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Land of the Fees and Home of the Enslaved: Freedom to Fascis
General | Posted 19 years agohttp://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4312730277175242198&q=freedom%20to%20fascism&hl=en
I saw this in ZombieCat's Journal, and watched it.
... I am disgusted, frightened, angered, and saddened. My second ammendment rights are screaming bloody murder, and my trigger finger is getting very, very itchy. I'm ... too angry to scream. No. Right now, I want to think.
I want you to think, too.
I saw this in ZombieCat's Journal, and watched it.
... I am disgusted, frightened, angered, and saddened. My second ammendment rights are screaming bloody murder, and my trigger finger is getting very, very itchy. I'm ... too angry to scream. No. Right now, I want to think.
I want you to think, too.
Ugly Heads LOVE to rear.
General | Posted 19 years agoMaybe that's where the term 'butt ugly' came from.
In the past, I have told you my job is a joke. Yes, I still work security. There is one part of the job that isn't funny though, and that is our true purpose. I have stated on more serious notes that it is our job to observe and record. We are cameras and little more, though for $7.75 an hour, corporate still likes to think we should be putting our lives on the line to save others. Surely half-a-dollar above the new minimum wage shall never justify the loss of life or limb... but my guiltiest confession is the possession of a conscience, and it shall not suffer me to stand aside. This is the peril in lowest-bidder security work.
Today, there was going to be a fight. I panicked. I radioed the whole security team that some shit was going down at the Old Navy and the whole mall ground to a halt in paralyzed panic. When customers see headlights, they look just like deer. They had no idea what was going on, but seeing five burly uniforms bolting down the corridor like bats out of hell, it always creates that lingering suspicion. It's the proverbial trainwreck. They want to run, but they want to see, too.
It started when two punks ganged up on one guy, hurling insults and challenges... Strangely, he stood, and said not a single word back. When they left, he started walking, and those who had seen had a unanimous directive: STOP HIM, something HORRIBLE is going to happen. I swallowed my heart back into my chest and tried to inquire what happened, and there were only three things that were needed to communicate the full extent and scope of what was happening. He murmured quietly, "I'm gonna shoot that fucker." and said nothing else. He kept walking, inexorable and enevitable as a steam engine. He had murder in his eyes.
Unit 209 caught up to me and I mouthed "STOP HIM". JD was usually... a less than reasonable officer. Demand and ultamatum were usually the order of the day. But when they made eye contact, JD later noted that, while most Talked, this one Walked. He was silent, and JD swore there was murder in his eyes too.
At the time, failing to stop him, 209 asked me for the key to the security vehicle and ran ahead, and we were approaching the doors in the Old Navy hallway. Those doors, I remembered... they didn't have mechanical locks that can open from the inside. They have a magnetic mechanism triggered by one key. So I ran ahead, and with split-seconds to spare, I sealed the doors and the steam train hit a cliffside.
I don't know what the fuck was going through my head. He could've killed me. If he had a weapon, I'd be DEAD RIGHT NOW. I told him, "Don't do this." HE said, "Open The Door." ... I am such a god damned coward. I opened it for him.
Skipping ahead to the security office after it was all over, JD told me I must've been nuts. Nobody else would've tried to bar that guy. Nobody should ever try to do it again. Yet it seemed that somehow, it'd taken his edge off. Took the wind right out of his sails. But the thing that disturbs me is, JD said I was smiling when I did it. Told me I was grinning like a god damned cheshire cat.
JD's right. I must be absolutely fucking nuts.
Nothing happened, though. 209 in mobile, 210, and 208 chased down the two punks as they tried to board a bus and get out of there. They were successfully detained and banned. 204 and I somehow managed to corner the steamtrain and the other officer, not me, managed to talk him down.
I'm so ashamed. I caved, twice. I couldn't get the guy's information. I had to call 204 for help. But they told me I did what I was supposed to do, and that makes it a little better, but they didn't know that I tried to lock him in.
Am I supposed to be proud of this? ... 'cos I sure'shell ain't.
In the past, I have told you my job is a joke. Yes, I still work security. There is one part of the job that isn't funny though, and that is our true purpose. I have stated on more serious notes that it is our job to observe and record. We are cameras and little more, though for $7.75 an hour, corporate still likes to think we should be putting our lives on the line to save others. Surely half-a-dollar above the new minimum wage shall never justify the loss of life or limb... but my guiltiest confession is the possession of a conscience, and it shall not suffer me to stand aside. This is the peril in lowest-bidder security work.
Today, there was going to be a fight. I panicked. I radioed the whole security team that some shit was going down at the Old Navy and the whole mall ground to a halt in paralyzed panic. When customers see headlights, they look just like deer. They had no idea what was going on, but seeing five burly uniforms bolting down the corridor like bats out of hell, it always creates that lingering suspicion. It's the proverbial trainwreck. They want to run, but they want to see, too.
It started when two punks ganged up on one guy, hurling insults and challenges... Strangely, he stood, and said not a single word back. When they left, he started walking, and those who had seen had a unanimous directive: STOP HIM, something HORRIBLE is going to happen. I swallowed my heart back into my chest and tried to inquire what happened, and there were only three things that were needed to communicate the full extent and scope of what was happening. He murmured quietly, "I'm gonna shoot that fucker." and said nothing else. He kept walking, inexorable and enevitable as a steam engine. He had murder in his eyes.
Unit 209 caught up to me and I mouthed "STOP HIM". JD was usually... a less than reasonable officer. Demand and ultamatum were usually the order of the day. But when they made eye contact, JD later noted that, while most Talked, this one Walked. He was silent, and JD swore there was murder in his eyes too.
At the time, failing to stop him, 209 asked me for the key to the security vehicle and ran ahead, and we were approaching the doors in the Old Navy hallway. Those doors, I remembered... they didn't have mechanical locks that can open from the inside. They have a magnetic mechanism triggered by one key. So I ran ahead, and with split-seconds to spare, I sealed the doors and the steam train hit a cliffside.
I don't know what the fuck was going through my head. He could've killed me. If he had a weapon, I'd be DEAD RIGHT NOW. I told him, "Don't do this." HE said, "Open The Door." ... I am such a god damned coward. I opened it for him.
Skipping ahead to the security office after it was all over, JD told me I must've been nuts. Nobody else would've tried to bar that guy. Nobody should ever try to do it again. Yet it seemed that somehow, it'd taken his edge off. Took the wind right out of his sails. But the thing that disturbs me is, JD said I was smiling when I did it. Told me I was grinning like a god damned cheshire cat.
JD's right. I must be absolutely fucking nuts.
Nothing happened, though. 209 in mobile, 210, and 208 chased down the two punks as they tried to board a bus and get out of there. They were successfully detained and banned. 204 and I somehow managed to corner the steamtrain and the other officer, not me, managed to talk him down.
I'm so ashamed. I caved, twice. I couldn't get the guy's information. I had to call 204 for help. But they told me I did what I was supposed to do, and that makes it a little better, but they didn't know that I tried to lock him in.
Am I supposed to be proud of this? ... 'cos I sure'shell ain't.
Aggressive Insomnia
General | Posted 19 years agoI'm still awake for a very inconvenient reason.
It seems my bed deflated under me. I've been sleeping on an air mattress for the past six months because it's cheaper than a real bed plus sheets plus washing expense. Well, I got what I paid for. Today, while I'm out, I'll drop another thirty bucks for another six months of restful nights. Otherwise, I'm feeling... well... I don't know if I want to go into how I'm feeling right now, because I can tell you right now it's already not pretty and getting uglier by the second. I hope I don't go fucking postal today. I really hope. I'm glad I didn't get around to buying that revolver.
So yes! The worst start you can EVER GET OFF TO in a day is to not have the previous day END. -_-;
Oh fuck it all. I'm going to start spilling my guts right now and I already know nobody's going to read this anyway... except for one person. I know you're looking right now, and I can't really hold it against you when you're this desperate to hear even a peep out of me.
I don't care how long or short ago it was but I just recently had one of my roommates start biting my head off for no goddamned fucking reason that makes ANY sense at all except to THEMSELF, excused with some hair-brained tract of obscure, pointless philosophy that they REFUSED to get off of simply because I said something tantamount to saying aquamarine when you intended to say cyan. I JUST bought a book that I REALLY wanted to read and that day I didn't wanna go out, I didn't wanna see the world or have an adventure, I just wanted to SIT AT HOME AND FUCKING READ, OKAY? But my roommate came to the door of my bedroom this fateful day and asked me if I DID want to go out and have an adventure. My response was "no thanks". The result? The spanish inquisition. I should've expected it of course e.e SO, i'm getting GRILLED. Eventually I'm just tired of it and put my foot down on "I don't want to do anything today!!"
So, a few hours later they come home and my roommate starts to ATTACK ME on AIM accusing me of being so depressed and unhealthily locked up like a hermit, and though it was claimed LATER that it was because they 'cared' about me, what happened next SURE AS FUCK DID NOT FEEL AT ALL LIKE THEY "CARED" for ANYTHING except to use me for fucking TARGET PRACTICE!
My first mistake was disagreeing, saying that I'm not depressed, saying that I WASN'T doing 'nothing' and wasting away, that I just wanted to sit down and READ. That I wanted to talk to my online friends because I NEVER got to see them, and that I wanted some time to myself since living with roommates means SUBSTANTIALLY less privacy--I spend most of my time locked up in my room as it is. My roommate backfired by telling me "YOU TREAT ME LIKE SHIT", telling me I've been ignoring them. I try again and again just to slip out of this and try to just get on with my fucking night because I had shit that I wanted to do, but they just wouldn't have it! THEY wanted a logical debate! FUCK!
So eventually I make the second mistake, asking, and I paraphrase, "Isn't it a little extreme to be taking potshots at someone who basically pays your RENT in exchange for one of your rooms?" ... So then I am subsequently told that I am excommunicated from their little 'family', that i'm no longer a friend, but a BOARDER. I came out and... my roommate is IGNORING me. Because, though I know it wasn't so after all, I could have SWORN they were JOKING. I haven't seen this person treat ANYBODY like that, not even GRIEFERS. It was so completely outlandish and baseless I thought both of my roommates were planning to jump out and yell SURPRISE!
but no. Eventually I crawl back into my little hole, sufficiently spooked... When the pizza I ordered for us to eat comes in, the roommate picking the fight with me Disowns it, REFUSES it on the basis that it was tainted by my influence, and throws it into my room with other shit they thought was mine, telling me to stay out of THEIR FRIDGE.
... I sound pissed now. I am pissed now. it STILL hurts, and the stupid fuck still doesn't think they did anything wrong even though they've calmed down--apparantly I'M THE ONE ON PROBATION HERE EVEN NOW... but let me tell you...
I was crying.
I was curled up in my room crying.
Thank god my other roommate started standing up for me... but i could hear them fighting in the living room and suddenly I felt like a little kid hiding under the stairs while his parents start shrieking at eachother and throwing shit around.
I was talking to spiderfox on the phone... he was my only anchor to sanity in all this. I'd never felt more completely alone in my life than when one of the two people I trusted enough to actually MOVE IN with suddenly decided I was subhuman...
Between the shrieks and crashing noises, I was whimpering about how frightened I was, how hopeless I felt... but Spiderfox was there... hanging on every word... I could swear I felt like he was hugging me through the phone. He reassured me... told me I should pack my bags and leave, because he didn't want me to be hurt like this again or, even worse, to risk perhaps even my health by rooming with someone who, according to his perspective, must've sounded like some kind of psychotic nutcase... he could hear everything through the phone. every last word they were hurling at eachother.
... I'm afraid I might fall in love with him... my instincts reel at it but, there is not a single person in existence that I trust more than Spider. ... I don't even know if he realizes how much he means to me. I have been entertaining, lately, the good fun of casually declaring various friends of mine to be gods.... but he really has saved me, more than once, more than twice, maybe even more than ten times. When everything else is shot to hell, Spider never once turned his back on me... always with open arms, he sat patiently and listened to whatever woes had leadened my heart, whenever they came... I would say i'd die for him, but death is easy when you don't feel like your life is worth much. No. I know that he'd actually miss me if I were gone. It is far more substantial for me to tell you that I'm living for him.
Please forgive me... I know it sounds awkward, that it's hard to wrap your mind around something so foreign and alien... The past few weeks, my emotions have been fucked around in so many more ways than I could've ever quantified before... not even I know how I feel about anything right now... It's a very confusing time for me and it's hard to not feel like I'm getting swept away in all this...
*sigh*
...moving on...
roughly 24 hours after one of my roommates decided to hate me, they turn around and decide to forgive me...
as if I wasn't the guy who took a six hundred mile, eighteen hour bus ride only to cough up almost half of everything I earn just so the both of them can keep a roof over their heads and food on their plates... Well... one of them gets it. the other doesn't.
Maybe it was forgotten.
... I have so many questions that I don't even want to know the answers to right now. I still don't regret moving, but I am beginning to regret being... who I am. Or more precisely, for not being who I looked like I was online. My personality has been shattered and reconstituted; there really isn't that much of a baseline for me to work from. That doesn't make it right... that just explains how it could be possible that I can appear to be one kind of person online yet another person entirely in person. I don't like this part of myself...
It's made me question the validity of being here, even if I'm glad I'm not in massachusetts anymore. The validity as in... they were expecing x to arrive and got a q. I was expecting to arrive in a house of e's, but ended up finding that my roommates are a j and a p or something. It's all jumbled up. ... do they regret me? I certainly feel like they do...
... Otherwise, the goings-on in my life are... RP and Work sprinkled lightly with Art, emotional, mental, physical, and fiscal discomfort, and the longing to return to SecondLife and Activeworlds to make good on the projects I abandoned there.
in RP, Shadow Haven is about to get stormed by the combined efforts of all that remains of the Imaginarium's old 'ass kicker' guilds... All the remains of the Blackwing family, the Darkarma family, the Bloodwing clan, and even some of the Dark Realm. Cyrus got blindsided with knowledge of impending disaster while he was out travling with the airship captain Morighanna, to show his son the blue sky outside the edges of the storm. I digress.
Cyrus has to make regal decisions now and it's killing him. He has to somehow get back to SH and either prevent the attack or fend it off. And this is an attack coming from the furthest extent you can get of 'power' without being an obvious twink. Usually that only means you're a less-than-obvious twink... but the opposition has a reputation to live up to. It's just... so much shit hitting the fan. So much shit.
I'm getting complaint from one of my oldest, most trustworthy members threatening to LEAVE if I OOCly authorize this entire thing, but how is it going to look if we turn down some of the biggest names in the realm's history...? It'll frag whatever little credibility we have left. Nobody will ever come to SH anymore. I'm feeling rather cornered. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
There seems to be ... an actually surprising number of people willing to stand up for Shadow Haven, but I'm afraid that under the crushing god-level might of the aggressor faction, it just won't be enough. My members are too honorable to take mortal hits and NOT die. Shadow Haven will cease existing without anybody left to live in it... even if I upload it and generate an alt to be present. So... We're up a creek without a paddle and when I'm not dreading how to deal with it (whilst making no progress on figuring OUT how to deal with it), I'm completely avoiding it. This just isn't healthy
:(
At my IRL job, They still expect me to HAVE my Department of Criminal Justice Services private security license, even though for not just me but practically EVERYBODY else, the paperwork keeps getting lost in the bureaucracy. They're going to have to take me off the schedule if I don't have that license very soon. But at least they have a plan on how to help me do it. I need to bring my ID number verification documents to the training center and get my picture re-taken so they can print it. Then it's the waiting game again. it just figures.
I wouldn't be surprised if they told me another piece of my paperwork 'expired' again... *sigh*
This is... so sad.
You see my art here... that's probably the one stable thing in my life (aside from Spider... x.x gods he'd be so spooked if he knew I were speaking of him like this... I feel bad already). I am still at least finding the ability to draw something every now and then, and the last two pictures I made really feel collectively, to me, like yet another milestone. "level up" you might say. I think I've finally found a level of consistency in myself: my art looks like storybook illustrations. That's who I am and what my pictures are. I could really get used to that...
but on Discomforts...
I have found that what goes around comes around. The girl I've been so attached to, chasing fruitlessly... I now know how creepy I must've been sounding. Bequeathing your love to someone who doesn't feel they're capable of reciprocating... It's ... not fun. But perhaps the worst part, at least for me, on EITHER end of a situation like that... is the loss of possibility. It closes a possible future off from happening. Yet... all it does is serve to make me feel disgusted with myself.
There's someone... that misses me a lot in massachusetts. Yes. I'm talking about you, I'm afraid. This someone... --you, possibly--once realized, and thus had me realize, that I was using them. Using someone is ... not a good feeling. I had one of my 'never again' moments back then... and I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to defeat possibly the one and only strongest defining facet of my personality. The 'never again'... it may be the the cause of my low self-esteem right now... but it's also the reason why I have friends that have esteem in me at all. ... believe it or not, once upon a time I was even more obnoxious than I am now... and it was that ... 'resolver' in myself that allowed me to change into who i am today. if i break that... that ... resolution... i may not be me anymore. I may not even be a person anymore. It's.. my foundation.
So I am torn over the fear of using someone unfairly. And though they have the legally exclusive right to look out for THEIR OWN protection, and to claim that it's none of my business to 'protect' them from myself... how can I assent to that when someone is hurt through my inaction and the blame eventually is destined to land on ME? ... I have more wound-licking to do.
January, oddly enough, is a great month for wanting to curl up in a hole and disappear...
I also have a few other friends on AIM (no, not you this time), who are talking to me nonstop yet, nothing is really said in these conversations and no real progress toward anything is made. then again, that's awfully cold to say... they just want company and conversation... yet i'm feeling so hunted... so harried lately from every direction, it just adds to the 'crawl in a hole' feeling
:(
Physically speaking, though, my discomfort comes from eating too much. spending too much on food, which is contributing to my fiscal discomfort. ... I'm not going into detail about these. I've vomited enough bile about the less-than-charming aspects of my experience. I'm ashamed... so i'm gonna stop for now...
It seems my bed deflated under me. I've been sleeping on an air mattress for the past six months because it's cheaper than a real bed plus sheets plus washing expense. Well, I got what I paid for. Today, while I'm out, I'll drop another thirty bucks for another six months of restful nights. Otherwise, I'm feeling... well... I don't know if I want to go into how I'm feeling right now, because I can tell you right now it's already not pretty and getting uglier by the second. I hope I don't go fucking postal today. I really hope. I'm glad I didn't get around to buying that revolver.
So yes! The worst start you can EVER GET OFF TO in a day is to not have the previous day END. -_-;
Oh fuck it all. I'm going to start spilling my guts right now and I already know nobody's going to read this anyway... except for one person. I know you're looking right now, and I can't really hold it against you when you're this desperate to hear even a peep out of me.
I don't care how long or short ago it was but I just recently had one of my roommates start biting my head off for no goddamned fucking reason that makes ANY sense at all except to THEMSELF, excused with some hair-brained tract of obscure, pointless philosophy that they REFUSED to get off of simply because I said something tantamount to saying aquamarine when you intended to say cyan. I JUST bought a book that I REALLY wanted to read and that day I didn't wanna go out, I didn't wanna see the world or have an adventure, I just wanted to SIT AT HOME AND FUCKING READ, OKAY? But my roommate came to the door of my bedroom this fateful day and asked me if I DID want to go out and have an adventure. My response was "no thanks". The result? The spanish inquisition. I should've expected it of course e.e SO, i'm getting GRILLED. Eventually I'm just tired of it and put my foot down on "I don't want to do anything today!!"
So, a few hours later they come home and my roommate starts to ATTACK ME on AIM accusing me of being so depressed and unhealthily locked up like a hermit, and though it was claimed LATER that it was because they 'cared' about me, what happened next SURE AS FUCK DID NOT FEEL AT ALL LIKE THEY "CARED" for ANYTHING except to use me for fucking TARGET PRACTICE!
My first mistake was disagreeing, saying that I'm not depressed, saying that I WASN'T doing 'nothing' and wasting away, that I just wanted to sit down and READ. That I wanted to talk to my online friends because I NEVER got to see them, and that I wanted some time to myself since living with roommates means SUBSTANTIALLY less privacy--I spend most of my time locked up in my room as it is. My roommate backfired by telling me "YOU TREAT ME LIKE SHIT", telling me I've been ignoring them. I try again and again just to slip out of this and try to just get on with my fucking night because I had shit that I wanted to do, but they just wouldn't have it! THEY wanted a logical debate! FUCK!
So eventually I make the second mistake, asking, and I paraphrase, "Isn't it a little extreme to be taking potshots at someone who basically pays your RENT in exchange for one of your rooms?" ... So then I am subsequently told that I am excommunicated from their little 'family', that i'm no longer a friend, but a BOARDER. I came out and... my roommate is IGNORING me. Because, though I know it wasn't so after all, I could have SWORN they were JOKING. I haven't seen this person treat ANYBODY like that, not even GRIEFERS. It was so completely outlandish and baseless I thought both of my roommates were planning to jump out and yell SURPRISE!
but no. Eventually I crawl back into my little hole, sufficiently spooked... When the pizza I ordered for us to eat comes in, the roommate picking the fight with me Disowns it, REFUSES it on the basis that it was tainted by my influence, and throws it into my room with other shit they thought was mine, telling me to stay out of THEIR FRIDGE.
... I sound pissed now. I am pissed now. it STILL hurts, and the stupid fuck still doesn't think they did anything wrong even though they've calmed down--apparantly I'M THE ONE ON PROBATION HERE EVEN NOW... but let me tell you...
I was crying.
I was curled up in my room crying.
Thank god my other roommate started standing up for me... but i could hear them fighting in the living room and suddenly I felt like a little kid hiding under the stairs while his parents start shrieking at eachother and throwing shit around.
I was talking to spiderfox on the phone... he was my only anchor to sanity in all this. I'd never felt more completely alone in my life than when one of the two people I trusted enough to actually MOVE IN with suddenly decided I was subhuman...
Between the shrieks and crashing noises, I was whimpering about how frightened I was, how hopeless I felt... but Spiderfox was there... hanging on every word... I could swear I felt like he was hugging me through the phone. He reassured me... told me I should pack my bags and leave, because he didn't want me to be hurt like this again or, even worse, to risk perhaps even my health by rooming with someone who, according to his perspective, must've sounded like some kind of psychotic nutcase... he could hear everything through the phone. every last word they were hurling at eachother.
... I'm afraid I might fall in love with him... my instincts reel at it but, there is not a single person in existence that I trust more than Spider. ... I don't even know if he realizes how much he means to me. I have been entertaining, lately, the good fun of casually declaring various friends of mine to be gods.... but he really has saved me, more than once, more than twice, maybe even more than ten times. When everything else is shot to hell, Spider never once turned his back on me... always with open arms, he sat patiently and listened to whatever woes had leadened my heart, whenever they came... I would say i'd die for him, but death is easy when you don't feel like your life is worth much. No. I know that he'd actually miss me if I were gone. It is far more substantial for me to tell you that I'm living for him.
Please forgive me... I know it sounds awkward, that it's hard to wrap your mind around something so foreign and alien... The past few weeks, my emotions have been fucked around in so many more ways than I could've ever quantified before... not even I know how I feel about anything right now... It's a very confusing time for me and it's hard to not feel like I'm getting swept away in all this...
*sigh*
...moving on...
roughly 24 hours after one of my roommates decided to hate me, they turn around and decide to forgive me...
as if I wasn't the guy who took a six hundred mile, eighteen hour bus ride only to cough up almost half of everything I earn just so the both of them can keep a roof over their heads and food on their plates... Well... one of them gets it. the other doesn't.
Maybe it was forgotten.
... I have so many questions that I don't even want to know the answers to right now. I still don't regret moving, but I am beginning to regret being... who I am. Or more precisely, for not being who I looked like I was online. My personality has been shattered and reconstituted; there really isn't that much of a baseline for me to work from. That doesn't make it right... that just explains how it could be possible that I can appear to be one kind of person online yet another person entirely in person. I don't like this part of myself...
It's made me question the validity of being here, even if I'm glad I'm not in massachusetts anymore. The validity as in... they were expecing x to arrive and got a q. I was expecting to arrive in a house of e's, but ended up finding that my roommates are a j and a p or something. It's all jumbled up. ... do they regret me? I certainly feel like they do...
... Otherwise, the goings-on in my life are... RP and Work sprinkled lightly with Art, emotional, mental, physical, and fiscal discomfort, and the longing to return to SecondLife and Activeworlds to make good on the projects I abandoned there.
in RP, Shadow Haven is about to get stormed by the combined efforts of all that remains of the Imaginarium's old 'ass kicker' guilds... All the remains of the Blackwing family, the Darkarma family, the Bloodwing clan, and even some of the Dark Realm. Cyrus got blindsided with knowledge of impending disaster while he was out travling with the airship captain Morighanna, to show his son the blue sky outside the edges of the storm. I digress.
Cyrus has to make regal decisions now and it's killing him. He has to somehow get back to SH and either prevent the attack or fend it off. And this is an attack coming from the furthest extent you can get of 'power' without being an obvious twink. Usually that only means you're a less-than-obvious twink... but the opposition has a reputation to live up to. It's just... so much shit hitting the fan. So much shit.
I'm getting complaint from one of my oldest, most trustworthy members threatening to LEAVE if I OOCly authorize this entire thing, but how is it going to look if we turn down some of the biggest names in the realm's history...? It'll frag whatever little credibility we have left. Nobody will ever come to SH anymore. I'm feeling rather cornered. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
There seems to be ... an actually surprising number of people willing to stand up for Shadow Haven, but I'm afraid that under the crushing god-level might of the aggressor faction, it just won't be enough. My members are too honorable to take mortal hits and NOT die. Shadow Haven will cease existing without anybody left to live in it... even if I upload it and generate an alt to be present. So... We're up a creek without a paddle and when I'm not dreading how to deal with it (whilst making no progress on figuring OUT how to deal with it), I'm completely avoiding it. This just isn't healthy
:(
At my IRL job, They still expect me to HAVE my Department of Criminal Justice Services private security license, even though for not just me but practically EVERYBODY else, the paperwork keeps getting lost in the bureaucracy. They're going to have to take me off the schedule if I don't have that license very soon. But at least they have a plan on how to help me do it. I need to bring my ID number verification documents to the training center and get my picture re-taken so they can print it. Then it's the waiting game again. it just figures.
I wouldn't be surprised if they told me another piece of my paperwork 'expired' again... *sigh*
This is... so sad.
You see my art here... that's probably the one stable thing in my life (aside from Spider... x.x gods he'd be so spooked if he knew I were speaking of him like this... I feel bad already). I am still at least finding the ability to draw something every now and then, and the last two pictures I made really feel collectively, to me, like yet another milestone. "level up" you might say. I think I've finally found a level of consistency in myself: my art looks like storybook illustrations. That's who I am and what my pictures are. I could really get used to that...
but on Discomforts...
I have found that what goes around comes around. The girl I've been so attached to, chasing fruitlessly... I now know how creepy I must've been sounding. Bequeathing your love to someone who doesn't feel they're capable of reciprocating... It's ... not fun. But perhaps the worst part, at least for me, on EITHER end of a situation like that... is the loss of possibility. It closes a possible future off from happening. Yet... all it does is serve to make me feel disgusted with myself.
There's someone... that misses me a lot in massachusetts. Yes. I'm talking about you, I'm afraid. This someone... --you, possibly--once realized, and thus had me realize, that I was using them. Using someone is ... not a good feeling. I had one of my 'never again' moments back then... and I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to defeat possibly the one and only strongest defining facet of my personality. The 'never again'... it may be the the cause of my low self-esteem right now... but it's also the reason why I have friends that have esteem in me at all. ... believe it or not, once upon a time I was even more obnoxious than I am now... and it was that ... 'resolver' in myself that allowed me to change into who i am today. if i break that... that ... resolution... i may not be me anymore. I may not even be a person anymore. It's.. my foundation.
So I am torn over the fear of using someone unfairly. And though they have the legally exclusive right to look out for THEIR OWN protection, and to claim that it's none of my business to 'protect' them from myself... how can I assent to that when someone is hurt through my inaction and the blame eventually is destined to land on ME? ... I have more wound-licking to do.
January, oddly enough, is a great month for wanting to curl up in a hole and disappear...
I also have a few other friends on AIM (no, not you this time), who are talking to me nonstop yet, nothing is really said in these conversations and no real progress toward anything is made. then again, that's awfully cold to say... they just want company and conversation... yet i'm feeling so hunted... so harried lately from every direction, it just adds to the 'crawl in a hole' feeling
:(
Physically speaking, though, my discomfort comes from eating too much. spending too much on food, which is contributing to my fiscal discomfort. ... I'm not going into detail about these. I've vomited enough bile about the less-than-charming aspects of my experience. I'm ashamed... so i'm gonna stop for now...
Origins
General | Posted 19 years agoI'm gonna tell you a little bit about me, or more specifically, my avatar: Stone Hawk.
It was just at the beginning of the year 2000. Ah, remember the days? Napster was still around in its first incarnation and the industrial world of the previous era had been reeling with the shocks and terrors of the great digital unknown. It's a shame that those battles didn't turn out better than they did... but regardless their result, that was when I began the journey toward awakening to become who I am today. On NAPSTER.
You see, I got attached to a specific server, and then a specific room in that server, where I found like-minded individuals that, honestly, I'd never thought I'd find in my life. The 'community' was an impromptu construction, with people filling various niches of their own accord, with no direction or plan except 'this feels right'. In this open-ended environment, there was a casual RP setting. We turned the chatrooms into sets and scenes.
I'll not go into what my character was or what he did or what titles he had, as I was a TOTAL TWINK back then... but regardless, he had come to run into spiritual guidance at some point, specifically ABOUT his/my twinkiness. This spiritual guide, among other things, taught or at least Suggested balance and self-control. Now, enevitably in a chatroom full of 14-year-olds, there WILL be a lot of bullshit--but I seperated the worthwhile from the not-worthwhile, and found some scarce scraps of Genuine wisdom. Those scraps, I treasured, and they led me to do my own research and to learn on my own, through more legitimate sources. Perhaps I was not as naive at the time as I thought I was.
For my 'Studies', Master Skarn (as we called him) asked me to pick a name for myself, a name to represent my character's apprenticeship.
