http://veryhilarious.com/church-sign-debates/
I haven't forgotten about you, blog. I'm just too tired to work up the rant energy needed to finish you at the moment.
19.12.13
14.12.13
Back on the reef.
Boring.
Boring, boring, boring.
That is my big problem with life. It is immensely boring. I get so bored, so crushed by lack of meaning, that I just don't want to do anything anymore, which leads to me being more bored.
I have no friends, and don't feel it is worth the effort to make more. My hobbies are those as required by my job, and even that is tenuous at best, as I really hate my job. My only real interest is in drugs, as they invariably make things less boring, but unfortunately, they also happen to no longer work.
I look ahead and try to imagine myself as an old man. I'd love to be an old man, because then things would make sense. Old people are boring, bored, and happy with it. But I can't ever really picture it. Another 40 years of being bored, and then
what? There is no reward for living a good life. A safe life, and a boring one. There is no punishment for leading a bad one either, I am sure.
I don't mean there is no Heaven, or Hell. I just can't imagine heaven being overly exciting, or that there's a whole lot worse in hell than 60 to 80 years of feeling all morbid and depressed.
I'd probably end up in Limbo anyway. This is where ol' Virgil tells us that the "good pagans" go.
"Good pagans". Now there's a trip. Most Christian dogma says that to get into heaven, all you need to do is renounce your sins, and accept Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior. Anything else you do is meaningless. And if you don't do these things, you will unfortunately have to go burn in hell for eternity. Or go to Limbo, if you really want to be politically correct.
So how does that work, huh? You can rape and rob and murder for your whole life, but so long as you say you're sorry and that you love Jesus with your dying breath, it's all good and groovy? Similarly, if you're an honest, hardworking person all your life, never doing a wrong, but just so happen to have never heard of Jesus because you were born a thousand years before him, or on the other side of the world, you get eternal firey damnation?
Shitty deal, bra! The Lord works in mysterious ways! MYSSSTERIOUS!
My ass. Look at it this way:
There is a God. He is all knowing and all powerful. He creates or is created alongside angels, subordinate to him with no free will. This is the state of things for the next 'X' amount of eons, until one day, he decides to create the universe as we know it, and in it, life, and... us!
But not only does he create us. He gives us something that nothing else has. We get free will. In return, God asks that we love him, and we obey him.
This creates a schism in Heaven, causing whatever passes for a civil war as the angels rebel, jealous, scared, angry, driven by whatever emotions or motivations a celestial being has to go against God hissownself. Hell is created as Lucifer is cast down, and suddenly evil exists.
Meanwhile, back on earth, we have used our free will to love and obey in the sense that we just love to fuck eachother up the ass, and obey the cardinal rule of "better him than me". Some people choose to love God and be kind to eachother, and generally not make a shit time of absolutely everything, but the rest of us tend to be content dropping weapons that can be seen from space on eachother and groping little girls, or at least do very little about it.
Now, this makes God sad, because he really just loves us and wants the best for us, right?
Wrongo, kiddo! Read that all to yourself out loud. Here we have an all-knowing, all- doing being. He KNOWS if he does something like give out free will, it will cause a ton of shit. He KNOWS that by giving us free will, we'll all freely and willingly beat the shit out of eachother until someone finally just says "ENOUGH!" and gives us some maddeningly stereotypical dystopian society, or simply decides to pull the plug on surface life and euthanizes us all.
HE KNOWS THIS, AND YET HE DOES IT.
Because he also knows that some of us will maybe turn out ok and keep things going as best as we can. And far, far more importantly, he knows that some of us will use this gift, our ability to choose for ourselves, and choose to do the one thing he's asked for: Love him. We'll choose to love him, which is something all the servants in heaven could never do.
And that, that is not the action of a "loving, caring God". That's the action of a fucking megalomaniac. That's the action of an abusive spouse, or a psychotic axe murderer out of any shitty 1980s movie. He knows we will cause all this horror and pain and destruction, but it's still worth it for him, because some of us will love him of our own free will. Sure, some of us might get tortured, or murdered, or just spend life feeling sad. Hell, some may even find the whole concept of existence just doesn't suit them much. But as the abortionists say, can't make an omlet without breaking a few eggs, right?
The Christian god is pathetic. His religion is a tower of lies fed to a bunch of half interested sheep who couldn't be bothered to read the Old Testament and call a crock when they saw it. His "son" is one hell of a good adapter of eastern ideals, and an even better conman, though to be fair, people were less into reading back in those days and can be excused for ignoring that he doesn't really do anything that hasn't been done before. It's also easier to find converts when the largest empire in the world adopts your happy-dappy alternative to a more realistic religion and spends the next thousand years killing anyone who disagrees.
It also helps when you have a central character with which to base your book on, an easier plot to follow, and a less human, more divine and singular God than the prequel. And when you can take a few hundred years to finish the book, editing out some of the squickier parts as the years go on.
Here's a little known fact: There are three Gods in the Old Testament, or at least two being described by three different writers. Or rather, three that you are allowed to worship. There's quite a few that the heathens worship too, and there's nothing said about them being any less real. Just taboo for the Jew, as it were. At least one is presented as being better than human, but not omnipotent - David wrestles with YHWH - known to Christians and certain witnesses as "Jehova", and to readers of older translations as Yahweh - on the side of the road, and he wins. The other Old Testament gods spend most of their time torturing the hell out of various Egyptians, Jews, and heathens, and are still presented as much more human and falliable than the current concepts of God.
In fact, they are pretty illogical and pretty fucking horrendous to humans in general. You've heard the story of how God flooded the earth, but have you heard the one where he gets Abraham to sacrifice his son, just to see if he'll do it? Most newer translations try to lighten this up as a test of commitment by saying that God brought the boy back, but this is poor scholarship. Older translations get it right - God gives Abraham another son. The old one is still dead as a doornail. Tough luck!
I see that conversation going like this:
((the scene fades in, and the camera pans across the beautiful landscape of a place the Romans would know as Syria four thousand years hence. Our view tilts down, following a thin column of smoke that drifts lazily up to the heavens. We find ourselves looking at a small stone altar on the top of a hill, where a man in tears ((ABRAHAM)) cleans an ornate ceremonial knife while the remains of a sacrificial holocaust gradually dwindle to embers. The remains of his favorite son finally extinguish themselves, and a sharp breeze slowly pushes them across the altar, to eventually disperse across the earth. Wiping his tears, ABRAHAM looks at the sky and cries out.))
