II
When I can't hear your you
And your "you're you" sentences,
You
make sensen't
And I
make sensen'tces.
If only
The Innocence of Paper could exist
A farm of options optional boundaries,
And survivor of these alternatives foundries
Wearing those letters
Wouldn't be
Being those letters
Paper couldn't rob someone of their sincerity
And someone else of their meaning
I
Paper paid for paper's porous chorus.
Selfless absorbed, scorned
Printed
Branded
Blameless
Action-heavy, meaning thrift
Words are sudden drift
III
"Is this a record or
A toilet?"
Meaning approaches center
Why didn't I start listening
Before flipping side 2?
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Glass World
Skipping rocks is one of Craig's favorite pastimes. Few other activities strike so perfect a balance of effort to reward for him. Cracking peanuts is another one. Simple things. He shied away from more convoluted effort-reward systems that leave too much room for complication and variability. The worst that can come of his rock skipping is a pulled shoulder, and the best is when the stone concludes a series of stochastic skips with a gratifying bout of hydroplaning. He saw the movie "Amelie" during his unremarkably awkward transition into adulthood. Having been conditioned to find women frightening, mysterious, and intimidating, it baffled him to behold a woman who he considered a sexual being and yet was so dedicated to rock skipping. He was by no means sexist; he did not believe that anybody enjoyed skipping rocks beyond adolescence. Everybody he knew participated primarily in productive activities that lead to a stronger Earthly presence and a greater sense of their identity. Sports, politics, art, yoga, drinking. Craig built a considerable sense of self by these means, but knew he was neglecting something inside of him that was weakening, and it made him both yearn for connection but reluctant to let anybody get close.
Years passed and Craig moved to the city and entered the corporate domain where his dreams were scrapped for sustenance and his childhood appeared in marketing, graffiti, t-shirts, social networking sites, and everywhere else that wasn't inside of him. His job restricted the internet access for employees, in fact the only web site not surf blocked was Google maps, so they could give customers directions to their offices. During down time he would zoom in on specific neighborhoods in the city and look at the business names and memorize the reviews. He was hoping to find somewhere to go and connect with people. Maybe even connect with... someone. One day he found a small blue blob in his searches. He zoomed in as close as he could and the name popped up. Chelsea's Pond. He tried to imagine the ambiance of a pond in this city. Then he thought about skipping rocks. The last time he skipped rocks was long before he moved into this city, and he does not know why he stopped aside from being busy. What was he doing this weekend? He had planned on seeing live music and talking to strangers about it afterwards in vague emotional terms. Then he remembered "Amelie". This seemed like the sort of pond her character may frequent since it is on the outskirts of downtown and, assuming the lack of obstructions, would thus offer an impressive panoramic view. Over the remainder of the week, the possibility of meeting Amelie at Chelsea's Pond moved slowly from a fanciful thought to an assumed inevitability for which he ought to prepare.
Come that Saturday, he cleaned his house, stocked his kitchen with local produce and quirky snack foods that may be shared on his stoop during bouts of people watching, did his laundry, and that afternoon hopped on his bike and headed to Chelsea's Pond. Here are his thoughts during this journey.
"She will be just like me: no direction or future plans, a very existential lifestyle conscious only of the temporary, completely unaware of even the moments to follow. Given our lack of purpose apart from stone skipping, we will find direction together and nothing will ever be the same. Or wait, am I this looming oppressive mass encroaching upon her free will? No doubt her loneliness could have driven her to the same hue of near madness that I experience; perhaps we will be exploiting each others weaknesses, two vines using one another for support to aimlessly climb only to choke one another and, without guidance, never find sunlight. Woah. No, it won't be like that, it will be esoteric conversations at cafes. It will be blankets strewn with dream journals, dvd cases, and condom wrappers. For once it won't be sadly revisited when I'm cleaning my room months later to find bobby pins on bureaus, in-jokes and incomplete verse scrawled across torn pages and crusty plates under the bed. When I see her at the pond I will abruptly start making dryly humorous observations until something happens. I'm not too old to do that, right? It's not creepy when I do that yet, is it? What sort of observations can be made about a pond? Oh god have I created a self-serving fantasy? Am I sabotaging myself by creating a standard of perfect imperfection that no real person could live up to? I need to have reasonable expectations. She will probably be one of those totally obnoxious scene girls with a hideous floral print dress that matches my couch and cowboy boots even though she's from Long Island, and I need to be fine with that."
