1-Oh my god, what happened to you?
2-"He wants to know if it hurts!"
1-Oh, what a brilliant introduction, Gogo. Is that the best you can come up with?
2-Fuck you, I'm in serious pain!
1-You still haven't answered my question.
2-I'm dying.
1-I see.
2-What a brilliant reply.
1-I do my best.
2-Well, what do I do now?
1-Who are you waiting for?
2-Death, I guess.
1-That's a shame.
2-'Bout as much as anything.
1-Anything I can do for you?
2-Go away.
1-Is that all? I leave and you die?
2-I just want to lie here and sleep for a bit.
1-Then that's the end of it?
2-I suppose so.
1-I suppose that's what you wanted, then, you'll die some tragic hero until the moment you're gone and then you'll be forgotten, for them to call out your name.
2-Beautiful.
1-I don't think they even know you're gone yet.
2-Then so be it.
1-Goodbye.
2-Good night.
I like to think that Franz Kafka's The Trial was essentially the best book ever.
Normally I would like to have some sort of introduction to a claim like that, something to ponder over for some time before I truly explain. This is because I have a natural dislike for the forthright and simple. It's not entertaining, it is not art, to simply say what I mean. I am not even comfortable to say that much without continuing on for some time. I actually considered this matter for some time, and came to all sorts of conclusions, that it may be a family trait, or it may be my tendency to attempt to somewhat disguise or muddle my message (Eisenhower was said to do the same thing), but then I remembered what I was talking about, I am extremely forgetful, though that's only part of the matter, though related, I was talking about Franz Kafka.
I believe I started reading Kafka last year, with a collection of short stories, including his best-known work, The Metamorphosis, about a man who transforms into a monstrous vermin, and of course, one of his defining features is his excessively long sentences. If we take a very common translation of the first sentence of The Metamorphosis: "As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin."
That is simply too much. Not for me, but for most people. The sentence is very elegant (although I am led to believe that it is better in German; the translation retains much of his German elegance though loses most of his wordplay). No poetry expresses as much colour or imagery as the Long Sentence. It's this technique that I've picked up, out of respect for such a great writer, and in the hopes that it will make me a similarly great writer, not to imitate his style, but rather to assimilate it, and develop my own, and continue to improve my writing (which is still far from perfect or even consistent in style).
But I am not talking about The Metamorphosis. I am talking about The Trial. The plot is relatively simple; our rather absurd hero, Josef K., wakes up one morning to find that he has been arrested by two random men, though he is not allowed to know why, and he is allowed to go about his daily business. He is forced to visit the courts regularly, and he continues to struggle against the law, and he continues to do so up until the point when he is executed by two random
men by being stabbed in the stomach with a knife (these are not the same men as the beginning).
What does any of that mean, though? There are several interpretations of Kafka's work, and Sartre went so far as to suggest that it is an allegory for the persecution of the Jews, and I will go only as far as to suggest that this is ridiculous, particularly since Kafka hardly associated with the Jews, and it is his alienation from Judaism, as he was from every part of his life, that is one of the most important parts of Kafka's work. In K.'s plight, he goes to find many people, an artist, a lawyer, another defendant, and many women who are attracted to his guilt, only to find that no one is interested in him beyond what they can do to further themselves. His lawyer is particularly frustrating; he refuses to take any sort of interest in K., however K. cannot refuse his help because Huld, the lawyer, is a family friend (and thus Kafka introduces his own alienation from his family).
One particularly startling aspect of Kafka's work is that it was his view of the world, and as such it is eerily similar and often nightmarish, like a dream one cannot wake from. K.'s attempts to defeat the dense and innavigable bureaucracy are often humourous, but also remniscent of real world legal issues and quite terrifying at points. Kafka's aspect is that it is almost our world, but it is not; it is only strange and surreal, not impossible. Kafka uses this method to describe a vivid world, one that seems real.
A lot of people have asked me why this makes a book so great. It's actually quite simple, though, I simply can't help but respect a man who captured the trials and absurdity of modern existence with such a sublime method.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
I wrote out the whole plot to a novel based on Neutral Milk Hotel's album, that is, the one that most people know about, during a slow English class. But I never came around to writing it.
MY HOBBY IS WRITING LISTS, so I might as well take a moment to make a list of writing projects that I intend to work on but have made little to no progress on:
-Neutral Milk Hotel story.
-A research project on Oak Island gone horribly awry! That was a hilarious concept to work on, I haven't done anything beyond an introduction, though it sets the plot for the rest of the work. The importance of the work is that it is a 1st person account from a researcher who witnessed the events, however he is just as roundabout and confusing with his explanations as I am.
-A sequel to a short story that I wrote, The Life of Conrad, that I actually made the first half of (it's not going to be very long). There was also a prequel that I began to write, and it strikes me as how the three works compare. The original story was a criticism of Catholicism (in its simplest form) told in the perspective of several men who are all disabled by crippling mental illness, and its importance was in how each of them viewed the world around them; most of the story was character description and crude irony. The sequel is supposed to be a philosophical work on the nature of the afterlife, with strong influences from Franz Kafka's The Trial (most of my work is strongly influenced by The Trial), and is probably one of the more serious ventures that I have attempted. The prequel is a character's obviously ludicrous and inaccurate biography, and was solely a humour piece.
-I probably want to write a campaign for the next time that my role-playing group actually lets me GM again (for some crazy reason).
-The Artist-I've done nothing on this, and forget what it is about.
-"Ruido" Story-Same here, although I wrote a note about it, so it must be important, although what little I do remember makes for a terrible story, and I do not know what I could have been thinking. I know that it's based on a very catchy YUI song, and that alone should tell me that I am making a mistake.
-My new world. I'm a fan of world building and intended to create a new one, although all I have are a lot of rough, meaningless notes scattered about.
-I had high prospects for The Evil Tree, and I think that it is one of my better ideas, and I already have a fairly decent outline for it. It's about an evil tree, surprisingly. It creates humanity or something, hilarity ensues, you've probably read something identical before.
-I wrote "Hector and Maurice", although my notes indicate that I did not.
-The Ego Story. I do not know what any of my notes on it actually mean, but they're remarkably clear compared to most of my work. That may seem contradictory, but you would be surprised if you actually saw these notes.