I forgot how he helped me choose, what exactly he explained that guided me to this decision, but I eventually fell upon the name "Stone Hawk", and it stuck ever since. I think what made it the most special was that it was not a name that was ASSIGNED to me; it was not a name that the government or my family forced me to use... it was a special name, just for Master Skarnkai and my closest, dearest friends to use. It was, perhaps sadly, perhaps humorously, perhaps pathetically, the first name I was called with respect. It was the name people who respected me called me.
After Napster failed, though, Stoney faded into oblivion for half a year. But eventually there would always be someplace where I needed to identify myself. Any community that needed something to call me, I'd rather be known as Stone Hawk.
When I took it to Furcadia, I needed an avatar that was just for me, just so I could explore without the pretenses of any character backgrounds or personalities. Naturally, Stone Hawk sprang to the forefront of my mind. It was enevitable though, that I wanted to RP and didn't switch out the name. I'm not sure where the current IC Stone Hawk came from or when he truly solidified in my mind, but he always carried a quarterstaff and many small daggers hidden around him.
Funny thing, a few days ago I only JUST realized the various inspirations I had for Stone Hawk's character design. In Robert Jordan's book series, the Wheel of Time, there is a character named Mat Cauthon. Mat (short for Matrim) is a quick-witted, smart-tongued gambler whose good fortune only leads him deeper into trouble--but it's not his personality that relates him to Stoney; it's the fact that he is a wielder and wearer of quarterstaves and wide-brimmed hats. Also the fact that his name resembles my IRL one.
I had stone hawk as a character for long before I found Mat Cauthon, but his hat, which has all but become his signature, was really inspired by outside sources, I'm sorry to say. He had his own reasons for preferring a quarterstaff as his weapon of choice, and the supplementation of throwing knives... but both of these are similarities to Mat.
I don't have to worry about any kind of infringement with that hat, though, since Matrim Cauthon's signature is his weapon--rather than a staff, a Naginata (called an Ashandarei in WoT). All I'm saying is... the combination of a hat like that with a weapon like that is not new. IN FACT...
It's one of the most popular portrayals of the norse god, ODIN. Odin, riding the six-or-eight-legged Sleipnir, wielding a spear and wearing that badass hat.
It could be said, though, that there are far more connections between RJ's Matrim Cauthon and Odin. There are many creepy if not intentional references.
1: Heavy plot overshadowing tends to point toward Mat losing an eye, specifically as a deliberate sacrifice, in the future. Odin gave up half his sight for knowledge.
2: Mat was referred to as "The Gambler" and "Son of Battles" by the finn, a mystical race of wish granters and truthsayers. Odin, according to wikipedia, is known also as "The Gambler", but then "Father of Battles".
3: Odin's hall, Valhalla, kept dead heroes of the past to be called back to fight in the final battle, the Ragnarok. Meanwhile, Mat is entrusted with The Horn of Valere, a mystical device that, when sounded, shall recall the dead heroes of ages past to fight in HIS world's final battle, Tarmon Gaidon.
4: Mat's Naginata (or Ashandarei) is engraved with "Thought is the arrow of time, Memory never fades, What was asked is given, The price is paid." --this, bracketted by Two Ravens. Odin owned two ravens, Hugin and Munin ( "Thought" and "Memory" ).
I am glad at least that I am not guilty of outright character theft... By no means is Stoney a gambler or even a risk-taker, just a simple traveler, "totally lost but making great time, don't know where to go but gettin' there quick"!
What can I say. Big sticks are best compliment with Bigger hats.
It was just at the beginning of the year 2000. Ah, remember the days? Napster was still around in its first incarnation and the industrial world of the previous era had been reeling with the shocks and terrors of the great digital unknown. It's a shame that those battles didn't turn out better than they did... but regardless their result, that was when I began the journey toward awakening to become who I am today. On NAPSTER.
You see, I got attached to a specific server, and then a specific room in that server, where I found like-minded individuals that, honestly, I'd never thought I'd find in my life. The 'community' was an impromptu construction, with people filling various niches of their own accord, with no direction or plan except 'this feels right'. In this open-ended environment, there was a casual RP setting. We turned the chatrooms into sets and scenes.
I'll not go into what my character was or what he did or what titles he had, as I was a TOTAL TWINK back then... but regardless, he had come to run into spiritual guidance at some point, specifically ABOUT his/my twinkiness. This spiritual guide, among other things, taught or at least Suggested balance and self-control. Now, enevitably in a chatroom full of 14-year-olds, there WILL be a lot of bullshit--but I seperated the worthwhile from the not-worthwhile, and found some scarce scraps of Genuine wisdom. Those scraps, I treasured, and they led me to do my own research and to learn on my own, through more legitimate sources. Perhaps I was not as naive at the time as I thought I was.
For my 'Studies', Master Skarn (as we called him) asked me to pick a name for myself, a name to represent my character's apprenticeship.
I forgot how he helped me choose, what exactly he explained that guided me to this decision, but I eventually fell upon the name "Stone Hawk", and it stuck ever since. I think what made it the most special was that it was not a name that was ASSIGNED to me; it was not a name that the government or my family forced me to use... it was a special name, just for Master Skarnkai and my closest, dearest friends to use. It was, perhaps sadly, perhaps humorously, perhaps pathetically, the first name I was called with respect. It was the name people who respected me called me.
After Napster failed, though, Stoney faded into oblivion for half a year. But eventually there would always be someplace where I needed to identify myself. Any community that needed something to call me, I'd rather be known as Stone Hawk.
When I took it to Furcadia, I needed an avatar that was just for me, just so I could explore without the pretenses of any character backgrounds or personalities. Naturally, Stone Hawk sprang to the forefront of my mind. It was enevitable though, that I wanted to RP and didn't switch out the name. I'm not sure where the current IC Stone Hawk came from or when he truly solidified in my mind, but he always carried a quarterstaff and many small daggers hidden around him.
Funny thing, a few days ago I only JUST realized the various inspirations I had for Stone Hawk's character design. In Robert Jordan's book series, the Wheel of Time, there is a character named Mat Cauthon. Mat (short for Matrim) is a quick-witted, smart-tongued gambler whose good fortune only leads him deeper into trouble--but it's not his personality that relates him to Stoney; it's the fact that he is a wielder and wearer of quarterstaves and wide-brimmed hats. Also the fact that his name resembles my IRL one.
I had stone hawk as a character for long before I found Mat Cauthon, but his hat, which has all but become his signature, was really inspired by outside sources, I'm sorry to say. He had his own reasons for preferring a quarterstaff as his weapon of choice, and the supplementation of throwing knives... but both of these are similarities to Mat.
I don't have to worry about any kind of infringement with that hat, though, since Matrim Cauthon's signature is his weapon--rather than a staff, a Naginata (called an Ashandarei in WoT). All I'm saying is... the combination of a hat like that with a weapon like that is not new. IN FACT...
It's one of the most popular portrayals of the norse god, ODIN. Odin, riding the six-or-eight-legged Sleipnir, wielding a spear and wearing that badass hat.
It could be said, though, that there are far more connections between RJ's Matrim Cauthon and Odin. There are many creepy if not intentional references.
1: Heavy plot overshadowing tends to point toward Mat losing an eye, specifically as a deliberate sacrifice, in the future. Odin gave up half his sight for knowledge.
2: Mat was referred to as "The Gambler" and "Son of Battles" by the finn, a mystical race of wish granters and truthsayers. Odin, according to wikipedia, is known also as "The Gambler", but then "Father of Battles".
3: Odin's hall, Valhalla, kept dead heroes of the past to be called back to fight in the final battle, the Ragnarok. Meanwhile, Mat is entrusted with The Horn of Valere, a mystical device that, when sounded, shall recall the dead heroes of ages past to fight in HIS world's final battle, Tarmon Gaidon.
4: Mat's Naginata (or Ashandarei) is engraved with "Thought is the arrow of time, Memory never fades, What was asked is given, The price is paid." --this, bracketted by Two Ravens. Odin owned two ravens, Hugin and Munin ( "Thought" and "Memory" ).
I am glad at least that I am not guilty of outright character theft... By no means is Stoney a gambler or even a risk-taker, just a simple traveler, "totally lost but making great time, don't know where to go but gettin' there quick"!
What can I say. Big sticks are best compliment with Bigger hats.
Rules
General | Posted 19 years agoSince I came to furaffinity, there have been a few standards I've been keeping to in my account activity. I've been trying to make sure that I don't watch any more people than are watching me, for instance. But perhaps one of the most obvious tendencies I have is visible in my Favorites.
Earlier on, I was especially ESPECIALLY intrigued by sketch work. But more recently, you may have noticed a different twist, a different running similarity. Sentimental artwork is suddenly climbing to the top of my preference, and I just noticed.
No, it probably isn't important, but it makes me think alright.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm not perfect. I'll be the first to admit that I do things that other people consider a little less than perfectly clean and g-rated. But no matter how humble I'll get, I'll NEVER be the first to admit my gazings at porn, even furry porn :p because there are FAR more furverts out there that are exponentially more raunchy than I am. Still, it came as a surprise to me that, just as I'd said months ago, I get a better, stronger, purer feeling out of love art than I do out of lust art.
Touchmybadger just drew the most adorable picture (again) of herself and her mate, this one portraying them preparing for their wedding. The picture, if you can even imagine it, was... absolutely filled, saturated, drenched with every drop of breathless heart-pounding anticipiation and hope that you could possibly cram into such a moment. It was so moving I could hardly breathe, heart in my throat, eyes tearing, butterflies in my stomach, I could swear it was like being there.
There isn't anything but love that can make that kind of reaction. None of my characters have ever implanted such an intensity into me. It's almost enough for me to boot up my old connection to JudeoChristian God just to see if he'd answer a prayer: that Badger and Brown Wolf have a life ahead of them exactly as they hope and pray for it. I want to invest all the faith and hope I have left in this wretched spinning dirtclod called earth on the one, perhaps foolish, possibility that THEY, at least THEY can be deliriously happy.
Somebody has to be that happy... somebody, somewhere. I just want to be sure that that kind of happiness can exist. If I can just be sure of that, the world truly will seem not nearly so bleak as it had to me in the past ever again. If that kind of love can exist, maybe, just maybe, humanity and civilization aren't -so- bad... Maybe I don't need to be so bitter or wear such a smartassed mask. Maybe I don't have to pretend I'm so jaded and cynical.
I'm sorry for talking about you like this, Ms. Badger, but +watching you has started to change my life even if in the most obscure (though hardly miniscule!) ways. I've actually learned a lot about myself and love, even if all that's done is help me realize to an even fuller extent just how little I really understand at all x.x it's the journey that counts; and the hills haven't seemed as steep, the trails as rough, the roads as winding, as I've watched from FA's vantage.
And some of you, i'm positive, will think this is cheesey. that this is corny.
I don't care. Things become cliche for a reason, and often not because they're false, but because they're TRUE.
well I'm gonna try and wrap this up. it's late.
Just... I wish TouchMyBadger the best of luck and the highest of hopes, and just maybe the_brown_wolf will get up the guts to propose.
Earlier on, I was especially ESPECIALLY intrigued by sketch work. But more recently, you may have noticed a different twist, a different running similarity. Sentimental artwork is suddenly climbing to the top of my preference, and I just noticed.
No, it probably isn't important, but it makes me think alright.
I'll be the first to admit that I'm not perfect. I'll be the first to admit that I do things that other people consider a little less than perfectly clean and g-rated. But no matter how humble I'll get, I'll NEVER be the first to admit my gazings at porn, even furry porn :p because there are FAR more furverts out there that are exponentially more raunchy than I am. Still, it came as a surprise to me that, just as I'd said months ago, I get a better, stronger, purer feeling out of love art than I do out of lust art.
Touchmybadger just drew the most adorable picture (again) of herself and her mate, this one portraying them preparing for their wedding. The picture, if you can even imagine it, was... absolutely filled, saturated, drenched with every drop of breathless heart-pounding anticipiation and hope that you could possibly cram into such a moment. It was so moving I could hardly breathe, heart in my throat, eyes tearing, butterflies in my stomach, I could swear it was like being there.
There isn't anything but love that can make that kind of reaction. None of my characters have ever implanted such an intensity into me. It's almost enough for me to boot up my old connection to JudeoChristian God just to see if he'd answer a prayer: that Badger and Brown Wolf have a life ahead of them exactly as they hope and pray for it. I want to invest all the faith and hope I have left in this wretched spinning dirtclod called earth on the one, perhaps foolish, possibility that THEY, at least THEY can be deliriously happy.
Somebody has to be that happy... somebody, somewhere. I just want to be sure that that kind of happiness can exist. If I can just be sure of that, the world truly will seem not nearly so bleak as it had to me in the past ever again. If that kind of love can exist, maybe, just maybe, humanity and civilization aren't -so- bad... Maybe I don't need to be so bitter or wear such a smartassed mask. Maybe I don't have to pretend I'm so jaded and cynical.
I'm sorry for talking about you like this, Ms. Badger, but +watching you has started to change my life even if in the most obscure (though hardly miniscule!) ways. I've actually learned a lot about myself and love, even if all that's done is help me realize to an even fuller extent just how little I really understand at all x.x it's the journey that counts; and the hills haven't seemed as steep, the trails as rough, the roads as winding, as I've watched from FA's vantage.
And some of you, i'm positive, will think this is cheesey. that this is corny.
I don't care. Things become cliche for a reason, and often not because they're false, but because they're TRUE.
well I'm gonna try and wrap this up. it's late.
Just... I wish TouchMyBadger the best of luck and the highest of hopes, and just maybe the_brown_wolf will get up the guts to propose.
Dirtballs.
General | Posted 19 years agoI'll jump on the bandwagon! Whee.
About one thousand nine hundred and sixty-something years ago, there was said to be a guy that wanted us to stop being assholes to eachother. We nailed him to a tree. You know, I never really thought of it before, but now that it's in the forefront of my mind, we really are focussing one hell of a lot on this 'christ' guy if our measure of time is based on after he was around, and before he was around. I think there have been more significant watersheds, but this is exactly what you should come to expect from something like a religeon. A scary mind control anti-reality death cult. If you think about it that's what it is. A good chunk of the whole world kneels before an effigy of some poor bastard bleeding to death staked to a fucking tree. almost two millenia later, everybody seems to have forgotten that THAT REALLY FUCKING HURTS, yet they'll never even blink before shoving it in YOUR face. Sure, they're desensitized from rubbing their own faces in it, but they'll throw it at anybody who upsets them just like monkeys stockpiling their own feces for projectile combat. They're fine and dandy fucking over their fellow man but if you even think about having an opinion that differs even the slightest, they'll call down the wrath of the allmighty on you, and chuckle smugly to themselves after nothing happens believing blindly that 'oh, they'll get theirs'.
It's no wonder I get so creeped out when I hear 'christian rock' or see 'christian groups' or 'christian this' or 'christian that'. it's not even because it's christian. It's because RELIGEON MAKES YOU FUCKING PSYCHOTIC! Look at all those people in the middle east strapping C4 to their chests and running into a crowded bus station! BOOM FOR ALLAH! YOUR FLYING FLAMING GUTS MAKES GOD SMILE. When was the last time you heard of an ATHEIST blowing out a public place? I'll tell you exactly what AND when. It was columbine high school. TWO FUCKWITS make ONE STATEMENT about 'there is no God' before splattering that poor girl's brains across the classroom and immediately it is emblazoned irreversably into the public psyche as 'this is what not going to church does to YOU, children!' and causes the media, the government, and mainstream society to kick into HIGH GEAR trying to persecute any connection to video games, trenchcoats, or feeling depressed because everybody around you gets a KICK out of KICKING YOU.
Meanwhile hundreds of people die EVERY DAY because of god-fearing faith-charged religious nutjobs teaching their faith via virtue of HOT FLYING LEAD. Marijuana was supposedly banned because it had an infinitessimally minute possibility of driving someone apeshit berzerk (which turned out FALSE), yet the odds of someone's RELIGEON driving them apeshit berserk is IMMEASURABLY more probable, yet they haven't banned THAT? No. No, I won't go there any further than I already have. If you wanna believe something, that's fine by me; but if you wanna start ramming your beliefs DOWN MY THROAT, I will ram my boot UP YOUR ASS.
We've got a lot of people today who pass off their every achievement on Imaginary Guy #1 and all their failures on Imaginary Guy #2. God as they know it is that subliminal construct in the back of their mind that tells them what they're already supposed to know but only speaks up WHEN IT IS CONVENIENT FOR THEM. If God were to show up, he'd be... .. actually I'll tell you.
He'd be very, very sad.
There's countless multitudes of people all around this wretched whirling dirtclod using him as an excuse for excessive, blind, mindless, feral HATE. I don't have to be a God to know that if people were using me like that, I'd feel like shit too. I've seen it with my own eyes, these fucktards claiming the authority to determine or identify whether someone is going to HELL or not, or whether or not "God" hates them. (Fred phelps anyone? I'd like mine medium rare, please, with barbecue sauce.) Again, god transposition: I'd feel really betrayed if people were going around telling other people that I HATE them. There are very few people that I actually hate, as surprising as that may sound by my occasional firebrand rants. Things piss me off. Or sometimes I'll actually be genuinely amused and expressing it in the loudest way I possibly can.
But even fred phelps... I don't hate him; I just think he'd be tastey. That kind of fuckwit makes me want to try cannibalism. Oh wait, that's not cannibalism; he'd have to be HUMAN for it to be cannibalism. Anything that stupid or barbarric can't possibly be human. All that hate must act like a marinade. Oh. Right. You might not even know what he's supposed to be. Ever been to godhatesfags.com? That's his people, right there, and all of them are shining examples of evolutionary mechanism just waiting to happen. Every last one of his deranged sheep is ripe for slaughter. They picket the funerals of dead soldiers, and of people who didn't happen to be 'straight'. But who am I to talk. I'm just one wolf.
But that's near the more extreme end of the religeous spectrum. Beyond that is faith-based suicide, faith-based murder, faith-baised murder-suicide, faith-based mass-murder-suicide etc.
Travelling toward lesser regions of the scale are two-faced 'community service' institutions. Soup kitchens where they only serve you if you go to church, profess faith in God, or sit down and listen to a sermon for an hour. And then slightly less, and less, where the glaring and unreasonable qualities become less and less obvious, until you land on pollitical correctness. Because, those religeous people are scary as fuck and if we insult them, THEY'LL FUCKIN' KILL US! or sue.
so, while 'God' is proferring upon a chunk of the population his infinite wisdom to go kill that person over there, the rest of us are left scrambling in fear of inspiring their divine explodie flamey burny bleedy screamy wrath. We do this by making accomodations: needless, pointless accomodations for people who don't deserve accomodation OR patience OR even the time of day. People who are so EASILY bruised and INSULTED by seeing the wrong arrangement of geometric shapes stacked together in a mall display, yet completely oblivious to the insurmountable agony they dole out with LAWSUITS on the tame end, and GUNS and EXPLOSIVES on the vicious end--since fucking WHEN has interior decorating meant LIFE OR DEATH to anyone! NOT EVEN STEREOTYPICAL FLAMING HOMOSEXUAL MEN CARE ABOUT IT -THAT- MUCH. FUCK! if the stakes were THAT high in that field ALL the time, they'd start scratching their asses, burping out loud, swilling beer, whistling and howling at women, and watching... *SHUDDER* ...FOOTBALL.
haven't you ever noticed that the single most repeated sentiment in all religeons was simply "stop being a jerk"? Haven't you ever noticed how easily and quickly this simple message has been diluted by hang-on messages of supurfluous greed and arrogance by those who were charged with spreading that one simple message? You see, what we HAVE here, is an ideal that started out like tastey pie. Mmmmmtasteypie. yes. Doesn't matter what flavor. It's tastey, trust me. Then you slice up the pie and you give it to these people you TRUSTED to pass it out so everybody gets a little bit of that tasteyness. But every one of these jerks you've handed it to makes their own supposition about how else teh pie should taste, adding little things to it, little bits and pieces and odds and ends. one of them thinks it'd be funny to put paperclips in it. another one thinks it'll be a hoot to add toenail clippings. Another one tosses in a packet of ketchup--not the ketchup, but that wierd plastic foil wrapper it's kept in. Your pie is lookin' nastier and nastier, but people have liked the tastiness so much that they'll eat it even with all that junk in it. Soon they start to get sick.
You didn't poison the pie, but sure enough, your tastey pie is poison now.
That may not make very much sense, but I really wanted to write about tastey pie.
But there are a few striking similarities come to think of it.
Everybody loves the well-meaning message of any given philosophy, but sold with it is a bunch of junk that was added by over-ambitious assholes who can't see beyond their own lifespans. The shit that was added in by way of selfishiness and greed, being what it is, sounds very nice to people, and soon they start using the pollution that dilutes the message--the interference of selfishness and greed--to justify their OWN selfishiness and greed. It snowballs, as it always will. Soon enough, you're so wrapped up in selfishness and greed that you totally forgot the original message.
The only way to really understand yourself or come to terms with your own feelings or opinions on the world is to figure it out on your own. Using a pre-established crutch, wearied and tarnished but the uses of countless multitudes before you, is not only intellectual sloth, but also (as I'm sure you've seen) potentially dangerous.
The moral of our story, kids, is:
BAKE YOUR OWN GOD DAMNED PIE YOU GREEDY BASTARD.
*ahem*
...I'm done.
About one thousand nine hundred and sixty-something years ago, there was said to be a guy that wanted us to stop being assholes to eachother. We nailed him to a tree. You know, I never really thought of it before, but now that it's in the forefront of my mind, we really are focussing one hell of a lot on this 'christ' guy if our measure of time is based on after he was around, and before he was around. I think there have been more significant watersheds, but this is exactly what you should come to expect from something like a religeon. A scary mind control anti-reality death cult. If you think about it that's what it is. A good chunk of the whole world kneels before an effigy of some poor bastard bleeding to death staked to a fucking tree. almost two millenia later, everybody seems to have forgotten that THAT REALLY FUCKING HURTS, yet they'll never even blink before shoving it in YOUR face. Sure, they're desensitized from rubbing their own faces in it, but they'll throw it at anybody who upsets them just like monkeys stockpiling their own feces for projectile combat. They're fine and dandy fucking over their fellow man but if you even think about having an opinion that differs even the slightest, they'll call down the wrath of the allmighty on you, and chuckle smugly to themselves after nothing happens believing blindly that 'oh, they'll get theirs'.
It's no wonder I get so creeped out when I hear 'christian rock' or see 'christian groups' or 'christian this' or 'christian that'. it's not even because it's christian. It's because RELIGEON MAKES YOU FUCKING PSYCHOTIC! Look at all those people in the middle east strapping C4 to their chests and running into a crowded bus station! BOOM FOR ALLAH! YOUR FLYING FLAMING GUTS MAKES GOD SMILE. When was the last time you heard of an ATHEIST blowing out a public place? I'll tell you exactly what AND when. It was columbine high school. TWO FUCKWITS make ONE STATEMENT about 'there is no God' before splattering that poor girl's brains across the classroom and immediately it is emblazoned irreversably into the public psyche as 'this is what not going to church does to YOU, children!' and causes the media, the government, and mainstream society to kick into HIGH GEAR trying to persecute any connection to video games, trenchcoats, or feeling depressed because everybody around you gets a KICK out of KICKING YOU.
Meanwhile hundreds of people die EVERY DAY because of god-fearing faith-charged religious nutjobs teaching their faith via virtue of HOT FLYING LEAD. Marijuana was supposedly banned because it had an infinitessimally minute possibility of driving someone apeshit berzerk (which turned out FALSE), yet the odds of someone's RELIGEON driving them apeshit berserk is IMMEASURABLY more probable, yet they haven't banned THAT? No. No, I won't go there any further than I already have. If you wanna believe something, that's fine by me; but if you wanna start ramming your beliefs DOWN MY THROAT, I will ram my boot UP YOUR ASS.
We've got a lot of people today who pass off their every achievement on Imaginary Guy #1 and all their failures on Imaginary Guy #2. God as they know it is that subliminal construct in the back of their mind that tells them what they're already supposed to know but only speaks up WHEN IT IS CONVENIENT FOR THEM. If God were to show up, he'd be... .. actually I'll tell you.
He'd be very, very sad.
There's countless multitudes of people all around this wretched whirling dirtclod using him as an excuse for excessive, blind, mindless, feral HATE. I don't have to be a God to know that if people were using me like that, I'd feel like shit too. I've seen it with my own eyes, these fucktards claiming the authority to determine or identify whether someone is going to HELL or not, or whether or not "God" hates them. (Fred phelps anyone? I'd like mine medium rare, please, with barbecue sauce.) Again, god transposition: I'd feel really betrayed if people were going around telling other people that I HATE them. There are very few people that I actually hate, as surprising as that may sound by my occasional firebrand rants. Things piss me off. Or sometimes I'll actually be genuinely amused and expressing it in the loudest way I possibly can.
But even fred phelps... I don't hate him; I just think he'd be tastey. That kind of fuckwit makes me want to try cannibalism. Oh wait, that's not cannibalism; he'd have to be HUMAN for it to be cannibalism. Anything that stupid or barbarric can't possibly be human. All that hate must act like a marinade. Oh. Right. You might not even know what he's supposed to be. Ever been to godhatesfags.com? That's his people, right there, and all of them are shining examples of evolutionary mechanism just waiting to happen. Every last one of his deranged sheep is ripe for slaughter. They picket the funerals of dead soldiers, and of people who didn't happen to be 'straight'. But who am I to talk. I'm just one wolf.
But that's near the more extreme end of the religeous spectrum. Beyond that is faith-based suicide, faith-based murder, faith-baised murder-suicide, faith-based mass-murder-suicide etc.
Travelling toward lesser regions of the scale are two-faced 'community service' institutions. Soup kitchens where they only serve you if you go to church, profess faith in God, or sit down and listen to a sermon for an hour. And then slightly less, and less, where the glaring and unreasonable qualities become less and less obvious, until you land on pollitical correctness. Because, those religeous people are scary as fuck and if we insult them, THEY'LL FUCKIN' KILL US! or sue.
so, while 'God' is proferring upon a chunk of the population his infinite wisdom to go kill that person over there, the rest of us are left scrambling in fear of inspiring their divine explodie flamey burny bleedy screamy wrath. We do this by making accomodations: needless, pointless accomodations for people who don't deserve accomodation OR patience OR even the time of day. People who are so EASILY bruised and INSULTED by seeing the wrong arrangement of geometric shapes stacked together in a mall display, yet completely oblivious to the insurmountable agony they dole out with LAWSUITS on the tame end, and GUNS and EXPLOSIVES on the vicious end--since fucking WHEN has interior decorating meant LIFE OR DEATH to anyone! NOT EVEN STEREOTYPICAL FLAMING HOMOSEXUAL MEN CARE ABOUT IT -THAT- MUCH. FUCK! if the stakes were THAT high in that field ALL the time, they'd start scratching their asses, burping out loud, swilling beer, whistling and howling at women, and watching... *SHUDDER* ...FOOTBALL.
haven't you ever noticed that the single most repeated sentiment in all religeons was simply "stop being a jerk"? Haven't you ever noticed how easily and quickly this simple message has been diluted by hang-on messages of supurfluous greed and arrogance by those who were charged with spreading that one simple message? You see, what we HAVE here, is an ideal that started out like tastey pie. Mmmmmtasteypie. yes. Doesn't matter what flavor. It's tastey, trust me. Then you slice up the pie and you give it to these people you TRUSTED to pass it out so everybody gets a little bit of that tasteyness. But every one of these jerks you've handed it to makes their own supposition about how else teh pie should taste, adding little things to it, little bits and pieces and odds and ends. one of them thinks it'd be funny to put paperclips in it. another one thinks it'll be a hoot to add toenail clippings. Another one tosses in a packet of ketchup--not the ketchup, but that wierd plastic foil wrapper it's kept in. Your pie is lookin' nastier and nastier, but people have liked the tastiness so much that they'll eat it even with all that junk in it. Soon they start to get sick.
You didn't poison the pie, but sure enough, your tastey pie is poison now.
That may not make very much sense, but I really wanted to write about tastey pie.
But there are a few striking similarities come to think of it.
Everybody loves the well-meaning message of any given philosophy, but sold with it is a bunch of junk that was added by over-ambitious assholes who can't see beyond their own lifespans. The shit that was added in by way of selfishiness and greed, being what it is, sounds very nice to people, and soon they start using the pollution that dilutes the message--the interference of selfishness and greed--to justify their OWN selfishiness and greed. It snowballs, as it always will. Soon enough, you're so wrapped up in selfishness and greed that you totally forgot the original message.
The only way to really understand yourself or come to terms with your own feelings or opinions on the world is to figure it out on your own. Using a pre-established crutch, wearied and tarnished but the uses of countless multitudes before you, is not only intellectual sloth, but also (as I'm sure you've seen) potentially dangerous.
The moral of our story, kids, is:
BAKE YOUR OWN GOD DAMNED PIE YOU GREEDY BASTARD.
*ahem*
...I'm done.
Oh Bugger.
General | Posted 19 years agoToday was... very... very long... I am soooo tired ;_;
I awoke sick. Aching, sweating, shivering, my throat parched and my nose oozing. I could swear I have a fever... i don't know what i'm going to do tomorrow when i'm expected to work...
But today was big for a different reason, and I can't say I really regret it, as the end seems to have justified the means even if it may have made me sicker. you see... we bought a car. We have come into the ownership of a 1975 volkswagen SuperBeetle; all new leather interior, dashboard, stereo system, a high-performance Porsche engine modified for racing... the body is solid STEEL, bumper to bumper--yes, even the bumpers are steel. It's a TOUGH little car.
But aside from kudos and huzzahs for the purchase of this splended vehicle...
Today was the day I learned to drive stick -_- IN THE SPACE OF ABOUT AN HOUR, I had to learn how to not drop the transmission on the road. I'm STILL shaking x.x I must've performed 70 laps in that tiny parking lot, just struggling to not let the car bunnyhop itself into a STALL. The problem for me wasn't remembering to use the clutch. on the contrary, I think I OVERUSE the clutch. it's sort of my panic pedal. The issue for me is giving it enough gas to keep it from HALTING mid-stroke.
