Oscar sat watching the blood red sun pull itself up above the Parisian rooftops. It trudged slowly over the chimneys and glowed against his bare shoulders. The small window was cracked ajar, and the warm summer air thickened the cold room. His forearms were stacked on top of each other on the window sill, a cigarette slowly burning away in his right hand. The room froze around the smoke which tailed away out the open window. He was just staring at the red glow of the Lucky Strike and the milky waterfall that was erupting from its open head. Light, burn, burn, burn.
"Could you go buy me some cigarettes?" she asked. "And some bread too, I'm so hungry."
"Yeah...yeah just a second." Depressed, Oscar sucked the last bit from his cigarette then dragged it across the floor of the ash tray. He sat, hunched over in the wrought-iron chair looking out on the morning skyline. It was a Saturday.
Oscar was a decently-built man - nothing that would impress, but he felt good about himself. He had thick brown hair and a defined cheekbone that complemented his five o'clock shadow nicely. Suits seemed to hug his figure well and he knew this, so he wore them everyday.
The sidewalks were empty at this hour in the morning. Avenue de la Grande Armée.........
Oscar always found something soothing, therapeutic even, about being entirely alone on these streets. In one hour, businessmen on scooters would weave between cars and the silly French sirens would howl out in battle cry. He still avoided sidewalk cracks, even sacrificing his looking like a decent human being - he carried that from childhood.
But today would be the day he died.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Love Magnolia
Sometimes, white like the Magnolia,
Love's brace will kiss your head.
Love --
It's the air in your mother's lungs.
Effervescence --
les aveugles rose de l'amour.
Sometimes you find it
amidst your own thoughts
in a weird dark place.
Bounty boom plentiful.
May we transcend our limitations,
our inhibitions and our associations.
Our childish ways and
scanty devotion to form.
Love --
It's the air in your mother's lungs.
Love's brace will kiss your head.
Love --
It's the air in your mother's lungs.
Effervescence --
les aveugles rose de l'amour.
Sometimes you find it
amidst your own thoughts
in a weird dark place.
Bounty boom plentiful.
May we transcend our limitations,
our inhibitions and our associations.
Our childish ways and
scanty devotion to form.
Love --
It's the air in your mother's lungs.
Monday, December 5, 2011
A Jump Rightwards On
Rejoice! Men of fallow heart
Feel Apollo in their veins!
Eeriness be damned,
Don't speak through them.
Like boats stacked in Monte Carlo,
An ocean churns and froths
Unbeknownst to the many.
Alas! Infinite Jest resonates
like salts that sting their noses.
We lie in sheets that babble
around us like air in a vacuum.
Stasis; Paralysis of love.
A dynamic vie de la grâce,
is seen hovering above the surface
like foam on the great blue.
We hope the rain will fall,
Unrelenting in its prosperity.
Yet, we fear that what will remain
Will be no more than
A single drop.
Feel Apollo in their veins!
Eeriness be damned,
Don't speak through them.
Like boats stacked in Monte Carlo,
An ocean churns and froths
Unbeknownst to the many.
Alas! Infinite Jest resonates
like salts that sting their noses.
We lie in sheets that babble
around us like air in a vacuum.
Stasis; Paralysis of love.
A dynamic vie de la grâce,
is seen hovering above the surface
like foam on the great blue.
We hope the rain will fall,
Unrelenting in its prosperity.
Yet, we fear that what will remain
Will be no more than
A single drop.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Yearn
No, you fucking idiot. You have absolutely no idea about anything. At all.
Right, yeah let's live life in any way we really want, right? No, you dumb fuck.
No, no, yeah great logic my friend. While we're at it why don't we just go to Hawaii and become fucking pineapple farmers? Jesus. What? Maybe if you weren't such a goddamn turd I wouldn't feel so inclined to curse like a sailor.
------ JANUARY ------
She did it man. What a --. Nah, not fucking worth it.
Whatever, dude. It just had to happen.
Can you side with me for once? I swear to God, in my life I've never met someone with so much to prove.
