sling that rock

i have been in gift selection mode. this is a complicated mode. i have found it easy to over-think. i am not a consumer. i can't use a "what would i want strategy" because that is fucking lame. perhaps it comes down to a fusion of styles. i think about the person that will be receiving the present. i visualize them. picture them naked and really firm it up. i think about the thing i enjoy in their style. i think about the dynamic of our relationship. i have almost slipped into the fatal mode of getting safe gifts. but i always regroup and take the analysis plunge into specialization. the colors of things. the shape of things. the content of things. the colored shape of the content. is this bitch a minimalist? is homeboy a suburban thug? how good is our friendship and should i spend a little extra if i find just the right thing? fucking gifts. i want to impress. but i want to keep it casual. especially on the female front. be careful with the jewelry purchases. clothing can be a disaster... or maybe miraculous if you know know the bra size. and the body contour. and all of that has to be perfectly synchronized with her fashion and life sense. i try to find cool stores. not trendy stores. not edgy stores. cool stores. the store might have a rustic feel. it might have a modern feel. it might have an over the top neon feel. it just has to be cool. the items within it must be significant. (virtuoso relief carving of a bird sitting on top of a bird cage incorporated into an all lime-green urn. i like that. $119. i'll come back to it. i think their place is fully furnished. ) if i get anxious during a shopping experience. and i deem it something based on store stimuli... meaning more than my own tweak... then i cannot purchase anything. maybe if i go back later and the anxiety doesn't return i will consider it... if the items were good. i don't want to be too pretentious. so i sleep on it.

then i hit my stride.

bam.

the store ; experience. 5 blocks away from my college. never been inside before. cool shit. benevolent moderately well spoken cashier. artsy creations all over the place. some too gaudy. some too simple. some just right. things for all styles. nothing really hideous. i allow myself to get real metrosexual. turn my fashion sense up high. rest my hands on my hips and raise them to compliment my passionate sentences when explaining things to the designers i met in the vase section. maybe i am on stage for a little bit. whatever. i shop hard and get the things i want. plain metal cube frame with a glass bowl basin that drops in. sturdy and good looking. intricately carved wooden box with an understated butterfly on top. pretty thing. shopping done.

back to my brooding.

my cynical posturing.

i can only hope that another round of social convention bullshit will bump into my life.
escape time, clear set goal time.
that time will come and charge me up for the fun.

pow

don't photo me.

nihilism.

the way i dream it.
no considerations.
no expectations.
no insecurities.

but maybe the insomnia would still reign.

lose.

bite the head off a mic

things aren't what they seem. the problem is the seeming. part of the problem is within us. maybe i should say... within me. i, the human being. we, the human beings. the presentation aspect of our lives. the social mode. one aspect of seeming. the way the world seems. the problems that we face as we try to empirically catalogue our existence. we look for things like truth and fact. we are unwilling to live ambiguously. our notions must be firm. our moral codes consistent and, for the most part, conservative. i have to have a picture of what i am. i have to be able to look around, use my sense perception, and reference beliefs in order to keep it all together.... and i am keeping it all together to remain in a state of acceptability. i want to hold it down long enough to have extraordinary perceptual experiences and to have a child or two. the thought of family life is not foreign to me. i have watched cheese dick movies and read emotional novels. i feel the emotional rhythm of the human existence. i am compelled to conform to moral norms. but it certainly doesn't mean anything. we are not getting at any truth.

it is quite simple.

one can choose to act in a way that, the local majority ensures them, will make them more likely to succeed.

or

one can choose to risk it all for thrills... compulsive acts, fueled by urges.

it is a scary world, and the God notion plays the role of conceptual watch dog. sex has a role, science has a role, all the things that human beings do. all the things we spend time on. the things that impinge upon our thoughts. we have tried to infuse this existential landscape with purpose and truth. i, as a unit within we, have come up empty. a budding nominalist. head games. comfort zones. designated success and designated failure. i will not deny that certain patterns have emerged. it seems that certain dynamics within the larger patterns have either appealed to our cognition or a physical situation has arisen in which we have randomly fallen into the grooves and tried to maintain a certain stride within that which has been provided. i do not pretend to have the ultimate anthropological, biological, psychological, and neurological knowledge (etcetera) to be able to make a complex or sufficiently accurate claim about why we live the way we do. but i am certain that whatever this current mental/cognitive environment happens to consist of in its entirety is ultimately arbitrary. unbelievably improbable. all this bullshit language. all of our bullshit dynamics.

