Well, here we are again, another nail in the 2 by 4 that I call my self expressive mind. You'd better start running now. NOT THAT I'M SELF CONSCIOUS.
We all carry a weight on our shoulders, conceptually, we understand this; I'm not the only one with money issues. Somehow it's rude to draw attention to your financial problems, because you're immediately seen as disregarding other people's problems. How selfish!
All of the sudden, we realise just how taboo our individuality is. We feel the need to label ourselves. Do we do it out of ennui and/or disgust at our individuality? Perhaps in our lonely society, we strive for a common social connection. By "being" gay, straight, religious, or liberal, etc. we're sacrificing our individuality in order to relate to the community. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing; however, when our labels confine our individual expression to that which is socially acceptable, we limit ourselves drastically, and our individuality becomes quaint and unnecessary Heck, even a bit scary.
It's stream of consciousness.
So there I was, briskly marching ahead of the pack, leader's my middle name. They'd look up at me IN AWE, they would even name their children after me.
Yes yes, I'm introverted, and I don't tend to take the lead on things unless I know exactly what I'm doing. The above paragraph was obviously sarcasm, I'm hilarious. Wasn't sure if you knew that about me. I make jokes, they come easy to me. I go about my day to day life; standing up, sitting down, walking here, walking there. And that's just the beginning.
"Golly" he said unironically, "wait'll you hear what happens next!".
They were tranced in flabbergasted bafflement. None survived.
The rabbit floated on still water with broken wings guiding the way home towards the music.
He slept, fully aware of what happened the day after tomorrow. Grinning, he chucked the beaver into the river, "GIT BACK 'O 'ERE 'OU CAME FRUM!" he exclaimed, privy to nothing but his singular path. Jovial inside, he saw the reason in it all, even when she let him go. It's no wonder the Sun still rises, and dinosaurs don't exist anymore. Points make lines, and lines make cubes; linear motion is still a representation of the abstract, lest we forget.
All inhibitors inhibit. All walls block, and all barriers stop...
"Some people are simple, some people are complex", only two kinds of people, eh? Hmm.
Segue goes here, how about some all encompassing poem, yeah. About flowers, they're nice; pansies are edible. Stick your tongue out, catch a snow flake, whoopy doo. Any-who, something to do, don't know, what about you? ADEQUATE.
Wearing his job on his mind, he could no longer see his face two steps ahead. Forcibly confined to the present, it seems. Two roads to follow, one happily sequestered in escapism, and the other mishmashed with the other badgers underneath the grounded bolt of lightning as it strikes the new bridge on 57th.
Randomness is what exists right now, look any further than that and you get into some pretty confusing shit. Either imagine an existence for yourself, or try to understand it all to the point where the confusing shit just doesn't seem so confusing anymore. Neither is good nor bad, just don't do either if you're trying to get somewhere specific.
Eventually this will all seem like "a lifetime ago". I had a good life! Yes, surely worth the use of one of those fine meat bags that are so hard to come by. The 50's were some of the best years of my life, gosh. When we were younger...able to get around; we're getting old, you know. Anyways, we used to drive through the mountains, spotting the eagles perched on the tops of trees. I remember this one trip; oh, I don't remember where we were driving, up in Washington I think. Anyways. It was late November, and the snow was falling, it was beautiful. So we pulled over, it fell slowly and softly...
How do I stop my life from turning into a story? As if I imagined the whole thing.
Thursday, 29 November 2012
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
As We Paint Over Stippled Ceilings
Our worlds collided with a stick of the tongue,
A petulant bond.
Petty trivialities; mere bi-products of our adolescence, I guess.
Though wounds heal with time,
the objective memory of ourselves will stagnate and strive for permanence.
We'll wallow in each others wake,
until it all inevitably becomes ironic.
A petulant bond.
Petty trivialities; mere bi-products of our adolescence, I guess.
Though wounds heal with time,
the objective memory of ourselves will stagnate and strive for permanence.
We'll wallow in each others wake,
until it all inevitably becomes ironic.
Friday, 16 November 2012
Outsider
Immediately he looked like an outsider. It doesn't matter what he says, nothing can convince me that his opinion has any weight. Sitting there alone, casually, soft smile on his face. Why is he here? Outsider.
The long hair, unkempt facial hair, the hole in his jeans, I know they don't mean anything; but they sure don't help. We're all products of our experiences, he can't help who he is. Shouldn't he be at school, or work? Where's his girlfriend? Why is he laughing?
You need to start when you're a kid. He's 21, maybe 22; too old to become one of them. It's a brain development thing.
After the show, on his cellphone.
He spoke with a steady, prevailing rhythm, laughing again, colloquialisms easily conjured.
He smiled as he stopped to gaze at some paintings on the wall before he left
Alone.
So it's not just music. Outsider.
The long hair, unkempt facial hair, the hole in his jeans, I know they don't mean anything; but they sure don't help. We're all products of our experiences, he can't help who he is. Shouldn't he be at school, or work? Where's his girlfriend? Why is he laughing?
You need to start when you're a kid. He's 21, maybe 22; too old to become one of them. It's a brain development thing.
After the show, on his cellphone.
He spoke with a steady, prevailing rhythm, laughing again, colloquialisms easily conjured.
He smiled as he stopped to gaze at some paintings on the wall before he left
Alone.
So it's not just music. Outsider.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Oil Sands
Pointless plethora o' penny; preparation for party political passion; plagiarous people Plying poor pence.
Poisonous plastic people plotting pointless pastures, replacing the penniless and the Perturbed.
Slurping slobbering tongues of serpants obscured in slithered surmise;
Falsely contributing to headless morrows without regretful demise.
Powerful plugs pillaged by peoples pliers;
Plying and plying weary wires.
Dare I drive the drenched slurping serpant starway?
Shall I arise, to revel in rogue realities awry?
In the tumultuous urban trenches, grand gluttonous termites ravage the delicious "sandy Freedom".
Poisonous plastic people plotting pointless pastures, replacing the penniless and the Perturbed.
Slurping slobbering tongues of serpants obscured in slithered surmise;
Falsely contributing to headless morrows without regretful demise.
Powerful plugs pillaged by peoples pliers;
Plying and plying weary wires.
Dare I drive the drenched slurping serpant starway?
Shall I arise, to revel in rogue realities awry?
In the tumultuous urban trenches, grand gluttonous termites ravage the delicious "sandy Freedom".
Sitting In A Yellow and Red Room
Sitting in a yellow and red room, the ceiling is white with stubble. Floor frayed gray. This room has been assigned to the front corner of the house, slanted walls. Littering the floor lays the various and the precarious, but without haste, I continue to examine. The rubbish eclipses the bed and the desk. There is a sturdy wooden stool standing with me sitting ontop, erect, enacting a lighthouse scan of it all. The floor is close, but not close enough; my feet barely graze the carpet hairs. A spot on the floor, free of it all. I reestablish my gaze upon my perch as I allow for all distal projections to escape me, refusing to let them slither through my jugular. The thinking mind vacations with the heart as I stumble about the remainder of the room, I glance through the square metre window. Holes in the screen.
I stand easily to my feet, free of it all; but encircled by the petulent scrawls, I grow weary of what's to come. Jagged corners and confusing scraps, I wish for the end of it all. The tumors of thought trickle through, unfleeting anxiety. I step a harsh step, soaring bloated blood to my blinded head; carpet hairs rise a brazen. She exudes the silhouette so familiar, there's no question of her intent; but I ask anyway. I return to my perch in a yellow and red room, ceiling white with stubble; waiting for something different.