------ probably the same night. ------
Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to get in this cab and drool all the way home. When I get out I'm not going to pay attention to the meter or how much I tip the guy. As a matter of fact, I probably won't even remember the shit tomorrow. I'll probably stumble on back to my place and pray to God that my clothes aren't so strewn across my bed that I'll have to move shit around. I'll (hopefully) wake up tomorrow, and find my shoes next to my bed. My heads gonna have an ice pick in it and my eyes are going to explode. I'll probably sigh.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
High Tide
Just absolute solitude. Ever felt it before? and I don't mean wow-I'm-so-bored-I wish-there-was-something-going-on-tonight solitude. I mean surrounded by water, toes clinging to the edge of the slippery rock surface as the soft tide kisses the archipelago.
It comes as a shock, this solitude. You're breathing and suddenly that's all you're doing. The breeze is a bit cool on your shirtless skin and your eyes are closed. You feel like you're having a one-on-one with yourself. It's beautiful, really. One of those moments that just doesn't happen all that often, no matter how much you lie to yourself about it.
You're looking down and all you see is your bone-white feet flexing and balancing with the rolling current churning a few feet beneath you. The natural thing to do here would be to lightly take off and wait for the water to meet your shoulders, but you stay. For a reason you're not entirely sure of, you stay completely still. Only moving your eyes back and forth beneath your closed eyelids. I imagine it's what meditation is like, if it really works. The sky grows darker on the horizon and the wind begins to pick up.
And it's beautiful.
It comes as a shock, this solitude. You're breathing and suddenly that's all you're doing. The breeze is a bit cool on your shirtless skin and your eyes are closed. You feel like you're having a one-on-one with yourself. It's beautiful, really. One of those moments that just doesn't happen all that often, no matter how much you lie to yourself about it.
You're looking down and all you see is your bone-white feet flexing and balancing with the rolling current churning a few feet beneath you. The natural thing to do here would be to lightly take off and wait for the water to meet your shoulders, but you stay. For a reason you're not entirely sure of, you stay completely still. Only moving your eyes back and forth beneath your closed eyelids. I imagine it's what meditation is like, if it really works. The sky grows darker on the horizon and the wind begins to pick up.
And it's beautiful.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Flying
Cumulus and passersby;
A road that wasn't taken.
When it's learning how to fly,
One best not be mistaken.
We rode the train we all must ride,
And lacked proper elation.
"Don't go that way - come back inside,"
No sir, this is my station.
Where choice is false and men prove weak,
It's best to hail another.
I'm sorry, friend, I think I've peaked,
You'd best not tell my mother.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this takes life from me.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
The Gambler
There were days where the sun would rise with her eyelids. The smell of their bodies in the linens they'd wrapped around each other. He woke up and he was freezing - legs entirely exposed from the knee down. She'd unknowingly hogged all of the sheets over the course of the night, even though he was the one directly under the window. He loved little things like that about her. He'd tell her she looked beautiful and she'd jokingly say "Yeah, I know." He loved her.
He was sitting at her desk chair, tying his shoes and staring at her through the mirror. She was putting on some eye makeup and saw him staring lovingly. Often she'd then chuckle and say "Whaat?" - a question he'd always answer with a smile, "Nothing."
"Come on! You're being such a little baby!" he'd yell jokingly, neck deep in icy ocean water. She always lagged behind, slowly acclimating herself to the cold Atlantic with a pained smile. "It only makes it worse, you should just jump in!" She'd laugh and continue holding her bent arms tensely above her shoulders. Every time a frosted wave crested up her back, she'd let out a small gasp and look to him. All he could do was smile and so he did a lot of that.
"No. No, no, no come on. Nooo!" She was choking on her own laughter, because she knew he loved her. The cross-eyed feline droned up to his pillow. "She snores! And she takes up all of my space! And she produces like so much heat. She's like a radiator." Not gonna happen. She's hugging him, crying with laughter still. He gives up. Pleasantly resigning. He puts his arm around his girlfriend and her
loyal cat.
"Everything happens for a reason," she says like a saint. He cries.
"Hey! I didn't know you were in this class?" He said, weirdly excited.
She smiled and responded kindly. She took a seat behind him.