and...

all these formulations are useless. thinking that i know anything is useless.

i still have to carve a life for myself. i still have to put my options on the scales. will i go out and slay babies because i can? will i be able to laugh at moral convention and avoid the fear that gets to most that entertain notions of radical non-conformity? it really doesn't matter. my existence is as much of a blip as any other existence. my quarrel is with the escapist tone of it all. it seems like we, human beings, are hiding in the protective bounds of our ingnorantly formulated relics. we, human beings, are unwilling to face existence as a purposeless endeavor. we are incapable of creating the necessary meaning. incapable of motivating ourselves without notions of metaphysical truth. most people don't even think enough to entertain these possibilities. that keeps me awake during the dark time.

oh so meaning

the weight of the phrase "i love you" struck me as something very awkward. it happened when i woke up at 4:45pm. first i thought about writing it on a card. then i thought about saying it on the phone. lastly i thought about the face to face utterance. i think that people use the phrase mindlessly. the expression is not a joke, but it has so many levels and casual uses that there is only a general notion of what the fuck one is talking about when using it.



my problem is this;

when i think of love... i think of my mother, my father, my high school girlfriend of 3-4 years, some of my friends and some of my extended family. i don't love them all the same way. but there is certainly a complex mass of life-things going on in my relations with a person if i am willing to say that i love them. however i am not able to identify the characteristics to the point of a clear love-picture, and that makes me think that i am dealing with a folk-psychology relic. this ambiguous love-word.

i say "all right, i love you" or "i love you too" in phone conversations with three separate people consistently. and it never feels strange... but the only time that there are no questions floating in my thought space (whatever the fuck that means.... representational theory of mind, bitch) are when i say it to my mother. i think i have a grasp on what that mother-son love is. but when i say it to my high school girlfriend... i have no idea what it means exactly... it is not the mutual engulfing love that was once part of the equation. it is certainly not mother-love. but it is not casual friend love either. the word love just blurs over many realms.

is it "we have sex"-love? is it "i would give my life to save yours"-love? is it "irrational biological ties"-love? is it "we've been through a lot together"-love? i want to know what i am saying when i say that"i love". unfortunately, just like the rest of our existence we tend to smudge these details because we can survive with unrefined concepts. perhaps a simple retort would be that there are different kinds of love. but i would argue that every instance that is claimed to be an instance of "love" is going to have unique characteristics. therefore a normative definition should be put in place... because if we don't designate some common characteristics then we truly have no idea what the utterance means.

maybe a subjective instantiative definition is acceptable... but i think it leads to strange questions;

do i mean, come over here i care about you so much.... or do i mean, damn girl, show me your ass and fellate me? could depend on the moment and the boner.

dudes don't usually tell other dudes that they love them. unless something strange is going on. drugs, impending doom, etc.

jeff buckley

why deny?

get that shit up out of my zone

M: so what is the life of the average chick here? what's the style? i'm saying, does she observe a moral threshold? or is the bottom line doing whatever it takes to be felt on the scene? loud chatty shit? or reserved thoughtful beauty?

F: what?

M: i will break it down to a choice. i am good looking. i know all the cool people. i am older than you. if i make the advances are you going to be naked in my bed tonight? or will you feel me out and play it with the proper sophistication?

F: what the fuck are you talking about?

M: i have coke in my room. do you want to go up and do some lines?

F: sure.

