[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 11 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Wednesday, October 31st, 2007|
|Another short story, by me
How a Little White Lie
Turned the World Gray
Joshua was really not sure how his brother, Joe, would ever forgive him for deflowering his precious Mary. It had only been a week and Mary said she would be able to keep the secret, but Joshua was still quite uneasy about the whole thing. How would he hide the facts? Joseph was bound to figure out the obvious; Mary was no longer a virgin. “Why did I sleep with my brother’s bride on her wedding night,” pondered Joshua. Luckily, Joseph was a virgin also and was still quite shy about intimacy.
A few weeks had past and Joshua thought he actually got away with it. Surely, Joseph had consummated his marriage by now, and maybe he was just ignorant to the facts. It was a Sunday, and Joshua went to dinner at Joe and Mary’s house as he normally did after congregation. At the dinner table, the family would discuss the lesson(s) taught during that day’s sermon. The men at church spoke of how God was going to send a messenger to spread the ‘good word.’ Joshua figured the men would handpick one of themselves as ‘God’s representative,’ for that was the way business was conducted in the church. Joseph, on the other hand, was convinced. He fumed, “Don’t blaspheme in my house, brother! If God spoke to you the way he speaks to other men in the congregation, you would have no doubts to God’s master plan. Try having a little faith!” Joshua excused himself from the table, and he stepped outside for a quick smoke.
Joshua was startled to find he wasn’t alone as he stood there muttering insensitive insults about his brother; Mary had been standing in the doorway. “Oh great, now I have to hear it from the wife, too,” complained Joshua. Mary piped in, “I’m pregnant Josh, and the baby is yours.” Joshua slowly turned to face Mary. All sound had stopped, everything got blindingly bright, and every muscle in Joshua’s body failed at the same time. Only a few minutes had passed before Mary was able to awaken the still shivering Joshua. “Bu….sshh….fuh…..how……no….” Joshua’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t speak properly at all. He pressed the flats of his hands against his face. Because it had been so long since that night, Joshua just figured he pulled a fast one on his brother and all was forgotten. “Now, how am I going to explain this one to Joe,” thought Joshua. “Well, haven’t the two of you…you know, had sex yet?” he asked. Mary shook her head. This was BIG, something he knew would be impossible to hide. He convinced Mary he would come up with a solution. “Just give me a few days. You can trust me,” he explained, “Now, go inside and act normal.” Joshua wanted to be sure he and Mary didn’t return to the dinner table at the same time, so he remained on the veranda for another smoke while pondering the situation.
Joshua returned to the table only to excuse himself for the rest of the evening. He apologized to Joseph and the family for being rude, and he revealed that he would be praying for forgiveness from God and from all of them. He asked them to do the same; pray for him. Joshua was not exactly accepting of his family’s choice in religion. He was too intelligent for organized religion. It’s not to say he was immoral and living in sin; he just preferred to be a thinker. Granted he did have a one-night stand with his brother’s wife, but nobody is perfect. Joshua also was not fond of an ‘absolute truth,’ such as ‘God’s word.’ He believed everything had an explanation, and some things had more than one explanation. As he walked home that night from Joseph’s, the moon and stars lit his path ever so effulgently. He dismissed the cloudless night as a ‘fortunate coincidence,’ but he knew Joe would have explained such a night as ‘grace from God above.’ “Everything is always God-this, God-that,” Joshua thought aloud. “Joe uses God to explain everything.” He stopped dead in his tracks. Just like that, he knew exactly how he was going to explain to Joseph that Mary was pregnant and how she came to be pregnant. It was clearer to him than the cool, desert night he walked through.
It was Wednesday, and Mary had not heard from Joshua yet. Morning sickness was a regular thing now, and Joseph began to be concerned. “Is everything o.k.?” he would ask Mary. She had offered the excuse, “Maybe it was the fish we ate on Sunday.” Joseph knew his wife to be an ‘honest’ woman, so he dismissed any other possibilities. He would just ask, “Should I send for a doctor?” Mary knew that if a doctor came, she would be found out. “No dear,” she would say. Mary was beginning to get furious at Josh and her emotional rollercoaster would throw tears into the mix, as to really make things difficult on her. She was starting to think she should just tell Joseph the truth. “He is a man of God, and he will forgive me,” Mary rationalized. Mary’s family believed in arranged marriages, so Mary ran away from home when she was only sixteen. She met Joseph shortly after, and his family took her in and helped her with food and shelter. Mary took a liking to Joseph, because he was always working hard and he stuck to his convictions. However, Joseph had a brother, whose nose was always stuck in books. She would try to get his attention, but he never seemed to notice her. Mary desired both brothers, and got what she wanted in the end. She had a loving, caring husband, and she got to sleep with the ‘dark and mysterious’ brother. Only now, she has to live in shame and regret. “Oh, where the hell is Joshua?” she thought.
