human unification

some teilhard de chardin notes from his short, apparently 'famous' (stupid cover hype) essay, on human unification.

quick other note, buffy the vampire slayer is just as cornily satisfying today as when i was 12.

this piece was suggesting that humans are inevitably moving towards a unified existance. firstly, in the quite obvious sense that we are taking up more and more physical space on the earth. secondly, toward a spiritual unity. though this is an inevitable process according to de Chardin, we must accept it and look with hope toward the great possibilities it presents for the human race. as always, with de Chardin, this entire concept is entirely dependant upon faith. and, as always, its hard for me to source that faith appropriately; it is much easier for de Chardin, who loves Jesus very much. anyway, the faith part seemed to be referring to the concept that this unity was something predicated by nature, predicated by God. it is natural for us to coalesce and become more complex as a species in the same way that nature becomes more complex. intelligent design, sigh, forever a wrench in the cogs. despite the reliance on this assumption, the theory is very interesting. i particularly enjoy the way it suggests an appreciation and envy of the complexity of nature; we should desire such a complexity, but more importantly harmony, in humanity as a whole. the essay, while short, seems to point towards further developed empathetic capabilities and connections between humans.

as an aside, this raised some interesting questions about people i care about and their perspectives. hopefully i remember those questions and/or points of discussion. i should also do some more de Chardin reading.

dude, don't forget these words

Words That Don’t Exist in the English Language

Gigil: (Filipino) The urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute.

Culacino: (Italian) The mark left on a table by a cold glass.

Sgriob: (Gaelic) The itchiness that overcomes the upper lip just before taking a sip of whisky

L’esprit d’escalier: (French) The feeling you get after leaving a conversation, when you think of all the things you should have said. Translated it means “the spirit of the staircase.”

Pari-pari and Saku-saku: (Japanese) Hard-crispy verses Soft-crispy, i.e. a rice cracker versus fried chicken

Stam: (Hebrew) An agreement out of amusement and frustration that something doesn’t have a satisfactory answer among those talking.

Forelsket: (Norweigen) The euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love.

Manja: (Malay) A characteristic or action for affectionate and pampered/being pampered.

Dupey: (pronouced Duh-Up-Pee; Jamaican Patwa) A bothersome ghost or apparition.

Waldeinsamkeit: (German) The feeling of being alone in the woods.

Meraki: (Greek) Doing something with soul, creativity, or love.

Pochemuchka: (Russian) A person who asks a lot of questions.

Pena ajena: (Mexican Spanish) The embarrassment you feel watching someone else’s humiliation.

Ilunga: (Tshiluba, Congo) A person who is ready to forgive any abuse for the first time, to tolerate it a second time, but never a third time.

Tsundere: (Japanese) A person who is initially cold and even hostile towards another person before gradually showing their warm side over time.

Yandere: (Japanese) A person who is initially very loving and gentle to someone before their devotion becomes destructive in nature, often through violence.

its almost that time...

new years resolutions.

they are pretty fucking stupid. i say, if you have to wait until some socially predetermined date to examine your life and decide if you are unhappy with parts of it, you're a nit. obviously, critical examination of yourself is great. just don't wait around to do it.

in any case, i seem to do it every month and get all bummed out. since i no longer have a mustache, i feel as though this is the perfect time to re-examine my goals for the semester and see how i've done. i already know it's not gonna be pretty.

sigh. well, i did get SOME volunteer hours in at the ecology lab, but not enough. i don't have a coop job for the winter. i didn't exercise as much as i wanted to. i didn't read enough. i didn't write enough songs. i didn't write enough. i didn't keep in touch enough. i didn't go back to st catharines, fuck.

yikes, that was depressing. uh, i need some positives now so i don't cry.

i... made lots of new friends! yay! i made a special friend! yay! er... i... did everyone's dishes all semester? fuck. i got nothing else. surely some awesome stuff happened. awesome fun stuff. as far as self improvement goes... fuck once more.

some rough lyrics

Call it what you will
I can't think without the pills
I die a little too fast
fall asleep on the floor at last

I left notes in all your sweaters
just in case you're under the weather
I left notes in all your sweaters
your sister said you'd never get em

a bird in hand,
struggles less than a flock in a cage,
whistled to my horse to hit the sand,
just to try and get behind your face,

I returned all your cassettes,
turned to leave your cheeks were wet,
I returned all your cassettes,
your sister said we'd never met

Meditations on Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Pt. 1

Pirsig contends that classicism and romanticism are dichotomous. As a preface to my questioning of this, I'll admit that I'm probably splitting hairs; the dichotomy serves his end in the book. My issue, however, lies in the fact that both of these paradigms admitted facets of the other as useful. Romantics didn't entirely dismiss the notion of the world as ordered and controlled, they simply placed higher value on a more imaginative interpretation of the world. I'm certain aspects of romanticism were functional in classicism in some way also.

When I think further on the subject, it becomes clear that my issue might actually be with the two characters in the book that represent these different views. The author and his son-in-law John seem too diametrically opposed at some points. It simply seems to me that they are very one dimensional in their mental approaches, but I grant that I'm only 100 pages into the book. My irritation with this might also be caused by some naivety; certainly, there are many people in the world who think very restrictively. Using not one track mind to arrive, but always choosing the same vehicle (a motorcycle? :S blegh).

Other than that entirely useless gripe, I've enjoyed the book so far. Some interesting mind doodles on sense of place, personal relationships, stubbornness, and technology. Now, I should probably read some school related material instead.

of Love

When love beckons to you, follow him

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes yout o make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at darn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstacy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Kahlil Gibrahn

what's the buzz

oh neglected blog, do you pine for my attention like her neck for his lips, or do you regard my inconstant affection with distaste?

you are not alive, so deal with it sissy.

~

job interview season is drawing to a close; i've been interviewd by environment canada for a migratory bird conservation position in london and have an interview on thursday for an ecology lab position right here in waterloo. ideally, i'll just stay in waterloo and build some skills and knowledge in a more useful way. i fully envision myself being a lil sissy bitch on the london team, and the interviewer intimated as much by saying i'd be doing some filing. seriously... if you're gonna hire someone to do filing, just don't hire someone, smh.