Craig arrived to find a legion of other bicycles chained to freshly painted racks. The trees and shrubbery were plentiful and clearly under control, arranged with no small amount of symmetry. It would have felt like walking through a sterile dentist office painting if it weren't for the homeless people fucking in the clusters of shrubbery. He was delighted to see no shortage of young attractive strangers conversing at the shore of the pond. While searching for stones, he felt not the least bit self-conscious but rather like he was doing something as routine as public transit. In fact he was surrounded by people who were kicking the soil in search of something, though he found it odd that there were no rocks to be skipped. A man about Craig's age dressed sharply with a German sense of efficiency approaches and says, "Isn't this great? Are you here for Amelie, too?" Craig was so shocked that he responded in exactly the manner that would make him seem not at all shocked, "Where are all the stones?" "They've all been skipped man, you got here late!" The man laughed and walked off, and as Craig turned to look at the pond two women appeared next to him and talked loudly about how neither of them remembered that pond being there before. Craig caught this obvious invitation and agreed with them, at which point the more remote girl dispersed into the crowd, leaving Craig alone with Ursula. Craig says she is the first Ursula he has ever met, and she replies "Do you like sex?" Craig confirmed that he did, then tried to add some appropriate irony which she interrupted with, "Do you like 'Amelie'?" Craig said yes, but before he could elaborate she says, "Good! Let's go over there." She motions with her eyes towards a nearby patch of shrubbery and trees. Craig realizes that those weren't homeless people he heard fucking in the bushes a few minutes prior. They start to walk, but Craig stops and asks, "But don't you want to know why we're here? Where did all of this come from?" Ursula replies, "What difference would it make?" Craig's mind reluctantly follows his body into the bushes, the way it always does.
Years passed and Craig moved to the city and entered the corporate domain where his dreams were scrapped for sustenance and his childhood appeared in marketing, graffiti, t-shirts, social networking sites, and everywhere else that wasn't inside of him. His job restricted the internet access for employees, in fact the only web site not surf blocked was Google maps, so they could give customers directions to their offices. During down time he would zoom in on specific neighborhoods in the city and look at the business names and memorize the reviews. He was hoping to find somewhere to go and connect with people. Maybe even connect with... someone. One day he found a small blue blob in his searches. He zoomed in as close as he could and the name popped up. Chelsea's Pond. He tried to imagine the ambiance of a pond in this city. Then he thought about skipping rocks. The last time he skipped rocks was long before he moved into this city, and he does not know why he stopped aside from being busy. What was he doing this weekend? He had planned on seeing live music and talking to strangers about it afterwards in vague emotional terms. Then he remembered "Amelie". This seemed like the sort of pond her character may frequent since it is on the outskirts of downtown and, assuming the lack of obstructions, would thus offer an impressive panoramic view. Over the remainder of the week, the possibility of meeting Amelie at Chelsea's Pond moved slowly from a fanciful thought to an assumed inevitability for which he ought to prepare.
Come that Saturday, he cleaned his house, stocked his kitchen with local produce and quirky snack foods that may be shared on his stoop during bouts of people watching, did his laundry, and that afternoon hopped on his bike and headed to Chelsea's Pond. Here are his thoughts during this journey.