The weekend was nearing and Joseph was really concerned about Mary’s health. She had no color left in her face, and she hadn’t been able to keep down any food lately. “She had only started complaining about not being well earlier in the week, maybe Sunday,” Joseph said to himself. “Maybe it was the way I asked her if we could finally consummate; maybe it is still too early for that.” Joseph couldn’t figure out why Mary was acting the way she had been, or why it only seemed to really escalate whenever sex was mentioned. Joseph always knew his first time would be with the woman he married, it was God’s wishes. He loved Mary dearly; so much so, that he believed Mary was only being just as shy about sex as he was. After all, it was Joseph who slept in a different room than his wife on their wedding night. He thought it was justifiable. He convinced himself that the alcohol he consumed after the wedding might tempt him to lust his wife, instead of love her. He didn’t want his first time to be driven by such a sin. He understood maybe she wanted the same, and that’s why it hasn’t happened yet. Joseph knew in his heart that if he brought up ‘sex,’ Mary might think him to be gluttonous. So, they never really talked about it, they never acted upon their animal instincts, and Joseph believed it best to let things happen as God plans them to.
Exactly one week had gone by since Mary told Joshua the news. Joshua showed up for congregation as he always had. Mary pulled Joshua aside and said angrily, “You are such a bastard! How could you make me wait so long to find out what horseshit story you are going to feed Joseph?” Joshua told her not to fret, that he just needed time to refine his story. Mary thought this calm behavior to be completely unacceptable, so she slapped him. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through this past week?” she demanded, “Who do you think you are?” Joshua, completely complacent, began explaining to Mary all the details she would need to know to make this story work. Mary listened intently, nodded, nodded again, laughed, nodded again, and gave Josh a big hug. “I think this is actually going to work,” said a very relieved Mary. Joshua went into the church to sit with the other men, and Mary found her seat near the back with the rest of the women. The message given during the sermon dealt with God’s mysterious ways of talking to us. A man spoke of the Garden of Eden, of how God told Adam that a woman was to be made from his rib. The man went on further to say, “The man is to work the earth, and the woman is to do what her husband wishes and be subject to the pain of childbirth.” The men of the congregation found this to be funny. They chuckled and nodded in agreement. Joshua, however, found this “mysterious messages” mumbo-jumbo to be insightful. He realized he had found the missing piece to his story.
Dinnertime at Joe and Mary’s had its normal crowded table. Everyone trying to talk over everyone else; it sounded like a chicken coop, inside a duck farm, surrounded by geese. The table was overflowing with friends and family this week, for some reason. Joshua knew his moment was coming closer. Mary kept glaring at Josh and mouthing the word, “Now!” Joshua knew that timing could make or break his entire story. Then, like a flash of lightning, the time came. There was the quickest break in every conversation simultaneously. It was as if God slammed his fist on the dinner table to quash everyone. Joshua stood, and everyone’s head turned to face him. So, Josh began: “Could I please have a moment? I have something I would like to say.” The room silenced. “Everyone here knows that I have had many troubles with faith and many disagreements with God.” Joseph stared with intrigue, his eyes glossed over as he humbly watched his brother’s charisma. Joshua continued, “I prayed all the way home last week, and God forgave me.” Mary acted interested. “You see, God spoke to me that night. God told me that he had a gift for me, a gift for man.” Some friends from church were fascinated and listened attentively. “I did not just ask God to forgive my blasphemy, but to forgive the sins that all men revel in.” Joshua looked directly at Joseph and explained, “It was my brother who always prayed for me, who always believed in me when no one else would. It is my brother who God shall reward highly.” Joseph anticipated nervously what his brother’s next words would be. Joshua raised his glass and proclaimed, “God, through Joseph and Mary, has offered his one and only son. His name will be Jesus, and one day he will die for the sins of mankind.” Joseph stood up, looked at Mary, then back at Josh and with great perplexity pondered aloud, “How could this be? Mary is a virgin.” Mary’s faux surprised eyes went from Joseph to Joshua, back to Joseph, and then to Joshua again. Joshua agreed, “Yes brother, Mary is a virgin. She is pregnant though, through miraculous conception.” Although faithful, Joseph was still confused. Joshua went on further to sound more convincing, “I have waited to tell you this until I have seen with my own eyes that Mary is indeed pregnant.” Joseph knew in his heart that this story must be true. Joe exclaimed, “Spread the word; my Mary is to give birth to the son of God!” Everyone was overjoyed, but none as much as Joshua and Mary. They could not believe that everyone at the table, let alone Joseph, bought into Joshua’s most bizarre story. They got away with it.