~

i wish i had mel gibson's powers from what women want. yea, i know it drove him crazy until he hated jews... but i can handle it. chicks tell me things i shouldn't know anyway, like how they're getting laser hair removal and so forth.

~

i've started writing music at a more respectable pace again. i'm not sure what the motivation is in particular, but i'm pleased it's happening. so far i've got a little waltz that i enjoy and a sad giraffe falling down a staircase. unfortunately, the sad giraffe is one that i have written similar melodies to in the past, so i may put it down. perhaps i'll let it fall down the stairs to the bottom and then set it aside once it's legs are broken.

~

on repeat this week: genesis - that's all, feist - gatekeeper, usher - OMG, kanye - graduation (cannot wait to get my hands on his new album)

christmas list

i'm usually never excited for christmas presents, but i thought i might kick it old school and try to work up some holiday excitement. none of the gifts are terrible (consumption wise), mostly books! yay!

- Alan Moore's V for Vendetta

- Alan Moore's Swamp Thing Hardcover Collection

- All four Rhys Cooper Ninja Turtles Posters from the 160 printed for the Alamo screening of the first Ninja Turtles film. yea i like the turtles, feck off. plus, these are sweet: http://thesplitfountain.blogspot.com/2010/03/teenage-ninja-turtles-by-rhys-cooper.html

- Mirage Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Series 1: #22. cuz i have the urgent desire to get a poster made of the cover art. it's phenominal, i mean come on, look at this: http://www.thetechnodrome.com/comics/mirage_vol_1/mirage_vol_1_22.jpg

- Free Darko's The Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball History

- Bill Simmons' The Book of Basketball (Paperback)

- Rachel Carson's Silent Spring

welp, i guess that's really all for now. mayhap i'll update this later.

the ambiguity of language

one of the readings for my rhetoric course this week was a piece by john locke discussing the difficulties of communication. he rails against the arbitrary nature of words, the way we can use the same word to refer to different concepts etc etc. in short, he complains about the complexity of language.

what a stodgy, stale, old fart. my favourite thing about language is its ambiguities. the myriad of meanings for a single word are simply fun to play with. certainly, there is a need for plain speech and accurate terminology if you are trying to communicate a logical concept to someone; however, i've found that playing with words often communicates something in a different way. perhaps it's pleasure, or amusement, or fascination, but a phrase like "screaming trees" or "cascading cacophony" or "teeth ground to dust" or any other given example is simply more interesting to me.

friscolate. abrogate. circumnavigate. relegate. innervate. collate. dictate. sedate. ornate.

i love you all the same

i give myself heat sometimes for not having that many close friends, or at least for not staying in touch with those friends as well as i should. really, i think it's a reflection of how i interact with people in general. i am generally as caring with someone i've known for five minutes as i am with my oldest friend. that's not to demean that old friend, but if i know and like you, you are entitled to all the care and help i would give any of my friends. unless you become a nuisance or are generally annoying. then i probably don't give a shit.

amorphous notes to self

gots ta change my study patterns. second half of the semester will feature: read before lecture, write down things in class that are NOT contained in the lecture slides, review lecture slides at home and craft summaries on paper, use summaries for study purposes and only reference slides as necessary from there on in. in fact, just keep the few key slides that are necessary for referencing and throw them all into one huge powerpoint file. that way there is less file access going on, and its just way more sample dammit.

~

self confidence is not at an all time high right now. this is unacceptable. must strategize how to regain swag. step one: get rid of hideous mustache and beard (already accomplished). step two: ... fuck, i got nothin for now.

~

hey there, yea.. you beside me in the computer lab. come around here often? oh, right.. i see you every day almost. well, i'm embarrassed now. sorry about this. goodbye.

what to do

firstly, i'd like to go take some pictures. forced perspective seems to be all the rage, let's brainstorm some ideas: me holding up a t-shirt and a clothespin to a powerline; a windmill blowing away the petals from a dandelion. this one is extravagant so it requires it's own sentence; i'll take an acorn and carve a tiny door or something into it and then put that in the foreground while i am tiny and approaching said door with flowers or some such business in the background. another good one would be forced perspective with action figures, perhaps a ninja turtle (my rockin leo ninja turtle with guitar) and then me jammin with him the distance.

~

i heard it's bad for your eyes if you look at a computer screen before you go to bed. i also just made that up, but it seems plausible.

~

OH, DUDE! a dinky car, and me with the keys or something hahaha yes! i have a batmobile, and probably a lambo or something fancy. that would be unreal.

~

i spent half of today practising feist's gatekeeper. so sultry. hopefully i can use it to woo me some pigeons.

WEEEEE

Dwell lazily at spots won in raw iris abandon.

