic and monotonous day periods thinking up ways to insult myself and destroy any fathoming of self respect or love. It is in this calm that I can then once again get to planning my inevitable suicide. Always promising my wary self that such finality although perfectly evil is the only way, and that I needn't worry too much this night for this finality will not take place tomorrow. For one year now this has been a frequent passion of mine. When the sun breaks on the life I am choosing you now understand why there is no smile on my face or any perception of what this day will develop into in the scheme of my nullified existence.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Mi corazon, ha!! How about my handshake?
What am I supposed to say? I want to meet you. How about that? I can't sell myself very well. I am not a salesman. When do I quit?
You are cute and single and obviously very intelligent and observant and real. I am attracted to that. Very much.
If you read my blog posts you get a very interesting view of me.But you can't really get to know me through my blogs. Only direct discussion. Because I leave out so much. You don't know if you'll like my personal touch. In person is the best I'd say. I'm always honest, so I only get more real the closer you get to me. I don't want to write any of this. I want things handed to me. But you, you are still keeping quiet. You can't get hurt if you don't give anybody a chance eh? Yeah I understand. I just work the other way around. I try harder.
You are cute and single and obviously very intelligent and observant and real. I am attracted to that. Very much.
If you read my blog posts you get a very interesting view of me.But you can't really get to know me through my blogs. Only direct discussion. Because I leave out so much. You don't know if you'll like my personal touch. In person is the best I'd say. I'm always honest, so I only get more real the closer you get to me. I don't want to write any of this. I want things handed to me. But you, you are still keeping quiet. You can't get hurt if you don't give anybody a chance eh? Yeah I understand. I just work the other way around. I try harder.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
North Island Jack Rabbit
Back before North Island was a military base, the only reason people came to North Island was to hunt Jack Rabbits. Funny thing is, they're still here. I see them every night. Dozens of them. Just this night I chased about 6 or 7 of them around a baseball field. I can see their underground lairs everywhere, the entrances leave huge piles of uprooted grass and dirt. They only come out at night, which may be a local adaptation to avoid humans and cars, as I've seen plenty of Jack Rabbits out in the day in other parts of California. I seem to be the only person who knows about these rabbits. The simple reason being, I'm the only loser on this fucking base who has to come back to the ship on a nightly basis and whose only means of transportation are his legs. I might catch one of these beasts to have it studied, or eaten, or both. I think others might be interested. Jack Rabbits used to exist all over Coronado, I know this because there's a story that the reason Orange Avenue doesn't have any Orange trees on it is because the Jack Rabbits dug up the roots. There's still Olives on Olive, and Palms on Palm, but no Oranges on Orange. I've been out on Coronado at night and I haven't even seen a hint of Jack Rabbits. The North Island Jack Rabbits are smaller than the typical California Jack. I've stood next to Jack Rabbits whose ears went above my waist. Whereas the NI Jacks look like little bunnies until you get close enough to see the distiguishing characteristics (long feet, ridiculously large hind legs and long pointed ears.) Once I get a decent camera I'll get some photos.My last camera didn't seem to make my trip to San Diego from the north.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Shreded
Dashing against the cold. The trees fall and the earth rises. rain and fire and hate and passion flow into the lights that bear down on me. Stop these lights I command of my surroundings. These lights bring pain, maybe death. A momentary pleasure, an escape from reality. Though I see them looking at me. And her beauty cuts me, it shreds my fantasy, that I have any control, any passion, any earth beneath me or trees beside me. That the lights wouldn't hurt me, because I'm not worth the thrill.