-"A cryptic world that a man is suddenly thrust to, as he struggles to find his way home. Experimental work." I could not think of a more apt description of what this project is. I think I may have wanted to turn it into the ego story earlier, but I would never do that, as it is a terrible idea.
-The Vampire Hunter, which has been one of my favourite ideas ever and I am so upset that I cannot think of how to implement it for the life of me. It's quite simple, a man believes that he is a vampire hunter. It shouldn't be that hard to write.
-I have a list of characters that is supposed to mean something, I assume.
-There's a story and it's supposed to have magic in it, and all that this tells me is that I need to start leaving myself better notes.
MY HOBBY IS WRITING LISTS, so I might as well take a moment to make a list of writing projects that I intend to work on but have made little to no progress on:
-Neutral Milk Hotel story.
-A research project on Oak Island gone horribly awry! That was a hilarious concept to work on, I haven't done anything beyond an introduction, though it sets the plot for the rest of the work. The importance of the work is that it is a 1st person account from a researcher who witnessed the events, however he is just as roundabout and confusing with his explanations as I am.
-A sequel to a short story that I wrote, The Life of Conrad, that I actually made the first half of (it's not going to be very long). There was also a prequel that I began to write, and it strikes me as how the three works compare. The original story was a criticism of Catholicism (in its simplest form) told in the perspective of several men who are all disabled by crippling mental illness, and its importance was in how each of them viewed the world around them; most of the story was character description and crude irony. The sequel is supposed to be a philosophical work on the nature of the afterlife, with strong influences from Franz Kafka's The Trial (most of my work is strongly influenced by The Trial), and is probably one of the more serious ventures that I have attempted. The prequel is a character's obviously ludicrous and inaccurate biography, and was solely a humour piece.
-I probably want to write a campaign for the next time that my role-playing group actually lets me GM again (for some crazy reason).
-The Artist-I've done nothing on this, and forget what it is about.
-"Ruido" Story-Same here, although I wrote a note about it, so it must be important, although what little I do remember makes for a terrible story, and I do not know what I could have been thinking. I know that it's based on a very catchy YUI song, and that alone should tell me that I am making a mistake.
-My new world. I'm a fan of world building and intended to create a new one, although all I have are a lot of rough, meaningless notes scattered about.
-I had high prospects for The Evil Tree, and I think that it is one of my better ideas, and I already have a fairly decent outline for it. It's about an evil tree, surprisingly. It creates humanity or something, hilarity ensues, you've probably read something identical before.
-I wrote "Hector and Maurice", although my notes indicate that I did not.
-The Ego Story. I do not know what any of my notes on it actually mean, but they're remarkably clear compared to most of my work. That may seem contradictory, but you would be surprised if you actually saw these notes.
-"A cryptic world that a man is suddenly thrust to, as he struggles to find his way home. Experimental work." I could not think of a more apt description of what this project is. I think I may have wanted to turn it into the ego story earlier, but I would never do that, as it is a terrible idea.
-The Vampire Hunter, which has been one of my favourite ideas ever and I am so upset that I cannot think of how to implement it for the life of me. It's quite simple, a man believes that he is a vampire hunter. It shouldn't be that hard to write.
-I have a list of characters that is supposed to mean something, I assume.
-There's a story and it's supposed to have magic in it, and all that this tells me is that I need to start leaving myself better notes.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
1999.
1999 was an important year.
Well, at the least I've always assumed that it was an important year. It's burned into my memory; every now and then I'll stop and think, "what happened in 1999?"
I go over and try to remember what happened around that time that was important-
-Faith No More released Album of the Year in 1997.
-Soundgarden broke up in 1997.
-Faith No More broke up in 1998.
-Theodore Kaczynski was arrested in 1996.
-Faith No More released The Real Thing in 1989.
-Quantum Leap debuted in 1988.
-The current millenium began in 2001 (this is disputed).
-Faith No More released You Fat Bastards: Live at the Brixton Academy in 1990.
-Kaczynski confessed in 1998.
-Faith No More released Angel Dust in 1992.
-The Day of Lavos happened in 1999, but that was just a video game.
I also have the same thing with 2004, and I think it has something to do with it being a leap year. I get this a lot; I have an extremely bad memory and will associate importance to events that I will later forget. For all I know, something very important happened in 1999, that I cannot recall, possibly something that I must recall, for some unimaginable reason; that if I did not recall this reason, I would cease to exist.
But that hasn't happened, so it couldn't possibly be that important. Of course, if I can remember that Angel Dust was released in 1992, if that strikes me as one of the most important events of that decade, then why don't I associate any importance with 1992? And it's a leap year, at that.
Angel Dust's release was an important event. Perhaps my reluctance to associate importance with 1992 is that Angel Dust's importance is greater than the date that it was released. So could it have been released any year? That would inevitably change the course of history, and who is to say that it would have been as important, then, or even the same album? A few years later, Jim Martin had left the band, and a few years earlier, Mike Patton had joined. Many FNM fans agree that the two albums that they were together for were the two greatest albums of the greatest band ever. And of course, we can still respect Chuck Moseley's two quality albums, or the two that came after with whoever the devil those guitarists were (one of them was Trey Spruance, as I recall, who also played in another one of Patton's bands from that time, Mr. Bungle). But Angel Dust and The Real Thing were the best, by far.
Angel Dust's importance was as Faith No More's experimental album. Since The Real Thing was written before Patton joined, it was still very traditional and about as simple as Faith No More ever became (which was still damn well more interesting than most music in these black days). Angel Dust had Patton. Patton's ability and creativity are ridiculous. Patton was able to sing just about anything; he could sing, rap, growl, scream and a lot of things that we simply don't have a name for (listen for Patton's performance as the eponymous entity in the video game The Darkness; his voice, unedited, is not quite like anything I had heard prior to this). A lot could be speculated of how this talent connects to his experimental work, but I suppose the most important thing was that he was willing to record it, and now the two went together.