Aloha! I lick commode robots. Must I see fan Nehru flush? Salsa video boys tug tubs. Sarcastic, I lose hair as I hem a tie. Madame, do bards, seldom aerobic, ire my lopsided, noble gym? Every task ropes a basalt as I sun on a senile, female, tardy, hot sire wolf’s tired robe. Rot! To bore roses, net a tundra hag, nostril fallen, evil. Draw no nets! A hot dog may age by bursting. Oh; dogs, aware of a live, natural, intense odor, engorge on a cat ego. Dogs’ sarcasm, idly rebred, limps, agile. Emit stark capons to bore vigor. I act. I golf. Feeble gnats–elongated until rats erupt–I burst, I rip: snacks, all! I partly rebel, a part lunatic at peeking. I, lame, wave. Do not doom; save sex in Laos. “Emus,” said Al Gore, “need erasure! Vile dodos! Panda bane, design in raw natron, I made us silos, ore–arid and loco! Stop DNA? No, Erfoud!” Live seed, spat on Ernie’s runaway roll or bun, signals nil. I hinder a ward. Emote, pop an Ephedra wad. Alas, a nut—a now otiose nut—tastes putrid! Piss upon a brutal foe! So, hero, will I tune my metal laser? It was in! Is Salem an ellipse? Lo, ma! Caught or free, bar again a bad liaison, Ezra, Gus. Tense, we draw no red. Now, a “peeking” is a sin, Alan. I know slang is drab, so I hone my Latin. I rob, allay old ire. Wait! I limp, sir. Can I sprawl labored on an anodyne dignitary? More hay? Not I. Am I too hot to hoot? I’m an unsure vessel. First, is God agnostic at all, a siren trap, a silly didactic ill? I nab mud, maiden nuts. Sue mimes a clan my hymn. (It is torrid and I rule liver worms.) Agronomic, I nap in a bin…embedded if nocturnal. I’m so symbolic a muse, Nola! Ogres are ogres, Selma. I, Tony; as I live on hair a pond eel bites, I sniff umbrage–but still a gut I rob. Alyssa got evil: a son, a clover emetic! Xena, mow a nacre veneer field. Arcade wires alter ruts. I held dirt; now I dine! Gag! I’d render every menu terse. Do I degauss a yam? No, I tar okra. Don, emir–Caesar–enamel banana caps! Nail a tie to me, radio valet. Oh–at Nero’s bar, garbage breeds a pope nil, nosey Ella. Keep sloops secret. See us sin on extra pistol ipecac. I bore. An ax is no sleepy, calm lab! Men even appall a sabred, insane metal Bosnia/Peru tussle era. Gall, irk, and stun, laser cadet, a noted smirk corps! Away! A paper ark, radar evocative, tips Boston: “Odd as Maine trams, I collate my metal loci. Smarten!” I am sad. Do not sob; spit! Evita, cover a dark, rare papaya wasp. Rock rims detonated acres, Al. Nuts, DNA, krill, agar, eels, suture pains, oblate men–a snider basal lap pan, even–embalm lacy peels on six anaerobic ace pilots. I, part xenon, issue ester cesspools. Peek! All eyes online pop as deer beg a bra grab. So rent a hotel. Avoid a remote Italian spa. Can an able man erase a crime no dark oration may assuage? Diodes retune my revered nerd. I gag. Enid, I won’t riddle his turret laser. I wed; a cradle I free. Never can a woman excite mere volcanos alive to gassy labor! I tug all its tube garb. Muffins I set; I bleed! No pariah, no evil: I say not, “I am lesser”! Go, eraser, go! A lone sumac I lob. My [SOS!] Milan rut confided, Deb,…men I ban! I panic: I’m on orgasm row! Revile lurid nadir rot! Sit in my hymnal case; mime us. Stunned, I am dumb; an illicit cad idyll is a partner. Is all a tacit song? A dog sits. Rifles sever us, nun. AM I too hot to hoot, Ima? I, Tony–a hero? My rating I deny. Don an anode, Rob. All warps in a crisp militia. We rid loyal labor in Italy, men. Ohio’s bard signals won kin!: Alan is a sign I keep a wonder. Onward, ewes! Net sugar…Zeno’s! I ail. Dab a Niagara beer froth, guacamole spill. Enamel as sin, I saw tires; all ate my menu till I wore hose. O flat urban opus, sip! Dirt upsets; attune. So, Ito won a tuna salad award, eh? Pen a pope tome. Draw a red nihil; in slang: I snub roll or yaw. A nurse in Reno taps Dee’s evil duo: Freon and pot! So, cold nadir aerosol issued a minor tan warning. Is Eden a bad nap? So DO deliver us! Are Dee, Nero glad? I assume so. Al nixes Eva’s mood to nod. Eva, we malign. I keep tacit an ultra-pale beryl trap. I’ll ask, “Can spirits rub it: pure starlit nude tag?” No, lest angel beef flog it, Cairo! Give robots no pack rat’s time. Eli, gasp!: milder beryl dims a crass god! O! Get a canoe. Grog, Nero, does net nil: a rut, an evil, a foe raw as god. Hog nits, Ruby, beg a yam god to hasten onward. Live, Nell, a flirt song, a hard nut, a tense, sore robot! To reborder its flower is to hydrate lame felines: an onus. Is Atlas a base pork satyr, Eve? My gel, bonded, is polymeric. (I bore a mod, less drab ode.) Madame, I tame his aria. He solicits a crass but gutsy oboe diva. Slash sulfur henna fees! It sums to boredom: mock cilia!

¡Hola! Nod; nab a sir, I warn. I now stop: Stay, Liz, all lewd.

moar fish, metaharmony, and other internet dating sites

this is ancient history now, but over over the summer i occasionally shared rides back to barrie with a 28 year old woman named Meaghan. she had started dating a guy through an internet dating site and i was very curious about the whole process. you browse photos and a one sentence blurb or something along those lines and then the site allows you further access to information that person has provided. there's intermediary steps like asking 10 questions and so forth until, eventually, you can start chatting.

what a fascinating way to skip the whole process of conversation. i'm not sure if that's a positive thing, but it seems like finding out someone is a radical christian right off the bat instead of after four dates is a great way to save time. religion is probably too obvious a point; anytime you can find out crucial information about someone that might turn you off immediately, without having to spend a lot of time with that person to get to that information, i say you do it.

that leads into another line of thought..

what would those profiles look like for college students. this isn't me, but here's what i envision.

male, 22, 6'2, brown hair (accompanied by photo). ((ok, i lied, physically that's me, but the rest will deviate))

hobbies: beer pong, the gym, call of duty, kraft dinner making, chirping, wheeling, drinking excessively.

reading that, i can't help but pity girls. i'm not saying the opposite profile would be any better, but that just sounds like the most uninteresting guy of all time. strangely, those guys have girlfriends.. i guess standards aren't what they used to be. or, society isn't what it used to be.

in summation, get a life people, or your "resume" will look like shit.

animal taming and other folly

doubt is a powerful beast. but, know that you are strong enough to best it. wrestle with it if you must, but ensure that you emerge the victor.

