...smoking MY last cigarette. Damn mooch. Oh well, I needed to quit anyway.
I just wanna know one thing. Is everyone's life right now as bizarre as mine is? Am I the unbeknownst writer-director in this play called life, with characters I've created in my own mind?
Perhaps. Perception is reality. Reality is perception. Is there a difference between those two?
Ah shit, it's curfew, so I better quit pontificating with the sky and get back to bed. I don't need any more electro-shock treatments tonight. Although they do kinda give you a good buzz.
Kinda like a damn good rock hard concert. Or stock car races.
Off to tantric dreamland...
Friday, February 27, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Truth- Excerpts from ET-101 & Rogue Thought Tributaries
"We have noticed that you pretend to value truth on this planet. Some spend a lifetime seeking it. Your legal systems demand it, and you can be sued if your business doesn't practice it. Your philosophers define it, your scientists measure it, your religions exalt it, and you all fight over it. Meanwhile, all you are doing is paying global lip service to it. There is an excellent reason for this: You have no idea what truth really is. How the obvious escaped you is a tedious story.
The abridged version of it amounts to this: You embraced fear. After that unholy act, it has been downhill ever since. Fear is the first lie, the lie that tells you that you are separated from the whole. Once it has been embraced, you are incapable of ever telling the truth under any circumstances without blowing the game."
Funny how these insights always come in the form of a book, to rip my insidious hermit rug from underneath me in the nick of time. That, and through randomly unrandom word snippets I trip upon that induce unforeseeable laughter. Such as: 'Don't forget to feed your bear. If you don't it will die." What is with the bear theme lately? I suppose that's my energy's way of appealing to the hat I wear in this corporeal form. I've had this book for some time- it's short and succinct. For some reason I haven't read it all. But just now, I found an excerpt onlilne, following a compulsory urge, and synchronicity has in turn provided me a well-timed shot in the buttocks again. I'm glad I didn't see it coming and tense up- sore buttocks suck. Buttocks. Now that's a fun word.
My life is becoming exponentially similar to the reassuring premise of Slaughterhouse Five. It would be considered downright frightening, if I wasn't so fascinated with multi-planular time-travel and teleportation. Do I really have to wait 4 years until Mayan Prophecy 2012? Man, that sucks. Oh wait. Just arrived there. Eight minutes to darkness, and immediate light...
I was tempted to fill out the 25 random things on Facebook about me, because I always loved mad libs. But it just seemed like flipping the trigger to pandora's box. And I didn't want to scare unsuspecting people. Because really... you don't want me to whip out the random stick. Because that dude don't stop at 25. It kicks it frequently with pi. Sometimes the prolificity even scares me. Kinda like boxing a clown. Now that is a pretty disturbing image. But it might be kinda fun. If you stop before Mickey Rourke did. Lessons to learn kids. Lessons to learn.
My parents said they found me under a rock. Maybe that's why I like perusing and picking up rocks. I'm searching for my siblings. If I was a rock, then no one would try to eat me. Except pure jainists. But even rocks have energy. And sometimes they sparkle. And sometimes they have cool holes that you can slip a string through and wear on your neck as a pendant. Not that any of this is related or has any kind of pertinence whatsoever. Just saying.
My dog likes pop rocks. But I noticed an unsettling phenomenon. They crackle in my mouth, but do not in hers. Is dog saliva immune to carbon dioxide? Why in the hell am I ingesting carbon dioxide fruity sugar-flavored rocks anyway? Maybe I'm becoming a plant. Maybe I should read the package. But if I AM a plant, I want to be a rubber tree. It's good to have high hopes. "High apple pie, in the sky hopes... Oops there goes another rubber tree plant..." You sing it Frankie baby.
Damn ant.
If I ever get engaged, a sparkly rock would be cool, but what I really want first is a piece of string offered and tied around my finger during the proposal. I think that would be cooler than the coolest side of the pillow. Simple and complex. String Theory. M Theory. Theory of Everything. Circular. But without the part where my counterpart's evil best friend betrays him and sends him to prison, where he suffers, until he escapes and returns disguised as the Count of Monte Cristo. I just want the cool love string stuff. I don't need the rest of the drama. Except maybe for my counterpart to look as hot as the Count. And be skilled in sword play. Cool story though. And here's a pawn for you, dear avarice and envy. Damn good story indeed.
Someone just wrote "I hope they serve beer in hell" in a personals ad. I love perusing those things to find various fun nuggets of human nature. But this quote elicited an extended onslaught of laughter from deep within my gut. I've no idea why. I don't feel the need to question it tonight, but if one demands an inquiry be made, I'd simply say: Why not? However, I would recommend that writer clarify his statement with "on infinite ice." Because hot beer really just kinda, well, sucks.