I stand easily to my feet, free of it all; but encircled by the petulent scrawls, I grow weary of what's to come. Jagged corners and confusing scraps, I wish for the end of it all. The tumors of thought trickle through, unfleeting anxiety. I step a harsh step, soaring bloated blood to my blinded head; carpet hairs rise a brazen. She exudes the silhouette so familiar, there's no question of her intent; but I ask anyway. I return to my perch in a yellow and red room, ceiling white with stubble; waiting for something different.
Fireworks
He'd lay barefoot in the sand breathing the moist ocean air. There are the clouds.
He'd bask in the sun as the warmth trickled along his stomach. There are the families.
He'd time his pulse with the waves, as the breeze chilled his scolded stomach. The many boats aligned.
The Sun prepares for its nightly cryogenic swim, he'd gaze with her as it sailed over the edge.
She never liked the smoke.
It conducted so finely and alas, dwindled its last flame, he clapped. She clapped.
He'd scrawl in the sand commemorating the occasion. There is the wind.
She'd thank him and say that she'd had enough.
He'd point to the many families staring above.
She'd point ahead to the many boats aligned.
He'd point above, but she never liked the smoke.
He'd bask in the sun as the warmth trickled along his stomach. There are the families.
He'd time his pulse with the waves, as the breeze chilled his scolded stomach. The many boats aligned.
The Sun prepares for its nightly cryogenic swim, he'd gaze with her as it sailed over the edge.
She never liked the smoke.
It conducted so finely and alas, dwindled its last flame, he clapped. She clapped.
He'd scrawl in the sand commemorating the occasion. There is the wind.
She'd thank him and say that she'd had enough.
He'd point to the many families staring above.
She'd point ahead to the many boats aligned.
He'd point above, but she never liked the smoke.
Oh Man, This One Chokes Me Up Everytime.
// Maybe I'll start with something supposedly simple, a bug. //
There once was a bug, this bug was black. It had a name, its name was Fred. Fred was crawling through a patch of leaves when he stumbled upon another bug. This other bug was blue. It too had a name, its name was Bob. Bob also, was crawling through the very same patch of leaves.
// I WILL NOW EXPRESS MY ABILITY TO CREATE CHARACTERS UNLIKE MYSELF TO DISPLAY MY VERY OPEN AND KNOWLEDGABLE MIND. ahem...*cracks nuckles* //
Fred was a bi-curious female transvestite bug. He/She was often shy infront of male/female bugs, for they usually sent blank, condecending looks towards him/her while pondering how to perceive him/her which intimidated him/her. Ever since that incident with the magnifying glass, the garden glove, and the firewood pile, Fred has felt unsure about himself/herself due to all the hateful burning and swatting and all.
Bob was a lesbian male transvestite bug from the planet ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p, he enjoys tennis. Bob grew up in a small fUTlOrP near YIP-TIP-GUPUPUPUP-POO-F00OOoo, ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p. He/it/she and his/its/her best LapKAP UPI-UPI used to spend FLAzAp by the ROorrogutz on ZUGGA-ZUGGA-Z00P street playing tennis; which Bob enjoyed. Bob was very YAMA-YAMA with UPI-UPI and they often had WUGGA-WUGGA if they had extra FLAzAp after playing tennis. Bob felt very comfortable around UPI-UPI because he/it/she liked him/it/her even though he/it/she was not very good at WUGGA-WUGGA.
Fred had never seen an alien woman before, let alone a blue one. He/she was quite nervous, though excited at the same time. Fred was attracted to this woman/man/thing and he/she couldn't help himself/herself; he/she told him/it/her his/her feelings and asked if they could crawl through this patch of leaves together.
Bob, who had recently broken up with UPI-UPI and left his/it/her SHOMthe small fUTlOrP near YIP-TIP-GUPUPUPUP-POO-F00OOoo, ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p for Earth, pondered this request from Fred. While thinking, Bob thought of how comfortable UPI-UPI made him/it/her feel, and he/it/she was deciding if this new alien man/woman could WUGGA-WUGGA as good as and as many fUTlOrPs as UPI-UPI could.
Fred's insecurity, while Bob was pondering, was steadily increasing. Every second that went by, made Fred increasingly inclined to refuse identifying himself as a strong independant bug only to succumb to self-hatred and obscurity.
There once was a bug, this bug was black. It had a name, its name was Fred. Fred was crawling through a patch of leaves when he stumbled upon another bug. This other bug was blue. It too had a name, its name was Bob. Bob also, was crawling through the very same patch of leaves.
// I WILL NOW EXPRESS MY ABILITY TO CREATE CHARACTERS UNLIKE MYSELF TO DISPLAY MY VERY OPEN AND KNOWLEDGABLE MIND. ahem...*cracks nuckles* //
Fred was a bi-curious female transvestite bug. He/She was often shy infront of male/female bugs, for they usually sent blank, condecending looks towards him/her while pondering how to perceive him/her which intimidated him/her. Ever since that incident with the magnifying glass, the garden glove, and the firewood pile, Fred has felt unsure about himself/herself due to all the hateful burning and swatting and all.
Bob was a lesbian male transvestite bug from the planet ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p, he enjoys tennis. Bob grew up in a small fUTlOrP near YIP-TIP-GUPUPUPUP-POO-F00OOoo, ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p. He/it/she and his/its/her best LapKAP UPI-UPI used to spend FLAzAp by the ROorrogutz on ZUGGA-ZUGGA-Z00P street playing tennis; which Bob enjoyed. Bob was very YAMA-YAMA with UPI-UPI and they often had WUGGA-WUGGA if they had extra FLAzAp after playing tennis. Bob felt very comfortable around UPI-UPI because he/it/she liked him/it/her even though he/it/she was not very good at WUGGA-WUGGA.
Fred had never seen an alien woman before, let alone a blue one. He/she was quite nervous, though excited at the same time. Fred was attracted to this woman/man/thing and he/she couldn't help himself/herself; he/she told him/it/her his/her feelings and asked if they could crawl through this patch of leaves together.
Bob, who had recently broken up with UPI-UPI and left his/it/her SHOMthe small fUTlOrP near YIP-TIP-GUPUPUPUP-POO-F00OOoo, ZOB-TOG-BLOG-CHOG-COG-SOOooo00p for Earth, pondered this request from Fred. While thinking, Bob thought of how comfortable UPI-UPI made him/it/her feel, and he/it/she was deciding if this new alien man/woman could WUGGA-WUGGA as good as and as many fUTlOrPs as UPI-UPI could.
Fred's insecurity, while Bob was pondering, was steadily increasing. Every second that went by, made Fred increasingly inclined to refuse identifying himself as a strong independant bug only to succumb to self-hatred and obscurity.
Who's Tom?
Now, Tom knew he wasn't very smart; and also knew that he had to find his own unique ways to go about functioning in society. Tom was special in his own way; but even though he was bound for far simpler things than most, he still wanted to expand his understanding of the world. So he developed a skill, or rather a knack to conceptualising the written language. This knack laid in using ones memory to remember previously read letters, and construct sets of letters in a linear, sequential order (typically from left to right). Once various sets of letters had been remembered, he believed that they would form ideas. Often Tom would run into letter groupings with letter counts of staggeringly and often mind numbingly large magnitudes. Such things as "news paper" or "WARNING: Fire Hazard" would baffle his tiny brain immensely.
So when Tom began to try his hand at grasping the intricacies of the written language, he was intimidated, disgruntled, disconsolate, discontent, and a bit sceptical at his motivations; but in the end, he pushed on and reasoned quite a practical conclusion.