Mary was near the end of her pregnancy, and word of her ‘miraculous conception’ had spread throughout the land. Joshua’s story had been widely accepted as truth for all followers of God. These followers went on to write their own version of the events leading up to the birth of Jesus, but only Mary and Joshua knew the facts. New stories were created about the life of Jesus, but were left out of God’s book because they were not as interesting. Jesus was no longer a boy when a man named Judas, who had also read the tales of Joshua, came into his life. The rest, as they say, is History…..or Theology?
Current Mood: productive
|A short story, by me.....gimme some feedback
Todd and M
Since the first day of class at Bewbush Primary School in Crawley, West Sussex, Todd and M. were inseparable. They loved to kick around a filthy, old white soccer ball M. said his mum had patched together before she had died. Twas the ball, and the ball alone, that kept M. attached to his parents. They had died when he was too young to remember, and he had been in and out of foster homes and orphanages all throughout Sussex. Todd treated him as a brother, for that is what he was told to do by Bishop Atkins at Sunday’s service. Todd’s mum was fanatical about the C. of E., and his dad was extremely involved with the Labour Party. The lack of proper love from their parents was their one and only common bond, Todd and M.
During their fourth year at Bewbush, the class had gone on a weekend outing to Ashdown Forest. Night had fallen, the fire had extinguished, and Todd and M. opted to explore the woods like Eyre and Baxter. Once in these woods, they happened upon an unusual creature. Pure evil lurked in the one clearing with enough moonlight to illuminate Wembley Stadium. There it was, with birch onlookers, some winged demon of the night. The boys wanted a closer gander at this magnificent beast. Like Christopher Robin did with Winnie before, Todd and M. ambushed the surprised animal with different results. For what they had happened upon was no fuzzy bear that enjoys honey, but a Greater mouse-eared bat feasting on the blood of its latest victim, a black rat. The tables turned quickly, and this winged mammal, with a wingspan of half a meter, was now defending its hunt from would-be scavengers. The boys, now deep in the darkness of the forest, were as blind as their predator. Todd was struck from behind and pushed forward onto M. A melee ensued, most of which was fueled by paranoia and anxiety, and after a brief struggle, Todd realized they were alone again; the bat let them be. However, this marked the moment the young boys now had one more thing in common, the bat.
For Todd, the bat had bitten him, and he had been diagnosed with encephalitis, a virus that would plague him for life. M., on the other hand, had observed the irony that a Myotis Myotis (Greater mouse-eared bat) had preyed upon a Rattus Rattus (black rat), and had become obsessed with tautonyms ever since. M. had always been interested in everything going on around him, so he read books while other kids played. The only boy who could get M. to put down his books for a bit and help him practice his latest soccer moves was Todd. M. truly enjoyed spending his early evenings with Todd, encouraging him to follow his dreams of FA Cup victory. Todd always went on about how he was going to be the next top goal scorer in the whole Premier League. Deep inside, M. knew these dreams were hopeless.
M. had read exactly two books dealing with encephalitis by the time he was thirteen, and he knew the symptoms were showing. Todd had already shown signs of photophobia, a common symptom among encephalitis sufferers. It was Todd’s fear of sunlight that always brought them out in the early evening hours, the hours M. held so dear. Todd hadn’t had a seizure since his twelfth birthday party; he shouldn’t have hit the ball so hard with his head. M. just treated every day as if it were the last time he was going to see Todd, and Todd pretended as if he had no afflictions.
