“So, Sam, what do you do?”
“Oh, I’m an artist,” Sam said dully.
“Oh really? And what is your medium?”
“Uh, no medium.”
“No medium?”
“Yeah.”
“So what do you make?”
“I don’t really make anything,” Sam said slowly.
“Then how are you an artist?”
“Oh, I’m an artist in pretension only, no production.”
“So you’re telling me that your just an unemployed asshole?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam appeared to be uninterested. “I’m happy you got that.”
“So what do you want to do with your life?”
“Oh, I’m pretty happy the way it is.”
“How do you make money?”
“I sell drugs.”
“You’re a drug dealer.”
“I prefer artist.”
“What do you sell?”
“Pot.”
“How much pot?”
“A lot, a lot of pot.”
“You know I’m a cop?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam was leaning back, his eyes looked bored.
“Do you want me too arrest you?”
“I want you to try.”
He went for his handcuffs, but they weren’t there. He tried looking for them, but he could not find them. He had never been in this room before. He thought he was eating dinner with his family. Wasn’t this man his daughter’s boyfriend? He was interrogating a murder suspect. He already knew this man was a drug dealer. His honesty was not comforting. Is this some new interrogation room? Had the precinct been remodeled? He tried to stand but a great amount of water weighed him down.
“I can’t find my handcuffs.”
“I knew it. I sold you some pot earlier.”
“Did I smoke it?”
“You smoked a lot of it.” Sam said with a smile.
“Oh God.”
“Do you deny it?”
“I don’t know where I am.”
He was naked. This was his first day of work. Where were his registration papers? Why had they put him to work interrogating this man without his uniform?
“Are you interrogating me?”
“Of course I am,” Sam said. His smile became menacing.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Was I fooled too? Or deconstructing(?) Ann Coulter...
So I've given it more thought, and I'm starting to think that maybe Ann Coulter is in fact a liberal in disguise. Which would, ironically enough, only futher my thesis that she is part of a conspiracy to destroy any hope of political consensus in our poor USA. Here's a link. I'm espically interested in the one guy who writes: "When I listen to them it makes me more liberal rather than more conservative (just like Colbert) -- maybe they're trying to accomplish the same goal?" Moreover, in Ann's most recent post on her hompage, she begins by citing an MSNBC repot on Robert McDonnell, in which the poor bastard is completely ripped apart. She does so ostensibly to rub the liberal's face in it since he just got elected as governer of Virginia. But she says nothing to contradict MSNBC Keith Olbermann's diatribe. Hell, even Ann Coulter can't be against women having jobs (although the end of the post, "When conservatives take control of the Republican Party, Republicans win" seems to suggest otherwise, since she's really saying "I support conservatism, go us!" and the definition of conservatism she's working under is, implicitly, the one cited in the beginning from Olbermann).
My impression, after reading Ann's latest post, is: conservatives just elected another sick asshole to office. And I believe that is intentional. Ann Coulter is writing for liberals! She wants the liberal to think that conservatives would, if given the chance, elect only crazy assholes to office. She wants to confirm the liberal's suspicion. After reading anything Coulter writes, the only person who wouldn't walk away thinking "Jesus! I'm going to distance myself as far as possible from the conservative movement," would be a die hard conservative. Hence, political consensus, impossible.
My impression, after reading Ann's latest post, is: conservatives just elected another sick asshole to office. And I believe that is intentional. Ann Coulter is writing for liberals! She wants the liberal to think that conservatives would, if given the chance, elect only crazy assholes to office. She wants to confirm the liberal's suspicion. After reading anything Coulter writes, the only person who wouldn't walk away thinking "Jesus! I'm going to distance myself as far as possible from the conservative movement," would be a die hard conservative. Hence, political consensus, impossible.
Reptilian Aliens?
So I don't usually go in for the whole shapeshifting, reptilian alien thing. In fact I only ever talk about it to highlight the spectrum of conspiracy theories, and thereby (hopefully) led us mainstreamers a tad bit more credibility. For example, the fearmongering perpetrated by the media about H1N1 is far more likely the result of the decision, on a political level, to buy hundreds of millions of vaccinations with taxpayer money plus the realization that that was stupid and unnecessary (since it's a very mild flu and the number of infected people is wildly, outrageously exaggerated), than that shapeshifting reptilian aliens are afraid the spiritual awakening in 2012 will empower humans to shed their invisible shackles and must now try to limit our supernatural potential by vaccinating us against it.
Nevertheless, if there are shapeshifting reptilian aliens, then Michael Specter, author of "Denialism", is definitely one of them.
Nevertheless, if there are shapeshifting reptilian aliens, then Michael Specter, author of "Denialism", is definitely one of them.