I learned a fuckload of things ._. You can't idle bugs. You can't let them just ease forward like an automatic; you're either GOING, or you're NOT. if you try to communicate in any finer shades of the language, you are VERY DISTINCTLY and SORELY not going anywhere. I learned that you do not apply gas in response to letting up the clutch; you let up the clutch as a response to having the engine supplied with enough gas. I also learned, at least, that Volkswagen Beetles are very forgiving beasts, and infinitely patient if you know how to treat them. Don't be afraid. Don't treat it like it's some kind of cheap, fragile toy; a car like this deserves respect and trust. TRUST it with your gas pedal, or it will stall on you, in effect saying "If you can't trust me to accelerate, I can't trust you to drive me."
Nonetheless, however, I remain extremely shaken and tired. Driving stick is fucking INTENSE >_>;; I was NOT ready for this, but by the end of the night, it was up to ONE thing: I want to go home, and we aren't getting home unless I get us there; the busses weren't running anymore for the night and that V-Dub was our only hope. I learned to trust it because I -had- to, and that kind of trust is always draining x.x
I'm sure I'll learn to love its quirks. These cars have personality; you have to communicate. you have to LISTEN. it doesn't HAVE an RPM gauge--you have to HEAR it tell you "I'm topped out, you better shift up!" with its whined plateau. An automatic transmission, it's almost completely one-sided... you press the go pedal and GO you shall. Er, gently. Don't push it or it'll BREAK! --but not a Manual, oh no. You say "GO" and it says "HAH. Right. Is that all you've got!" *shivers* i'm a little scared of it, but I get the feeling the car was getting patient with me, even a little sympathetic. I took the jerks and jumps like reassuring pats on the back "You'll get it... keep trying. Don't worry. Relax."
So, whereas an automatic vehicle is like a slave, a manual is like a partner. at least so far it is. Right now though, it's hard for me to concentrate on ANYTHING while I'm driving... I can hardly keep my mind in one piece!! I find myself FREAKING OUT At the lights i'm coming up to even if they're GREEN. I find myself gripping the wheel white-knuckled with one hand, the STICK white-knuckled in the OTHER, afraid to abandon them--and my left foot poised tense over the clutch. If I wasn't FORGETTING to breathe, I was hyperventilating!
But y'know... A manual... if you're in the right mindset, it's reassuring. It is ... almost liberating, because you DO somewhat feel like you really ARE taking the road into your own hands. I am sure it'll be an unparalleled thrill once I get used to it, IF I DO... But for now, the best I can hope to do is SURVIVE.
With all the practice I did tonight, I feel distinctly as though I'd spent it Experience Grinding, as if I were a measily level-10 trying to master a level-60 EPIC MOUNT.
... I'm still debating as to whether or not I should go Manual when I get my -personal- vehicle.
I awoke sick. Aching, sweating, shivering, my throat parched and my nose oozing. I could swear I have a fever... i don't know what i'm going to do tomorrow when i'm expected to work...
But today was big for a different reason, and I can't say I really regret it, as the end seems to have justified the means even if it may have made me sicker. you see... we bought a car. We have come into the ownership of a 1975 volkswagen SuperBeetle; all new leather interior, dashboard, stereo system, a high-performance Porsche engine modified for racing... the body is solid STEEL, bumper to bumper--yes, even the bumpers are steel. It's a TOUGH little car.
But aside from kudos and huzzahs for the purchase of this splended vehicle...
Today was the day I learned to drive stick -_- IN THE SPACE OF ABOUT AN HOUR, I had to learn how to not drop the transmission on the road. I'm STILL shaking x.x I must've performed 70 laps in that tiny parking lot, just struggling to not let the car bunnyhop itself into a STALL. The problem for me wasn't remembering to use the clutch. on the contrary, I think I OVERUSE the clutch. it's sort of my panic pedal. The issue for me is giving it enough gas to keep it from HALTING mid-stroke.
I learned a fuckload of things ._. You can't idle bugs. You can't let them just ease forward like an automatic; you're either GOING, or you're NOT. if you try to communicate in any finer shades of the language, you are VERY DISTINCTLY and SORELY not going anywhere. I learned that you do not apply gas in response to letting up the clutch; you let up the clutch as a response to having the engine supplied with enough gas. I also learned, at least, that Volkswagen Beetles are very forgiving beasts, and infinitely patient if you know how to treat them. Don't be afraid. Don't treat it like it's some kind of cheap, fragile toy; a car like this deserves respect and trust. TRUST it with your gas pedal, or it will stall on you, in effect saying "If you can't trust me to accelerate, I can't trust you to drive me."
Nonetheless, however, I remain extremely shaken and tired. Driving stick is fucking INTENSE >_>;; I was NOT ready for this, but by the end of the night, it was up to ONE thing: I want to go home, and we aren't getting home unless I get us there; the busses weren't running anymore for the night and that V-Dub was our only hope. I learned to trust it because I -had- to, and that kind of trust is always draining x.x
I'm sure I'll learn to love its quirks. These cars have personality; you have to communicate. you have to LISTEN. it doesn't HAVE an RPM gauge--you have to HEAR it tell you "I'm topped out, you better shift up!" with its whined plateau. An automatic transmission, it's almost completely one-sided... you press the go pedal and GO you shall. Er, gently. Don't push it or it'll BREAK! --but not a Manual, oh no. You say "GO" and it says "HAH. Right. Is that all you've got!" *shivers* i'm a little scared of it, but I get the feeling the car was getting patient with me, even a little sympathetic. I took the jerks and jumps like reassuring pats on the back "You'll get it... keep trying. Don't worry. Relax."
So, whereas an automatic vehicle is like a slave, a manual is like a partner. at least so far it is. Right now though, it's hard for me to concentrate on ANYTHING while I'm driving... I can hardly keep my mind in one piece!! I find myself FREAKING OUT At the lights i'm coming up to even if they're GREEN. I find myself gripping the wheel white-knuckled with one hand, the STICK white-knuckled in the OTHER, afraid to abandon them--and my left foot poised tense over the clutch. If I wasn't FORGETTING to breathe, I was hyperventilating!
But y'know... A manual... if you're in the right mindset, it's reassuring. It is ... almost liberating, because you DO somewhat feel like you really ARE taking the road into your own hands. I am sure it'll be an unparalleled thrill once I get used to it, IF I DO... But for now, the best I can hope to do is SURVIVE.
With all the practice I did tonight, I feel distinctly as though I'd spent it Experience Grinding, as if I were a measily level-10 trying to master a level-60 EPIC MOUNT.
... I'm still debating as to whether or not I should go Manual when I get my -personal- vehicle.
Stream it.
General | Posted 19 years agoIrish accents are just adorable.
Whenever I hear it, especially female, it makes me want to burst into tears of joy; it's just so gods damned cute.
That probably sounds demeaning, but I just can't resolve a better explanation than that. I don't mean anyone any disrespect, but how else can you express that exact quality--the feeling of your heart melting but NOT in the screamy bloody hemorraging death in forty-five-seconds-flat way? Gods, I wish I could do a good irish accent.
Stone Hawk--the character--speaks in a thick irish accent when I can manage to type it, though he has a quirk of it disappearing when a situation gets extremely, extremely bad; he's completely unaware of it. It'd be awesome if I could adequately voice my characters. Hell I'd practically want to do some kind of radio show if I had that kind of vocal flexibility :p espeically if I could even do my FEMALE characters justice XD THAT would be a trip.
My female characters, Adrianna and Allyssa, are actually kind of polar opposites on the surface, but extremely similar deep down. Deep down, they're both soft, lonely, kind, and compassionate, with a deep attachment to cubs and ferals, willing to give care at a moment's notice; devoted, dutiful, dependable... but their Differences... I mean, Adri's a white canine and Ally's a black feline; Ally is sweet and shy while Adri is rough and flamboyant; Adri is strong, self-sufficient, industrious, and proud... but Ally is lost, humble, and doesn't really think she has any useful skills other than maybe cooking. Ally is sensitive and patient; she'll listen to you pour out your heart and give you a hug at the end... but Adri?
Adri's latest community tie was when she lived as a hermit up in the mountains of a place called Greystone Valley, and she only came to town twice a week, saturdays to the general store for supplies and tuesdays to sip tea with one of Runihura's characters, Kiana Langeley. This sad, lonely single mother had a son (Kumi) who possessed a terrible habit of hanging around Adri's shack. Adri used to let Kumi help her with her dangerous expirements with untested potentially explosive steam technology(!!!!!!!). Kiana served Adrianna tea EVERY tuesday afternoon because it'd coax Adri to spill the beans about what kinds of danger she was putting Kumi in on a daily basis. I mean, imagine it. Your son is running off to this creepy woman's house where there's always smoke billowing into the air and frequent thundering EXPLOSIONS. Adrianna actually thought that Kiana was her BEST FRIEND, and was completely oblivious to the fact that Kiana was ACTUALLY scared shitless of her.
Adrianna also had a few other strange quirks. She makes it a point to don her old heavy Field Plate every morning and run three miles in it. She has a taste for apricots but likes to collect the pits in various jars around her shack for no particular reason. Every night, for one half-hour, before she sleeps, her ruse of pride and determination shatters and she realizes, for only that brief, sudden stint, that she is broken; that there is no hope of reinstating her rank in the army, that she'll never really replace her arm, that she really DOES miss being with people, that she really IS lonely and that she's getting older and may very well never have a mate... or cubs of her own... Just for one half hour, she makes a ritual of realizing how helpless she is... and then she falls asleep. The next day, it's right back to her strict daily regiment as if nothing happened.
You might think that Adri sounds like she's in a crippling emotional rut. You might be right. Just about ALL my characters are in some sort of a rut right now.. the only one with any semblence of activity or progress is Cyrus, and that's because his Son is motivating him to not just keep functioning, but keep living. And this post is a lot like Adri's nightly reflection for me... I'm realizing just how in terrible shape all of my personal inspirations are. Either it's a cause or it's a result... I just wish I could make my characters happy again without killing them off and replacing them with an extremely similar, smiling counterpart. *shudders* that always left me with a chill. I've always, always made it a point to run my characters on their original stream of consciousness.
i'm out of steam. sorry this wasn't more entertaining.
Whenever I hear it, especially female, it makes me want to burst into tears of joy; it's just so gods damned cute.
That probably sounds demeaning, but I just can't resolve a better explanation than that. I don't mean anyone any disrespect, but how else can you express that exact quality--the feeling of your heart melting but NOT in the screamy bloody hemorraging death in forty-five-seconds-flat way? Gods, I wish I could do a good irish accent.
Stone Hawk--the character--speaks in a thick irish accent when I can manage to type it, though he has a quirk of it disappearing when a situation gets extremely, extremely bad; he's completely unaware of it. It'd be awesome if I could adequately voice my characters. Hell I'd practically want to do some kind of radio show if I had that kind of vocal flexibility :p espeically if I could even do my FEMALE characters justice XD THAT would be a trip.
My female characters, Adrianna and Allyssa, are actually kind of polar opposites on the surface, but extremely similar deep down. Deep down, they're both soft, lonely, kind, and compassionate, with a deep attachment to cubs and ferals, willing to give care at a moment's notice; devoted, dutiful, dependable... but their Differences... I mean, Adri's a white canine and Ally's a black feline; Ally is sweet and shy while Adri is rough and flamboyant; Adri is strong, self-sufficient, industrious, and proud... but Ally is lost, humble, and doesn't really think she has any useful skills other than maybe cooking. Ally is sensitive and patient; she'll listen to you pour out your heart and give you a hug at the end... but Adri?
Adri's latest community tie was when she lived as a hermit up in the mountains of a place called Greystone Valley, and she only came to town twice a week, saturdays to the general store for supplies and tuesdays to sip tea with one of Runihura's characters, Kiana Langeley. This sad, lonely single mother had a son (Kumi) who possessed a terrible habit of hanging around Adri's shack. Adri used to let Kumi help her with her dangerous expirements with untested potentially explosive steam technology(!!!!!!!). Kiana served Adrianna tea EVERY tuesday afternoon because it'd coax Adri to spill the beans about what kinds of danger she was putting Kumi in on a daily basis. I mean, imagine it. Your son is running off to this creepy woman's house where there's always smoke billowing into the air and frequent thundering EXPLOSIONS. Adrianna actually thought that Kiana was her BEST FRIEND, and was completely oblivious to the fact that Kiana was ACTUALLY scared shitless of her.
Adrianna also had a few other strange quirks. She makes it a point to don her old heavy Field Plate every morning and run three miles in it. She has a taste for apricots but likes to collect the pits in various jars around her shack for no particular reason. Every night, for one half-hour, before she sleeps, her ruse of pride and determination shatters and she realizes, for only that brief, sudden stint, that she is broken; that there is no hope of reinstating her rank in the army, that she'll never really replace her arm, that she really DOES miss being with people, that she really IS lonely and that she's getting older and may very well never have a mate... or cubs of her own... Just for one half hour, she makes a ritual of realizing how helpless she is... and then she falls asleep. The next day, it's right back to her strict daily regiment as if nothing happened.
You might think that Adri sounds like she's in a crippling emotional rut. You might be right. Just about ALL my characters are in some sort of a rut right now.. the only one with any semblence of activity or progress is Cyrus, and that's because his Son is motivating him to not just keep functioning, but keep living. And this post is a lot like Adri's nightly reflection for me... I'm realizing just how in terrible shape all of my personal inspirations are. Either it's a cause or it's a result... I just wish I could make my characters happy again without killing them off and replacing them with an extremely similar, smiling counterpart. *shudders* that always left me with a chill. I've always, always made it a point to run my characters on their original stream of consciousness.
i'm out of steam. sorry this wasn't more entertaining.
blah blah blah blah blah
General | Posted 19 years agoTime hates me, I could swear it.
You know, I really LIKED having some kind of routine -.- and the moment I was getting into the SWING of it, all the shit hits the fans.
I want to kill something very very badly.
--but I do have a few things to comment on that i've noticed the past weeks.
I've been listening to two unlikely, diametrically opposed musics as I drive around--to keep me awake on Mobile Patrol. Country... and RAP. There are a few things I've noticed about them that, well, I dunno, makes them more likeable for me.
Y'know... I find I actually kind of LIKE country.... Not that I don't have a Reason.... You see, it makes me think.
Country Music is almost exclusive to america. It's our foolk music, as every land has their own. But there's something about HOW it's 'american'. Unlike other genres, country -can't- really sell out to anyone except maybe the republican conservative right-wing; that would just be preaching to the choir of course--but the result is that country music isn't crammed with sex, crime, drugs, etc. I'm not talking about subject matter; I'm talking about the performers' lifestyles and the whole 'mindset'. It's about as PURE as music can get, and it's not some kind of tightassed censorship consortium DEMANDING it remain so, but the sheer fact that country musicians SEEM to deeply and honestly believe in their values.
In country, you hear songs about memories, monogamous love, personal strength and survival, family, god. It's just so... sickeningly wholesome, yet to an extent that AMUSES me. Like, what I heard in this song,
"She's got me... 'rollin in the dirt in a white tee shirt'". That sounds REALLY stupid, right? well it's a euphemism for arousal. It may sound lame, but if you think about it... it's really creative to come up with something seeming so obscure yet, at thought, so OBVIOUS. Then I heard a song about this performer's daughter... absolutely the most touching, tooth-aching sweet song i've ever heard. It could've brought tears to my eyes. If there's ANYTHING good left about america, it just might be Country Music.
And Country... it has a lot of celtic influence, y'know. And there's a fairly considerable number of irish folk violin solos that would sound just right as you pan across a bustling old-west street in a boom town out in the desert somewhere.
And then there's RAP.
I've realized something. It's poetry. Literally, poetry set to an audible accompaniment rhythm. The fact that it's attached to a beat that is defined by phrases of MUSIC means that the 'meter' is as variable and versatile as it is in all music, minus the screwy obnoxious terminology. Not EVERYBODY really gives a shit about "Iambic Pentameter", even if they DO have a use for what it means.
And there's even something valuable, perhaps even WORTHWHILE about rap: it directly extolls and provokes the primal senses of sentience.
Obviously there's a large part of its subject matter that contains a fuckload of arrogance, disrespect, promiscuity, and violence... but these are NECESSARY. there's a valid purpose in all of it:
IN the practice of depreciating someone else's value, it draws a contrast between that individual and the one criticizing. Sure there are posers and griefers that will be hypocrites and bash people for shit THEY THEMSELVES do, but there are also those who criticize actions they would NEVER take. This is a practice in independance. it represents one's inability to NOT NEED anybody else. It's there to implant the concept that this is someone who can take care of him- or herself.
Of course on the other end of the spectrum, where I once was, you have griefers of a different sort who go out of their way to dispute or ignore this 'display of superiority', purely out of spite, whether they know it or not.
Such individuals don't get it and there's a high probably that they won't ever. Get what? the fact that it's a game. It's posturing, and SAYING that it's posturing is like... that stupid fuck twink that runs around the RPers saying shit like "Dude, magic isn't real." NO SHIT, FUCKWIT. The fact that it's FICTION is the point, and the fact that YOU can't get over it just makes you look stupid and inadequate.
Fellow subgeniuses out there: if you think those sound like pinks, you're absolutely right.
NOW, the next component... Arrogance. Bragging. this one's pretty obvious. These people are furthering the image of self-sufficiency by going beyond the "I can take care of myself" to say "I can do a really damned good job of it too." This is where you scrape together all of your good qualities and pitch them out. Fame, wealth, physique, skill. Again, it's posturing. These are paintings, not photographs, and it is in the creation of these that the art is found. Explain why you're awesome and make it SOUND good. You don't even have to BE that awesome, because if you can make it SOUND good, you've established worth in that respect.
And again with the god damned twinks that come in and try to dispute, completely missing the point: it's not about having wealth, fame, fitness, or skill; it's about communicating a level of it convincingly. I really couldn't care less if someone's got 40 million dollars and a set of gold teeth, but if they make it SOUND catchy enough that I don't feel like I wasted my time hearing about it, they might as well be.
And then there's one of the most basic human urges, promiscuity. Please. Verility. if we're working with instincts here, verility is extremely important. Having established qualification value and the means to support, availability is the next logical step. And now we'll cut to the chase.
Violence finally gives it all an icing of the ability to Protect it.
Maybe you see what I'm getting at. These are expressions of INSTINCT. These are Rituals. Chants. Sure a lot of people blab about disrespect toward women in rap, but the women are just as guilty as the men, even IF in a slightly different formula. Again and again I hear songs that deal DIRECTLY with social functions, relationship qualifications, even rituals. lining up for display. It's crazy surreal shit when you step back and really LOOK at it.
I mean, duh, there are definitely love tracks, despair tracks, faith tracks, slice-of-life tracks, but the more distant you get from violence, sex, riches, and superiority, the more it sounds like tonal music. The more sophisticated the emotions and the less invasive the instinct, the more musical the result. You hear them singing instead of talking-to-beat.
...don't you pity me for hearing enough god damned rap to start seeing patterns like this?
Of course, we all know that all generalizations are false, "Including this one" (Thank You, Mark Twain), and there will always be exceptions, but after days and days and days of hearing rap for hours on end, you start to notice things. And if I'm wrong and you have a problem with it, FUCK YOU; I don't CARE enough to be RIGHT, I'm only WRITING THIS because I'm BORED OUT OF MY FUCKING MIND.
anyways...
So, I was just patrolling one day when I hear one of those salvation army santa-hat-wearing bellringers wish a merry christmas to a group of guys, and immediately become assaulted with a number of extremely harsh racial and religious epithets based on the fact that THIS group of guys happened to be islamic. -_- WOW. THEY REALLY MAKE ISLAM LOOK LIKE ONE HELLA GREAT RELIGION, DON'T THEY. But I digress. You see, they were whining and bitching because they're muslim and they don't celebrate christmas.
That's when I opened my mouth.
"uh, YEAH. Since -WHEN- did Christmas have one damn thing at all to do with Religion!? It's COMPLETELY commercialized."
"..." They looked at eachother. They looked at me. They looked at the scared-shitless salvation army worker, "... Heh... Yeah..! He's right! It's all about the MONEY now!"
And so they started walking off. One of them looks back over to the aid worker, gives a pleasant wave and says "Hey! Merry Christmas!"
:D I don't know if that's uplifting or DEPRESSING but it sure as fuck SLEW ME with laughter.
Merry Christmas.
You know, I really LIKED having some kind of routine -.- and the moment I was getting into the SWING of it, all the shit hits the fans.
I want to kill something very very badly.
--but I do have a few things to comment on that i've noticed the past weeks.
I've been listening to two unlikely, diametrically opposed musics as I drive around--to keep me awake on Mobile Patrol. Country... and RAP. There are a few things I've noticed about them that, well, I dunno, makes them more likeable for me.
Y'know... I find I actually kind of LIKE country.... Not that I don't have a Reason.... You see, it makes me think.
Country Music is almost exclusive to america. It's our foolk music, as every land has their own. But there's something about HOW it's 'american'. Unlike other genres, country -can't- really sell out to anyone except maybe the republican conservative right-wing; that would just be preaching to the choir of course--but the result is that country music isn't crammed with sex, crime, drugs, etc. I'm not talking about subject matter; I'm talking about the performers' lifestyles and the whole 'mindset'. It's about as PURE as music can get, and it's not some kind of tightassed censorship consortium DEMANDING it remain so, but the sheer fact that country musicians SEEM to deeply and honestly believe in their values.
In country, you hear songs about memories, monogamous love, personal strength and survival, family, god. It's just so... sickeningly wholesome, yet to an extent that AMUSES me. Like, what I heard in this song,
"She's got me... 'rollin in the dirt in a white tee shirt'". That sounds REALLY stupid, right? well it's a euphemism for arousal. It may sound lame, but if you think about it... it's really creative to come up with something seeming so obscure yet, at thought, so OBVIOUS. Then I heard a song about this performer's daughter... absolutely the most touching, tooth-aching sweet song i've ever heard. It could've brought tears to my eyes. If there's ANYTHING good left about america, it just might be Country Music.
And Country... it has a lot of celtic influence, y'know. And there's a fairly considerable number of irish folk violin solos that would sound just right as you pan across a bustling old-west street in a boom town out in the desert somewhere.
And then there's RAP.
I've realized something. It's poetry. Literally, poetry set to an audible accompaniment rhythm. The fact that it's attached to a beat that is defined by phrases of MUSIC means that the 'meter' is as variable and versatile as it is in all music, minus the screwy obnoxious terminology. Not EVERYBODY really gives a shit about "Iambic Pentameter", even if they DO have a use for what it means.
And there's even something valuable, perhaps even WORTHWHILE about rap: it directly extolls and provokes the primal senses of sentience.
Obviously there's a large part of its subject matter that contains a fuckload of arrogance, disrespect, promiscuity, and violence... but these are NECESSARY. there's a valid purpose in all of it:
IN the practice of depreciating someone else's value, it draws a contrast between that individual and the one criticizing. Sure there are posers and griefers that will be hypocrites and bash people for shit THEY THEMSELVES do, but there are also those who criticize actions they would NEVER take. This is a practice in independance. it represents one's inability to NOT NEED anybody else. It's there to implant the concept that this is someone who can take care of him- or herself.
Of course on the other end of the spectrum, where I once was, you have griefers of a different sort who go out of their way to dispute or ignore this 'display of superiority', purely out of spite, whether they know it or not.
Such individuals don't get it and there's a high probably that they won't ever. Get what? the fact that it's a game. It's posturing, and SAYING that it's posturing is like... that stupid fuck twink that runs around the RPers saying shit like "Dude, magic isn't real." NO SHIT, FUCKWIT. The fact that it's FICTION is the point, and the fact that YOU can't get over it just makes you look stupid and inadequate.
Fellow subgeniuses out there: if you think those sound like pinks, you're absolutely right.
NOW, the next component... Arrogance. Bragging. this one's pretty obvious. These people are furthering the image of self-sufficiency by going beyond the "I can take care of myself" to say "I can do a really damned good job of it too." This is where you scrape together all of your good qualities and pitch them out. Fame, wealth, physique, skill. Again, it's posturing. These are paintings, not photographs, and it is in the creation of these that the art is found. Explain why you're awesome and make it SOUND good. You don't even have to BE that awesome, because if you can make it SOUND good, you've established worth in that respect.
And again with the god damned twinks that come in and try to dispute, completely missing the point: it's not about having wealth, fame, fitness, or skill; it's about communicating a level of it convincingly. I really couldn't care less if someone's got 40 million dollars and a set of gold teeth, but if they make it SOUND catchy enough that I don't feel like I wasted my time hearing about it, they might as well be.
And then there's one of the most basic human urges, promiscuity. Please. Verility. if we're working with instincts here, verility is extremely important. Having established qualification value and the means to support, availability is the next logical step. And now we'll cut to the chase.
Violence finally gives it all an icing of the ability to Protect it.
Maybe you see what I'm getting at. These are expressions of INSTINCT. These are Rituals. Chants. Sure a lot of people blab about disrespect toward women in rap, but the women are just as guilty as the men, even IF in a slightly different formula. Again and again I hear songs that deal DIRECTLY with social functions, relationship qualifications, even rituals. lining up for display. It's crazy surreal shit when you step back and really LOOK at it.
I mean, duh, there are definitely love tracks, despair tracks, faith tracks, slice-of-life tracks, but the more distant you get from violence, sex, riches, and superiority, the more it sounds like tonal music. The more sophisticated the emotions and the less invasive the instinct, the more musical the result. You hear them singing instead of talking-to-beat.
...don't you pity me for hearing enough god damned rap to start seeing patterns like this?
Of course, we all know that all generalizations are false, "Including this one" (Thank You, Mark Twain), and there will always be exceptions, but after days and days and days of hearing rap for hours on end, you start to notice things. And if I'm wrong and you have a problem with it, FUCK YOU; I don't CARE enough to be RIGHT, I'm only WRITING THIS because I'm BORED OUT OF MY FUCKING MIND.
anyways...
So, I was just patrolling one day when I hear one of those salvation army santa-hat-wearing bellringers wish a merry christmas to a group of guys, and immediately become assaulted with a number of extremely harsh racial and religious epithets based on the fact that THIS group of guys happened to be islamic. -_- WOW. THEY REALLY MAKE ISLAM LOOK LIKE ONE HELLA GREAT RELIGION, DON'T THEY. But I digress. You see, they were whining and bitching because they're muslim and they don't celebrate christmas.
That's when I opened my mouth.
"uh, YEAH. Since -WHEN- did Christmas have one damn thing at all to do with Religion!? It's COMPLETELY commercialized."
"..." They looked at eachother. They looked at me. They looked at the scared-shitless salvation army worker, "... Heh... Yeah..! He's right! It's all about the MONEY now!"
And so they started walking off. One of them looks back over to the aid worker, gives a pleasant wave and says "Hey! Merry Christmas!"
:D I don't know if that's uplifting or DEPRESSING but it sure as fuck SLEW ME with laughter.
Merry Christmas.
The Penitent Liar
General | Posted 19 years agoI've lied to you all.
There is someone I am deeply, dearly attached to, but for all I know the feelings are not reciprocated. I've lived for four years hanging in and out of a limbo, serving dutifully as a crying shoulder and teddy bear, only to have my feelings sealed away in tupperware whenever they become inconvenient. I've been in love with this person for all this time, and she has consciously efforted to keep me in 'the friend zone'... without a single acknowledgement for how I feel. I've made it bluntly, starkly obvious on several occasions. ...
On second thought, it's not a total lie.
I've mentioned my situation before. Essentially, I have been chasing a metaphorical carrot dangling on a string in front of my face for these years. I'm tired of running... I'm so tired to spilling my heart to see it go down a drain. I've resolved again and again to just shut the fuck up and keep it to myself and not say a word to her--since telling her does NOTHING for me--but the pressure always builds to where I can't stand it anymore... and I crack... again.
It seemed that every WEEK something would happen to her, leaving her proverbially wounded and crippled, and every WEEK that it happened, it sounded like the most infuriatingly obvious distress call, and in the very image of pompous chivalry, I would DIVE IN for the rescue, only to meet the brick wall of rejection head-on.
...as I analyze this to you right now, the inkling flickers in my mind that maybe she was throwing herself on the train tracks so someone -else- could rescue her... someone else who doesn't seem to care less, who WON'T save her--but nevertheless, I jump in at every turn and ruin her plan.
I would drop everything for any god damned reason or excuse as far as it pertained to Her and Her Trouble, but there would never be a single acknowledgement toward me. Maybe I can illustrate this in an even simpler parable: She begs for food, I offer a buffet, her response is "...". She begs for water, I offer a lake, her response is "...". She begs for a shelter, I build her a palace, her response is "...".
better yet here's a literal one: She prayed aloud right in front of me for someone who would love her no matter WHAT and would not be able to stop even if they tried... And *poof* here I am. You'd think, happily-ever-fucking-after, right? No. *KER-SNUB!* was all I got.
What... the fuck... did I do wrong...?
If I do not take care... my compassion could so easily turn to contempt, yet I -know- it would do -nothing- to assist her and could even HURT her. HOW can I be so useful as a pain sink to cry on the shoulder of and blow one's nose in the fur of (gross... but i still did put up with it), but the MOMENT I turn up a solution, I'm fucking invisible!
Am I the only one capable of seeing how wrong it is? Please tell me I'm not hallucinating.
...
*Sigh*
this conversation needs to get back on track.
Find a track... and ride it. Find a track and ride it. Okay. A track.
Alright. So... what do I want to do?
I want resolution. I want closure. I want to know what the fuck I'm supposed to do with myself, because this back-and-forth is unbearable. I can't change what I feel about her, and I can't survive perpetually swallowing it like this. Wishful thinking asks that she acknowledge it, but common sense says fuck it all and fuck her. Am I really ready to abandon her after she's seen that much abandonment? She seems so oblivious to how much it's killing me to open up and then get promptly IGNORED.... The one thing that's confusing me is the fact that when she says something and I respond to the contrary, she doesn't even seem to hear it... she says nobody loves her, I tell her I do. She says nobody believes in her, but I do. She says nobody wants her, but jesus flaming refried christ on a stick there is NOTHING I WANT MORE than HER! AND ALL I GET IS SILENCE! NOT EVEN A "..."! JUST SILENCE! IF SHE SAID "STOP, YOU'RE CREEPY", I'D AT LEAST HAVE SOMETHING TO HOLD ME AT BAY! BUT EVEN WHEN I OFFER TO STOP OPENING MY GODS FUCKING DAMNED MOUTH I STILL GET -NO- RESPONSE!
