Oh. Well.
Isn't that just new and exciting?
One thing leads to another, and so on.
It's another day, but it's the same old.
Cliches are clichés for a good reason, I suppose.
I think that I've come to the conclusion that I am speeding towards and impasse of sorts, with very few directions to go. Or at least, very few I have not already travelled. I am genuinely curious as to what future me is going to do.
27.2.14
I read an article on the Iams pet food company's animal testing today. Little disturbing.
I am usually for animal testing. Certain things are both potentially dangerous and potentially beneficial, and it is likely much better to work the kinks out on a mouse than a person.
That said, if your food or makeup is so potentially dangerous that you need to run clinical lab trials on animals before releasing it, maybe you should just focus a little more on making safer products than working out the issues with dangerous ones. Seems like it would not be hard to do, really.
I am usually for animal testing. Certain things are both potentially dangerous and potentially beneficial, and it is likely much better to work the kinks out on a mouse than a person.
That said, if your food or makeup is so potentially dangerous that you need to run clinical lab trials on animals before releasing it, maybe you should just focus a little more on making safer products than working out the issues with dangerous ones. Seems like it would not be hard to do, really.
26.2.14
The boredom, she crushes!
Je pouvais parle Francais, es que tu savais sa? La conjugation est difficule parce que j'ai pas mon Bescherel.
La putain Bescherel. Beaucoup de mon temp dans l'ecole, mon seul desire ete de tue l'auter de cette bestiol livre.
C'est un petit peux comic - je utilise mon francais plus frequentment dans mon occupation ici que quand j'avez habite dans Ontario.
Je ne pas avez beacoup de chance de l'ecrive, est pour cette raison, la poste ici est francophone.
But wait, there's more.
Gutentag Frauline,
Mine schwanz ist gut, ya?
Arbeit macht frei, und das ist gut ebenfalls.
Der juden ist nicht gut, und ist verboten in diesm laden.
Achtung, Spitfire!
Alle mein Deutsch is von kriegsfilme oder von Herr Rocco, zeigt es?
A beshite, Frau!
And
Mucho Gusto Senorita,
Mi yamo Steve.
Es un gato loco dans mi pantalones.
Voya cortarte bueno, pendeco!
Su tia es su tio trata on matar.
Quitate las bragas, es los mandar a mi.
Sublime me apprendire espaniol, and boy, am I ever glad I'm not stuck in Mexico.
Yup. Super fucking bored. I should not have slept all day.
Je pouvais parle Francais, es que tu savais sa? La conjugation est difficule parce que j'ai pas mon Bescherel.
La putain Bescherel. Beaucoup de mon temp dans l'ecole, mon seul desire ete de tue l'auter de cette bestiol livre.
C'est un petit peux comic - je utilise mon francais plus frequentment dans mon occupation ici que quand j'avez habite dans Ontario.
Je ne pas avez beacoup de chance de l'ecrive, est pour cette raison, la poste ici est francophone.
But wait, there's more.
Gutentag Frauline,
Mine schwanz ist gut, ya?
Arbeit macht frei, und das ist gut ebenfalls.
Der juden ist nicht gut, und ist verboten in diesm laden.
Achtung, Spitfire!
Alle mein Deutsch is von kriegsfilme oder von Herr Rocco, zeigt es?
A beshite, Frau!
And
Mucho Gusto Senorita,
Mi yamo Steve.
Es un gato loco dans mi pantalones.
Voya cortarte bueno, pendeco!
Su tia es su tio trata on matar.
Quitate las bragas, es los mandar a mi.
Sublime me apprendire espaniol, and boy, am I ever glad I'm not stuck in Mexico.
Yup. Super fucking bored. I should not have slept all day.
No money down
It was a real good deal
So I bought me a brand new automobile
The price was right
And just within my reach
Now I spend my afternoons just cruising at the beach
They checked my credit
And it wouldn't take me far
So they came to find me at the beach and repossessed my car
I got service with a smile.
It was a real good deal
So I bought me a brand new automobile
The price was right
And just within my reach
Now I spend my afternoons just cruising at the beach
They checked my credit
And it wouldn't take me far
So they came to find me at the beach and repossessed my car
I got service with a smile.
You say you want perfection; I want self destruction
The best part about working with your hands, or standing around pretending to work with your hands, is that it gives you plenty of time to be quiet and introspective.
What it really got me thinking about was yanking apart the Blazer and dropping that '46 Chev body on the frame with my Dad when I was younger. Ok, so maybe I know a bit more about cars then I let on. Sometimes it's just nice not knowing everything, and having someone else in the room be the teacher.
I think that's really my biggest regret in life. I never learned anything important from my parents, even when they felt up to trying to teach me something. They didn't like me enough to try much of the time, and I didn't like them enough to pay attention when they did.
The old man is really sick now, and I don't think there's a lot of time left. I'd like to think that I can gather up all those little pearls of wisdom before it's too late, but the simple truth is that, as always, I've come up just a little short.
On the more positive side, I think I live a life that they are really proud of. I just wish I could be a little happier about it all.
And on a far more positive note, I'd forgotten how much I like Tsunami Bomb.
What it really got me thinking about was yanking apart the Blazer and dropping that '46 Chev body on the frame with my Dad when I was younger. Ok, so maybe I know a bit more about cars then I let on. Sometimes it's just nice not knowing everything, and having someone else in the room be the teacher.
I think that's really my biggest regret in life. I never learned anything important from my parents, even when they felt up to trying to teach me something. They didn't like me enough to try much of the time, and I didn't like them enough to pay attention when they did.
The old man is really sick now, and I don't think there's a lot of time left. I'd like to think that I can gather up all those little pearls of wisdom before it's too late, but the simple truth is that, as always, I've come up just a little short.