Abraham: O, my dear lord, who arth so wise and all powerful, I have done as thee asked. My son has been offered opon thy most holiest of altars to appease thee, and with the rites of flame, has gone on to thyne realms. Please bestow thy blessing and mercy opon me, thyne humble servant.
((god appears as a massive godlike thing, whatever that looks like. He is accompanied by a crack of thunder and a display of lightning that causes ABRAHAM to cower in fear. Seeing the terror on ABRAHAM's face, he descends to earth in a flash of light and takes a human form.))
God: DO NOT BE AFRAID, O MORTAL! FOR IT IS WRITTEN THAT ANY WHO ASK FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL HAVE IT!
((abraham peeks out from behind the altar, and, seeing that God has come to his level, quickly prostrates himself before the Deity.))
Abraham: It is? O, thank thee mine lord, all wise and powerful! I...
((interrupting)) God: WELL, MAYBE IT ISN'T. I COMMAND THEE MORTAL, WRITE THAT DOWN SOMEWHERE BEFORE I FORGET IT!
Abraham: Of course, my God, Glory in the highest! ((wiping the tears from his eyes, and writing in the dirt)) Any.. Who.. Ask.. For.. The... Lord's... Mercy.. Shall...
((interrupting)) God: ANY? DID I REALLY SAY ANY?
Abraham: Yes, mine Lord, those were the most holy words bespake by thee, and thusly shall it be written.
God: ANY, REALLY? BAH, THAT'S TOO MUCH MERCY. SOME OF THE OTHER GODS ARE ALREADY COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW MUCH MERCY I GIVE OUT, NOT JUST KILLING YOU ALL WHEN YOU GUYS ATE MY APPLES AND ALL. CHANGE THAT TO "HE WHO ASKS FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL RECIVE IT". LEAVE IT A LITTLE AMBIGIUOS AND I CAN FIGURE IT OUT LATER.
Abraham: Of course mine God, Master of all. ((scribbling)) So... tis not mine place to question the will of God, but does this mean mine sister Sarah is to be damned because she is a woman?
God: HMMM?
Abraham: Well, my lord, O wonder of wonders, it is written that He Who Asks For The Lord's Mercy Shall Recive It. Sarah is a she, and thusly, it is written that she shall not have bask in thy merciful light. I, your humble servant, am saddened that in thine wisdom thou hast seen fit to damn all womankind, but I remain strong and faithfull.
GOD: WELL, WAIT A MINUTE HERE... ((god gets a ponderous expression on his face, and sits on the altar, crushing the charred bones of Abraham's son)) I DON'T WANT TO MAKE ANY BOLD STATEMENTS LIKE THAT. IN A COUPLE THOUSAND YEARS THERE WILL BE THINGS CALLED 'FEMENISTS'. THEY SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF ME ENOUGH WITHOUT HANDING THEM SOMETHING LIKE THAT.
((he sits and thinks for a long while. Abraham looks increasingly uncomfortable, then tired, and the sun slowly starts to set))
God: AHA! THE LORD YOUR GOD HAS FIGURED IT OUT! WRITE "HE WHO IS FAITHFUL AND ASKS FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL RECIVE IT"!
Abraham: ((starting from the edge of sleep)) Even the worshippers of Baal and Loki?
GOD: ((very EXASPERATED.)) NO! OBVIOUSLY NOT THEM!
Abraham: And those of Ceres and Zeus and Eris? And...
God: ((interrupting)) NO! NO! JESUS H. CHRIST, YOU ARE FRUSTRATING. FINE, "ANY WHO ASK FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL HAVE IT! EXCEPT THE HEATHENS. AND THE GENTILES. AND PRETTY MUCH ANYONE WHO ISN'T ONE OF YOUR DIRECT DESCENDANTS!". MAKE IT SOUND PRETTY AND WRITE IT DOWN, OR NO ONE GETS ANY MERCY AT ALL! I GROW WEARY OF THIS!
Abraham: ((writing furiously)) SO IT IS WRITTEN, O GOD MY CAPTAIN!
God: AND IT WAS GOOD. NOW, WHY DID YOU CALL ME DOWN HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE, PUNY MORTAL?
Abraham: It is I, O Lord! Dost thou not recognize your servant Abraham!
God: ABRAHAM... HM... ABRA - OH, I REMEMBER YOU. YOU'RE THAT GUY WHO THINKS HIS WIFE IS HIS SISTER AND CAN'T TELL HIS DAUGHTERS FROM HARLOTS WHEN DRUNK, AREN'T YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT? I'M NOT INTO FREAKY STUFF.
Abraham: Yes it is I, my lord, O mightiest of the ducks, I have sacrificed my son to thee, as thou hast instructed several nights past. I beg of thee to bestow thy blessing opon me, thy humblest of servants.
God: You what? Oh shit bro, you actually did it? I totally owe Eris five... I MEAN, GOOD! VERY GOOD LITTLE MORTAL! YOUR BIZARRE AND DISTURBING ACT OF FAITH PLEASES ME IN STRANGE WAYS! GOOD BOY! NOW, DID YOU CALL ME ALL THE WAY OVER HERE JUST TO TELL ME THAT, OR IS THERE SOME OTHER TRIPPY RELIGIOUS SHIT YOU'VE BEEN DOING THAT YOU WANT TO TELL ME ABOUT TOO?
Abraham: My Lord.. I am confused... In thy wisdom, thou hast asked me to make this sacrifice as a show of devotion in exchange for your blessing. Mine mouth boils at the thought of asking a reward of thee, but...
God: OH, RIGHT, A BLESSING. UM. ((God's face screws up as he ponders this, then brightens)) I KNOW! YOU HAVE DONE WELL MY SERVANT! FOR YOUR DEDICATION I SHALL REWARD YOU WITH WHAT YOUR HEART DESIRES MOST!
((god stands up, stretches his back, and continues))
God: AS MY MOST LOYAL OF SERVANTS, I SHALL GIVE YOU YOUR INNERMOST WISH. I SHALL GIVE YOU A SON!
((at this, Abraham falls to his knees again, and tears of joy stream from his face.))
Abraham: O THANK YOU MY GREAT AND MIGHTY GOD! You truly are merciful, to bring my son back to me!
God: BRING YOUR SON BACK? NO, HE'S DEAD. WITH THE WHOLE KNIFE AND FIRE AND STUFF. YOU WERE THERE, YOU SHOULD KNOW.
((god finishes stretching and beings to glow as he turns back into godliness, which, due to the limted SFX budget will be a big, glowing light.))