Tom concluded that all of the important letter conglomerations came in groupings of three. He was filled with intense exhilaration as he settled into a steady, all encompassing view of the world. Tom could now construct a daily routine for himself, and check it now and then to make sure he's staying on track.
Here's a quick summary, or rather, a staggeringly accurate descriptive account of Tom's average day:
When Tom gets out of bed in the morning, he goes to eat. He rather liked eating, but less so if he got gas. pee and sometimes poo would follow; but after his morning routine, things really start to pick up. The afternoon is when he starts to have fun and really kick start the day; but all of this excitement tends to make Tom sleepy. This is about the time when Tom usually concedes with a nice long nap.
5 hours ago, Tom found himself pondering intensely over a group of mysterious symbols inscribed on a build-it-yourself bird house instruction booklet, the symbols were "w," "o," "o," "d." After considerable effort, Tom assumed correctly that these symbols were in fact letters and confidently settled into his formula. He arrived, perhaps a bit hastily at the letter grouping of "ood."
Tom was confused.
Tom construed and pondered over the letters again.
"Woo."
Tom was excited.
Tom liked "woo," it meant he was about to have fun. He was also quite fond of the words "wee" and "yay." But it was late afternoon, and Tom had had enough excitement for the day, now was not the time for fun. So Tom had a nap.
So when Tom began to try his hand at grasping the intricacies of the written language, he was intimidated, disgruntled, disconsolate, discontent, and a bit sceptical at his motivations; but in the end, he pushed on and reasoned quite a practical conclusion.
Tom concluded that all of the important letter conglomerations came in groupings of three. He was filled with intense exhilaration as he settled into a steady, all encompassing view of the world. Tom could now construct a daily routine for himself, and check it now and then to make sure he's staying on track.
Here's a quick summary, or rather, a staggeringly accurate descriptive account of Tom's average day:
When Tom gets out of bed in the morning, he goes to eat. He rather liked eating, but less so if he got gas. pee and sometimes poo would follow; but after his morning routine, things really start to pick up. The afternoon is when he starts to have fun and really kick start the day; but all of this excitement tends to make Tom sleepy. This is about the time when Tom usually concedes with a nice long nap.
5 hours ago, Tom found himself pondering intensely over a group of mysterious symbols inscribed on a build-it-yourself bird house instruction booklet, the symbols were "w," "o," "o," "d." After considerable effort, Tom assumed correctly that these symbols were in fact letters and confidently settled into his formula. He arrived, perhaps a bit hastily at the letter grouping of "ood."
Tom was confused.
Tom construed and pondered over the letters again.
"Woo."
Tom was excited.
Tom liked "woo," it meant he was about to have fun. He was also quite fond of the words "wee" and "yay." But it was late afternoon, and Tom had had enough excitement for the day, now was not the time for fun. So Tom had a nap.
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Spinal Cord Grace
To skateboard with grace, so familiar.
Kick, push, glide, so clear but vibrant.
Vibrations like waves, standing on ocean.
Beyond sensation; totally reaction, no reflection.
Stick, stand, slide, slow; all the same.
Spinal cord grace.
Kick, push, glide, so clear but vibrant.
Vibrations like waves, standing on ocean.
Beyond sensation; totally reaction, no reflection.
Stick, stand, slide, slow; all the same.
Spinal cord grace.
Thursday, 9 August 2012
Enter the Musician + Plato Love at a Dinner Party
I've been experimenting with a music program recently, and I've composed a few songs. Have a listen.
Dither Trot
Scavenger's Mind
Yelping Minuets
Thanks for taking the time.
By the way I'm reading The Symposium by Plato if you're infact interested in what I'm currently reading (which was my apparent reason and excuse for lazily ceasing to update this blog). It's about a bunch of hoity-toity Greek dudes philosophising about love at a dinner party.
I'll post again soon,
Tao
Dither Trot
Scavenger's Mind
Yelping Minuets
Thanks for taking the time.
By the way I'm reading The Symposium by Plato if you're infact interested in what I'm currently reading (which was my apparent reason and excuse for lazily ceasing to update this blog). It's about a bunch of hoity-toity Greek dudes philosophising about love at a dinner party.
I'll post again soon,
Tao
Tuesday, 19 June 2012
Bland Jovial Humdrummery
I feel like I need to write with more purpose, random ramblings seem like a waste of time now. Perhaps I should read more. Boom there ya go, I'm gonna go do that.
In the mean time, you may listen to this several times while you ponder and reflect on all that is recorded within this blog.
Hiatus.
In the mean time, you may listen to this several times while you ponder and reflect on all that is recorded within this blog.
Hiatus.
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
Impressively Iconic
In a cowering frenzy
with sensual obfuscation
A Chilled Scream.
but the sailing oscillations in torrential rain
and the whimpering tomb exuding
absorbing are my collar and sleeve
conductor of my dreams
seller of the right medicine
collide and conduct me through it all.
sloshing about in joyous vanquish
but covered in the same regurgitated bile
slumped in anguish
under the bridge with the scavenger's mind, seeking
and revelling in a midnight wind
the new age ideas connect it all.
great canopies of great forests
you will apologies for this dwindling fire
and yield before your master.
such sexy swamps wheezing from dehydration
but unbeknownst to you is the idea of hell
and the love is at my fingertips.
the benign trivialities,
my relinquished henchmen,
they feast upon the midnight winds
where's the treasure,
evading thirst quencher?
ask anyone, they all know.
with sensual obfuscation
A Chilled Scream.
but the sailing oscillations in torrential rain
and the whimpering tomb exuding
absorbing are my collar and sleeve
conductor of my dreams
seller of the right medicine
collide and conduct me through it all.
sloshing about in joyous vanquish
but covered in the same regurgitated bile
slumped in anguish
under the bridge with the scavenger's mind, seeking
and revelling in a midnight wind
the new age ideas connect it all.
great canopies of great forests
you will apologies for this dwindling fire
and yield before your master.
such sexy swamps wheezing from dehydration
but unbeknownst to you is the idea of hell
and the love is at my fingertips.
the benign trivialities,
my relinquished henchmen,
they feast upon the midnight winds
where's the treasure,
evading thirst quencher?
ask anyone, they all know.
Saturday, 12 May 2012
Gotta keep current, ya'know?
How's about some early morning drivel? Ay, to-me 'eres no better 'ay 'o star'aday. On a side note, If I ever have a daughter, I'm naming her May-Anne or Mayanne. The note previous is completely unrelated to any of the prior paragraphs that I've written today. I would now like to draw your attention to the fact that there are indeed no other paragraphs in this post. Now focus, my Bodhisattva. Everything you need to know is in this post but not a part of this paragraph. Everything is nothing, and nothing is everything. There's your zen lesson for the day. You're welcome, I hope life is easier for you now. Namaste, amen, so long and thanks for all the fish; I have better things to do.
Sunday, 22 April 2012
Rambling to vexillology by Deadmau5
For lack of a better name by deadmau5 is the album today, down we go then eh?
well where to start, seems pretty pulsy I think I'll forget about grammer for now I really feel like going down a metalic hallway no doors to my left nor right just moving forward pause. walls retreating but still evident, there are things on the floor not sure what these things are though, debree maybe? Debree from what? doesn't matter I'm seeing a finish line; black void. why keep moving forward? what is forward? a wide circle track sounds good. The walls are back eh? no messy floor this time, kinda drab really. There are holes where the metal bits of wall used to be; I'd be dodging these holes if they were bigger, I don't know why I would though... the holes lead back to the circular void.