On the more positive side, I think I live a life that they are really proud of. I just wish I could be a little happier about it all.
And on a far more positive note, I'd forgotten how much I like Tsunami Bomb.
25.2.14
P.S.
Pssst, the capital is Wellington. Though as my old drinking buddy Bonnie will tell you, Auckland has much more to do.
And then, I wake up on the living room floor at one in the afternoon, covered by cats, and I REMEMBER why there is no drinking on week nights.
On the positive side of that, I guess I got today off! Which is nice. My days off have been horrifically full for the last few weeks, not to mention that I really dislike my job and would rather not be there anyway.
Logan is requesting money. I can't help but think of his girlfriend who doesn't work who I just moved up here for him, and the several hundred dollars worth of liquor sitting in his cupboards, also bought when the girlfriend moved up. I think about the guy who still lives there who doesn't pay rent.
Oh well, I guess I drank a good chunk of that liquor last night. What are buddies for, anyway, if not to drink your booze?
Speaking of Logan's girlfriend, I ended up having a great chat with Mackenize in the wee hours of the morning. You were right, she is less mentally repulsive than early indications. It helped that I was really hammered and quite melancholic with Alanna thoughts, and in need of a good, irreverent giggle. Really, the only uncomfortable part was that she kept talking about Logan's ex, and how she always wants to be friends with Mackenzie, and how that's awkward, and why is she like that?
I did not have the heart to tell the truth, mostly because I have no desire to pack all her shit up and move her back to Grande Prairie only a week after her arrival.
Oh well, they'll figure it out, I'm sure.
On the positive side of that, I guess I got today off! Which is nice. My days off have been horrifically full for the last few weeks, not to mention that I really dislike my job and would rather not be there anyway.
Logan is requesting money. I can't help but think of his girlfriend who doesn't work who I just moved up here for him, and the several hundred dollars worth of liquor sitting in his cupboards, also bought when the girlfriend moved up. I think about the guy who still lives there who doesn't pay rent.
Oh well, I guess I drank a good chunk of that liquor last night. What are buddies for, anyway, if not to drink your booze?
Speaking of Logan's girlfriend, I ended up having a great chat with Mackenize in the wee hours of the morning. You were right, she is less mentally repulsive than early indications. It helped that I was really hammered and quite melancholic with Alanna thoughts, and in need of a good, irreverent giggle. Really, the only uncomfortable part was that she kept talking about Logan's ex, and how she always wants to be friends with Mackenzie, and how that's awkward, and why is she like that?
I did not have the heart to tell the truth, mostly because I have no desire to pack all her shit up and move her back to Grande Prairie only a week after her arrival.
Oh well, they'll figure it out, I'm sure.
... But I just can't change the past, for I'll surely wind up dead.
The other Alana post got straight up deleted. This one is just edited.
I don't know why I'd really want to revisit this stuff, but I guess I'll keep what was here as a draft, just in case that somehow changes in the future.
2018
I don't know why I'd really want to revisit this stuff, but I guess I'll keep what was here as a draft, just in case that somehow changes in the future.
2018
We're only going to die from our own arrogance, and so we might as well take the time.
And then here we go, a conversation with someone else who is as caught up in something irrelevant as I am.
Here is my advice to you, buddy ol pal who I did not speak to before tonight:
You problems are all predicated on the assumption of undesirability.
If you took the time to put yourself out there, not in this "Oh, woe is me" way you present yourself, people would flock to you.
You are interesting. You have something to contribute. By most people's standards, though perhaps not mine, as much as you were fishing for it, you are quite attractive.
No, your problem with people stems from being too open. People do not like too open. No one is comfortable with this heart-song shit, and when you spread it around, it cheapens it for those you want it to mean something to.
Oh well. Your problems - better than mine!
I think the thing for me to bear in mind is that I am still a tornado; a destructive force of nature that burns through it all. Regardless of anyone's problems, I am good for that.
Here is my advice to you, buddy ol pal who I did not speak to before tonight:
You problems are all predicated on the assumption of undesirability.
If you took the time to put yourself out there, not in this "Oh, woe is me" way you present yourself, people would flock to you.
You are interesting. You have something to contribute. By most people's standards, though perhaps not mine, as much as you were fishing for it, you are quite attractive.
No, your problem with people stems from being too open. People do not like too open. No one is comfortable with this heart-song shit, and when you spread it around, it cheapens it for those you want it to mean something to.
Oh well. Your problems - better than mine!
I think the thing for me to bear in mind is that I am still a tornado; a destructive force of nature that burns through it all. Regardless of anyone's problems, I am good for that.
...And Ithen, yes, there are girls like you.
No, you know what?
I am too drunk to write this post, or any post like it.
It does not do you justice.
It does not do her justice.
It does not do me justice, really.
I barely even know what fair or right is snymore. Even if I did, I wouldn't know what to do with it.
I didn't believe any of that before tonight, because Goddess knowa I've heard it enough. Now that I've seen the look, which was either sincere, or sincere pity, I still don't know what the fuck to make of it.
I know what I want to say. I know what I should say. I know what (I think) you'd like me to say, which perhaps would not be what total strangers would be reading were I writing this for them. But most importantly;
I have six hours to sober up before work.
This, not counting hidden posts and drafts, is my 300th post. Fanfare is in order, yay!
I am too drunk to write this post, or any post like it.
It does not do you justice.
It does not do her justice.
It does not do me justice, really.
I barely even know what fair or right is snymore. Even if I did, I wouldn't know what to do with it.
I didn't believe any of that before tonight, because Goddess knowa I've heard it enough. Now that I've seen the look, which was either sincere, or sincere pity, I still don't know what the fuck to make of it.
I know what I want to say. I know what I should say. I know what (I think) you'd like me to say, which perhaps would not be what total strangers would be reading were I writing this for them. But most importantly;
I have six hours to sober up before work.