Angel Dust contained a lot of odd things. The album opened with Land of Sunshine, which was surprisingly ordinary for a 3/4 power ballad with lyrics taken from fortune cookies and Scientology depression tests. So it wasn't ordinary, but it was close. Land of Sunshine's lyrics were meant to be positive, uplifting, the kind that could turn your life around. Perhaps maniacal laughter and lines like "does life seem worthwhile to you?" were the wrong choice. "And life to you is a dashing, bold adventure!"- That will stay stuck in my mind for as long as I live. That and "Here's how to order!" It was a strangely uplifting tune, one that could sound a bit cruel but ultimately let you know that you were here to live and that was that. For all its ironic tone, it was easy to get caught up and know, deep down, that fortune really was smiling upon you.
Caffeine was tougher. Common belief has it that both Land of Sunshine and Caffeine were written under sleep deprivation experiments by Patton. His interest in the sound of words, rather than the meaning of them, shows here; few people can find a meaning in to "mumble a jackhammer", but just about all of them know what it sounds like. If it does mean anything, you'll note that "jackhammer" is not a word to be mumbled, unlike "mumble"; its harsh consonant element is quite obvious, and almost painful, like a stab wound or something equally unpleasant. It's an unpleasant song made of unpleasant experiences, and it's easy to feel the difficulty found in brief moments of existence that seem to last for years. Pardon me for rambling, it's a habit of mine, and unfortunately just about the only way that I can get to the point of anything, and the rest of the time I confine myself primarily to nonsense out of courtesy.
Midlife Crisis was supposedly about Madonna, although this does not show in the same way as Caffeine (although it may have something to do with my unfamiliarity with Madonna; I really only know her name). Patton alternates between a low, harsh, almost spoken, almost growled voice, and a lofty melody. The drum riff is perfect for the song; it's a hypnotic tom beat to match. It sounds like a Midlife Crisis, and is only matched for accuracy in title by Mastodon's "Trampled Under Hoof". To have a midlife crisis is to feel stepped upon by society, to desire some sort of escape, to make up for the things we forgot as youths. It's become a cliché to regret the past, almost as much as the term "cliché".
Then we come to RV, one of my favourites. RV stands for "recreational vehicle" and stands as a constant reminder, like a monolith, of trailer trash stereotypes. The plot is that of a white trash man that never amounted to anything and expects the same of his children. Well, I made that the plot, it's a habit of mine to put a story to everything I see, and by the time that I'm done I can scarcely remember my initial impressions nor what the thing is without its story. Has that become a stereotype, then? White man expects nothing of himself, and then does so? How much do we control our own fates, and are we truly simply a product of self-fulfilled prophecies? It's not as if people have never had Great Expectations before (get it?). I remember a time when everyone expected me to go to university for mathematics and do something fantastic, and then I decided that I was actually mostly interested in writing and linguistics, and then that just ruined everyone's day, and I'd think that this is exactly what they think will happen to me, married young, overweight, poor, with nothing to show for myself, no prospects or assets, nothing, as if my existence was nothing. The joke is on them, though, because I was already fat when I was born. Take THAT, America!
I suppose that has nothing to do with anything, though, and RV happens to be a terrific song, and another example of an amazing power ballad by Faith No More.
Smaller and Smaller, and Everything's Ruined, are two good tracks, though I'm not quite in the mood to discuss their infinite detail, and I'll take the advance opportunity to do the same with Kindergarten and A Small Victory. All wonderful, mind you, the album works as a whole, but I'm not quite a terrific critic and it's only so long that I can blather on about nothing at all. Then, Malpractice, I once listened to it endlessly, I think I appreciated its strange, mechanical noises meant to imitate some kind of horrific medical operating device that I could not fathom. Be Aggressive is plainly disturbing yet entertaining for its description of certain sexual practices that I'll hope you'll indulge me and allow me to leave the matter at that. Crack Hitler was written about a big time drug dealer who was brilliant enough to think that his connections and how many people he had under him made him comparable to Hitler (since, as we all know, World War II was all about the drug trade and how much street cred you had), and as such is another ironic tough guy song (they're still good). The last song (not really, but it may as well be) is the heavy metal and oddly titled Jizzlobber, and once again I will pretend that I have heard no speculation on the meaning of its lyrics. The song is notable in that it was about the only song on the album that Jim Martin had influence over, and it was one of the heaviest songs that Faith No More ever wrote. Oddly enough, as a heavy metal fan, I'm less interested in this song than the rest of the album, and I doubt that pure heavy metal was ever Faith No More's strength (as far as Faith No More had areas that were not strengths, which admittedly became quite clear by their last album). The ending is beautiful, though; the song fades out into organ and choir, that finishes with the perfect chord with which to finish.
After that is the best cover of the theme to Midnight Cowboy that I have ever heard, and that is Angel Dust.
The point that I am making, of course, is that I can remember just about every minute detail about Faith No More, and I can't remember anything, at all, that happened in 1999, excluding a number of video games that were set in that year, and the release of Mr. Bungle's final album, California. I guess I just don't have the focus for such trite detail.
Well, at the least I've always assumed that it was an important year. It's burned into my memory; every now and then I'll stop and think, "what happened in 1999?"
I go over and try to remember what happened around that time that was important-
-Faith No More released Album of the Year in 1997.
-Soundgarden broke up in 1997.
-Faith No More broke up in 1998.
-Theodore Kaczynski was arrested in 1996.
-Faith No More released The Real Thing in 1989.
-Quantum Leap debuted in 1988.
-The current millenium began in 2001 (this is disputed).
-Faith No More released You Fat Bastards: Live at the Brixton Academy in 1990.
-Kaczynski confessed in 1998.
-Faith No More released Angel Dust in 1992.
-The Day of Lavos happened in 1999, but that was just a video game.
I also have the same thing with 2004, and I think it has something to do with it being a leap year. I get this a lot; I have an extremely bad memory and will associate importance to events that I will later forget. For all I know, something very important happened in 1999, that I cannot recall, possibly something that I must recall, for some unimaginable reason; that if I did not recall this reason, I would cease to exist.
But that hasn't happened, so it couldn't possibly be that important. Of course, if I can remember that Angel Dust was released in 1992, if that strikes me as one of the most important events of that decade, then why don't I associate any importance with 1992? And it's a leap year, at that.