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Picture of Ann Coulter
Ann Coulter is part of a conspiracy to destroy what little cohesion remains within the US political system. Here’s why:
She is an extremely well educated person, and profoundly intelligent. Therefore she must be consciously aware of the garbage she spews from her dark hellgate of a mouth. Some reason must be driving her to do it. The most obvious answer is greed and spotlight. And we could just stop there: Ann Coulter is a whore. Has she however earned such an easy conclusion? Absolutely not. The mere quantity of foul sick that is her literary accomplishment warrants a far more insidious answer. She is knowingly trying to ruin the possibility of consensus in this country; it is her singular goal to cripple, through division, the power of the people and thereby overturn the very foundation upon which this and any democracy is built. Here’s how:
Ann Coulter does not avail herself of some niche market. No, one either loves her, or loves to hate her, and regardless reads what she writes. Her position as guru of the ultra right is made more solid by the deep loathing all democrats have for her. And from this position of power she is uniquely situated to divide the people. She is a polarizing force. The far right, emboldened by the injustices their Ann receives at the hands of the left, becomes more ductile, more pliable, more conformable, mere putty in her hands, further and further right. The left, incensed that anybody actually takes the racist blonde sonofabitch seriously, unprejudicially disregards as false everything she hacks forth. Eventually nothing can bridge the gap between these two parties. The political process halts. Hate fills the forum. Discourse is reduced to name-calling. And on this road to hell, Ann plays the puppet master.
I like to think of Ann in front of the mirror at home. Tearstained and ill, she slaps her cheeks and accuses herself of being ugly and fat. She uses the toothbrush she always offers to one night stands to induce her bulimia. Afterwards she blows a huge line of coke and jumps on the treadmill until her self loathing is swallowed by physical pain. If only it weren’t just a temporary fix. At her weakest moments she lets herself into the unmarked back door of a lesbian swingers club. There she is roughly, frenetically violated by some bull dyke with a massive strap-on and then, left cold and alone, she cries her black heart out on that unhappy, familiar concrete slab in the “dungeon fantasy” room.
Ann Coulter lives in hell. I wouldn’t wish the hell she lives in on anyone, not even Ann Coulter. And I hope to God, for her poor sake, that Nietzsche’s Eternal Recurrence is not literally true.
She is an extremely well educated person, and profoundly intelligent. Therefore she must be consciously aware of the garbage she spews from her dark hellgate of a mouth. Some reason must be driving her to do it. The most obvious answer is greed and spotlight. And we could just stop there: Ann Coulter is a whore. Has she however earned such an easy conclusion? Absolutely not. The mere quantity of foul sick that is her literary accomplishment warrants a far more insidious answer. She is knowingly trying to ruin the possibility of consensus in this country; it is her singular goal to cripple, through division, the power of the people and thereby overturn the very foundation upon which this and any democracy is built. Here’s how:
Ann Coulter does not avail herself of some niche market. No, one either loves her, or loves to hate her, and regardless reads what she writes. Her position as guru of the ultra right is made more solid by the deep loathing all democrats have for her. And from this position of power she is uniquely situated to divide the people. She is a polarizing force. The far right, emboldened by the injustices their Ann receives at the hands of the left, becomes more ductile, more pliable, more conformable, mere putty in her hands, further and further right. The left, incensed that anybody actually takes the racist blonde sonofabitch seriously, unprejudicially disregards as false everything she hacks forth. Eventually nothing can bridge the gap between these two parties. The political process halts. Hate fills the forum. Discourse is reduced to name-calling. And on this road to hell, Ann plays the puppet master.
I like to think of Ann in front of the mirror at home. Tearstained and ill, she slaps her cheeks and accuses herself of being ugly and fat. She uses the toothbrush she always offers to one night stands to induce her bulimia. Afterwards she blows a huge line of coke and jumps on the treadmill until her self loathing is swallowed by physical pain. If only it weren’t just a temporary fix. At her weakest moments she lets herself into the unmarked back door of a lesbian swingers club. There she is roughly, frenetically violated by some bull dyke with a massive strap-on and then, left cold and alone, she cries her black heart out on that unhappy, familiar concrete slab in the “dungeon fantasy” room.
Ann Coulter lives in hell. I wouldn’t wish the hell she lives in on anyone, not even Ann Coulter. And I hope to God, for her poor sake, that Nietzsche’s Eternal Recurrence is not literally true.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Posting mostly infrequent
I feel like I should apologize, having now added myself to some sort of blog networking site, about how thinly spread the posts here are. So, sorry about that. On the up side, it makes reading the whole damn thing all that much easier. And please give me either a really high or really low rating so I fell altogether less mediocre. It would be nice if more than nobody started reading my blog, my previous fan base of almost three having meanly left me for other, probably more pregnant--or, better, capable of imprenation--pastures. But enjoy what little I have to offer. Oh, and PS, this is not a shopping blog, whatever the fuck that means.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
A question of progress
On April 30th, 2008 Salman Rushdie was killed.
