a garage band called Netscape
2001-06-17 - 11:49 p.m.
In the end, who�s really going to own Jerusalem? I�m betting on the American-bred vegetarian feminists, as strange as that might seem. You see, the majority of the horror stories in books about �the situation of women today� come from the middle east. In Iran, where a 14-yeal-old girl burned herself to death to avoid a marriage with a 42-year-old man, and the stonings of women that do not seem to have an end. In Kuwait, where women will not be granted the power of suffrage until 2003 and women writers are arrested for such things as blasphemy. In Jordan, where the parliament ignored �honor killings� until last year...It is in these nations that people like Maryam Rajavi are talking to people like Saddam Hussain because their �race� (femms) cannot find a peace with most of the males in this section of the world. Most feminists would agree that there needs to be a refuge, a sanctuary, for women in need. And what better place than the centre of all commerce in the eastern Mediterranean, to spread the message of aid? Truly, it would be �the land of milk and honey�. (Sorry, you might have to have a 42-year old white male bigot�s mindset to understand that one.)
Sidenote: If you�re wearing a hardhat and carrying a cellphone, people will believe in anything you say. After all, you could be the CEO they�ve never seen [in person].
And so it was, that in the day after McVeigh was executed, one of Osama bin Laden�s followers, Mohamed Rashed Daoud Al-�Owhali, was sentenced to life in jail instead of a similar execution, because ten of the twelve jurors thought that he would become a martyr to his people. He admitted to helping bomb a US embassy in which 213 people died and thousands were injured. This brings up the good point (and I think Ed Izzard said it best) that the more people someone kills, the less we know what to do with �em. This incident should also draw your attention to the idea that the media has the power; the power of ignorance over the masses. Just because they don�t tell you, doesn�t mean that it didn�t happen.
Step-mother was quite perturbed about her dog/mop. So, instead of waiting for the Kool-Aid (TM) to fade out in another couple days, she had Father shave it. I must point out again that this is a dog/mop. One of those little dogs with long hair, that simply should NOT be shaved. (insert lots of spare emphasis *here*). It looks like a starved baby pig. Er, at least it would, if it didn�t still have a few tuffs of hair left. And to think, we were going to dye it blue next weekend.
Weather Forecast: It�s going to be a hot day in Hell today. Not like you didn�t know that already.
We took in a lost kitten last night; not full-grown, but no longer a baby (no floppy-head syndrome). She�s got black furr from head to tail tip, and back again...today I went up several streets in town trying to find it�s previous owners, and all I found was one person who said she take it if I couldn�t find the original owners. Deliberating...Later: I went down the street to give the kitten to a temporary owner, and on the way, the real owner saw the kitten and came out to claim it. Problem solved.
Sidenote: I need to carry a sharpie around all the time. This way, I can get randum girls to write their phone numbers on my shirt/chest. E-mails accepted as well.
Sidenote: The previous sidenote, as should be obvious, was a branch off of the more general idea that I don�t have any friends in this town. Yay.
It�s the old verse vs. prose argument. Prose, as farr as I can tell, is conposed of two qualities: those of projection and profoundity. The more ideas that are packed into a smaller amount of writing, the more profound the prose will be. To increases the description to make the reader more aware of a scene is to increase the writing�s power of projection. Verse is the absolute value of this spectrum, using very few words to project an idea; or even making use of a single, self-explanatory word, such as rumpumdickrash. Most writers, after years of college spent systematically studying the art of creativity (I don�t get it either), use more projection than profoundity. There seem to be a dwindling number of writers who can fill a story full of points...so full that the �filler� between the points is negligible, and the reader is prone to cutting themselves on the edges. Masochistic reading; yum.
I�m going to put this poem on my diary for mental/internet storage. You see, I always wanted to paint a Van Gogh of a electrical socket; but I�m not Van Gogh, so this is the closest I could get:
Foolish Poem #457 (Out let)
there's an outlet near my bed
when I sleep, near my head.
for pairs of inverted faces,
slits for eyes and gasping mouth
for pairs of plugs in the wall
the top two reach for the ground
as they runn intertwined,
to computer monitor and tower.
the white scatters to a lamp,
the black to a bubblejet.
out let it's passion
out let it's dreams
out let it's sorrows and convictions
to power our homes
to power our lamps
to power our minds in a future world.