This, not counting hidden posts and drafts, is my 300th post. Fanfare is in order, yay!
22.2.14
Let's Have A Fight!
She and I do not have real fights all that often. We are both exceptionally cruel and heartless people when angry, and both very stubborn. We've learned that it is in our best interest to just smile and nod when we disagree, at least for the most part.
That said, we do have these little fights quite often that manifest themselves as a lack of home maintenance on both our parts.
Normally, I will make food, pick up dishes, do garbage, shovel the walk, and occasionally pick up the house when I start to see things moving out of the corners of my eyes all the time. She looks after the cats, cleans up the cat puke, does laundry and will sometimes pick up the house when she realizes I'm not planning to clean up a whole bunch of shit that isn't mine.
When we argue, this division of labour is reduced to her shovelling out the cat shit, and me bringing home enough takeout to feed us for an evening. I don't want to do shit for her when she's being a dick, and she (possibly correctly - who am I to say?) seems to think I do nothing for her even when we aren't fighting, and wants to do nothing for me, especially when we are.
I should take a second here to mention that I don't mean to sound bitter. I think it's personalities, really. I like when people do little things for me like rub my back, or offer to make food after I've worked the job I hate for ten hours, or allow me to come home and just relax and have some quiet time. I feel good when I do these things for others. She, however, doesn't really care about any of that. Honestly, I am less and less sure what she wants out of this. Maybe it's the stability. Anyway, because she doesn't really have any special appreciation for that kind of stuff, she doesn't naturally really do that kind of stuff. I wouldn't call it selfishness, per se, so please, don't get the wrong idea.
Anyway, the result of this stoppage of maintenance is that the house gradually fills up with garbage and cat puke and all this other nasty stuff until one of us breaks down and cleans up.
Usually, this is not me. I lived with six other people for a year and a half. I am happy enough with the house not being constantly destroyed - constantly gross makes little difference to me. I am rarely here anyway, at least when I can help it.
This was going somewhere. Then I saw something funny online and kind of lost the train of thought. Oops. Maybe later.
I just found out this laptop has bass boost. It activated by moving the pipe and buster off the speakers.
That said, we do have these little fights quite often that manifest themselves as a lack of home maintenance on both our parts.
Normally, I will make food, pick up dishes, do garbage, shovel the walk, and occasionally pick up the house when I start to see things moving out of the corners of my eyes all the time. She looks after the cats, cleans up the cat puke, does laundry and will sometimes pick up the house when she realizes I'm not planning to clean up a whole bunch of shit that isn't mine.
When we argue, this division of labour is reduced to her shovelling out the cat shit, and me bringing home enough takeout to feed us for an evening. I don't want to do shit for her when she's being a dick, and she (possibly correctly - who am I to say?) seems to think I do nothing for her even when we aren't fighting, and wants to do nothing for me, especially when we are.
I should take a second here to mention that I don't mean to sound bitter. I think it's personalities, really. I like when people do little things for me like rub my back, or offer to make food after I've worked the job I hate for ten hours, or allow me to come home and just relax and have some quiet time. I feel good when I do these things for others. She, however, doesn't really care about any of that. Honestly, I am less and less sure what she wants out of this. Maybe it's the stability. Anyway, because she doesn't really have any special appreciation for that kind of stuff, she doesn't naturally really do that kind of stuff. I wouldn't call it selfishness, per se, so please, don't get the wrong idea.
Anyway, the result of this stoppage of maintenance is that the house gradually fills up with garbage and cat puke and all this other nasty stuff until one of us breaks down and cleans up.
Usually, this is not me. I lived with six other people for a year and a half. I am happy enough with the house not being constantly destroyed - constantly gross makes little difference to me. I am rarely here anyway, at least when I can help it.
This was going somewhere. Then I saw something funny online and kind of lost the train of thought. Oops. Maybe later.
I just found out this laptop has bass boost. It activated by moving the pipe and buster off the speakers.
This is one of those restlessly boring nights.
I've beaten all my video games to the point where there is no replay value, and no point in buying new ones because I will beat them and have the same problem.
Movies and TV suck. When was the last time anyone thought a plot through? Name a movie, any movie. I'm willing to bet you that the storyline falls apart under any kind of scrutiny in about three and a half seconds.
Books are great, except that I've read all of the ones I own. I need more books, but have so much junk already that it would probably cause my floor to collapse.
Lisa and the cats are sleeping and I don't want to wake any of them up, so I'm being quiet.
There is just nothing to do, and it's pretty lame. I don't even really feel like blogging.
Maybe I will paint a mural or something on one of my walls, so that when I sit here with nothing to do but smoke and stare into space, I'll have something to look at.
But I have no paint, and don't know where to get some at this hour.
So, something else.
Hey, you know what I think it really is?
It's the honesty of it more than anything else. It's not some forced grace or a supernatural aire that just overwhelms the senses. It's simple and humble and "true-to-yourself" type stuff, and that's what makes it beautiful. It is not so much the effortlessness of it, though I have seen "effortless" and the same applies. I suppose it's fairly hard to explain this concept in writing, so perhaps I will just say that "words fail", and leave the elucidation up to the exceptionally savvy readers, who are likely imaginary in this specific case.
But, maybe you know what I'm talking about.
Maybe there are better words somewhere.
The most beautiful poetry is usually not the most eloquent or the best written - It's the most raw, from the heart sentiments that make a verse have any kind of true impact. I think that, at least in my mind, the principal is the same. Though I don't think it really belongs there at the moment anyway.
So, something else.
I've been thinking about writing the Alanna blog. It should probably happen eventually, but frankly the whole thing makes me feel dirty and I can't really think of any way to write it that makes it at least a little funny and not just strange and horrifying.