I don't like it.
Vexillology by deadmau5:
Well I think the problem with the attempt prior was that I was trying to visualize the music too much; maybe that's a type of project I can try later. For now, I just want to ramble about like usual but with the music influencing my train of thought. The emotions evoked in the music change my thought and word choices. I'm still on track 1...
I feel pretty conservative right now, it's all very structured and stable; nothing doing. So I want to be a doctor, no I don't feel like talking about that right now. I want to talk about the devision between the analytical and the creative that I've made for myself, I have a difficult time seeing myself as a creative doctor, a scientist who explores and develops his repretoire of words. I want to find a "creative doctor" someone who can eat the colours and see the sugars of anything. I don't want to sacrifice anything of myself to become something else entirely, that is my greatest fear. It's not about using big words for the sake of using big words. I learn all of the tools in my toolbox before I build a shelf. I also want a pretty shelf, nothing solely functional, I want to remember it.
On another wavelength, maybe I'll readjust, here we are. It's like deciding between cake and ice cream, we're all a little bit bi-sexual. Unless you're deathly allergic to dairy, it's a little silly to decide with such intense affirmation on whether or not you prefer ice cream over cake. "it's between you and God" they say, what the fuck does that mean? And they wonder why I learned about sex online. between the birds and the bees and the gods dogs and donkeys...they're so bloody cryptic. They metaphor things that we don't understand, and when we ask the questions that great students ask great mentors, they continue to avoid everything important and we don't know why.
I think it's important to talk about sexuality, it's such a big part of our lives and it has been in a cultural reformation for the past century.
Sort of in a brain freeze, not really thinking about anything interesting right now, just going to go on and on and on, ooo text message... excellent, my tennis racquets are ready; tennis should be fun later today, playing in the evening. ruUN ON sentence. oh golly, anywho; sorta going all over the place in a mindless run-about in that forest again, you know the one where all but one of the trees have no trunks. Just long needly branches whacking you in the face; you can't stop because you're trying to settle on a stable idea, a rock. you just keep running and running then BAM! The only tree trunk makes its presence known with a stark clunk of an acknowledgement, a grunt if you will...which bruises your face and knees. all you see is stars, something intelligable at least, the blood rushes to the back of your nose and calves. You try, then quickly refuse to weigh the bottoms of your feet to the ground, it's a nice tree trunk, is that a bird's nest? How lovely.
Sometimes I wish the stones and beetles would wave like the tops of trees. Then I remember that there is no other place that I'd rather be, and I just sit there staring at anything, it doesn't matter. The breezy branches sound just like the chain saw one hundred metres behind me. The burly beetle (burly for the sake of being burly apparently) looks and feels like the pebbles it navigates around and over.
Is it just "us and them" that you have to offer, is there nothing else inside brewing? What a sad existance, to only see what is said and not imagine what is thought.
Not long now, almost over. I wonder how much the music shapes my thought processes. I find I need to end these trains of thought with the song, kinda neat.
Hey check out the pretty colours, oooo, contrast and juxtaposition; again, nothing doing really. Just saying things, you'd might as well stop reading this. There really isn't anything left to say for now, I could just as well end it now.
But I won't, that's not how it outta be done, I must wait until the song is over. Soon....four and a half minutes, let's see what I can write in four and a half minutes. No form, not structured, no visible connections; just back of the mind odd connections.
Pajama hair in my squirming sick clogs so comfy apparently I wouldn't know the bottle is 65% full, how wonderful, still some potential I guess maybe some paper bags over cd on the ground and broken by clogs? are they clogs? I don't know, crocs? I have no idea I'm not very knowledgable in footwear. I think clogs are some kind of dancing shoe, maybe, maybe not. I do know that either crocs or clogs (I'm thinking crocs) are supposedly really comfortable. I feel the need to reitterate my lack of knowledge on this subject. If I have offended anyone then I am sorry. I will end this abruptly by the way. When the song is over and done with. It seems soon now. yes oh my goodne
well where to start, seems pretty pulsy I think I'll forget about grammer for now I really feel like going down a metalic hallway no doors to my left nor right just moving forward pause. walls retreating but still evident, there are things on the floor not sure what these things are though, debree maybe? Debree from what? doesn't matter I'm seeing a finish line; black void. why keep moving forward? what is forward? a wide circle track sounds good. The walls are back eh? no messy floor this time, kinda drab really. There are holes where the metal bits of wall used to be; I'd be dodging these holes if they were bigger, I don't know why I would though... the holes lead back to the circular void.
I don't like it.
Vexillology by deadmau5:
Well I think the problem with the attempt prior was that I was trying to visualize the music too much; maybe that's a type of project I can try later. For now, I just want to ramble about like usual but with the music influencing my train of thought. The emotions evoked in the music change my thought and word choices. I'm still on track 1...
I feel pretty conservative right now, it's all very structured and stable; nothing doing. So I want to be a doctor, no I don't feel like talking about that right now. I want to talk about the devision between the analytical and the creative that I've made for myself, I have a difficult time seeing myself as a creative doctor, a scientist who explores and develops his repretoire of words. I want to find a "creative doctor" someone who can eat the colours and see the sugars of anything. I don't want to sacrifice anything of myself to become something else entirely, that is my greatest fear. It's not about using big words for the sake of using big words. I learn all of the tools in my toolbox before I build a shelf. I also want a pretty shelf, nothing solely functional, I want to remember it.
On another wavelength, maybe I'll readjust, here we are. It's like deciding between cake and ice cream, we're all a little bit bi-sexual. Unless you're deathly allergic to dairy, it's a little silly to decide with such intense affirmation on whether or not you prefer ice cream over cake. "it's between you and God" they say, what the fuck does that mean? And they wonder why I learned about sex online. between the birds and the bees and the gods dogs and donkeys...they're so bloody cryptic. They metaphor things that we don't understand, and when we ask the questions that great students ask great mentors, they continue to avoid everything important and we don't know why.
I think it's important to talk about sexuality, it's such a big part of our lives and it has been in a cultural reformation for the past century.
Sort of in a brain freeze, not really thinking about anything interesting right now, just going to go on and on and on, ooo text message... excellent, my tennis racquets are ready; tennis should be fun later today, playing in the evening. ruUN ON sentence. oh golly, anywho; sorta going all over the place in a mindless run-about in that forest again, you know the one where all but one of the trees have no trunks. Just long needly branches whacking you in the face; you can't stop because you're trying to settle on a stable idea, a rock. you just keep running and running then BAM! The only tree trunk makes its presence known with a stark clunk of an acknowledgement, a grunt if you will...which bruises your face and knees. all you see is stars, something intelligable at least, the blood rushes to the back of your nose and calves. You try, then quickly refuse to weigh the bottoms of your feet to the ground, it's a nice tree trunk, is that a bird's nest? How lovely.
Sometimes I wish the stones and beetles would wave like the tops of trees. Then I remember that there is no other place that I'd rather be, and I just sit there staring at anything, it doesn't matter. The breezy branches sound just like the chain saw one hundred metres behind me. The burly beetle (burly for the sake of being burly apparently) looks and feels like the pebbles it navigates around and over.
Is it just "us and them" that you have to offer, is there nothing else inside brewing? What a sad existance, to only see what is said and not imagine what is thought.
Not long now, almost over. I wonder how much the music shapes my thought processes. I find I need to end these trains of thought with the song, kinda neat.
Hey check out the pretty colours, oooo, contrast and juxtaposition; again, nothing doing really. Just saying things, you'd might as well stop reading this. There really isn't anything left to say for now, I could just as well end it now.