Angel Dust's release was an important event. Perhaps my reluctance to associate importance with 1992 is that Angel Dust's importance is greater than the date that it was released. So could it have been released any year? That would inevitably change the course of history, and who is to say that it would have been as important, then, or even the same album? A few years later, Jim Martin had left the band, and a few years earlier, Mike Patton had joined. Many FNM fans agree that the two albums that they were together for were the two greatest albums of the greatest band ever. And of course, we can still respect Chuck Moseley's two quality albums, or the two that came after with whoever the devil those guitarists were (one of them was Trey Spruance, as I recall, who also played in another one of Patton's bands from that time, Mr. Bungle). But Angel Dust and The Real Thing were the best, by far.
Angel Dust's importance was as Faith No More's experimental album. Since The Real Thing was written before Patton joined, it was still very traditional and about as simple as Faith No More ever became (which was still damn well more interesting than most music in these black days). Angel Dust had Patton. Patton's ability and creativity are ridiculous. Patton was able to sing just about anything; he could sing, rap, growl, scream and a lot of things that we simply don't have a name for (listen for Patton's performance as the eponymous entity in the video game The Darkness; his voice, unedited, is not quite like anything I had heard prior to this). A lot could be speculated of how this talent connects to his experimental work, but I suppose the most important thing was that he was willing to record it, and now the two went together.
Angel Dust contained a lot of odd things. The album opened with Land of Sunshine, which was surprisingly ordinary for a 3/4 power ballad with lyrics taken from fortune cookies and Scientology depression tests. So it wasn't ordinary, but it was close. Land of Sunshine's lyrics were meant to be positive, uplifting, the kind that could turn your life around. Perhaps maniacal laughter and lines like "does life seem worthwhile to you?" were the wrong choice. "And life to you is a dashing, bold adventure!"- That will stay stuck in my mind for as long as I live. That and "Here's how to order!" It was a strangely uplifting tune, one that could sound a bit cruel but ultimately let you know that you were here to live and that was that. For all its ironic tone, it was easy to get caught up and know, deep down, that fortune really was smiling upon you.
Caffeine was tougher. Common belief has it that both Land of Sunshine and Caffeine were written under sleep deprivation experiments by Patton. His interest in the sound of words, rather than the meaning of them, shows here; few people can find a meaning in to "mumble a jackhammer", but just about all of them know what it sounds like. If it does mean anything, you'll note that "jackhammer" is not a word to be mumbled, unlike "mumble"; its harsh consonant element is quite obvious, and almost painful, like a stab wound or something equally unpleasant. It's an unpleasant song made of unpleasant experiences, and it's easy to feel the difficulty found in brief moments of existence that seem to last for years. Pardon me for rambling, it's a habit of mine, and unfortunately just about the only way that I can get to the point of anything, and the rest of the time I confine myself primarily to nonsense out of courtesy.
Midlife Crisis was supposedly about Madonna, although this does not show in the same way as Caffeine (although it may have something to do with my unfamiliarity with Madonna; I really only know her name). Patton alternates between a low, harsh, almost spoken, almost growled voice, and a lofty melody. The drum riff is perfect for the song; it's a hypnotic tom beat to match. It sounds like a Midlife Crisis, and is only matched for accuracy in title by Mastodon's "Trampled Under Hoof". To have a midlife crisis is to feel stepped upon by society, to desire some sort of escape, to make up for the things we forgot as youths. It's become a cliché to regret the past, almost as much as the term "cliché".
Then we come to RV, one of my favourites. RV stands for "recreational vehicle" and stands as a constant reminder, like a monolith, of trailer trash stereotypes. The plot is that of a white trash man that never amounted to anything and expects the same of his children. Well, I made that the plot, it's a habit of mine to put a story to everything I see, and by the time that I'm done I can scarcely remember my initial impressions nor what the thing is without its story. Has that become a stereotype, then? White man expects nothing of himself, and then does so? How much do we control our own fates, and are we truly simply a product of self-fulfilled prophecies? It's not as if people have never had Great Expectations before (get it?). I remember a time when everyone expected me to go to university for mathematics and do something fantastic, and then I decided that I was actually mostly interested in writing and linguistics, and then that just ruined everyone's day, and I'd think that this is exactly what they think will happen to me, married young, overweight, poor, with nothing to show for myself, no prospects or assets, nothing, as if my existence was nothing. The joke is on them, though, because I was already fat when I was born. Take THAT, America!
I suppose that has nothing to do with anything, though, and RV happens to be a terrific song, and another example of an amazing power ballad by Faith No More.
Smaller and Smaller, and Everything's Ruined, are two good tracks, though I'm not quite in the mood to discuss their infinite detail, and I'll take the advance opportunity to do the same with Kindergarten and A Small Victory. All wonderful, mind you, the album works as a whole, but I'm not quite a terrific critic and it's only so long that I can blather on about nothing at all. Then, Malpractice, I once listened to it endlessly, I think I appreciated its strange, mechanical noises meant to imitate some kind of horrific medical operating device that I could not fathom. Be Aggressive is plainly disturbing yet entertaining for its description of certain sexual practices that I'll hope you'll indulge me and allow me to leave the matter at that. Crack Hitler was written about a big time drug dealer who was brilliant enough to think that his connections and how many people he had under him made him comparable to Hitler (since, as we all know, World War II was all about the drug trade and how much street cred you had), and as such is another ironic tough guy song (they're still good). The last song (not really, but it may as well be) is the heavy metal and oddly titled Jizzlobber, and once again I will pretend that I have heard no speculation on the meaning of its lyrics. The song is notable in that it was about the only song on the album that Jim Martin had influence over, and it was one of the heaviest songs that Faith No More ever wrote. Oddly enough, as a heavy metal fan, I'm less interested in this song than the rest of the album, and I doubt that pure heavy metal was ever Faith No More's strength (as far as Faith No More had areas that were not strengths, which admittedly became quite clear by their last album). The ending is beautiful, though; the song fades out into organ and choir, that finishes with the perfect chord with which to finish.
After that is the best cover of the theme to Midnight Cowboy that I have ever heard, and that is Angel Dust.
The point that I am making, of course, is that I can remember just about every minute detail about Faith No More, and I can't remember anything, at all, that happened in 1999, excluding a number of video games that were set in that year, and the release of Mr. Bungle's final album, California. I guess I just don't have the focus for such trite detail.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Some tomorrow.