Monday, January 15, 2007
The driving force
I saw from beyond my nose a World fascinating and wonderful. There was perfection in my action and every moment was an adventure. somewhere I derailed but I have not stopped. No rails! I choose my path. How hard is it for a man that was not raised. My parents never told me who I had to be. They never told me "no" in my course but for when I was at the edge. This is ideal, no. Do not send your child away I say my friends. Do not send them to their end. Do not lie instead of loving each other, and my friends, pain isn't something to be lived with. No I was happier on the streets with my Mom than in a house with people who saw me as a burden. All my life I have been detached. Somewhere in the middle. No teacher ever said, "You're going to kickass, or, "You're going to suck" always both. Silence. That's what I get. Silence. My parents, silence, my teachers, silence, my friends, silence. My brother and sister, O' Lord I cannot give pennance. I sought my own goals. I thought with success, maybe then they'd speak. But no one does. Silence. I say it and I say it. You won't read this, those who are silent. If you did you wouldn't tell me. Sure there are a couple who aren't silent. Why only a couple? What the fuck am I? People talk to dogs, they talk to gods, they talk to themselves, their computers, their hands, their friends, their loves, their hates, their drives, their successes, their failures. Silence.
Damn you for the silence! IF YOU PRICK ME DO I NOT BLEED? Silence.
I wasn't born knowing everything. I have had to claw my way to knowledge, enough to tell me, silence, is not the way of humans. Yet silence deafens me. You won't even understand this if you read it. You won't I promise you that you don't, maybe I'll get a look from you. People look at shit. They don't talk to shit.
I told you what I saw. What I saw on the horizon, in the creeks, in the forrest, my pets, my neighbors, my backyard, myself.
What I see now, is not beyond my nose. Beyond my nose is pain, is violence, silence. I look inwards. My senses are shutting down. They will all go away. You have all gone away, but you know, you were never there. My senses found that out. They knew, when I do not hear, it isn't an inability to hear, it's an inability to be around sound. When I do not see, it isn't an inability to see, it's an inability to allure light. When I do not smell, or taste, it is not an inability to do so, it is an inability to be trusted. When I do not feel, it is not an inability to feel, it is revulsion.
I tell you humans. You still fascinate me. I just fascinate me more. What am I? Silence.
Damn you for the silence! IF YOU PRICK ME DO I NOT BLEED? Silence.
I wasn't born knowing everything. I have had to claw my way to knowledge, enough to tell me, silence, is not the way of humans. Yet silence deafens me. You won't even understand this if you read it. You won't I promise you that you don't, maybe I'll get a look from you. People look at shit. They don't talk to shit.
I told you what I saw. What I saw on the horizon, in the creeks, in the forrest, my pets, my neighbors, my backyard, myself.
What I see now, is not beyond my nose. Beyond my nose is pain, is violence, silence. I look inwards. My senses are shutting down. They will all go away. You have all gone away, but you know, you were never there. My senses found that out. They knew, when I do not hear, it isn't an inability to hear, it's an inability to be around sound. When I do not see, it isn't an inability to see, it's an inability to allure light. When I do not smell, or taste, it is not an inability to do so, it is an inability to be trusted. When I do not feel, it is not an inability to feel, it is revulsion.
I tell you humans. You still fascinate me. I just fascinate me more. What am I? Silence.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Spirals and the nature of the 3rd dimension (my neurosis)
I was about to declare that spirals don't exist in nature but within seconds I noticed a vine spiraling up a potted tree. Spirals do exist, but in the 3rd dimension. I was thinking of spirals in 2D. We see in 2D, which is annoying to me. None of this was what I was wanting to write originally, but it did help me remember.
I think in spirals, when I come back around I'm a little farther from where I started. Thought threads are fleeting though. I can't even remember what the particular spiral I had in mind was.