God: NO, I AM GIVING YOU ANOTHER SON. AS IN, I'M ALLOWING YOU TO GO HOME AND HAVE SEX WITH YOUR WIFE-SISTER RATHER THAN SMITING YOU BLIND OR FARTING ON YOU FOR ETERNITY, OR THE MILLION OTHER PUNISHMENTS I'VE BEEN THINKING OF DURING THIS RIDICULOUSLY FRUSTRATION CONVERSATION. NOW GO, BEFORE I DECIDE ELSEWISE. SO IT IS WRITTEN!
Abraham: Is it, my lord, o God of Gods? I shall write it if..
God: OH, FUCK OFF.
((god disappears, and the camera fades out on Abraham standing next to the altar, looking content))
For once, I'm tired of writing and hungry, but still remember the point here. So a part two soon
Well, I shall continue the rant later. I am still bored, but less so than previous, and hunger is more important.
Boring, boring, boring.
That is my big problem with life. It is immensely boring. I get so bored, so crushed by lack of meaning, that I just don't want to do anything anymore, which leads to me being more bored.
I have no friends, and don't feel it is worth the effort to make more. My hobbies are those as required by my job, and even that is tenuous at best, as I really hate my job. My only real interest is in drugs, as they invariably make things less boring, but unfortunately, they also happen to no longer work.
I look ahead and try to imagine myself as an old man. I'd love to be an old man, because then things would make sense. Old people are boring, bored, and happy with it. But I can't ever really picture it. Another 40 years of being bored, and then
what? There is no reward for living a good life. A safe life, and a boring one. There is no punishment for leading a bad one either, I am sure.
I don't mean there is no Heaven, or Hell. I just can't imagine heaven being overly exciting, or that there's a whole lot worse in hell than 60 to 80 years of feeling all morbid and depressed.
I'd probably end up in Limbo anyway. This is where ol' Virgil tells us that the "good pagans" go.
"Good pagans". Now there's a trip. Most Christian dogma says that to get into heaven, all you need to do is renounce your sins, and accept Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior. Anything else you do is meaningless. And if you don't do these things, you will unfortunately have to go burn in hell for eternity. Or go to Limbo, if you really want to be politically correct.
So how does that work, huh? You can rape and rob and murder for your whole life, but so long as you say you're sorry and that you love Jesus with your dying breath, it's all good and groovy? Similarly, if you're an honest, hardworking person all your life, never doing a wrong, but just so happen to have never heard of Jesus because you were born a thousand years before him, or on the other side of the world, you get eternal firey damnation?
Shitty deal, bra! The Lord works in mysterious ways! MYSSSTERIOUS!
My ass. Look at it this way:
There is a God. He is all knowing and all powerful. He creates or is created alongside angels, subordinate to him with no free will. This is the state of things for the next 'X' amount of eons, until one day, he decides to create the universe as we know it, and in it, life, and... us!
But not only does he create us. He gives us something that nothing else has. We get free will. In return, God asks that we love him, and we obey him.
This creates a schism in Heaven, causing whatever passes for a civil war as the angels rebel, jealous, scared, angry, driven by whatever emotions or motivations a celestial being has to go against God hissownself. Hell is created as Lucifer is cast down, and suddenly evil exists.
Meanwhile, back on earth, we have used our free will to love and obey in the sense that we just love to fuck eachother up the ass, and obey the cardinal rule of "better him than me". Some people choose to love God and be kind to eachother, and generally not make a shit time of absolutely everything, but the rest of us tend to be content dropping weapons that can be seen from space on eachother and groping little girls, or at least do very little about it.
Now, this makes God sad, because he really just loves us and wants the best for us, right?
Wrongo, kiddo! Read that all to yourself out loud. Here we have an all-knowing, all- doing being. He KNOWS if he does something like give out free will, it will cause a ton of shit. He KNOWS that by giving us free will, we'll all freely and willingly beat the shit out of eachother until someone finally just says "ENOUGH!" and gives us some maddeningly stereotypical dystopian society, or simply decides to pull the plug on surface life and euthanizes us all.
HE KNOWS THIS, AND YET HE DOES IT.
Because he also knows that some of us will maybe turn out ok and keep things going as best as we can. And far, far more importantly, he knows that some of us will use this gift, our ability to choose for ourselves, and choose to do the one thing he's asked for: Love him. We'll choose to love him, which is something all the servants in heaven could never do.
And that, that is not the action of a "loving, caring God". That's the action of a fucking megalomaniac. That's the action of an abusive spouse, or a psychotic axe murderer out of any shitty 1980s movie. He knows we will cause all this horror and pain and destruction, but it's still worth it for him, because some of us will love him of our own free will. Sure, some of us might get tortured, or murdered, or just spend life feeling sad. Hell, some may even find the whole concept of existence just doesn't suit them much. But as the abortionists say, can't make an omlet without breaking a few eggs, right?
The Christian god is pathetic. His religion is a tower of lies fed to a bunch of half interested sheep who couldn't be bothered to read the Old Testament and call a crock when they saw it. His "son" is one hell of a good adapter of eastern ideals, and an even better conman, though to be fair, people were less into reading back in those days and can be excused for ignoring that he doesn't really do anything that hasn't been done before. It's also easier to find converts when the largest empire in the world adopts your happy-dappy alternative to a more realistic religion and spends the next thousand years killing anyone who disagrees.
It also helps when you have a central character with which to base your book on, an easier plot to follow, and a less human, more divine and singular God than the prequel. And when you can take a few hundred years to finish the book, editing out some of the squickier parts as the years go on.
Here's a little known fact: There are three Gods in the Old Testament, or at least two being described by three different writers. Or rather, three that you are allowed to worship. There's quite a few that the heathens worship too, and there's nothing said about them being any less real. Just taboo for the Jew, as it were. At least one is presented as being better than human, but not omnipotent - David wrestles with YHWH - known to Christians and certain witnesses as "Jehova", and to readers of older translations as Yahweh - on the side of the road, and he wins. The other Old Testament gods spend most of their time torturing the hell out of various Egyptians, Jews, and heathens, and are still presented as much more human and falliable than the current concepts of God.
In fact, they are pretty illogical and pretty fucking horrendous to humans in general. You've heard the story of how God flooded the earth, but have you heard the one where he gets Abraham to sacrifice his son, just to see if he'll do it? Most newer translations try to lighten this up as a test of commitment by saying that God brought the boy back, but this is poor scholarship. Older translations get it right - God gives Abraham another son. The old one is still dead as a doornail. Tough luck!