"She will be just like me: no direction or future plans, a very existential lifestyle conscious only of the temporary, completely unaware of even the moments to follow. Given our lack of purpose apart from stone skipping, we will find direction together and nothing will ever be the same. Or wait, am I this looming oppressive mass encroaching upon her free will? No doubt her loneliness could have driven her to the same hue of near madness that I experience; perhaps we will be exploiting each others weaknesses, two vines using one another for support to aimlessly climb only to choke one another and, without guidance, never find sunlight. Woah. No, it won't be like that, it will be esoteric conversations at cafes. It will be blankets strewn with dream journals, dvd cases, and condom wrappers. For once it won't be sadly revisited when I'm cleaning my room months later to find bobby pins on bureaus, in-jokes and incomplete verse scrawled across torn pages and crusty plates under the bed. When I see her at the pond I will abruptly start making dryly humorous observations until something happens. I'm not too old to do that, right? It's not creepy when I do that yet, is it? What sort of observations can be made about a pond? Oh god have I created a self-serving fantasy? Am I sabotaging myself by creating a standard of perfect imperfection that no real person could live up to? I need to have reasonable expectations. She will probably be one of those totally obnoxious scene girls with a hideous floral print dress that matches my couch and cowboy boots even though she's from Long Island, and I need to be fine with that."
Craig arrived to find a legion of other bicycles chained to freshly painted racks. The trees and shrubbery were plentiful and clearly under control, arranged with no small amount of symmetry. It would have felt like walking through a sterile dentist office painting if it weren't for the homeless people fucking in the clusters of shrubbery. He was delighted to see no shortage of young attractive strangers conversing at the shore of the pond. While searching for stones, he felt not the least bit self-conscious but rather like he was doing something as routine as public transit. In fact he was surrounded by people who were kicking the soil in search of something, though he found it odd that there were no rocks to be skipped. A man about Craig's age dressed sharply with a German sense of efficiency approaches and says, "Isn't this great? Are you here for Amelie, too?" Craig was so shocked that he responded in exactly the manner that would make him seem not at all shocked, "Where are all the stones?" "They've all been skipped man, you got here late!" The man laughed and walked off, and as Craig turned to look at the pond two women appeared next to him and talked loudly about how neither of them remembered that pond being there before. Craig caught this obvious invitation and agreed with them, at which point the more remote girl dispersed into the crowd, leaving Craig alone with Ursula. Craig says she is the first Ursula he has ever met, and she replies "Do you like sex?" Craig confirmed that he did, then tried to add some appropriate irony which she interrupted with, "Do you like 'Amelie'?" Craig said yes, but before he could elaborate she says, "Good! Let's go over there." She motions with her eyes towards a nearby patch of shrubbery and trees. Craig realizes that those weren't homeless people he heard fucking in the bushes a few minutes prior. They start to walk, but Craig stops and asks, "But don't you want to know why we're here? Where did all of this come from?" Ursula replies, "What difference would it make?" Craig's mind reluctantly follows his body into the bushes, the way it always does.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Pants-Free Light Rail Ride
I'm sitting (as usual) at Fair Trade Cafe watching the people gathered for the annual pants-free light rail ride at the station across the street. I have a complete panoramic view of the Roosevelt/Central Ave light rail platform, and there has formed one big congregation of people in their underwear either enthusiastically talking about how absurd and random they are being and what people who aren't aware of this annual tradition must be thinking, or they are enthusiastically intentionally avoiding the obvious subject to capitalize on the opportunity to add an extra layer to the random wackiness. About 5 yards from that large group of people is a girl, also in her underwear, standing by herself reading a book. Now, I am exceptionally bad at determining what women are thinking, but that has never stopped me from trying. There are two general scenarios that start as she arrived at the platform, which I will try to capture. From what I can gather about her appearance, she is around 21, at least in college if not graduated, and trapped between the parallel mirrors of spending money on clothes to make her look poor but not wanting to look actually poor so as to attract other people with enough money to want to look poor so they can look poor together. Blue-green underwear, evenly pasty complexion, good metabolism, walks a lot, but hasn't set foot in a gym since her Self-Esteem Crash of 2006. She approaches the platform and it is one of two scenarios.