So, my current loops of bullshit;
1. I need to care again. (this covers lots of littler issues)
2. My Mother's death (oh my dollars is this a lot of issues)
3. My lack of house and transportation (FTN)
4. My morality (this is just too much)
Where I am: So I decide that once I learned enough about the Vikings, I no longer felt the guilt I've felt for years for not telling my 12th grade British Literature class all I knew about the Vikings when the teacher put me on the spot. It always pissed me off that I didn't talk about their conwquests of America, and Russia, and trade with Constantinople and their written language. Now that I have learned much more, I see that even then I was not too qualified to teach about them at any length. I figured the same logic would help me to regain my control on the General Vallejo situation. That being I have read conflicting sources siting both Vallejo, and John Sutter as having had an army that wore Russian uniforms and took orders in German. It pissed me off that I could know so much, and then be unsure of something so grand. So I thought I'd go to a library. Then I remembered that I wasted years of my youth at libraries instead of socializing. This made me feel guilty for even wanting to read more. So I thought about going to a gun store. Why now? I can't buy one yet, I should take care of important things first. This issue was dropped when the phone book revealed that gun stores aren't open on Sundays. Are Libraries open on Sundays?
I thought about going dowtown to drink and socialize, once again though it's Sunday. I didn't want to go back to the ship. I had nothing else to do, I felt shame for liking to read, so I thought about this spiraling search in my mind for something productive to do on this Sunday. This led me to want to write about spirals. As you may imagine, Fashion Valley Mall is devoid of blank paper. I saw a Hallmark store and checked it out. Cards are almost stationary, but in there I thought about the nature of Hallmark cards. There are in a sense; For those who can't write on their own. Hallmark hates creative people, because creative people don't need Hallmark. They would then logically despise blank paper, for it takes creativity to make that paper valuable.
I then went to Border's Book Store. No paper there. Not a bit. I was mad at this, but had to conclude; For the common man, there is no direct correlation between reading and writing.
Fashion Valley Mall isn't about thought. Fashion is anti-thought, if it's "fashionable" then you didn't choose it, you didn't make it, it isn't creative. I also noticed it's mostly girls there, but they came to shop, or if they came to socialize too, I wouldn't know it, becuase I'm kinda pissed at sex right now. We aren't on speaking terms.
So all I have left to do is go back to the ship. I start walking, cause the trolley was packed, and I didn't want to call a Taxi. Eventually I end up at another Border's I see a beautiful woman in there and as soon as she looks at me, I know we won't be making-up any time soon. I find a book that is all about mid 1800s California with a lot of Vallejo shit in it. I get all excited and buy it. I'm a nerd. Fuck it.
I think in spirals, when I come back around I'm a little farther from where I started. Thought threads are fleeting though. I can't even remember what the particular spiral I had in mind was.
So, my current loops of bullshit;
1. I need to care again. (this covers lots of littler issues)
2. My Mother's death (oh my dollars is this a lot of issues)
3. My lack of house and transportation (FTN)
4. My morality (this is just too much)
Where I am: So I decide that once I learned enough about the Vikings, I no longer felt the guilt I've felt for years for not telling my 12th grade British Literature class all I knew about the Vikings when the teacher put me on the spot. It always pissed me off that I didn't talk about their conwquests of America, and Russia, and trade with Constantinople and their written language. Now that I have learned much more, I see that even then I was not too qualified to teach about them at any length. I figured the same logic would help me to regain my control on the General Vallejo situation. That being I have read conflicting sources siting both Vallejo, and John Sutter as having had an army that wore Russian uniforms and took orders in German. It pissed me off that I could know so much, and then be unsure of something so grand. So I thought I'd go to a library. Then I remembered that I wasted years of my youth at libraries instead of socializing. This made me feel guilty for even wanting to read more. So I thought about going to a gun store. Why now? I can't buy one yet, I should take care of important things first. This issue was dropped when the phone book revealed that gun stores aren't open on Sundays. Are Libraries open on Sundays?
I thought about going dowtown to drink and socialize, once again though it's Sunday. I didn't want to go back to the ship. I had nothing else to do, I felt shame for liking to read, so I thought about this spiraling search in my mind for something productive to do on this Sunday. This led me to want to write about spirals. As you may imagine, Fashion Valley Mall is devoid of blank paper. I saw a Hallmark store and checked it out. Cards are almost stationary, but in there I thought about the nature of Hallmark cards. There are in a sense; For those who can't write on their own. Hallmark hates creative people, because creative people don't need Hallmark. They would then logically despise blank paper, for it takes creativity to make that paper valuable.