I see that conversation going like this:
((the scene fades in, and the camera pans across the beautiful landscape of a place the Romans would know as Syria four thousand years hence. Our view tilts down, following a thin column of smoke that drifts lazily up to the heavens. We find ourselves looking at a small stone altar on the top of a hill, where a man in tears ((ABRAHAM)) cleans an ornate ceremonial knife while the remains of a sacrificial holocaust gradually dwindle to embers. The remains of his favorite son finally extinguish themselves, and a sharp breeze slowly pushes them across the altar, to eventually disperse across the earth. Wiping his tears, ABRAHAM looks at the sky and cries out.))
Abraham: O, my dear lord, who arth so wise and all powerful, I have done as thee asked. My son has been offered opon thy most holiest of altars to appease thee, and with the rites of flame, has gone on to thyne realms. Please bestow thy blessing and mercy opon me, thyne humble servant.
((god appears as a massive godlike thing, whatever that looks like. He is accompanied by a crack of thunder and a display of lightning that causes ABRAHAM to cower in fear. Seeing the terror on ABRAHAM's face, he descends to earth in a flash of light and takes a human form.))
God: DO NOT BE AFRAID, O MORTAL! FOR IT IS WRITTEN THAT ANY WHO ASK FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL HAVE IT!
((abraham peeks out from behind the altar, and, seeing that God has come to his level, quickly prostrates himself before the Deity.))
Abraham: It is? O, thank thee mine lord, all wise and powerful! I...
((interrupting)) God: WELL, MAYBE IT ISN'T. I COMMAND THEE MORTAL, WRITE THAT DOWN SOMEWHERE BEFORE I FORGET IT!
Abraham: Of course, my God, Glory in the highest! ((wiping the tears from his eyes, and writing in the dirt)) Any.. Who.. Ask.. For.. The... Lord's... Mercy.. Shall...
((interrupting)) God: ANY? DID I REALLY SAY ANY?
Abraham: Yes, mine Lord, those were the most holy words bespake by thee, and thusly shall it be written.
God: ANY, REALLY? BAH, THAT'S TOO MUCH MERCY. SOME OF THE OTHER GODS ARE ALREADY COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW MUCH MERCY I GIVE OUT, NOT JUST KILLING YOU ALL WHEN YOU GUYS ATE MY APPLES AND ALL. CHANGE THAT TO "HE WHO ASKS FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL RECIVE IT". LEAVE IT A LITTLE AMBIGIUOS AND I CAN FIGURE IT OUT LATER.
Abraham: Of course mine God, Master of all. ((scribbling)) So... tis not mine place to question the will of God, but does this mean mine sister Sarah is to be damned because she is a woman?
God: HMMM?
Abraham: Well, my lord, O wonder of wonders, it is written that He Who Asks For The Lord's Mercy Shall Recive It. Sarah is a she, and thusly, it is written that she shall not have bask in thy merciful light. I, your humble servant, am saddened that in thine wisdom thou hast seen fit to damn all womankind, but I remain strong and faithfull.
GOD: WELL, WAIT A MINUTE HERE... ((god gets a ponderous expression on his face, and sits on the altar, crushing the charred bones of Abraham's son)) I DON'T WANT TO MAKE ANY BOLD STATEMENTS LIKE THAT. IN A COUPLE THOUSAND YEARS THERE WILL BE THINGS CALLED 'FEMENISTS'. THEY SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF ME ENOUGH WITHOUT HANDING THEM SOMETHING LIKE THAT.
((he sits and thinks for a long while. Abraham looks increasingly uncomfortable, then tired, and the sun slowly starts to set))
God: AHA! THE LORD YOUR GOD HAS FIGURED IT OUT! WRITE "HE WHO IS FAITHFUL AND ASKS FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL RECIVE IT"!
Abraham: ((starting from the edge of sleep)) Even the worshippers of Baal and Loki?
GOD: ((very EXASPERATED.)) NO! OBVIOUSLY NOT THEM!
Abraham: And those of Ceres and Zeus and Eris? And...
God: ((interrupting)) NO! NO! JESUS H. CHRIST, YOU ARE FRUSTRATING. FINE, "ANY WHO ASK FOR THE LORD'S MERCY SHALL HAVE IT! EXCEPT THE HEATHENS. AND THE GENTILES. AND PRETTY MUCH ANYONE WHO ISN'T ONE OF YOUR DIRECT DESCENDANTS!". MAKE IT SOUND PRETTY AND WRITE IT DOWN, OR NO ONE GETS ANY MERCY AT ALL! I GROW WEARY OF THIS!
Abraham: ((writing furiously)) SO IT IS WRITTEN, O GOD MY CAPTAIN!
God: AND IT WAS GOOD. NOW, WHY DID YOU CALL ME DOWN HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE, PUNY MORTAL?
Abraham: It is I, O Lord! Dost thou not recognize your servant Abraham!
God: ABRAHAM... HM... ABRA - OH, I REMEMBER YOU. YOU'RE THAT GUY WHO THINKS HIS WIFE IS HIS SISTER AND CAN'T TELL HIS DAUGHTERS FROM HARLOTS WHEN DRUNK, AREN'T YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT? I'M NOT INTO FREAKY STUFF.
Abraham: Yes it is I, my lord, O mightiest of the ducks, I have sacrificed my son to thee, as thou hast instructed several nights past. I beg of thee to bestow thy blessing opon me, thy humblest of servants.
God: You what? Oh shit bro, you actually did it? I totally owe Eris five... I MEAN, GOOD! VERY GOOD LITTLE MORTAL! YOUR BIZARRE AND DISTURBING ACT OF FAITH PLEASES ME IN STRANGE WAYS! GOOD BOY! NOW, DID YOU CALL ME ALL THE WAY OVER HERE JUST TO TELL ME THAT, OR IS THERE SOME OTHER TRIPPY RELIGIOUS SHIT YOU'VE BEEN DOING THAT YOU WANT TO TELL ME ABOUT TOO?
Abraham: My Lord.. I am confused... In thy wisdom, thou hast asked me to make this sacrifice as a show of devotion in exchange for your blessing. Mine mouth boils at the thought of asking a reward of thee, but...
God: OH, RIGHT, A BLESSING. UM. ((God's face screws up as he ponders this, then brightens)) I KNOW! YOU HAVE DONE WELL MY SERVANT! FOR YOUR DEDICATION I SHALL REWARD YOU WITH WHAT YOUR HEART DESIRES MOST!