Alfred Metzger sat cat-backed as usual, resulting in many future back problems, staring through the bright reflection of the computer screen on his glasses. He had come to know, having observed the phenomenon for hours, that one’s general conduct around and towards one’s computer has the determining influence on its personality. Some people just couldn’t do computers right. He could. And that’s exactly what he was doing tonight. The machine hummed in ecstasy. The keyboard was like a clitoris, his mouse strokes sublime penetration. Maybe his hardware wasn’t theoretically capable of running the programs he wrote for it, but it did not complain. He was not fat, but not strong either. His arms would sometime sit there, limp and cold, dead flesh for minutes. Or he would lazily type with one hand, and rest the other under his chin. He was no good typer. But what he lacked in finesse, he made up for in genius. Nobody could touch him, when he was on the internet. His machine recognized that too.
The things he was capable of! The potential corruption he could wreak on the system scared him sometimes to tears. He would occasionally scream in short bursts for what seemed like no reason. But he did his job. He had earned this level of access. People trusted him. He had every clearance recognized by the government. Private corporations put all the keys in his hands. He had also contemplated it, and he was mostly certain that he could ignite revolution. Manipulation of mass opinion was literally at his finger tips. One can imagine a man going crazy in such circumstances.
He shut it all down, went upstairs and entered another world. Naked women, extremely beautiful, lay all around, dozing or chatting or otherwise occupied, on big, gorgeous pillows and sofas of satin. The dominant colors were red and deep gray; vibrant blue and green showed up as vase or lamp in the soft, decadent light. His decoration was gaudy but sensuous, sexually exciting. He was showing off.
The decadence was, however, misleading. With barley a word he climbed another set of stairs and found his dark room. Upon entering he could smell himself. The sheets were unwashed, his clothes all flung about. If this room were his soul then he was a monster, but a delicate kind. He washed his hands in the sink in the corner, took all his clothes off, crawled into bed, clapped the light off, and turned on the tv.
The news was the same: everything is falling apart. New structures are being erected. We’re all going straight to hell. He flipped the channels. One program caught his interest, it was: “the one year anniversary of the death of a genius, Salman Rushdie remembered.” He remembered that story. Some crazy lady had killed him and then killed herself. One less genius in the world. They can’t survive here, not anymore. The climate’s all wrong. Could he change that? Could he create more geniuses? More like himself? Maybe not. He farted loudly. He would probably stay up for a few hours, maybe watch some of his favorite series. No rush. Then sleep.
Alfred Metzger sat cat-backed as usual, resulting in many future back problems, staring through the bright reflection of the computer screen on his glasses. He had come to know, having observed the phenomenon for hours, that one’s general conduct around and towards one’s computer has the determining influence on its personality. Some people just couldn’t do computers right. He could. And that’s exactly what he was doing tonight. The machine hummed in ecstasy. The keyboard was like a clitoris, his mouse strokes sublime penetration. Maybe his hardware wasn’t theoretically capable of running the programs he wrote for it, but it did not complain. He was not fat, but not strong either. His arms would sometime sit there, limp and cold, dead flesh for minutes. Or he would lazily type with one hand, and rest the other under his chin. He was no good typer. But what he lacked in finesse, he made up for in genius. Nobody could touch him, when he was on the internet. His machine recognized that too.
The things he was capable of! The potential corruption he could wreak on the system scared him sometimes to tears. He would occasionally scream in short bursts for what seemed like no reason. But he did his job. He had earned this level of access. People trusted him. He had every clearance recognized by the government. Private corporations put all the keys in his hands. He had also contemplated it, and he was mostly certain that he could ignite revolution. Manipulation of mass opinion was literally at his finger tips. One can imagine a man going crazy in such circumstances.
He shut it all down, went upstairs and entered another world. Naked women, extremely beautiful, lay all around, dozing or chatting or otherwise occupied, on big, gorgeous pillows and sofas of satin. The dominant colors were red and deep gray; vibrant blue and green showed up as vase or lamp in the soft, decadent light. His decoration was gaudy but sensuous, sexually exciting. He was showing off.
The decadence was, however, misleading. With barley a word he climbed another set of stairs and found his dark room. Upon entering he could smell himself. The sheets were unwashed, his clothes all flung about. If this room were his soul then he was a monster, but a delicate kind. He washed his hands in the sink in the corner, took all his clothes off, crawled into bed, clapped the light off, and turned on the tv.
The news was the same: everything is falling apart. New structures are being erected. We’re all going straight to hell. He flipped the channels. One program caught his interest, it was: “the one year anniversary of the death of a genius, Salman Rushdie remembered.” He remembered that story. Some crazy lady had killed him and then killed herself. One less genius in the world. They can’t survive here, not anymore. The climate’s all wrong. Could he change that? Could he create more geniuses? More like himself? Maybe not. He farted loudly. He would probably stay up for a few hours, maybe watch some of his favorite series. No rush. Then sleep.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Marijuana and Masterbation
He entered the apartment of Louise Barnett. It was wet and cold inside, but wonderful too. It smelled of sweat and cigarettes. He investigated. Of interest was this, written softly in pencil on the wall next to that side of her large bed where her body, over time, had left a deep impression: “I will kill Salman Rushdie. He should not have been allowed to exist at all. I’ll kill him not for the sake of religion, nor because he offends. His death is not an answer to God or man. Rather, he dies because he is man’s answer to God. But man will not hear it! I will not let them!” These were obviously the words of some lunatic. The signature at the bottom was unintelligible, as though someone had wiped it with a greasy thumb. It was written on thick wall paper. He took out his knife and removed it.