She arrives with her pants off and observes the crowd:
"Ok good, I'm not the only one doing this. Shit, did I date that guy? Better stay away, that'd be so fucking awkward if that was him. I'll read this book to seem unavailable."
Or, she arrived with her pants on and observes the crowd:
"Wait... oh, that's today? Shit, I wanted to do that, too! I guess I still could. If I take out this book, I'd totally have enough room in my bag for these pants. Yeah! (She turns away from the platform and walks down a side street) Ok, I just need to find somewhere private to take off my pants and... wait, what am I talking about? I just need something to lean on, right? Though I don't want to attract attention... That car with the thumping bass would probably yell at me. Maybe I shouldn't do this. No, fuck that, I wussed out last year and regretted it. I'll just step into the double-doors of this office building and... why am I doing this? What good could possibly come of this? Is it a cool story? Will I make new friends? Get a date? I'm not doing this just for a Facebook status update, right? I guess it's just one of those bucket list things. This building looks empty, if I could just get through the door... it's Sunday, it's probably locked. What if there are cameras? Or people? Is it weird that I'm doing this alone? Fuck it, I'll just take off my pants on the platform and it won't be awkward. Ok. I gotta get psyched for this and make sure everyone sees! (approaches platform again and once there, removes pants in a bold grandiose gesture, takes a large book out of her bag and replaces it with the pants) I don't think anybody was paying attention. Shit. I was hoping someone would cheer me on and welcome me to the group. Maybe I was trying too hard. Dammit! Now I'm standing here. With no pants on. Holding this book that I'm not reading that no longer fits in my purse. (30 seconds go by) I feel weird standing here holding this large book in my hands. I don't want to read it, I finished reading it yesterday. I need something to do right now until the train arrives and I can sit down and feel less self-conscious. I guess I could read the last chapter over again, I kinda rushed it yesterday. (She opens the book and stares at the pages until the train arrives.) Wait... These seats are filthy.
She arrives with her pants off and observes the crowd:
"Ok good, I'm not the only one doing this. Shit, did I date that guy? Better stay away, that'd be so fucking awkward if that was him. I'll read this book to seem unavailable."
Or, she arrived with her pants on and observes the crowd:
"Wait... oh, that's today? Shit, I wanted to do that, too! I guess I still could. If I take out this book, I'd totally have enough room in my bag for these pants. Yeah! (She turns away from the platform and walks down a side street) Ok, I just need to find somewhere private to take off my pants and... wait, what am I talking about? I just need something to lean on, right? Though I don't want to attract attention... That car with the thumping bass would probably yell at me. Maybe I shouldn't do this. No, fuck that, I wussed out last year and regretted it. I'll just step into the double-doors of this office building and... why am I doing this? What good could possibly come of this? Is it a cool story? Will I make new friends? Get a date? I'm not doing this just for a Facebook status update, right? I guess it's just one of those bucket list things. This building looks empty, if I could just get through the door... it's Sunday, it's probably locked. What if there are cameras? Or people? Is it weird that I'm doing this alone? Fuck it, I'll just take off my pants on the platform and it won't be awkward. Ok. I gotta get psyched for this and make sure everyone sees! (approaches platform again and once there, removes pants in a bold grandiose gesture, takes a large book out of her bag and replaces it with the pants) I don't think anybody was paying attention. Shit. I was hoping someone would cheer me on and welcome me to the group. Maybe I was trying too hard. Dammit! Now I'm standing here. With no pants on. Holding this book that I'm not reading that no longer fits in my purse. (30 seconds go by) I feel weird standing here holding this large book in my hands. I don't want to read it, I finished reading it yesterday. I need something to do right now until the train arrives and I can sit down and feel less self-conscious. I guess I could read the last chapter over again, I kinda rushed it yesterday. (She opens the book and stares at the pages until the train arrives.) Wait... These seats are filthy.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Most Unappealing Conversations in History Part 6: The State of Movies
This takes place in the seated waiting area for a municipal building. Could be jury duty, disputing traffic tickets, the DMV, etc. Person 1 is thin and seems prone to the sort of sudden movements that drive peoples' dogs crazy. Wearing tight (but not "skinny") jeans and a fitted t-shirt that could only be what an underground artist tossed in the trash because the design turned out too Ed Hardy. He stole it from the dumpster and ostensibly hasn't washed it. Person 2 is tiptoeing the line between doughy and muscular, wearing a tight ribbed sweater and jeans that are so unremarkable and ordinary that some people think he isn't wearing any pants at all. Perhaps he's at the municipal building to fight a public indecency citation because of this. Both men seem between 30-45 and have never spoken to one another before.