(play this music while you repeat the above mantra to yourself, http://www.maddecent.com/blog/blood-bros-first-blood)

~

for halloween i'm in discussions to represent a group of seventies disco singers called "The Whispers;" notorious for their smash hit "And the Beat Goes On" and even more notorious for moving my butt, the whispers dress like they should, have impressive facial hair, and enough dance moves (i think i saw a precursor to the robot) to satisfy all your desires.

now, i've been working on this dance, and i'm pretty sure i have it down so far. a bunch of back heel crossovers, a dip here or there, some shimmy shakin', sassily placing one hand on the hip and so on. ain't nothin'.

~

the quandary with the aforementioned solution to doubt is that sometimes in life we don't know exactly what we're doing. like when you slip notes into the lockers of girls you don't even really know. you can doubt those things all you want, but it's more fun to just go along for the ride. things always turn out well in the end; they might go really shitty for a while, but that's often easy to change.

~

i remember dave, i think, telling me about how if babies are born with extra fingers the doctors will tie a string around it and tighten it off. or something. anyway, that's what i'm going with. for whatever reason that really struck me as bizarre, so i tried to write a song about it. in this case it's from the perspective of a man talking to that finger, and explaining what's been going on since it "tied off." i'm kinda writing from a jack whitean style, but perhaps with not the same mythology. the song structure is like a good acoustic rock ramble. again, sharing blood with jack white, that is to say "in the vein of" the white stripes.

little string finger, when you tied off

well we left you there to poke around for truth,

from that fickle, thin singer hollering abuse,

sitting lonely on a stool,

but everyone in the room had taken to fighting,

so he poured them all a glass of champagne,

her whisper crackled in his ear like lightning,

but he caught her smirk in the windowpane.

little string finger, since you tied off

well i got a little long in the tooth,

and my wrinkled wings tremble at the thought

of flying up to whisper to the moon.

everything i thought i knew i have forgotten,

you never would have listened anyway,

all the apple trees begin to rot and

so you left without saying

goodbye

well, i just wrote the last verse now, so i have to go back and change the song tomorrow, the ending will be a little different now. i do so love a good ending, maybe some harmonized goodbye singin'. yee haw. nah, i do that too often. i'll find something else tomorrow.

weaksauce brosauce

i don't really know if i have ever encountered so much bro at once. brotal broverload. my head is spinning right now. i feel like the only things i can say to express myself are "you're fuckin dust," "KOBE," and so forth. mostly though, i'm just hungry. if some total stranger strolled through the front door and whipped up a grilled cheese, I would not even question who they were.

a well lit corner

that was TOTALLY unnecessary for you to make me dream about, subconscious. damn you.

in dreams, houses have all the tiny perfect spaces they really should have. places where the light glows orange and pink around bricks. places where you have to squint, or cover one eye to make out her face. places where, despite there being no windows in the brick, people inside the house can see you kiss? wtf. now you made it weird subconscious, why is that guy inside watching? why did he tell me i should go to the front yard to move an xbox so it doesn't get stolen? I'M FRIGGIN BUSY! damnit, now i'm not kissing anymore. dream effectively ruined, or at least spoiled. it's ok, that chick wouldn't kiss me regardless.

thinking in tongues

the longest day of school has passed. 8 to 8. after a while, the brain seemed to slide into cruise control. the pilot didn't have his feet up though, it was as though i was trying to make sure my non-existent copilot thought i was still awake. he would not have been convinced.

this weekend is crucial. i need to take advantage of the time to get everything in order, start some projects, send some emails, have some me time.

wake at 8, put on suit, tighten tie, eat oatmeal, get on bus, hi to secretary, turn on screen, type till noon, lunch till 1, meetings at 3, home by 6, turn on stove, put on trackers, consume food, brush teeth, wash face, moisturize, write, sleep.

~

everyone's very caught up in relationship issues. i don't think i've ever been less worried about those issues. just cruisin'. on big wheels? hahaha. you know, just riding down the street on those old big wheel tricycles. chain swangin' low.

followers

dear followers,

you are both seemingly literate.

i cannot claim as much.

you may have noticed that i disregard capitalization always, grammar sometimes, and common sense sometimes if not always.

please, do not be angry.

i'm no retard.

it's just a blog, so i don't tend to put as much effort into those things as i would for Principles and Practice of Rhetoric, for example.

on a lighter note, welcome!

i feel like a loser for writing something specifically because i now know that two people might occasionally read something here.

note to self, censor all further postings.

wtf

a salmon bone comb is the ultimate status symbol. easily fashioned, this luxury grooming tool consists of ultra fine salmon bones taken from a fine fish and held together through bone fusion.

doctor: "bone fusion, it's a simple procedure gentlemen... i guarantee it is both sanitary and satisfactory."

~

in the future our children will laugh at us for combing our beards. "fools," they will say, "the internet combs our beards now." further into the future, the internet will BE our beards. software updates will trim and style facial hair for us. Kyle's beard is the internet for now.

~

sherms. the female hermaphrodite. typically, this individual retains both sets of genitalia, but has chosen to self-identify as a female. Jesus was the original sherm. I am a sherm (shamefully intoned). if you seek a sherm (f-u-c-k sherm), they can be found in the seedy gooch of your city. the underworld, that is to say.

ex-basketball player by john updike

Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,

Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off

Before it has a chance to go two blocks,

At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth’s Garage

Is on the corner facing west, and there,

Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.

Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps—

Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,

Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low.

One’s nostrils are two S’s, and his eyes

An E and O. And one is squat, without

A head at all—more of a football type.

Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards.

He was good: in fact, the best. In ’46

He bucketed three hundred ninety points,

A county record still. The ball loved Flick.

I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty

In one home game. His hands were like wild birds.

He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,

Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while,

As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,

But most of us remember anyway.

His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench.

It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though.

Off work, he hangs around Mae’s Luncheonette.

Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball,

Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates.

Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods

Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers

Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.

lurv

"the world had been so cheerless! my heart was a habitation large enough for many guests, but lonely and chill, and without a household fire. I longed to kindle one! It seemed not so wild a dream,- old as i was, and sombre as i was, and misshapen as i was,-that the simple bliss, which is scattered far and wide, for all mankind to gather up, might yet be mine."

for douchebags

music is fully a realm full of wandering douchebags. knowing nothing at all about music beyond their own taste. i grant that a lack of theoretical knowledge shouldn't preclude you from having taste, but you telling me what is and is not good is rather meaningless when its pure opinion. basically, i'm just sick of being bombarded with music. who would have thought that was possible? maybe its break time. maybe its time to immerse in my own sound and stop listening.

melanch

i miss scheming surprises.

suburban ennui

how douchey is it to use french words to communicate existential thoughts. the period signifies that the previous sentence answers itself. furthermore, why the hell do my titles always prompt comment from myself? that one has no answer as of yet.

updike is fantastic. it doesn't matter that i haven't read the rabbit books that take place when harry is my age, i probably identify more with the old rabbit anyway. besides, so much of why i find updike great is based on his pinpoint descriptions of everyday nothing. the everyday nothing harry faces as an old man is closer to my everyday nothing based on the time period alone. but, it's not just the way he captures the empty nothing of modern life; he consistently drops insight that contains more in five words than i can communicate in an hour. or at other times simply strings words and thoughts together in ways that link directly to my experience.

"...with that exaggerated, creaking stealth of small children..."

"he closes his eyes... and in the intimate red of his brain envisions..."

"how suggestive female flesh is."

"the stark plummy stars press down and the depth of the galactic void for an instant makes him feel suspended upside down."

in any case, i'm basically just advertising for updike. those were lines from maybe ten pages i've read over the last while. more treasure awaits. avast, me hearties! set sail for his books. pathetic.

hippie dating tips

1. be clean. hippies still like cleanliness, just a different kind. find the nearest waterfall, bring along your organic shampoos and natural soaps. drip dry for natural hair styling. throw on some tea tree deodorant. brush your teeth with baking soda, or... some burts bees toothpaste thing.

2. put on your best hemp shirt or organic cotton. fair trade sustainable clothes never fail to impress.

3. approach your mark. start up a conversation about the merits of local food, how you never drink bottled water, or only ride a bike.

4. invite the mark back to your place to watch planet earth, light some incense, offer a friendly hippie joint or beer.

arutperumjothi

ok so this does continue the last one.

sometimes in life you have crazy dream experiences that link up to real life and lead you to meaningful events.

last night i dreamed i saw a bald man stab a woman after robbing a store. then i went back to the store and tried on hats since the store was empty. this has been irrelevant.

MORE importantly. i also dreamed i was in a bookstore and some man, an artist of some kind, who was meant to draw four characters, was talking to me. i felt as though i was some kind of seer, interpreting important symbols for this man. one of the symbols i read on the cover of a book i read aloud as "joth_." Ann Green was there, and right away that's an interesting sign for me because she is a very well respected/important person to me in a strange way considering i never see her. regardless, i woke up and looked up jothu, knowing it wasn't the exact word i had said.

i came to, by the typo correction, jothi. arutperumjothi or jotyi. evidently a hindu mantra for ascension, a way to get in touch with divine grace. weird. i had just been trying to surmise how to access a creative force or daemon in some way.

that's kind of where i'm stuck for now, but this could be interesting. dream journeys ahoy!

daemons, genies and a glimpse of god

i heard an idea today. a plausible explanation for artist anxiety, that feeling of discomfort the accompanies an unfinished project, an idea not fully realized. whether it be musical, visual, linguistic, i think we can all relate to that sensation, assuming "we" are somepeople who indulge our creative impulses from time to time.

as we struggle with our desire to flesh out the wispy ideas that float around in our heads, anxiety, the speaker posited, results. this is because of the social stigma of attributing creativity to the individual. that's a lot of weight to carry around on a single pair of shoulders. when things fail to work out as envisioned it's nobody's fault but mine.

those bastions of creative thought, the roman and greek empires, had a different take. creativity was siphoned from the gods, or from daemons (a demigod type entity). these beings enabled a collaborative process that would result in... "stairway to heaven" or some such nonsense.

first of all, that's way cooler. it's more fun. it's less pompous. but, it also resonates with me on an individual level. it seems more akin to the way my process occurs. there were times when i would record little messages to myself on my phone constantly, phrases, word sequences, thematic ideas. all sorts of little nuggets that would come to me at inopportune times had to be stored for later use. at other times i would/will sit down with the intention of creating something, and find myself devoid of inspiration. it's far more comforting to believe that inspiration is externally supplied.

but how to channel this concept? that requires a little more thought, i think.

it occurs to me, before i conclude, to address the fact that its the height of sillyness, logically speaking, to believe this. however, this isn't something like religion. i'm not claiming that some totem animal is commanding that i cleanse the world of methodists. although, on second thought it does function in a similar way. some people use religion as a way to feel secure in their morality. i might use this to feel secure in my creativity. however, unlike religion i acknowledge that i often reason out good creative ideas on my own. i also acknowledge that ideas sometimes slap me in the forehead as suddenly and unexpectedly as bird shit falls on my shoulder.

to be continued... maybe.

thanks liz gilbert on ted. (and al green for the sumptuous background tunes).

wistful thinking

Then he remembers, descending into the molecules, what love feels like: huge, skin on skin, planets impinging.

this is going to sound mopey, imagine.

i remember.

i remember biking home at 2 am, the stars were exploding, the moon a bullet hole ripped through space leaking, no spewing, something powerful and vibrant.

i remember my guts being squeezed as she told me what she was living, wanting so badly to reach down and pull her up, knowing that my stomach was telling me how much i cared.

i remember myself lost in ceiling stucco, in those minute mountains, feeling myself at the summit, buffeted by wind, amazed that i would sleep beside her, just sleep.

and now i try to convince myself, now i lie. or wait.

those were nice times.

las vegas sucks

no, seriously. it holds no appeal to me. i feel as though that's a pretty good statement to make. gambling, tits, booze. irrelevant.

education as the practice of freedom

learning is a dynamic experience predicated on the relationship between many components. the teacher contributes, the materials contribute, the time contributes, the other students contribute, i contribute. in so much as i recognize my role within the classroom, i must make changes in my habits in order to improve the quality of my educational experience.