Late spring had arrived and that meant the final year at Oriel High School was finishing up soon. M. was awarded a full scholarship to UCL’s Institute of Neurology for an essay he wrote titled, “The Jungian Link: The Metaphysics of the Brain.” M. was determined to help Todd defeat his horrible sickness. Todd, on the other hand, had been excelling in soccer with only few signs of symptoms, a headache here and there. Todd had been too distracted to think about encephalitis. The Tottenham Hot Spurs had shown interest for the previous two years, as Todd led the Crawley Down Football Club to its second league championship. Todd was sure he would get a notice from them again, and it would be off to Tottenham for him. Todd’s father insisted he give up on waiting; Todd should work with him at Gatwick, loading baggage on to planes. M. always encouraged Todd to follow his passion; everything else would fall into place for him.
Moving to London wasn’t as bad as M. thought it would be; it was still way too crowded, though. M. would spend much of his time in Regent’s Park, a short hike away from campus. Occasionally, he would stroll through the London Zoo to see how many examples of tautonyms he could notice. Once, he counted an outstanding twenty-three, almost all from the reptile house and aviary alone. His obsession with tautonyms became more of a hobby once he entered his undergraduate studies. M. had more important things on his mind; being bogged down with a plethora of assignments and readings. He thought of Todd, and he missed him immensely. When M. tried calling, Todd’s father told M. he was forbidden to speak to his son. “Keep your distance boy, if you know what’s good for yah” was the last thing M. heard before an infinite dial tone echoed in both ears.
M. was in his second year when he finally took an Animal Form and Function course offered on Tuesdays and Thursdays. M. sat in the front row; he always found it easier to participate in discussions when he couldn’t see the field of students that occupied classroom number six, on the second floor, in the Darwin building. The professor was lecturing about medical research aided by the animal kingdom. She spoke of shark cartilage aiding in cancer studies and of cephalopods aiding in neurophysiology. “Of course,” M. thought, “why didn’t I think of that?” He hurried out of class and to his dorm. He began writing furiously; he knew then that his doctoral thesis would be on the benefits of harvesting nerve fibers from the ram’s horn squid, or Spirula Spirula. M. was quite pleased that he had found a way to incorporate two facets of his life: his studies and his hobbies. M. was reminded of Todd and was depressed. However, he was still determined to find hope for his boyhood friend, no matter the circumstances.
Ten years had passed; the scholarships and grants had run dry. M. had hit many dead ends in his research, but he was determined. Living alone in a small flat in South London, M. went down to the Dole queue to pick up his check. He was drunk when he got off the Underground near the UCL campus. The school had dropped M. the previous year, but the professors anticipated at least one weekly visit from him. It would be the same routine; he would walk to his old seat at the front of class, sit down, and usually pass out, if he didn’t soil himself first. Today was different; M. was different. M. had a distant look on his face when he pushed the doors open, letting in an unusually bright London sun. He strolled casually to the front of the class, set down a pile of papers on the professor’s desk, turned away, and left without saying a single word. The professor glanced down at the title page, “Spirula-ing out of Control: The Nonsense of Neurology.”
The phone rang, Todd answered. A gentleman on the other end informed Todd that they had reserved a spot for him on the Tottenham Hot Spurs squad. Ecstatic, Todd accepted this position gleefully. He knew he wouldn’t be far from M.’s school, and he could visit him whenever he had free time. Todd told his mum and dad the big news, but they just shrugged their shoulders. His mum tried to sound a little encouraging, “Aw ‘right then, son. Way to go, but do you really think you can handle professional football with your body being the way it is?” “Of course, mum,” Todd explained, “I haven’t felt better in all my life, not since Bewbush, and besides, it’s my decision isn’t it, then?” Todd’s father piped in, “Come on boy, you couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery. Besides, I’ve got you the job lined up at the airport, and you will bloody well do what you’re told.” Todd despised his father for not believing in him, so he packed up and left for London immediately. He figured he could eventually find M. and they would be flat-mates.