((god stands up, stretches his back, and continues))
God: AS MY MOST LOYAL OF SERVANTS, I SHALL GIVE YOU YOUR INNERMOST WISH. I SHALL GIVE YOU A SON!
((at this, Abraham falls to his knees again, and tears of joy stream from his face.))
Abraham: O THANK YOU MY GREAT AND MIGHTY GOD! You truly are merciful, to bring my son back to me!
God: BRING YOUR SON BACK? NO, HE'S DEAD. WITH THE WHOLE KNIFE AND FIRE AND STUFF. YOU WERE THERE, YOU SHOULD KNOW.
((god finishes stretching and beings to glow as he turns back into godliness, which, due to the limted SFX budget will be a big, glowing light.))
God: NO, I AM GIVING YOU ANOTHER SON. AS IN, I'M ALLOWING YOU TO GO HOME AND HAVE SEX WITH YOUR WIFE-SISTER RATHER THAN SMITING YOU BLIND OR FARTING ON YOU FOR ETERNITY, OR THE MILLION OTHER PUNISHMENTS I'VE BEEN THINKING OF DURING THIS RIDICULOUSLY FRUSTRATION CONVERSATION. NOW GO, BEFORE I DECIDE ELSEWISE. SO IT IS WRITTEN!
Abraham: Is it, my lord, o God of Gods? I shall write it if..
God: OH, FUCK OFF.
((god disappears, and the camera fades out on Abraham standing next to the altar, looking content))
For once, I'm tired of writing and hungry, but still remember the point here. So a part two soon
Well, I shall continue the rant later. I am still bored, but less so than previous, and hunger is more important.
8.12.13
Jim Morrison's birthday was recently. As per usual, the hipsters who have gradually seeped into my facebook over the years have filled my home page with happy birthday wishes, statements of "Oh I miss you" and "you were the best". Etc. etc.
This bothers me for a plethora of reasons.
You did not know Jim Morrison personally. You are literally close to half a century to late for that. Thusly, who are you to say what kind of guy he was? For all we know, he was a massive plagiaristic prick.
Similarly, there is some excellent evidence (not to mention a shocking lack of evidence to the contrary) showing that Jim Morrison isn't dead, and there's a decent chance he faked his death to get away from - and get this - hipsters who pretended to know him.
Don't post pictures of yourselves or your buddies in Paris at Morrison's grave. Yes, it is cool that you went to Paris. It's neat that you found a grave with his name on it. Unfortunately, you look stupid, as, provided he is dead, it's pretty common knowledge that he's buried elsewhere in an unmarked hole.
I think I'm more just rankled about hipsters in general. In the case of the majority of the ones I know, I can't help but cringe and think "Gee, you're like 25 now. Shouldn't you have outgrown this?".
It's like when you see a guy in his mid 30s trying to maintain the goth look that worked for him ten years ago. It's nothing more than a vile stagnation of personal development, an attempt to seem all different and cool. When you are young, it works because everyone around you is also acting like a putz and doing essentially the same thing in different ways. When you are older, I feel like you are supposed to realize that yes, everyone is fundamentally different and cool in their own ways, and that the whole hipster/emo/goth "lifestyle" is a pretty ridiculous, forced, and immature way of representing that difference.
Quite honestly, I am finding myself more and more irritated by those who try and show how non-conformist they are. If it's not being done in a fashion that ironically conforms to what everyone around them is doing, then usually it's done in a fashion that represents you as incredibly ignorant.
Take my friend "Bob", for instance. Bob is female, for the record, though it's pretty irrelevant to this story. Bob comes from a nice, upper-class background. Bob is also an "no-government anarchist", and on her last visit to DC, I noticed she was wearing a Chairman Mao pin.
I asked about this, implying slightly that she should be clever enough to see the horrible satire of an "anarchist" wearing a Mao pin, and was told that she liked Mao because he built China up from nothing, into a modern state.
Now, ignoring all the other stuff that's not maybe quite right with that statement, there are two obvious things that anyone remotely familiar with this topic should be able to point out:
1. Mao initially set China back by at least a decade, as well as starving a huge chunk of his population to death during the "Great Leap Forward". It turns out peasants are wayyy better a tricking idiot Chairmen than they are at becoming factory workers. At least until they starve to death, in which case they become equally bad at both. And then you get to the Cultural Revolution (same idea as the Great Leap Forward - wheras the great leap was all about melting down tools and other essentials to make the world think China was an industrial state, the cultural revolution was all about destroying anything culturally significant in order to.. well... I'm really not sure what the point here was. It's been theorized - quite seriously and by a surprising amount of people who were involved - that Mao had his feelings hurt a bit and had to purge something to feel better), where even more people get to die and long, poorly written sentences begin to show up. In fact, many authors (Matthew White being the most entertaining that comes to mind) have asked the question - did Mao kill so many of his people because he was comic book villain mean, or because he was just a horrifically incompetent leader that hung around for a tragically long time?
2. A "no-government anarchist" is in theory espousing no government, or at least that's what my assumption would be - Bob (yes, we're getting back to the OP and Bob now) doesn't seem too clear on what exactly anarchism is beyond there being "anarchy" all over the place. Really, to hear her tell it, anarchy is some type of condiment that makes everything better and can indeed be spread all over anything - kinda like cheese.
Bah, now I am thinking of cheese, and I've lost my train of thought in the rambling and self-indulgent writing. Something about hipsters being stupid, I think. Anyway, Bob's a hypocrite who eats out of dumpsters "because jobs are for conformists", and while I can no longer connect that with Jim Morrison and The History of Failed State Capitalism, it seems like there really should be a good story or something in there.
I have a flu and thus have trouble gathering my thoughts. I'm also out of drugs. Which sucks. And because my girlfriend is "out" doing whatever horrors "girlfriend stuff" consists of, I do not have access to a phone, and thusly a cab, drugs, food, and so forth. Tis a shame.
I find myself wanting to write more, but know these writings will ramble to the extent of positing as to why the Seleucid empire fell apart (always an edge-of-your-seat line of thought), down to how someone with a basic knowledge of chemistry (un)lucky enough to get sent back a couple thousand years could probably build a much cooler and more successful religious institution that anything that phony from Nazareth and his minions cooked up, or perhaps delve into the oddity of language. But regardless of the topic, it would all be a frightful mess (just like this post). So let's leave it there.
This bothers me for a plethora of reasons.
You did not know Jim Morrison personally. You are literally close to half a century to late for that. Thusly, who are you to say what kind of guy he was? For all we know, he was a massive plagiaristic prick.