;_; What the HELL!? WHAT THE HELL!?
If I could be sure of her response I'd know how to react afterwards... but getting nothing is just... a fatal crash. inconclusive. How can someone who laments so much love lost WANT someone to stop? how can I make an assumption like that?
*deep breath...*
so... either I continue on hammering in the truth like there's no tomorrow and get nothing...
swallow what I feel again because it's inconvenient and go back to being a handy dandy collapsible resealable friend-in-a-bag....
or give her one final confrontation where I say GOOD RIDDANCE, and give her a reason to think she's RIGHT when she says nobody loves her, wants her, believes in her, or cares about her...
and if I do stop trying to hold her up... what if she falls?
What will happen to her son if she stops caring...?
Even if I tell her I don't care anymore, I still will ;_; if something happens to her, i'll never be able to forgive myself, not ever; I can't forgive myself for the PETTIEST of my betrayals to even my most distant friends; I have a slideshow of every insult and wrong I've ever commited to anyone I even slightly cared about playing on continuous loop somewhere in the back of my mind that I can NOT shut off; I kick myself every day for things I said years ago. I have a list of red names connected to black splotches of guilt inside me, the only remnants of people I can't talk to anymore because they HATE ME.
... how... how can I risk adding another name... another flaw...
I'm paralyzed...
And that's the truth.
There is someone I am deeply, dearly attached to, but for all I know the feelings are not reciprocated. I've lived for four years hanging in and out of a limbo, serving dutifully as a crying shoulder and teddy bear, only to have my feelings sealed away in tupperware whenever they become inconvenient. I've been in love with this person for all this time, and she has consciously efforted to keep me in 'the friend zone'... without a single acknowledgement for how I feel. I've made it bluntly, starkly obvious on several occasions. ...
On second thought, it's not a total lie.
I've mentioned my situation before. Essentially, I have been chasing a metaphorical carrot dangling on a string in front of my face for these years. I'm tired of running... I'm so tired to spilling my heart to see it go down a drain. I've resolved again and again to just shut the fuck up and keep it to myself and not say a word to her--since telling her does NOTHING for me--but the pressure always builds to where I can't stand it anymore... and I crack... again.
It seemed that every WEEK something would happen to her, leaving her proverbially wounded and crippled, and every WEEK that it happened, it sounded like the most infuriatingly obvious distress call, and in the very image of pompous chivalry, I would DIVE IN for the rescue, only to meet the brick wall of rejection head-on.
...as I analyze this to you right now, the inkling flickers in my mind that maybe she was throwing herself on the train tracks so someone -else- could rescue her... someone else who doesn't seem to care less, who WON'T save her--but nevertheless, I jump in at every turn and ruin her plan.
I would drop everything for any god damned reason or excuse as far as it pertained to Her and Her Trouble, but there would never be a single acknowledgement toward me. Maybe I can illustrate this in an even simpler parable: She begs for food, I offer a buffet, her response is "...". She begs for water, I offer a lake, her response is "...". She begs for a shelter, I build her a palace, her response is "...".
better yet here's a literal one: She prayed aloud right in front of me for someone who would love her no matter WHAT and would not be able to stop even if they tried... And *poof* here I am. You'd think, happily-ever-fucking-after, right? No. *KER-SNUB!* was all I got.
What... the fuck... did I do wrong...?
If I do not take care... my compassion could so easily turn to contempt, yet I -know- it would do -nothing- to assist her and could even HURT her. HOW can I be so useful as a pain sink to cry on the shoulder of and blow one's nose in the fur of (gross... but i still did put up with it), but the MOMENT I turn up a solution, I'm fucking invisible!
Am I the only one capable of seeing how wrong it is? Please tell me I'm not hallucinating.
...
*Sigh*
this conversation needs to get back on track.
Find a track... and ride it. Find a track and ride it. Okay. A track.
Alright. So... what do I want to do?
I want resolution. I want closure. I want to know what the fuck I'm supposed to do with myself, because this back-and-forth is unbearable. I can't change what I feel about her, and I can't survive perpetually swallowing it like this. Wishful thinking asks that she acknowledge it, but common sense says fuck it all and fuck her. Am I really ready to abandon her after she's seen that much abandonment? She seems so oblivious to how much it's killing me to open up and then get promptly IGNORED.... The one thing that's confusing me is the fact that when she says something and I respond to the contrary, she doesn't even seem to hear it... she says nobody loves her, I tell her I do. She says nobody believes in her, but I do. She says nobody wants her, but jesus flaming refried christ on a stick there is NOTHING I WANT MORE than HER! AND ALL I GET IS SILENCE! NOT EVEN A "..."! JUST SILENCE! IF SHE SAID "STOP, YOU'RE CREEPY", I'D AT LEAST HAVE SOMETHING TO HOLD ME AT BAY! BUT EVEN WHEN I OFFER TO STOP OPENING MY GODS FUCKING DAMNED MOUTH I STILL GET -NO- RESPONSE!
;_; What the HELL!? WHAT THE HELL!?
If I could be sure of her response I'd know how to react afterwards... but getting nothing is just... a fatal crash. inconclusive. How can someone who laments so much love lost WANT someone to stop? how can I make an assumption like that?
*deep breath...*
so... either I continue on hammering in the truth like there's no tomorrow and get nothing...
swallow what I feel again because it's inconvenient and go back to being a handy dandy collapsible resealable friend-in-a-bag....
or give her one final confrontation where I say GOOD RIDDANCE, and give her a reason to think she's RIGHT when she says nobody loves her, wants her, believes in her, or cares about her...
and if I do stop trying to hold her up... what if she falls?
What will happen to her son if she stops caring...?
Even if I tell her I don't care anymore, I still will ;_; if something happens to her, i'll never be able to forgive myself, not ever; I can't forgive myself for the PETTIEST of my betrayals to even my most distant friends; I have a slideshow of every insult and wrong I've ever commited to anyone I even slightly cared about playing on continuous loop somewhere in the back of my mind that I can NOT shut off; I kick myself every day for things I said years ago. I have a list of red names connected to black splotches of guilt inside me, the only remnants of people I can't talk to anymore because they HATE ME.
... how... how can I risk adding another name... another flaw...
I'm paralyzed...
And that's the truth.
Sick Tired
General | Posted 19 years agoAll tabletted out, staring at the blank page, my characters say something very distinctly to me:
"Christ, not another head shot... not another portrait... WHY are you so OBSESSED with drawing my FACE?"
Honestly... I can't think of what to draw ;_;
I think it's finally hit me. The artist's block. that burnout. I've spooged all that art and now I think I'm about to roll over and go to sleep. Ever since I got kicked off third shift, I've had next to no time expressly reserved for the making of arty things -.- so...
...*SIGH* ... I'll just have to figure it out on my own.
I'm open to suggestions on how to get over this though, thanks.
"Christ, not another head shot... not another portrait... WHY are you so OBSESSED with drawing my FACE?"
Honestly... I can't think of what to draw ;_;
I think it's finally hit me. The artist's block. that burnout. I've spooged all that art and now I think I'm about to roll over and go to sleep. Ever since I got kicked off third shift, I've had next to no time expressly reserved for the making of arty things -.- so...
...*SIGH* ... I'll just have to figure it out on my own.
I'm open to suggestions on how to get over this though, thanks.
cubs. Meh.
General | Posted 19 years agoZOMG ITS TEH END OF DA WURLD THERS BAD PR0N HEAR I HAEV 2 GO IF IT DOSENT GET FICKSED--Bah.
I think it really is drama. People are just reeling at the mirror of truth. It's a side effect of a mostly awesome status: Furries are open about their feelings and are not used to this, so all the bullshit they've had to seal up their whole lives just GUSHES out when it has a chance to among their peers.
Yes, it's totally gross, but we CANNOT BECOME THOUGHT POLICE. We CANNOT REPORT THEM TO MINITRUE. The furry community is GROUNDED on the basis that we can't tell anybody what they can't do WITH themselves, FOR themselves. As far as the art goes, it's disgusting as all hell but it's a victimless crime. No children are used; the only sentient involved in the 'transaction' so to speak are consenting adults. Therefor, it's none of our GODS DAMNED BUSINESS, and I'm glad to see that some people are at least scratching the surface of this fact.
In the furry community, there is so much openmindedness and so much freedom of expression that the slightly less-favorable shit that people are born with ALSO comes out. Now, either we can deal with it as a society, by coping ourselves to accept it so we turn a blind eye to anything we don't like; deal with it as a family, but helping the others cope with themselves so they can still express themselves but with minimal damage to others, mindful of cause and effect; or deal with it as individuals, like we have to in the outside, by locking it away and swallowing the key and LYING to ourselves for the majority of our lives.
bleh. just filters. make the gods damned filters work again for fuck's sake >_<
I think it really is drama. People are just reeling at the mirror of truth. It's a side effect of a mostly awesome status: Furries are open about their feelings and are not used to this, so all the bullshit they've had to seal up their whole lives just GUSHES out when it has a chance to among their peers.
Yes, it's totally gross, but we CANNOT BECOME THOUGHT POLICE. We CANNOT REPORT THEM TO MINITRUE. The furry community is GROUNDED on the basis that we can't tell anybody what they can't do WITH themselves, FOR themselves. As far as the art goes, it's disgusting as all hell but it's a victimless crime. No children are used; the only sentient involved in the 'transaction' so to speak are consenting adults. Therefor, it's none of our GODS DAMNED BUSINESS, and I'm glad to see that some people are at least scratching the surface of this fact.
In the furry community, there is so much openmindedness and so much freedom of expression that the slightly less-favorable shit that people are born with ALSO comes out. Now, either we can deal with it as a society, by coping ourselves to accept it so we turn a blind eye to anything we don't like; deal with it as a family, but helping the others cope with themselves so they can still express themselves but with minimal damage to others, mindful of cause and effect; or deal with it as individuals, like we have to in the outside, by locking it away and swallowing the key and LYING to ourselves for the majority of our lives.
bleh. just filters. make the gods damned filters work again for fuck's sake >_<
Sentimental?
General | Posted 19 years agoSentiment:
Freedom is not free
Counter-Sentiments:
1) ...at least, not ANYMORE.
2) --But we're TAKIN' IT ANYWAY! NYAH!
3) It WILL be once we kill all those greedy fucks with the audacity to charge.
4) Free the freedom: Lock up a Dubbya!
5) NO. That's just what they WANT you to think.
See, these sorts of 'quotes' are the kind of timeless wisdom one can liken to a clock made of fetid moldy cheese, in that they're both timeless for their inability to keep time, similar in that they stink really bad, and covering BOTH of these qualities in that neither are useful at all today.
In THIS MODERN WORLD, the only single thing that has driven society to advance at all is the fact that EVEN THOUGH life is not fair, we as intelligent beings possess the capacity to MAKE IT FAIR, and shrugging that off is a pathetic copout of such MAGNITUDE... ...okay just... just roll over and fucking die NOW. You've already given up; everybody knows it, just accept your 'unfair reality' and kill yourself because you have NO HOPE, 'kay?
It's bad enough WITHOUT these shitheads shooting everybody else in the foot. I MAY sometimes enjoy seeing humanity taste its own medicine, but I can tell you right now that annihilation is NOT an answer, NOR is it an end. It's just the beggining of an even WORSE reality.
(back to the track...)
I'm going to turn down the heat for a little bit...
Consider, what is the best case scenario, and what is the worst case scenario?
And open your fucking mind. Don't you dare spooge this bullshit at me that our 'best case scenario' is removal from existence, because even if that WERE the best, the chance of that is so infinitessimally slim it might as well be LESS than zero. There are dormant--but still life-capable--microbes scattered on the probes we launched into deep space, and they WILL thrive again the moment they hit an even loosely workable environment.
Given life's capacity and indeed prime directive to exist via adaptation, the only logical possibility is complete adaptation. It will CONTINUE adapting until it fits. Life that does not adapt correctly simply DIES, but there is always, enevitably SOME success through this process of elimination coupled with reproduction. Agent Smith and The Borg got NOTHIN' on the enevitability of life itself BRUTE-FORCING the universal environment.
Obviously humanity DOESN'T technically have a future, because once it has made the changes it is required to make, it may not realize it, but it will not in the slightest resemble TODAY'S humanity. However, if left to its own devices, all flaws will eventually be forcibly ironed out. It's almost poetic... Death creating Life, Chaos creating Order, as if a stone sculpting itself. The best case scenario for life, in the cosmic sense, is to be completely ubiquitous and adapted to the point that environment does not MATTER.
And what's the worst case scenario? Well, we've somewhat outscoped the realms of 'good' and 'bad'... but I suppose for us it would be lack of progress... we just sit here stunting ourselves and setting back until the sun overtakes the earth. Then we're just dirt again. But there's a fleeting glimpse of similarity you might catch between these two:
how abundant and disaffected is matter itself? Space is mostly composed of Distance, distance between hydrogen atoms, which is quite a bit of the goings-on out there where there are either goings or ons. The more enlightened readers of this might start seeing what i'm getting toward, here. How better to defeat emptiness by filling it? how better to overcome nothing than with something? If the ultimate destination for a repeating, viral system like what we call 'life' is to exist anywhere and cover everything...
Oh of course it's all speculation. Life adapts until everything is the same, until everything is impervious and content in its being-ness. It could get to a stage of enlightenment so vast and overwhelming that it could transcend--
*sigh*...
I see a fractal. It's right in front of my face, but it's so intricate yet so obvious that it eludes all words and description. Life is a product of existence existing, a pattern churned up out of matter clashing against itself. All it needs is a catalyst. then the dominoes start falling. the echoes bounce off of other echoes and there's feedback building on feedback, taking the tiniest, simplest components and the simplest ground rules and then building a looped-the-fuck-out system out of it. I can't exaggerate because we're talking about the cosmos here; there is nothing bigger than IT, ITSELF. you might say that constructing a life-size working replica of the death star out of cardboard paper towel tubes is an infinitessimal microcosm of it. (I SHALL FOREVER HENCEFORTH REFER TO THIS AS "INTRICACY B" )
I know the end but telling you spoils it. You'll reel away in disgust, or maybe if you're half as fucked up as I am, you'd nod your head in understanding: Life evolves so far to withstand environments that it becomes the environment for a new life. The matter around us could practically be what so many of us call "GOD", either completely unaware of us, or aware on such a level to which our understanding is... is like... aw dammit another impossibly inadequate metaphore! Picture A SINGLE BACTERIUM attempting to engineer a machine that engineers a machine that engineers a machine that engineers a machine that fabricates an interstellar FTL-capable starfighter whose weapons system could carve "JOE WAS HERE" in bold italicized arabic, specifically in the font Shelly Allegro BT, three hundred and fifty times on the head of a standard PIN... FROM ORBIT... AROUND JUPITER... IN ONE GO. (I SHALL FOREVER REFER TO THIS AS "UNDERSTANDING H" )
Okay...
Deep breath...
starting over.
Life evolves so far to withstand an environment that it becomes an environment for even more life, and on the contrary, may very well NOT be 'dead' as we percieve but actually in such an advanced state of consciousness that we can realize only as much as INFINITELY FAR LESS THAN [UNDERSTANDING H]. So far that it's completely up to speculation that it has or even wants to have (IF it indeed WANTS at all) an impact on our experiences, so far that you could call the fact of existence itself the architect of our own existence, and that WE OURSELVES are enevitably bound to evolve so far into such a state of enlightenment that it is all we can do to fill up the empty of space with our SELVES to provide an environment for whatever stirrings may result from the reality we produce; an exponential graphic ad infinitum.
"Okay," so you say, "Wait. Wasn't there a point to this? *scrolls up*"
Yes, there was. In the end, none of anyone's petty bullshit MATTERS AT ALL, so just SHUT THE FUCK UP and let these pathetic, ignorant creatures ENJOY what little PUNY EXISTENCE they can HAVE you SICK DEMENTED MINDFUCK. GUILT-TRIPS benefit NO ONE and benefit NOTHING in the longrun and if you -WANT- to go on being MISERABLE all the time, that's YOUR PROBLEM.
Telling people 'it's hopeless, you should give up', is bad mojo and nobody wants to hear it because it doesn't help anyone. Reality checks are anathema to those who very well CAN find the route to changing reality, and their will to attempt to change it is their perogative, their right, and their choice. Let them do it, and if they fail, they'll deal with it or die. Whether or not you help them attempt to fulfill their will is your choice as much as making the attempt in the first place was theirs, and turning yourself into a stumbling block is probably THE ONLY truly disgusting, futile waste of reality, and you should bear in mind that speed bumps are for getting-over.
If you're specifically looking to drag other people into a state of hopeless debilitation, YOU ARE EVOLUTIONARILY FLAWED, AND IF YOU DO NOT ADAPT, THE PROCESS OF ELIMINATION SHALL REMOVE YOU SHORTLY. Rejoice, your end is nigh.
If you're feelin' crappy and all you want to do is feel better though, and all you're looking for is a crying shoulder and a big hug, you've come to the right place. Hugs for Everyone!!!
Okay, I'm done ^_^
Freedom is not free
Counter-Sentiments:
1) ...at least, not ANYMORE.
2) --But we're TAKIN' IT ANYWAY! NYAH!
3) It WILL be once we kill all those greedy fucks with the audacity to charge.
4) Free the freedom: Lock up a Dubbya!
5) NO. That's just what they WANT you to think.
See, these sorts of 'quotes' are the kind of timeless wisdom one can liken to a clock made of fetid moldy cheese, in that they're both timeless for their inability to keep time, similar in that they stink really bad, and covering BOTH of these qualities in that neither are useful at all today.
In THIS MODERN WORLD, the only single thing that has driven society to advance at all is the fact that EVEN THOUGH life is not fair, we as intelligent beings possess the capacity to MAKE IT FAIR, and shrugging that off is a pathetic copout of such MAGNITUDE... ...okay just... just roll over and fucking die NOW. You've already given up; everybody knows it, just accept your 'unfair reality' and kill yourself because you have NO HOPE, 'kay?
It's bad enough WITHOUT these shitheads shooting everybody else in the foot. I MAY sometimes enjoy seeing humanity taste its own medicine, but I can tell you right now that annihilation is NOT an answer, NOR is it an end. It's just the beggining of an even WORSE reality.
(back to the track...)
I'm going to turn down the heat for a little bit...
Consider, what is the best case scenario, and what is the worst case scenario?
And open your fucking mind. Don't you dare spooge this bullshit at me that our 'best case scenario' is removal from existence, because even if that WERE the best, the chance of that is so infinitessimally slim it might as well be LESS than zero. There are dormant--but still life-capable--microbes scattered on the probes we launched into deep space, and they WILL thrive again the moment they hit an even loosely workable environment.
Given life's capacity and indeed prime directive to exist via adaptation, the only logical possibility is complete adaptation. It will CONTINUE adapting until it fits. Life that does not adapt correctly simply DIES, but there is always, enevitably SOME success through this process of elimination coupled with reproduction. Agent Smith and The Borg got NOTHIN' on the enevitability of life itself BRUTE-FORCING the universal environment.
Obviously humanity DOESN'T technically have a future, because once it has made the changes it is required to make, it may not realize it, but it will not in the slightest resemble TODAY'S humanity. However, if left to its own devices, all flaws will eventually be forcibly ironed out. It's almost poetic... Death creating Life, Chaos creating Order, as if a stone sculpting itself. The best case scenario for life, in the cosmic sense, is to be completely ubiquitous and adapted to the point that environment does not MATTER.
And what's the worst case scenario? Well, we've somewhat outscoped the realms of 'good' and 'bad'... but I suppose for us it would be lack of progress... we just sit here stunting ourselves and setting back until the sun overtakes the earth. Then we're just dirt again. But there's a fleeting glimpse of similarity you might catch between these two:
how abundant and disaffected is matter itself? Space is mostly composed of Distance, distance between hydrogen atoms, which is quite a bit of the goings-on out there where there are either goings or ons. The more enlightened readers of this might start seeing what i'm getting toward, here. How better to defeat emptiness by filling it? how better to overcome nothing than with something? If the ultimate destination for a repeating, viral system like what we call 'life' is to exist anywhere and cover everything...
Oh of course it's all speculation. Life adapts until everything is the same, until everything is impervious and content in its being-ness. It could get to a stage of enlightenment so vast and overwhelming that it could transcend--
*sigh*...
I see a fractal. It's right in front of my face, but it's so intricate yet so obvious that it eludes all words and description. Life is a product of existence existing, a pattern churned up out of matter clashing against itself. All it needs is a catalyst. then the dominoes start falling. the echoes bounce off of other echoes and there's feedback building on feedback, taking the tiniest, simplest components and the simplest ground rules and then building a looped-the-fuck-out system out of it. I can't exaggerate because we're talking about the cosmos here; there is nothing bigger than IT, ITSELF. you might say that constructing a life-size working replica of the death star out of cardboard paper towel tubes is an infinitessimal microcosm of it. (I SHALL FOREVER HENCEFORTH REFER TO THIS AS "INTRICACY B" )
I know the end but telling you spoils it. You'll reel away in disgust, or maybe if you're half as fucked up as I am, you'd nod your head in understanding: Life evolves so far to withstand environments that it becomes the environment for a new life. The matter around us could practically be what so many of us call "GOD", either completely unaware of us, or aware on such a level to which our understanding is... is like... aw dammit another impossibly inadequate metaphore! Picture A SINGLE BACTERIUM attempting to engineer a machine that engineers a machine that engineers a machine that engineers a machine that fabricates an interstellar FTL-capable starfighter whose weapons system could carve "JOE WAS HERE" in bold italicized arabic, specifically in the font Shelly Allegro BT, three hundred and fifty times on the head of a standard PIN... FROM ORBIT... AROUND JUPITER... IN ONE GO. (I SHALL FOREVER REFER TO THIS AS "UNDERSTANDING H" )
Okay...
Deep breath...
starting over.
Life evolves so far to withstand an environment that it becomes an environment for even more life, and on the contrary, may very well NOT be 'dead' as we percieve but actually in such an advanced state of consciousness that we can realize only as much as INFINITELY FAR LESS THAN [UNDERSTANDING H]. So far that it's completely up to speculation that it has or even wants to have (IF it indeed WANTS at all) an impact on our experiences, so far that you could call the fact of existence itself the architect of our own existence, and that WE OURSELVES are enevitably bound to evolve so far into such a state of enlightenment that it is all we can do to fill up the empty of space with our SELVES to provide an environment for whatever stirrings may result from the reality we produce; an exponential graphic ad infinitum.
"Okay," so you say, "Wait. Wasn't there a point to this? *scrolls up*"
Yes, there was. In the end, none of anyone's petty bullshit MATTERS AT ALL, so just SHUT THE FUCK UP and let these pathetic, ignorant creatures ENJOY what little PUNY EXISTENCE they can HAVE you SICK DEMENTED MINDFUCK. GUILT-TRIPS benefit NO ONE and benefit NOTHING in the longrun and if you -WANT- to go on being MISERABLE all the time, that's YOUR PROBLEM.
Telling people 'it's hopeless, you should give up', is bad mojo and nobody wants to hear it because it doesn't help anyone. Reality checks are anathema to those who very well CAN find the route to changing reality, and their will to attempt to change it is their perogative, their right, and their choice. Let them do it, and if they fail, they'll deal with it or die. Whether or not you help them attempt to fulfill their will is your choice as much as making the attempt in the first place was theirs, and turning yourself into a stumbling block is probably THE ONLY truly disgusting, futile waste of reality, and you should bear in mind that speed bumps are for getting-over.
If you're specifically looking to drag other people into a state of hopeless debilitation, YOU ARE EVOLUTIONARILY FLAWED, AND IF YOU DO NOT ADAPT, THE PROCESS OF ELIMINATION SHALL REMOVE YOU SHORTLY. Rejoice, your end is nigh.
If you're feelin' crappy and all you want to do is feel better though, and all you're looking for is a crying shoulder and a big hug, you've come to the right place. Hugs for Everyone!!!
Okay, I'm done ^_^
Pressure
General | Posted 19 years agoI'm so far behind.
I hate it when the only thing making me function is a hanging sword of damocles. And strangely, even though the metaphor is supposed to be that you should be scared to death that it will fall and kebab you skull-first, I feel quite a deal like the STRING in this equation too.
I was on the clock from 8 am to 11 pm yesterday. sixteen hours, god dammit... sixteen hours...
and I have another eleven hours waiting for me today ;_; I'm so tired.
Oh. That's right. You don't know what's been going on, because I haven't been able to keep up with telling y'all. The fact that I'm NOT here talking your ears off should be a testament to something being not-quite-right in the world.
Alright... *deep breath, long sigh...* The day they sent me home--THE TALK--I immediately after that had observed the fact that the following thursday and friday were scheduled as 'OFF'. But on saturday morning, when I got up to go to work, I found ANOTHER PHONE MESSAGE. YES. IT HAPPENED AGAIN. EXACTLY THE SAME, EXCEPT THIS TIME I WAS -SURE- OF THE SCHEDULE! They changed the #@$%ing schedule after sending me home on wednesday and expected me to INHERANTLY KNOW that they did, without any one god damned person telling me. Add to that the fact that my cell phone was EXTREMELY unstable and I TOLD THEM THIS. That gods damned battery was going to explode in my fucking HAND! NO WAY IN HELL was I going to keep that phone on day in and day out in that condition! the thing was bloated to double its factory thickness, it was a ticking timebomb...
*sigh AGAIN...*
Long story short, last saturday was not spent on the clock. Instead, after spilling my guts and all my woes and miseries to Second In Command, he left the office for an undisclosed ammount of time, and when he came back in, he had first in command with him, and the overtones were GRIM. It was during the ensuing guilt trip that I learned that First in command had come to the office INTENDING to fire me on the motherfucking SPOT. I didn't find this hard to believe; after getting screwed on Friday, I thought I was only coming in on saturday to drop off my uniforms. However.... HOWEVER...
The thing that pissed me off the most about this conversation... was ... the LIES. HERE I WAS, ON THE GROUND, AND THEY WERE KICKING ME! AGAIN! AND AGAIN! AND AGAIN! GO AHEAD, I'M NO THE GROUND, KICK ME YOU MOTHER FUCKER! DO IT AGAIN! GO RIGHT AHEAD! BREAK MY FUCKING RIBS YOU REPUGNANT SHIT GUZZLING FUCKWIT! And if I whimpered while they bootfucked me, I'd get a slap. You see, THE WAY THEY SAW IT WAS THE ONLY WAY IT HAD TO BE, BECAUSE THEY ARE ALWAYS RIGHT, AND NEVER WRONG, EVER. IF YOU THINK THEY ARE WRONG, YOU ARE WRONG. BECAUSE THEY ARE RIGHT.
"What the fuck are you talking about Stoney? Get to the fucking point already!"
1: I took my shirts out of the washer that day after guzzling a fourth a god damned bottle of bleach on it, and they said I didn't wash them. IT WAS EATING HOLES IN THE MOTHERFUCKING FABRIC, but they REFUSED to admit I washed their fucking uniforms
2: They told me GERALD told them that I was SLEEPING on third shift--SPECIFICALLY that gerald would be coming up here to pound on the door and TELL ME TO PATROL. WHAT THE FUCK!?
3: They told me my roommates were USING me! Where the FUCK did THIS COME FROM!? That's a whole 'nother rant, and i'm going to save THAT for later...
4: They told me that I shouldn't be working in security if I want to get into architecture. what am I doing here, they'd ask me without letting me TELL them. YOU STUPID FUCKBRAIN, I NEED TO MOTHERFUCKING EAT. I NEED TO PAY THE GODS DAMNED RENT! I HAVE TO SURVIVE -SOMEHOW-!!!!!!
Somehow the idea of 'just gettin' by' could not be pounded through their skulls with a fucking METEOR. And then they started throwing that 120% bullshit at me. That they want 120%. 120%. Metaphorical, metaphysical bullshit. I can't STAND phrases like that. I'm beginning to understand why people go postal. Humanity needs a cleansing. A nice, long, warm shower. In its own blood.
You know, never before, not once ever before, have I EVER wanted to just... kill something. Not someone; these particular humanoid creatures are quickly starting to look less and less like 'people'. Sort of... to influence evolution toward naturally nicer and more-patient humans by killing all the mean, impatient ones. A holocaust for every jackass on the planet. of course, if some people weren't stupid enough to put up with them long enough to propogate their SPAWN, these idiots would've died out long ago.
...I'd probably be one of them, though...
Anyways... I know they're lying about Gerald the Janitor, because gerald had far worse dirt on me than that if he wanted to get me fired. He used to see me taking sodas from sbarro's after mall hours. He used to see me talking on my cell phone. He ACCOMPANIED me on more than one occasion wherein I LEFT mall property DURING my shift to say, buy food at walmart. He COULD HAVE gotten me fired with any combination of these--but SLEEPING? and ... TELLING ME to take a patrol..? You've got to be fucking kidding me. I was the only person that WAS doing my assigned patrols. Dozing was the one thing I DIDN'T fuck up on my shift, because I am a night owl by default. If I were a homing missile, the Gerald argument would've been chaff to distract me. One of these days though, I'm going to have to tell Gerald what they've been saying about him behind his back. I don't think he'd appreciate hearing about his character being defamed with these allegations of bold-face Lies. I really don't think he'd like having words being stuffed inside his mouth.
I guess I'm waiting for the right time to tell him. Hoping that some kind of situation will pop up where telling him will set off a chain reaction that will blow up in their face. *shrug*
OH! And since I'm feeling vengeful, I am pleased to hear that the first in command was bitten by a brown recluse spider and the pain and swelling in his foot is taking him off the clock for a few weeks. Sucker. Anyways, I gotta go.
I hate it when the only thing making me function is a hanging sword of damocles. And strangely, even though the metaphor is supposed to be that you should be scared to death that it will fall and kebab you skull-first, I feel quite a deal like the STRING in this equation too.
I was on the clock from 8 am to 11 pm yesterday. sixteen hours, god dammit... sixteen hours...
and I have another eleven hours waiting for me today ;_; I'm so tired.
Oh. That's right. You don't know what's been going on, because I haven't been able to keep up with telling y'all. The fact that I'm NOT here talking your ears off should be a testament to something being not-quite-right in the world.