I think it's the kind of story that would be awesome or at least interesting to hear if you did not know anyone involved.
So, something else.
Ol' Black Lung here does know smoking is bad for him.
I can feel it killing me.
You want to make most people quit smoking? Tell ya what.
Take some Kleenex or toilet paper. Get a cigarette. Light it. Very important step, that last one. Pull some smoke into your mouth, but don't actually inhale it. Press the tissue firmly to your mouth, and blow out.
That's what goes into your lungs. Yum.
Untill recently, I'd get to inhale that about forty times a day. I have cut back from the two pack minimum now that I have my own house and prefer to smoke outside. It's bad for Lisa and the cats.
I know why I smoke, and I've made peace with it. Adult choices and all.
So, something else.
Netflix has exposed me to more horrible ways of wasting time than anything else I have ever encountered. It's not that I spend a lot of time watching it, it's that everything I watch seems to be immensely stupid.
I got U.S. Netflix in the hopes that they would have some different programming.
I was not disappointed. Now everything is immensely stupid and pirated. What a change.
So, something else.
Like pomegranates. I'd punch a nun for a nice, fresh pomegranate right now. They are refreshing as all fuck and stupidly tasty, and they take a long time to eat properly, time which I find enjoyable because I get to eat this fucking awesome thing that is healthy too and have something to focus on while doing so.
Even the word is awesome. Pom-a-gran-it, spelt like it doesn't sound.
They are even esthetically pleasing.
One of the best parts of being an adult is that I can almost always, always have a fucking pomegranate.
I also like cabbage, because it's crunchy like chips but better for you.
Most fruits and vegetables are pretty good. It would be nice to live somewhere where you could just go pick them out of your back yard.
And much more realistic than living somewhere else with tasty, convenient snacks, like an 7-11.
So, something else.
Blogs are strange. They are like diaries written in the hopes that someone will find them. Or like messages in bottles. Or, as stated previously, sounding boards.
There should probably be nothing else. I ramble.
I've beaten all my video games to the point where there is no replay value, and no point in buying new ones because I will beat them and have the same problem.
Movies and TV suck. When was the last time anyone thought a plot through? Name a movie, any movie. I'm willing to bet you that the storyline falls apart under any kind of scrutiny in about three and a half seconds.
Books are great, except that I've read all of the ones I own. I need more books, but have so much junk already that it would probably cause my floor to collapse.
Lisa and the cats are sleeping and I don't want to wake any of them up, so I'm being quiet.
There is just nothing to do, and it's pretty lame. I don't even really feel like blogging.
Maybe I will paint a mural or something on one of my walls, so that when I sit here with nothing to do but smoke and stare into space, I'll have something to look at.
But I have no paint, and don't know where to get some at this hour.
So, something else.
Hey, you know what I think it really is?
It's the honesty of it more than anything else. It's not some forced grace or a supernatural aire that just overwhelms the senses. It's simple and humble and "true-to-yourself" type stuff, and that's what makes it beautiful. It is not so much the effortlessness of it, though I have seen "effortless" and the same applies. I suppose it's fairly hard to explain this concept in writing, so perhaps I will just say that "words fail", and leave the elucidation up to the exceptionally savvy readers, who are likely imaginary in this specific case.
But, maybe you know what I'm talking about.
Maybe there are better words somewhere.
The most beautiful poetry is usually not the most eloquent or the best written - It's the most raw, from the heart sentiments that make a verse have any kind of true impact. I think that, at least in my mind, the principal is the same. Though I don't think it really belongs there at the moment anyway.
So, something else.
I've been thinking about writing the Alanna blog. It should probably happen eventually, but frankly the whole thing makes me feel dirty and I can't really think of any way to write it that makes it at least a little funny and not just strange and horrifying.
I think it's the kind of story that would be awesome or at least interesting to hear if you did not know anyone involved.
So, something else.
Ol' Black Lung here does know smoking is bad for him.
I can feel it killing me.
You want to make most people quit smoking? Tell ya what.
Take some Kleenex or toilet paper. Get a cigarette. Light it. Very important step, that last one. Pull some smoke into your mouth, but don't actually inhale it. Press the tissue firmly to your mouth, and blow out.
That's what goes into your lungs. Yum.
Untill recently, I'd get to inhale that about forty times a day. I have cut back from the two pack minimum now that I have my own house and prefer to smoke outside. It's bad for Lisa and the cats.
I know why I smoke, and I've made peace with it. Adult choices and all.
So, something else.
Netflix has exposed me to more horrible ways of wasting time than anything else I have ever encountered. It's not that I spend a lot of time watching it, it's that everything I watch seems to be immensely stupid.
I got U.S. Netflix in the hopes that they would have some different programming.
I was not disappointed. Now everything is immensely stupid and pirated. What a change.
So, something else.
Like pomegranates. I'd punch a nun for a nice, fresh pomegranate right now. They are refreshing as all fuck and stupidly tasty, and they take a long time to eat properly, time which I find enjoyable because I get to eat this fucking awesome thing that is healthy too and have something to focus on while doing so.
Even the word is awesome. Pom-a-gran-it, spelt like it doesn't sound.
They are even esthetically pleasing.
One of the best parts of being an adult is that I can almost always, always have a fucking pomegranate.
I also like cabbage, because it's crunchy like chips but better for you.
Most fruits and vegetables are pretty good. It would be nice to live somewhere where you could just go pick them out of your back yard.
And much more realistic than living somewhere else with tasty, convenient snacks, like an 7-11.
So, something else.
Blogs are strange. They are like diaries written in the hopes that someone will find them. Or like messages in bottles. Or, as stated previously, sounding boards.
There should probably be nothing else. I ramble.
21.2.14
Speaking of funny things in pictures.