Will she notice? Will I sell it to the tabloids? Perhaps she will kill him tonight, and I'll become rich! The damning confession of a lunatic millionaire. Maybe I’ll take it to the police instead. They would say I saved the poor fool’s life. She will be forgotten, and I will breathe again!
Had he known all along about the tiny penciled note? Had he come there that night to rob her, or to see first hand the apartment of a suicide victim? He stepped out into the rain. Her windows had been left open, but it seemed as though that night the dampness had chosen to retreat solely into her room, and wondered that the rain had enough moisture to fall all the way to the street below. He took his socks off. “I’ll run. And if I step on glass it will be my punishment for wishing her ill.” He thought about the jagged edge of glass sticking out invisibly from the rain puddles in the dark, about his blood and the muddy water. He imagined the yellowish stain her body left on the bed sheet despite repeated washings, and the smell of her.
Will she notice? Will I sell it to the tabloids? Perhaps she will kill him tonight, and I'll become rich! The damning confession of a lunatic millionaire. Maybe I’ll take it to the police instead. They would say I saved the poor fool’s life. She will be forgotten, and I will breathe again!
Had he known all along about the tiny penciled note? Had he come there that night to rob her, or to see first hand the apartment of a suicide victim? He stepped out into the rain. Her windows had been left open, but it seemed as though that night the dampness had chosen to retreat solely into her room, and wondered that the rain had enough moisture to fall all the way to the street below. He took his socks off. “I’ll run. And if I step on glass it will be my punishment for wishing her ill.” He thought about the jagged edge of glass sticking out invisibly from the rain puddles in the dark, about his blood and the muddy water. He imagined the yellowish stain her body left on the bed sheet despite repeated washings, and the smell of her.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
no subject
Hello Friends,
radialrelish here, radiantly relishing radially, wondering if that's true. Neither of the two promises made about me and this site are fulfilled, I'm afraid, if at least the address of a site promises something about its content. Do I relish radially? I chose the name. Do I penetrate any matters of taste?
These are notes from the underblog-o-spere. I might as well be alone in my room writing in a private diary. Here I am, alone in my room.
But nothing I have to say is new. Newly said, newly born, sure. But not new in any sense.
What part of me is to penetrate a matter of taste? I wonder if I am not just being sick onto the page. That these words are said sick. And that I am indeed healthier to have cleansed myself of them. Brain vomit. Animus vomitus. You think?
I am here the part of me that wills cancer. I seek invasion. In the very outskirts I hold my breath. If I can fill up enough space with nothing, perhaps it will collapse in onto itself. Like a black hole. A black hole in cyberspace.
And who says that I won't be successful? Who says it can't happen? What, do you have a PhD in cyberphysics or something? I don't fucking think so. So just wait.
Yours truly,
rr
radialrelish here, radiantly relishing radially, wondering if that's true. Neither of the two promises made about me and this site are fulfilled, I'm afraid, if at least the address of a site promises something about its content. Do I relish radially? I chose the name. Do I penetrate any matters of taste?
These are notes from the underblog-o-spere. I might as well be alone in my room writing in a private diary. Here I am, alone in my room.
But nothing I have to say is new. Newly said, newly born, sure. But not new in any sense.
What part of me is to penetrate a matter of taste? I wonder if I am not just being sick onto the page. That these words are said sick. And that I am indeed healthier to have cleansed myself of them. Brain vomit. Animus vomitus. You think?
I am here the part of me that wills cancer. I seek invasion. In the very outskirts I hold my breath. If I can fill up enough space with nothing, perhaps it will collapse in onto itself. Like a black hole. A black hole in cyberspace.
And who says that I won't be successful? Who says it can't happen? What, do you have a PhD in cyberphysics or something? I don't fucking think so. So just wait.
Yours truly,
rr
Saturday, July 04, 2009
A Tom Swifty:
Here's a Tom Swifty I thought up for y'alls:
"I think tonight we should try something new," said his wife roughly, but sexily.
Pretty good, huh?
Can you believe it?
Everyone (that's right, all of you) should read THIS.
My God. Do people actually read that and think, "yeah! As an American and as a republican, that is exactly what I think my party needs right now. Sarah Palin did out smart the left!"?
She quit her job. The lady could fling shit out of her car window at passersby and Mr. Peter Ferrara would hail the act as "representative of the kind of American freedoms upon which this country is built."
The lady couldn't out smart a fucking pencil. (When she puts one in one of those electric sharpeners and it comes out sharp, she probably thinks "it's just one of God's little miracles.")