I then went to Border's Book Store. No paper there. Not a bit. I was mad at this, but had to conclude; For the common man, there is no direct correlation between reading and writing.
Fashion Valley Mall isn't about thought. Fashion is anti-thought, if it's "fashionable" then you didn't choose it, you didn't make it, it isn't creative. I also noticed it's mostly girls there, but they came to shop, or if they came to socialize too, I wouldn't know it, becuase I'm kinda pissed at sex right now. We aren't on speaking terms.
So all I have left to do is go back to the ship. I start walking, cause the trolley was packed, and I didn't want to call a Taxi. Eventually I end up at another Border's I see a beautiful woman in there and as soon as she looks at me, I know we won't be making-up any time soon. I find a book that is all about mid 1800s California with a lot of Vallejo shit in it. I get all excited and buy it. I'm a nerd. Fuck it.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Time
I went ice skating yesterday. I'm still sore and wobbly. I push it to the limit! Though some fucks through my book onto the ground, and the ground was all wet so my Ayn Rand was damaged. I think its awe ing to think about the world the way it really is. That most human minds are kept in bondage. Bondage by all the bullshit philosophies.
You know why Hotmail sucks? Because MSN bought it (this was a while ago), and fucking threw it in their big bag of shit they own. Why do I have to write "@hotmail.com" when I'm already there? Why do I have 120 emails in my inbox, and nothing worth opening? Because fuck Hotmail.
You know why sports suck? Because the players get paid millions to kind of go at each other. The rules just keep getting pussyier and pussyier. You'd think in this supply and demand World I could see a guy get injured for life making $23000 a year.
Out of time
That's why the Navy sucks.
You know why Hotmail sucks? Because MSN bought it (this was a while ago), and fucking threw it in their big bag of shit they own. Why do I have to write "@hotmail.com" when I'm already there? Why do I have 120 emails in my inbox, and nothing worth opening? Because fuck Hotmail.
You know why sports suck? Because the players get paid millions to kind of go at each other. The rules just keep getting pussyier and pussyier. You'd think in this supply and demand World I could see a guy get injured for life making $23000 a year.
Out of time
That's why the Navy sucks.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving Post
They wouldn't let me in because I wore Vans! That's all I got. Truthfully though I'm like 15 people. Eminem is the epitome of today's society, but it would take me sooo long to explain why.
So I've spent the last 3 nights sleeping next to a beautiful intelligent relatively successful woman who won't even talk to me. Seriously, I suck. There's nothing more to it. I just put everything into everyone. Her not having any interest in me just tells me I need to fucking stop existing. I don't even know her. It has nothing to do with that. I don't even want to know her. I, Oh fuck this subject.
I'll just say this. I keep hoping that if I die, then maybe someone would read some of my blog posts at my funeral. I'm sure that when I die it will be pathetic and half assed. The tears will be real. They'll take my money and forget me.
I still have nightmares. I've been having nightmares every night for months now. I'm sure it has to do with my dead mother. She's in about a third of them. My dead Grandpa comes along sometimes too. They're always alive in my dreams. It's always a time that never existed. It's like I'm dreaming that they are alive now, and I am not in the Navy. She deserves a dedicated post. I think she was murdered. It's too late to prove it. I haven't told anyone this. But there are very good reasons for me thinking so.
In INDOC they described the side effects of stress. I noticed I have all of them except when there's a choice, like eats too little vs. too much. Most of these started a few months ago. This year has really sucked.
I'm 24. I'm old. Not really, but functionally. I am late.