i've always been interested in the power of learning, and the energy a new experience or new knowledge can generate. cultivating those emotions on a regular basis should greatly improve my time spent in the classroom. "education as the practice of freedom," as bell hooks names it, focuses on the liberating force of learning. certainly, her experiences as a black female struggling through the education system decades ago are immensely different than my own school experiences. white, male, financially secure. these differences do not predicate any difficulty in applying her attitudinal strategies.

the classroom must be, for hooks, an exciting place. why not? clearly, this is a positive emotion, and if the learning environment is full of it then interest and participation must be enhanced. each individual contributes to this emotional environment. to be brief, my contributions to the classroom affect the quality of education that transpires.

this coming semester i must make an effort to, regardless of the other contributing factors, ensure that my end of the bargain is held up. i am not superhuman, that is to say i don't think my efforts would be able to lift an abjectly spirited classroom into a positive state. but, i should try. participation, engagement, contribution, questions, must all be consistent.

my education is mine to shape.

nomads and lead heart

mom was telling me about a david suzuki documentary she recently watched. ?ian davidson? is an anthropologist who has been following the few remaining nomadic families in, presumably, the amazon. evidently, only several of these families remain; logging has drastically changed their cultures, their lives, their souls even. without the tree species they had come to count on (trees that are part of their family in my opinion) they were unable to build shelter.

the reason i find this fascinating is not because of the fact that these people are no longer going to exist. i cannot come to terms with the idea of nomadism fading away. this is going to reek of naive green enthusiasm, but that lifestyle seems to contain many important environmental and mental components. it is in the loss of those components that i am truly sad.

the habit of calling the entire natural environment your home no longer exists. one of the mothers in these families was shown breastfeeding a baby monkey whose mother had been killed. my mental reaction to the appropriateness of that act is culturally embedded and ultimately irrelevant, however i think it's a powerful example of how tightly that culture is tied to the environment. i'm certain that there are countless examples of this mentality.

environ-mental. the conscious relationship between the environment and our minds is fittingly encompassed within the word itself. even more fittingly, without the environ.. only mental is left. mental as in crazy. what does it do to a person to have their entire attitude of livelihood destroyed? these people must be accustomed to constant change; reacting to their surroundings, moving on when the dynamics in the area they are settled shift or when food is scarce. now, they are forced to stagnate. the documentary showed -- or so i am told, the fact that i haven't actually seen this may make all these thoughts pointless -- a stirring scene that spoke volumes about the effects of this stagnation on the mind. the anthropologist described the people as very peaceful, and yet, facing the erosion of their lifestyle, they had set a curse upon the loggers. placing two logs of wood from the trees they use for their homes into the ground, they erected a spear between them. this was supposedly to indicate that death would befall anyone who passed through the gate. when faced with death, the family constructed a warning of death. curses aside, the act holds an interesting larger significance in my mind. it seems some sort of karmic warning; you have caused our death, and we wish the same upon you, or we hope the same fate shall befall you.

the full effects of these changes also manifested themselves physically. the families that had settled into permanent shelter were becoming ill. perhaps the lack of a constantly changing environment, food, and all the physical interactions between those elements and the body, led to a similar bodily stagnation. our immune systems are supposedly strengthened through repeated exposure to small doses of substances. what if this same sort of effect was now missing in their lives?

in a global sense, this discussion triggered a familiar worry. i struggle with my own relationship with the environment, and am certain that there are people who currently cannot even claim to have such a relationship. if we feel no connection to the earth, how can we live without destroying it. or, if we can live without destroying it, i don't think we can live to improve it. when i see pictures of the far reaching effects of Deepwater Horizon i get the same leaden weight in my chest. every time some act brings me hope, it seems to be dashed shortly after. we are constantly throwing more rocks in the well than we are taking out. sooner or later we simply won't be able to draw water anymore.

be the change. be it, sterling.

jesus was a zombie

seriously. he was killed, rose again three days later, and then consumed living flesh going on a terrible rampage for brains. while he didn't exactly get to the brains, he WAS always talking about eating my flesh and blood...

zombie jesus, bow to your saviour
http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Zombie_Jesus

crevice hair and fruit placenta

about those crevice hairs.. more specifically bellybutton lint. why did i say hair? regardless, maybe the hair has something to do with picking up so much damn lint. the point is that if all that lint is coming off my shirt, why aren't there bellybutton sized holes in all my shirts? am i the only one who wonders why this isn't ruining my shirts?

i like when i slice tomatoes for a sammidge and the little glorpy parts fall out of the tomato slices. actually, i don't like that; i have to pick those suckers off the cutting board and they're tricky. the thing i like is that they resemble some sort of placenta or fetal pod. yum.

tired

would really like some time off. one weekend so far? come on, ive more than triple the amount of days i haven't worked so far. killin me here. early mornings this weekend, plus no days off. LOVE working 13 days in a row. beauty

my noosphere

our unique status as the only species that has ever become so populous but still remains able to interbreed is pretty fascinating. there are no other species of human. our evolution has been markedly different than any other species. perhaps there are other factors that prevent interbreeding; a different kind of speciation. it could be cultural. sometimes the distance between two jutting cliffs of person are too great to string a bridge across. radical muslims and revisionist hillbillies will never make love.

what influence does media have on the way our world is blending? de Chardin & Huxley wrote about a seeming unification of the noosphere, of the human psyche. not so explicitly, a hive mentality of sorts. east and west are blending. immigrants are rendering inbred cultural stubbornness a thing of the past. we share more than ever. the internet is a mystifying technological evolution, an appendage almost. a 4th dimensional limb that can greet and share and express. think avatar, the weird hair tentacles. (i'm ashamed to have made an avatar reference, but i go with what comes to mind.)