But I won't, that's not how it outta be done, I must wait until the song is over. Soon....four and a half minutes, let's see what I can write in four and a half minutes. No form, not structured, no visible connections; just back of the mind odd connections.
Pajama hair in my squirming sick clogs so comfy apparently I wouldn't know the bottle is 65% full, how wonderful, still some potential I guess maybe some paper bags over cd on the ground and broken by clogs? are they clogs? I don't know, crocs? I have no idea I'm not very knowledgable in footwear. I think clogs are some kind of dancing shoe, maybe, maybe not. I do know that either crocs or clogs (I'm thinking crocs) are supposedly really comfortable. I feel the need to reitterate my lack of knowledge on this subject. If I have offended anyone then I am sorry. I will end this abruptly by the way. When the song is over and done with. It seems soon now. yes oh my goodne
Saturday, 14 April 2012
Tao Gaede's discourse pertaining to the broad topics of philosophy and manhood
Having a philosophical discussion in a relationship signifies the trust between the participating members in that relationship. When I present my opinion to someone on something; and, evoke a topic of suspected common interest, I hope that the other person will accept each with respect. A philosopher is someone who has managed to place themself in relationships with people who will listen to their thoughts and ideas, and who will reciprocate by conveying what they too have thought about. Any discussion offers all members involved the chance to assimilate new ideas, and connect them to their own previously conceived ideas. This gives them a greater and richer perspective. But with these definitions in mind, questions naturally arise, like: Why doesn't everyone appreciate a philosophical discussion? Some people seem almost afraid to discuss anything provocative. Have they taken political correctness too far? I've seen close friends flinch when the topic of trans genders in modern society comes up, in private conversations even. What are they worried about? They know they can tell me anything, I won't betray them, I never have.
I would actually argue that deep down, everyone appreciates the benefits of having a philosophical discussion. Some people just haven't experienced what it's like to talk to someone whom they can trust to respect whatever they throw at them. I'm making assumptions here, but maybe these people had parents who would criticise any idea they had as a child, which trained them to keep their creative thoughts inside. I suppose it's no surprise then, that there are people who choose not to participate in philosophical discussions.
The cause of the problem concerning political correctness is probably similar to the previous; our society has people training themselves to ignore certain aspects of it. And when these "elephant in the room" parts of our society are brought into light, people get scared and try to ignore them because they don't know what else to do.
There you have it folks, people just need to get raised better as children and live in better societies. In the mean time however, I'm going to go to bed now and think of all the wonderful ways I could have ended this entry while somehow working in the topic of manhood.
I would actually argue that deep down, everyone appreciates the benefits of having a philosophical discussion. Some people just haven't experienced what it's like to talk to someone whom they can trust to respect whatever they throw at them. I'm making assumptions here, but maybe these people had parents who would criticise any idea they had as a child, which trained them to keep their creative thoughts inside. I suppose it's no surprise then, that there are people who choose not to participate in philosophical discussions.
The cause of the problem concerning political correctness is probably similar to the previous; our society has people training themselves to ignore certain aspects of it. And when these "elephant in the room" parts of our society are brought into light, people get scared and try to ignore them because they don't know what else to do.
There you have it folks, people just need to get raised better as children and live in better societies. In the mean time however, I'm going to go to bed now and think of all the wonderful ways I could have ended this entry while somehow working in the topic of manhood.
Thursday, 12 April 2012
Want to Spend More Time Reading My Blog? Read This!
I am currently listening to the album 'Random Album Title' by Deadmau5 and I will begin writing once I start the first track and then stop abruptly at the very last second of the final track. Now, excuse-me while I get comfortable...
It begins.
I shall begin with a simple greeting, a gesture of amiable "goodwill" yes a fitting start to a wondrous unknown forest of confusing things hitting you in the face and scratching your arms. Which way is up? does it matter? you stumble about forward and backward, what's the difference? You wander side to side, you find something familiar; but it's just a memory. Thinking thinking, you're drenched in mindful tumult. Foraging in the forest, you find something useful; but what is it? Your wits? no; but it is a thought, a subtle spec of wisdom secreted from the mind of memories. Exuding down from ideology to practical functioning.
So devoted to your eyes and ears; which is not a mistake, it's only natural. Worshipper of the prickling needles and the whirling wind, you leave no front seat vacant! Running, running in confusion, how familiar, yet you're inexperienced; how does this happen? You sit on your chairs staring at your screens, spending time and more time. Are you wise with your money? You borrow your furniture, your house, and your car; how can you be trusted with time? Perhaps the friendly screen and comfy chair is a fitting start and a fitting end for you.
A salutation, and recognition of others which whom you're speaking to; how polite! Goddamn I'm bloody cryptic, do I even know what I mean? Constantly in a tangent, a digression; how annoying it must be! Well alright then here I am, let's talk, let's discuss. Philosophy? Well sure! It's quite the broad topic though, maybe something a bit more particular.
I really can't think of anything, I'd rather just talk non-sense for the remainder of this post. I feel like I would enjoy this whole experience more if I was actually listening to the music instead of second-guessing my language and grammar.
The period at the end of this sentence will be the last form of punctuation until the end of this post.
so my eyes are off the screen no pressure no focus on grammar just words words just continuously supplying words here yes yes should be fun maybe I'll think of some big words to share with everything like tumultuous oooo that's uhhh tu mult u ous 4 syllables I think I don't know doesn't matter more words more words like phantasmagoric ooooo that's a good one I really miss punctuation I'm longing for a period or at least a comma this is really difficult this must be terribly difficult to read anyways I'm glad you're sticking with this I appreciate your indulgence. Christ, I had to do it. Alright alright, I'll use punctuation. What track am I at now? Just started 5, alrighty then; like 7 more to go and 2 are really short I think. Hang in there devoted fans!
I think I'll start answering questions.
1. yes
2. the green one with the purple propeller hat
3. ich bin berlin
4. A mole between my index finger and thumb, and a scar intersecting my fourth finger and pinkie.
I am making a video game at present. It will be called Treel (working title) and it's about an alien who arrives on a post-human earth with amnesia. He discovers the remnants of humanity and begins to make relatable connections in his brain which causes him to "remember" certain parts of his old life. Different memories surface depending on what the player does in the game and the order in which he/she does them. You could end up with a character who doesn't care about his old life and wants to make a new one on Earth. Alternately, your alien might remember very deep and emotional parts of his old life (spouse, home, etc) and desire to go back to it. You won't be forced into an outcome that doesn't make sense; because, how you play through the game affects the personality and the motivations of the character. For example, you won't feel forced to go collect a bunch of things or kill a bunch of things if that isn't what you've been doing already.
Still a ways to go, only on track 7. Oh! just started 8, fabulous. Well now what...