It must kind of suck to look at all the pictures of your wedding party, and have it be glaringly obvious that you are not the prettiest person in them.
I mean, I get that you may not believe me when I say it. But there's some photographic proof for you, if you haven't noticed already.
Me, I'm only inviting ugly people to my wedding.
It must kind of suck to look at all the pictures of your wedding party, and have it be glaringly obvious that you are not the prettiest person in them.
I mean, I get that you may not believe me when I say it. But there's some photographic proof for you, if you haven't noticed already.
Me, I'm only inviting ugly people to my wedding.
20.2.14
Do you remember MSN Messenger?
My kids sure won't. Ain't that a trip.
Anyway, that got me thinking
Things sure were easier in those MSN days, eh?
And
I find it funny that it's been a decade, and yet, here I still am, bitching about your shit on my blog.
And
Ten years. We should really, really just stop kidding ourselves about all this stuff, and just fuck, or argue, or stop talking to eachother, or maybe all three at the same time.
As far as I can tell, I truly, truly dislike you with a passion I can really only feel for things that are dear to me. I dislike the choices you've made in your life, and I dislike who you've become. I disliked who you were. I dislike everyone and everything you find appealing and chose to associate with you. I dislike that you are somehow still in my life instead of off fucking the Pope or snorting lines with the spoiled children of famous people or dead behind a dumpster or doing whatever else we both thought you'd be doing right now. Like, what the fuck, dude.
Similarly, I think you dislike me, and who I've become, and what I represent to you. I think you are more than fine being far, far in the past, but think you need to still be around because you are guilty about how things turned out for us and your massive fucking part in that.
So, on the off chance that you can still read minds and can hear me thinking this shit, let me lay out what I think should happen next here:
You need to realize that while I really could not give two fucks about what happened with us anymore, all that has shown me that you are not a friend. You are not a lover. You are nothing but a parasite, who feeds on the stability and happiness around you. I do not resent you, or hate you, but I do dislike you, and pity you, and want nothing to do with whatever fucking mess you're making right now.
You should take your fake, feeble personality, and your equally deplorable life, and keep it from intertwining with mine ever again.
This post easily could have been something else. Oh well. Sometimes all this is is a sounding board.
Anyway
Lindsay,
I cannot reply to your post at this particular moment without kind of being a dick or at least more blunt than required with my opinions. It is the mood I'm in, and as you know, things are usually pretty fucking black and white to me when it comes to other people, even ones who I should not perhaps be giving romance advice to.
If you were here, I think I would give you a book. It's an annotation to a theological textbook called Dancing With Siva, which I picked up the last time I visited the Kauai Aadheenam Hindu monastery in Hawaii. The textbook itself is by the monastic head, but the annotations are by a fellow named Acharya Kumarnathaswami, who is possibly the wisest person I have ever personally had the fortune to talk to. They are good to think on.
Instead, I think maybe I'll just leave you with this little koan, which is from an equally interesting and silly religion:
In olden days in Japan, bamboo and paper lanterns with candles inside them were used as portable light. A blind man, visiting a friend one night, was offered a lantern to carry home with him.
"I do not need a lantern," he said. "Darkness or light is all the same to me."
"I know you do not need a lantern to find your way home," his friend replied, "but if you don't have one, someone else may run into you in the dark. Please, you must take it."
The blind man left for home with the lantern, and before he had gotten very far, someone ran straight into him. "Look where you are going!" he cried to the stranger. "Can't you see this lantern?"
"Your candle has burned out, brother," replied the stranger.
There are no koans about love, because Buddhism is exclusively introspective and aloof, but I feel it says what I'd have to say pretty darn well compared to the other little tales I can clearly remember.
I think I will go sleep. Thinking about this sort of stuff, I just realized that in a month, I cannot go back to the monastery ever again. While I don't think I ever really would have, I've always wanted to be a monk, and this makes me sad.
As another koan puts it:
The Student asked “How does an enligthtened one return to the ordinary world?”
The Master replied, “A broken mirror never reflects again; fallen flowers never go back to the old branches.”
My kids sure won't. Ain't that a trip.
Anyway, that got me thinking
Things sure were easier in those MSN days, eh?
And
I find it funny that it's been a decade, and yet, here I still am, bitching about your shit on my blog.
And
Ten years. We should really, really just stop kidding ourselves about all this stuff, and just fuck, or argue, or stop talking to eachother, or maybe all three at the same time.
As far as I can tell, I truly, truly dislike you with a passion I can really only feel for things that are dear to me. I dislike the choices you've made in your life, and I dislike who you've become. I disliked who you were. I dislike everyone and everything you find appealing and chose to associate with you. I dislike that you are somehow still in my life instead of off fucking the Pope or snorting lines with the spoiled children of famous people or dead behind a dumpster or doing whatever else we both thought you'd be doing right now. Like, what the fuck, dude.
Similarly, I think you dislike me, and who I've become, and what I represent to you. I think you are more than fine being far, far in the past, but think you need to still be around because you are guilty about how things turned out for us and your massive fucking part in that.
So, on the off chance that you can still read minds and can hear me thinking this shit, let me lay out what I think should happen next here:
You need to realize that while I really could not give two fucks about what happened with us anymore, all that has shown me that you are not a friend. You are not a lover. You are nothing but a parasite, who feeds on the stability and happiness around you. I do not resent you, or hate you, but I do dislike you, and pity you, and want nothing to do with whatever fucking mess you're making right now.
You should take your fake, feeble personality, and your equally deplorable life, and keep it from intertwining with mine ever again.
This post easily could have been something else. Oh well. Sometimes all this is is a sounding board.
Anyway
Lindsay,
I cannot reply to your post at this particular moment without kind of being a dick or at least more blunt than required with my opinions. It is the mood I'm in, and as you know, things are usually pretty fucking black and white to me when it comes to other people, even ones who I should not perhaps be giving romance advice to.