Person 1: (into a cellphone)Yep, looks like more of George Clooney coming to grips with his age. ... Doing what again? ... Well that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the movie, I just... No, I'm not implying that you need my permission to enjoy... Grand Poobah? You mean from The Mikado? ... Well yeah, but where the fuck do you think The Flintstones got it from? ... Well perhaps you should. ... No, you're right, it's somewhat promising, but... we'll see. Yeah, we'll see. Alrightbye. (1)
Person 2: So you're going to see "The Descendants"?
P1: Apparently.
P2: Eh.
P1: You saw it?
P2: Yeah. That's all there is to say.
P1: Really? See I read the book it's based on, and I imagine there would be many things to say about-
P2: I'm sure the book is waaaaay better.
P1: You liked the book?
P2: I didn't read the book.
P1: Oh. How do you know then?
P2: The book is always better than the movie. I think you were right when you said it's just more mainstream George Clooney posturing.
P1: Well I didn't say it was posturing. I'm just tired of George Clooney being the emblem of "middle-age guy reluctantly having an epiphany" when there are plenty of other actors that could do these roles and not carry the stigma of all George Clooney's other characters.
P2: It feels like every George Clooney movie is the same movie. It feels like EVERY movie I see in theaters is the same 3 or 4 movies. It's like I'm taking crazy pills, am I the only one who sees this?
P1: I agree somewhat, but there are plenty of notable exceptions.
P2: It's all focus groups. I'm sure they have people like you in their focus groups as well. Don't kid yourself. I imagine they probably even have someone like me, too. It's all marketing. No movies are worth watching anymore.
P1: Well that's a bit of a rash generalization. Perhaps what reaches mainstream theaters and becomes a major hit is often garbage, but have you been to The Grimmet? At 19th and Chesilhurst?
P2: No.
P1: You should go there. They play films by local artist on Thursdays and Sundays, and foreign and indie movies the rest of the week. It's cheap, and parking is way easier there than at the AMC 24 at Gibbon's Square.
P2: But why is it so hard for these films to find a larger audience?
P1: Ordinary people just aren't comfortable with challenging films. Last weekend they featured this one called "7AM in Debresko" about the day-to-day life of a small-time arms dealer in a small city in the Czech Republic. Even though he sells weapons to inept assassins and psychopaths, you can't help but compare his life to your own. That kind of absurdity doesn't sit well with the typical viewer.
P2: Yeah but really it's just another movie about assassins, right?
P1: Maybe a little, but-
P2: So they're trying to be mainstream. I mean whatever, I'm sure it's alright, but I'm just tired of movies about assassins.
P1: Sure. You should stop by this weekend then, they're showing "Fifth", a documentary that examines the relationship between memes and society and culture. The name comes from Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, and a major part of the movie is a man with perfect pitch who goes around-
P2: Jeez it sounds like they're trying to be obscure!
P1: What?
P2: It sounds like they made the movie boring and obscure on purpose.
P1: Obscure? You encounter memes every day. For example-
P2: It's like every movie either tries too hard to be mainstream, or it tries too hard to be the opposite.
P1: I d- What!?
P2: I don't know, I just feel like I know why every movie is made. It sorta kills the magic for me.