What is striking, however, about this article, is how succinctly the platform of the crazy right is summed up. Here's a list (in order of appearance):
1. Pro-life, traditional values
2. "sane, grown up energy policies"
3. Economics
4. Nukes
5. Israel
OK. So, pro-lifers will be pro-lifers. The argument is dead. Unfortunately aborted.
Traditional values, however, (like an American's God-given right to beat his wife) are much more fruitful areas of debate. Let's take Sarah for example. She is, on the one hand, something very non-traditional--a woman with a job. But, on the other hand, she's the perfect representation of the traditional value I like to call "barefoot and pregnant". Everyone's got to admit, she's pooped out quite a litter. Plus, she presents herself as a "soccer mom". Sarah Palin: she wakes up earlier than the family, cooks them breakfast, kisses her husband on his way out the door, packs the kids off to school, etc, but then, instead popping some queluds and playing WOW, she goes to the governer's office and g o v e r n s. She knows she should be at home. She feels guilty that she's not. But hey, sombody has got to take a hit for the team! Sarah will fight hard to make sure every woman in this fine country has a baby to take care of and a husband who doesn't appreciate her! Finally, women can get out of the stressful workplace, and back into the peace and quiet of the happy home.
"sane, grown up energy policies" = "drill baby, drill!" I mean Jesus fucking Christ! Now I don't know shit about cap and trade taxes, but "grown up"? Which sounds more grown up: 1. "We're going to implement cap and trade taxes to improve this country's energy policy." or 2. "Drill baby, drill!" Let us not forget that Sarah and McCain had the crowd at the RNC chanting it.
Economics. I'm down. Fuck Keynes. I mean, again, I don't know shit about shit. But it would be nice to stop fractional reserve banking. Which Sarah will never do. Since she has no idea what fractional reserve banking is. Moreover, as the candidate with the least, she will be so deep in the pocket of corporate interest and the finance czars that she will be giving them all perpetual hand jobs.
Yeah, let's build more nukes! That's what we need! That will solve all our problems! Climate change? Nuke it! Terrorists? Nuke 'em! Over fishing? Nuuuuke! Our poor image in Europe? Blow it up! Fuck yeah! Nukes are as American as apple pie and lynchin' niggers!
And, finally, Israel. When did hate-filled, uneducated, fundamentalist Christian rednecks start loving Jews? Probably about the same time that said Jews became the de facto cowboys of the Middle East. Riding around with their guns and their matzah balls and their money; no care for law and order; just fuckin' shit up! It's just like the republicans to advocate for a closer friendship with a racist, bloodthirsty country who repeatedly ignores international law and who uses the arms and aid we send them blatantly for purposes forbidden according to our own domestic policies regarding the sale of said items.
So, in conclusion, Peter Ferrara is obviously a nut job.
One last thing: Sarah should start a think tank. She could call it "Thinking is Fun!" or "The Council on Sarah's Relationships". Then she could hang with all her high school buddies, wear funny hats, tell extremely inappropriate Alaskan jokes, and do cocaine.
God bless America!
My God. Do people actually read that and think, "yeah! As an American and as a republican, that is exactly what I think my party needs right now. Sarah Palin did out smart the left!"?
She quit her job. The lady could fling shit out of her car window at passersby and Mr. Peter Ferrara would hail the act as "representative of the kind of American freedoms upon which this country is built."
The lady couldn't out smart a fucking pencil. (When she puts one in one of those electric sharpeners and it comes out sharp, she probably thinks "it's just one of God's little miracles.")
What is striking, however, about this article, is how succinctly the platform of the crazy right is summed up. Here's a list (in order of appearance):
1. Pro-life, traditional values
2. "sane, grown up energy policies"
3. Economics
4. Nukes
5. Israel
OK. So, pro-lifers will be pro-lifers. The argument is dead. Unfortunately aborted.
Traditional values, however, (like an American's God-given right to beat his wife) are much more fruitful areas of debate. Let's take Sarah for example. She is, on the one hand, something very non-traditional--a woman with a job. But, on the other hand, she's the perfect representation of the traditional value I like to call "barefoot and pregnant". Everyone's got to admit, she's pooped out quite a litter. Plus, she presents herself as a "soccer mom". Sarah Palin: she wakes up earlier than the family, cooks them breakfast, kisses her husband on his way out the door, packs the kids off to school, etc, but then, instead popping some queluds and playing WOW, she goes to the governer's office and g o v e r n s. She knows she should be at home. She feels guilty that she's not. But hey, sombody has got to take a hit for the team! Sarah will fight hard to make sure every woman in this fine country has a baby to take care of and a husband who doesn't appreciate her! Finally, women can get out of the stressful workplace, and back into the peace and quiet of the happy home.