Alright... *deep breath, long sigh...* The day they sent me home--THE TALK--I immediately after that had observed the fact that the following thursday and friday were scheduled as 'OFF'. But on saturday morning, when I got up to go to work, I found ANOTHER PHONE MESSAGE. YES. IT HAPPENED AGAIN. EXACTLY THE SAME, EXCEPT THIS TIME I WAS -SURE- OF THE SCHEDULE! They changed the #@$%ing schedule after sending me home on wednesday and expected me to INHERANTLY KNOW that they did, without any one god damned person telling me. Add to that the fact that my cell phone was EXTREMELY unstable and I TOLD THEM THIS. That gods damned battery was going to explode in my fucking HAND! NO WAY IN HELL was I going to keep that phone on day in and day out in that condition! the thing was bloated to double its factory thickness, it was a ticking timebomb...
*sigh AGAIN...*
Long story short, last saturday was not spent on the clock. Instead, after spilling my guts and all my woes and miseries to Second In Command, he left the office for an undisclosed ammount of time, and when he came back in, he had first in command with him, and the overtones were GRIM. It was during the ensuing guilt trip that I learned that First in command had come to the office INTENDING to fire me on the motherfucking SPOT. I didn't find this hard to believe; after getting screwed on Friday, I thought I was only coming in on saturday to drop off my uniforms. However.... HOWEVER...
The thing that pissed me off the most about this conversation... was ... the LIES. HERE I WAS, ON THE GROUND, AND THEY WERE KICKING ME! AGAIN! AND AGAIN! AND AGAIN! GO AHEAD, I'M NO THE GROUND, KICK ME YOU MOTHER FUCKER! DO IT AGAIN! GO RIGHT AHEAD! BREAK MY FUCKING RIBS YOU REPUGNANT SHIT GUZZLING FUCKWIT! And if I whimpered while they bootfucked me, I'd get a slap. You see, THE WAY THEY SAW IT WAS THE ONLY WAY IT HAD TO BE, BECAUSE THEY ARE ALWAYS RIGHT, AND NEVER WRONG, EVER. IF YOU THINK THEY ARE WRONG, YOU ARE WRONG. BECAUSE THEY ARE RIGHT.
"What the fuck are you talking about Stoney? Get to the fucking point already!"
1: I took my shirts out of the washer that day after guzzling a fourth a god damned bottle of bleach on it, and they said I didn't wash them. IT WAS EATING HOLES IN THE MOTHERFUCKING FABRIC, but they REFUSED to admit I washed their fucking uniforms
2: They told me GERALD told them that I was SLEEPING on third shift--SPECIFICALLY that gerald would be coming up here to pound on the door and TELL ME TO PATROL. WHAT THE FUCK!?
3: They told me my roommates were USING me! Where the FUCK did THIS COME FROM!? That's a whole 'nother rant, and i'm going to save THAT for later...
4: They told me that I shouldn't be working in security if I want to get into architecture. what am I doing here, they'd ask me without letting me TELL them. YOU STUPID FUCKBRAIN, I NEED TO MOTHERFUCKING EAT. I NEED TO PAY THE GODS DAMNED RENT! I HAVE TO SURVIVE -SOMEHOW-!!!!!!
Somehow the idea of 'just gettin' by' could not be pounded through their skulls with a fucking METEOR. And then they started throwing that 120% bullshit at me. That they want 120%. 120%. Metaphorical, metaphysical bullshit. I can't STAND phrases like that. I'm beginning to understand why people go postal. Humanity needs a cleansing. A nice, long, warm shower. In its own blood.
You know, never before, not once ever before, have I EVER wanted to just... kill something. Not someone; these particular humanoid creatures are quickly starting to look less and less like 'people'. Sort of... to influence evolution toward naturally nicer and more-patient humans by killing all the mean, impatient ones. A holocaust for every jackass on the planet. of course, if some people weren't stupid enough to put up with them long enough to propogate their SPAWN, these idiots would've died out long ago.
...I'd probably be one of them, though...
Anyways... I know they're lying about Gerald the Janitor, because gerald had far worse dirt on me than that if he wanted to get me fired. He used to see me taking sodas from sbarro's after mall hours. He used to see me talking on my cell phone. He ACCOMPANIED me on more than one occasion wherein I LEFT mall property DURING my shift to say, buy food at walmart. He COULD HAVE gotten me fired with any combination of these--but SLEEPING? and ... TELLING ME to take a patrol..? You've got to be fucking kidding me. I was the only person that WAS doing my assigned patrols. Dozing was the one thing I DIDN'T fuck up on my shift, because I am a night owl by default. If I were a homing missile, the Gerald argument would've been chaff to distract me. One of these days though, I'm going to have to tell Gerald what they've been saying about him behind his back. I don't think he'd appreciate hearing about his character being defamed with these allegations of bold-face Lies. I really don't think he'd like having words being stuffed inside his mouth.
I guess I'm waiting for the right time to tell him. Hoping that some kind of situation will pop up where telling him will set off a chain reaction that will blow up in their face. *shrug*
OH! And since I'm feeling vengeful, I am pleased to hear that the first in command was bitten by a brown recluse spider and the pain and swelling in his foot is taking him off the clock for a few weeks. Sucker. Anyways, I gotta go.
The Talk
General | Posted 19 years agoThey sent me home today. Gave me a bag full of my filthy uniforms and said 'wash 'em, and if you come back anything less than spotless, you're not coming back at all'. Sure they tried to be nice, but the veil was thin. The message was clear: I'm not going to last very long.
I can't fundumentally change 16 years of incapacity for personal maintenence (sixteen because society has tried and failed to teach me to maintain MYSELF at least since I was five). I can't tell you how long even the most basic, menial tasks of upkeep have persistently embodied, even defined, anathema to me. Fuck. I wouldn't eat if it didn't cause essential agony to -not- for too long.
The rest of our social customs are centralized around the preferential demands of others and the upkeep of their convenience, and sure, that's fine; mutual backscratching is a hallmark of civilization. Unfortunately it never caught on with me. Even though I know it on a subconscious level, it's impossible for me to maintain a Living-In-Fear state in order to motivate myself to carry out immediately-pointless tasks that, to me, only serve to eat time and make for inconvenience and additional expenditure of undue funds and effort.
Yep, that's pretty much it; I live in filth because I boycott life responsibility.
And that is why I fail/suck/lose/am hated.
There's a piece of basic mental wiring that's missing in my head, the one that makes cleaning feel 'good'. I missed that particular brainwashing, where they program you to believe that you enjoy things like washing clothes, sweeping floors, and scrubbing dishes. You wouldn't think it'd be so serious, but I'm about to lose my job because of it.
That's why they sent me home today; they have no idea that the goading doesn't work, and I know exactly how this happens: In a corporation, people are just cogs, loose components that are jammed together in a semblence of working order. each place in the machine has mandatory specifications to live up to. If you had a machine and connector 386-b requires a support rod rated for at least 300 pounds of stress and you accidentally put in a rod that is only rated for 240, what do you do? You replace it. I'm about to be replaced and I can smell my doom sneaking up on me from behind...
Of course, right now they haven't decided that i'm a good sixty 'pounds' short of quota, they're only curious at that strange creaking noise coming from the maintenence compartment. I could attempt to hold out at that position, but the stress shall eventually snap me with little ado and fanfare. If I continue to creak though, they shall surely notice I am the improper component and remove me subsequently anyways. This is a damned if do/damned if don't situation.
I am obviously feeling very backed into a corner.
The voice of optomism says I can get better, "we aren't machine parts even if the machine treats us like parts", and it's possible for us to strengthen ourselves in various ways, and it is possible to pull off amazing changes that can cause us to grow and adapt. Sheesh, it sounds so tooth-aching sweet it makes me sick. You see, that lies on the same path that snapping does, with the only difference being that somehow the part magically doesn't shatter...
But this is a huge longshot gamble, and for what? to keep doing it for the rest of my life? it's a hard pill to swallow!
So I again arrive on the initial question, which I have shoddily veiled, though you may have guessed it by now:
Is it really worth striving for? Is it really worth signing your soul away to an existence of waste and drudgery? is it really worth becoming an emotionless work-a-day zombie of The Con?
The church of the subgenius would say NO!
It'd say, don't -make- the changes happen, -let- the changes happen--changes including 'percieved' failures. Do you want a job that will fail you? Why try to become something you're not! You are descended of the mighty YETI, superior to these pinks BECAUSE you are different!
"but what if every job is engineered to fail me?"
oh. *shrug* then you die.
shivering.
under a bridge.
...ALONE.
the fact remains that it depends on the madness of random chance and luck, and an insane, pervasive knowledge that a human being is a lot fucking harder to kill than you think, especially when it just stops caring about whether or not it's 'alive' in the first place (because there are bigger fish to fry) (REAL bigger fish, not like 'job security' and 'work ethics', but EMOTIONAL FREEDOM, knowing and accepting one's self, internal peace). It's still obvious that rich people are lonely and sad, while some of the most genuinely content and happy people in the world are normal poor folks that sit on the porch with lemonade on cool summer nights to watch the fireflies as the evening recedes to the gentle purplish glow of dusk.
I don't want to be some hypocritical debonaire businessman addicted to coffee and fifty yuppie medications proscribed by any one of their FIVE therapists and personal nutritionalists, who don't have time for their zombified, neglected, prozac'd and rittalin'd kids because they have a MASSAUGE APPOINTMENT! FUCK! FUCK NO! NO FUCKING WAY!
No, I wanna sit on my goddamned porch and eat popsicles to the soothing drum of a spring rain. I wanna watch children playing in the snow. I wanna see sunrises and sunsets and all that romantic bullshit everybody gets all misty eyed over--and you KNOW those stupid corporates all wish they could truly enjoy it... Most of them will never have the chance to see it, and those that do are too occupied, living on borrowed time, because they have to catch a flight for a stockholder meeting in Los Angeles in fourty-five minutes.
*shudder*
... are you going to tell me that that kind of reality doesn't exist anymore?
because if you are, you might as well just shoot yourself right now, because it'll mean NEITHER of us have anything to live for.
I can't fundumentally change 16 years of incapacity for personal maintenence (sixteen because society has tried and failed to teach me to maintain MYSELF at least since I was five). I can't tell you how long even the most basic, menial tasks of upkeep have persistently embodied, even defined, anathema to me. Fuck. I wouldn't eat if it didn't cause essential agony to -not- for too long.
The rest of our social customs are centralized around the preferential demands of others and the upkeep of their convenience, and sure, that's fine; mutual backscratching is a hallmark of civilization. Unfortunately it never caught on with me. Even though I know it on a subconscious level, it's impossible for me to maintain a Living-In-Fear state in order to motivate myself to carry out immediately-pointless tasks that, to me, only serve to eat time and make for inconvenience and additional expenditure of undue funds and effort.
Yep, that's pretty much it; I live in filth because I boycott life responsibility.
And that is why I fail/suck/lose/am hated.
There's a piece of basic mental wiring that's missing in my head, the one that makes cleaning feel 'good'. I missed that particular brainwashing, where they program you to believe that you enjoy things like washing clothes, sweeping floors, and scrubbing dishes. You wouldn't think it'd be so serious, but I'm about to lose my job because of it.
That's why they sent me home today; they have no idea that the goading doesn't work, and I know exactly how this happens: In a corporation, people are just cogs, loose components that are jammed together in a semblence of working order. each place in the machine has mandatory specifications to live up to. If you had a machine and connector 386-b requires a support rod rated for at least 300 pounds of stress and you accidentally put in a rod that is only rated for 240, what do you do? You replace it. I'm about to be replaced and I can smell my doom sneaking up on me from behind...
Of course, right now they haven't decided that i'm a good sixty 'pounds' short of quota, they're only curious at that strange creaking noise coming from the maintenence compartment. I could attempt to hold out at that position, but the stress shall eventually snap me with little ado and fanfare. If I continue to creak though, they shall surely notice I am the improper component and remove me subsequently anyways. This is a damned if do/damned if don't situation.
I am obviously feeling very backed into a corner.
The voice of optomism says I can get better, "we aren't machine parts even if the machine treats us like parts", and it's possible for us to strengthen ourselves in various ways, and it is possible to pull off amazing changes that can cause us to grow and adapt. Sheesh, it sounds so tooth-aching sweet it makes me sick. You see, that lies on the same path that snapping does, with the only difference being that somehow the part magically doesn't shatter...
But this is a huge longshot gamble, and for what? to keep doing it for the rest of my life? it's a hard pill to swallow!
So I again arrive on the initial question, which I have shoddily veiled, though you may have guessed it by now:
Is it really worth striving for? Is it really worth signing your soul away to an existence of waste and drudgery? is it really worth becoming an emotionless work-a-day zombie of The Con?
The church of the subgenius would say NO!
It'd say, don't -make- the changes happen, -let- the changes happen--changes including 'percieved' failures. Do you want a job that will fail you? Why try to become something you're not! You are descended of the mighty YETI, superior to these pinks BECAUSE you are different!
"but what if every job is engineered to fail me?"
oh. *shrug* then you die.
shivering.
under a bridge.
...ALONE.
the fact remains that it depends on the madness of random chance and luck, and an insane, pervasive knowledge that a human being is a lot fucking harder to kill than you think, especially when it just stops caring about whether or not it's 'alive' in the first place (because there are bigger fish to fry) (REAL bigger fish, not like 'job security' and 'work ethics', but EMOTIONAL FREEDOM, knowing and accepting one's self, internal peace). It's still obvious that rich people are lonely and sad, while some of the most genuinely content and happy people in the world are normal poor folks that sit on the porch with lemonade on cool summer nights to watch the fireflies as the evening recedes to the gentle purplish glow of dusk.
I don't want to be some hypocritical debonaire businessman addicted to coffee and fifty yuppie medications proscribed by any one of their FIVE therapists and personal nutritionalists, who don't have time for their zombified, neglected, prozac'd and rittalin'd kids because they have a MASSAUGE APPOINTMENT! FUCK! FUCK NO! NO FUCKING WAY!
No, I wanna sit on my goddamned porch and eat popsicles to the soothing drum of a spring rain. I wanna watch children playing in the snow. I wanna see sunrises and sunsets and all that romantic bullshit everybody gets all misty eyed over--and you KNOW those stupid corporates all wish they could truly enjoy it... Most of them will never have the chance to see it, and those that do are too occupied, living on borrowed time, because they have to catch a flight for a stockholder meeting in Los Angeles in fourty-five minutes.
*shudder*
... are you going to tell me that that kind of reality doesn't exist anymore?
because if you are, you might as well just shoot yourself right now, because it'll mean NEITHER of us have anything to live for.
Realization
General | Posted 19 years agoI'm always the last to notice these things, but now that it's made itself apparant, suddenly it kind of makes sense.
The lack of inspiration.
The feeling like I'm pushing myself too hard to say anything 'interesting'
The fact that, when I finally did have something to say, it hurt someone deeply.
this stuck-in-the-mud feeling isn't something new; it's just familliar enough to be uncomfortable, to be a thorn in my side, to tint everything the subtlest shade darker, the slightest taste bitterer. It was conveniently omitted from my memory and senses, like so many unpleasent things... and as usual, it took the observation of a complete outsider to open my eyes.
... I'm depressed.
Now, I'm not saying this to look for attention or sympathy... I find no enjoyment in sapping the energy and empathy of my loved ones, or even complete strangers--but the fact remains that this is a problem, and it is worthy of addressing.
I don't know how it happened or even when it began, but I know that my grave insult, albeit an unintentional one, toward another incredible artist, was the result of it, as is a recent trouble as pertains to the creation of new art. It is amazing what a lack of confidence can do... and, it is devastating what FALSE confidence can do...
I only had the slightest inkling that something was amiss when my smiles started to feel fake, when the world started to feel heavy, when the colors started to become sucked away, and day-in, day-out began to tax... but now it all makes sense and I know exactly what the problem is. Unfortnately, I don't know what to do about it. These are the sorts of revelations that blindside you. The ones that you -never- see coming until it's too late. And now it is too late.
Why is it too late? Depression is like an infection, for me. It anchors itself in my heart and strengthens itself, it builds walls, fortifications, and countermeasures, and manifests feelings of doubt, insecurity, irrational fear, and hesitation. It, for all intents and purposes, takes my life, and reduces it to a ruined state for its duration... and I am blessed that I can look at it so objectively now rather than just curl up in a ball and start bawling.
Like so many things wrong with me, though, my depressions are too powered by some form of haywire defense mechanism. When you've sealed yourself away in a dark hole, even if the loneliness gets you, the bullets won't. Perhaps it was once necessary, but is now just a vestigial hinderance that will do nothing but damage a person and their life. Me and MY life.
And as an aforementioned blocked-away unpleasentness... I lack the key to open it. Or do I? ... sometimes the key itself is right behind me, also blocked away. But further is the issue of whether or not I want to open it at all... an idiocy that could make me infinitely worse. In the end, all I end up doing is sitting and thinking about it, and drifting further and further into debility...
it's quite a connundrum.
I could enjoy pondering a puzzle like this, normally ._.
Go Figure.
--five minutes later--
omigawd...
oh my god...
I GET OUT OF DEPRESSIONS BY FAILING.
SHIT. SHIT! SHIIIIT! >_< *HOLE+WALL=PUNCH*
Gods mother-fucking DAMMIT --THIS is why college didn't work for me! THIS is why I'm depressed--I got calls from TWO Architectural firms and now there's PRESSURE. I haven't worked on my resume in YEARS and I can't get started on it, and it's WHAT-IF. The WHAT-IFS. It's always the WHAT-IFS that attack me, they creep up on me and make me DOUBT! And then I hesitate for SO LONG that failure becomes such a GIVEN that I just GIVE UP and 'go on' with my 'life' but my 'LIFE' isn't more than THIS SHIT because I crumble every time I have a chance to make it something MORE! And I'm afraid of change, and I'm afraid of progress, and I'm afraid of ... losing what little I already have...
I'm depressed... because the depression will make me 'flunk' out of sending in resumes to architectural firms that are actually interested in me... and when I have no hope of any success whatsoever... I shrug it off and say, "If I don't pay attention to my depression, I'll just forget that I'm depressed, and it'll be okay, it'll all be over and I'll be back where I started with no trouble!"
Depression was the one thing I THOUGHT -would- go away if I ignored it, that it would just correct itself and phase out because it was NOTHING more than a hormonal imbalance, because I was SURE that it had NO cause, but THIS IS CAUSE.
FUCK!
-_- now I have to DO something about it...
*shudder*
...When I moved to Roanoke, Virginia... I was afraid of losing everything. Ironically, I did lose all semblence of stability I used to have. I lost touch with my best and closest friends--ONLINE!!--because I merely didn't even have a desk to sit at... and now I have a job with strange hours that takes up strange times...AND YET...
Roanoke... is STILL an improvement over chicopee. It's STILL a 'success' to me, somehow. I guess I just got so fed up... and the depression that rose about the big move was too weak. And then!! There's the fact that moving is not hard at all, especially not when your only IMPORTANT possession is your laptop and you never sit back and ask yourself 'what the fuck am I doing' until it's over... heh... like climbing a cliff and not looking down.
But I still don't know how to FORCE MYSELF to write that resume. When I open that word document, my mouth goes dry and my mind goes blank, and i can't find that 'ranting energy', that capability to DELUGE like I have here in FA.
So if it only works in FA... hah.. ahah... AhahahahaHA.. AHaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAH
AHAHahaHAHAhaHAAhahahAHAHAAAAHahaHAHAHAhahAHahaHAAAhhhh...
I'LL JUST DO IT HERE, MOTHERFUCKER! YOU CAN'T TOUCH ME -HERE-, -HERE- IS WHERE -I- AM IN CONTROL! I WIN! I WIN YOU DIRTY SONOFABITCH! I FUCKING WIN!
Alright people, I'm gonna tell you a little story about what I'd love to get paid for and why someone should pay me to do it!
EDUCATION:
CHICOPEE COMPREHENSIVE HIGH SCHOOL:
Graduated in 2003 with Carreer/Technical specialization in Computer Aided Drafting.
In the Drafting Technology course, not only did I excell in following specifications to the letter, but I also did it in unforseen, creative ways that turned the heads of my instructors and developed my assignments among the farthest of the class as pertains to aesthetics and detail.
At the end of the course, I not only completed American Design and Drafting Association certification as a draftsman, but also was one of the two highest scores in the class (even higher than the assistant instructor) on the certification exam.
I hoped to find a challenge, later.
HOLYOKE COMMUNITY COLLEGE:
Attended between 2003 and 2005,
Found inability to pursue other fields, because they were not Drafting OR Architecture.
This community college did not possess the necesssary programs to train me in the ways that would best suit my profession of choice. Not only did I complete the majority of my obligations in the one drafting class they possessed almost more than a week ahead of schedule, but I also regretfully found myself turning into the class tutor, allowing several other students to pass as well.
I needed a challenge.
WORK EXPERIENCE:
TARGET CORPORATION stores:
October 2003-January 2004
50 Holyoke Street, Holyoke, MA 01040
Supervisor no longer present
There was little to no room to express creativity at this job, but it did promote teamwork, and taught me how to buckle down and execute tasks on-command with considerably less hesitation.
It was not, however, a challenge.
LOUIS AND CLARK drug store:
January 2005-May 2006
1481 Memorial Drive, Chicopee, MA 01020
Supervisor: Maureen Boutin
This job did allow me to express some creativity, with the arrangements of shelves in attempt to promote an aesthetically pleasing, 'quaint' environment, especially in the gift section. My ability to percieve such a purpose is a direct testiment to how desperate I'd become to create anything worthwhile.
This job was not useful or a challenge either.
ERMC Mall Security:
May 2006-present
4802 Valley View Blvd NW Roanoke, VA, 24012
Supervisor: Eddie Langan
Required minimal use of a computer to generate regular status reports and organize paperwork. The majority of it is walking, and it is the monotony of this employment that is driving me the most to assume a position in a field where my abilities are actually utilized.
This job was the least challenging OF ALL.
CAPABILITIES:
Typing speed rated up to 120 words-per-minute
Experience with all Microsoft Office applications
Mastery of AutoDesk AutoCAD versions R14 through 2000i
Experience with AutoDesk Inventor 6
MERITS:
American Design and Drafting Association certificatoin
(Extra: ) PERSONAL SKILLS and INTERESTS:
freehand drawing
literature
musical composition
REFERENCES:
########################
(PRIVATE, not for FurAffinity ^^)
########################
The lack of inspiration.
The feeling like I'm pushing myself too hard to say anything 'interesting'
The fact that, when I finally did have something to say, it hurt someone deeply.
this stuck-in-the-mud feeling isn't something new; it's just familliar enough to be uncomfortable, to be a thorn in my side, to tint everything the subtlest shade darker, the slightest taste bitterer. It was conveniently omitted from my memory and senses, like so many unpleasent things... and as usual, it took the observation of a complete outsider to open my eyes.
... I'm depressed.
Now, I'm not saying this to look for attention or sympathy... I find no enjoyment in sapping the energy and empathy of my loved ones, or even complete strangers--but the fact remains that this is a problem, and it is worthy of addressing.
I don't know how it happened or even when it began, but I know that my grave insult, albeit an unintentional one, toward another incredible artist, was the result of it, as is a recent trouble as pertains to the creation of new art. It is amazing what a lack of confidence can do... and, it is devastating what FALSE confidence can do...
I only had the slightest inkling that something was amiss when my smiles started to feel fake, when the world started to feel heavy, when the colors started to become sucked away, and day-in, day-out began to tax... but now it all makes sense and I know exactly what the problem is. Unfortnately, I don't know what to do about it. These are the sorts of revelations that blindside you. The ones that you -never- see coming until it's too late. And now it is too late.
Why is it too late? Depression is like an infection, for me. It anchors itself in my heart and strengthens itself, it builds walls, fortifications, and countermeasures, and manifests feelings of doubt, insecurity, irrational fear, and hesitation. It, for all intents and purposes, takes my life, and reduces it to a ruined state for its duration... and I am blessed that I can look at it so objectively now rather than just curl up in a ball and start bawling.
Like so many things wrong with me, though, my depressions are too powered by some form of haywire defense mechanism. When you've sealed yourself away in a dark hole, even if the loneliness gets you, the bullets won't. Perhaps it was once necessary, but is now just a vestigial hinderance that will do nothing but damage a person and their life. Me and MY life.
And as an aforementioned blocked-away unpleasentness... I lack the key to open it. Or do I? ... sometimes the key itself is right behind me, also blocked away. But further is the issue of whether or not I want to open it at all... an idiocy that could make me infinitely worse. In the end, all I end up doing is sitting and thinking about it, and drifting further and further into debility...
it's quite a connundrum.
I could enjoy pondering a puzzle like this, normally ._.
Go Figure.
--five minutes later--
omigawd...
oh my god...
I GET OUT OF DEPRESSIONS BY FAILING.
SHIT. SHIT! SHIIIIT! >_< *HOLE+WALL=PUNCH*
Gods mother-fucking DAMMIT --THIS is why college didn't work for me! THIS is why I'm depressed--I got calls from TWO Architectural firms and now there's PRESSURE. I haven't worked on my resume in YEARS and I can't get started on it, and it's WHAT-IF. The WHAT-IFS. It's always the WHAT-IFS that attack me, they creep up on me and make me DOUBT! And then I hesitate for SO LONG that failure becomes such a GIVEN that I just GIVE UP and 'go on' with my 'life' but my 'LIFE' isn't more than THIS SHIT because I crumble every time I have a chance to make it something MORE! And I'm afraid of change, and I'm afraid of progress, and I'm afraid of ... losing what little I already have...
I'm depressed... because the depression will make me 'flunk' out of sending in resumes to architectural firms that are actually interested in me... and when I have no hope of any success whatsoever... I shrug it off and say, "If I don't pay attention to my depression, I'll just forget that I'm depressed, and it'll be okay, it'll all be over and I'll be back where I started with no trouble!"
Depression was the one thing I THOUGHT -would- go away if I ignored it, that it would just correct itself and phase out because it was NOTHING more than a hormonal imbalance, because I was SURE that it had NO cause, but THIS IS CAUSE.
FUCK!
-_- now I have to DO something about it...
*shudder*
...When I moved to Roanoke, Virginia... I was afraid of losing everything. Ironically, I did lose all semblence of stability I used to have. I lost touch with my best and closest friends--ONLINE!!--because I merely didn't even have a desk to sit at... and now I have a job with strange hours that takes up strange times...AND YET...
Roanoke... is STILL an improvement over chicopee. It's STILL a 'success' to me, somehow. I guess I just got so fed up... and the depression that rose about the big move was too weak. And then!! There's the fact that moving is not hard at all, especially not when your only IMPORTANT possession is your laptop and you never sit back and ask yourself 'what the fuck am I doing' until it's over... heh... like climbing a cliff and not looking down.
But I still don't know how to FORCE MYSELF to write that resume. When I open that word document, my mouth goes dry and my mind goes blank, and i can't find that 'ranting energy', that capability to DELUGE like I have here in FA.
So if it only works in FA... hah.. ahah... AhahahahaHA.. AHaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAH
AHAHahaHAHAhaHAAhahahAHAHAAAAHahaHAHAHAhahAHahaHAAAhhhh...
I'LL JUST DO IT HERE, MOTHERFUCKER! YOU CAN'T TOUCH ME -HERE-, -HERE- IS WHERE -I- AM IN CONTROL! I WIN! I WIN YOU DIRTY SONOFABITCH! I FUCKING WIN!
Alright people, I'm gonna tell you a little story about what I'd love to get paid for and why someone should pay me to do it!
EDUCATION:
CHICOPEE COMPREHENSIVE HIGH SCHOOL:
Graduated in 2003 with Carreer/Technical specialization in Computer Aided Drafting.
In the Drafting Technology course, not only did I excell in following specifications to the letter, but I also did it in unforseen, creative ways that turned the heads of my instructors and developed my assignments among the farthest of the class as pertains to aesthetics and detail.
At the end of the course, I not only completed American Design and Drafting Association certification as a draftsman, but also was one of the two highest scores in the class (even higher than the assistant instructor) on the certification exam.
I hoped to find a challenge, later.
HOLYOKE COMMUNITY COLLEGE:
Attended between 2003 and 2005,
Found inability to pursue other fields, because they were not Drafting OR Architecture.
This community college did not possess the necesssary programs to train me in the ways that would best suit my profession of choice. Not only did I complete the majority of my obligations in the one drafting class they possessed almost more than a week ahead of schedule, but I also regretfully found myself turning into the class tutor, allowing several other students to pass as well.
I needed a challenge.
WORK EXPERIENCE:
TARGET CORPORATION stores:
October 2003-January 2004
50 Holyoke Street, Holyoke, MA 01040
Supervisor no longer present
There was little to no room to express creativity at this job, but it did promote teamwork, and taught me how to buckle down and execute tasks on-command with considerably less hesitation.
It was not, however, a challenge.
LOUIS AND CLARK drug store:
January 2005-May 2006
1481 Memorial Drive, Chicopee, MA 01020
Supervisor: Maureen Boutin
This job did allow me to express some creativity, with the arrangements of shelves in attempt to promote an aesthetically pleasing, 'quaint' environment, especially in the gift section. My ability to percieve such a purpose is a direct testiment to how desperate I'd become to create anything worthwhile.
This job was not useful or a challenge either.
ERMC Mall Security:
May 2006-present
4802 Valley View Blvd NW Roanoke, VA, 24012
Supervisor: Eddie Langan
Required minimal use of a computer to generate regular status reports and organize paperwork. The majority of it is walking, and it is the monotony of this employment that is driving me the most to assume a position in a field where my abilities are actually utilized.
This job was the least challenging OF ALL.
CAPABILITIES:
Typing speed rated up to 120 words-per-minute
Experience with all Microsoft Office applications
Mastery of AutoDesk AutoCAD versions R14 through 2000i
Experience with AutoDesk Inventor 6
MERITS:
American Design and Drafting Association certificatoin
(Extra: ) PERSONAL SKILLS and INTERESTS:
freehand drawing
literature
musical composition
REFERENCES:
########################
(PRIVATE, not for FurAffinity ^^)
########################
Stolen Questionaire: Your Character
General | Posted 19 years agoI stole this from ::kattinthebag::, who stole it from someone named 'cheska'...
sorry to jump on a bandwagon ^^;
1. What is your character's name?
Stone Hawk is my primary fursona, though he's also his own person.