He was sitting at her desk chair, tying his shoes and staring at her through the mirror. She was putting on some eye makeup and saw him staring lovingly. Often she'd then chuckle and say "Whaat?" - a question he'd always answer with a smile, "Nothing."
"Come on! You're being such a little baby!" he'd yell jokingly, neck deep in icy ocean water. She always lagged behind, slowly acclimating herself to the cold Atlantic with a pained smile. "It only makes it worse, you should just jump in!" She'd laugh and continue holding her bent arms tensely above her shoulders. Every time a frosted wave crested up her back, she'd let out a small gasp and look to him. All he could do was smile and so he did a lot of that.
"No. No, no, no come on. Nooo!" She was choking on her own laughter, because she knew he loved her. The cross-eyed feline droned up to his pillow. "She snores! And she takes up all of my space! And she produces like so much heat. She's like a radiator." Not gonna happen. She's hugging him, crying with laughter still. He gives up. Pleasantly resigning. He puts his arm around his girlfriend and her
loyal cat.
"Everything happens for a reason," she says like a saint. He cries.
"Hey! I didn't know you were in this class?" He said, weirdly excited.
She smiled and responded kindly. She took a seat behind him.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Katsumi.
The wind became energized when the screen panned onto a damp concrete wall. It (the wall) moved kind of like it had a purpose. Like it was told, hey people are watching now, look busy. It had personality, sort of. It had personality in that creepy way people think of their cats having personality -- in that way where anything animate is part of the family. The small red ball teeters by the gutter. It's getting pushed around back and forth. Moving towards the gutter, then stopping and rolling away down the road. Then it loses momentum and drifts and collides with the curb. The wind, now electric, was playing with the ball like a cat would with a wounded mouse. A prisoner of fun. The ball would escape for a bit, but just like the cat finally catches the mouse... It (the wind) moved on like a pack of droogies to the small girl at the crosswalk, like twenty feet from the damp wall.
But so by the way, this wall was the east wall of a moto-scooter store. There was an ominous feeling to it, for sure. The way there was moss growing all over it and how nobody had thought to spray paint this giant white 20 ft x 10ft wall. I guess it's kind of the product of neglect. Oh and it's cloudy. The sky, not the wall. Though, of course the wall isn't exactly spic and span. There's one window on the wall.
Katsumi was her name, though. The little girl. And don't worry, she's not in danger or anything. She hasn't like stumbled upon a dangerous part of town without her parents, no. She is there though. She happens to have come across this wind mistreating the red ball by the scooter store. But yeah so her name is Katsumi. She's not Japanese though. But so anyways she has carrots, yeah. Carrots and other innocent, nutritious vegetables and perhaps some minor confectionaries. Her long black hair binds her and wraps around her hips. She's like twelve probably and she sees this ball dusting itself off and the wind laughing and shit and doesn't much like the look of the wall, to be honest. Like, why is it even damp? It hasn't rained for like two weeks but this fucking wall is always wet in some way.
John Figeuroa has been sitting in his office in the scooter store for some hours now. He likes the way an enclosed space sounds when every door and window is shut. Kind of like when you were a kid and your parents would leave you in the car as they'd pick up some groceries. It's like you get to keep all of the sound. Like the sound wouldn't dare think of escaping. The engine isn't running and the radio is off. All you can hear is the sound of your breathing and the leather erking to your movements. John has been crying for quite some time now. He's a mostly bald man, John. Hasn't sold a scooter in a week or so and now he doesn't even leave his office. He doesn't even know whether people are showing up for work anymore. He doesn't really care. The one window in his office hasn't been cleaned. He made some Chef Boyardee in the microwave under the window yesterday which fogged up the bottom half of the window, and it hasn't quite fully cleared up yet. The window is on the east wall of the building and it looks out over nothing. It looks out across the street to an identical white wall. This day is different though. Katsumi is there, waiting.
But so by the way, this wall was the east wall of a moto-scooter store. There was an ominous feeling to it, for sure. The way there was moss growing all over it and how nobody had thought to spray paint this giant white 20 ft x 10ft wall. I guess it's kind of the product of neglect. Oh and it's cloudy. The sky, not the wall. Though, of course the wall isn't exactly spic and span. There's one window on the wall.
