Bipartisan Logic
2002-02-16 (late 15) - 2:20 a.m.
Today I have nothing to talk about, so I�ll do my best to talk about nothing...because, you know, that�s all I have to talk about. Mitch would call it something.
I have a new favourite error in windows. An erred error, if you will: �this program must be terminated because� and it just terminates, like that.
Further proof that the English language has a few screws loose. Content and content have different content in speech; the definition of the word is dependant on how it is said. �Meaning� is not the action of being a meanie. So I used it as the title of a poem.
Related Sidenote to one of the above: I�ll prubly post the poems I�ve written this semester in a Sunday Comix, but right now I�m just not Done.
"It's not rocket science, but it lights up the night sky and occasionally puts a man on the moon." -On Love (abbreviation for the short and abridged take-off inspired by the edited version) [aka: Nemo]
I said 'it's nice meetin' you' twice this morning, and it really got me thinking. People say it without really thinking, as if it's a joy to meet just about anyone. Moreover, they say it at the same time, causing it to be followed by a general awkwardness until 'goodbye' is said. Just for variety's sake, next time I'm gonna wait for the newbie-to-me to say that it was nice meeting me, and then respond with 'I know just what you mean; I barely know you, and I feel like hugging you goodbye and singing 'Until We Meet Again'.'
Gorgeous day today, Sir. Just a pinch of nippyness in the air, just a bit of sunshine in the open sky. It be one of them days that a child can see 'forever' from the top of a cherry tree.
*finishes eating his can of spray-cheese* Such an odd diet these human things have at their disposal.
It just struck me again today what it means to have lost my 20GB hard drive. I lost my writing and art that wasn�t on the net, of course. But I also lost a folder named �memories�...a place specifically for holding all things that need to be held close. I lost most of my icq histories, saved since I first downloaded it at the end of �98. A lot can be said in/of three years. I lost my pictures of Toronto, scanned in by Dillon from era of phantasmal birthdays. The pictures of Lucy that I was planning to turn into a take-off of Robert Silvers. My pictures of Jen and her fishies...in order of increasing ouchiness, of course.
They says �once a writer, always a writer,� and maybe they�re right. People just don�t stop writing, cold turkey. Even if the writer manages to stop the activity of writing per se, the mental process lives on. When someone walks up to you and calls herself �Annie�, we can�t help but reflect on alternate spellings of the name. And it looks so much better �Ani�. �Kate� spelled �Jack�. You look so much better, when put in that name. And with this, the writer�s soul transposed the constraint of the straight jacket.
Started work on the website this week, Mosaic. Class is good. Just wish I knew more about what I�m getting myself into, but I have time to regret that later.
Swears have a purpose. We use them to express our general misfeeling for orders...our ability to disregard someone else�s control over us. But the way they are overused in this country, they just don�t have the effect they should. One a secondary level, the presence of swears allow us to practice the skill of restraint, from which Simon�s One True Law is based. Once again,
In elementary school, I was taught that if you were reallyreally angry, and you didn�t vent the anger, and let it all out in non-destructive ways, you would pop, like a balloon. As a child, I thought this meant that your emotions (which I thought were contained in the CSF fluid between your skull and brain) would blow your skull into tiny rubbery bits, and send your brains helecoptering around the room. And of course, there were days when I really tried to blow my head off with Freudian repression...hooked-on psychological attempts at mental suicide worked fer me!
Narrator: And so it was that the Sirs excused themselves from posting *here* for a while by claiming that they needed to go to a concert, but spent most of their time off wandering the streets, looking for a place where they could play some music on a rooftop and not get arrested.
Sir#1: *sitting on a bus bench*, feeling inspired.
Sir#2: *pacing in front of the bench and checking his wrist to see if the time has returned*...At all these concerts, the band just wants you to stand there and agree with them...is that the purpose of music?
Sir#1: Now, when you say �all these�, you mean all the ones we have found today, which is really an empty set, eh?
Sir#2: Butofcourse.
Sir#1: And what do you mean, �agree with them�?
Sir#2: Well, mainstream music needn�t be defined as any more than a set of lyrics that are spoon-fed to you, and they add a background beat, because it helps the medicine go down...
Sir#1:What about punk music? Isn�t their �message� to not listen to �messages�?
Sir#2:On the occasion, but even then, you are forced to listen to their message if you want to apply their message to get rid of your good opinion of the others...you have to take in someone�s message.
Sir#1: And older rock?
Sir#2: Some of it was �good�, in the sense that it had no message...but that�s not to say that no message is any better than a million messages. It�s just cultural dip switches, similar to the television syndrome. And don�t even get me started on boybands, because the only reason why they�re as popular as they are is because their messages are extremely simple to grasp. Perfect for airheads.
Sir#1: *you-crazy-like-horse-in-burning-building-but-please-continue look*
Sir#2: Now, take the pointer-finger-and-pinky-finger-extension sign, the supposed �devil sign�. I thought it was much more provocative as the �guitar-pic-is-part-of-me-and-I-can�t-put-it-down sign�...*drifts off on topics unknown to him*
Sir#1: *stars listening again, because he has something to say*...Can�t we petition for a M�am? I mean, it gets lonely, with just a couple of Sirs, you know?
Sir#2: Well, there�s always Jessica, eh?
Sir#1: She wouldn�t give us the time of day if it was strapped to her wrist like a tracheotomy device. Anyway, we�re �too odd fer her tastes�...and she�s too Canadian for ours.
Sir#2: *thoughtfulness slowly approaches, sniffs the air, and leaves with its tail between its legs*
Sir#1: Are you ever on a train, or a bus, or walking around the wrong side of town at the wrong time of the night, and you get hit by inspiration?
Sir#2: Yes, actually. Actually, sometimes it strangles me. And a couple times it�s tripped me up...violent stuff, inspiration. Sometimes it tickles me until I piss myself, and then runs off, leaving me alone and rather uncomfortable, sitting and waiting for the next bus...
Sir#1: *right hand to forhead* I just thought of something that is slightly more taxing on the brain, and, sadly enough, I have the same name as he.
Sir#2 Hah, hah. Thirty-five more jokes like that, and I�d be rollin� in traffic.
I dunno where I got it from, but I think its good luck to kick the tires of cop cars. Just is.