Part imaginary friend, part personal avatar, part literary role, part role-model
2. What kind of character is it (furry, anime, etc) and any particular race?
A furry, canine, an alternate-evolution breed of Wolf that developed as a result of sentience (genetically predisposed toward certain sociological and intellectual functions rather than appearances or physical capabilities like Greyhounds etc).
3. What is the first thing your character would think of when he/she first wakes up?
"...mmmnnhhh... breakfast... cook breakfast..." *roll out of hammock* "ACH--!" >THUMP< "...oy... -now- i be up..."
4. Your character's favorite outfit would be?
He sticks to his old standbys: A cotton vest and working pants, leather overcoat, woven poncho, extra-wide-brimmed hat (either straw or starched wool); Always carries his trusty quarterstaff.
5. When your character looks into a mirror, what's the first thing they would notice?
His fur. It's white. Very white, like fresh snow, naturally, and he finds it infuriatingly hard to stain. Tomato sauce? grape juice? mud? BLOOD? Nope. Not that he wants to be multicolored by muck; it always struck him strange, though, because of the dirty work he enjoys doing.
6. Does your character have the same tastes in food as you?
Oh no, his tastes are far healtheir and classier than mine. He fancies traditional ethnic dishes, with very flamboyant natural colors. His plates are veritable rainbow mosaics of various vegitables, meats, and seasonings.
Did I mention he cooks?
I wish I could cook...
7. How is your character similar to you?
He's drifted a lot, but when you get down to it, he embodies the parts of me I'm most proud of, purified and distilled. All the niceness, patience, and optimism I have, he can wield effortlessly and easily.
8. How is he different?
Stoney is a Doer. He gets things done. He works hard and enjoys it. He can tap the Zen of mopping a floor. He also loves to patch things up and maintain them, and getting up at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise. He enjoys walks, gets enough of a kick out of presentability to make himself keep up but not so much that he freaks when he gets a little messy... He's not afraid of taking on big tasks and can fulfill them to the end with calm, easy single-minded accuracy.
He's everything I wish I could be ._.;
9. If your character could speak, would they have the same voice as you?
Oh heavens no! Stoney's got a deep, warm tone with a thick scottish accent that is quite charming and quaint at best and hilarious at worst. He enjoys showing politeness and manners particularly when people don't expect them.
10. If you were to suddenly become your character, what do you think would be the first thing you would do as them?
It happened once. It happened, for one breathtaking moment. For just a brief flash, for only a matter of MINUTES, stone hawk came to the surface of this world and was in control, and all he could think of was, where's gin? I have no fur... I have no tail...! My feet... they don't work right! and why do I feel so... tired? I should be asleep...
The first thing he did was sleep; because he was prepared to fill the next day with chores, which he would have executed whistling cheerily.
I kind of wish he did it. He's better at living than I am...
11. Is there something about your character that you don't like how others think of them?
I can't say I could unless they thought he was trying to be some kind of arrogant badass; but getting to know him shows just how misguided such an idea would be. He's very humble and friendly.
12. What advantages does your character have over you?
what, like, all of them? All of them except that I know, for a fact, that he wouldn't have maintained contact with all the friends I hold dearest to me. He wouldn't have my friends, and my friends are priceless. He wouldn't have them, though, because my friends, I keep in touch with them through the internet, and he'd become quickly bored with these whirring plastic boxes. He'd rather go outside for a walk on a cool summer night to watch the streetlamps light, and he'd probably not even come back... he'd just start walking.
Stoney's a traveler.
I can't say I'd have any advantages, because he doesn't 'need' a safe place or stability -.- i'm not better off because I have it. I'm worse off because I need it.
13. What disadvantages?
...
I just can't really think of any.
Maybe he'd feel lonely at first, or feel like nobody knows him, but he'd fix that very quickly.
14. Do you have any secrets relating to your character that only you know?
They aren't secrets; it's just that nobody would bother knowing them.
15. Do you have any secret drawings only you know about?
I did, but no longer. I lost the hard copies and they were never scanned. they weren't very good anyway, so neh. Most of my art though, I show to my friends, even if I don't upload it here.
16. Do you have any plans for your character or are you working on something big relating to him/her?
Stoney plans on staying at valesco, with Gin Blossom.
17. What misconception(s), if any, do people have about your character?
Sometimes people immediately assume that he's a fighter. He likes to fix things more than break them, though.
18. If you could have just ONE characteristic from your character, what would it be?
His attitude. His Get-It-Done-and-Enjoy-It attitude. Oh I wish. If only. His days never seem to end until he's ready for them to. He doesn't know HOW to procrastinate ;_;
19. Have you made any characters that go along with yours, based on real-life people, that have the same traists?
Ah, no, 'fraid not. I don't have any real-life connections except my roommates and they can't be represented in furry form.
20. Have you written any stories about your character?
I wrote his history. That's it.
21. How has your character changed since his/her first creation?
Oh ye GODS. The NAME ITSELF has a history dating back YEARS. On Napster, Stone Hawk was a spiritual alias bestowed upon me by a game master in the Anime Room on the Anime Server. Skarnkai, wherever you are, MANY <3S TO YOU! Stonehawk USED to be a transformation form; a gigantic bird with hard, durable, armor-like feathers, so-named at a time when Stone was the primary material of strength and structural integrity.
Only when furc came around did he become the easy-going freespirit traveler that he is today.
22. Give us a one-liner from him.
"I do 'ope ye realize who be the one tae fix up this mess when ye'r through..."
23. What's something people would be surprised to learn about your character?
He seems to have a feline preference o.o; or, if not a preference, he got the most attention from feli-types >_>
24. If you met your character in real life, what would you do with him or her?
I would stand aside and let him live his life in peace... I'd wish him luck and hope he'll stay in touch, and tell him I'd miss him, because I know that Stone can't be tied down. Only Gin Blossom has ever made him feel like he was home anywhere. He'd have to find that someone for himself in the real world.
I'm sure there's got to be a wild, talented, eccentric, adventurous, ingenious girl out there somewhere for the Stone Hawks of our world.
sorry to jump on a bandwagon ^^;
1. What is your character's name?
Stone Hawk is my primary fursona, though he's also his own person.
Part imaginary friend, part personal avatar, part literary role, part role-model
2. What kind of character is it (furry, anime, etc) and any particular race?
A furry, canine, an alternate-evolution breed of Wolf that developed as a result of sentience (genetically predisposed toward certain sociological and intellectual functions rather than appearances or physical capabilities like Greyhounds etc).
3. What is the first thing your character would think of when he/she first wakes up?
"...mmmnnhhh... breakfast... cook breakfast..." *roll out of hammock* "ACH--!" >THUMP< "...oy... -now- i be up..."
4. Your character's favorite outfit would be?
He sticks to his old standbys: A cotton vest and working pants, leather overcoat, woven poncho, extra-wide-brimmed hat (either straw or starched wool); Always carries his trusty quarterstaff.
5. When your character looks into a mirror, what's the first thing they would notice?
His fur. It's white. Very white, like fresh snow, naturally, and he finds it infuriatingly hard to stain. Tomato sauce? grape juice? mud? BLOOD? Nope. Not that he wants to be multicolored by muck; it always struck him strange, though, because of the dirty work he enjoys doing.
6. Does your character have the same tastes in food as you?
Oh no, his tastes are far healtheir and classier than mine. He fancies traditional ethnic dishes, with very flamboyant natural colors. His plates are veritable rainbow mosaics of various vegitables, meats, and seasonings.
Did I mention he cooks?
I wish I could cook...
7. How is your character similar to you?
He's drifted a lot, but when you get down to it, he embodies the parts of me I'm most proud of, purified and distilled. All the niceness, patience, and optimism I have, he can wield effortlessly and easily.
8. How is he different?
Stoney is a Doer. He gets things done. He works hard and enjoys it. He can tap the Zen of mopping a floor. He also loves to patch things up and maintain them, and getting up at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise. He enjoys walks, gets enough of a kick out of presentability to make himself keep up but not so much that he freaks when he gets a little messy... He's not afraid of taking on big tasks and can fulfill them to the end with calm, easy single-minded accuracy.
He's everything I wish I could be ._.;
9. If your character could speak, would they have the same voice as you?
Oh heavens no! Stoney's got a deep, warm tone with a thick scottish accent that is quite charming and quaint at best and hilarious at worst. He enjoys showing politeness and manners particularly when people don't expect them.
10. If you were to suddenly become your character, what do you think would be the first thing you would do as them?
It happened once. It happened, for one breathtaking moment. For just a brief flash, for only a matter of MINUTES, stone hawk came to the surface of this world and was in control, and all he could think of was, where's gin? I have no fur... I have no tail...! My feet... they don't work right! and why do I feel so... tired? I should be asleep...
The first thing he did was sleep; because he was prepared to fill the next day with chores, which he would have executed whistling cheerily.
I kind of wish he did it. He's better at living than I am...
11. Is there something about your character that you don't like how others think of them?
I can't say I could unless they thought he was trying to be some kind of arrogant badass; but getting to know him shows just how misguided such an idea would be. He's very humble and friendly.
12. What advantages does your character have over you?
what, like, all of them? All of them except that I know, for a fact, that he wouldn't have maintained contact with all the friends I hold dearest to me. He wouldn't have my friends, and my friends are priceless. He wouldn't have them, though, because my friends, I keep in touch with them through the internet, and he'd become quickly bored with these whirring plastic boxes. He'd rather go outside for a walk on a cool summer night to watch the streetlamps light, and he'd probably not even come back... he'd just start walking.
Stoney's a traveler.
I can't say I'd have any advantages, because he doesn't 'need' a safe place or stability -.- i'm not better off because I have it. I'm worse off because I need it.
13. What disadvantages?
...
I just can't really think of any.
Maybe he'd feel lonely at first, or feel like nobody knows him, but he'd fix that very quickly.
14. Do you have any secrets relating to your character that only you know?
They aren't secrets; it's just that nobody would bother knowing them.
15. Do you have any secret drawings only you know about?
I did, but no longer. I lost the hard copies and they were never scanned. they weren't very good anyway, so neh. Most of my art though, I show to my friends, even if I don't upload it here.
16. Do you have any plans for your character or are you working on something big relating to him/her?
Stoney plans on staying at valesco, with Gin Blossom.
17. What misconception(s), if any, do people have about your character?
Sometimes people immediately assume that he's a fighter. He likes to fix things more than break them, though.
18. If you could have just ONE characteristic from your character, what would it be?
His attitude. His Get-It-Done-and-Enjoy-It attitude. Oh I wish. If only. His days never seem to end until he's ready for them to. He doesn't know HOW to procrastinate ;_;
19. Have you made any characters that go along with yours, based on real-life people, that have the same traists?
Ah, no, 'fraid not. I don't have any real-life connections except my roommates and they can't be represented in furry form.
20. Have you written any stories about your character?
I wrote his history. That's it.
21. How has your character changed since his/her first creation?
Oh ye GODS. The NAME ITSELF has a history dating back YEARS. On Napster, Stone Hawk was a spiritual alias bestowed upon me by a game master in the Anime Room on the Anime Server. Skarnkai, wherever you are, MANY <3S TO YOU! Stonehawk USED to be a transformation form; a gigantic bird with hard, durable, armor-like feathers, so-named at a time when Stone was the primary material of strength and structural integrity.
Only when furc came around did he become the easy-going freespirit traveler that he is today.
22. Give us a one-liner from him.
"I do 'ope ye realize who be the one tae fix up this mess when ye'r through..."
23. What's something people would be surprised to learn about your character?
He seems to have a feline preference o.o; or, if not a preference, he got the most attention from feli-types >_>
24. If you met your character in real life, what would you do with him or her?
I would stand aside and let him live his life in peace... I'd wish him luck and hope he'll stay in touch, and tell him I'd miss him, because I know that Stone can't be tied down. Only Gin Blossom has ever made him feel like he was home anywhere. He'd have to find that someone for himself in the real world.
I'm sure there's got to be a wild, talented, eccentric, adventurous, ingenious girl out there somewhere for the Stone Hawks of our world.
Back to the Lurk.
General | Posted 19 years agoI haven't been uploading much. nope. not at all. But that's because of my major schedule upset. -.- i am not happy with this adjustment. not working 3rd shift means little chance to draw.
So I have nothing.
I'm sorry.
So I have nothing.
I'm sorry.
Wrong.
General | Posted 19 years agoEver get that nagging feeling?
I should be doing something, working on something, continuing some project that I haven't in a while; I have some kind of anxiousness pushing me to find something fantastical, or to create it, but my hands feel dead to the pencil... I could admit that it's worrying, only to be told to stop worrying about it. I doubt the answer is there, though.
It's an ancient sensation that I recognize I haven't felt in a very long time; the loose end of some project that I must've given up a long time ago, but has sent its ghosts to haunt the back of my mind, beckoning, but not leading... telling me to listen to its message, its message being: "Listen to my message."
Infuriating. Restless. I don't know WHAT I want to do, except maybe chew on something. Anybody got a rubber ball?
It doesn't help that I didn't manage to do any art yesterday... and haven't yet today.
ergh. I'm not happy about that. I really like FurAffinity and drawing something new everyday is a very good, very healthy practice.
Well, at least today I have something to show. I've actually, finally, managed to develop a portrait for my main character on furcadia. I'm going to drop it into my gallery. I don't know what else to do, really...
maybe something else will happen. Or maybe I'll waste my entire day away. Ker-SHRUG.
I should be doing something, working on something, continuing some project that I haven't in a while; I have some kind of anxiousness pushing me to find something fantastical, or to create it, but my hands feel dead to the pencil... I could admit that it's worrying, only to be told to stop worrying about it. I doubt the answer is there, though.
It's an ancient sensation that I recognize I haven't felt in a very long time; the loose end of some project that I must've given up a long time ago, but has sent its ghosts to haunt the back of my mind, beckoning, but not leading... telling me to listen to its message, its message being: "Listen to my message."
Infuriating. Restless. I don't know WHAT I want to do, except maybe chew on something. Anybody got a rubber ball?
It doesn't help that I didn't manage to do any art yesterday... and haven't yet today.
ergh. I'm not happy about that. I really like FurAffinity and drawing something new everyday is a very good, very healthy practice.
Well, at least today I have something to show. I've actually, finally, managed to develop a portrait for my main character on furcadia. I'm going to drop it into my gallery. I don't know what else to do, really...
maybe something else will happen. Or maybe I'll waste my entire day away. Ker-SHRUG.
Let By-Gones be comin' around to bite you in the ass.
General | Posted 19 years agohere's a lovely story for you!
Yesterday, I was really fuckin' sleepy. I mean REALLY fuckin' sleepy, and usually I had wednesday and thursday nights off, so I called in to work to ask if indeed I DID have work on thursday night, last night. So, I call in to work around 6pm, 'cos stupid me, I haven't slept yet... and I asked, "Am I working tonight?"
The guy says, "Oh, hold on, lemme check..."
Then, "Night of the fifth? Nope, you're off."
So I said "Waaaaitwaitwaitwait--My schedules are assigned to me by the MORNING I go OFF the clock."
So he says, "Ah, lemme check again..."
then, "Morning of the sixth? Nope, You're off!"
So I was like, "YES!!!"
and WHAM! OUT COLD.
I slept, and slept, and slept, and lo and behold, 11 hours later, I wake up to the buzzing of my cell phone. Apparantly, I have A VOICE MESSAGE. The voice message came at around 7:40 pm, about an hour and forty minutes (DUH) since I went to SLEEP, and it was the second shift supervisor of security saying "Oh, by the way, so-and-so mentioned that you called to see whether or not you are working tonight. Guess what. You're working tonight. See you at 11 o'clock".
So obviously, I was like,
".....sssssSSSSSS<b>SSSHHHHH<i>HHHHHIIIIIIII<u>IIIIITTTTTTTT!!!</b></u></i>
since I found this message at FIVE IN THE FUCKING MORNING.
asdjfkl;ahgirewlhaifhauifvhureahiufhajshfvhafwaiehfuiawehifhuahufhupewahfl
!!!!!>_<;!!!!!
So. I go about my day as usual. I draw, I chat it up with MAH HOMIES,
and finally it comes time to GO TO WORK. So, I walk to work. I call up the security office to ask them to let me in, all sheepish and embarassed with "hey. I'm ... actually here tonight..."
Shortly thereafter, Lackey #3 and THE BIG, BIG, BOSS MAN march up to the door, and he does NOT look happy.
AHHHHHHHHHHHGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIP
GUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILT
TRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPG
UILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTT
RIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGU
ILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTR
IPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUI
LTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIP
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Long story short:
It's MY fault that I was told the wrong information, because I shoul've been a PARANOID little fucker and verified every stray mote of FUCKING DUST with the BIG BOSS, so now they're going to make an EXAMPLE out of Your Favorite FUCKING CRAZY Stoney.
GOOD NEWS:
I'm not fired!
BAD NEWS:
I'm not on midnights anymore, I'm on second shift! I have to work...
...<b>WITH PEOPLE</b>
GOOD NEWS:
My two-day weekend just turned into a FIVE day weekend.
BAD NEWS:
It's because I'm suspended for three days.
GOOD NEWS:
At least the rat-bastard had the decency to give me my GODS DAMNED PAYCHECK.
MY FRIENDS, I think it's about time I wisened up with my time usage. I THINK... it's time to write a fucking resume. I have three extra days to waste on torrents of stupid, face-stabbingly CRACKEd creativity. Maybe I can fit a little ego-pumping advertisement in there. This job is going to ditch my sorry ass real soon anyway.
Y'know, it's funny, I haven't felt this surreal since when I was traversing the 500 miles that were seperating me from my old home, and my current place of residence. This feeling of randomness, therefore, may be painfully sorely associated with good fortune. I'm going to milk this buzz for all it's worth. bwahah.
Yesterday, I was really fuckin' sleepy. I mean REALLY fuckin' sleepy, and usually I had wednesday and thursday nights off, so I called in to work to ask if indeed I DID have work on thursday night, last night. So, I call in to work around 6pm, 'cos stupid me, I haven't slept yet... and I asked, "Am I working tonight?"
The guy says, "Oh, hold on, lemme check..."
Then, "Night of the fifth? Nope, you're off."
So I said "Waaaaitwaitwaitwait--My schedules are assigned to me by the MORNING I go OFF the clock."
So he says, "Ah, lemme check again..."
then, "Morning of the sixth? Nope, You're off!"
So I was like, "YES!!!"
and WHAM! OUT COLD.
I slept, and slept, and slept, and lo and behold, 11 hours later, I wake up to the buzzing of my cell phone. Apparantly, I have A VOICE MESSAGE. The voice message came at around 7:40 pm, about an hour and forty minutes (DUH) since I went to SLEEP, and it was the second shift supervisor of security saying "Oh, by the way, so-and-so mentioned that you called to see whether or not you are working tonight. Guess what. You're working tonight. See you at 11 o'clock".
So obviously, I was like,
".....sssssSSSSSS<b>SSSHHHHH<i>HHHHHIIIIIIII<u>IIIIITTTTTTTT!!!</b></u></i>
since I found this message at FIVE IN THE FUCKING MORNING.
asdjfkl;ahgirewlhaifhauifvhureahiufhajshfvhafwaiehfuiawehifhuahufhupewahfl
!!!!!>_<;!!!!!
So. I go about my day as usual. I draw, I chat it up with MAH HOMIES,
and finally it comes time to GO TO WORK. So, I walk to work. I call up the security office to ask them to let me in, all sheepish and embarassed with "hey. I'm ... actually here tonight..."
Shortly thereafter, Lackey #3 and THE BIG, BIG, BOSS MAN march up to the door, and he does NOT look happy.
AHHHHHHHHHHHGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIP
GUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILT
TRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPG
UILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTT
RIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGU
ILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTR
IPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUI
LTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIPGUILTTRIP
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Long story short:
It's MY fault that I was told the wrong information, because I shoul've been a PARANOID little fucker and verified every stray mote of FUCKING DUST with the BIG BOSS, so now they're going to make an EXAMPLE out of Your Favorite FUCKING CRAZY Stoney.
GOOD NEWS:
I'm not fired!
BAD NEWS:
I'm not on midnights anymore, I'm on second shift! I have to work...
...<b>WITH PEOPLE</b>
GOOD NEWS:
My two-day weekend just turned into a FIVE day weekend.
BAD NEWS:
It's because I'm suspended for three days.
GOOD NEWS:
At least the rat-bastard had the decency to give me my GODS DAMNED PAYCHECK.
MY FRIENDS, I think it's about time I wisened up with my time usage. I THINK... it's time to write a fucking resume. I have three extra days to waste on torrents of stupid, face-stabbingly CRACKEd creativity. Maybe I can fit a little ego-pumping advertisement in there. This job is going to ditch my sorry ass real soon anyway.
Y'know, it's funny, I haven't felt this surreal since when I was traversing the 500 miles that were seperating me from my old home, and my current place of residence. This feeling of randomness, therefore, may be painfully sorely associated with good fortune. I'm going to milk this buzz for all it's worth. bwahah.
Questing Hydra, Sneaky Gryphon
General | Posted 19 years agoSometimes I wonder...
Are we supposed to try? Are we supposed to seek the companionship of others, or is that companionship supposed to seek us, draw two witless bystanders together with haphazard abandon? Talking to Cougy has led me to think about relationships again.
I've seen a lot of relationships here on FA, and nothing stabs me in the heart more surely or accurately than the subject of Love. It's a spiderweb... Can it really do me much harm to look, though? I will be reminded that I have no one. And then what? Do I try to half-heartedly sucker some poor victim into courtship? Oh, ye gods, why on EARTH would I want to do that...? Do you have ANY worldly idea how SELFISH it is to want to hook up with someone just because you want to be in a relationship?
It's real selfish. I can't stand how selfish it is.
See, there's a thorn in my side. I have a major 'thing' for talent. Musical talent, Artistic talent, Literary talent... If I see artistic, I'll develop a crush; it's a given. Doesn't matter if they're male or female, gay or straight, a part of my heart is lost to them forever. Does it matter? No. My heart is already split more ways than I can count and its fragments are so miniscule and ephemeral that they might as well not even exist. I am the only one that knows that they're even there, and the fact of their beingness is undeniable to me.
It is said that whenever two people look at eachother for the first time, the first thing into their mutual minds is "Do I want to fuck them?", completely subliminally, from the most reserved and polite gentlefurre to the raunchiest howling horndog, to the most shy and innocent intellectual, to the craziest, wildest partier. For me, if it's there, it's linked to their talent. Every girl I've ever had any sort of active interest in has been talented, and every talented person I've ever met has left the question in my mind (Regardless of gender, even). And when I see someone with talent 'with' someone who is completely talentless, it's a blasphemy; a ludicrous, criminal, disgusting shame. Then the jealousy sets in.
Of course, these are all observations. But what for? What have I been examining myself about this for, for all the past seven years of sentient memory?
It is precisely that my heart is piloted by a three-headed hydra of sorts:
One of them is dedicatedly and devotedly chasing after a carrot dangling from a stick in front of it.
One of them is grumpily sitting down and completely giving up on all hope for that stupid carrot, JUST FINE with never, ever getting it, but still assenting, begrudgingly, to be dragged along by Carrot Chaser #1.
The last one is smugly scanning the roadside for Carrot Stands as they go.
Hydra Head #3 keeps me looking for openings elsewhere.
I hate this quality of myself, because it feels very greedy and selfish, to search for "an opening" or "an advantage" as though this were all some kind of stupid game. And yet, I don't hate it enough to remove it... because I have to wonder, what if it WORKS?
My brain is controlled by a dragon with a calculator, though, and to the above question, he pulls it out of his white labcoat and punches the keys on his trusty 'ol countin' machine. Then, with a humorless smirk and half-lidded unimpressed eyes, he reports, "If it works, you're going to find out that that particular carrot is not very tastey, Mr. Hawk, and then you're going to spit it out, the hydras will be livid with suicidal, obliviating rage, and you're going to be a very sad puppy."
To which I reply, "Yes, Mr. Dragon, that sounds quite familliar, but--then what if it is a TASTEY carrot?"
The dragon shrugs with an obvious roll of his eyes "How the hell should I know? I'm a carnivore. I like meat. I EAT COWS WHOLE. Please."
The calculator-wielding, labcoat-wearing dragon in my head is not very interested in carrots, and I suspect him to be in league with Hydra Head #2... traitorous bastard.
"Oh PLEASE--I'm supposed to look out for YOUR WELLBEING, MISTER. STONE. HAWK. What, you WANT me to let you run around stabbing yourself? Wash your face in a deep fat frier?"
... But y'know, it does figure sometimes that you need to leave your brain behind when you fall in love. I'm sure some of us in the furry community know what it means to be STUPIDLY HAPPY. It's probably the most blissful of all ignorances.
Now, I am by no means bitter at my lonliness, nor am I depressed... Really, I'm using this text box for another emotional enema, another catharsis of psychotic bile spewing all over the page, and honestly these are things I've wanted to put in black and white so I can see it. Don't you worry about me, I'm not going to go EMO on you or anything; Fact is, I'm GLAD no one understands me! The LAST thing this world needs is more batshit crazies running around. ... or is it?
I have to be curious, though. Curiosity is a good thing. My curiosity right now seems like a fuzzy, fluffy gryphon with pristine white fur and feathers and a black beak, very small and chibi. But I'm not going to give him a cameo *SHOVE off-stage* >CRASH!< so you can forget that part.
Curiosity--
"Whrr?"
Sorry--*SHOVE!* >CRASH!<
Erhm... As I was saying, Curios-- *glances at the gryffe accusingly* --ity.. leads me to initialize the character impression data of each of the individuals involved in many depicted love scenes, somewhat 'adopting' their character for brief flashes of time... The emotions are delicious. All those sappy love songs out there are all the perfect choice of words when you realize it. All the wonderful stuff they say about love that makes it jaw-rottingly sweet and happy, love really DOES get that happy, and especially in the way these people depict it... gods.
My heart is obviously easily mistakeable for being weak, but in actuality, despite its pliableness, it happens to be tough and very, very chewy, just like the flesh it's made of, or so it seems. I'll fall in love, blunder up, it'll sting for a little bit if I'm the reciever of THE DUMP, but eventually I revert with nothing to show for my fault except for dazed confusion and a minor footnote of whoops. It'd be downright depressing if I cared. It's always good ammo if I feel like sulking on some rainy day, but I haven't, so it doesn't matter.
My heart, though, for its flexibility, makes it a little too easy for me to fall in love, with anyone worthwhile, because my scope of worthwhileness is so wide now... And this makes for a problem: If I find someone who is incredibly talented, nice to me, AND isn't ZOMGRUNAWAY at the idea of a 'relationship', I'll never have any idea there's a problem or an inconsistency until it's far too late. Picture it:
Hydra2: OOH! CARROTSTAND! *SLURP*
Stoney: No, those are tomatoes.
Hydra2: Oh. Bleah *spit* ... OOH! CARROT STAND! *CRUNCH*
Stoney: No, those aren't carrots either, that's Corn.
Hydra2: Oh. *eject!* AHA! CARROTS! *CHOMP*
Stoney: Those are CUCUMBERS! >_<
And so on.
It makes for a very expensive shopping list. I'm surprised they haven't banned me and my anthropomorphised aspects from the produce section. Though Brain is NEVER going to the meats section AGAIN.
"Whaaaat! I was curious!"
"Meep?"
*SHOVE* >CRASH<
Ahem...
I'm sorry you had to see that.
There are some fucking AMAZING artists here with the godsdamned CUTEST personalities I've ever seen and seem to have everything going for them except mention of a mate. And sometimes I feel like I'm a chainlink fence barring an asteroid -_- horribly inadequate and hopeless. Am I doing them a favor trying to protect them from the train wreck that is Me? Or am I overestimating my danger? Am I afraid of hurting them, or am I simply afraid of hurting myself? Even worse than getting dumped... is the idea of having a monstrous crush on someone, being granted the chance to pursue it... and then falling out of love with them, or finding out they aren't who I thought they were. I don't want to put up unrealistic expectations that they can't possibly live up to... and yet the idea of following Hydra Head #2 into a life of loneliness seems... threateningly depressing.
And then there's the biggest question of all:
If I start trying again, if I start investing energy into finding myself a mate, will it even produce worthwhile results?
*spots Curiosity peeking into the picture... but picks it up and gives the tiny fuzzy white gryffe a hug* No matter how much I try, I don't think I'll be able to shove my questions aside forever.
"Squeek!"
Mmhmm.
Are we supposed to try? Are we supposed to seek the companionship of others, or is that companionship supposed to seek us, draw two witless bystanders together with haphazard abandon? Talking to Cougy has led me to think about relationships again.
I've seen a lot of relationships here on FA, and nothing stabs me in the heart more surely or accurately than the subject of Love. It's a spiderweb... Can it really do me much harm to look, though? I will be reminded that I have no one. And then what? Do I try to half-heartedly sucker some poor victim into courtship? Oh, ye gods, why on EARTH would I want to do that...? Do you have ANY worldly idea how SELFISH it is to want to hook up with someone just because you want to be in a relationship?
It's real selfish. I can't stand how selfish it is.
See, there's a thorn in my side. I have a major 'thing' for talent. Musical talent, Artistic talent, Literary talent... If I see artistic, I'll develop a crush; it's a given. Doesn't matter if they're male or female, gay or straight, a part of my heart is lost to them forever. Does it matter? No. My heart is already split more ways than I can count and its fragments are so miniscule and ephemeral that they might as well not even exist. I am the only one that knows that they're even there, and the fact of their beingness is undeniable to me.
It is said that whenever two people look at eachother for the first time, the first thing into their mutual minds is "Do I want to fuck them?", completely subliminally, from the most reserved and polite gentlefurre to the raunchiest howling horndog, to the most shy and innocent intellectual, to the craziest, wildest partier. For me, if it's there, it's linked to their talent. Every girl I've ever had any sort of active interest in has been talented, and every talented person I've ever met has left the question in my mind (Regardless of gender, even). And when I see someone with talent 'with' someone who is completely talentless, it's a blasphemy; a ludicrous, criminal, disgusting shame. Then the jealousy sets in.
Of course, these are all observations. But what for? What have I been examining myself about this for, for all the past seven years of sentient memory?