Katsumi was her name, though. The little girl. And don't worry, she's not in danger or anything. She hasn't like stumbled upon a dangerous part of town without her parents, no. She is there though. She happens to have come across this wind mistreating the red ball by the scooter store. But yeah so her name is Katsumi. She's not Japanese though. But so anyways she has carrots, yeah. Carrots and other innocent, nutritious vegetables and perhaps some minor confectionaries. Her long black hair binds her and wraps around her hips. She's like twelve probably and she sees this ball dusting itself off and the wind laughing and shit and doesn't much like the look of the wall, to be honest. Like, why is it even damp? It hasn't rained for like two weeks but this fucking wall is always wet in some way.
John Figeuroa has been sitting in his office in the scooter store for some hours now. He likes the way an enclosed space sounds when every door and window is shut. Kind of like when you were a kid and your parents would leave you in the car as they'd pick up some groceries. It's like you get to keep all of the sound. Like the sound wouldn't dare think of escaping. The engine isn't running and the radio is off. All you can hear is the sound of your breathing and the leather erking to your movements. John has been crying for quite some time now. He's a mostly bald man, John. Hasn't sold a scooter in a week or so and now he doesn't even leave his office. He doesn't even know whether people are showing up for work anymore. He doesn't really care. The one window in his office hasn't been cleaned. He made some Chef Boyardee in the microwave under the window yesterday which fogged up the bottom half of the window, and it hasn't quite fully cleared up yet. The window is on the east wall of the building and it looks out over nothing. It looks out across the street to an identical white wall. This day is different though. Katsumi is there, waiting.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Nietzsche
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Jon Stewart is a King.
Hey all (and by that I mean nobody at all haha). So it's been almost three weeks since I last posted. To be blunt, I felt like I was kinda forcing it. Like, I felt as if I was posting just because I wanted to have a blog that had more posts or something. I don't know why. Maybe because I was trying to pretend that I'm an actual blogger? Oh, self-deprecation. No but seriously, there's no point in posting if I don't feel like it. Especially because I don't really write about anything. I mostly just write about whatever is bothering me or whatever comes across my mind at the time. Whatever, I enjoy it.
I saw this interview last night with Jon Stewart on Chris Wallace's show on Fox News. It was...really awesome. I mean I might just be a dumb liberal asshole who's no better than all of those absolute idiots who watch the other absolute idiots on Fox News, but I don't think so. It was exhilarating to watch Jon Stewart - the most down to earth and just all around correct man - just serve up Fox News on a platter. I mean, what the hell were they expecting? Did they think that he would come to that interview cold, just waiting to be shown up by some shaky research done by Fox interns? No but seriously, it wasn't just exhilarating to watch because I share the same hatred towards Fox News that millions of other sane people have. It was just so refreshing to know that their remains some sliver of sanity in the world of politics and news coverage. Because, to be honest, it's far easier to spend an hour watching politics on Fox vomit about how Homosexuals violate the sanctity of marriage than it is to find a person talking about the world as it is.
The soundest argument that Jon had in the interview, and the one that seemed to affect him the most, was when he pointed out that polls have shown that Fox News viewers are consistently the most uninformed viewers when it comes to real, important topics like the economy and foreign affairs. When it comes down to it, Fox News is a tabloid and Stewart did a fantastic job of exposing that fact. After Obama addressed the nation and revealed his plan to withdraw troops from Afghanistan, I immediately turned to Fox News to hear what bullshit they had to say. I was not disappointed. I found them criticizing him on every single thing they could. Now, I'm all for objectivity. So I'm not saying that it's ridiculous to have bad things to say about the president. But when it gets to the point where you're saying "Well I just don't think that he's set realistic goals because I think that if we pull out our troops in 2014, we're going to see more 9/11's." What an absurd thing to say. Honestly, unidentifiable nondescript man wearing thick brim glasses and a gray suit? How did you even crack into the field of journalism? Or tabloidism, I should say.
Don't even get me started on people who think Obama wasn't born in America. WHAT could POSSIBLY make you say that?!? There is absolutely nothing that supports such a ridiculous claim. He has an American birth certificate! He is the president of the United States! So now, just because Donald Trump says that he has "people looking into the matter,"Barack isn't American!? It's just so stupid. There is no proof or even falsified documentation to suggest he isn't American. The only reason people are thinking this is because he is Barack Hussein Obama - black man. Not John David Anderson - white man. It's nauseating.