If you were here, I think I would give you a book. It's an annotation to a theological textbook called Dancing With Siva, which I picked up the last time I visited the Kauai Aadheenam Hindu monastery in Hawaii. The textbook itself is by the monastic head, but the annotations are by a fellow named Acharya Kumarnathaswami, who is possibly the wisest person I have ever personally had the fortune to talk to. They are good to think on.
Instead, I think maybe I'll just leave you with this little koan, which is from an equally interesting and silly religion:
In olden days in Japan, bamboo and paper lanterns with candles inside them were used as portable light. A blind man, visiting a friend one night, was offered a lantern to carry home with him.
"I do not need a lantern," he said. "Darkness or light is all the same to me."
"I know you do not need a lantern to find your way home," his friend replied, "but if you don't have one, someone else may run into you in the dark. Please, you must take it."
The blind man left for home with the lantern, and before he had gotten very far, someone ran straight into him. "Look where you are going!" he cried to the stranger. "Can't you see this lantern?"
"Your candle has burned out, brother," replied the stranger.
There are no koans about love, because Buddhism is exclusively introspective and aloof, but I feel it says what I'd have to say pretty darn well compared to the other little tales I can clearly remember.
I think I will go sleep. Thinking about this sort of stuff, I just realized that in a month, I cannot go back to the monastery ever again. While I don't think I ever really would have, I've always wanted to be a monk, and this makes me sad.
As another koan puts it:
The Student asked “How does an enligthtened one return to the ordinary world?”
The Master replied, “A broken mirror never reflects again; fallen flowers never go back to the old branches.”
16.2.14
I'm not pro or anti abortion.
I do think, however that if
1. You've chosen to sleep with me
2. You've chosen not to use protection
3. You've then gotten pregnant
that it would appear that all of those things were your choices as well. Why would you punish someone else because you are unhappy with the outcome of those choices? If anything, at least were it to involve me in any way, because obviously this would not apply to rape or things like that, it was your irresponsibility that got you into this mess in the first place, and just getting rid of the problem is the wrong way to fix your mess.
Similarly, sure, it's your body, but any kid in there would be equal parts yours and mine, not to mention "his own" as well. The minute you decided to allow me into your body was the minute you kind of forfeited the right to make decisions for all three of us. Justifying abortion with the "it's my body and I can do what I want" argument is disgusting. If my body is horny and needs a little lovin, is it within my right to force you to have sex with it? Not really, because that's now involving your body. I have no interest in arguing about fetal sentience, but the simple fact is that while it might be IN your body, that freaky little alien thing growing in there is actually someone else and that is "their body", not yours. How is it in your right to singlehandedly decide what to do with that other person's body any more than it's my right to do the same? Everything leading up to getting pregnant can certainly have the "my body" argument applied to it - that's most definitely all your choice. What happens to your kid affects people besides yourself just as greatly, thus, kind of seems like maybe I should have a say in things too.
There's obvious exceptions to all that, of course. If you aren't willingly pregnant (different from accidentally pregnant), then it's probably best for everyone if you abort. If the father has no interest in helping to support you while your pregnant and being there with you while you figure out what you're going to do, then he probably does not deserve much say as to what happens next.
I think there is certainly place for it, and that even abortion for convenience isn't nessecarily morally wrong. I do however think that the majority of the time, though, it's pretty disgusting and irresponsible, because the obvious way to deal with an inconvenient pregnancy would logically be to not place yourself in situations where it's likely you'll get pregnant, and not making a pile of excuses if it does happen. Guys need to realize that this is their job too, as they are equally responsible for any child that results, regardless of what the woman says or the guy would like to think. It is not hard to avoid being pregnant - I don't think I've used a condom everIt is surely a sign of advanced civilization that we are in a position where these choices are even an option, but frankly I'm really, really more and more appalled at the whole "Brave New World" attitude towards this type of thing.
I would not say "don't do it!", but maybe put a little more thought into what your doing and why you are where you are before you do.
I'm glad I will likely never date a girl with whom any of this is an issue with every again.
I do think, however that if
1. You've chosen to sleep with me
2. You've chosen not to use protection
3. You've then gotten pregnant
that it would appear that all of those things were your choices as well. Why would you punish someone else because you are unhappy with the outcome of those choices? If anything, at least were it to involve me in any way, because obviously this would not apply to rape or things like that, it was your irresponsibility that got you into this mess in the first place, and just getting rid of the problem is the wrong way to fix your mess.
Similarly, sure, it's your body, but any kid in there would be equal parts yours and mine, not to mention "his own" as well. The minute you decided to allow me into your body was the minute you kind of forfeited the right to make decisions for all three of us. Justifying abortion with the "it's my body and I can do what I want" argument is disgusting. If my body is horny and needs a little lovin, is it within my right to force you to have sex with it? Not really, because that's now involving your body. I have no interest in arguing about fetal sentience, but the simple fact is that while it might be IN your body, that freaky little alien thing growing in there is actually someone else and that is "their body", not yours. How is it in your right to singlehandedly decide what to do with that other person's body any more than it's my right to do the same? Everything leading up to getting pregnant can certainly have the "my body" argument applied to it - that's most definitely all your choice. What happens to your kid affects people besides yourself just as greatly, thus, kind of seems like maybe I should have a say in things too.
There's obvious exceptions to all that, of course. If you aren't willingly pregnant (different from accidentally pregnant), then it's probably best for everyone if you abort. If the father has no interest in helping to support you while your pregnant and being there with you while you figure out what you're going to do, then he probably does not deserve much say as to what happens next.