M: wow. goodbye.

should have been another

if you look at me... you might find the devil. it is not within me, but you could build it. i am not evil, but nothing is. some of my notions are those of a chauvinist, a misogynist, a pig. i think in terms of the brutal, in terms of the sexual. i view the world in black and white. that should not be shocking. people think in ways that they do not communicate casually. But... i know it will be a shock... maybe not a shock... maybe just off-putting... but without the testimonials i feel as though i live a charade. maybe i should just accept that it is a charade. i enjoying drinking... i like the perspective shift, but i refrain because i hope that i am better then the inebriation escape. i want my achievements to be mine, not the work of a boozed-up ape. the beautiful carelessness, i want to feel it all the time. the warmth of comfort... when things are good. don't we all want that. or maybe it is a matter of abandoning the investigation. i shouldn't be thinking about what it is that i want or don't want, what is and what is not in my control. such deep shit man... so real bro... ask the tough questions. eat my ass. guess and second guess the guessing. talk real loud when the lights are out. blast the music. it isn't really about anything. it is a matter of being swept away as the momentum carries everything. events and choices... there is no stagnation, we continue to reach the crossroads... there is no rest, unless you hide. hiding has become a cornerstone. a key part of the foundation. it isn't even something to be sad about. probably shouldn't be thought about. but it is impossible to stop the compulsory thought. how can i avoid seeing the female form through a lens of wanting to fuck. i can't... and speaking about it is crass. there is no way to approach that realm in an honest fashion without stepping on toes. a person could tell me that i am simply wack and that i need to step my game up... learn the ways of the subtle maneuvers. i say that shit is for those that are caught in the deepest levels of personal crisis. the schematic looks something like this;

i am really this way

but

i will not be able to attract the person that i want if i act the way that i usually do

so

i will change my conduct to fit the mold that i have to fit to get the person

i will be formal when i need to

and

always cool

this game of appearances is tough. that is probably why everyone is shitfaced all the time. it has to be hard work whoring yourself out like that. awkward moments go away when the booze runs in the veins. things get so much more lively. the party is the party when you really work the party through your nose, or down your throat, sometimes both, from the same thing. the coke. just saying enough words and acting enough ways to get some naked time. just enough for another person to allow you into the personal space. it sounds creepy when it gets laid out in any manner that deviates from the really casual and cool way that it goes down with the help of insecure posturing and booze facing.

you might think that i am bad mouthing this entire process. and i am. but the hypocrisy is thick. i love every second of the process despite the horrid nature of it all. the moments of tribulation and success cannot be matched. the depth of rejection-hurt and the high of immersion skin contact. when words pass and hands slide over breasts in a happy ass frenzy of shirts off tunnel hope.

i just broke a barrier, all has come and gone, i am tired in the morning, rolling over... finding you, the kind words pass, emotional gay, left in the position, you may be gone tomorrow but i think i like today, i am thinking now is special, so involved i fail to judge, taking note of moments, memorizing visions of the shoulder blades, pulling down the sheets as you sleep, you made the choice to come here, body heat keeping me awake, so i guess i'll take a peek, nothing compromising, just the small of your back, the shape of all your cheeks. games games, decisions, it usually goes bad...

forever sink

ultimately i am dedicated to image creation. i care about the way that others view me. most choices are laced with consideration. i sometimes wonder why the cool-image is constructed without image concern (self-consciousness) as part of the framework. it works like this... either you are somewhat concerned with your image or you have a backup plan. rape, betrothal... if you are looking to reproduce and you are part of the relative standard society... then you are going to be subject to image accountability. i do not like the fact that i have to be slightly presentable... and i am most comfortable with myself in a grimes clothes and beard-state, but i am certainly willing to sacrifice some comfort for the social success payoff. you feel me on that one? all right... throw your hands in the air like you just don't care, throw em up high, wave em side to side.

get the crowd working. get liked.

dark fancy bullshit. sing a good tune. late night television. breeding.

think back

naked-time in the bed... was good. the times were good, but very trying. i don't know if i will ever have it as good as i had it then... but that could be the cynical aspect of reclusion. i don't know if i want to care about anything, for the rest of this decade, with the intensity that i cared about that love.


i think this could be viewed as a softcore position. but it is not. love is very good. those that try to remain tough about it are the ones that leave the foul stench. if you aren't subject to the emotions then you are missing the good part. and if you are trying to act as though you aren't subject to the emotional pull then you are wasting your time trying to maintain a front. either way you lose. i was madly in love and i liked it. someday i will get back to it... in some form.

keep it real.

the grover mantle

people have sophisticated political views. for example, people that wind up on the left usually present cogent arguments. keep the nose to the grindstone.