On another note, I saw a report about some wildfires that have been occurring in Arizona - home of the Arizona Immigration Law. In an interview, John McCain revealed that it was "illegal aliens" who were starting the fires. That's all. No support. No proof. Just racist, absurdist, ignorant words. What were you thinking, John? Immigrants are responsible for these fires?! How are you a respected man? I thank God that he isn't our President. What's even more horrifying is that some people watch him spit this bullshit and absorb it because all they need for something to become fact is some senile old fart to say it on Fox. What horse shit.
Alright that's all for now.
I saw this interview last night with Jon Stewart on Chris Wallace's show on Fox News. It was...really awesome. I mean I might just be a dumb liberal asshole who's no better than all of those absolute idiots who watch the other absolute idiots on Fox News, but I don't think so. It was exhilarating to watch Jon Stewart - the most down to earth and just all around correct man - just serve up Fox News on a platter. I mean, what the hell were they expecting? Did they think that he would come to that interview cold, just waiting to be shown up by some shaky research done by Fox interns? No but seriously, it wasn't just exhilarating to watch because I share the same hatred towards Fox News that millions of other sane people have. It was just so refreshing to know that their remains some sliver of sanity in the world of politics and news coverage. Because, to be honest, it's far easier to spend an hour watching politics on Fox vomit about how Homosexuals violate the sanctity of marriage than it is to find a person talking about the world as it is.
The soundest argument that Jon had in the interview, and the one that seemed to affect him the most, was when he pointed out that polls have shown that Fox News viewers are consistently the most uninformed viewers when it comes to real, important topics like the economy and foreign affairs. When it comes down to it, Fox News is a tabloid and Stewart did a fantastic job of exposing that fact. After Obama addressed the nation and revealed his plan to withdraw troops from Afghanistan, I immediately turned to Fox News to hear what bullshit they had to say. I was not disappointed. I found them criticizing him on every single thing they could. Now, I'm all for objectivity. So I'm not saying that it's ridiculous to have bad things to say about the president. But when it gets to the point where you're saying "Well I just don't think that he's set realistic goals because I think that if we pull out our troops in 2014, we're going to see more 9/11's." What an absurd thing to say. Honestly, unidentifiable nondescript man wearing thick brim glasses and a gray suit? How did you even crack into the field of journalism? Or tabloidism, I should say.
Don't even get me started on people who think Obama wasn't born in America. WHAT could POSSIBLY make you say that?!? There is absolutely nothing that supports such a ridiculous claim. He has an American birth certificate! He is the president of the United States! So now, just because Donald Trump says that he has "people looking into the matter,"Barack isn't American!? It's just so stupid. There is no proof or even falsified documentation to suggest he isn't American. The only reason people are thinking this is because he is Barack Hussein Obama - black man. Not John David Anderson - white man. It's nauseating.
On another note, I saw a report about some wildfires that have been occurring in Arizona - home of the Arizona Immigration Law. In an interview, John McCain revealed that it was "illegal aliens" who were starting the fires. That's all. No support. No proof. Just racist, absurdist, ignorant words. What were you thinking, John? Immigrants are responsible for these fires?! How are you a respected man? I thank God that he isn't our President. What's even more horrifying is that some people watch him spit this bullshit and absorb it because all they need for something to become fact is some senile old fart to say it on Fox. What horse shit.
Alright that's all for now.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Spelling Bee Kids
I'm all for the pursuit of academia, but come on...really?
I've been sitting in my living room for a solid hour now, watching ESPN's coverage of the Scripps National Spelling Bee. I'd be lying if I said I don't enjoy watching the spelling bee at least a little bit. It's kind of fun to try and give each word your best shot. Obviously I fail most of the time because, let's be honest, these words are as ridiculous as they are useless. However, after watching these high-pantsed propeller heads sweat over the microphone for an hour, it's clear that the only thing more complex than their vocabulary is their social ineptitude.