P1: I don't know what you're talking about. Just last night I saw one that wasn't mainstream or obscure. Three friends who are fed up with their jobs decide to-
P2: You obviously don't get it.
P1: What don't I get?
P2: (Looking forward without expression) Just... the reason movies are made.
P1: I guess not?
P2: Enjoy "The Descendants".
P1: (Peering up at the monitor displaying his position in cue) I think I may. (2)
(1) Transcription of this conversation (if you want to cheat): Yep, looks like more of George Clooney coming to grips with his age. You're doing that thing again. Doing what again? That thing where you shit all over something when you only know like one or two details about it. It's annoying. Well that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the movie, I just- So glad I have your approval. No, I'm not implying that you need my permission to enjoy- Whatever, you're so the self-appointed Grand Poobah of taste. Grand Poobah? You mean from "The Mikado"? What? No, The Flintstones episode with the Freemason-type club they join. Well yeah, but where the fuck do you think The Flintstones got it from? Sorry, I don't keep wikipedia handy when I watch cartoons. Well perhaps you should. Apparently I have to. Look, you liked "Sideways", this might be similarly good. No, you're right, it's somewhat promising, but... we'll see. Stop being negative! Yeah, we'll see. You WILL see! Alrightbye. Bye.
(2) Try reading this again and imagine the temptation one may feel, being P1, to ask P2 "Are you sure you even like movies?" or perhaps "What movies do you like?"
Person 1: (into a cellphone)Yep, looks like more of George Clooney coming to grips with his age. ... Doing what again? ... Well that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the movie, I just... No, I'm not implying that you need my permission to enjoy... Grand Poobah? You mean from The Mikado? ... Well yeah, but where the fuck do you think The Flintstones got it from? ... Well perhaps you should. ... No, you're right, it's somewhat promising, but... we'll see. Yeah, we'll see. Alrightbye. (1)
Person 2: So you're going to see "The Descendants"?
P1: Apparently.
P2: Eh.
P1: You saw it?
P2: Yeah. That's all there is to say.
P1: Really? See I read the book it's based on, and I imagine there would be many things to say about-
P2: I'm sure the book is waaaaay better.
P1: You liked the book?
P2: I didn't read the book.
P1: Oh. How do you know then?
P2: The book is always better than the movie. I think you were right when you said it's just more mainstream George Clooney posturing.
P1: Well I didn't say it was posturing. I'm just tired of George Clooney being the emblem of "middle-age guy reluctantly having an epiphany" when there are plenty of other actors that could do these roles and not carry the stigma of all George Clooney's other characters.
P2: It feels like every George Clooney movie is the same movie. It feels like EVERY movie I see in theaters is the same 3 or 4 movies. It's like I'm taking crazy pills, am I the only one who sees this?
P1: I agree somewhat, but there are plenty of notable exceptions.
P2: It's all focus groups. I'm sure they have people like you in their focus groups as well. Don't kid yourself. I imagine they probably even have someone like me, too. It's all marketing. No movies are worth watching anymore.
P1: Well that's a bit of a rash generalization. Perhaps what reaches mainstream theaters and becomes a major hit is often garbage, but have you been to The Grimmet? At 19th and Chesilhurst?
P2: No.
P1: You should go there. They play films by local artist on Thursdays and Sundays, and foreign and indie movies the rest of the week. It's cheap, and parking is way easier there than at the AMC 24 at Gibbon's Square.
P2: But why is it so hard for these films to find a larger audience?
P1: Ordinary people just aren't comfortable with challenging films. Last weekend they featured this one called "7AM in Debresko" about the day-to-day life of a small-time arms dealer in a small city in the Czech Republic. Even though he sells weapons to inept assassins and psychopaths, you can't help but compare his life to your own. That kind of absurdity doesn't sit well with the typical viewer.
P2: Yeah but really it's just another movie about assassins, right?
P1: Maybe a little, but-
P2: So they're trying to be mainstream. I mean whatever, I'm sure it's alright, but I'm just tired of movies about assassins.