new hot single

i just released a record. it is called "The Dingus Could Heal." there is a certain level of duality in that title. it is partially about chaffing and partially about the cleansing power of the male side of love. i feel that it is deep. people get so wrapped up in being creative... and to me that seems like a show that idiots put on. why not flow from the heart? don't think about what other people are going to think, think about expressing what you are thinking in the most accurate way.

anyway, the single off of "The Dingus Could Heal" is going to be a track entitled "Tried to Self-fellate." This track was made to express the deep pains in the lower back, neck, ribcage, and soul that stem from trying to perform fellation upon yourself. The dissonance and the frenzied pace of the track are in place to represent the lonliness and confusion that lead to the situation that can inspire the futile angle manipulation attempts of the self-blowing realm.

sex fiends need to get a grip. i am making this album to try to raise awareness in relation to this sexually abstract portion of existence. some people are lonely and they can only depend on themselves for pleasure. just imagine some guy that masters the art of fellating himself... what will he be focusing on more intently, the sensation of having a mouth on him, or working the pole in his mouth. dude bro man sack land fat handy wipe candy dike in a shovel frenzy taking heads off mice with a sharp edge maniac in the wings waiting for rain to loose the cannon.

i am not a slut

i was engaged in a lot of conversation this weekend. i was at my cousin's wedding. he married a beautiful girl. they seem to be swank hipsters. smart but blind. i don't give a shit. family love-ties erase the need for doubt-hate.

the chats were trite but refreshing. at times i was engrossed in the words i was saying or the words that the others were putting forth, but there were times when i was creating absurd hypotheticals as the other person or people spoke. some of the hypotheticals involved kidnapping and murdering children... solely for the purposes of video captured reactions. another favorite involved spearing the bride as she danced with her father. just being overcome by the love vibe... and getting really physical. something along the lines of... i need to have sex or get into a fight... or call an ex-girlfriend for sentimental posture purposes.

some people smile so much while they are chatting. it makes me think that they want me to think that they are permanently cheery. i really do not like that. all human beings of substantial intellect are subject to the paradoxical nature of our cognitive endeavors.

we try to live purposeful lives without purpose. there are going to be moments of confusion, sadness, joy, triumph, and so on. who are the plastic smiles aimed at? are there people out there that think better of the perpetually toothy. should i start looking into the practice of smile chatting. i have always been a bigger fan of reserved, yet genuine, interaction. maybe the "everything is great" facial expression is something i should adopt. i should be able to succeed like that.

musical from bored

i want to throw a grenade. a live one. i want to do this in a public area. i do not want any people to die. but i want people to experience a grenade explosion in REAL LIFE. how real is real life? the life that is outside of the comfort zone. i guess some people never experience real life.

very uncool.

i am trying to synthesize information. taking notes. one thing has become clear; taking a firm stance is not simple. if you want to have an enjoyable life... in the fun sense... then do not try to change or prove anything. i want to hit myself in the mouth saying shit like that.

just skate by, keep drinking and smoking, keep dealing with personal sensations. try to hide from angst. (oh boy... super gay) find a perspective and make sure it will enable you to find some sort of life companion. could be a person of the same sex, could be a pet. just something that is capable of being the recipient of attention, a companion in the midst of a running commentary.

on an unrelated note. why have networks decided that bombarding the masses with the hot bitch sideline/on-site reporters is the way to go?

Here we are at the US paintball championships. Now over to our token nice faced big tittied interview slut. Keep the culture legit.

paper clip

i don't have the stomach for hip scenes. trendy scenes??? i will try to find some terminology that doesn't push the buttons of the snooty people within the scenes i am trying to describe. the thick black-rimmed glasses and tight pants... that is an extreme token example, but shit like that. it all seems particularly transitive. it is as though the scenes are composed of people that want to find a niche that they can use to get laid and make easy friends. the kind of thing that is not expected to last. those lifestyles that are identified as phases as they are happening. no history professors needed on the "one carpenter jean-leg rolled up" phenomenon.

however, interesting people do tend to get sucked into the hip scenes. they want to get laid and have good conversations just like everyone else. perhaps they haven't had a chance to look from the outside to see how horrid the bullshit actually is.