Practice started at one hour before dawn, before the city really started moving. It had gone on this way for the first four years with the Spurs. Todd hadn’t had a single spare moment to seek out M. If it wasn’t practice keeping him, it was a press conference, or an away game, or even international matches to play. Todd had been on quite a hot streak with his football club and symptoms of his encephalitis have nearly disappeared. Tottenham’s finest team physicians were befuddled; Todd had possibly been misdiagnosed. What doctors in Crawley thought was viral turned out only to be bacterial. They had been treating him since he started with the squad, making sure he stayed hydrated and such. No one could’ve guessed the effectiveness of his treatments in regards to his previous diagnosis. Todd was truly heading for the top.
The doctor told Todd his ankle wasn’t quite healed enough for today’s match against cross-town rivals, Arsenal. Todd knew this would be his final season, an outstanding twelve. Todd had promised his wife he would retire and focus more on the kids, and he intended to keep that promise. “Just one more win, mum; that’s all I ask,” he said lovingly to the sky. He left the locker-room and headed down the tunnel to the pitch. It was a glorious afternoon at Emirates Stadium; the crowd was a patriotic sea of reds, white, and blues. Ninety minutes of pure adrenaline was awaiting Todd. All that was on his mind was the game and his family.
Todd could’ve asked for nothing more, a win and a hat trick. He wanted to celebrate, but first, he wanted to walk with his wife and discuss the future. Regent’s Park was a short drive away, and the sun was just beginning to set. Todd happily ran around the car to open the door for his wife; he was always well-mannered since his mum passed. Todd saw a man lying face down in the gutter, and he hurried over to help. It was too late; the man had drowned in his own vomit. Todd rolled him over and with deep sadness thought, “How could I have forgotten about M.?” So, there the boys were, once again, just Todd and M.
Current Mood: contemplative
|Tuesday, April 10th, 2007|
friend·ship /ˈfrɛndʃɪp/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[frend-ship] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
|1.||the state of being a friend; association as friends: to value a person's friendship. |
|2.||a friendly relation or intimacy. |
|3.||friendly feeling or disposition. |
How come some people don't understand this concept? Friendship is give and take, not one-sided. When someone takes and takes and takes again, when do they give? Or, do they ever give? Friends don't lie, deceive you, treat you like shit, tell you that you don't matter, etc. I'm pretty sure I am right on target with this, but perhaps I am disillusioned by my own reality of what a friend is. I am a good friend. I care about my friends; I go out of my way sometimes for them. The problem is, nobody is willing to return the favor. I take better care of my friends than I do myself. Maybe I just shouldn't care about friends from this point on. I have a handful of TRUE friends. Maybe thats all I need, a handful. Everyone else should just be an acquaintance and I should hold them with lower regard than my REAL 'friends.' I don't like being taken advantage of and abused. Why do I have to care so much about anyone who cares nothing, not even a little, about me? I'm a fucking human being, too. People are selfish....even moreso to the selfless. The moral is: know the friends who know you, and keep the friends close who keep you close. Thoughts?
|Tuesday, March 27th, 2007|
Coming to terms with other people's reality is a bitch.
|Monday, March 5th, 2007|
I must really be a confused person. I feel like I'm too good to people, and I always get walked on. I find myself trying to distract my brain with stupid shit. I can't wait for a vacation. I need to do something for myself, for a change. I don't think I love myself enough. To some, it seems, I'm a walking/talking oxymoron. I can't help trying to do things that make people smile, but it seems like a difficult task nowadays. I used to be pretty good at it, and it would make me happy. Small things, big things, bought things, made things; it all means nothing......when will I learn what happiness is? On the bright side of things, at least I know what happiness isn't. I hate being confused.
P.S.-normality and reality are two way different things. What is normal? What is real? Do I want either?