I have a cold, I didn't wear socks today, and I still need to put on my clean sheets. I'm looking forward to sleep tonight, I love sheet day. Gee I wish this was a bit more interesting, sorry about that. I suppose I could at least change up my sentence structures... I love variation! I could even fool around with punctuation (don't worry, I'm still going to be using it). Woah only 3 tracks to go! woooo? <---Look what I just did! pshyaw, totes bro; fkin legit. what is he talking about? this guy's weird, this blog is dumb. VALID ENQUIRIES AND COMPLAINTS, sorry about the caps; I ain't lookin' back now! Oh god here we go, this song is really good, I'm continuously getting psyched psyched psyched aaaahhhhhhh dropped... So how's the wife? On a side not. I digress. On the other hand (on the other hand? that doesn't fit here...) Off on his tangent again. Well geometry was his best subject CLEVER. I'm a clever man, I am a man, what is a man? I'm almost 19 and I still can't answer this question. My present countenance displays a perturbed expression for I currently am confronted with the reality that I still don't know what it means to be a man. Does that even matter? Probably not; but like philosophy, it is probably a broad discussion topic. Any who, 2 more tracks; gettin there! I just realised this now, that it will take far less time to read this post than it will take to write it, so all this gratefulness and hand-holding I've been giving was probably unnecessary. Oh well, it's not like it matters; I mean, who's actually going to read all of this? Bout time I pressed ENTER
TWICE
I wonder what the value of pie is
Good, and pi?
3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510582097
4944592307816406286208998628034825342117067
Fun.
Only 1 more song now, I'm getting tired, really tired. Maybe I'll end it off with some cryptic "mysterious" poetry, some real deep stuff.
Slapping his keyboard in casual grievance known by many, like many who doubt their existence, he lives contently regardless of this.
I see us dancing to this song together, but who is she?
The yolk of my mindful widow, such rhythm, such wonder.
Well I promised I'd end this abruptly as the song was finishing yes indeed as it was ending like a song usually commences the opposite of that which means stop just waiting for it to end soon like it just keeps going and going it won't end not that I don't like it or anything I quite enjoy it actually it's a lovely song it reminds me of the kind of sound I want in my video game which I am genuinely excited about it's wonderful to feel excited about something not that I don't feel excited about anything it's just that this is kind of new and foreign te
It begins.
I shall begin with a simple greeting, a gesture of amiable "goodwill" yes a fitting start to a wondrous unknown forest of confusing things hitting you in the face and scratching your arms. Which way is up? does it matter? you stumble about forward and backward, what's the difference? You wander side to side, you find something familiar; but it's just a memory. Thinking thinking, you're drenched in mindful tumult. Foraging in the forest, you find something useful; but what is it? Your wits? no; but it is a thought, a subtle spec of wisdom secreted from the mind of memories. Exuding down from ideology to practical functioning.
So devoted to your eyes and ears; which is not a mistake, it's only natural. Worshipper of the prickling needles and the whirling wind, you leave no front seat vacant! Running, running in confusion, how familiar, yet you're inexperienced; how does this happen? You sit on your chairs staring at your screens, spending time and more time. Are you wise with your money? You borrow your furniture, your house, and your car; how can you be trusted with time? Perhaps the friendly screen and comfy chair is a fitting start and a fitting end for you.
A salutation, and recognition of others which whom you're speaking to; how polite! Goddamn I'm bloody cryptic, do I even know what I mean? Constantly in a tangent, a digression; how annoying it must be! Well alright then here I am, let's talk, let's discuss. Philosophy? Well sure! It's quite the broad topic though, maybe something a bit more particular.
I really can't think of anything, I'd rather just talk non-sense for the remainder of this post. I feel like I would enjoy this whole experience more if I was actually listening to the music instead of second-guessing my language and grammar.
The period at the end of this sentence will be the last form of punctuation until the end of this post.
so my eyes are off the screen no pressure no focus on grammar just words words just continuously supplying words here yes yes should be fun maybe I'll think of some big words to share with everything like tumultuous oooo that's uhhh tu mult u ous 4 syllables I think I don't know doesn't matter more words more words like phantasmagoric ooooo that's a good one I really miss punctuation I'm longing for a period or at least a comma this is really difficult this must be terribly difficult to read anyways I'm glad you're sticking with this I appreciate your indulgence. Christ, I had to do it. Alright alright, I'll use punctuation. What track am I at now? Just started 5, alrighty then; like 7 more to go and 2 are really short I think. Hang in there devoted fans!
I think I'll start answering questions.
1. yes
2. the green one with the purple propeller hat
3. ich bin berlin
4. A mole between my index finger and thumb, and a scar intersecting my fourth finger and pinkie.
I am making a video game at present. It will be called Treel (working title) and it's about an alien who arrives on a post-human earth with amnesia. He discovers the remnants of humanity and begins to make relatable connections in his brain which causes him to "remember" certain parts of his old life. Different memories surface depending on what the player does in the game and the order in which he/she does them. You could end up with a character who doesn't care about his old life and wants to make a new one on Earth. Alternately, your alien might remember very deep and emotional parts of his old life (spouse, home, etc) and desire to go back to it. You won't be forced into an outcome that doesn't make sense; because, how you play through the game affects the personality and the motivations of the character. For example, you won't feel forced to go collect a bunch of things or kill a bunch of things if that isn't what you've been doing already.
Still a ways to go, only on track 7. Oh! just started 8, fabulous. Well now what...
I have a cold, I didn't wear socks today, and I still need to put on my clean sheets. I'm looking forward to sleep tonight, I love sheet day. Gee I wish this was a bit more interesting, sorry about that. I suppose I could at least change up my sentence structures... I love variation! I could even fool around with punctuation (don't worry, I'm still going to be using it). Woah only 3 tracks to go! woooo? <---Look what I just did! pshyaw, totes bro; fkin legit. what is he talking about? this guy's weird, this blog is dumb. VALID ENQUIRIES AND COMPLAINTS, sorry about the caps; I ain't lookin' back now! Oh god here we go, this song is really good, I'm continuously getting psyched psyched psyched aaaahhhhhhh dropped... So how's the wife? On a side not. I digress. On the other hand (on the other hand? that doesn't fit here...) Off on his tangent again. Well geometry was his best subject CLEVER. I'm a clever man, I am a man, what is a man? I'm almost 19 and I still can't answer this question. My present countenance displays a perturbed expression for I currently am confronted with the reality that I still don't know what it means to be a man. Does that even matter? Probably not; but like philosophy, it is probably a broad discussion topic. Any who, 2 more tracks; gettin there! I just realised this now, that it will take far less time to read this post than it will take to write it, so all this gratefulness and hand-holding I've been giving was probably unnecessary. Oh well, it's not like it matters; I mean, who's actually going to read all of this? Bout time I pressed ENTER
TWICE
I wonder what the value of pie is
Good, and pi?
3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510582097
4944592307816406286208998628034825342117067
Fun.
Only 1 more song now, I'm getting tired, really tired. Maybe I'll end it off with some cryptic "mysterious" poetry, some real deep stuff.
Slapping his keyboard in casual grievance known by many, like many who doubt their existence, he lives contently regardless of this.
I see us dancing to this song together, but who is she?
The yolk of my mindful widow, such rhythm, such wonder.
Well I promised I'd end this abruptly as the song was finishing yes indeed as it was ending like a song usually commences the opposite of that which means stop just waiting for it to end soon like it just keeps going and going it won't end not that I don't like it or anything I quite enjoy it actually it's a lovely song it reminds me of the kind of sound I want in my video game which I am genuinely excited about it's wonderful to feel excited about something not that I don't feel excited about anything it's just that this is kind of new and foreign te
Friday, 6 April 2012
the infinite secrets which you wisely avoid
Leagues behind you lay the infinite secrets which you wisely avoid. The window of opportunity is bigger than most are led to believe, you of course see this with your astute eye, you know when to disregard a second thought. You're a true and wise friend, you desire the sympathetic touch and sensual kiss, because these, you know I can offer. And you understand that there is a false comfort which rests with the imaginary; the gods and fairies, the ents and spirits.