It is precisely that my heart is piloted by a three-headed hydra of sorts:
One of them is dedicatedly and devotedly chasing after a carrot dangling from a stick in front of it.
One of them is grumpily sitting down and completely giving up on all hope for that stupid carrot, JUST FINE with never, ever getting it, but still assenting, begrudgingly, to be dragged along by Carrot Chaser #1.
The last one is smugly scanning the roadside for Carrot Stands as they go.
Hydra Head #3 keeps me looking for openings elsewhere.
I hate this quality of myself, because it feels very greedy and selfish, to search for "an opening" or "an advantage" as though this were all some kind of stupid game. And yet, I don't hate it enough to remove it... because I have to wonder, what if it WORKS?
My brain is controlled by a dragon with a calculator, though, and to the above question, he pulls it out of his white labcoat and punches the keys on his trusty 'ol countin' machine. Then, with a humorless smirk and half-lidded unimpressed eyes, he reports, "If it works, you're going to find out that that particular carrot is not very tastey, Mr. Hawk, and then you're going to spit it out, the hydras will be livid with suicidal, obliviating rage, and you're going to be a very sad puppy."
To which I reply, "Yes, Mr. Dragon, that sounds quite familliar, but--then what if it is a TASTEY carrot?"
The dragon shrugs with an obvious roll of his eyes "How the hell should I know? I'm a carnivore. I like meat. I EAT COWS WHOLE. Please."
The calculator-wielding, labcoat-wearing dragon in my head is not very interested in carrots, and I suspect him to be in league with Hydra Head #2... traitorous bastard.
"Oh PLEASE--I'm supposed to look out for YOUR WELLBEING, MISTER. STONE. HAWK. What, you WANT me to let you run around stabbing yourself? Wash your face in a deep fat frier?"
... But y'know, it does figure sometimes that you need to leave your brain behind when you fall in love. I'm sure some of us in the furry community know what it means to be STUPIDLY HAPPY. It's probably the most blissful of all ignorances.
Now, I am by no means bitter at my lonliness, nor am I depressed... Really, I'm using this text box for another emotional enema, another catharsis of psychotic bile spewing all over the page, and honestly these are things I've wanted to put in black and white so I can see it. Don't you worry about me, I'm not going to go EMO on you or anything; Fact is, I'm GLAD no one understands me! The LAST thing this world needs is more batshit crazies running around. ... or is it?
I have to be curious, though. Curiosity is a good thing. My curiosity right now seems like a fuzzy, fluffy gryphon with pristine white fur and feathers and a black beak, very small and chibi. But I'm not going to give him a cameo *SHOVE off-stage* >CRASH!< so you can forget that part.
Curiosity--
"Whrr?"
Sorry--*SHOVE!* >CRASH!<
Erhm... As I was saying, Curios-- *glances at the gryffe accusingly* --ity.. leads me to initialize the character impression data of each of the individuals involved in many depicted love scenes, somewhat 'adopting' their character for brief flashes of time... The emotions are delicious. All those sappy love songs out there are all the perfect choice of words when you realize it. All the wonderful stuff they say about love that makes it jaw-rottingly sweet and happy, love really DOES get that happy, and especially in the way these people depict it... gods.
My heart is obviously easily mistakeable for being weak, but in actuality, despite its pliableness, it happens to be tough and very, very chewy, just like the flesh it's made of, or so it seems. I'll fall in love, blunder up, it'll sting for a little bit if I'm the reciever of THE DUMP, but eventually I revert with nothing to show for my fault except for dazed confusion and a minor footnote of whoops. It'd be downright depressing if I cared. It's always good ammo if I feel like sulking on some rainy day, but I haven't, so it doesn't matter.
My heart, though, for its flexibility, makes it a little too easy for me to fall in love, with anyone worthwhile, because my scope of worthwhileness is so wide now... And this makes for a problem: If I find someone who is incredibly talented, nice to me, AND isn't ZOMGRUNAWAY at the idea of a 'relationship', I'll never have any idea there's a problem or an inconsistency until it's far too late. Picture it:
Hydra2: OOH! CARROTSTAND! *SLURP*
Stoney: No, those are tomatoes.
Hydra2: Oh. Bleah *spit* ... OOH! CARROT STAND! *CRUNCH*
Stoney: No, those aren't carrots either, that's Corn.
Hydra2: Oh. *eject!* AHA! CARROTS! *CHOMP*
Stoney: Those are CUCUMBERS! >_<
And so on.
It makes for a very expensive shopping list. I'm surprised they haven't banned me and my anthropomorphised aspects from the produce section. Though Brain is NEVER going to the meats section AGAIN.
"Whaaaat! I was curious!"
"Meep?"
*SHOVE* >CRASH<
Ahem...
I'm sorry you had to see that.
There are some fucking AMAZING artists here with the godsdamned CUTEST personalities I've ever seen and seem to have everything going for them except mention of a mate. And sometimes I feel like I'm a chainlink fence barring an asteroid -_- horribly inadequate and hopeless. Am I doing them a favor trying to protect them from the train wreck that is Me? Or am I overestimating my danger? Am I afraid of hurting them, or am I simply afraid of hurting myself? Even worse than getting dumped... is the idea of having a monstrous crush on someone, being granted the chance to pursue it... and then falling out of love with them, or finding out they aren't who I thought they were. I don't want to put up unrealistic expectations that they can't possibly live up to... and yet the idea of following Hydra Head #2 into a life of loneliness seems... threateningly depressing.
And then there's the biggest question of all:
If I start trying again, if I start investing energy into finding myself a mate, will it even produce worthwhile results?
*spots Curiosity peeking into the picture... but picks it up and gives the tiny fuzzy white gryffe a hug* No matter how much I try, I don't think I'll be able to shove my questions aside forever.
"Squeek!"
Mmhmm.
I AM THE VOICE IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD
General | Posted 19 years agoYou may have noticed that I've been pretty up-to-date on my FA. This is completely unlike me. I think it'll be pretty soon that I'll feel like this is a permanent practice; a habit, or a method, or somesuch. Right now, I kind of enjoy having an excuse to draw some random shit every day and plop it on a site. Or spew emotional bile and rhetorical sewage all over a textbox. It's sort of... cathartic. almost stress-relieving. Why, if I keep this up, i may turn into a healthy, well-adjusted, successful 'hyoomun' being.
Makes me wonder if I should stop.
I don't have any questions today, nor do I have any topics to rant on, but who knows; in the next fifteen seconds I may find something.
...
...
...
...!
I AM THE VOICE IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD.
I've used this phrase in one of my previous torrents. of destruction. ...from the heavens. This is quickly going to become the phrase that describes, if not quantifies, the age old question of "Who the fuck are YOU! And what are you doing in my house!" ...well... the first one. and MAYBE the second one, but only under ...circumstances.
You see... I don't belong here. No shit, huh? But it gets a little creepy rather shortly, so brace yourself. My friends would like to believe it's Disassociative Identity Disorder. In fact, that may be the only way to explain it, except my experience regarding the term is a little more literal than some would take it. They'd love to use the medical definition, but here's the deal: This Identity is UP FRONT to handle social interaction, administration, and all manner of conscious guidance; however, THIS identity, the Stoney you all know and love, is not the 'stock configuration', you might say, of this 'ere carcass I run around in all night long.
It occurred to me some time ago that I am not real.
I am by no means an aggressive takeover; You could say the house was empty when I moved in. The kicker is, I didn't even know I moved in until I looked back and put a few pieces together.
You're giving me the "Whiskey Foxtrot Tango are you talking about, Stoney?" look. I can tell. That's okay. I'll try to put this in as simple terms as I can, but it is going to take a little while:
SEVEN YEARS ago, something happened. What happened? I don't know the cause, perhaps I never will understand it completely, but the result is that I CURRENTLY have NO RECORD in this brain of ANY KIND regarding who the fuck I used to be BEFORE Seven Years Ago. I remember a name, I subliminally recall the junk data they packed into me from Preschool to Eighth Grade in the form of 'lesson plans', I remember brief flashes of building layouts, scents and sounds... but the faces are blurred. Almost all the names were wiped out EXCEPT the legal one my parents branded me with (by 14-years-up-to-then repetitive use). Almost all memories of distinct events or words are nearly entirely obliterated...
...and the things I DO remember from the first 14 years of my life feel distinctly fake, fake enough to make Plan-9 From Outer Space look like Motion Picture of the Year. I've had surrealist nightmares more convincing than the few memories I do posses... And then there's the Data. The data is just facts, with no emotional connections involved, but looking at it evokes a generic response that I would have toward seeing anything as such. Apparantly, the Data, the Statistics, tells me that in the first 14 years, I had been consistently singled out by classmates and focussed on as a kind of hate-sync; the united front of the classrooms appeared to build their foundation on my presence. There was the information that 'peers' refused to use my legal name for the cited and restated, repeated, and drilled expression that 'it's a cool name, and you aren't cool'. Such depressing and distasteful things dominated the contents of The Data. For a time, I even questioned its validity, since everything else was so hard to recall... but this information was corroborated by testimony of my parents back then.
And everything AFTER I turned 14, what I do remember, and I remember quite a bit more, is Crystal Clear.
But distinctly, elements of my personality unless as told from third person perspective are entirely gone. Not a trace. And incidentally, in Grade 9, 14 years old... I remember not feeling anything. No emotions, no opinions, not even numbness. It was the kind of emptiness the fakest emo kids dream of. It was like a nuclear winter, a post-apocalyptic wasteland not IN my mind, but Becoming my mind. And it was not romantic or particularly enlightening. One thing it WAS... was peaceful. My gods... the peace... I went days at a time while I was 14 saying absolutely nothing. Eventually instructors would ask questions, but the answeres were so ... cold, clear, sharp, analytical, and straightforward it made them blink and scratch their heads.
I am not capable of this emptiness anymore. For the longest time, I even thought that those memories were me. No. Those memories were this body. wandering aimless, only knowing to do what it was told to do by its defined superiors. My parents back then were shocked when I got what they called my first entry on an honor roll. Furthermore, they had remarked strangely to the fact that I didn't miss one day of school that year, which leads me to believe that I never ran a year of perfect attendance before that.
In retrospect, the birth of the "Me" that I "Am" today began its larval stages when i turned 15. Online, I ran into a group of people, some of whom are still with me as my closest friends today. They laid the foundation for what would become my personality. Sophomore year of high school brought a struggle, when I experienced lonliness since the first time since the wipe, and sought friends. I learned a lot about finding myself from them....
But I didn't start this to reminisce about my life story.
I got into RP. It was an emotional, psychological study. An exercise for the emulation of fictional personalities. I learned the hard way the difference between IC and OOC. I quickly understood that a character's emotions were not mine, my emotions were not a character's, and crossing the two caused disaster. I learned how to influence my own feelings when needed, or how to create and run the framework of an entire other being in my mind. My characters became real to me, grew their personalities, and took up aspects of narrating (though not running) my life: Cyrus motivated me, Niall supported me, Adrianna congradulated me, and Allyssa soothed me. Stone Hawk became my avatar among them--though He isn't quite 'me' myself either, even if he is the closest to me, and I am honored that his personality definitions do not object violently when I represent myself with his image.
It was not quite multiple personality disorder, because they did not have any control, they 'knew' of the 'real world' when they played the imaginary friend roles, but it only looked as menacing as a comic strip breaking the fourth wall. They knew of Me and my 'life on the outside', and reacted accordingly to my actions and ideas... but I had no idea what it could possibly mean, what it was a sign of...
One late night as my mind bordered on the edge of sleep, I let slip a thought: what if Stone Hawk got to see literally through my eyes, to look at this world as though with his own sight and smell it as if with his own nose?
And then it felt like riding a tram car. The body made the conscious decision, seemingly with my unwitting but nonetheless willing blessings, to follow instead the direction of stone hawk: Adopt his manner, his accent, his gestures and fidgets, and to send the input to HIS place in this brain rather than mine.
... the memories were once again present but artificial in feel once I came back, and Stone recalled that in the back of ...'our' brain, my voice was that of a child... not a condescending remark, but one of curiosity, if not with a touch of worry, and more than a little care. He seemed disturbed at the lack of tail, the presence of plantigrade feet, the nakedness of no fur, the dulled senses of smell and hearing. And HIS memories... were so sharp and clear. I had in the forefront of my mind the exact definitions of what Gin Blossom smelled like, from their RP together: Gunpowder, machine oil, wood, steel, smoke, spices and herbs, even the natural musk, blended, somehow to seem to him, a very pleasing scent... I can understand why he likes Gin's particular blend; he loves her.
But here is the realization of the experience:
This body is the only baseline of consciousness between all of us in this head. It is a passive, empty shell with the craters of a personality that used to be here, but is not anymore... This body is conscious and even vaguely self-aware when I am not at the helm. The entire 'package' that contains every feature of WHO I AM is as supplantable as a SEGA Genesis cartridge...
I was disturbed. Are you disturbed? Probably not. Probably you just don't believe me. Probably, You don't HAVE to. The only issue is that I am unglued; literally unattached. I broke something, some kind of seal in the back of my mind that keeps the emotional bound to the logical and I don't think it can be fixed now, not nearly. Sure, the men in white coats would try to make me pretend... but if they think all I'm doing now is pretending, what good is more pretending going to do? In honesty, I have come to terms with this... and other things. I AM THE VOICE IN THE BACK OF OUR HEAD. I am a social inteface emotional intelligence fixture, and I hope you'll never start to question if you're one for your body, too. I begin to wonder if everyone else is for theirs, and they've simply had the luxury of blissful ignorance that I did up until. If you were to crack them like I cracked myself: slice the emotions off from the logic, let them stare at eachother objectively like the eyes of a Pierson's Puppeteer... or would they be capable of surviving, as I did?
Seven years after this body was born, these hands, infuratingly, ironicly, and coincidentally, broke a mirror. Seven years of ironic, coincidental, infuriating pressure and turmoil caused something to snap, and The Wipe came and went. It's been seven years since the wipe. In these past seven years, I have searched for myself, and ALSO Ironically, ALSO coincidentally, ALSO infuriatingly, I now know exactly who and what I am.
I AM THE VOICE IN THE BACK OF THIS HEAD.
Makes me wonder if I should stop.
I don't have any questions today, nor do I have any topics to rant on, but who knows; in the next fifteen seconds I may find something.
...
...
...
...!
I AM THE VOICE IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD.
I've used this phrase in one of my previous torrents. of destruction. ...from the heavens. This is quickly going to become the phrase that describes, if not quantifies, the age old question of "Who the fuck are YOU! And what are you doing in my house!" ...well... the first one. and MAYBE the second one, but only under ...circumstances.
You see... I don't belong here. No shit, huh? But it gets a little creepy rather shortly, so brace yourself. My friends would like to believe it's Disassociative Identity Disorder. In fact, that may be the only way to explain it, except my experience regarding the term is a little more literal than some would take it. They'd love to use the medical definition, but here's the deal: This Identity is UP FRONT to handle social interaction, administration, and all manner of conscious guidance; however, THIS identity, the Stoney you all know and love, is not the 'stock configuration', you might say, of this 'ere carcass I run around in all night long.
It occurred to me some time ago that I am not real.
I am by no means an aggressive takeover; You could say the house was empty when I moved in. The kicker is, I didn't even know I moved in until I looked back and put a few pieces together.
You're giving me the "Whiskey Foxtrot Tango are you talking about, Stoney?" look. I can tell. That's okay. I'll try to put this in as simple terms as I can, but it is going to take a little while:
SEVEN YEARS ago, something happened. What happened? I don't know the cause, perhaps I never will understand it completely, but the result is that I CURRENTLY have NO RECORD in this brain of ANY KIND regarding who the fuck I used to be BEFORE Seven Years Ago. I remember a name, I subliminally recall the junk data they packed into me from Preschool to Eighth Grade in the form of 'lesson plans', I remember brief flashes of building layouts, scents and sounds... but the faces are blurred. Almost all the names were wiped out EXCEPT the legal one my parents branded me with (by 14-years-up-to-then repetitive use). Almost all memories of distinct events or words are nearly entirely obliterated...
...and the things I DO remember from the first 14 years of my life feel distinctly fake, fake enough to make Plan-9 From Outer Space look like Motion Picture of the Year. I've had surrealist nightmares more convincing than the few memories I do posses... And then there's the Data. The data is just facts, with no emotional connections involved, but looking at it evokes a generic response that I would have toward seeing anything as such. Apparantly, the Data, the Statistics, tells me that in the first 14 years, I had been consistently singled out by classmates and focussed on as a kind of hate-sync; the united front of the classrooms appeared to build their foundation on my presence. There was the information that 'peers' refused to use my legal name for the cited and restated, repeated, and drilled expression that 'it's a cool name, and you aren't cool'. Such depressing and distasteful things dominated the contents of The Data. For a time, I even questioned its validity, since everything else was so hard to recall... but this information was corroborated by testimony of my parents back then.
And everything AFTER I turned 14, what I do remember, and I remember quite a bit more, is Crystal Clear.
But distinctly, elements of my personality unless as told from third person perspective are entirely gone. Not a trace. And incidentally, in Grade 9, 14 years old... I remember not feeling anything. No emotions, no opinions, not even numbness. It was the kind of emptiness the fakest emo kids dream of. It was like a nuclear winter, a post-apocalyptic wasteland not IN my mind, but Becoming my mind. And it was not romantic or particularly enlightening. One thing it WAS... was peaceful. My gods... the peace... I went days at a time while I was 14 saying absolutely nothing. Eventually instructors would ask questions, but the answeres were so ... cold, clear, sharp, analytical, and straightforward it made them blink and scratch their heads.
I am not capable of this emptiness anymore. For the longest time, I even thought that those memories were me. No. Those memories were this body. wandering aimless, only knowing to do what it was told to do by its defined superiors. My parents back then were shocked when I got what they called my first entry on an honor roll. Furthermore, they had remarked strangely to the fact that I didn't miss one day of school that year, which leads me to believe that I never ran a year of perfect attendance before that.
In retrospect, the birth of the "Me" that I "Am" today began its larval stages when i turned 15. Online, I ran into a group of people, some of whom are still with me as my closest friends today. They laid the foundation for what would become my personality. Sophomore year of high school brought a struggle, when I experienced lonliness since the first time since the wipe, and sought friends. I learned a lot about finding myself from them....
But I didn't start this to reminisce about my life story.
I got into RP. It was an emotional, psychological study. An exercise for the emulation of fictional personalities. I learned the hard way the difference between IC and OOC. I quickly understood that a character's emotions were not mine, my emotions were not a character's, and crossing the two caused disaster. I learned how to influence my own feelings when needed, or how to create and run the framework of an entire other being in my mind. My characters became real to me, grew their personalities, and took up aspects of narrating (though not running) my life: Cyrus motivated me, Niall supported me, Adrianna congradulated me, and Allyssa soothed me. Stone Hawk became my avatar among them--though He isn't quite 'me' myself either, even if he is the closest to me, and I am honored that his personality definitions do not object violently when I represent myself with his image.
It was not quite multiple personality disorder, because they did not have any control, they 'knew' of the 'real world' when they played the imaginary friend roles, but it only looked as menacing as a comic strip breaking the fourth wall. They knew of Me and my 'life on the outside', and reacted accordingly to my actions and ideas... but I had no idea what it could possibly mean, what it was a sign of...
One late night as my mind bordered on the edge of sleep, I let slip a thought: what if Stone Hawk got to see literally through my eyes, to look at this world as though with his own sight and smell it as if with his own nose?
And then it felt like riding a tram car. The body made the conscious decision, seemingly with my unwitting but nonetheless willing blessings, to follow instead the direction of stone hawk: Adopt his manner, his accent, his gestures and fidgets, and to send the input to HIS place in this brain rather than mine.
... the memories were once again present but artificial in feel once I came back, and Stone recalled that in the back of ...'our' brain, my voice was that of a child... not a condescending remark, but one of curiosity, if not with a touch of worry, and more than a little care. He seemed disturbed at the lack of tail, the presence of plantigrade feet, the nakedness of no fur, the dulled senses of smell and hearing. And HIS memories... were so sharp and clear. I had in the forefront of my mind the exact definitions of what Gin Blossom smelled like, from their RP together: Gunpowder, machine oil, wood, steel, smoke, spices and herbs, even the natural musk, blended, somehow to seem to him, a very pleasing scent... I can understand why he likes Gin's particular blend; he loves her.
But here is the realization of the experience:
This body is the only baseline of consciousness between all of us in this head. It is a passive, empty shell with the craters of a personality that used to be here, but is not anymore... This body is conscious and even vaguely self-aware when I am not at the helm. The entire 'package' that contains every feature of WHO I AM is as supplantable as a SEGA Genesis cartridge...
I was disturbed. Are you disturbed? Probably not. Probably you just don't believe me. Probably, You don't HAVE to. The only issue is that I am unglued; literally unattached. I broke something, some kind of seal in the back of my mind that keeps the emotional bound to the logical and I don't think it can be fixed now, not nearly. Sure, the men in white coats would try to make me pretend... but if they think all I'm doing now is pretending, what good is more pretending going to do? In honesty, I have come to terms with this... and other things. I AM THE VOICE IN THE BACK OF OUR HEAD. I am a social inteface emotional intelligence fixture, and I hope you'll never start to question if you're one for your body, too. I begin to wonder if everyone else is for theirs, and they've simply had the luxury of blissful ignorance that I did up until. If you were to crack them like I cracked myself: slice the emotions off from the logic, let them stare at eachother objectively like the eyes of a Pierson's Puppeteer... or would they be capable of surviving, as I did?
Seven years after this body was born, these hands, infuratingly, ironicly, and coincidentally, broke a mirror. Seven years of ironic, coincidental, infuriating pressure and turmoil caused something to snap, and The Wipe came and went. It's been seven years since the wipe. In these past seven years, I have searched for myself, and ALSO Ironically, ALSO coincidentally, ALSO infuriatingly, I now know exactly who and what I am.
I AM THE VOICE IN THE BACK OF THIS HEAD.
What it's like to die. (Disturbing! Theoretical!)
General | Posted 19 years ago... dying is never easy. It takes so little effort, yet it's a gruelling, extended torture that stretches minutes into countless eternities. There is no transcendence from the mind. I know. I'm just a personality ._. I discovered the hard way that I am the voice in the back of my head, and even as I AM the conscious 'me' that walks around every day, this body is conscious without me. It just doesn't have emotions unless I'm sitting at the 'helm'.
What does it mean? It means that even if I go to a new life, this body and its consciousness will be here to rot and be aware long after I've been lost to oblivion. *shiver* The only reason it keeps me around, and maybe the only reason yours keeps you around, is because these bodies would be lonely without social interface AIs to handle relationships.
Death is never quick. The brain alone survives up to three minutes without fresh oxygen before permanent damage begins to incur. Then it's a slow trickling away of everything... you start to lose your mind, literally; the memories being shattered before your very 'eyes', struggling to recall
what happened?
where are you?
where were you?
where are your friends?
who were your friends?
who were the people you loved?
who were you...?
There's a certain primal, instinctual knowledge that is in the incubating mind of the youngest fetus with brainmatter: a confirmatory signal that "yes, I am alive". You're dead, really dead, when you forget on that subliminal level that you're alive.
But that's only the mental aspect. That's only the perception of your own mind being destroyed. The body is an entirely more gruesome process, and yes that is possible. You get weak. You could almost swear that you just don't FEEL like moving anymore, as clearly as though you'd decided to just lie there... just rest... for a little...
while...
longer...
but then you start to feel cold. A very large portion of what once contained your body heat, your blood, may have begin to be seriously depleted now, and your heart starts pounding in its fruitless urgency. It doesn't know how to give up, until it forgets that it had an up in the first place, just like your brain is about to.
Minutes after the blood stops flowing, all of the containment systems in your entire body fail: everything comes out, a disturbing ammount of fluid seeping out of every pore. We're just walking waterbags. 70% water content quickly becomes substantially less. It's the mother of all orgasmic afterglows, minus any and all of the associated pleasure.
the chemicals eventually go tepid, start wreaking their default havoc now that they're not being moved around to where they're supposed to go. they just sit where they are, eroding. The immune system, having stopped, allows the friendly bacteria to start you on the road to turning back into dust. Decomposition time has come.
So what's it like to die? It's scary. It's lonely. It's cold. It's helpless. It's repulsive on every level of disgust that can be measured and beyond. You'd puke if your stomach and esophagus could coordinate anymore. If you think life is tough, you'll never be able to handle death....
then again...
isn't that the point?
...I have a friend who is dying. He is a very, very, very dear friend, and I love him like I can't love anyone else; a specific kind of love made only for him that I can't attribute to any other kind of relationship... He's been dying for years, ever since an organ failure, a drug whose side-effects started to cause physical damage to his very body structure... he's not even legal to consume alchohol in the united states, yet he has to swallow shit that rots his bones to LIVE... he's already had a joint completely replaced,
...and he is in so much pain, now...
He's trying very hard to just get by, and has to curb his tendencies with anti-depressants, even though he has every right and reason to be depressed. It's very like a grease fire burning in the kitchen, but getting so sick of hearing the smoke detector go off that you just take the batteries out. Have you ever had to acknowledge that someone you love has absolutely no hope for a future...? All he's doing is buying time; and it costs him so much...
You'd never subject an animal to this kind of torture; you'd just let them die, tuck them in for a sleep they'll never wake from. It's getting to a point where, when he talks about just skipping the medication and letting himself waste away (in a slightly different fashion than the medication is making him waste away already...) ... I almost begin to wonder if it really would be so wrong.
But then I remember one thing, and it seems to be the only thing I can justify wanting him to live for, and the only thing he seems to be able to justify living for, for himself: We both want me to be at his bedside before he leaves... We both want to share a long hug... and a good cry. Yet I still can't bear to think about what death is like when I'm around him. I still can't dare to bring up what death is like, because for him... it's a near-immediate foregone conclusion anyway; imminent. With something that painful, looming so near, you might just want to... get it over with.
You don't know what being torn is like until you're faced with a reality like this.
Don't think about it. Don't walk in my shoes. Don't you dare try to walk in my shoes, because I can promise you, you'll choose to break your legs when it's over just so you don't have to walk any farther. I'm not here for pity or sympathy. I didn't mention his name because I don't want him to get spammed with pointless, half-hearted affections, or wellwishings that essentially ammount to nothing but starkly FALSE hope. You can't put "thank"s in a bank.
All I want to do right now... is what I always try to do: make a point.
You know what SomethingAwful would say to someone who mentions they're about to die?
"lol, emo"
It's automatically the assumption today that if someone says they're dying, it's an overdramatic exaggeration, and the more emphatic they are, the more fake they are. Mind you, I am against fakeness, against it more than completely--but the problem is that it's starting to impact the lives of people who DO need to be cared about and DO need a hug every once in a while. And the only reason they're becoming FAKE is because they need to overemphasize to get even a blink. Fakeness is the problem, but pre-empting it is not the solution. It's a vicious cycle:
Larry is sad, so he tells his friend. Friend says suck it up, larry, stop being a pussy. This makes larry feel worse, as he's just been chewed up and spat out by someone he cared about (a bad friend). Larry seeks help from another friend, but tries to illustrate his problem in a manner that will properly compensate for the dispassionate dumbing-down of the shell of uncaring that everybody carries with them these days. The friend acknowledges appropriately and finally does show Larry enough care, perhaps even more than Larry needed--but then eventually finds out that Larry 'lied', and feels so betrayed that they build the wall higher. The hurdle is raised, the jumpers jump higher. The people who choose to acknowledge their emotions are turned into pariahs and spat on, whereas everyone else has to encase them inside plastic smiley-face masks.
What is the ultimate logical conclusion of this?
I don't know.
But do we really want to find out where this level of apathy can lead?
Do you remember how much remorse Hermann Goering felt when he was shown pictures of the corpse piles he accumulated at his death camps? Did you see the tears he shed when they showed videos of the carcasses of thousands, stripped naked, previously ematiated, and poured haphazardly into a gigantic ditch to be disposed of?
No, there were no tears. He was disgusted and annoyed, at best, at the entire duration and exhibition of the nuremburg trials.
Can you imagine feeling the same level of 'remorse' for your siblings, your parents, your cousins, your acquaintences, and even your mate, all of them, at once?
If we continue on the way we've been, kids, we might not have to imagine it to know.
Those of you who 'don't get it' will just think I'm overdramatizing of course, but don't worry, you're still useful (you sick inhuman shitstain genetic waste vile sacks of puss). You'll be demonstrating to the rest of us real people exactly what the problem is. I'm not overdramatizing: I can't possibly be overdramatizing when this level of brutal, savage, INHUMAN apathy is NOT ONLY recorded history, but occurring even today, right now, as you read this: there is genocide happening out there in the world today, actual genocide where real people are literally being slaughtered like cattle.
And it's all because of a personal execution of brainwashing: the decision to not give a shit about someone. I love people, I hate people (as much as it sickens me to admit it), but maybe now you'll have some idea of just how serious it becomes when I -don't care- about someone.
If you want people to stop overdramatizing, respond appropriately to their words like they are exact truth. They aren't ready for that kind of affection or open ears. It's possible to even make someone uncomfortable with too much care, and I can guarantee that if you care as much as their overinflated words would tell you to in complete sincerity, they'll stop just to avoid the discomfort. Then they'll be able to be honest about their emotions. And so will you.
This is also a reason why I hate antidepressants, and I hate it when people try to send someone for 'treatment' if they cut themselves. The cutting isn't the problem, it's just the symptom, and treating symptoms does absolutely nothing for aiding the mind and body to heal. In fact, in many cases, it impedes on a human's capacity to regenerate. It may be inconvenient to be an overemotional person (by even my standards), but that's still a kind of person, and it's still a kind of person that can be complemented with another kind of person that can support them and make them as happy as they deserve to be.
[And then there's the evolutionist standpoint: not every human is a guaranteed success. I came to terms with this; my alternative to where I am today is to have frozen to death alone under a bridge. It's still a possible outcome, but if that's all I'm good for, so be it (it just so happens that other people seem to think I'm good for something, though). Without tampering, a human that isn't fit for it won't end up contributing to the gene pool anyway.. though on a completely different tangent, someday technology will be sufficiently advanced to be a product, a direct embodiment OF our continued evolution--a singularity may approach where technology and biology become indistinguishable from eachother.]