I am very not normal/ Then people say, there is no normal. Yes there is. I'm not it. You might think you're not normal, but you probably are. Normal is good. Sometimes people are better than normal. That isn't me. I have zero female friends. I mean there's Hailey who bless her heart has never met me, and the YN that's all smiles but has never done anything social with me, but they can't count. I have never had a girlfriend. If you read my posts you might want to know why I would say this. I just mean i have never had a relationsip with a woman (ehem 50% of Earth's population) that wasn't purely sexual or purely hands off for more than say a few hours at a time. How can I have any credibility as a human being with this hanging over my head? That is what I call not normal. I can't even pretend to be human.
I'm jealous of Adrian Monk.
SO What did you want Brian? I'm not Fucking God. This has been the worst time of my life, and I'm still young. Ayn Rand only wrote shit like "We The Living" when she was young, that's the most sad depressing shit ever. A girl who watches everything she held be wrentched from existance, then all the good she created came to nothing, and everything she grew to love was destroyed. She tried to create a better life and ended up dead in a forrest in a pool of her own blood mixed in snow. That's happiness for you Brian. Fucking just do what you can. If life had cheat codes it wouldn't be worth it.
I write one happyish post and just smash it to shit. You like that Michael? You want my reality? I haven't heard anything from Alexandra since I left. She's got my email and a fucking computer right next to her.
Joshua, well I imagine you found this post entertaining. I honestly hope you did.
I'm wearing a designer t-shirt from "Affliction". Why is it that when you think "Designer Clothing" it's all rich and powerful sounding, but the standard precept is that homegrown shit is always the cheaper "old style" of doing things. In the food world the designer equivalent would be a "Mom and Pop" establishment. A place you'd be proud to go on Sunday, and the "non-designer" shit would be McDonalds and Wal-Mart, both of which are chastized for being popular. So its cool to wear the Capitalist pig's clothing, like Levis or Hanes, but not to eat his food like KFC or Waffle House. Designer just means that a real artist, that doesn't suck, made it, versus a coalition or panel of old crotchety fucks and focus groups. Yeah the shirt costs a little more, but the extra dollars are for the personal touch. So go ahead and look down on people who only wear designer clothing, and keep on praising Trader Joe's home town feel you hypocritical fucktards. Not that I only wear designer clothing. I'm a Capitalist for christ's sake. I certainly don't need designer underwear when the ladies never see it.
So I've spent the last 3 nights sleeping next to a beautiful intelligent relatively successful woman who won't even talk to me. Seriously, I suck. There's nothing more to it. I just put everything into everyone. Her not having any interest in me just tells me I need to fucking stop existing. I don't even know her. It has nothing to do with that. I don't even want to know her. I, Oh fuck this subject.
I'll just say this. I keep hoping that if I die, then maybe someone would read some of my blog posts at my funeral. I'm sure that when I die it will be pathetic and half assed. The tears will be real. They'll take my money and forget me.
I still have nightmares. I've been having nightmares every night for months now. I'm sure it has to do with my dead mother. She's in about a third of them. My dead Grandpa comes along sometimes too. They're always alive in my dreams. It's always a time that never existed. It's like I'm dreaming that they are alive now, and I am not in the Navy. She deserves a dedicated post. I think she was murdered. It's too late to prove it. I haven't told anyone this. But there are very good reasons for me thinking so.
In INDOC they described the side effects of stress. I noticed I have all of them except when there's a choice, like eats too little vs. too much. Most of these started a few months ago. This year has really sucked.
I'm 24. I'm old. Not really, but functionally. I am late.
I am very not normal/ Then people say, there is no normal. Yes there is. I'm not it. You might think you're not normal, but you probably are. Normal is good. Sometimes people are better than normal. That isn't me. I have zero female friends. I mean there's Hailey who bless her heart has never met me, and the YN that's all smiles but has never done anything social with me, but they can't count. I have never had a girlfriend. If you read my posts you might want to know why I would say this. I just mean i have never had a relationsip with a woman (ehem 50% of Earth's population) that wasn't purely sexual or purely hands off for more than say a few hours at a time. How can I have any credibility as a human being with this hanging over my head? That is what I call not normal. I can't even pretend to be human.