BACK FROM PROM, FOLKS! I'm sure that you all expected me to stay there forever. But that's ridiculous. In reality, you'd have no reason to expect any such thing since I made no intention to make any such display. You didn't even know that I was at prom. I don't even know what you're talking about.
What can I say about prom? Well, I was there for a total of 7 hours and it was incredibly dull. I'm no dancing queen is the thing. One of them. I simply can't have a good time like that. And furthermore, these people have something to celebrate, a reason to be there, that they had made it through four years of high school and they're celebrating it with their friends. I have nothing to celebrate. I've squandered my time and I know it well, and the only thing left to do is to go out in blaze and fury out of spite. I could not take another year in what has been one of the most frustrating places of my life. I suppose I've simply had enough, I've met many wonderful people and had some good times, but I don't think that I ever had enough patience for something like this. Ideally my marks haven't dropped sufficiently to lose my chance at university, but I'm a nervous man and that's the sort of thing that worries me.
Of course, none of this has anything to do with prom! I am easily distracted, you see. It went something like this:
1. Get picked up by a friend's van.
2. Go to prom reception, occasionally talk to people that I know but mostly stand in a corner.
3. Cake!
4. More cake!
5. Sit around while everyone dances.
6. Go to sleep in a friend's basement.
Those are the six steps to success, I assume! Between a tuxedo rental, prom ticket and other incidental costs, I spent at least $200, maybe closer to $300. All for the greatest night of my life.
It's traditional for me that I'd never write about my personal experiences because not much interesting happens to me. I make up for it by talking. In my brief tenure as a bass choir singer (my voice is slightly too high for it, but my tenor is plainly awful), I discovered that I have an unusually loud voice to match my large size. I'm heard way above people, and at that, I usually have something interesting or funny to say (thanks to my great wit and modesty). But people don't talk at prom.
They dance.
And as I said, I am no dancer. I'm a big, clumsy guy, and I'm white, if that actually does make any difference (although that might be racially insensitive of me to say, I don't really know anymore). I am actually one of the biggest, clumsiest, whitest people I know. I was apparently born of some old European stock, heartily welcoming cold Canadian weather, I imagine that my ancestors were of the sort of bunch who would regularly do things such as pull the ploughs of many oxen, despite a surplus of oxen in the area, and they weren't extremely skilled at it, and they already had more convenient ways to pull a plough, and they already had developed an internal combustion engine, and besides the soil wasn't all that good for tilling anyway. But these hardy men persevered, often for low wages, because they needed the money, and people would pay it since they tired easily and they would become too weak and lethargic to run the local protection racket (I assume that there weren't many other uses for my stock in that time). And they didn't make good dancers, either, since they had hardly any time to practise dancing. They probably got by just doing power moves at heavy metal concerts, widely versed in the floor punch and the mosh pit. At least I assume so.
Things haven't changed much, and I can assure you that they played no heavy metal that night, so my floor punching talents were wasted. In the end, though, I'd like to say that I learned something, and I didn't. There goes $200, and for all my effort I'm still quite tired. I'm no man for ceremonies or superstition, nor symbolism. I see what's there and live it. I saw prom, I lived it, and the important thing is that I'm still alive.
What can I say about prom? Well, I was there for a total of 7 hours and it was incredibly dull. I'm no dancing queen is the thing. One of them. I simply can't have a good time like that. And furthermore, these people have something to celebrate, a reason to be there, that they had made it through four years of high school and they're celebrating it with their friends. I have nothing to celebrate. I've squandered my time and I know it well, and the only thing left to do is to go out in blaze and fury out of spite. I could not take another year in what has been one of the most frustrating places of my life. I suppose I've simply had enough, I've met many wonderful people and had some good times, but I don't think that I ever had enough patience for something like this. Ideally my marks haven't dropped sufficiently to lose my chance at university, but I'm a nervous man and that's the sort of thing that worries me.
Of course, none of this has anything to do with prom! I am easily distracted, you see. It went something like this:
1. Get picked up by a friend's van.
2. Go to prom reception, occasionally talk to people that I know but mostly stand in a corner.
3. Cake!
4. More cake!
5. Sit around while everyone dances.
6. Go to sleep in a friend's basement.
Those are the six steps to success, I assume! Between a tuxedo rental, prom ticket and other incidental costs, I spent at least $200, maybe closer to $300. All for the greatest night of my life.
It's traditional for me that I'd never write about my personal experiences because not much interesting happens to me. I make up for it by talking. In my brief tenure as a bass choir singer (my voice is slightly too high for it, but my tenor is plainly awful), I discovered that I have an unusually loud voice to match my large size. I'm heard way above people, and at that, I usually have something interesting or funny to say (thanks to my great wit and modesty). But people don't talk at prom.
They dance.
And as I said, I am no dancer. I'm a big, clumsy guy, and I'm white, if that actually does make any difference (although that might be racially insensitive of me to say, I don't really know anymore). I am actually one of the biggest, clumsiest, whitest people I know. I was apparently born of some old European stock, heartily welcoming cold Canadian weather, I imagine that my ancestors were of the sort of bunch who would regularly do things such as pull the ploughs of many oxen, despite a surplus of oxen in the area, and they weren't extremely skilled at it, and they already had more convenient ways to pull a plough, and they already had developed an internal combustion engine, and besides the soil wasn't all that good for tilling anyway. But these hardy men persevered, often for low wages, because they needed the money, and people would pay it since they tired easily and they would become too weak and lethargic to run the local protection racket (I assume that there weren't many other uses for my stock in that time). And they didn't make good dancers, either, since they had hardly any time to practise dancing. They probably got by just doing power moves at heavy metal concerts, widely versed in the floor punch and the mosh pit. At least I assume so.
Things haven't changed much, and I can assure you that they played no heavy metal that night, so my floor punching talents were wasted. In the end, though, I'd like to say that I learned something, and I didn't. There goes $200, and for all my effort I'm still quite tired. I'm no man for ceremonies or superstition, nor symbolism. I see what's there and live it. I saw prom, I lived it, and the important thing is that I'm still alive.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
A Brief Conversation.