Similarly, there is some excellent evidence (not to mention a shocking lack of evidence to the contrary) showing that Jim Morrison isn't dead, and there's a decent chance he faked his death to get away from - and get this - hipsters who pretended to know him.
Don't post pictures of yourselves or your buddies in Paris at Morrison's grave. Yes, it is cool that you went to Paris. It's neat that you found a grave with his name on it. Unfortunately, you look stupid, as, provided he is dead, it's pretty common knowledge that he's buried elsewhere in an unmarked hole.
I think I'm more just rankled about hipsters in general. In the case of the majority of the ones I know, I can't help but cringe and think "Gee, you're like 25 now. Shouldn't you have outgrown this?".
It's like when you see a guy in his mid 30s trying to maintain the goth look that worked for him ten years ago. It's nothing more than a vile stagnation of personal development, an attempt to seem all different and cool. When you are young, it works because everyone around you is also acting like a putz and doing essentially the same thing in different ways. When you are older, I feel like you are supposed to realize that yes, everyone is fundamentally different and cool in their own ways, and that the whole hipster/emo/goth "lifestyle" is a pretty ridiculous, forced, and immature way of representing that difference.
Quite honestly, I am finding myself more and more irritated by those who try and show how non-conformist they are. If it's not being done in a fashion that ironically conforms to what everyone around them is doing, then usually it's done in a fashion that represents you as incredibly ignorant.
Take my friend "Bob", for instance. Bob is female, for the record, though it's pretty irrelevant to this story. Bob comes from a nice, upper-class background. Bob is also an "no-government anarchist", and on her last visit to DC, I noticed she was wearing a Chairman Mao pin.
I asked about this, implying slightly that she should be clever enough to see the horrible satire of an "anarchist" wearing a Mao pin, and was told that she liked Mao because he built China up from nothing, into a modern state.
Now, ignoring all the other stuff that's not maybe quite right with that statement, there are two obvious things that anyone remotely familiar with this topic should be able to point out:
1. Mao initially set China back by at least a decade, as well as starving a huge chunk of his population to death during the "Great Leap Forward". It turns out peasants are wayyy better a tricking idiot Chairmen than they are at becoming factory workers. At least until they starve to death, in which case they become equally bad at both. And then you get to the Cultural Revolution (same idea as the Great Leap Forward - wheras the great leap was all about melting down tools and other essentials to make the world think China was an industrial state, the cultural revolution was all about destroying anything culturally significant in order to.. well... I'm really not sure what the point here was. It's been theorized - quite seriously and by a surprising amount of people who were involved - that Mao had his feelings hurt a bit and had to purge something to feel better), where even more people get to die and long, poorly written sentences begin to show up. In fact, many authors (Matthew White being the most entertaining that comes to mind) have asked the question - did Mao kill so many of his people because he was comic book villain mean, or because he was just a horrifically incompetent leader that hung around for a tragically long time?
2. A "no-government anarchist" is in theory espousing no government, or at least that's what my assumption would be - Bob (yes, we're getting back to the OP and Bob now) doesn't seem too clear on what exactly anarchism is beyond there being "anarchy" all over the place. Really, to hear her tell it, anarchy is some type of condiment that makes everything better and can indeed be spread all over anything - kinda like cheese.
Bah, now I am thinking of cheese, and I've lost my train of thought in the rambling and self-indulgent writing. Something about hipsters being stupid, I think. Anyway, Bob's a hypocrite who eats out of dumpsters "because jobs are for conformists", and while I can no longer connect that with Jim Morrison and The History of Failed State Capitalism, it seems like there really should be a good story or something in there.
I have a flu and thus have trouble gathering my thoughts. I'm also out of drugs. Which sucks. And because my girlfriend is "out" doing whatever horrors "girlfriend stuff" consists of, I do not have access to a phone, and thusly a cab, drugs, food, and so forth. Tis a shame.
I find myself wanting to write more, but know these writings will ramble to the extent of positing as to why the Seleucid empire fell apart (always an edge-of-your-seat line of thought), down to how someone with a basic knowledge of chemistry (un)lucky enough to get sent back a couple thousand years could probably build a much cooler and more successful religious institution that anything that phony from Nazareth and his minions cooked up, or perhaps delve into the oddity of language. But regardless of the topic, it would all be a frightful mess (just like this post). So let's leave it there.
11.11.13
I had a rather long post done up on how I'd just noticed how pointless my facebook is for the purpose it is designed to fulfill, but I couldn't quite figure out how to end it. Essentially, I've talked to like four of the people on there in the last year, two of whom I live with.
I've been blogging for an awfully long time. Sometimes I wonder what the guts of my filing cabinet would look like had I stuck to paper. Paper is nice because you can draw on it. Reading back through stuff I wrote as a kid, I think the doodles are more telling than the words.
I bought a house. It is a little box, on a hillside. I'm pretty sure it's not made of ticky-tacky, but ideally it will be full of weed? It was incredibly cheap and is virtually brand new. It's also only half a block from where I am now, which makes moving easy, and is about a block and a half from work. Two bedrooms, full bath and laundry, a whole 720 square feet for myself (and the cats, and Lisa). As I say, little box indeed. But with a great deck! I am still uncertain about having Lisa on the deed, as it's my money that paid for this place, but that can be dealt with if it should ever be a problem.
Close to work is nice. I am still walking. Until I go to rehab. For the one type of addiction I really don't feel will ever be a problem again. All because of a broom. Horrific irony.
I was sitting next to the crazy guy in DQ the other day whilst eating lunch. He was talking about having asked God for nice weather and getting it, then asking that it snow to punish people that were mean to him. As I'm the only person I ever see walking around in -30 late at night, I'm kinda wondering what I did to him.
Anyway, I am wrote out for now, dear blogger-y.
I've been blogging for an awfully long time. Sometimes I wonder what the guts of my filing cabinet would look like had I stuck to paper. Paper is nice because you can draw on it. Reading back through stuff I wrote as a kid, I think the doodles are more telling than the words.
I bought a house. It is a little box, on a hillside. I'm pretty sure it's not made of ticky-tacky, but ideally it will be full of weed? It was incredibly cheap and is virtually brand new. It's also only half a block from where I am now, which makes moving easy, and is about a block and a half from work. Two bedrooms, full bath and laundry, a whole 720 square feet for myself (and the cats, and Lisa). As I say, little box indeed. But with a great deck! I am still uncertain about having Lisa on the deed, as it's my money that paid for this place, but that can be dealt with if it should ever be a problem.