The aforementioned relies on the premise that hell's all fiery of course, when it could be more along the lines of Dante and require no disclaimer of frozen water. I think hell's more along the lines of Milton. But more important to me is finding "A paradise within thee, happier far." I like Archangel Michael. He's a wise dude to follow if you want to transcend from this third-dimensional realm. Regardless, a cold beer is still really good. And my handbasket is super cool tricked out. I don't need one prepared, but I had one decorated up for shits and grins. Why not?
And now, friends and concerned attendants speeding ever forward in their white van toward my abode... animals are roaming around my house searching for rogue pretzels and water, and it's time for me to exit left stage to be ravished by oranges.
That is, until we reach the season of bing cherries. I so love me some bing cherries. And tildes.
Pontificatingly Yours~
C
The abridged version of it amounts to this: You embraced fear. After that unholy act, it has been downhill ever since. Fear is the first lie, the lie that tells you that you are separated from the whole. Once it has been embraced, you are incapable of ever telling the truth under any circumstances without blowing the game."
Funny how these insights always come in the form of a book, to rip my insidious hermit rug from underneath me in the nick of time. That, and through randomly unrandom word snippets I trip upon that induce unforeseeable laughter. Such as: 'Don't forget to feed your bear. If you don't it will die." What is with the bear theme lately? I suppose that's my energy's way of appealing to the hat I wear in this corporeal form. I've had this book for some time- it's short and succinct. For some reason I haven't read it all. But just now, I found an excerpt onlilne, following a compulsory urge, and synchronicity has in turn provided me a well-timed shot in the buttocks again. I'm glad I didn't see it coming and tense up- sore buttocks suck. Buttocks. Now that's a fun word.
My life is becoming exponentially similar to the reassuring premise of Slaughterhouse Five. It would be considered downright frightening, if I wasn't so fascinated with multi-planular time-travel and teleportation. Do I really have to wait 4 years until Mayan Prophecy 2012? Man, that sucks. Oh wait. Just arrived there. Eight minutes to darkness, and immediate light...
I was tempted to fill out the 25 random things on Facebook about me, because I always loved mad libs. But it just seemed like flipping the trigger to pandora's box. And I didn't want to scare unsuspecting people. Because really... you don't want me to whip out the random stick. Because that dude don't stop at 25. It kicks it frequently with pi. Sometimes the prolificity even scares me. Kinda like boxing a clown. Now that is a pretty disturbing image. But it might be kinda fun. If you stop before Mickey Rourke did. Lessons to learn kids. Lessons to learn.
My parents said they found me under a rock. Maybe that's why I like perusing and picking up rocks. I'm searching for my siblings. If I was a rock, then no one would try to eat me. Except pure jainists. But even rocks have energy. And sometimes they sparkle. And sometimes they have cool holes that you can slip a string through and wear on your neck as a pendant. Not that any of this is related or has any kind of pertinence whatsoever. Just saying.
My dog likes pop rocks. But I noticed an unsettling phenomenon. They crackle in my mouth, but do not in hers. Is dog saliva immune to carbon dioxide? Why in the hell am I ingesting carbon dioxide fruity sugar-flavored rocks anyway? Maybe I'm becoming a plant. Maybe I should read the package. But if I AM a plant, I want to be a rubber tree. It's good to have high hopes. "High apple pie, in the sky hopes... Oops there goes another rubber tree plant..." You sing it Frankie baby.
Damn ant.
If I ever get engaged, a sparkly rock would be cool, but what I really want first is a piece of string offered and tied around my finger during the proposal. I think that would be cooler than the coolest side of the pillow. Simple and complex. String Theory. M Theory. Theory of Everything. Circular. But without the part where my counterpart's evil best friend betrays him and sends him to prison, where he suffers, until he escapes and returns disguised as the Count of Monte Cristo. I just want the cool love string stuff. I don't need the rest of the drama. Except maybe for my counterpart to look as hot as the Count. And be skilled in sword play. Cool story though. And here's a pawn for you, dear avarice and envy. Damn good story indeed.
Someone just wrote "I hope they serve beer in hell" in a personals ad. I love perusing those things to find various fun nuggets of human nature. But this quote elicited an extended onslaught of laughter from deep within my gut. I've no idea why. I don't feel the need to question it tonight, but if one demands an inquiry be made, I'd simply say: Why not? However, I would recommend that writer clarify his statement with "on infinite ice." Because hot beer really just kinda, well, sucks.
