Well, I just downloaded the new Damien Rice album. About to give it a listen.
Wish me luck, cruel world!
"You could be my favorite taste to touch my tongue.
I know someone who could serve me love but it wouldn't fill me up.
You could have my favorite face and favorite name,
I know someone who could play the part but it wouldn't be the same.
No it wouldn't be the same..."
Good god, here we go.
November 10, 2014
November 9, 2014
fun physics fact of the day
A light-year is often mistaken for a unit of time, when in fact it is a measure of distance. A light-year is approximately six trillion miles.
---
When I was eighteen years old I was accepted into the University of Iowa as a double major in physics and philosophy. I abandoned my enrollment because, while I met all other criteria, my ACT score was one point shy of the requirement for qualification for a full-ride scholarship open to freshman physics majors. I also was enjoying my job working with kids, reading physics and philosophy books in my free time. Education should be free.
Anyway. One of my soccer teammates is an older gentleman from Germany named Beren. He has a master's degree in physics and is a professor/researcher of nanotechnology. He's also a better soccer player than me, but he's from Germany for God's sakes, so obviously. I also have a dear friend named Stephen who has a PhD in philosophy and who is now getting a master's degree in German Studies at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY. He and Gina are trying to get me to visit but I don't have the means at the moment.
I'm sure that when I die I won't lament the missed opportunities for a college degree, for money unearned, for success unachieved. Love is all that matters. Life, without love, is just a series of meaningless hieroglyphics that aren't even worth translating.
---
One of my favorite Third Eye Blind lyrics:
"Nothing much matters to me so I don't see why
I should hold so tightly to a memory that I can't speak of.
I think about it nightly how you opened up your life for me.
Why are you still lonely?
Though I'm not the type who begs,
I'm thinking how you'd open up your legs.
And I'm farther from you every day."
This song has been haunting my weekend:
"Find The River" – R.E.M.
---
When I was eighteen years old I was accepted into the University of Iowa as a double major in physics and philosophy. I abandoned my enrollment because, while I met all other criteria, my ACT score was one point shy of the requirement for qualification for a full-ride scholarship open to freshman physics majors. I also was enjoying my job working with kids, reading physics and philosophy books in my free time. Education should be free.
Anyway. One of my soccer teammates is an older gentleman from Germany named Beren. He has a master's degree in physics and is a professor/researcher of nanotechnology. He's also a better soccer player than me, but he's from Germany for God's sakes, so obviously. I also have a dear friend named Stephen who has a PhD in philosophy and who is now getting a master's degree in German Studies at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY. He and Gina are trying to get me to visit but I don't have the means at the moment.
I'm sure that when I die I won't lament the missed opportunities for a college degree, for money unearned, for success unachieved. Love is all that matters. Life, without love, is just a series of meaningless hieroglyphics that aren't even worth translating.
Bought new sheets today. But they're not pink.
---
One of my favorite Third Eye Blind lyrics:
"Nothing much matters to me so I don't see why
I should hold so tightly to a memory that I can't speak of.
I think about it nightly how you opened up your life for me.
Why are you still lonely?
Though I'm not the type who begs,
I'm thinking how you'd open up your legs.
And I'm farther from you every day."
This song has been haunting my weekend:
"Find The River" – R.E.M.
November 8, 2014
I've had this poem stuck in my head all day, but I can't remember where I read it or who the author is. Maybe you can help me. Here's what I can remember of the words:
"I just want to marry the pussy.
I just want to marry the pussy.
I just want to marry the pussy.
Wanna go down on my knees
and ask that pussy to marry me."
... It was either Alfred Lord Tennyson or R. Kelly.
---
Okay that was a joke. That song was not in my head all day. Today I mostly listened to 2Pac and Björk.
A few weeks ago a friend of mine texted me because she was listening to "Nice & Slow" by Usher and it made her think of me. I asked her, "At what point in my life should I start to worry that women only think of me when they hear Usher or R. Kelly?" She said, "You should be worried already."
That reminds me of one time when I was sat at a bus stop listening to a new Usher album, waiting for S to come pick me up. We went to the park and held hands... sigh. I just want to marry the hand hold.
For the record, even I find Kelly's song "Marry The Pussy" somewhat disturbing. I'd love to get Tennyson's opinion, though.
"I just want to marry the pussy.
I just want to marry the pussy.
I just want to marry the pussy.
Wanna go down on my knees
and ask that pussy to marry me."
... It was either Alfred Lord Tennyson or R. Kelly.
---
Okay that was a joke. That song was not in my head all day. Today I mostly listened to 2Pac and Björk.
A few weeks ago a friend of mine texted me because she was listening to "Nice & Slow" by Usher and it made her think of me. I asked her, "At what point in my life should I start to worry that women only think of me when they hear Usher or R. Kelly?" She said, "You should be worried already."
That reminds me of one time when I was sat at a bus stop listening to a new Usher album, waiting for S to come pick me up. We went to the park and held hands... sigh. I just want to marry the hand hold.
For the record, even I find Kelly's song "Marry The Pussy" somewhat disturbing. I'd love to get Tennyson's opinion, though.