...but otherwise, I'm done with this topic for now.
What does it mean? It means that even if I go to a new life, this body and its consciousness will be here to rot and be aware long after I've been lost to oblivion. *shiver* The only reason it keeps me around, and maybe the only reason yours keeps you around, is because these bodies would be lonely without social interface AIs to handle relationships.
Death is never quick. The brain alone survives up to three minutes without fresh oxygen before permanent damage begins to incur. Then it's a slow trickling away of everything... you start to lose your mind, literally; the memories being shattered before your very 'eyes', struggling to recall
what happened?
where are you?
where were you?
where are your friends?
who were your friends?
who were the people you loved?
who were you...?
There's a certain primal, instinctual knowledge that is in the incubating mind of the youngest fetus with brainmatter: a confirmatory signal that "yes, I am alive". You're dead, really dead, when you forget on that subliminal level that you're alive.
But that's only the mental aspect. That's only the perception of your own mind being destroyed. The body is an entirely more gruesome process, and yes that is possible. You get weak. You could almost swear that you just don't FEEL like moving anymore, as clearly as though you'd decided to just lie there... just rest... for a little...
while...
longer...
but then you start to feel cold. A very large portion of what once contained your body heat, your blood, may have begin to be seriously depleted now, and your heart starts pounding in its fruitless urgency. It doesn't know how to give up, until it forgets that it had an up in the first place, just like your brain is about to.
Minutes after the blood stops flowing, all of the containment systems in your entire body fail: everything comes out, a disturbing ammount of fluid seeping out of every pore. We're just walking waterbags. 70% water content quickly becomes substantially less. It's the mother of all orgasmic afterglows, minus any and all of the associated pleasure.
the chemicals eventually go tepid, start wreaking their default havoc now that they're not being moved around to where they're supposed to go. they just sit where they are, eroding. The immune system, having stopped, allows the friendly bacteria to start you on the road to turning back into dust. Decomposition time has come.
So what's it like to die? It's scary. It's lonely. It's cold. It's helpless. It's repulsive on every level of disgust that can be measured and beyond. You'd puke if your stomach and esophagus could coordinate anymore. If you think life is tough, you'll never be able to handle death....
then again...
isn't that the point?
...I have a friend who is dying. He is a very, very, very dear friend, and I love him like I can't love anyone else; a specific kind of love made only for him that I can't attribute to any other kind of relationship... He's been dying for years, ever since an organ failure, a drug whose side-effects started to cause physical damage to his very body structure... he's not even legal to consume alchohol in the united states, yet he has to swallow shit that rots his bones to LIVE... he's already had a joint completely replaced,
...and he is in so much pain, now...
He's trying very hard to just get by, and has to curb his tendencies with anti-depressants, even though he has every right and reason to be depressed. It's very like a grease fire burning in the kitchen, but getting so sick of hearing the smoke detector go off that you just take the batteries out. Have you ever had to acknowledge that someone you love has absolutely no hope for a future...? All he's doing is buying time; and it costs him so much...
You'd never subject an animal to this kind of torture; you'd just let them die, tuck them in for a sleep they'll never wake from. It's getting to a point where, when he talks about just skipping the medication and letting himself waste away (in a slightly different fashion than the medication is making him waste away already...) ... I almost begin to wonder if it really would be so wrong.
But then I remember one thing, and it seems to be the only thing I can justify wanting him to live for, and the only thing he seems to be able to justify living for, for himself: We both want me to be at his bedside before he leaves... We both want to share a long hug... and a good cry. Yet I still can't bear to think about what death is like when I'm around him. I still can't dare to bring up what death is like, because for him... it's a near-immediate foregone conclusion anyway; imminent. With something that painful, looming so near, you might just want to... get it over with.
You don't know what being torn is like until you're faced with a reality like this.
Don't think about it. Don't walk in my shoes. Don't you dare try to walk in my shoes, because I can promise you, you'll choose to break your legs when it's over just so you don't have to walk any farther. I'm not here for pity or sympathy. I didn't mention his name because I don't want him to get spammed with pointless, half-hearted affections, or wellwishings that essentially ammount to nothing but starkly FALSE hope. You can't put "thank"s in a bank.
All I want to do right now... is what I always try to do: make a point.
You know what SomethingAwful would say to someone who mentions they're about to die?
"lol, emo"
It's automatically the assumption today that if someone says they're dying, it's an overdramatic exaggeration, and the more emphatic they are, the more fake they are. Mind you, I am against fakeness, against it more than completely--but the problem is that it's starting to impact the lives of people who DO need to be cared about and DO need a hug every once in a while. And the only reason they're becoming FAKE is because they need to overemphasize to get even a blink. Fakeness is the problem, but pre-empting it is not the solution. It's a vicious cycle:
Larry is sad, so he tells his friend. Friend says suck it up, larry, stop being a pussy. This makes larry feel worse, as he's just been chewed up and spat out by someone he cared about (a bad friend). Larry seeks help from another friend, but tries to illustrate his problem in a manner that will properly compensate for the dispassionate dumbing-down of the shell of uncaring that everybody carries with them these days. The friend acknowledges appropriately and finally does show Larry enough care, perhaps even more than Larry needed--but then eventually finds out that Larry 'lied', and feels so betrayed that they build the wall higher. The hurdle is raised, the jumpers jump higher. The people who choose to acknowledge their emotions are turned into pariahs and spat on, whereas everyone else has to encase them inside plastic smiley-face masks.
What is the ultimate logical conclusion of this?
I don't know.
But do we really want to find out where this level of apathy can lead?
Do you remember how much remorse Hermann Goering felt when he was shown pictures of the corpse piles he accumulated at his death camps? Did you see the tears he shed when they showed videos of the carcasses of thousands, stripped naked, previously ematiated, and poured haphazardly into a gigantic ditch to be disposed of?
No, there were no tears. He was disgusted and annoyed, at best, at the entire duration and exhibition of the nuremburg trials.
Can you imagine feeling the same level of 'remorse' for your siblings, your parents, your cousins, your acquaintences, and even your mate, all of them, at once?
If we continue on the way we've been, kids, we might not have to imagine it to know.
Those of you who 'don't get it' will just think I'm overdramatizing of course, but don't worry, you're still useful (you sick inhuman shitstain genetic waste vile sacks of puss). You'll be demonstrating to the rest of us real people exactly what the problem is. I'm not overdramatizing: I can't possibly be overdramatizing when this level of brutal, savage, INHUMAN apathy is NOT ONLY recorded history, but occurring even today, right now, as you read this: there is genocide happening out there in the world today, actual genocide where real people are literally being slaughtered like cattle.
And it's all because of a personal execution of brainwashing: the decision to not give a shit about someone. I love people, I hate people (as much as it sickens me to admit it), but maybe now you'll have some idea of just how serious it becomes when I -don't care- about someone.
If you want people to stop overdramatizing, respond appropriately to their words like they are exact truth. They aren't ready for that kind of affection or open ears. It's possible to even make someone uncomfortable with too much care, and I can guarantee that if you care as much as their overinflated words would tell you to in complete sincerity, they'll stop just to avoid the discomfort. Then they'll be able to be honest about their emotions. And so will you.
This is also a reason why I hate antidepressants, and I hate it when people try to send someone for 'treatment' if they cut themselves. The cutting isn't the problem, it's just the symptom, and treating symptoms does absolutely nothing for aiding the mind and body to heal. In fact, in many cases, it impedes on a human's capacity to regenerate. It may be inconvenient to be an overemotional person (by even my standards), but that's still a kind of person, and it's still a kind of person that can be complemented with another kind of person that can support them and make them as happy as they deserve to be.
[And then there's the evolutionist standpoint: not every human is a guaranteed success. I came to terms with this; my alternative to where I am today is to have frozen to death alone under a bridge. It's still a possible outcome, but if that's all I'm good for, so be it (it just so happens that other people seem to think I'm good for something, though). Without tampering, a human that isn't fit for it won't end up contributing to the gene pool anyway.. though on a completely different tangent, someday technology will be sufficiently advanced to be a product, a direct embodiment OF our continued evolution--a singularity may approach where technology and biology become indistinguishable from eachother.]
...but otherwise, I'm done with this topic for now.
Questions (WARNING: unfunny)
General | Posted 19 years agoI don't have much to say today, which means either this will go on for pages, or it will stop suddenly and violently like a toddler's trip down the side of a skyscraper. Mmmm.. sidewalk stroganoff. Pavement pizza. Tastes like soul-crushing agony ^_^ *murr!*
SO! I have some questions for YOU, reading person!
There's a song out there, sommat around respiration and/or being awake at 2am, not at work, and yet NOT doing something crazy and potentially lifethreatening. I'll do you all a disappointing favor at cut the facetiousness for a moment: it's Breathe, AKA 2 AM, and early on in the song, first stanza, it depicts a girl going for an abortion. She claims it's because "Winter just wasn't her season".
...
WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK IS -THAT- SUPPOSED TO MEAN, HUH!? WINTER WASN'T HER "SEASON"!? What the HELL does WINTER have to do with killing a FETUS! FUCK! IF you're going to kill an unborn child, WHY must you DILUTE the EXPERIENCE with such a fucking LAME-ASS COPOUT like that!? WHY!?
But seriously... I've come up with better excuses than that to break up with someone, and the subject in that particular verse was not only breaking up with them, but destroying an extension of that person's very own life. I don't have any problem with a woman not wanting a parasite incubating in her gut, but... blaming it on the season of winter is so... so shallow it sucks the mad inspiration right out of my words. I can't come UP with a string of expletives horrendous enough to clearly depict the extent, nor find a properly disturbing adjective to link this undefinable magnitude TO. It's not just Shallow, it's Ubershallow. On an infinite 0 to infinity scale of personal forethought and depth, it's so infinitessimal, it's practically LESS than zero without being negative, and can't possibly be NEGATIVE because it's even less than THAT.
Winter Isn't My Season sounds like the kind of thing you'd use in reference to choosing a style of decor or a fashion of clothing, not a basis for making unalterable life-ending decisions. Or am I just missing something, here? I hoped, vainly; searched, fruitlessly; I scoured for any reference I could on the failing wish that that string of words could possibly mean more than its face value. Is it supposed to mean something? Is it a colloquial phrase, soaked in metaphor and definition that transcends mere words?
No.
This girl is basing the idea that she no longer wants to be fucking the same guy or bearing his kid on the fact that she doesn't like winter.
I've claimed that things sicken me before, but this time I'm not joking. The severity of this infraction on all (Very LITTLE) that is left of this wretched species' sanctity, this SHITSTAIN on anything that was still good about humanity, has killed all humor I could ever have on this subject. That bitch needs her whole fucking uterus yanked out with a rusty coathanger. She is SLIME, not because she's deciding to have an abortion, but because she's scrapping an entire FUTURE because she doesn't dig WINTER.
Thank GOD, ohhh thank GOD that bitch is fictional because I'd strangle her dead right now. If you're stupid enough to endanger yourself, that's fine, i'll be glad to point and laught; i'd even feel obliged to! But if you're stupid enough to endanger helpless bystanders, too, then you are RETURN TO MANUFACTURER.
*Ahem*
And now... for question #2, something comparatively much more lighthearted:
Why, oh ye gods WHY...
would someone take a GORGEOUS and perfectly beautiful female body,
as it IS INDEED a masterpiece in its own right,
and then MUTILATE IT and ALL IT STANDS FOR with the addition of A COCK!?
Now, I know exactly why I think guy-parts are icky, I do: I'm programmed to feel that way. I wasn't designed, by the dice rolls of causality, with this capability in mind. I've wished it weren't true! I've had very strong, very VERY strong emotional bonds to certain males in my life, but for the life of me I just couldn't be attracted to them, and it killed me that there was no possible way I could ever reciprocate. I see my inability to enjoy the Male Hardware as a flaw, but not one that I'm willing to try fixing. Fixing that is like fixing homosexualty: it doesn't work, it's just a jury-rig that makes you feel empty and worthless inside. There are very few things that suck as much as lying to yourself -_-
Yet, I still can't imagine how it could be possible to appreciate a female body PLUS THAT. I am perhaps ashamed of this for the same reason as noted above, but there is a logical puzzle in this: wouldn't the kind of person who would be attracted to the penis be NOT-attracted to the curves and other such details usually associated with a woman's figure? Or, how would a male who is obviously into the whole 'female' thing be capable of tolerating the inclusion of a phallic structure?
Maybe I am the strange one for being incompatible -_-
but I am not here to hide my flaws. If this is a flaw then it is a flaw.
However, I must still acknowledge my dismay: there are next to NO other art-based communities out there with so much intermingling of peripheral components. In Real Life, I don't even KNOW the ratio that would depict how many people are caught between genders, but I do know that the figure is extremely, extremely low, and yet a fourth, maybe even a THIRD, of the entire erotic sect of the furry community is obsessed with tacking wangs onto females.
I'm not nearly as disgusted as I am puzzled ._.;
This may be the one and only time I'll ever sincerely admit:
Sorry if I offended anyone.
SO! I have some questions for YOU, reading person!
There's a song out there, sommat around respiration and/or being awake at 2am, not at work, and yet NOT doing something crazy and potentially lifethreatening. I'll do you all a disappointing favor at cut the facetiousness for a moment: it's Breathe, AKA 2 AM, and early on in the song, first stanza, it depicts a girl going for an abortion. She claims it's because "Winter just wasn't her season".
...
WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK IS -THAT- SUPPOSED TO MEAN, HUH!? WINTER WASN'T HER "SEASON"!? What the HELL does WINTER have to do with killing a FETUS! FUCK! IF you're going to kill an unborn child, WHY must you DILUTE the EXPERIENCE with such a fucking LAME-ASS COPOUT like that!? WHY!?
But seriously... I've come up with better excuses than that to break up with someone, and the subject in that particular verse was not only breaking up with them, but destroying an extension of that person's very own life. I don't have any problem with a woman not wanting a parasite incubating in her gut, but... blaming it on the season of winter is so... so shallow it sucks the mad inspiration right out of my words. I can't come UP with a string of expletives horrendous enough to clearly depict the extent, nor find a properly disturbing adjective to link this undefinable magnitude TO. It's not just Shallow, it's Ubershallow. On an infinite 0 to infinity scale of personal forethought and depth, it's so infinitessimal, it's practically LESS than zero without being negative, and can't possibly be NEGATIVE because it's even less than THAT.
Winter Isn't My Season sounds like the kind of thing you'd use in reference to choosing a style of decor or a fashion of clothing, not a basis for making unalterable life-ending decisions. Or am I just missing something, here? I hoped, vainly; searched, fruitlessly; I scoured for any reference I could on the failing wish that that string of words could possibly mean more than its face value. Is it supposed to mean something? Is it a colloquial phrase, soaked in metaphor and definition that transcends mere words?
No.
This girl is basing the idea that she no longer wants to be fucking the same guy or bearing his kid on the fact that she doesn't like winter.
I've claimed that things sicken me before, but this time I'm not joking. The severity of this infraction on all (Very LITTLE) that is left of this wretched species' sanctity, this SHITSTAIN on anything that was still good about humanity, has killed all humor I could ever have on this subject. That bitch needs her whole fucking uterus yanked out with a rusty coathanger. She is SLIME, not because she's deciding to have an abortion, but because she's scrapping an entire FUTURE because she doesn't dig WINTER.
Thank GOD, ohhh thank GOD that bitch is fictional because I'd strangle her dead right now. If you're stupid enough to endanger yourself, that's fine, i'll be glad to point and laught; i'd even feel obliged to! But if you're stupid enough to endanger helpless bystanders, too, then you are RETURN TO MANUFACTURER.
*Ahem*
And now... for question #2, something comparatively much more lighthearted:
Why, oh ye gods WHY...
would someone take a GORGEOUS and perfectly beautiful female body,
as it IS INDEED a masterpiece in its own right,
and then MUTILATE IT and ALL IT STANDS FOR with the addition of A COCK!?
Now, I know exactly why I think guy-parts are icky, I do: I'm programmed to feel that way. I wasn't designed, by the dice rolls of causality, with this capability in mind. I've wished it weren't true! I've had very strong, very VERY strong emotional bonds to certain males in my life, but for the life of me I just couldn't be attracted to them, and it killed me that there was no possible way I could ever reciprocate. I see my inability to enjoy the Male Hardware as a flaw, but not one that I'm willing to try fixing. Fixing that is like fixing homosexualty: it doesn't work, it's just a jury-rig that makes you feel empty and worthless inside. There are very few things that suck as much as lying to yourself -_-
Yet, I still can't imagine how it could be possible to appreciate a female body PLUS THAT. I am perhaps ashamed of this for the same reason as noted above, but there is a logical puzzle in this: wouldn't the kind of person who would be attracted to the penis be NOT-attracted to the curves and other such details usually associated with a woman's figure? Or, how would a male who is obviously into the whole 'female' thing be capable of tolerating the inclusion of a phallic structure?
Maybe I am the strange one for being incompatible -_-
but I am not here to hide my flaws. If this is a flaw then it is a flaw.
However, I must still acknowledge my dismay: there are next to NO other art-based communities out there with so much intermingling of peripheral components. In Real Life, I don't even KNOW the ratio that would depict how many people are caught between genders, but I do know that the figure is extremely, extremely low, and yet a fourth, maybe even a THIRD, of the entire erotic sect of the furry community is obsessed with tacking wangs onto females.
I'm not nearly as disgusted as I am puzzled ._.;
This may be the one and only time I'll ever sincerely admit:
Sorry if I offended anyone.
DOOOOOOOMED!!!111!1
General | Posted 19 years agoSo, I was walking home from work this morning, when I realized I was hearing something. A very specific something, every so often sounding vaguely to my left: distinctly, the piano-tone 'baDING' windows makes when an error pops up.
And that is when I realized...
THE SERVER THAT RUNS REALITY IS CRASHING!
THE WORLD IS ABOUT TO END AND THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO!
WE ARE NOTHING MORE THAN BINARY BLIPS ON THE DISINTEGRATING HARD DRIVE OF A COSMIC SCRIPT KIDDIE! REPENT! QUIT YOUR JOB! SLACK OFF! WE'RE DOOMED!
DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED!
And then nothing happened.
Anyways, I've been thinking and I've realized that I'm really not good at my job. If my supervisors could see me on my shift, they'd fire me on the spot. I'm just not a good security guard. I'm probably the least aware person you will ever have the displeasure of meeting because I am ALWAYS off in my own little world, Especially during acts of pointless, repetitive physical exertion (e.g. Walking). If someone broke in while i'm playing sword with my trusy STICK of THWACKAGE PLUSTWO, I wouldn't be screwed. I wouldn't be nailed. I'd be bolted.
"I've been screwed, I've been nailed, but I've NEVER been bolted!"
--The Audience at The Come-Again Players Presents: The Rocky Horror Picture Show (every saturday night, midnight at Tower Theater in Amherst, MA)
Being bolted has Got to suck.
So, I really suck at security. The Boss Man has had to give me talking-tos on several occasions already, about keeping my shirts pressed, creased, and pristine white. PFAH. Yeah, Right; I'm going to take precious seconds out of my life to lovingly tend to the whims of what ammounts to a BIG BLACK AND WHITE BULLSEYE that I have to huff around in every night. Also bullshit like shaving and haircuts. I know, I know, Security OFFICERS are supposed to be clean and neat! They're supposed to fucking be BOY SCOUTS(trustworthy loyal helpful friendly courtious kind obedient cheerful thrifty brave clean reverent WHEW still got it gods damn my bleeding swisscheesed backwards soul)! (what the fuck is THRIFTY about anyways)
I quit the boy scouts for a reason. I think that reason was because they hated me and refused to use my 'legal' name because it was a 'cool' name and I 'was not cool', but that's besides the point. The point is, boy scouts are BULLSHIT. I know, I saw them in 'action'. All they do is smoke weed and play Magic: The Gathering. And occasionally throw cans of bug spray in the fire for the special effects(Boom) and thus potentially kill themselves(OH GOD WHERES MY SKIN). Trying to make anybody act like the IDEAL of boy scouts is a lost cause, and trying to make anybody act like REAL boy scouts is fucking SUICIDE. THEY GIVE THOSE LITTLE BASTARDS GUNS, FOR J HOWARD CHRISSAKES! GUNS!
I DON'T EVEN GET A GUN AT MY JOB!
It's not fair.
I'm just not professional. Makes me sick to my stomach having to be all prim and proper. I mean, I have no probelm with calling someone 'sir' or 'm'am' or 'mister' or 'miss'. Hell, I get a kick out of it. Any random individual STARTS with a bonus of benefit-of-a-doubt respect(Limited time offer while supplies last!), and there are a lot of awesome people out there, talented, funny, intelligent people, that deserve to be referred to as such-- even if it's a half-facetious and bumpkinish-- and SOME of those people actually AREN'T figments of my imagination! At least, I THINK ZombieCat is not a figment of my imagination... But I dunno sometimes.
(Just gotta looove that waking nightmare feeling <3 ^_^ )
(yes, that's a compliment)
I plainly don't see myself working third shift security anymore in another six months. What I'd love to do is get paid to draw. Seriously. I'm trained in Computer Aided Drafting, which is much clicky listen to winamp as I go goodness. Can you imagine being paid to not only draw, but sit in front of a computer too? It may not be very glamorous in reality, but who the fuck needs reality anyway? I work a shit wageslave job and I STILL manage to twist slack out of it, I sure as fuck can get it out of a place where I already have ready-access to a computer at my fingertips, even if I Can't be online.
My job has also bitched at me for being a fridge theif and a possibly unbeknownst shoplifter. Seriously, I had no idea they didn't want us drinking their gods damned soda! If they're so fucking concerned why didn't they just shut off their damn machine! There's also of course the self-grooming issue. I'm going to have to cough up another 15 bucks for yet another haircut pretty soon. My hair used to be long. My friends from Real Life, when I HAD any ( ;_; ) used to love brushing it. That made me murr and feel all warm'n'fuzzeh! ^^ Ahhhh, memories. But no thanks to THEM... Or maybe it's a deep south thing. Long hair can make me look hippie-ish. From behind, once, I was mistaken for a girl! Boy was THAT guy's face red! Miss WHO? Rofflekoptor.
Combined with the poor-on-nonexistent personal upkeep habits, a few stark LIES on my shift reports, and my tendency to be off in the clouds or down in a dungeon valiantly slaying plant monsters with my Sti-ah-i-mean-SWORD... OF AWESOME, Kompressor DANCES more than I am good at being a Security Guard.
Yet, ironically enough, my coworkers, allthough taking their job seriously (in precisely the manner I am NOT), seem to not know their hands from their ASSES. Last night when I went in for my shift, do you know how many doors were open?
Do you?
DO YOU?
ALL OF THEM!
IF THEY CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THIS PLACE, WHY DON'T THEY CLOSE THE GODS DAMNED DOORS!!! No, they weren't just unlocked, SOME of them were propped open AJAR. It's like they didn't even TRY. I'm not saying I'm bad at security because I don't TRY; Trying can at LEAST be more amusing than staring at minesweeper all night long. My insanity would be just THAT MUCH MORE VIOLENT, and not in a fun way, if I didn't get out of that deathtrap office every once in a while to take a walk! I don't give two shits and a flying yiff about that job and I do better than these staunch, strict, BURLY, clean-pressed as though straight from the clone plant PINK BOYS who actually think their 'Work ATTITUDE' makes one damn bit of difference.
It's been said to me again and again, "you're too smart to be working here." "What are you DOING here?" "You don't belong here! You should be off doing SMART stuff!", and I'm starting to really wonder if I should take a hint and leave their stupid shortstaffing crisis just a bit more dire. They're working me seven days a week, after all, because there isn't a second 'night man' to take the third shift while I'm off. I'm almost morbidly, tantalizingly curious to see how they'd helplessly scramble and squirm if they suddenly had NO 'night men'.
Muwahaha.
...but I'm not interested enough to give it a full-fledged ear-stabbing window-rattling blood-freezing GUFFAW of MADNESS.
OH NOS IM STOPPING LOOKOU--
And that is when I realized...
THE SERVER THAT RUNS REALITY IS CRASHING!
THE WORLD IS ABOUT TO END AND THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN DO!
WE ARE NOTHING MORE THAN BINARY BLIPS ON THE DISINTEGRATING HARD DRIVE OF A COSMIC SCRIPT KIDDIE! REPENT! QUIT YOUR JOB! SLACK OFF! WE'RE DOOMED!
DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED!
And then nothing happened.
Anyways, I've been thinking and I've realized that I'm really not good at my job. If my supervisors could see me on my shift, they'd fire me on the spot. I'm just not a good security guard. I'm probably the least aware person you will ever have the displeasure of meeting because I am ALWAYS off in my own little world, Especially during acts of pointless, repetitive physical exertion (e.g. Walking). If someone broke in while i'm playing sword with my trusy STICK of THWACKAGE PLUSTWO, I wouldn't be screwed. I wouldn't be nailed. I'd be bolted.
"I've been screwed, I've been nailed, but I've NEVER been bolted!"
--The Audience at The Come-Again Players Presents: The Rocky Horror Picture Show (every saturday night, midnight at Tower Theater in Amherst, MA)
Being bolted has Got to suck.
So, I really suck at security. The Boss Man has had to give me talking-tos on several occasions already, about keeping my shirts pressed, creased, and pristine white. PFAH. Yeah, Right; I'm going to take precious seconds out of my life to lovingly tend to the whims of what ammounts to a BIG BLACK AND WHITE BULLSEYE that I have to huff around in every night. Also bullshit like shaving and haircuts. I know, I know, Security OFFICERS are supposed to be clean and neat! They're supposed to fucking be BOY SCOUTS(trustworthy loyal helpful friendly courtious kind obedient cheerful thrifty brave clean reverent WHEW still got it gods damn my bleeding swisscheesed backwards soul)! (what the fuck is THRIFTY about anyways)
I quit the boy scouts for a reason. I think that reason was because they hated me and refused to use my 'legal' name because it was a 'cool' name and I 'was not cool', but that's besides the point. The point is, boy scouts are BULLSHIT. I know, I saw them in 'action'. All they do is smoke weed and play Magic: The Gathering. And occasionally throw cans of bug spray in the fire for the special effects(Boom) and thus potentially kill themselves(OH GOD WHERES MY SKIN). Trying to make anybody act like the IDEAL of boy scouts is a lost cause, and trying to make anybody act like REAL boy scouts is fucking SUICIDE. THEY GIVE THOSE LITTLE BASTARDS GUNS, FOR J HOWARD CHRISSAKES! GUNS!
I DON'T EVEN GET A GUN AT MY JOB!
It's not fair.
I'm just not professional. Makes me sick to my stomach having to be all prim and proper. I mean, I have no probelm with calling someone 'sir' or 'm'am' or 'mister' or 'miss'. Hell, I get a kick out of it. Any random individual STARTS with a bonus of benefit-of-a-doubt respect(Limited time offer while supplies last!), and there are a lot of awesome people out there, talented, funny, intelligent people, that deserve to be referred to as such-- even if it's a half-facetious and bumpkinish-- and SOME of those people actually AREN'T figments of my imagination! At least, I THINK ZombieCat is not a figment of my imagination... But I dunno sometimes.
(Just gotta looove that waking nightmare feeling <3 ^_^ )
(yes, that's a compliment)
I plainly don't see myself working third shift security anymore in another six months. What I'd love to do is get paid to draw. Seriously. I'm trained in Computer Aided Drafting, which is much clicky listen to winamp as I go goodness. Can you imagine being paid to not only draw, but sit in front of a computer too? It may not be very glamorous in reality, but who the fuck needs reality anyway? I work a shit wageslave job and I STILL manage to twist slack out of it, I sure as fuck can get it out of a place where I already have ready-access to a computer at my fingertips, even if I Can't be online.
My job has also bitched at me for being a fridge theif and a possibly unbeknownst shoplifter. Seriously, I had no idea they didn't want us drinking their gods damned soda! If they're so fucking concerned why didn't they just shut off their damn machine! There's also of course the self-grooming issue. I'm going to have to cough up another 15 bucks for yet another haircut pretty soon. My hair used to be long. My friends from Real Life, when I HAD any ( ;_; ) used to love brushing it. That made me murr and feel all warm'n'fuzzeh! ^^ Ahhhh, memories. But no thanks to THEM... Or maybe it's a deep south thing. Long hair can make me look hippie-ish. From behind, once, I was mistaken for a girl! Boy was THAT guy's face red! Miss WHO? Rofflekoptor.
Combined with the poor-on-nonexistent personal upkeep habits, a few stark LIES on my shift reports, and my tendency to be off in the clouds or down in a dungeon valiantly slaying plant monsters with my Sti-ah-i-mean-SWORD... OF AWESOME, Kompressor DANCES more than I am good at being a Security Guard.
Yet, ironically enough, my coworkers, allthough taking their job seriously (in precisely the manner I am NOT), seem to not know their hands from their ASSES. Last night when I went in for my shift, do you know how many doors were open?
Do you?
DO YOU?
ALL OF THEM!
IF THEY CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THIS PLACE, WHY DON'T THEY CLOSE THE GODS DAMNED DOORS!!! No, they weren't just unlocked, SOME of them were propped open AJAR. It's like they didn't even TRY. I'm not saying I'm bad at security because I don't TRY; Trying can at LEAST be more amusing than staring at minesweeper all night long. My insanity would be just THAT MUCH MORE VIOLENT, and not in a fun way, if I didn't get out of that deathtrap office every once in a while to take a walk! I don't give two shits and a flying yiff about that job and I do better than these staunch, strict, BURLY, clean-pressed as though straight from the clone plant PINK BOYS who actually think their 'Work ATTITUDE' makes one damn bit of difference.
It's been said to me again and again, "you're too smart to be working here." "What are you DOING here?" "You don't belong here! You should be off doing SMART stuff!", and I'm starting to really wonder if I should take a hint and leave their stupid shortstaffing crisis just a bit more dire. They're working me seven days a week, after all, because there isn't a second 'night man' to take the third shift while I'm off. I'm almost morbidly, tantalizingly curious to see how they'd helplessly scramble and squirm if they suddenly had NO 'night men'.
Muwahaha.
...but I'm not interested enough to give it a full-fledged ear-stabbing window-rattling blood-freezing GUFFAW of MADNESS.
OH NOS IM STOPPING LOOKOU--