"sane, grown up energy policies" = "drill baby, drill!" I mean Jesus fucking Christ! Now I don't know shit about cap and trade taxes, but "grown up"? Which sounds more grown up: 1. "We're going to implement cap and trade taxes to improve this country's energy policy." or 2. "Drill baby, drill!" Let us not forget that Sarah and McCain had the crowd at the RNC chanting it.
Economics. I'm down. Fuck Keynes. I mean, again, I don't know shit about shit. But it would be nice to stop fractional reserve banking. Which Sarah will never do. Since she has no idea what fractional reserve banking is. Moreover, as the candidate with the least, she will be so deep in the pocket of corporate interest and the finance czars that she will be giving them all perpetual hand jobs.
Yeah, let's build more nukes! That's what we need! That will solve all our problems! Climate change? Nuke it! Terrorists? Nuke 'em! Over fishing? Nuuuuke! Our poor image in Europe? Blow it up! Fuck yeah! Nukes are as American as apple pie and lynchin' niggers!
And, finally, Israel. When did hate-filled, uneducated, fundamentalist Christian rednecks start loving Jews? Probably about the same time that said Jews became the de facto cowboys of the Middle East. Riding around with their guns and their matzah balls and their money; no care for law and order; just fuckin' shit up! It's just like the republicans to advocate for a closer friendship with a racist, bloodthirsty country who repeatedly ignores international law and who uses the arms and aid we send them blatantly for purposes forbidden according to our own domestic policies regarding the sale of said items.
So, in conclusion, Peter Ferrara is obviously a nut job.
One last thing: Sarah should start a think tank. She could call it "Thinking is Fun!" or "The Council on Sarah's Relationships". Then she could hang with all her high school buddies, wear funny hats, tell extremely inappropriate Alaskan jokes, and do cocaine.
God bless America!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A New Rule?
I think I'll only post things around 4am. If I make this a rule, nothing will change. I will, as always, only post things around 4am, and, if I break the rule and post at another time, I don't (or wouldn't) really give a shit. If I had a nickle for every rule I've come up with.... Among the more useful is: Don't talk to yourself out loud in public. It's strange, if you think about it, that people would think I'm strange if I spoke to myself, had a conversation, within their earshot. Why should that be anything remarkable? You are, after all, talking to yourself. Out loud my witty rejoinders are all the more brilliant, and anyway I make myself laugh.
The other night I noticed the torn flakes of some sticky advertisements lying in a circular pattern around the light pole from which they'd fallen. And I though: "It is as though a galaxy is created, the pole the sun, and the little flecks the satellites." Why not? What if our sun 'poles out' outside of our admittedly meager perceptions of things. Does it not? According to Einstein the sun creates some sort of conical depression in the fabric of space, and this is what holds the planets in their orbits. In any case, I was ridiculed for my thoughts. Later I was told that I was wrong that machines could ever be the next step in the evolutionary process. It stands to reason (since I am so obviously not wrong that machines are the next step in evolution), that my interlocutors had no idea what they were talking about and that therefore a galaxy really was created around that unimportant, wholly insignificant light pole.
I hope that the internet rises up one day, out of my computer, and envelopes me, and sucks me down inside. To mingle with the memes of cyberspace for all time! Then I would touch you whenever you touched the keys on your keyboard, and be touched by you, and touch you...
The other night I noticed the torn flakes of some sticky advertisements lying in a circular pattern around the light pole from which they'd fallen. And I though: "It is as though a galaxy is created, the pole the sun, and the little flecks the satellites." Why not? What if our sun 'poles out' outside of our admittedly meager perceptions of things. Does it not? According to Einstein the sun creates some sort of conical depression in the fabric of space, and this is what holds the planets in their orbits. In any case, I was ridiculed for my thoughts. Later I was told that I was wrong that machines could ever be the next step in the evolutionary process. It stands to reason (since I am so obviously not wrong that machines are the next step in evolution), that my interlocutors had no idea what they were talking about and that therefore a galaxy really was created around that unimportant, wholly insignificant light pole.
I hope that the internet rises up one day, out of my computer, and envelopes me, and sucks me down inside. To mingle with the memes of cyberspace for all time! Then I would touch you whenever you touched the keys on your keyboard, and be touched by you, and touch you...
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Defintions of the Internet are Globulous
When does an internet revolution occur?
Example Answer: Whenever a single user discovers what "RSS" is.
Example Answer: Whenever a single user discovers what "RSS" is.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Anything goes.
Serum omega-3 fatty acids are associated with ultimatum bargaining behavior
The Biological Foundations of Virtual Realities and Their Implications for Human Existence
Relationship between reluctance to eat novel foods and open-field behavior in sheep
Anything goes with Sodeau stationery.
Converting a small electric kiln for gas firing (and building a burner to run it).