Close to work is nice. I am still walking. Until I go to rehab. For the one type of addiction I really don't feel will ever be a problem again. All because of a broom. Horrific irony.
I was sitting next to the crazy guy in DQ the other day whilst eating lunch. He was talking about having asked God for nice weather and getting it, then asking that it snow to punish people that were mean to him. As I'm the only person I ever see walking around in -30 late at night, I'm kinda wondering what I did to him.
Anyway, I am wrote out for now, dear blogger-y.
14.9.13
Outside my cell, deputies creep. But in this cell, all I do is sleep.
I never know how to make the time pass anymore. Writing moves it along I guess, but it's a solitary activity and I live in a social household. Games and conversations and the great outdoors are good stuff as well, but nothing new or stimulating.
I think that is the big issue - a lack of stimulation. There is no way to say it without sounding like a whiney hipster, but things seem a little "passé". I hungry like Tantalus, but for something new and exciting, to the point where I would rather drown in the water than have my sip taken away yet again.
Boredom and ennui raise all sorts of uncomfortable questions about free will, predestination, and the point of life. Boredom makes me think.
Here is something that I don't think you know about addicts, dear Lindsay, and maybe it will make some things clear to you about other aspects of your life: Thinking is the greatest enemy to us. Thinking raises questions, and makes you unhappy in the long run. It is better to blank your mind, and simplify yourself, than it is to really ponder as to why you are who you are and where you are.
Especially when you already know the answers to most of whatever questions you can come up with. I cannot claim to know you or anyone else that well, but some things are predictable and easy, and when you know yourself well, everything becomes unexciting.
True addiction sets in when the normal dose does not stop the thinking. For me, at least, this is sad and disappointing but not really harmful, as I am capable of a high level of function. While I may not be able to have "just one" of nearly anything anymore, I am good at not having even one when really required.
Sometimes I wonder if I am gifted or damaged. I may be mental, or I may be brilliant. I may be both. I guess it is pretty irrelevant as different is different, and while it has both faults and appeals, it what it is.
As Herr Rocco would say "Oh well!". Herr Rocco is my old german friend, and he is a master of "oh well" zen. He does not look ahead, and does not look back. I think there are a few reasons for that. His upbringing in East Germany, his general good spirits, and the fact that at the end of the day, Herr Rocco is a 40 year old kid. There is wonder and dreams for him everywhere. He is a lucky fool, really. I love him for it.
I've been talking to Eris a lot lately. It's funny how something that started as a joke can grow to influence so many lives. Man did create God, it would seem, or it would seem plausible. I have no objection to wearing the mark of a Deity that I know can't actually be real. But I talk and she listens, and sometimes in my dreams, she answers my questions, and though it seems crazy, I get what I ask for from her, as long as I make nice with the other kids and am patient. I am unsure how to put my thoughts on this into words, but suffice it to say, I am a firm believer that even a man-made Goddess can hold sway over your life when you truly believe.
Logan wants to go shoot things, and I have drained most of my willpower in writing this. See you, maybe.
I think that is the big issue - a lack of stimulation. There is no way to say it without sounding like a whiney hipster, but things seem a little "passé". I hungry like Tantalus, but for something new and exciting, to the point where I would rather drown in the water than have my sip taken away yet again.
Boredom and ennui raise all sorts of uncomfortable questions about free will, predestination, and the point of life. Boredom makes me think.
Here is something that I don't think you know about addicts, dear Lindsay, and maybe it will make some things clear to you about other aspects of your life: Thinking is the greatest enemy to us. Thinking raises questions, and makes you unhappy in the long run. It is better to blank your mind, and simplify yourself, than it is to really ponder as to why you are who you are and where you are.
Especially when you already know the answers to most of whatever questions you can come up with. I cannot claim to know you or anyone else that well, but some things are predictable and easy, and when you know yourself well, everything becomes unexciting.
True addiction sets in when the normal dose does not stop the thinking. For me, at least, this is sad and disappointing but not really harmful, as I am capable of a high level of function. While I may not be able to have "just one" of nearly anything anymore, I am good at not having even one when really required.
Sometimes I wonder if I am gifted or damaged. I may be mental, or I may be brilliant. I may be both. I guess it is pretty irrelevant as different is different, and while it has both faults and appeals, it what it is.
As Herr Rocco would say "Oh well!". Herr Rocco is my old german friend, and he is a master of "oh well" zen. He does not look ahead, and does not look back. I think there are a few reasons for that. His upbringing in East Germany, his general good spirits, and the fact that at the end of the day, Herr Rocco is a 40 year old kid. There is wonder and dreams for him everywhere. He is a lucky fool, really. I love him for it.
I've been talking to Eris a lot lately. It's funny how something that started as a joke can grow to influence so many lives. Man did create God, it would seem, or it would seem plausible. I have no objection to wearing the mark of a Deity that I know can't actually be real. But I talk and she listens, and sometimes in my dreams, she answers my questions, and though it seems crazy, I get what I ask for from her, as long as I make nice with the other kids and am patient. I am unsure how to put my thoughts on this into words, but suffice it to say, I am a firm believer that even a man-made Goddess can hold sway over your life when you truly believe.
Logan wants to go shoot things, and I have drained most of my willpower in writing this. See you, maybe.
10.8.13
Sometimes my dreams feel more like reality than reality does. Sometimes they seem to be more important, too.
I don't like the sober, quiet moments. They are distant memories that haven't happened yet. They feel like a washy early morning T.V. show, something that is completely unrelateable and only vaguely interesting but really the only thing on. I don't like the speeds my thoughts bounce around at inside my head, or the constant alertness. Or really the subject matter playing out in the theater of my brain. I get over whatever sickness there is to have, and then things seem to slide sideways.
I did a bunch of stupid things in the last few years.
My friend Skylar once told me I seem to have good self-awareness. I think this is true, as I'm pretty aware of many of my qualities and faults, and tend to know how I will react to a foreseen inevitability well before it comes up. I think the big reason I have no claims to enlightenment or some sort of zen-buddah type shit is that I am either too apathetic or lazy to really change anything.
I haven't really figured that one out yet. Sometimes, I will very much so want to do something, but then I will realize it doesn't really matter, given how irrelevant it is in the grand scheme of things and not bother. Other times, I don't bother to do something, then realize that it didn't really matter, given how irrelevant it was in the grand scheme of things.
Sometimes passiveness is a good strategy. Doing things can cause trouble, and once again, in the grand scheme, it is fairly unlikely to matter too much. Conversely, while not doing much of anything is a pretty safe strategy, it tends to cause problems for everyone around you on a regular basis. But you're usually pretty good.