I just could not fathom putting my child (whom I would love) through such a terrible existence. Not only are they essentially losing their childhood in its entirety, but they're also being brought up in a way that will not prepare them for the real world. Life isn't about being locked up in a stuffy room with your nose in a dictionary. No business will consider knowing Sanskrit roots as an advantage in the application process. Like I mentioned before, being home-schooled by Merriam Webster doesn't exactly help one develop interpersonal social skills.
What I'm saying is: Parents! You are ruining your child's life! I don't care if you have an inadequacy complex and are trying to live vicariously through your sweaty mess of a child. You are not helping! As a matter of fact, you are detrimental to your child's development as a person.
I mean could anybody really argue that one of these home school products is better prepared for a life of occupational collaboration than, say, an average student with exceptional, or even mediocre, social skills who doesn't happen to know how to spell bougainvillea?
I'd really like to sit down with these parents and these kids and see what their plans are for life after the age of 15. How has devoting the child's life to tedious memorization helped them develop as people? Better yet, how hasn't it harmed them?
Maybe I'm just a cynic. Maybe I'm just jealous. All that I know is that I'd never put a child through such a lonely and stressful life. Thanks Mom and Dad for letting me be...human.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Stern Lips
Inside out on the screen,
We chant with our eyes closed.
Frustration and passion prove
A formidable license to durst.
Old words and new meditations
Leave residual effects.
On residue we dwell,
For too long the fantasy is played out.
A bubble bursting is not a laughing matter,
But what if
All we can do to not cry
Is laugh?
Sunday, May 29, 2011
NBA Finals 2011
Let's all be honest. Miami is probably going to win. Why? Because we hate them.
I feel like that's generally the case with professional sports. If your team doesn't win then the team you hate the most probably will. As a Red Sox fan and a Yankee-hater, this has happened all too often.
But we all know that the Miami Heat have taken the role of villain to an entirely new level. They've combined the cockiness of the NY Jets and the talent of the NY Yankees (notice a trend - I'm not a big New York sports fan...) and created a love child I like to call "The Three Egos". Though, to be fair, LeBron sets himself apart from Wade and Bosh in that respect. And wow, do I hate them. Don't we all...
At the beginning of the season, I wasn't ready to hate the Heat yet. I was still sore from last years final in which my Boston Celtics lost by a slim margin in game 7 to the fucking Lakers. It was intriguing though: I'd never been in a situation as a pro sports fan in which I had two teams to hate. Sure, I only rooted for the home team, but I only really hated one team at a time. But then came along 2011. Whereas I hated the Lakers because they've basically been our biggest rival since acquiring Garnett and Allen a few years back, I began to hate the Heat because, well, they were cocky assholes. They still are.
LeBron literally pounds his chest like an idiot every time he dunks the ball. Like...come on. You're paid millions of dollars to make those shots dude. Don't act like you've conquered Everest every time you cash in a couple points. There's having a game face and then there's posing for the cameras.
I guess they were doomed from the start, though. "I'm bringing my talents to South Beach". What a freaking ass. Then they had that massive Pep Rally with guns blazing and fans roaring as if they'd already won the finals together.
I guess, as a New England sports fan, I've always appreciated letting the game do the talking. Between the Pats, the Sox, the B's and the Celtics, we have some seriously classy guys. So, when I see assholes like LeBron and Rex Ryan trying to talk their way into the spot light, it starts to annoy me.
I guess we'll have to wait and see. I hope Dirk and the Mavs can man up, even if their owner is a total douche bag. Please, don't let the Heat win. Don't encourage their superior douche-dom. Show them that a ring requires more than a WWE-like preseason pep-rally and a salary cap that could probably buy Manhattan.
P.S. Excuse the abrupt shift from my Lewis Black-like ranting to an NBA Finals Preview/condemnation. I guess this kind of plays into the idea that I'm going to use this blog to write what I feel like writing? But again, who's reading?
I think the World is going places (Actually no sarcasm there).
Hey everyone, two blog posts in two days, eh? Look at me go.
When we left off, I didn't really know what to write about in this blog. I realize that I came across like a smart ass who thinks he's got life figured out. But please know that I consider myself a commoner, just like everyone else. I'm not just another apathetic kid in my generation. You know, the one that's going to bring an end to the world as we know it? Right.