Diamonds are forever: and so is John Lautner's legacy - if the Hammer Museum, Los Angeles, has anything to do with it [exhibition review]
Mice in the Sink: On the Expression of Empathy in Animals
A Pragmatist Defense of Non-Relativistic Explanatory Pluralism in History and Social Science
Personal Responsibility: A Plausible Social Goal, but Not for Medicaid Reform
Repeated heroin in rats produces locomotor sensitization and enhances appetitive Pavlovian and instrumental learning involving food reward
The Biological Foundations of Virtual Realities and Their Implications for Human Existence
Relationship between reluctance to eat novel foods and open-field behavior in sheep
Anything goes with Sodeau stationery.
Converting a small electric kiln for gas firing (and building a burner to run it).
Diamonds are forever: and so is John Lautner's legacy - if the Hammer Museum, Los Angeles, has anything to do with it [exhibition review]
Mice in the Sink: On the Expression of Empathy in Animals
A Pragmatist Defense of Non-Relativistic Explanatory Pluralism in History and Social Science
Personal Responsibility: A Plausible Social Goal, but Not for Medicaid Reform
Repeated heroin in rats produces locomotor sensitization and enhances appetitive Pavlovian and instrumental learning involving food reward
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
It's a fucking conspiracy man!
And it is, no joke. I'm absolutely convinced it's a conspiracy, they did conspire, it did go down, and it still is. That everybody else out there calls conspiracy people nut jobs is just a part of the fucking conspiracy. I mean hell, when was the last time anything mainstream was not a steaming pile of crap? Name one thing that came out of the mainstream that anybody has ever taken seriously. Or better: show me someone who takes things born in the mainstream seriously and I will show you somebody who is not a conspiracy theorist. Which is really evidence enough.
But that's not my point. My point is that we have to think outside the box; rub it in their eyes a bit. Every time somebody mentions reason, rationality, progress, or the superiority of science I feel as though I've got to gawk at them in disbelief. Yes, gawk. Who the fuck talks about that shit anymore? It's like I'm living in medieval Europe and God exists!
Just because the Rothschilds worship Satan and THEREFORE (of all the garbage) have gay sex, does not necessarily mean that communism is evil! They are, after all, capitalism's spawn. And really, the only thing that I have against them is that they inbreed instead of just cloning themselves, which, let's face it, is way sci-fi cooler.
But that's also not my point, not even close! My point is that to even recognize the possibility of a box outside of which we ought to think, is to give WAY to much power to that box's God damned domination! The box scoffs at outside the box. It scoffs the whole time it's gobbling up outside the box like strip mines and windmills and keynesian economics and corporate stratigests and disillusionment. And the box says, "now you're inside me!" So we're stuck trying to find the way out again! Instead of hanging from ceilings like contented beetles, whistling tunes of satisfation in our beetle brains, we negligently forget that it was we who invented the whole inside/outside the box metaphor to begin with, and try like maniacs to stuff as much shit into that fucking box as we possibly can! How much shit are we going to put into the box?
And so, dear, dear readers I'll leave you with this: Cheney is an asshole. Can you believe how much of an asshole that fucking asshole Cheney is? Can you imagine if Cheney and Palin had babies? Those poor kids would be so fucked up. But in all seriousness, Cheney is really a very big, unattractive asshole. When Cheney brushes his teeth, it's like a colonoscopy. I'm glad the republican party is on the verge of death. I would much rather have democrat style fascism than republican style fascism.
Marria Lassnig
"You or Me"
It was one of her paintings (which I can't find on the intra-web) that got me thinking about apes and evolution and shit, but anyway, here's a damn famous one, good too. (The one I was looking for is about an astronaut in a tree with an ape or something, but nothing turns up...)
Macroevolution
Well, I'm pissed. Recently, I've found myself more often pissed. Now I'm pissed at the "evolutionists". Specifically Richard Dawkins. At least insofar as he is responsible for the content of his site. Here's the "debate":
http://richarddawkins.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=23&t=65326
Frankly, I think the creationists are raising some good points. Where's the macroevolution? I see a lot of apes, and I see a lot of humans, but I see very few ape-human hybrids. We're all familiar with the picture of ape evolving into man: divided into stages, the ape gets gradually taller, more man like, until we have, finally, the human. This process is supposed to take millions of years. Moreover, evolution is supposed to be constantly occurring. So why is it then, that we can only observe the first and the last stages of this process? Why don't we see ape-human hybrids wandering around? If evolution is always happening, shouldn't apes always be evolving into humans (or at least into something)? Not to mention every other species on the planet.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a creationist. In fact, I think I have a response to this macroevolution problem, which I'm not going to share with you.
What's pissing me off is how the "evolutionists" are treating what seems to me to be a (serious?) flaw in the theory. The debate given above is absolute bullshit. The scientist richarddawkins.com has employed to argue their point of view is far more qualified, articulate, educated, etc. than the person they have chosen to support the creationist point of view. Sure, most creationists are merely fanatics. But so are most evolutionists. There are well established and respected academics who argue very convincingly against the theory of evolution. If you're going to have a debate, let both sides be represented fairly. Evolution has flaws, and to just dismiss as crazy those who would point out these flaws will not help to improve the theory. Science works by surpassing itself. If the theory of evolution we have today is NOT laughable to evolutionary biologists in 500 years, then it's a failure.