Anyway. It doesn't really matter much.
I am having a strange night. I have had quite a few sober nights lately, and like some type of fairytale full moon curse, this always seems to culminate in a series of very surreal days.
The nice people are all angry. The angry people are all nice.
My job description is "AJ", who was the guy I replaced. The person I trained is now "Steve". Our purchasing manager was recently transferred to receiving, while the shipping lady is on health leave till she can get over the fact that we did not make her sick, and she should die, quit, or simply be nicer and stop taking her myriad myriads of health problems out on us. He is starting to look a little sickly and has been a little bitchy lately. Much to his chagrin, he is now "Debby". Our jobs defining our personalities is an interesting concept, but has apparently worked well for the business.
My friends are all having affairs and falling apart and getting into identical messes. My basement has the potential to fill up with transient pals and co-workers. I plan to invest in Japanese sleeping tubes.
My McDonalds is crawling with bugs. They are not of the same species and none of them seem as though they would be native to lettuce, processed cheese, or all-beef patties. I suspect box contamination. This is supported by the fact that the june bugs in my fries are rarely deep fried and salted to perfection.
A former girlfriend keeps walking into my house, hammered and shoeless, forgetting she has not lived here in a year. I do not sleep as I must stay up to steer her away from the stairs and my bedroom, where my present girlfriend sleeps, and back out on to the street where she may eventually find her way across the lot to her townhouse.
Related, my locks do not seem to function as intended, as virtually everyone in a three mile radius has a key except my roommate, who enjoys staying out till the wee hours of the morning with an east Indian dude who says he is a Korean millionaire from England. He acts as a life coach to my roommate, who arguably can already do a better fake accent.
There are things living in the walls and the vents. They get in through the basement vent on our deck, which is essentially just a hole cut in the wall with a disintegrating screen across it. I have never seen them, and rarely hear them unless I pay close attention. They are skittery, climbing things that remind me of a Lovecraft story I once read. Or perhaps they are the house waiting to collapse on itself. Or perhaps they are synapses in my brain slowly reconnecting as my system clears out.
My roommate is unable to find a job, and the rest of us have been paying for his existence for nearly four months. He quit his last job to go to Saskatchewan with the KorEngDian for three days. As this was the third or fourth time he did this, he was not rehired on his returned. In retrospect, his inability to find work may not be surprising to people other than himself.
I don't really know what to make of life anymore. It is both drab and vibrant, and I do not understand it very well. I am losing my desire to. Trainwrecks, looking away, and all that. I guess.
Oh well. This is fun:
Well, I guess that's about it for now.
I don't like the sober, quiet moments. They are distant memories that haven't happened yet. They feel like a washy early morning T.V. show, something that is completely unrelateable and only vaguely interesting but really the only thing on. I don't like the speeds my thoughts bounce around at inside my head, or the constant alertness. Or really the subject matter playing out in the theater of my brain. I get over whatever sickness there is to have, and then things seem to slide sideways.
I did a bunch of stupid things in the last few years.
My friend Skylar once told me I seem to have good self-awareness. I think this is true, as I'm pretty aware of many of my qualities and faults, and tend to know how I will react to a foreseen inevitability well before it comes up. I think the big reason I have no claims to enlightenment or some sort of zen-buddah type shit is that I am either too apathetic or lazy to really change anything.
I haven't really figured that one out yet. Sometimes, I will very much so want to do something, but then I will realize it doesn't really matter, given how irrelevant it is in the grand scheme of things and not bother. Other times, I don't bother to do something, then realize that it didn't really matter, given how irrelevant it was in the grand scheme of things.
Sometimes passiveness is a good strategy. Doing things can cause trouble, and once again, in the grand scheme, it is fairly unlikely to matter too much. Conversely, while not doing much of anything is a pretty safe strategy, it tends to cause problems for everyone around you on a regular basis. But you're usually pretty good.
Anyway. It doesn't really matter much.
I am having a strange night. I have had quite a few sober nights lately, and like some type of fairytale full moon curse, this always seems to culminate in a series of very surreal days.
The nice people are all angry. The angry people are all nice.
My job description is "AJ", who was the guy I replaced. The person I trained is now "Steve". Our purchasing manager was recently transferred to receiving, while the shipping lady is on health leave till she can get over the fact that we did not make her sick, and she should die, quit, or simply be nicer and stop taking her myriad myriads of health problems out on us. He is starting to look a little sickly and has been a little bitchy lately. Much to his chagrin, he is now "Debby". Our jobs defining our personalities is an interesting concept, but has apparently worked well for the business.
My friends are all having affairs and falling apart and getting into identical messes. My basement has the potential to fill up with transient pals and co-workers. I plan to invest in Japanese sleeping tubes.
My McDonalds is crawling with bugs. They are not of the same species and none of them seem as though they would be native to lettuce, processed cheese, or all-beef patties. I suspect box contamination. This is supported by the fact that the june bugs in my fries are rarely deep fried and salted to perfection.
A former girlfriend keeps walking into my house, hammered and shoeless, forgetting she has not lived here in a year. I do not sleep as I must stay up to steer her away from the stairs and my bedroom, where my present girlfriend sleeps, and back out on to the street where she may eventually find her way across the lot to her townhouse.
Related, my locks do not seem to function as intended, as virtually everyone in a three mile radius has a key except my roommate, who enjoys staying out till the wee hours of the morning with an east Indian dude who says he is a Korean millionaire from England. He acts as a life coach to my roommate, who arguably can already do a better fake accent.
There are things living in the walls and the vents. They get in through the basement vent on our deck, which is essentially just a hole cut in the wall with a disintegrating screen across it. I have never seen them, and rarely hear them unless I pay close attention. They are skittery, climbing things that remind me of a Lovecraft story I once read. Or perhaps they are the house waiting to collapse on itself. Or perhaps they are synapses in my brain slowly reconnecting as my system clears out.
My roommate is unable to find a job, and the rest of us have been paying for his existence for nearly four months. He quit his last job to go to Saskatchewan with the KorEngDian for three days. As this was the third or fourth time he did this, he was not rehired on his returned. In retrospect, his inability to find work may not be surprising to people other than himself.
I don't really know what to make of life anymore. It is both drab and vibrant, and I do not understand it very well. I am losing my desire to. Trainwrecks, looking away, and all that. I guess.
Oh well. This is fun:
Well, I guess that's about it for now.
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