November 7, 2014
Great Moments In 21st Century Television
I'm at the La Jolla library, next to the Bs in fiction. Apparently, Glenn Beck is a published novelist. That sort of makes me want to quit writing altogether.
---
For the purposes of the following joke, let me clarify a few things. This quotation is from the first episode of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle called "Toilet Books", wherein comedian Stewart Lee talks about the history of literature and publishing and the condition the business/profession is in today. Lee derisively reads from radio DJ Chris Moyles's second volume of autobiography, which the author himself states is about "nothing" and is just a "toilet book" full of pointless anecdotes. Lee also makes fun of comedian Jeremy Clarkson, the host of the popular BBC program Top Gear, because Clarkson is a reactionary figure who is often making sexist, racist or otherwise bigoted remarks, yet still has like twenty books published. Enjoy.
"Apparently the eighteenth century polymath Thomas Young was the last person to have read all the books published in his lifetime. That means he would've read all the Shakespeare and all the Greek and Roman classics, and all the theology and all the philosophy and all the science. But the same man today, a man who had read all the books published today, would've had to have read all Dan Brown's novels, two volumes of Chris Moyles autobiography, The World According To Clarkson by Jeremy Clarkson, The World According To Clarkson Two by Jeremy Clarkson, The World According To Clarkson Three by Jeremy Clarkson... His mind would be awash with bad metaphors and unsustainable reactionary opinion, and one long anecdote about the time Comedy Dave put pound coins in the urinal. In short, the man who had read everything published today would be more stupid than a man who had read nothing."
---
For the purposes of the following joke, let me clarify a few things. This quotation is from the first episode of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle called "Toilet Books", wherein comedian Stewart Lee talks about the history of literature and publishing and the condition the business/profession is in today. Lee derisively reads from radio DJ Chris Moyles's second volume of autobiography, which the author himself states is about "nothing" and is just a "toilet book" full of pointless anecdotes. Lee also makes fun of comedian Jeremy Clarkson, the host of the popular BBC program Top Gear, because Clarkson is a reactionary figure who is often making sexist, racist or otherwise bigoted remarks, yet still has like twenty books published. Enjoy.
"Apparently the eighteenth century polymath Thomas Young was the last person to have read all the books published in his lifetime. That means he would've read all the Shakespeare and all the Greek and Roman classics, and all the theology and all the philosophy and all the science. But the same man today, a man who had read all the books published today, would've had to have read all Dan Brown's novels, two volumes of Chris Moyles autobiography, The World According To Clarkson by Jeremy Clarkson, The World According To Clarkson Two by Jeremy Clarkson, The World According To Clarkson Three by Jeremy Clarkson... His mind would be awash with bad metaphors and unsustainable reactionary opinion, and one long anecdote about the time Comedy Dave put pound coins in the urinal. In short, the man who had read everything published today would be more stupid than a man who had read nothing."
November 5, 2014
Great Moments In 21st Century Film
In honor of yesterday's elections that nobody knew about, here's a nice little dialogue from the end of Killing Me Softly:
Two men sitting at a bar overhear President Obama on TV saying, "We affirm that fundamental truth, that out of many we are one."
Man #1: "You hear that line? Line's for you."
Man #2: "Don't make me laugh. We're one people? It's a myth, created by Thomas Jefferson."
Man #1: "Oh now you're going to have a go at Jefferson, huh?"
Man #2: "My friend, Jefferson's an American saint. Because he wrote the words 'All men are created equal,' words he clearly didn't believe since he allowed his own children to live in slavery. He was a rich wine-snob who was sick of paying taxes to the Brits, so yeah he wrote some lovely words and aroused the rabble and they went out and died for those words while he sat back and drank his wine and fucked his slave girl. This guy wants to tell me we're living in a community? Don't make me laugh. I'm living in America, and in America you're on your own. America's not a country, it's just a business. Now fucking pay me."
Two men sitting at a bar overhear President Obama on TV saying, "We affirm that fundamental truth, that out of many we are one."
Man #1: "You hear that line? Line's for you."
Man #2: "Don't make me laugh. We're one people? It's a myth, created by Thomas Jefferson."
Man #1: "Oh now you're going to have a go at Jefferson, huh?"
Man #2: "My friend, Jefferson's an American saint. Because he wrote the words 'All men are created equal,' words he clearly didn't believe since he allowed his own children to live in slavery. He was a rich wine-snob who was sick of paying taxes to the Brits, so yeah he wrote some lovely words and aroused the rabble and they went out and died for those words while he sat back and drank his wine and fucked his slave girl. This guy wants to tell me we're living in a community? Don't make me laugh. I'm living in America, and in America you're on your own. America's not a country, it's just a business. Now fucking pay me."
November 4, 2014
the sleep of the damned
When I go to bed, I lay on my side with my arms crossed around myself. I'm tired of holding myself. I wake up every two hours, every night, look into the darkness and see nothing looking back.