P1: Sure. You should stop by this weekend then, they're showing "Fifth", a documentary that examines the relationship between memes and society and culture. The name comes from Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, and a major part of the movie is a man with perfect pitch who goes around-
P2: Jeez it sounds like they're trying to be obscure!
P1: What?
P2: It sounds like they made the movie boring and obscure on purpose.
P1: Obscure? You encounter memes every day. For example-
P2: It's like every movie either tries too hard to be mainstream, or it tries too hard to be the opposite.
P1: I d- What!?
P2: I don't know, I just feel like I know why every movie is made. It sorta kills the magic for me.
P1: I don't know what you're talking about. Just last night I saw one that wasn't mainstream or obscure. Three friends who are fed up with their jobs decide to-
P2: You obviously don't get it.
P1: What don't I get?
P2: (Looking forward without expression) Just... the reason movies are made.
P1: I guess not?
P2: Enjoy "The Descendants".
P1: (Peering up at the monitor displaying his position in cue) I think I may. (2)
(1) Transcription of this conversation (if you want to cheat): Yep, looks like more of George Clooney coming to grips with his age. You're doing that thing again. Doing what again? That thing where you shit all over something when you only know like one or two details about it. It's annoying. Well that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the movie, I just- So glad I have your approval. No, I'm not implying that you need my permission to enjoy- Whatever, you're so the self-appointed Grand Poobah of taste. Grand Poobah? You mean from "The Mikado"? What? No, The Flintstones episode with the Freemason-type club they join. Well yeah, but where the fuck do you think The Flintstones got it from? Sorry, I don't keep wikipedia handy when I watch cartoons. Well perhaps you should. Apparently I have to. Look, you liked "Sideways", this might be similarly good. No, you're right, it's somewhat promising, but... we'll see. Stop being negative! Yeah, we'll see. You WILL see! Alrightbye. Bye.
(2) Try reading this again and imagine the temptation one may feel, being P1, to ask P2 "Are you sure you even like movies?" or perhaps "What movies do you like?"
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Thought Bubbles
Inspired by a conversation I sorta overheard and chose to misinterpret the hell out of. Imagine a guy looking at his Facebook newsfeed. These are his thoughts and actions. It helps to ignore the annotations on the first read, then read the whole thing.
Trish is so hot. Click Trish's profile. (I)
Look at how hot she is. View pics. (II)
Is she single? (III)
Nope.
Does she still date the same bland semi-intellectual versions of Dane Cook like she did in college? Click profile of guy she's "in a relationship" with.(IV)
Looks like it. Am I superior to him in the context of my own value system? Click self profile.(V)
Yep. (VI)
I'm so hot. (VII)
(I)Trish and I used to have fun together. I should consider getting back in touch with her. Why did we never date? (A)
(II)What has she been up to? I will be more easily able to determine this by looking at her pictures than by reading her wall because the pictures cover a greater span of time than her day-to-day postings.
(III)Is she settling down?(B)
(IV)I wonder if he is like Brent. He was kinda annoying. (C)
(V)I wonder what she would see if she were to look at my profile. What would she think?(D)
(VI)I'm sure he's a great guy.
(VII)I lead a good life.
(A)Or whatever. I can have attractive female friends without any hidden sexual agenda. That's why I'm awesome. (i)
(B)Not that being "in a relationship" means you are "settling down".(ii)
(C)We had a decent conversation about The New Pornographers. Or was it The Coldwar Kids? I can't tell the difference.(iii)
(D)That is an innocently charming and not at all creepy thought to have, right? A refreshingly new mode of self-evaluation! (iv)
(i)That doesn't really make me awesome. If I am capable of it, anybody is because people are by default decent and moral and I am glad to be alive among them.
(ii)Not that there's anything wrong with settling down. After all, what else are we here for?(a)
(iii)I just need to listen to more indie music. Then I'll be able to appreciate the nuances that differentiate the artists and bands.
(iv)Not that I care. I'm totally free to think whatever I want to think!