How upset these people become when asked inquisitively by an outsider, an outsider who desires the secular and is unaware of the phantoms who would lead and judge her. She sees these people relentlessly grasping for the unknown even though they've already found what they're looking for. They exist in a perpetual segue as they ask the people who already know the answers to their questions.
They fear the truth that they've been given, the structure, the morals, and the judgements. It's all too perfect; but to deny it means to abandon all that they've known. A clean slate might appeal to some, but after the denial they're left with a wound which can only be mended alone. Long has the medicine been the warm milk and honey of certainty, the sweet smell, the taste so dear, the recipe for slumber.
You my friend, desire my gentle touch on your shoulder and your soaking tears on mine. You can see the stagnant flux, and the cyclic vibrations of striving for truth.
I love and respect you.
How upset these people become when asked inquisitively by an outsider, an outsider who desires the secular and is unaware of the phantoms who would lead and judge her. She sees these people relentlessly grasping for the unknown even though they've already found what they're looking for. They exist in a perpetual segue as they ask the people who already know the answers to their questions.
They fear the truth that they've been given, the structure, the morals, and the judgements. It's all too perfect; but to deny it means to abandon all that they've known. A clean slate might appeal to some, but after the denial they're left with a wound which can only be mended alone. Long has the medicine been the warm milk and honey of certainty, the sweet smell, the taste so dear, the recipe for slumber.
You my friend, desire my gentle touch on your shoulder and your soaking tears on mine. You can see the stagnant flux, and the cyclic vibrations of striving for truth.
I love and respect you.
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
On a more serious note...
I am sorry, I really have nothing to say here. I'm fresh out of ideas, and frankly, I just don't care about this blog anymore. Again I'm sorry to let down all of my adoring fans, but this was inevitable. I would now like to plug my upcoming novel titled The Fantabulous Phantasmagorical Adventures of Bob...the Alien...From the Future.
sincerely me.
May 18, 2014
Post-
Prophetic
Muse...
ANd
in
we go.
Today, I attempt to create an introduction to an anglo-saxon versification for school. I will use alliteration frequently, 4 accentuated syllables per line, and kennings. You may be wondering what kennings are.
A kenning (Old Norse: kenning, Modern Icelandic pronunciation: [cʰɛnːiŋk]) is a type of literary trope, specifically circumlocution, in the form of a compound (usually two words, often hyphenated) that employs figurative language in place of a more concrete single-word noun. Kennings are strongly associated with Old Norse and later Icelandic and Anglo-Saxon poetry. For example, Old Norse poets might replace sverð, the regular word for “sword”, with a more abstract compound such as “wound-hoe” (Egill Skallagrímsson: Höfuðlausn 8), or a genitive phrase such as randa íss “ice of shields” (Einarr Skúlason: ‘Øxarflokkr’ 9). The term kenning has been applied by modern scholars to similar figures of speech in other languages too, especially Old English.
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury is a good book.
I digress.
I'm actually looking forward to writing this "epic" because a couple of months ago, I wrote the introduction to an epic poem; so it might make this whole thing a little easier.
It starts out with a thing that is a man who is a prince ruling over some unknown land only known to him and the people he princes over; and he decides to get off his ass and walk north a few dozen kilometres. He's searching for a supposedly godlike figure called "The Mother" who resides in a motherly shack on top of a tall maternal mountain. Notice the lack of fathers, I tried to avoid the father-figure-God Connection, which is so overused and unoriginal. So yeah, no fathers; except the prince who has a son who is a father, which makes his father a grand-father who fathered a son who's looking for his mother in a shack. Wait, I have that wrong-I don't like to get stuck on particulars, all that matters is the introduction, which is really interesting, and I do not have mother issues.
-Segue-
He spat hoarsely through his nose which tickled the back of his throat soaking his moustache in mucus brushing his oily hair back fonze-like, with seedy eyes gazing at make-up and females.
www.ouchwords.blogspot.com tell your friends and enemies.
This thing is now done
Good day.
sincerely me.
May 18, 2014
Post-
Prophetic
Muse...
ANd
in
we go.
Today, I attempt to create an introduction to an anglo-saxon versification for school. I will use alliteration frequently, 4 accentuated syllables per line, and kennings. You may be wondering what kennings are.
A kenning (Old Norse: kenning, Modern Icelandic pronunciation: [cʰɛnːiŋk]) is a type of literary trope, specifically circumlocution, in the form of a compound (usually two words, often hyphenated) that employs figurative language in place of a more concrete single-word noun. Kennings are strongly associated with Old Norse and later Icelandic and Anglo-Saxon poetry. For example, Old Norse poets might replace sverð, the regular word for “sword”, with a more abstract compound such as “wound-hoe” (Egill Skallagrímsson: Höfuðlausn 8), or a genitive phrase such as randa íss “ice of shields” (Einarr Skúlason: ‘Øxarflokkr’ 9). The term kenning has been applied by modern scholars to similar figures of speech in other languages too, especially Old English.
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury is a good book.
I digress.
I'm actually looking forward to writing this "epic" because a couple of months ago, I wrote the introduction to an epic poem; so it might make this whole thing a little easier.
It starts out with a thing that is a man who is a prince ruling over some unknown land only known to him and the people he princes over; and he decides to get off his ass and walk north a few dozen kilometres. He's searching for a supposedly godlike figure called "The Mother" who resides in a motherly shack on top of a tall maternal mountain. Notice the lack of fathers, I tried to avoid the father-figure-God Connection, which is so overused and unoriginal. So yeah, no fathers; except the prince who has a son who is a father, which makes his father a grand-father who fathered a son who's looking for his mother in a shack. Wait, I have that wrong-I don't like to get stuck on particulars, all that matters is the introduction, which is really interesting, and I do not have mother issues.
-Segue-
He spat hoarsely through his nose which tickled the back of his throat soaking his moustache in mucus brushing his oily hair back fonze-like, with seedy eyes gazing at make-up and females.
www.ouchwords.blogspot.com tell your friends and enemies.
This thing is now done
Good day.
Monday, 12 March 2012
It has occured to me that the most direst of situations and quivering backlashes into obscurified oblivion twittled into souless supposition wandering aimlessly on and on and on and on to the farthest reches and the farest reaches as well, and my Dog Scruffles, will of course be joining us today.
I believe I did quite well on my biology exam. I feel as though I knew the data, of which I was regurgitating, to the highest degree. Continuity.
The Clocks sprung ahead today, most survived, casualties were inevitable.
I woke up this morning much later than usual; 'twas 11:37am when I opened my eyes, equipped my glasses, and gazed towards the clock. I felt rested, which was a feeling I had not felt in weeks, 'twas most refreshing. I had slept for 10 hours and felt like a person anew. My first action subsequent of my temporal gaze, exhibited nature of primal derivation, a desire so common and of great necessity. Hunger.
So I went downstairs and ate a bagel. it was good. put peanut butter on it.
"So delicately he articulated, a meticulous linguistic perusal of Shakespearean calibre." He flaunted ostentatiously, as he referred to the great teachings of the wise and mighty Scruffles. "An amiable fellow, whom exhibited honourable qualities like no other..." she added in mused rumination. "He'd catch any idea you through and bring it right on back to ya." a plebeian statement, contributed by a lowly commoner, who continued on..."You didn't always like what he brought back to ya, but he always made sure his work stood out from the rest."
Un paragraphe en francais peut-etre? OUI, je pense que c'est un bon idee. Un jour, il habbit une homme qui existe dans un realite exquisite. Dans cet realite, le temp reste as la maime tout l'an; il ne change pas, par-ce que il y a rien de saison. Nous ne peut pas "spring forward" ou "fall back" quand il y a rien de saison, c'est impossible!