i think my message is this; don't form bonds, be as bitter as possible, and really lay it on thick when you find someone that is willing to listen.

maybe i can change up my lifestyle and bring home a slopfest from a scummy bar. cure me. purge.

real bananas

keep taking vitamins. you bitch-ass motherfucker.

focus on that health

read nutrition facts.

don't drink beer.

don't take shots of liquor.

stay inside the head.

keep it real.

keep it cool.

same.

so bro.

miss that layup you faggot.

gay rights people can suck my dick. but only if they are dudes.

just get the zucchini out of your ass.

everything will be fine.

this is pretty

despite my resolute stance as an athiest i still consider the possibility that being in God's bad graces is the source of my woes.

standard weakness.

at the buffet

i don't enjoy this. well... not all of it. i enjoy enough to continue, but not enough to figure out a way to thrive. half-assed living and half-assed words. get out there and get some oral sex. the thought happens. listen to Marvin Gaye.

we do not dig eye contact

complete intellectual ineptitude. my college has a good reputation... and i see no reason for that reputation to exist. i am surrounded by trite idiots. there are some standouts, but there are always standouts no matter how shitty the shit. the general population is fucking retarded.

in a debate over the teaching of intelligent design some members of the class were swayed by the assertion that "all the information should be provided".

"all the information" ???

evolution is a theory that stems from an argument with premises that are testable. the theory is still being refined, but the basic body of information can withstand intense examination and answer questions using empirically ascertained data.

intelligent design stems from folk lore. what reason do we have to make the leap to believing that there is some sort of designer. i will grant that things are astoundingly complex, but that does not mean that the irreducible complexity argument has enough weight to point us in the direction of an intelligent designer. I will also grant that the big bang leads into a line of tricky questioning... but there is still no evidence in support of their being a designer, there is only evidence to support us asking more questions about the things that a well established theory has not addressed.

if one were to allow intelligent design into education because "all the information" should be made available, then we have to allow every theory ever formulated that requires a leap to a conclusion without evidence that can remain viable after scientific scrutiny.

it is just as likely that an intangible turtle has been drifting through incommensurable space fueling the intangible engine that makes existence go.


Union College is a joke.

create me

i am uncomfortable. so... i want you to create me. everytime that you have a thought involving me i would like you to fill in the deep details. this is a desire of mine because there is no way that you would accept the horrid nature of my thoughts. kid sex, angsty teenage stuff.

all joking aside, my physical state has never been worse. it has been 9 months of malfunctioning. maybe God is talking to me through body shock. i am not a nihilist but i know that i have to create meaning, and that process of meaning creation is important. but... i am not really living a life right now. at least i am not living in a way that is worthy of social effort. i would rather describe it as a constant battle to overcome fear. there is no relaxed time, it is always a matter of unpleasant physical sensations or being too tired to understand.

female; intimate chat and detailed study of physical features... could be a solution.

i need the good times.

pillow saliva

keep talking. i want to hear what you are saying... and more specifically i glean my life purpose from your formulations.

turn the lights off. let's make out.

Quine's urethra

leave a few seconds of awkward silence. make the others really wallow in it. of course i can't control the extent of their immersion ("their" representing the, proverbial, others). i try to maintain a perspective worthy of respect, but it is impossible to avoid the distractions. the female is hot, the dude is annoying, the utterances of our time are flying around. relativism manages to slip a nipple in my mouth.

so i try to keep it casual, trace the causal chains. be aware and sweat it out. slap a motto on some dumb slut's bean. really dig it. live consistent, because the hypocrites will be crucified. just like it always was.

in my dome.

no shpank

there is nothing like trying to avoid masturbation. i used to think that sex helped to quell the urge... but... getting intimate with others doesn't eliminate the need to have the intimate moments with self. as though i should be talking to myself about it. "great job just before... really satisfying. the imagination was flying. very realistic with the eyes closed, head back, elbow on the thigh... excellent release. too bad the sleep will be terrible."

pleasure. movement. insecure bullshit about morals or something along those lines. i am sick of this. but not to the point of motivation. the efforts have not begun.
will not begin.

the notion of self-awareness and the useful stagnation.