(a)There are plenty of other reasons we could be here, breeding isn't necessarily the only goal of life. (1)
(1)Not that this is a rationalization of my being single, which is a choice I have made on my own in the unbiased realm of my mind, and not because I want to rebel against society or because I lack other options.
Trish is so hot. Click Trish's profile. (I)
Look at how hot she is. View pics. (II)
Is she single? (III)
Nope.
Does she still date the same bland semi-intellectual versions of Dane Cook like she did in college? Click profile of guy she's "in a relationship" with.(IV)
Looks like it. Am I superior to him in the context of my own value system? Click self profile.(V)
Yep. (VI)
I'm so hot. (VII)
(I)Trish and I used to have fun together. I should consider getting back in touch with her. Why did we never date? (A)
(II)What has she been up to? I will be more easily able to determine this by looking at her pictures than by reading her wall because the pictures cover a greater span of time than her day-to-day postings.
(III)Is she settling down?(B)
(IV)I wonder if he is like Brent. He was kinda annoying. (C)
(V)I wonder what she would see if she were to look at my profile. What would she think?(D)
(VI)I'm sure he's a great guy.
(VII)I lead a good life.
(A)Or whatever. I can have attractive female friends without any hidden sexual agenda. That's why I'm awesome. (i)
(B)Not that being "in a relationship" means you are "settling down".(ii)
(C)We had a decent conversation about The New Pornographers. Or was it The Coldwar Kids? I can't tell the difference.(iii)
(D)That is an innocently charming and not at all creepy thought to have, right? A refreshingly new mode of self-evaluation! (iv)
(i)That doesn't really make me awesome. If I am capable of it, anybody is because people are by default decent and moral and I am glad to be alive among them.
(ii)Not that there's anything wrong with settling down. After all, what else are we here for?(a)
(iii)I just need to listen to more indie music. Then I'll be able to appreciate the nuances that differentiate the artists and bands.
(iv)Not that I care. I'm totally free to think whatever I want to think!
(a)There are plenty of other reasons we could be here, breeding isn't necessarily the only goal of life. (1)
(1)Not that this is a rationalization of my being single, which is a choice I have made on my own in the unbiased realm of my mind, and not because I want to rebel against society or because I lack other options.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Daysong
Every day, the composer dies.
He leaves behind an unfinished score
Dangling, swinging, scraping at my door
Edited collected work of the flies
Sated from my corpse, though no more realized
Than the thoughts of my unpaid landlord
The flies that crawl into my mouth by night
Tickle my grin all day
My flesh, an investment, paves the way
For when their forensic larva take flight
My thoughts are loose change,
Ideas are laundry
The world is my pockets and couch
But conclusion is out of range
For I am not me
Until I can go without
He leaves behind an unfinished score
Dangling, swinging, scraping at my door
Edited collected work of the flies
Sated from my corpse, though no more realized
Than the thoughts of my unpaid landlord
The flies that crawl into my mouth by night
Tickle my grin all day
My flesh, an investment, paves the way
For when their forensic larva take flight
My thoughts are loose change,
Ideas are laundry
The world is my pockets and couch
But conclusion is out of range
For I am not me
Until I can go without
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Toast for Bedtime
I am an intruder
I am to blame
I am the burnt toast you take to bed
You try to chew my shame,
But your lips can't contain
So, my seed you spread
This is our symbiotic shame, we are one at its suggestion,
Our march is the same as sun's daily progression
It nourishes the soil we daily pass
And by night we toil in its diffusing gas
When we serve each other with coffee,
You needn't ask
For I am an intruder
I am to blame
I am to blame
I am the burnt toast you take to bed
You try to chew my shame,
But your lips can't contain
So, my seed you spread
This is our symbiotic shame, we are one at its suggestion,
Our march is the same as sun's daily progression
It nourishes the soil we daily pass
And by night we toil in its diffusing gas
When we serve each other with coffee,
You needn't ask
For I am an intruder
I am to blame
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