The aforementioned relies on the premise that hell's all fiery of course, when it could be more along the lines of Dante and require no disclaimer of frozen water. I think hell's more along the lines of Milton. But more important to me is finding "A paradise within thee, happier far." I like Archangel Michael. He's a wise dude to follow if you want to transcend from this third-dimensional realm. Regardless, a cold beer is still really good. And my handbasket is super cool tricked out. I don't need one prepared, but I had one decorated up for shits and grins. Why not?
And now, friends and concerned attendants speeding ever forward in their white van toward my abode... animals are roaming around my house searching for rogue pretzels and water, and it's time for me to exit left stage to be ravished by oranges.
That is, until we reach the season of bing cherries. I so love me some bing cherries. And tildes.
Pontificatingly Yours~
C
Saturday, February 21, 2009
My favorite poem of the moment
If you forget me - by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know one thing. You know how this is:
if I look at the crystal moon,
at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots,
remember that on that day, at that hour,
I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land.
But if each day, each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.
A Confederacy of Dunces- Relived
Disclaimer: Far too many people have taken my words too literally today, so if you think I actually advocate meritocratic genocide, then take a chill pill and relax, cowboy. I've no desire to re-enact 1984, any more than I have a desire to re-enact my mile high fortress of a hairdo from that time period. Good God. I've simply got passionate philosophies, constantly evolving, interspersed with random flip, sarcastic bursts of my twisted sense of humor. I can't help it. I'm human too, and that's my quirk (of many...) If you don't get it, that's fine. But stand down on getting your feathers too bent out of shape by it.
Now on to the commentary....
Ah it's nice to see living examples of literature. Today I got to witness and participate in a virtual semantic battle with the trolls (that sounds like a TV show coming to a season near you.) My preferred use of weaponry? A scythe. Hey, with quick death, comes quicker rebirth. Or at least several less annoying specimens throwing their shit-litter for others to pick up.
What wrong corner did the majority of our society turn to completely disregard the need to teach personal responsibility? I've never seen more fearful ostriches sticking their heads in the sand, or rather sticking their heads up their collective ass, judging by the sweet & sickening stench wafting off of their responses to blog topics of substance, which happen to elevate themselves beyond banal predilections of who will win the Oscars, who should get kicked of American Idol, and whom other people are fucking in their home town.
Now on to the commentary....
Ah it's nice to see living examples of literature. Today I got to witness and participate in a virtual semantic battle with the trolls (that sounds like a TV show coming to a season near you.) My preferred use of weaponry? A scythe. Hey, with quick death, comes quicker rebirth. Or at least several less annoying specimens throwing their shit-litter for others to pick up.
What wrong corner did the majority of our society turn to completely disregard the need to teach personal responsibility? I've never seen more fearful ostriches sticking their heads in the sand, or rather sticking their heads up their collective ass, judging by the sweet & sickening stench wafting off of their responses to blog topics of substance, which happen to elevate themselves beyond banal predilections of who will win the Oscars, who should get kicked of American Idol, and whom other people are fucking in their home town.
The original article is here.
http://bigbadbobby.blogspot.com/2009/02/when-companies-just-dont-get-it.html
And the nefarious, albeit very amusing shit-storm that ensued is here.
http://www.tonyskansascity.com/2009/02/kc-blogger-questions-deffenbaugh.html?ext-ref=comm-sub-email
I'm still trying to figure out what all these books and authors are that I'm supposed to have read so I can appear smart. I don't prescribe to pop culture or the erudite's manual of 'what's hot/what's not.' And although I think I have a pretty decent set of brains about me, I've known some pretty fucking stupid smart people, and put more value in whether or not people care enough to be active toward bettering their own lives and the state of this planet, with a sense of humor to deal with the trolls along the way.
So Enjoy. Recycle. Take out your trash. And think about the larger picture of your actions. For dog's sake at least try, and don't give up on caring about yourself, others, and the world you live in. Apathy stinks. You can still sing 'bye-bye bowel movement, going to the sewer treatment factory..." It's a fun song. No one's giving you any crap about that, certainly not me, since I engaged in many a sing-along during Freud's stage 2 of my own development cycle. Provided, of course, that you don't turn around and stick your head back up your ass again. Then I might have to break out the scythe.
Unless I'm in more of a bludgeoning mood... at which point I'll grab my flail. Or maybe, if you dick around long enough in a horsefly-gnat inducing manner, I'll warp sadistic and pull out the acupuncture needles. But I don't really want it to have to go that far man. Believe me, it hurts me far more than it hurts you. Just watch the snippet from the Japanese movie Audition below. Of course, I would never do any of this to anyone. I just had to share the disturbing imagery, so I'm not alone in my nightmares. But be warned. It WILL scar you for life.
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