So what I've decided is that I'm going to let this blog serve an autobiographical purpose. No, I'm not going to tell you dumb twitter shit like what I ate for lunch or how T.O.'d I was that I slept through my alarm. Because, yeah that's just stupid. I don't even care about that so you sure as hell don't either.
No, instead I'm going to let this blog be whatever I want it to be at any given point. I know this probably won't do wonders for readers who enjoy consistency in their blogs, but what the hell, I'm probably going to end up being the only one who reads this shit anyways so, fuck off.
First off, I just want to say that I'm not trying to sound like a "fight the powers that be"/"stick it to the man" kind of guy. So, if at any point I do sound like that, sorry. Maybe you're reading what I'm saying incorrectly.
I have a bunch of friends who say they're interested in politics, but I think that's bullshit. I remember when I was "into" politics. I thought it was cool to have an opinion about serious stuff and it made me sound smart and it let me win arguments about stupid shit. Politics have become so ridiculous now, though. It's like a big game of chicken, more so than anything else. I feel like people only continue to argue their points because they don't want the other people to have the satisfaction of winning the argument. Like, for example, sometimes people are proven wrong, and they know that they've been proven wrong, so they decide to pretend that they were actually arguing about something entirely different and insignificant all along. Anything they can do to win an argument, I guess. Don't get me wrong, I fully took part in this crap at one point.
The irony of it is that there is no winning in politics. It's like putting fire and ice in a room together and saying, "Now, neither of you are leaving this room until you agree about what a good temperature is."
But I'm already annoying myself by talking about all of this. I feel like a million other bloggers, all giving their two cents about the wrongs of the world - as if putting it on the internet makes it matter.
Why do I even have a blog? All I do is make fun of blogs. Maybe I'm just realizing now that (perhaps) blogs are a good thing? Maybe I represent everything that's wrong in the world after all? Here I am bitching about people who think their opinions mean anything. I think I am a cynic at heart. I generally consider myself to be a pretty nice guy but, damnit, things just tend to annoy me I suppose.
I realize so far that my blog has been painfully boring, so I'll try and sex it up next time.
When we left off, I didn't really know what to write about in this blog. I realize that I came across like a smart ass who thinks he's got life figured out. But please know that I consider myself a commoner, just like everyone else. I'm not just another apathetic kid in my generation. You know, the one that's going to bring an end to the world as we know it? Right.
So what I've decided is that I'm going to let this blog serve an autobiographical purpose. No, I'm not going to tell you dumb twitter shit like what I ate for lunch or how T.O.'d I was that I slept through my alarm. Because, yeah that's just stupid. I don't even care about that so you sure as hell don't either.
No, instead I'm going to let this blog be whatever I want it to be at any given point. I know this probably won't do wonders for readers who enjoy consistency in their blogs, but what the hell, I'm probably going to end up being the only one who reads this shit anyways so, fuck off.
First off, I just want to say that I'm not trying to sound like a "fight the powers that be"/"stick it to the man" kind of guy. So, if at any point I do sound like that, sorry. Maybe you're reading what I'm saying incorrectly.
I have a bunch of friends who say they're interested in politics, but I think that's bullshit. I remember when I was "into" politics. I thought it was cool to have an opinion about serious stuff and it made me sound smart and it let me win arguments about stupid shit. Politics have become so ridiculous now, though. It's like a big game of chicken, more so than anything else. I feel like people only continue to argue their points because they don't want the other people to have the satisfaction of winning the argument. Like, for example, sometimes people are proven wrong, and they know that they've been proven wrong, so they decide to pretend that they were actually arguing about something entirely different and insignificant all along. Anything they can do to win an argument, I guess. Don't get me wrong, I fully took part in this crap at one point.
The irony of it is that there is no winning in politics. It's like putting fire and ice in a room together and saying, "Now, neither of you are leaving this room until you agree about what a good temperature is."
But I'm already annoying myself by talking about all of this. I feel like a million other bloggers, all giving their two cents about the wrongs of the world - as if putting it on the internet makes it matter.