---
This morning I dreamt many things, but in the final scenes of my dream I sat at the bottom of a staircase watching TV. Next to me was a computer. Earlier in the dream a person I knew in my childhood was sitting at the computer. But this time, it was her. I looked over at the computer and saw her on it and at first I didn't believe it. I got up and walked around the computer to see if it was really her. She didn't look at me, she just stared at the screen with a faint smile. I felt lucky to be close to her, even if she didn't notice me, so I sat back down by the stairs. I gave her a goofy stare and she noticed me. I saw her eyes come around the side of the computer screen, which was glowing on her face, lighting her up, and she laughed and smiled at me. Then she went back to the computer. I kept doing it though, and her eyes kept making contact with mine and she would smile and laugh her lovely laugh. We were being silly together. Then when she wasn't looking at me, I just looked at her longingly, as if from a great distance. I looked at her and appreciated her beauty. In the dream I wondered what she would do if I leaned over and kissed her, but I decided that she would back away and I didn't want that humiliation. So I just kept making her laugh with my silly glances, doomed to be content in her peripheral view, I suppose.
Then the next thing I know I'm running in slow motion on a high, steep cliff above the rocky ocean. I knew that if I slipped on the gravel I would fall over the side. The gravel I was running on was spotted with all these clear puddles. I heard an ambulance next to me and I turned to see it pass. I was very nervous about taking the wrong step. I looked down at a puddle in front of me and there was a big puffed up fish (I'm certain it was supposed to be a bananafish) floating in the water. I misstepped and went plunging (still in slow motion) down the side of the cliff, watching the rock travel by me. As I fell I was thinking, "This must be a dream, I have to wake up before I hit the water," but I hit the water. I guess maybe it didn't hurt (I can't remember) because it was in slow motion but I remember an oxygen mask being placed on me and then I don't remember anything else.
Sleep can be a real bastard, sometimes.
Plus, why do they call it dreaming? I mean, if it was really my dream it would have a lot more picnics, jokes, autumn leaves, kisses, rain, sex, hand-holding, ear-nibbling, laughter, spooning, listening, sharing, deep eye-locks... all that good stuff.
Come on, brain. Go figure out how to dream and then get back to me.
Plus, why do they call it dreaming? I mean, if it was really my dream it would have a lot more picnics, jokes, autumn leaves, kisses, rain, sex, hand-holding, ear-nibbling, laughter, spooning, listening, sharing, deep eye-locks... all that good stuff.
Come on, brain. Go figure out how to dream and then get back to me.
---
"Crawl into my ambulance, your pulse is getting weak.
Reveal yourself all now to me girl, while you've got the strength to speak.
Cause they're waiting for you at Bellevue with their oxygen masks.
But I could give it all to you now, if only you would ask.
Don't call for your surgeon, even he says it's too late.
It's not your lungs this time, it's your heart that holds your fate." - Springsteen
November 1, 2014
Here's the mesmeric, poetic song that has been my companion today:
"The future here is shattered
your voice is thin as rain
Unholy broken shadows
you know you'll never tame
This winter lake is frozen
cold fantasy turned on its side
The screw just keeps on turning
but it's guilt makes you decide
That you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
The clocks have stopped their ticking
time grips you in its vice
These hands have always claimed you
marooned here in midnight
Poets have their studies
Babies have their might
Just visions from the hilltop
or a train journey late at night
But you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
Faces haunt the mirror
dark voices close behind
They're nothing to the horror
of the loneliness you hide
Your morning views its headstone
its cruelty knows no bounds
A mist enshrouds tomorrow
Today the hammer pounds
But you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
Got no dreams to speak of
Hope's teeth they start to bite
Your heart of molten ashes
its sparks shower you in spite
You envy all the others
the ones who own their eyes
Serenity is a planet
on which you can't reside
Your lover's ghostly memory
haunts you all your days
His ship sails bold horizons
You stalk him in its wake
But you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
from what's inside
Oh you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
He knows that she's so sad
She knows the clocks don't turn back
He knows that she's so sad
She knows the clocks don't turn back"
"The future here is shattered
your voice is thin as rain
Unholy broken shadows
you know you'll never tame
This winter lake is frozen
cold fantasy turned on its side
The screw just keeps on turning
but it's guilt makes you decide
That you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
The clocks have stopped their ticking
time grips you in its vice
These hands have always claimed you
marooned here in midnight
Poets have their studies
Babies have their might
Just visions from the hilltop
or a train journey late at night
But you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
Faces haunt the mirror
dark voices close behind
They're nothing to the horror
of the loneliness you hide
Your morning views its headstone
its cruelty knows no bounds
A mist enshrouds tomorrow
Today the hammer pounds
But you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
Got no dreams to speak of
Hope's teeth they start to bite
Your heart of molten ashes
its sparks shower you in spite
You envy all the others
the ones who own their eyes
Serenity is a planet
on which you can't reside
Your lover's ghostly memory
haunts you all your days
His ship sails bold horizons
You stalk him in its wake
But you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
from what's inside
Oh you can't cry
Although you've tried
Run and hide
But don't you cry
He knows that she's so sad
She knows the clocks don't turn back
He knows that she's so sad
She knows the clocks don't turn back"
---
Sigh. I'm not ready to face another new month.
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