|Thursday, November 24th, 2005|
|Erradication of education
I haven't posted in a long while and thats my fault. I just recently simplified a lot of things in my life and I think it's a breath of fresh air. I am focusing more on creative outlet and intake, more so than stressing out about money and pointless things that will never bring me happiness. I am registering, tomorrow, for two classes at the local community college here. I figure, why not, see what I think about Florida post-secondary education capabilities. Florida did well with its early/mid nineties MK-Ultra projects, of which I'm a product of. This place is fucking strange, for real. Florida could, and probably should, be its own entity. (as should California (the Republic of)) We really need not depend on anyone else and in the face of a hurricane, we know the best thing to do, is throw a hurricane party and drink and drink and do stoopid shit. Thats what mostly all the deaths in Florida, by hurricanes, are caused by. Some drunk asshole decides, "Damn, I'm going swimming in the ocean. Fuck this swimming pool bullshit." And nobody sees them again. It's called undertow. Speaking of undertow, Tool is lead by a scorpion-man (Akrabu) and scorpions will one day rule the earth. For example, look back at Bjork's career as a musician. Most people would find her style of music to be obscure, well it's just advanced. She did post-punk jazz back in the day, under the name KUKL on Crass Records.....check that shit out if you haven't already. She's a scorpion, too. So she knows what the fuck is really going on. Seriously, every religion and mythologogical following will speak of the scorpion as a powerful being and/or force that can't be fucked with......just so you mutha-fuckas know. Cause when the shit goes down, you better be ready. (you better be ready)
i loVe tAnGents, they're fuckINg Awesome
|Monday, September 5th, 2005|
|This Country Needs An Enema.
You want to talk about conspiracy theory?.....Here's a good one for you. After writing my last entry about the 'Weather Underground' and everything revolutionary, the CIA planted something in my throat to keep my voice from being heard. I still, can only talk just over a whisper and the swelling on my entire neck and throat has finally dissipated a little. The kind of swelling you get from an operation, or injection, of some sort. My throat is still dry and scratchy, but the swelling is going down a little. It all started as soon as I got to work Thursday night. It started feeling really strange inside my mouth. I'm thinking they may have put something in a drink, or in food, I may have had at lunchtime at work. There really is no other explanation for the pain I have been experiencing. I'm probably going to go see a doctor in the morning. I was going to go today, but I didn't wake until 330pm, or so. My muscles have been extremely sore and aching the past five days because of some ridiculous tapping device inserted into my larynx. I'll just have to re-learn sign language and come up with certain code to use to confuse them. For all I know, my voice may be completely gone. The doctors may have some bad news for me. Who knows? The CIA knows, thats who knows. .......to be continued. Current Mood: annoyed
|Thursday, September 1st, 2005|
|F.T.W. (Fuck The W.....George W.)
What is really going on here? This is Vietnam part 2. We have more troops overseas, then we have enough to protect our own country. All federal money is going towards the "War on Terrorism" because of George W.'s policy. This is a REAL situation that needs to be dealt with. If he needed a reason to pull troops home, this is it goddammit. This is going to turn into the post-modern survivalism I spoke of. This is the beginning of the new 'Revolution.' We don't have a choice, but to take care of our own. Our country doesn't give two fucks about us. It is time for change....It is time for order. We need to vacate the White House of the tyranny that lives there. We need to think about long-term effects of this whole situation. We have a war in Iraq over oil. We have a city of anarchy because of a hurricane. What the fuck is wrong with the Republican, Christian right? Where is your God now? Quit your fucking prayers and quit giving money to the church. Help out, or you will be the first eliminated. We need a group willing to do anything by any means necessary. Switchblixer showed me a documentary on 'The Weather Underground' (look it up) and I am fucking pumped. It is time to have a Weathermen reunion, or an updated Weather Underground. Safe, counter-governmental actions need to be taken. There need not be casualties in this reaction, just a wake up call for the U.S. Government. If you are reading this, you have been flagged by some government agency.....more than likely. It's time to take things more seriously and act on it. All of us have talents, to use, to help with this situation. If we do nothing, everyone will suffer. Think about it. Current Mood: anxious
|Tuesday, August 30th, 2005|