I think there is certainly place for it, and that even abortion for convenience isn't nessecarily morally wrong. I do however think that the majority of the time, though, it's pretty disgusting and irresponsible, because the obvious way to deal with an inconvenient pregnancy would logically be to not place yourself in situations where it's likely you'll get pregnant, and not making a pile of excuses if it does happen. Guys need to realize that this is their job too, as they are equally responsible for any child that results, regardless of what the woman says or the guy would like to think. It is not hard to avoid being pregnant - I don't think I've used a condom everIt is surely a sign of advanced civilization that we are in a position where these choices are even an option, but frankly I'm really, really more and more appalled at the whole "Brave New World" attitude towards this type of thing.
I would not say "don't do it!", but maybe put a little more thought into what your doing and why you are where you are before you do.
I'm glad I will likely never date a girl with whom any of this is an issue with every again.
13.2.14
10.2.14
Hi Simon,
I just wanted to say
I'm sorry I got mad at you all the time and said I was tired of having cats. You were just overly affectionate and it can be annoying to be trying to play a game, and have you plop down on my lap looking for belly rubs right when I'm in the middle of some kind of climatic event.
I'm sorry I didn't love you up as much as the bear.
I'm sorry I didn't fix the back door so it would close properly. In my defense, it turns out it's so broken now that it won't close even after it's fixed. Anyway, I'm sorry it allowed that big, asshat of a stray cat to get into our house, and attack you and bear.
I'm sorry your Mom and I lingered at my parents for just a bit too long and missed that whole show.
I'm sorry we never let you out before. Maybe you'd know what to do if you weren't such an inside cat.
I'm really sorry I couldn't find you. I looked EVERYWHERE little bud, but you're just such a quick kitty and such a good hider than I just couldn't find you. Sure annoyed all the neighbours around though, chasing paw prints through their backyards and under their sheds.
I hope that Lisa is right and you'll come back, even though I know she isn't. You aren't clever enough to find your way home from too far away, and no matter which prints were yours, it took me six hours to follow them all, and they all went really, really far away.
I hope if you are ok right now, that you know to find somewhere warm and stay hidden when it gets darker out. I hope that you can stop yourself from being such a loving, friendly little guy when you hear the coyotes in the ravine calling tonight.
I hope you feel safe and excited about this new adventure, and not scared and alone, and that if you die, you just go to sleep knowing that you were and are part of my little family, and that we all love you and miss you. I've never had a pet I've loved as much as I love you and Bear.
It's too cold for me to wait outside for you anymore, so if you do come back, please meow and make your Simon noises. My window is open, and Little Bear has been sitting by the back door ever since you left. One of us will hear you and let you in, I promise.
If you don't, then I am really, really sorry. I was supposed to look after you and take care of you and make sure you have a happy, love-filled life, and I failed you horribly.
Steve
I just wanted to say
I'm sorry I got mad at you all the time and said I was tired of having cats. You were just overly affectionate and it can be annoying to be trying to play a game, and have you plop down on my lap looking for belly rubs right when I'm in the middle of some kind of climatic event.
I'm sorry I didn't love you up as much as the bear.
I'm sorry I didn't fix the back door so it would close properly. In my defense, it turns out it's so broken now that it won't close even after it's fixed. Anyway, I'm sorry it allowed that big, asshat of a stray cat to get into our house, and attack you and bear.
I'm sorry your Mom and I lingered at my parents for just a bit too long and missed that whole show.
I'm sorry we never let you out before. Maybe you'd know what to do if you weren't such an inside cat.
I'm really sorry I couldn't find you. I looked EVERYWHERE little bud, but you're just such a quick kitty and such a good hider than I just couldn't find you. Sure annoyed all the neighbours around though, chasing paw prints through their backyards and under their sheds.
I hope that Lisa is right and you'll come back, even though I know she isn't. You aren't clever enough to find your way home from too far away, and no matter which prints were yours, it took me six hours to follow them all, and they all went really, really far away.
I hope if you are ok right now, that you know to find somewhere warm and stay hidden when it gets darker out. I hope that you can stop yourself from being such a loving, friendly little guy when you hear the coyotes in the ravine calling tonight.
I hope you feel safe and excited about this new adventure, and not scared and alone, and that if you die, you just go to sleep knowing that you were and are part of my little family, and that we all love you and miss you. I've never had a pet I've loved as much as I love you and Bear.
It's too cold for me to wait outside for you anymore, so if you do come back, please meow and make your Simon noises. My window is open, and Little Bear has been sitting by the back door ever since you left. One of us will hear you and let you in, I promise.
If you don't, then I am really, really sorry. I was supposed to look after you and take care of you and make sure you have a happy, love-filled life, and I failed you horribly.
Steve
6.2.14
My dad copied his music library for me. He generally has pretty good music.
I stumbled opon this while reading a book and reclining on the couch.
I'm pretty sure it's by the guy who played chef on South Park.
My first thought was that I don't want to think too hard as to why this is in my Dad's library. My second thought was "Who's the cool cat who's gonna get Miss Kimmy AAALLLLL up on his Jimmy?"
My third was "He's a complicated Jew, and no one understands him but his mother... cause he's a bad mother!"
My fourth was "My, Shaft has been knocked off a lot."
Nitz!
Anyway, obviously this is what I'm going to listen to on my way to work tomorrow.
The 70s had some weird music in general. I mean, I'd get it if the times were more like how they are portrayed on TV, with everyone being fucking stoned out of their minds at all times, but otherwise, what the hell 1970s?
How can you like this much cowbell all the goddamn time without being just fucking ruined?
And like, what is this all about now?
Lyrics:
In the white room with black curtains near the station.
Black-roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings.
Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawn-light smiles on you leaving, my contentment.
I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.
You said no strings could secure you at the station.
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows.
I walked into such a sad time at the station.
As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.
I'll wait in the queue when the trains come back;
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves.