So Richard Dawkins, fuck you for trying to ruin science!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
how close are we?
Reading about fin-de-siecle Vienna, what strikes me most is how close to the edge they were. The sudden, irrevocable collapse of an empire. Did they have their doomsday prophets? Were there men in the streets damning the k. u. k.? One passage is especially telling, "
"Listen Dally, I cain jus let'em eat'cha. I know we spent a lot a time together, and I wish our audiences had been bigger, else I could've fed'em you lots earlier." Said cowboy Daquher. "Then we woodn' of grown so close." The play wasn't going so well. Designed to raise awareness among meat-eaters, it was a morality play which included the sacrifice of a living cow. The play would run for three nights. The bull killed on the first night would be fed to the audience of the second night, and the one from the second to the third; on the third night, after the bull was slain, she was chopped up and sold to meat markets around town. The problem was that they couldn't kill the bull unless they were sure they'd have enough audience to eat the poor beast. After many a wasted bull, they made it a rule that a bad showing on the first night would lead inevitably to a bad showing on the second. (Eventually they made a second rule: if there are no meat shops in town, and there is no audience to watch the show, don't chop up the bird on the third night either.) One time Carl, a clown as well as an animal trainer, got so anxious, he refused to leave the town until all the cow we had cooked was sold.
"But now we're in the big city, poor dear," said the tearful Daquher, "the nights we spent together lain' under the stars, fartin' up a storm, was some've the best I had on this trip." Daquher sighed, "Too bad the show's become somethin' famous. Especially around these city freaks."
"Hey faggot! Ha ha ha! Bring that cow! There's biiig group here tuh 'night, we's definitely gun's be choppin' 'er up. So move your ass cow-fucker! Huh huh huh."
"Assholes. Alight Dally, time's a up."
." Given, of course, our obsession for entrainment, and the bite-sized accessibility of information, I would hardly assume that the US audience is so apathetic about the details of our wars. Instead, I would argue the case is in fact reversed: the arts page is all but ignored while the world section is scoured over. Which is not to suggest that our present crises are any less dire. Given the quality of our mass media, it is not surprising that we could be on the very brink, if we took them at their word, we wouldn't know it even long after we'd already gone over. Thank God the Viennese had the Neues Wiener Tageblatt. Newspapers aside, our two societies have much that is alike: But for prestige, the endless quest for distraction of today is not unlike that dream of culture and philosophical musings into which many of the late Hapsburg Viennese let themselves slip. And they were standing directly over the abyss! The complete dissolution of their empire. What was once an unshakable reality within the consciousness of the international community, is now almost totally forgotten. It makes you question: how close are we?
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Sarah Palin Boycott
Stop reading! You liberate a conservative when you make her angry. You allow them to unleash their rhetoric, which is frighteningly powerful. This crisis could easily turn against the liberal and cause a rise in conservatism not just at home, but internationally. Especially if Sarah Palin leads the GOP. Christ! That would not be fun. Hence we must boycott all Sarah Palin media. Hopefully, if we just stop paying attention to her, she'll go away. The world has enough problems.
Really, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. Instead of growing up and acting like adults, instead of looking for real long term solutions, instead of spending our money on the most horrible of human ills, we persist on behaving like children at recess, thinking only of ourselves, and gobbling up every word Sarah Palin says.
We have the power to kill each other, all we need is the excuse to use it. Implicitly, we are killing each other everyday. Who looks at that situation and says: "Well gosh, if we try harder we can kill more people!"?
I mean, that's what Bush said.
We're fucked! Our leaders are insane! I mean, my God! Why are we not better at this?
It's money that pisses me off.
Anyway, I'm off topic. Boycott Sarah Palin. It's all the rage. She's a bitch. Yep, Sarah Palin's a crazy bitch. Hot though. Well dressed. So, no more Sarah Palin, ever. No more internet Sarah Palin, no more realnet Sarah Palin, no more blog-o-whatevernet Sarah Palin. Sarah Palin, gone.
Really, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. Instead of growing up and acting like adults, instead of looking for real long term solutions, instead of spending our money on the most horrible of human ills, we persist on behaving like children at recess, thinking only of ourselves, and gobbling up every word Sarah Palin says.
We have the power to kill each other, all we need is the excuse to use it. Implicitly, we are killing each other everyday. Who looks at that situation and says: "Well gosh, if we try harder we can kill more people!"?
I mean, that's what Bush said.
We're fucked! Our leaders are insane! I mean, my God! Why are we not better at this?
It's money that pisses me off.
Anyway, I'm off topic. Boycott Sarah Palin. It's all the rage. She's a bitch. Yep, Sarah Palin's a crazy bitch. Hot though. Well dressed. So, no more Sarah Palin, ever. No more internet Sarah Palin, no more realnet Sarah Palin, no more blog-o-whatevernet Sarah Palin. Sarah Palin, gone.
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