I'm jealous of Adrian Monk.
SO What did you want Brian? I'm not Fucking God. This has been the worst time of my life, and I'm still young. Ayn Rand only wrote shit like "We The Living" when she was young, that's the most sad depressing shit ever. A girl who watches everything she held be wrentched from existance, then all the good she created came to nothing, and everything she grew to love was destroyed. She tried to create a better life and ended up dead in a forrest in a pool of her own blood mixed in snow. That's happiness for you Brian. Fucking just do what you can. If life had cheat codes it wouldn't be worth it.
I write one happyish post and just smash it to shit. You like that Michael? You want my reality? I haven't heard anything from Alexandra since I left. She's got my email and a fucking computer right next to her.
Joshua, well I imagine you found this post entertaining. I honestly hope you did.
I'm wearing a designer t-shirt from "Affliction". Why is it that when you think "Designer Clothing" it's all rich and powerful sounding, but the standard precept is that homegrown shit is always the cheaper "old style" of doing things. In the food world the designer equivalent would be a "Mom and Pop" establishment. A place you'd be proud to go on Sunday, and the "non-designer" shit would be McDonalds and Wal-Mart, both of which are chastized for being popular. So its cool to wear the Capitalist pig's clothing, like Levis or Hanes, but not to eat his food like KFC or Waffle House. Designer just means that a real artist, that doesn't suck, made it, versus a coalition or panel of old crotchety fucks and focus groups. Yeah the shirt costs a little more, but the extra dollars are for the personal touch. So go ahead and look down on people who only wear designer clothing, and keep on praising Trader Joe's home town feel you hypocritical fucktards. Not that I only wear designer clothing. I'm a Capitalist for christ's sake. I certainly don't need designer underwear when the ladies never see it.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Leaving Japan
I should follow up the last one since it seems all desperate and gloomy like usual, and something good actually happened. I liked Alexandra, but she always worked and I was in another city. My last night in Japan I got a hotel room in Roppongi. There are very few hotels in Roppongi and people usually book way ahead. I didn't tell her that I got a hotel there just to see her, as opposed to an easier place to sleep like Okachimachi or Shibuya. I may have lied to myself and said I was going to party all night, but those days were done, for now at least. I almost didn't go to see her. It's tough, I don't know how it feels to be wanted by someone that I want, it's usually one way, either I like a woman, or she likes me, or I love a woman, and well. I went to her and we hung out for many hours. We drank the last of their wine that the Argentinian was saving for a special occasion. He said my leaving Japan was a good enough occasion for that.
On her break Alexandra met me at a coffee shop. I tried to explain to her how hard it is for a white guy to walk the streets of Roppongi. Every Nigerian doorman and South East Asian whore wants your money, and they get very personal. I told one Nigerian I had been in Japan 3 years. He replied; "You have been here 3 years, you are just learning to walk and talk. I have been here 13 years, I am already getting laid." Alexandra took me to a photo booth. We took lots of cutesy photos. All the night she kept saying "Don't go!" or "Take me with you." I played with her for saying this since I hadn't so much as kissed her, everytime she said "Don't go." I would ask her why I should stay. She once said; "So you could keep me company." I asked, "So I should stay in Japan, just so I can stand around in your bar and smile at you?" She started mumbling about how much she has to work and I heard her swear for the first time, it was really cute. The next day, my absolute last day in Japan I met her on a corner and we went and had brunch at T.G.I. Friday's. Two hours passed like nothing and I had to get to my plane. I invited her to come to the train station with me. We took a taxi to Tokyo eki. She held my hand the whole way. Alexandra had to get to Akihabara by 1:00 p.m. I was in line to by a ticket to Narita, she had to leave, but she didn't want to. She started hugging then kissing, then hugging, then kissing me. She sounded very sad when we parted. She texted me while I was on the train, and I talked to her when I got to the airport. She kept saying "Don't forget me." Alexandra, how could I forget you? Why did you wait so long to take me up on anything? I asked Alexandra to go places with me in the past but always she had work. Not really apropriate to kiss a bartender in the bar.
