commando dandy
2002-08-21 - 1:29 p.m.
Excuse the third: The length of time between ideas thought and ideas expressed is positive, and therefore something is lost. The friction of the brain. When this value is negative, we end up with trippy stories about white rabbits, god-proclaimed hen-scratches, and a little girl (chicken in hand) telling a wind-up soldier that there are many people who talk without thinking. This, dear Archibald, is of the positive form; forethought is included [to a varying degree]. And thus, something has been lost, but it's better than something that never was [whole].
Church. Party-up-like-it's-eighteen-ninety-nine Sunday. It was suggested that the whole congregation dress up in old-tech* clothes to celebrate the 100-year anniversary of the completion of the post-fire rebuilding of the church. But the pants, they were too tight, to snug around my...everything. Logically, the only way to prevent inguinal suffocation was to have away with the boxers. Course, I looked like a 1930s dandy either way, even though all my clothes were strictly 1910. Sitting there in church, without unders underneath...well, it really wasn't all that different. Except for the sudden tap-dancing urges.
It's happened again, someone in town has mistaken me for Step-sister's boyfriend. Not because I spend a lot of time with her, but because they seem to think that we look alike. He, a souped-down screaming-rock version of myself, and I, a younger, more spontaneous and yet reserved version of him. I don't see how people can get us confused, but evidently they can. Superman and Clark Kent, although I'm not sure which of us is more mild-mannered. Kent puts on his glasses, he takes out his lip ring. Viola.
Analysis of a midnight snack, Part Three [part one involved the Salmonella brothers, and part two was microwaved McDonald's cheeseburgers with legs]. Cheese (slices). Frosting in a plastic-sealable-should-stay-refrigerated cup. Pickles. In the one hand, I have the bacteria, ready for colonization. In the other, I have the food to cultivate the culture. And in the third, I have a method of preservation for which to aid in my study of the culture after they've developed obesity from eating all the resources they assumed to be their god-given right. Bacterial cultures are decent, but the egotistical ones (of which lactase bacillus is definitely one) really piss me off.
I think Mitch said it best when he stated that the current citizens of the United States form a 'functionalist society'. We operate in terms of what we can do, based on what sort of accreditations we have. We operate in terms of wondering how other things operate, put an amount of value in something according to how well it can do what it's supposed to do. Professionals for every field. We define ourselves in what we do [see 'occupation']. Children's toys have to have moving parts and batteries and make sounds, books have to have pictures and pop-ups...or contain self-helping messages. Fairy tales have to teach us something. Each object has it's own eight-hour workday, each workday functions to produce tomorrow's workers.
Arguing with the president of the Maine Dental Association while he drills through the top of my tooth to get to a divot (not even a cavity) in the enamel of my tooth. Not that I was arguing why he was doing his job in such a round-about way, but why dentists have changed their terminology. 'Mesial' he tells me, is the dentistry term for medial. Mesial isn't even Latin...it's just a changed letter that allows dentists to think of themselves as higher-class professionals. One think they wouldn't be proud of such a lowly accomplishment as spending eight years in school to learn how to use a drill. Dentistry, I argue, could be taught in a year or two, even to the most uneducated of chimpanzees. Of course, he pretends not to hear this comment, drilling all the harder and louder.
A new cut has formed proximal to the inferior crest of my left eye socket; the result of a violent, unprovoked attack by a podium in a dark, alleyway-like storage closet. It's a rather short story so I'd rather not get into it any further.
'Serenade me with that snappy cabbage, oh baby!' -Nemo, in a fit of vegetables
1966 F-85 Oldsmobile Sudan, V8 engine, four door, perfectly-lovely-sickeningly-pea-green interior, a heaven for goblins. For the last time, I'm writing it here so that I don't feel bad about not buying it. No brakes, but I'd only end up using 'em on the highway anyways. Five-hundred in-god-we-trust funds; two weeks at minimum wage (5,75). Once again, I'm writing it so that I don't have to worry about buying it. Even bought an 8-track player for it, my own little muscular baby. Not mine...no. Writing it all down to prove it to myself, Writing it so that I can sleep tonight. Goblins have no heaven, only bar that they frequent more often.