de Chardin has another cool idea about how the very nature of the earth that supports us is linked to our psychosocial intensification, or complex unity over time. because of its sphericity, ideas will encounter each other, link, form connections, and form a web. everything cool always relates to spiders i swear to gOD. "...the result will be an organised web of thought, a moetic system operating under high tension, a piece of evolutionary machinery capable of generating high psychosocial energy." cool. Huxley thinks that this sort of bound complexity is analogous to a cell membrane; all the contents can become more complex and unique within the bound environment.

he starts to lose me with "christogenesis" though. come on man, we had to go back to jesus? Huxley's got my back "I find it impossible to follow him all the way in his gallant attempt to reconcile the supernatural elements in Christianity with the facts and implications of evolution..." word.

two trends stood out to de Chardin: our movement toward extreme individuation, and toward interrelation and cooperation. such dichotomous movements suggest, to me, an elastic band being pulled too thin. but, then again, if we go back to de Chardin's spherical focus maybe these two movements are not in opposite directions. Maybe, they are toward each other; wrapping around in circles, building outward in a web.

this should be an interesting read. expand the noosphere!

revisit

my hands smell like celery, garlic, and onions. i love when my hands smell like vegetables.

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haven't done any dream journaling yet. unfortunate. now that the playoffs are all coming to a close i can wean myself from my sports dependency and spend time on more important things. sports are my opiate. perhaps, in the future, i should set some limits for myself, or just stop paying so much attention to sports. anyway, music is going mediocre. more time shall be spent on it from now on, i wrote half a song today roughly; i feel like this one is nearly done its birthing stage. i haven't spent any time producing my own work in a long time, i'd like to get back to doing that (someone complimented me on my production the other day, which is random and weird because i don't know anything about it, but cool!)

i've been taking great care of my body on the other hand. well, at least compared to the past three years or so. yoga and the gym have allowed me to get a pretty good handle on my body: how it feels, where it needs to lengthen, what is tight, and how those tight spots are affecting other areas. the way one muscle affects another is very interesting; every time i pay attention to something i get so interested. my curiosity is a boon and i feel like i could do anything. that is to say, i could be in any field, studying anything. i would just need to get into it first, hence the curiosity is so great. anything and everything can grab my interest depending on the day, well, almost anything.

this weekend was great; i got to see dave and ben, spent some time with jess, hung with my brother for most of sunday, and had some decent family chills with mom and pop. mission accomplished on the keeping in touch front. chatting with people i care about on the regular, hangin out with people whenever i get the chance, meeting people who have been recommended to me through close friends. cliffdogg, seems a cool guy, we'll go kerbstomping soon. inside jokes are so necessary when you don't know that person will ever read this; the pointlessness is hilarious.

mind needs to be a little more active, but goddamit there's only so many hours in the day. fuck. better start reading more.

finally, gotta do some re-evaluation at work, set some better goals. ask mel for some more direction on how to achieve said goals. shoot for the stars young jedi.

feeling strong, confident, self-assured, and as though my rudder is set toward a positive destination.

comfort

a front porch, a wooden rocking chair, django reinhardt or thelonius monk wheezily scratched out by the needle to my right, everything perspirating rain, fat gobs of it pelting wood just beyond my bare toes, itchy wool wrapped, psychedelic long johns, cat watching through glass, citrus skunk wafting from me, red ice tea melting a glass, you

putrilescant, rancidity, fucking dirt, and the majesty of resourcefulness

whilst (yes, whilst.. shut up) at the primrose operations centre today, i undertook the task of cleaning out some absolutely stank broken green bins i found.. no, wait. the green bins deserve their own small paragraph. the county takes back broken bins, great. people don't clean the bins though, and their incompetence or generally inconsiderate nature results in old food waste sitting in these bins in the sweltering heat for months. today, we opened the bins and got to experience the beauty of anaerobic (for the most part) decomposition. boy, does it smell wonderful. hardened cottage cheese like substances with clearly identifiable garlic cloves, grapes, and other strange innocuous items, that you would think would be part of the same goop, all stuck in the bottom. when we sprayed the bins with the hose to clean them out mist flew out of the bins and into the air; all i could think about was lung cancer and swift death.

anyway, on to the thing i alluded to. some of the green bins are industrial sized for facilities like old folks homes and so forth. these are kept separately. one bin had a fist sized hole (save your jokes) at the back of the lid. i lifted it up and moved it to the back of the trailer where it was out of sight because we were cleaning things up for tomorrow. when i set it down i heard a rattle inside. i did a double take, assumed i just had a small seizure or brain hemorrhage, and turned away. then it rattled some more. this time, i assumed it was a racoon; i kicked the lid open and stood back waiting for something to fly out and try to kill me. nothing happened, so i walked up and looked inside. in the bottom of the bin were a ton of twigs and straw and hair.. and four baby birds. upon seeing me, the birds collectively flipped their shit even more than before and tried to awkwardly flap out of the bin. they couldn't fly yet and i was left rather amused. i moved the bin back to its original spot, because i figured the mom would be pissed that her house and kids were gone. then we staged a half an hour stakeout; the mother came back with food, but kept swooping over the area scoping it out. sadly, because we were actually working at this time, we had to leave eventually and i never got to see what happened. but i'll be back tomorrow! in the same spot! watching for the mom! she gon' be pissed.

culture

whether it's a function of modern technology or of this hodgepodge nation, we are drifters. culture is no longer embedded, grown, sewn into us. in some places i'm certain that it is still infused through traditional familial pathways and everyday habits; the french have their own eating habits, the swedes are cold and detached. but, in canada it's really a grab bag. food? 80% percent of everyone lives off fuckin kd and boxed pizza. clothes? whatever your favourite actress or singer wears. hobbies? no limits. the internet has basically kicked over a giant toy box that we're free to grab whatever we want from. whether this is good or bad is irrelevant and impossible to judge anyway. more fascinating are the possibilities this sort of vagabond cultural appropriation entails. fly your freak flag; learn how to make kombucha, practice japanese calligraphy, teach yourself how to play djembe. conversely; learn how to make bombs, adapt racist values. the negatives are irrelevant, idiots will conduct themselves as such. when they make a mess we just have to shake our heads and clean it up.