Why do I even have a blog? All I do is make fun of blogs. Maybe I'm just realizing now that (perhaps) blogs are a good thing? Maybe I represent everything that's wrong in the world after all? Here I am bitching about people who think their opinions mean anything. I think I am a cynic at heart. I generally consider myself to be a pretty nice guy but, damnit, things just tend to annoy me I suppose.
I realize so far that my blog has been painfully boring, so I'll try and sex it up next time.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
My Blogging Virginity
So, I'm going to start my first blog ever with the word, "So."
To be honest, I've been somewhat against these things since they first came out. I don't know - I guess the idea that some people think that the entire internet gives a damn about what they have to say kind of annoys me. But, alas, here I am, barking right up that alley. In my defense I would actually prefer having nobody read this blog rather than having everyone read this blog. What the hell do I know about anything? I don't even have a drivers' license... It's a joke that I can vote.
So then what's my reason for starting this blog? Well, some girl was talking about how she blogs a bunch so I decided to humor her and say things like "Wow, you know now that you say it, it doesn't sound absolutely stupid." Regardless of how I got here, the important thing is that I am here: Tired, lonely and out of my element at 2:13 A.M. on a Sunday (technically). Bored as fuck (As if there was any doubt after acknowledging that it's only "technically" a Sunday?)
I'm sure you're thinking, "So why the hell should I read what you have to say?"
I get it. Your time is precious and you're much better than I am because you know how blogs "work". Why should you even waste your time reading my blog if I haven't even determined what the fuck my blog is even going to be about (which, by the way, I haven't done). I guess I just decided that I like writing and hearing my own voice just like all of those other douches who have been keeping websites like this one alive for far too long.
I'm really not an angry person. I'm aware that I have, for some reason, only come across as a self-deprocating cynic, apparently furious with everything lame in this world. But don't get me wrong, I understand the many fruits that come with global communication and data sharing and cyber hand-holding or whatever. I have grown up in the tech-saavy generation, after all.
So maybe rather than dwell on the fact that I am grossly unqualified to write a blog, I should instead start thinking about what this blog should be about? Or, better yet, maybe I should ask you what I should write about? Does that seem too peachy: using a classic technique to engage the reader after I've clearly exposed myself as a fraud? Probably.
Well, I guess I'll just take this blog for what it is: Insert Topic Here.
I suggest you do the same.
To be honest, I've been somewhat against these things since they first came out. I don't know - I guess the idea that some people think that the entire internet gives a damn about what they have to say kind of annoys me. But, alas, here I am, barking right up that alley. In my defense I would actually prefer having nobody read this blog rather than having everyone read this blog. What the hell do I know about anything? I don't even have a drivers' license... It's a joke that I can vote.
So then what's my reason for starting this blog? Well, some girl was talking about how she blogs a bunch so I decided to humor her and say things like "Wow, you know now that you say it, it doesn't sound absolutely stupid." Regardless of how I got here, the important thing is that I am here: Tired, lonely and out of my element at 2:13 A.M. on a Sunday (technically). Bored as fuck (As if there was any doubt after acknowledging that it's only "technically" a Sunday?)
I'm sure you're thinking, "So why the hell should I read what you have to say?"
I get it. Your time is precious and you're much better than I am because you know how blogs "work". Why should you even waste your time reading my blog if I haven't even determined what the fuck my blog is even going to be about (which, by the way, I haven't done). I guess I just decided that I like writing and hearing my own voice just like all of those other douches who have been keeping websites like this one alive for far too long.
I'm really not an angry person. I'm aware that I have, for some reason, only come across as a self-deprocating cynic, apparently furious with everything lame in this world. But don't get me wrong, I understand the many fruits that come with global communication and data sharing and cyber hand-holding or whatever. I have grown up in the tech-saavy generation, after all.
So maybe rather than dwell on the fact that I am grossly unqualified to write a blog, I should instead start thinking about what this blog should be about? Or, better yet, maybe I should ask you what I should write about? Does that seem too peachy: using a classic technique to engage the reader after I've clearly exposed myself as a fraud? Probably.
Well, I guess I'll just take this blog for what it is: Insert Topic Here.
I suggest you do the same.
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