Hippies. Every century has 'em. This year, they're coming out in digital. If you haven't noticed, I haven't been doing much artwork this summer. Rather, I haven't been able to do much artwork since I installed windows XP. This is due to a so-called 'fatal' error I get when I try to open anything in Photoshop (TM). Since when did it become copyright infringement to take a peek at your own friggin artwork? (Of course, this is just my theory for this, as I can use the same copy of Photophop4 in windows98, and my system resources shouldn�t even be biting it�s nails) It's about time we brought the hippies out in force, those loveable heretics. Nelson Mandela, Pope John Paul II, Copernicus (in theory), Gandhi...Anti-passive peaceful revolutionaries who stood up for a cause in their particular time period so that there would be no Big Brother. This is the epic battle of human nature, not that good fairy versus bad fairy shyt. It's Microsoft, It's hardware univeralization (see �http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2002/06/25/tech/main513342.shtml� and �http://www.extremetech.com/article2/0,3973,274309,00.asp� and lastly �http://www.pbs.org/cringely/pulpit/pulpit20020627.html�), it's the FCC asserting their power with the digital receivers in television sets to pave the way for videocameras. It's a homeland security officer in your house when you get back to work, because he doesn't need a warrant to raid your fridge (or your daughter, for that matter). It's dropping your children off at the children's center and driving away worrying about the possible arrival of catholic priests at daycare. It's your psychologist's psychologist that's messed up, not you. Who's supposed to tell the security officials what not to do, and who's supposed to tell them what not to do? The People. The Us. But it seems to be the case that people are willing to hand over their freedoms/rights/choices in exchange for a SENSE of security. During periods of higher paranoia (wars, global disasters, 'terrorists') this need for safety is manifested in the passing of laws that restrict what we find to be 'bad' and remove the choice of 'bad' or 'good' (in quotes because they refer to relative terms). In removing the choice, we remove our freedoms as a whole. The real problem with this is that laws are generally never relaxed. Once a court case exists on the issue, it can forever after be referred to in other court cases...once a law is passed to increase 'public safety' and protect 'public interests', there is never a feeling of anti-paranoia gained. There is never a relaxed state (possibly because the 'security' doesn't really do what it's supposed to) for the freedom to be regained. There is no homeostasis. And I know that, in comparison to other countries, the US does grant a great deal of leniency, but it just isn't enough to meet my demands. I want what they promised to me when I was born in this country. I want the freedom of speech to be able to offend someone in the crudest, most imaginative way possible. I want to choose a speedy trial, and actually get a speedy trial. If an integral part of my religion involves spiting on the flag instead of saluting it, I don't want to be suspended from school. I want the freedom to say nothing, if I so choose, without someone leaving me locked in a room under a heat lamp for three hours (eighth amendment anyone?). And I want more. I want the rights of Prisoners of War firmly established. I want the criminals of this country to be entitled to some rights, however meager, so that they can be developed later. I want people to pay for the consequences of their actions, no matter how much money they have. I want one vote...my own, untampered 'yea' or 'nay' on every law (and a freedom to choose not to vote if I so wish), because representation just isn't enough anymore. Hell, when all else fails, we still have the second amendment.
"If you are a person who chooses [a false sense of] safety over rights, you're not a person who deserves to have those rights." -paraphrased from Mitch
People give rights away (one does something, two tries to pass a law against it, three agrees to the law 'can we reward a man for doing the Right thing when he had no other choice?') Laws, for the most part, are never removed...written as vague and general as possible, in old-English, so that it can be misconstrued to catch anyone
So, one day, when Sir#1 says to Sir#2 'Mymy, what a revolutionary this Goblyn guy has become!' I will think to myself that I was always a revolutionary. I was a revolutionary thinker...but not necessarily a revolutionary actor. But I doubt they'd ever hear me say so.
"...but he wants to be a paperback writer...paperback writer..." -good-driving-tunes-R-us
Threw out all my old notes today, crumpled in a pile. I'm just not sure which ideas I've used and which I haven't, so I thought it better and less time consuming not to risk repeating myself. Excepts to follow, nevertheless. The sound of silence is negative, or the absence of, noise that we have become used to. Insomnia is rampant in the US because we listen to our TVs all day, and wonder why we have this sound of silence in our ears at night. Monophone voices aren't so bad as they sound. The centre of two sixes is 7, the centre of three fours is 7 1/2, the centre of one twelve is 6 1/2. Ibu-ibu tac-tac in the dark with ESP wizards of the future. Goblins eat mushrooms, the spores of irony. There can only be one magic number and that number is. Football players have to wear cleats because they would move too fast for television if they discovered backwards logic** and moonwalked across the field. Blue eyes in Palmsprings so that you think that you're looking right though her head into the ocean. A spouse is a mirror you can be yourself to (not like I would know, I just thought it sounded neat). The similar cases of the catatonic genius (who thinks better standing still) and the paranoid fetal (over-restraining self because of possible Bad; fear of self and choice).And something vague about jelly-filled doughnuts and why a square looks better when it's been traced a second time.
*Neologism: analogous to old-school, but not nearly as annoying to the ear, nose and throat [or the associations thereof].
**Using the proof to find the necessary givens.