1-*clears throat loudly* Well, then I think we're all ready to start, are we?
2-I don't see what's preventing us.
1-Microphone checked, sound checked-
2-There is no microphone.
1-I really think you should consider the microphone.
2-Oh really, and why is that?
1-Because there's a microphone there. You're simply too ignorant and you look beyond it too eagerly.
2-What nonsense. You're too ignorant to realise that you can't simply say that there's a microphone anywhere you want. Consider the following: There is no microphone, we are not talking about a microphone because it does not exist. But we are talking. So you are wasting my time.
1-You're too quick to judge.
2-You're not quick enough for anything. Can you tell me why I'm here again?
1-It's quite simple. Do you have anywhere else to be? You're not dead yet.
2-I don't see how the dead play into this.
1-Oh, and if you were dead, you could still be here?
2-What if this is just a recording?
1-I'd need a microphone for that.
2-Oh, will you quiet down with that. I'm sick of the microphone.
1-But you do believe we need one.
2-I never said that.
1-But what about when you die?
2-Let the dead rest, for God's sake. When I die, I don't want to hear people saying- "I can't believe he's gone, I miss him"-
1-You won't hear anything, you're dead.
2-Will you let me speak! I don't want to hear anything like that. I'd be happier with something like, "well, knowing him was quite an experience, but I learned something from it," or "good riddance, thank heavens he's gone," or nothing at all. Nothing is the best.
1-So you hope to leave no mark at all when you die.
2-I hope I leave as big a mark as possible, and I don't want anyone to have a name to put it to.
1-And how are you going to do that?
2-I have no idea.
1-I should hope that you've seriously thought this through, but I have doubts when you claim to have no idea at all.
2-Perhaps my next step will be developing a method. What is this? It's as if you don't hear a word that I say.
1-Pardon?
2-Funny.
1-Wouldn't it be nice if everyone remembered you, maybe even in a positive light? It's almost as if you're too lazy to do something good for someone in a while.
2-I'd do something good if no one knew about it.
1-Excuses, excuses.
2-You don't even know what I've done good.
1-I know you better than anyone else and I've never seen you do anything for anyone.
2-That's because you're not paying close enough attention.
1-I'll admit that I've never seen you so defensive over something like this.
2-So?
1-If you're never going to admit to being a decent person (assuming that you are), then why are you telling me? Why bother mentioning it? It's not as if you're willing to back it up, and besides, it destroys the whole point that you're trying to make.
2-I'm really not in the mood for your nonsense today.
1-I'm never in the mood for your casual dodging of my questions.
2-Oh, that's clever.
1-What?
2-We had the same exchange just moments ago. Do you think you're a clever monkey, imitating everything you hear?
1-I don't know what you're talking about.
2-What I said earlier! Haven't you been paying attention? I'm talking about what I said earlier, my reply to you, and you're just copying me to look smart.
1-If you had a recording I'd know what you were talking about.
2-Why do you keep talking about a recording? What is there to record? What would you do with a recording?
1-I don't know yet.
2-I have doubts about what you're talking about when you don't know yet.
1-Funny.
2-Hahah, am I a cute little monkey now? Just like you.
1-And yet you think that is proves your superiority.
2-What?
1-Every layer of imitation is the same thing, it's not more creative. It's nothing new. If you were so sensitive about my lack of creativity you'd have done more to think of something original.
2-So you admit that you copied me.
1-That's not my point at all.
2-That's why it's my point. All you do is lie!
1-All you do is try to change the topic. Do you think you're the most brilliant and creative mind of our time? You'll fight over anything and when you start to lose you just make something up to defend yourself, hoping that you've made a sufficient distraction that no one will notice that you're not even talking about anything anymore. You're some genius, all right, you're so bright that you'll never take responsibility for your own actions.
2-Well, you're just as much of a critic as I am. I know a personal attack when I see one, and I'm not interested in it. You can yell and complain about me all you want, it doesn't change me.
1-Maybe you should change.
2-Then I'd compromise my integrity.
1-Integrity! What's that worth?
2-Where have I heard that before?
1-Everywhere, I'm sure.
2-I'm sure you're willing to sell out to the first person who'll give you a nickel.
1-I'm sure you'll sell out to the second who'll give you a dime.
2-Then I'm worth twice as much.
1-You think that money makes all of the difference.
2-You know that we're not talking about money. Neither of us was ever about the money.
1-No, never wanted money. Though it would be wonderful to be rich.
2-Yes, to be rich, or rather, not rich, but have all of the comforts of a rich man.
1-What a life.
2-If we were rich we'd never have to fight.
1-Or work.
2-Then what would you do?
1-Read.
2-I'd write.
1-Then we make quite a team.
2-I know, that's why it's no use trying to get rid of you.
2-I don't see what's preventing us.
1-Microphone checked, sound checked-
2-There is no microphone.
1-I really think you should consider the microphone.
2-Oh really, and why is that?
1-Because there's a microphone there. You're simply too ignorant and you look beyond it too eagerly.
2-What nonsense. You're too ignorant to realise that you can't simply say that there's a microphone anywhere you want. Consider the following: There is no microphone, we are not talking about a microphone because it does not exist. But we are talking. So you are wasting my time.
1-You're too quick to judge.
2-You're not quick enough for anything. Can you tell me why I'm here again?
1-It's quite simple. Do you have anywhere else to be? You're not dead yet.
2-I don't see how the dead play into this.
1-Oh, and if you were dead, you could still be here?
2-What if this is just a recording?
1-I'd need a microphone for that.
2-Oh, will you quiet down with that. I'm sick of the microphone.
1-But you do believe we need one.
2-I never said that.
1-But what about when you die?
2-Let the dead rest, for God's sake. When I die, I don't want to hear people saying- "I can't believe he's gone, I miss him"-
1-You won't hear anything, you're dead.
2-Will you let me speak! I don't want to hear anything like that. I'd be happier with something like, "well, knowing him was quite an experience, but I learned something from it," or "good riddance, thank heavens he's gone," or nothing at all. Nothing is the best.
1-So you hope to leave no mark at all when you die.
2-I hope I leave as big a mark as possible, and I don't want anyone to have a name to put it to.
1-And how are you going to do that?