I just woke up a bit ago and I was dreaming of post-modern survivalism. Squatter's rights would take effect, but the options would be greater. After a post-apocalyptic event, such as nuclear holocaust and/or extinction level event as a comet in 2012, there would be empty urban areas to use. Full on skyscrapers, or remains thereof, would be used as living quarters to the remaining few. How odd would it be to sleep near the top of the TransAmerica Bank tower in San Francisco? Or to have a gatlin gun stationed at the four corners of the Prudential building in Boston? The possibilities would be endless. The urban, and sub-urban, warfare would be survivalism at it's most primitive roots, with a modern twist. Or, would this be the next step in evolution, and people would realize the necessity for a peaceful union between all mankind, or womankind (a whole other can of worms I'll spring on you another time). Who knows? My dream consisted of a suburban neighborhood with wanderers and gatherers. I had staked a small shelter with running water with some female that I conjured up in my mind. (cause thats how I roll....j/k) A wanderer's pet bobcat had somehow ended up in my backyard and threatened my way of life. I looked at this as an opportunity for food and began to sneak up on the feline. The wanderer seemed to come out of nowhere, with an older child at her side. Without even questioning what I was up to, she pulled her bobcat aside and began infiltrating our way of life. As unintelligent as man is, I began listening to her sob story and almost allowing her into our shelter. The idea was quickly shot down when the woman-of-the-house stepped up. She explained to the woman and child how they needed to move on to different "digs," as ours are barely enough to keep us afloat. Although not completely honest, she was looking out for our welfare and nobody else's. This made me realize about the importance of self-worth. Fuck everybody else, to an extent. When you are born, when you are married, when you have children, and when you die.......there will always be that one person there for you......and that IS you. Post-modern survivalism is now, as we need to find alternate modes of transportation, cause $3.50 a gallon is unacceptable for American lifestyle. (or so the majority thinks) People need to learn about adaptation, that's all. Do you absolutely have to go to your fucking Dairy Queens for your fucking Blizzards? Home needs to become a union again. Whether you still live with family, or friend's, or on your own, home is where you hang your hat. So, make your meals there....all the time. Engage in creative, and constructive, conversation....although they should be one and the same. Be careful who you trust, and invite into your lives. There are a lot of social vampires, a lot of creativity drainers. Fuck all of those people. If you enjoy something, because it makes you happy, do it. Post-modern survivalism is this, being REAL. Taking yourself to the next level consciously and sub-consciously. Oh.......and communicate with people, you WILL learn something. Maybe you'll learn something about them, or maybe you'll learn something about you........sounds like a win-win situation.....get on it.
-mE Current Mood: productive
|Monday, August 29th, 2005|
|Dog Bless America
This will be pointless rambling. Started my new position at work last night and calculated today that I stacked and shipped almost a ton, in weight, of frozen french fries and frozen fish by myself last night. My nose, moustache, and liprings all had icicles on them. Holy shit. I love it. Saw the music video for Garbage's 'Bleed like me' and oh my god.......Shirley Manson REALLY does it for me. I'm sorry...but I'm only human. I went to a dinner party at the mayor's mansion on Saturday. (well, mayor of my town) What an interesting weekend it was. I'm kind of glad it is over with. Can't wait to move into house with Switchblixer......creating annhilation one note, and one color, at a time. Well, thats all I got for right now. Boring....I know. Oh.....and I'm not sure if I'll make it to the Voodoo Music Festival and New Orleans will be there when I get there, but we'll see. Current Mood: sleepy
|Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005|
|Bullshit Detector Stations Crass
I tried to come up with an acronym for BDSM, other than the obvious, and it just wasn't happening today. This LiveJournal experiment should be an interesting one, depending on how often I can update, and upkeep, the damn thing. If you know me from MySpace, you will have already read that I'm a self-proclaimed Social Propaganda Artist. What you may, or may not, know is all that this entails. I wrote a brief blog on my MySpace page allowing some people to possibly understand where I am coming from. The difference between my MySpace page and my LiveJournal page is more along the lines of whom I am speaking to. I might direct a MySpace blog towards one, or more, specific persons. Whereas, my LiveJournal shall be more vague and more of a contemplation fronted outlet of information and communication. My list of friend's on my LiveJournal will be comprised of people who either know where I am coming from, know where I am going, or have quality feedback. Or all of the above if they really love me. MySpace is more of a placebo for the masses. People think it is doing them good to communicate, through it, with each other in "open forums." The fact of the matter is, MySpace is addicting and is only a harmful tool abused by the government to keep tabs on individuals, and to stockpile information on such individuals as allowed by their Patriot Act. Not to say that LiveJournal is not monitored by these same organizations, it just wasn't created with the same mission in mind. MySpace and the Patriot Act were both introduced to the general public around the same time. Some people may read this and think I am a conspiracy theorist. However, if you know me, you will know this not to be true. In the words of SwitchBlixer, I could work for the CIA and be keeping files on all of you.......who knows? One thing all of you can be sure of, is that if you decide to post comments, or invite me to read your journals and what-not, it is all being catalogged and may come up right before your eyes and ears, in an act of artificial deja-vu, wherever the spiral is prevalent. Enjoy! Current Mood: thirsty