At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd.
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten.
Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes.
She's just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings.
I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.
Like. Never in my life, acid or shrooms or anything like that, been fucked up enough to understand those words. And I understand all kinds of things that aren't even supposed to make sense when I'm on acid. It's catchy enough, but gads.
I stumbled opon this while reading a book and reclining on the couch.
I'm pretty sure it's by the guy who played chef on South Park.
My first thought was that I don't want to think too hard as to why this is in my Dad's library. My second thought was "Who's the cool cat who's gonna get Miss Kimmy AAALLLLL up on his Jimmy?"
My third was "He's a complicated Jew, and no one understands him but his mother... cause he's a bad mother!"
My fourth was "My, Shaft has been knocked off a lot."
Nitz!
Anyway, obviously this is what I'm going to listen to on my way to work tomorrow.
The 70s had some weird music in general. I mean, I'd get it if the times were more like how they are portrayed on TV, with everyone being fucking stoned out of their minds at all times, but otherwise, what the hell 1970s?
How can you like this much cowbell all the goddamn time without being just fucking ruined?
And like, what is this all about now?
Lyrics:
In the white room with black curtains near the station.
Black-roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings.
Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawn-light smiles on you leaving, my contentment.
I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.
You said no strings could secure you at the station.
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows.
I walked into such a sad time at the station.
As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.
I'll wait in the queue when the trains come back;
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves.
At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd.
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten.
Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes.
She's just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings.
I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.
Like. Never in my life, acid or shrooms or anything like that, been fucked up enough to understand those words. And I understand all kinds of things that aren't even supposed to make sense when I'm on acid. It's catchy enough, but gads.
You can click on it to make it bigger
So, I think my little point about the internet has been well proven.
About two weeks ago, I started up two blogs on the anonymous blogging site. Don't bother looking for them, they are now gone as they have served their purposes and were both unbearingly dull, and maybe a little embarassing.
On one blog, I basically copied and pasted very informative articles and interesting information about things in general, and did not talk at all about my personal life. I actively commented on multiple blogs, became a follower to as many people as possible, and generally tried to put myself out there as much as possible. I posted at least three or four posts a day, ensuring I had good coverage of the front page.
On the other blog, I did something far more entertaining, and far less potentially criminal than it sounds: I pretended to be a 15 year old girl. I posted nothing of any real substance, but instead kept my posts grammatically mediocre, related to a boy and some bitches and things along those lines, and posted about twice a day, with one post consisting of a short little blurb, and the other of a long bitch session about how this guy wouldn't like me, or that girl is such a whore, or what have you. Really, this was quite easy as I just had to read a few of the other blogs on the site to get in the proper mindset. I did not comment elsewhere and favorited only a few "similar souls".
As I kind of figured but had hoped against, after these two weeks, my more intelligent and interesting blog has no comments and seven follows for 38 posts.
For my 20 post effort, the last being written today and stating something to the effect of I would no longer be blogging because it interfered with me cutting myself, I got the above picture.
I wonder what the inventors of the internet would say if they could see this.
2.2.14
I had something all different written out.
Then I got to looking at some old pictures, and instead decided to inform you that should I ever become an author, this picture:
of me getting drunk in the Goodwill Hunting cabin while reading Stephen King's desperation is what should go on the back of the book.
I also saw this picture:
Which was taken, I believe, during the excellent summer of 2010. And it got me thinking that
Logan was right, the pizza girl had both an annoying laugh, and was hitting on me something fierce. And I have no idea why. I don't even REMEMBER looking as in shape as I do in the above pic - I remember myself as always being pudgy. And while I apparently looked decent enough back then, I'm kind of bulbous now, no if and or buts, and don't really see why some random girl who is not wholly unattractive would decide there's something appealing about a bikerbearded fat dude. The logical assumption is that she was looking for a bigger tip, but frankly, she was not THAT pretty either, and it seems unlikely that angle would work on everyone.
Anyway. I think I'd like to get into a little bit better shape. Not because of the pizza girl or because I feel too out of shape (though I am), but because I didn't realize how unpleasantly different I look now than I did back in the day.
Should be fun.
Then I saw THESE pictures, and I realized that
1. I don't miss drinking all the time all THAT much when I really stop to think about it.
2. There are a frightening number of pictures of me in various girlfriend's clothes out there, despite the fact that it's not really a fetish for me, and that I find I'm unable to remember why that seems to be the case.
Yessir.
Then I got to looking at some old pictures, and instead decided to inform you that should I ever become an author, this picture:
of me getting drunk in the Goodwill Hunting cabin while reading Stephen King's desperation is what should go on the back of the book.
I also saw this picture:
Which was taken, I believe, during the excellent summer of 2010. And it got me thinking that
Logan was right, the pizza girl had both an annoying laugh, and was hitting on me something fierce. And I have no idea why. I don't even REMEMBER looking as in shape as I do in the above pic - I remember myself as always being pudgy. And while I apparently looked decent enough back then, I'm kind of bulbous now, no if and or buts, and don't really see why some random girl who is not wholly unattractive would decide there's something appealing about a bikerbearded fat dude. The logical assumption is that she was looking for a bigger tip, but frankly, she was not THAT pretty either, and it seems unlikely that angle would work on everyone.
Anyway. I think I'd like to get into a little bit better shape. Not because of the pizza girl or because I feel too out of shape (though I am), but because I didn't realize how unpleasantly different I look now than I did back in the day.
Should be fun.
Then I saw THESE pictures, and I realized that
1. I don't miss drinking all the time all THAT much when I really stop to think about it.
2. There are a frightening number of pictures of me in various girlfriend's clothes out there, despite the fact that it's not really a fetish for me, and that I find I'm unable to remember why that seems to be the case.
Yessir.
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