2-I have no idea.
1-I should hope that you've seriously thought this through, but I have doubts when you claim to have no idea at all.
2-Perhaps my next step will be developing a method. What is this? It's as if you don't hear a word that I say.
1-Pardon?
2-Funny.
1-Wouldn't it be nice if everyone remembered you, maybe even in a positive light? It's almost as if you're too lazy to do something good for someone in a while.
2-I'd do something good if no one knew about it.
1-Excuses, excuses.
2-You don't even know what I've done good.
1-I know you better than anyone else and I've never seen you do anything for anyone.
2-That's because you're not paying close enough attention.
1-I'll admit that I've never seen you so defensive over something like this.
2-So?
1-If you're never going to admit to being a decent person (assuming that you are), then why are you telling me? Why bother mentioning it? It's not as if you're willing to back it up, and besides, it destroys the whole point that you're trying to make.
2-I'm really not in the mood for your nonsense today.
1-I'm never in the mood for your casual dodging of my questions.
2-Oh, that's clever.
1-What?
2-We had the same exchange just moments ago. Do you think you're a clever monkey, imitating everything you hear?
1-I don't know what you're talking about.
2-What I said earlier! Haven't you been paying attention? I'm talking about what I said earlier, my reply to you, and you're just copying me to look smart.
1-If you had a recording I'd know what you were talking about.
2-Why do you keep talking about a recording? What is there to record? What would you do with a recording?
1-I don't know yet.
2-I have doubts about what you're talking about when you don't know yet.
1-Funny.
2-Hahah, am I a cute little monkey now? Just like you.
1-And yet you think that is proves your superiority.
2-What?
1-Every layer of imitation is the same thing, it's not more creative. It's nothing new. If you were so sensitive about my lack of creativity you'd have done more to think of something original.
2-So you admit that you copied me.
1-That's not my point at all.
2-That's why it's my point. All you do is lie!
1-All you do is try to change the topic. Do you think you're the most brilliant and creative mind of our time? You'll fight over anything and when you start to lose you just make something up to defend yourself, hoping that you've made a sufficient distraction that no one will notice that you're not even talking about anything anymore. You're some genius, all right, you're so bright that you'll never take responsibility for your own actions.
2-Well, you're just as much of a critic as I am. I know a personal attack when I see one, and I'm not interested in it. You can yell and complain about me all you want, it doesn't change me.
1-Maybe you should change.
2-Then I'd compromise my integrity.
1-Integrity! What's that worth?
2-Where have I heard that before?
1-Everywhere, I'm sure.
2-I'm sure you're willing to sell out to the first person who'll give you a nickel.
1-I'm sure you'll sell out to the second who'll give you a dime.
2-Then I'm worth twice as much.
1-You think that money makes all of the difference.
2-You know that we're not talking about money. Neither of us was ever about the money.
1-No, never wanted money. Though it would be wonderful to be rich.
2-Yes, to be rich, or rather, not rich, but have all of the comforts of a rich man.
1-What a life.
2-If we were rich we'd never have to fight.
1-Or work.
2-Then what would you do?
1-Read.
2-I'd write.
1-Then we make quite a team.
2-I know, that's why it's no use trying to get rid of you.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
If I had my way I'd have all of you fucking shot.
Are you creative? Do people sometimes consider your thoughts unusual? Are you willing to do something that no one else has done before!
GREAT! Then I recommend you get a creative hobby! Perhaps you could be the next MARCEL DuCHAMP! I bet a creative, wonderful soul such as one who would stumble upon my blog could step up and come up with something just as interesting as a urinal with the wrong name! Maybe you could take a water fountain and call it URINAL.
GREAT! Then I recommend you get a creative hobby! Perhaps you could be the next MARCEL DuCHAMP! I bet a creative, wonderful soul such as one who would stumble upon my blog could step up and come up with something just as interesting as a urinal with the wrong name! Maybe you could take a water fountain and call it URINAL.
URINAL
A look at our post-modern view of socioeconomic policies with regards to the inhumane process of Capitalism.
A look at our post-modern view of socioeconomic policies with regards to the inhumane process of Capitalism.
FANTASTIC. I just know you'll be a star, you have that look in your eyes, that look that says: I AM WILLING TO SELL OUT TO IMPRESS CHICKS AND MAKE A LOT OF ILL-GAINED MONEY. Which is what you'll be doing, basically. You'll probably have realised that taking someone's concept and inverting it lacks any artistic merit, and let alone that Duchamp's original design was a horrible idea. But he's famous now! Look at it!
http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Marcel_duChamp
He's got his OWN DAMN WIKIPEDIA ARTICLE.
Fuck, I've done some pretty horrible and original things in my life and I don't have a wikipedia article yet. There will never be a question about me on Jeopardy, no A&E Biography, none of that nonsense. I've done plenty of fantastic things before. Look at my breakthrough work, Urinal. That's at least as creative as anything Marcel Duchamp ever did. Dadaism is fantastic bullshit. I could puke in a cardboard box and it would be a Dadaist masterpiece. I think that I've never bothered with anything so ridiculous is why I'm still an unknown, at least that's one good reason. Readymades are a waste of my time. Fuck you, R. Mutt. Just because the definition of art is a meaningless and arbitrary one that allows anything to be art does not mean that your art is good. Do you think that you're a success because some people think that it isn't art? You're a failure, Duchamp! Art isn't dead yet, although you've made a fine murder attempt. Or perhaps we should admire you for convincing millions of people that your waste of our time is what everyone has been waiting for. Damn you.
I'm sick of uncreative, uninspired, untalented art. For instance, I still can't believe that people actually listen to The Beatles. You think it's cute to be "bigger than Jesus"? I don't give a shit about blasphemy and feel free to believe what you want, but that is one of the dumbest things that you could say. I remember that when I first started drumming, one of the first songs that I learned was "Ticket to Ride". There are three distinct* beats in the song, any of which could be learned by your average toddler or an elephant**. They're not even interesting beats. Any drummer that you've ever heard of can outclass Ringo Starr, with the exception of Megan White, who is just shameful. I could say plenty about The White Stripes, but I'm trying to stay a tad relaxed.
Fuck you, Dan Brown, I have nothing to say to you.