i'm off to learn how to make my own clothes on one of those indian spinning wheels gandhi used.

ramble on

hopefully the pastoral imagery conjured up by ramble on and other examples of zeppelin's swirling folk music came to mind with the title. if not, get in that mindset. i'm gonna abandon the premise that i'm writing this for someone now.

this place is so small, why must you all drive? the status associated with cars here is ridiculous. everyone has a corvette or an escalade or a shitty golf that they put spoilers on and attempt to cruise around in like some sort of deranged hillbilly pimp. that was unnecessary. the point is this town is small. small enough to only own a bike in. i understand that sometimes its an inconvenience, like when it rains, but why not bike on the sunny days? its not even that bad when it rains. just be prepared, i deal with it. people don't like binary change; just bike on sunny days. i like this idea on non-binary change though.

weekday vegetarianism, what a concept! so simple too. oh the small thoughts that generate great amounts of change. what kind of asshole couldn't get behind an idea like "hey, how about 4 out of 7 days of the week you don't eat meat?" its not a hard rule, it can be bent, but its a great goal and it would make such a huge difference. all credit goes to whoever the dude that did the ted talk about this was.

- - -

what a difference some self contemplation and goal setting will make. set swag to stun.

- - -

weird ass sleep patterns. honestly, i'm trying to get some quality rest here brain. do me a favour and calm your shit down with the messed up dreaming. could the elephants upstairs also please stop yelling at 7 am.

- - -

i'm tired of singing alone, tired of sounding solo. collaboration.

identity crisis

i seem to have lost sense of myself. that doesn't seem to make very much sense as i read the sentence back to myself. it seems as though it should be very straightforward, but the ideals i once espoused aren't represented in my actions. and as they say action defines us. i don't think i even have the thought contingent covered anyway; i can't make heads or tails of my life right now.

i don't know what i want from people, what i want for myself, what i should do with my time. i need some direction, perhaps, or goals... i'm not particularly sure.

people.

in retrospect i have always derived a certain amount of my own personality and habits from people i am close with. my most productive and self assured years were, in part, a result of spending a lot of time with my partner who shared a lot of the ideals i did (/do?). she was a character, very unique and completely unaffected by the opinions of others. at least thats how it appeared to me. that attitude helped me to feel confident in my own personality, which when i actually let loose is bizarre and untraditional in some respects.

this process has been repeated to a lesser extent with other individuals over the years. but, i feel like while this is a nice product of a relationship, its rather useless at the moment. i've tried to seek out people that i feel are crystallized, solid in themselves, comfortable in their skin, but it just hasn't worked out. add to that the fact that i should be able to feel confident in my own actions, thoughts etc. without relying on someone to kick start it for me. Besides, i need a handle on this before i would consider myself fully open to someone again.

places.

home is a fuzzy concept. coop has left me skittering from roof to roof, never really leaving enough time to develop a sense of place. my own home is monumentally different. the balance has shifted since i've left, people get along a little differently, and its just not as intimately familiar as it once was. i feel like a guest who has overstayed his welcome sometimes. my location has certainly affected my actions and intentions though. the fall was an interesting balance of developing strong personal relationships and some isolation. school was wild this past semester; i'm really amazed at all the connections i fostered, and at some of the ones that flamed out. all of those experiences were positive, i've grown from them. now though, i find myself (currently) feeling alone. i don't know anyone with similar interests, i don't feel confident enough to meet them and am furthermore unsure of where i would want to meet them. bar friends seem a poor idea.

i need to create or stimulate the growth of a different frame of mind. i need to cultivate a sense of place within myself, because there is no opportunity to do so in a physical location at this point. perhaps some goals are the best way to accomplish that? more importantly some action, and while goal setting doesn't really equate to firing a shot at my target it may at least constitute filling the chamber.

check yo head

"those who know they have enough are rich." Lao Tzu

Thoreau wrote that "incessant business," or constant, never ending, tedious, repetitive work was opposed to life. Even Hercules' twelve tasks seemed inconsequential when compared to the lives of his friends. work work work work. for what? for more. i have enough now; enough clothes, enough food, enough shoes, enough toothpaste, enough family. soon i'll be working though, all day, all week.

enough.

i'm such a dirty hippie. can't i just go to italy and live on a farm? I'll be good, I'm not a communist. I just want to live with people I care about, work to feed and house myself and no further. I don't need plasma screens, xbox, i dont need a computer, i DO need a guitar. After university I'm going. Away to Tuscany, to learn to farm, to learn to live again.

can't block my shine

i'm more than you think.

faster than you saw.

smarter than you guessed.

better than you remember.

more melodious than you hear.

it just depends whether you're paying attention or not,

enough of you will.

conundrums

why "apartments" when they're so close together?

why "taking a shit" when you're leaving one?
why drive in a parkway and park in a driveway?

why "hamburger" when its made of beef?

why a "building" and not a built?

why "babysitting" when its mostly chasing?

another year

another year inside

still held, still cradled

there is somewhere to float

and know its ok

but to get there it takes

a little faith

is all i need

noise

"for you to hear

all of the sounds that whisper,

clamour, thrum, hiss and bare

themselves to me

i'd have to catch them all,

have to lure them not make them,

and cut them together for you"

he imagined, and put from his mind.

(inspired by cummings)

by any other name

the gazelle

skeletor

james bond

dook

s1go

deathpouch

gose

whitey mcchamber

schizophrenic escapism has its charms.

turbulent dreams

she is reaching out with fingers

stained yellow like dried piss

the cigarette slides unimpeded through my cheek

the embers still visible somehow.

i am lying down

he climbs the wall to the ceiling and rests

they surround me

bind me with gossamer

and skitter inward

i trust them

i fear them.

ein seliger Sprung in die Ewigkeit

a blessed leap into eternity.

to express the sublime in the pedestrian absolutely.

i am only a knight of infinite resignation.

would that i had faith, in some onething.

is it only the absurd that can save me? must i never gaze on the stars, and yet believe that i will hold them in my hands someday?

i can swim in life, but for this mysterious floating i am too heavy.

to a life without faith.