Well I think that about wraps things up.
Good day.
The Clocks sprung ahead today, most survived, casualties were inevitable.
I woke up this morning much later than usual; 'twas 11:37am when I opened my eyes, equipped my glasses, and gazed towards the clock. I felt rested, which was a feeling I had not felt in weeks, 'twas most refreshing. I had slept for 10 hours and felt like a person anew. My first action subsequent of my temporal gaze, exhibited nature of primal derivation, a desire so common and of great necessity. Hunger.
So I went downstairs and ate a bagel. it was good. put peanut butter on it.
"So delicately he articulated, a meticulous linguistic perusal of Shakespearean calibre." He flaunted ostentatiously, as he referred to the great teachings of the wise and mighty Scruffles. "An amiable fellow, whom exhibited honourable qualities like no other..." she added in mused rumination. "He'd catch any idea you through and bring it right on back to ya." a plebeian statement, contributed by a lowly commoner, who continued on..."You didn't always like what he brought back to ya, but he always made sure his work stood out from the rest."
Un paragraphe en francais peut-etre? OUI, je pense que c'est un bon idee. Un jour, il habbit une homme qui existe dans un realite exquisite. Dans cet realite, le temp reste as la maime tout l'an; il ne change pas, par-ce que il y a rien de saison. Nous ne peut pas "spring forward" ou "fall back" quand il y a rien de saison, c'est impossible!
Well I think that about wraps things up.
Good day.
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
I have an exam tomorrow!
I am now partaking in my favourite activity, procrastination! Tomorrow morning, I have a biology exam on human anatomy...and to make this post even a little bit interesting, I will end the next 3 sentences with exclamation marks. So this exam is divided into 4 parts: the digestive system, the circulatory system, the heart, and the respiratory system! I quite enjoy biology, it has always come easy to me! I suppose I'm just really good at memorising many simple medial things! The previous biology exam I wrote, was very short and easy; so I'm not too worried about the one tomorrow. So yeah anyways, this is pretty boring...
I have been trying to re-learn french recently; I was in french immersion from kindergarten to grade 5, before I went to English in grade 6. From the experience of learning french at a young age, I have found it quite easy to rekindle my bilingual spark. I'm reading a french novel, watching french television, listening to french pod casts, and trying to write french ramblings.
It's gets a little tricky however, because I have the vocabulary of a 10 year old when it comes to linguistic scrawling and perusal in french.
Aujour'dui, j'ecrit en francais avec complete disregarde pour la grammair. Bonjour, je m'appelle Tao, je suis dix-huit ans; et demain, j'ai une examination en biology! Mes oui, vous peut etre pensez c'est tres excitent, mes en realizement c'est actuelment tres ennuyeux. Donc, ne quitte pas; parce-que je suis ici pour vous rescuer de cet situation désespéré. Je vais completer chaque phrases apres celui-ci avec des point d'exclamation! Je ne sais pas que'ce qu'il y a d'autres a dire! Mon telephone cellular est noir! Je dois etudier le biology maintenant!
well, if you had the patience to read through my pathetic attempt at bilingual communication and my boring exam tomorrow morning; then you win the opportunity to anonymously comment witty, thoughtful responses to my recent ramblomatic regurgitation.
Good day
Bon jour
I have been trying to re-learn french recently; I was in french immersion from kindergarten to grade 5, before I went to English in grade 6. From the experience of learning french at a young age, I have found it quite easy to rekindle my bilingual spark. I'm reading a french novel, watching french television, listening to french pod casts, and trying to write french ramblings.
It's gets a little tricky however, because I have the vocabulary of a 10 year old when it comes to linguistic scrawling and perusal in french.
Aujour'dui, j'ecrit en francais avec complete disregarde pour la grammair. Bonjour, je m'appelle Tao, je suis dix-huit ans; et demain, j'ai une examination en biology! Mes oui, vous peut etre pensez c'est tres excitent, mes en realizement c'est actuelment tres ennuyeux. Donc, ne quitte pas; parce-que je suis ici pour vous rescuer de cet situation désespéré. Je vais completer chaque phrases apres celui-ci avec des point d'exclamation! Je ne sais pas que'ce qu'il y a d'autres a dire! Mon telephone cellular est noir! Je dois etudier le biology maintenant!
well, if you had the patience to read through my pathetic attempt at bilingual communication and my boring exam tomorrow morning; then you win the opportunity to anonymously comment witty, thoughtful responses to my recent ramblomatic regurgitation.
Good day
Bon jour
Sunday, 4 March 2012
A Dire Situation
yes, a new text document. I choose this file type over a new microsoft word document because I have not been presented with enough adequetely convincing evidence to persuade me to choose the more complicated program with more 'features'. This ramblomatic regurgitation requires a very small amount of sophistication when it comes to file types. That is not to say, of course, that this file type that I have chosen (text document) is lacking much intellect; but I would think it best not to bring it up. Especially if there are possibly any old microsoft word documents in the folder lurking about. Those old buggers just go on and on about how many fonts and text colours they have in their repertoire, it's almost unbearable, and when that's all added to the jealous cries of the plebeius 'new text documents', the whole situation then becomes thoroughly unbearable. So unbearable infact, the situation and all situations associated with that first situation find refuge in monotonous, self-loathing depression. This only occurs on very incredibly rare occasions however, because, usually before the situations can navigate themselves out of the skewed multicoloured mess of wingding text, windows word processor barges in, with all of its amazing new features and xyz approach to things, resolving the situation and all possibly associated situations to boot, concluding all to comprehensible, multicoloured, and super stylish three dimentional text (with quite impressive gradients I might add). Unfortunately for many other poor unsuspecting situations out there, all of the previously poised and highly pedestaled 'microsoft word documents' will begin hoisting the plebeius torch, quaintly yammering about "that damn new three dee these days". They were however, most impressed with the way 'windows word processor' used gradients. Though they would, of course, never express their taken-a-backness relating to the gorgeously done gradients. Which was unfortunate, because it probably would have helped with the general situation's depression issues.
Hello!
You menacing malignant shrew-like mother-basement dweller. Greetings! If you are reading this anytime after the date of March 4, 2012 then kindly disregard the previous sentence and please make your way past any written word after the patient, polite exclamation mark followed by a most intrusive bully of an astrix, continuing on to the last sentence of this paragraph. *...! If you are infact a malignant hacker of some sort, or a giddy visitor and you have managed to find your way here just minutes after this blog was created then I appreciate your potentially enthusiastic appreciation for my work, and respect your 'go-getter' attitude. Welcome to my blog!
To the people who, after reading this paragraph, said:
"You dumbass, 'Greetings!' is a sentence on its own; did you want us to disregard that?"
Please re-read the first sentence of the paragraph previous.
And to the people who then say:
"oh but Tao, that's not a complete sentence."
Kindly jam any dining utensil you wish into one or more of your eye sockets and/or other tender areas of your body which will cause you probable permanent damage rendering that part potentially but not necessarily completely useless.
Thanks!
Tao.
Updates soon!
To the people who, after reading this paragraph, said:
"You dumbass, 'Greetings!' is a sentence on its own; did you want us to disregard that?"
Please re-read the first sentence of the paragraph previous.
And to the people who then say:
"oh but Tao, that's not a complete sentence."
Kindly jam any dining utensil you wish into one or more of your eye sockets and/or other tender areas of your body which will cause you probable permanent damage rendering that part potentially but not necessarily completely useless.
Thanks!
Tao.
Updates soon!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)