Modern art has become a disgrace, and it stems from modern society's problem with definition. Society is litigious, and we want definite answers to every question, so when no one has a definite answer for art, it creates an answer: anything.
There are, of course, benefits to this. It opens the doors for real artists such as Mike Patton, whose talent and innovation in popular music is unmatched by any living artist***. Salvador Dalí is also another one of our modern geniuses. Literature has suffered more, and very few writers could attain a "legendary" status in these black days, however the advent of the internet has, along with an unbelievable volume of trash, accumulated several decent writers that would not receive the same exposure without this "stage" to present themselves upon. Many talented artists cannot find this exposure without "selling out", and many fail without any money or visibility to back them up****. The point I am trying to make is, creativity is important, however it is useless without any sort of skill or talent or any ability to overcome a weakness in your art, and vice versa. If you cannot write, then perhaps writing is not for you (although I encourage all potential writers and artists to get their work out there and find feedback, and try to improve themselves).
SO WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO DO? Well, as I said, if you think you're a creative soul (and everyone is in some respect), then get working! There cannot be enough art in the world, and the more there is the more that will be undeniably quality work. HOWEVER... I have some important pointers.
1. Always keep practising your art.
2. Try to get people to notice you.
3. Don't suck at it.
4. Don't sell out just because you suck. You're practising to get better.
5. Listen to feedback, as long as it's not ridiculous.
6. Never do what anyone else is doing.
I love art, it's why I'm here, and that's why it's so important to me that we keep progressing forward, instead of backward or in a circle*****. Naturally, it will be my attempt to culture every reader of my surprisingly amazing****** blog, and I hope that every day you will learn something new from me about something fantastic to look at or listen to and go, "hey, that's kinda neat, actually".
Not every day. I don't actually work that often.
*They're actually almost identical.
**Provided that the elephant has an attendant to hand him the sticks.
***I say this with no confidence, but I couldn't name someone more revolutionary without thinking for some time, and then it would be wasted.
****While I'm on the topic, I suggest reading http://girlsareprettyforever.blogspot.com/; for such a talented humourist, Bob Powers does not receive nearly enough attention. He doesn't even have a Wikipedia article yet.
*****Or any other crazy shape.
******Or is that amazingly surprising? I don't think so, though.
http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Marcel_duChamp
He's got his OWN DAMN WIKIPEDIA ARTICLE.
Fuck, I've done some pretty horrible and original things in my life and I don't have a wikipedia article yet. There will never be a question about me on Jeopardy, no A&E Biography, none of that nonsense. I've done plenty of fantastic things before. Look at my breakthrough work, Urinal. That's at least as creative as anything Marcel Duchamp ever did. Dadaism is fantastic bullshit. I could puke in a cardboard box and it would be a Dadaist masterpiece. I think that I've never bothered with anything so ridiculous is why I'm still an unknown, at least that's one good reason. Readymades are a waste of my time. Fuck you, R. Mutt. Just because the definition of art is a meaningless and arbitrary one that allows anything to be art does not mean that your art is good. Do you think that you're a success because some people think that it isn't art? You're a failure, Duchamp! Art isn't dead yet, although you've made a fine murder attempt. Or perhaps we should admire you for convincing millions of people that your waste of our time is what everyone has been waiting for. Damn you.
I'm sick of uncreative, uninspired, untalented art. For instance, I still can't believe that people actually listen to The Beatles. You think it's cute to be "bigger than Jesus"? I don't give a shit about blasphemy and feel free to believe what you want, but that is one of the dumbest things that you could say. I remember that when I first started drumming, one of the first songs that I learned was "Ticket to Ride". There are three distinct* beats in the song, any of which could be learned by your average toddler or an elephant**. They're not even interesting beats. Any drummer that you've ever heard of can outclass Ringo Starr, with the exception of Megan White, who is just shameful. I could say plenty about The White Stripes, but I'm trying to stay a tad relaxed.
Fuck you, Dan Brown, I have nothing to say to you.
Modern art has become a disgrace, and it stems from modern society's problem with definition. Society is litigious, and we want definite answers to every question, so when no one has a definite answer for art, it creates an answer: anything.
There are, of course, benefits to this. It opens the doors for real artists such as Mike Patton, whose talent and innovation in popular music is unmatched by any living artist***. Salvador Dalí is also another one of our modern geniuses. Literature has suffered more, and very few writers could attain a "legendary" status in these black days, however the advent of the internet has, along with an unbelievable volume of trash, accumulated several decent writers that would not receive the same exposure without this "stage" to present themselves upon. Many talented artists cannot find this exposure without "selling out", and many fail without any money or visibility to back them up****. The point I am trying to make is, creativity is important, however it is useless without any sort of skill or talent or any ability to overcome a weakness in your art, and vice versa. If you cannot write, then perhaps writing is not for you (although I encourage all potential writers and artists to get their work out there and find feedback, and try to improve themselves).
SO WHAT ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO DO? Well, as I said, if you think you're a creative soul (and everyone is in some respect), then get working! There cannot be enough art in the world, and the more there is the more that will be undeniably quality work. HOWEVER... I have some important pointers.
1. Always keep practising your art.
2. Try to get people to notice you.
3. Don't suck at it.
4. Don't sell out just because you suck. You're practising to get better.
5. Listen to feedback, as long as it's not ridiculous.
6. Never do what anyone else is doing.
I love art, it's why I'm here, and that's why it's so important to me that we keep progressing forward, instead of backward or in a circle*****. Naturally, it will be my attempt to culture every reader of my surprisingly amazing****** blog, and I hope that every day you will learn something new from me about something fantastic to look at or listen to and go, "hey, that's kinda neat, actually".
Not every day. I don't actually work that often.
*They're actually almost identical.
**Provided that the elephant has an attendant to hand him the sticks.
***I say this with no confidence, but I couldn't name someone more revolutionary without thinking for some time, and then it would be wasted.
****While I'm on the topic, I suggest reading http://girlsareprettyforever.blogspot.com/; for such a talented humourist, Bob Powers does not receive nearly enough attention. He doesn't even have a Wikipedia article yet.
*****Or any other crazy shape.
******Or is that amazingly surprising? I don't think so, though.
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