What the hell? I don't know. I suppose that was probably the most awesome way to leave a country. If I had done much more with her besides hugging and kissing I probably would be kicking myself right now. Just. Just. Well you know. You all fuck like rabbits. I savor my women. Alexandra, you were the finest. I want to drink from you again.
On her break Alexandra met me at a coffee shop. I tried to explain to her how hard it is for a white guy to walk the streets of Roppongi. Every Nigerian doorman and South East Asian whore wants your money, and they get very personal. I told one Nigerian I had been in Japan 3 years. He replied; "You have been here 3 years, you are just learning to walk and talk. I have been here 13 years, I am already getting laid." Alexandra took me to a photo booth. We took lots of cutesy photos. All the night she kept saying "Don't go!" or "Take me with you." I played with her for saying this since I hadn't so much as kissed her, everytime she said "Don't go." I would ask her why I should stay. She once said; "So you could keep me company." I asked, "So I should stay in Japan, just so I can stand around in your bar and smile at you?" She started mumbling about how much she has to work and I heard her swear for the first time, it was really cute. The next day, my absolute last day in Japan I met her on a corner and we went and had brunch at T.G.I. Friday's. Two hours passed like nothing and I had to get to my plane. I invited her to come to the train station with me. We took a taxi to Tokyo eki. She held my hand the whole way. Alexandra had to get to Akihabara by 1:00 p.m. I was in line to by a ticket to Narita, she had to leave, but she didn't want to. She started hugging then kissing, then hugging, then kissing me. She sounded very sad when we parted. She texted me while I was on the train, and I talked to her when I got to the airport. She kept saying "Don't forget me." Alexandra, how could I forget you? Why did you wait so long to take me up on anything? I asked Alexandra to go places with me in the past but always she had work. Not really apropriate to kiss a bartender in the bar.
What the hell? I don't know. I suppose that was probably the most awesome way to leave a country. If I had done much more with her besides hugging and kissing I probably would be kicking myself right now. Just. Just. Well you know. You all fuck like rabbits. I savor my women. Alexandra, you were the finest. I want to drink from you again.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Instant Late Night Poem
I will make a poem right now;
Alexandra,
te quiero. Pero sera una dia en la futura.
Porque voy ahorra, y dices que quieri decir.
Nande? Ima? porque no en Augusto o Septiembre?
Anata ga hoshi desu. Solamente quiero una dia completa.
You give me your picture and say I should never forget you.
You say you want my picture and you will never forget me.
Demo, estuve tu' quieri, no una pictura.
We speak in 3 languages. When we drink we say; "Salud, Kampai, Cheers!" But I only got to say "hello."
Always and never this is my life. I see the extremes and you are there. I needed to realize it is now and not never. That there is no whole. That what is, is all.
I think I will see you in 3 hours. I think I will see you forever. My Colombian woman. Watashi no Colombiajin Onnanahito, mi colombiana.
Alexandra,
te quiero. Pero sera una dia en la futura.
Porque voy ahorra, y dices que quieri decir.
Nande? Ima? porque no en Augusto o Septiembre?
Anata ga hoshi desu. Solamente quiero una dia completa.
You give me your picture and say I should never forget you.
You say you want my picture and you will never forget me.
Demo, estuve tu' quieri, no una pictura.
We speak in 3 languages. When we drink we say; "Salud, Kampai, Cheers!" But I only got to say "hello."
Always and never this is my life. I see the extremes and you are there. I needed to realize it is now and not never. That there is no whole. That what is, is all.
I think I will see you in 3 hours. I think I will see you forever. My Colombian woman. Watashi no Colombiajin Onnanahito, mi colombiana.
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