aspie ranting |
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If I seem a little distant or incoherent, it's because I am. I am not a NeuroTypical and I have no desire to become one. This is simply the area in which I stim my creative impulses. (WARNING: All entries are either ENTIRELY TRUE or ENTIRELY FALSE and anything claiming to be one of the latter is, in fact, one of the former. There are no exceptions to this rule.) comments, marriage proposals, and death threats can be sent here 
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Monday, July 30, 2001
I am of the distinct impression that most every Cassandra has her own Apollo... so, the curse shall be set upon YOU... Friday, July 27, 2001
Thursday, July 26, 2001
So, I took a personality (disorder) test, and here are the results... a little conflicting, but I love conflict...
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
*grins* Triple J is playing a techno/trance remix of American Beauty songs... I think I know two girls who would appreciate this... "You never understand quantum physics, you just get used to it." -- Niels Bohr seems that one could substitute something else for "quantum physics" *grins* "There is no use in trying," said Alice; "one can't believe impossible things." "I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." -- Lewis Carroll, "Through the Looking Glass" Monday, July 23, 2001
Sunday, July 22, 2001
chain-mail parasite wear protecting me from the light watching me dig a 6 foot grave below the feet of my host and those who gather around... 22 July -- St. Mary Magdalen's Day. She is regularly confused with the Virgin Mary, regarded as the patron of prostitutes. Various churches, including Notre Dame, are actually dedicated to Mary Magdalen, not the Virgin Mary. The Gospel of Mary (one of the Gnostic gospels, a copy of which was found at Nag Hammadi in Egypt in 1940) says the two Marys - virgin and harlot - are one and the same. Saturday, July 21, 2001
Friday, July 20, 2001
driving home looking in empty windows some set with flickering neon lights setting the pale walls like marble in moonlight the streets are empty except for my car and light traces the horizon as headlights blink Thursday, July 19, 2001
Wednesday, July 18, 2001
Tuesday, July 17, 2001
*flash* idea for a long joke... *chuckles* deep humour, I think... There are two grim-faced men, in green uniforms, and a gorilla, in a blue uniform, going through a most remarkable pantomime. One of the men holds up a sign saying "WE DEMAND JUSTICE" and the gorilla sprays him with a can of shaving cream; the other man then feeds the gorilla. *grins* Operant Conditioning anyone? all the sadness contained in a pop song somehow seems more than any atrocity in any history book, more real. But that is the error of our age, we believe more than is actually there. More than the facts allow. "Pas quittez moi � terre," which is, in a familiar patois: "Don't leave me stranded," which is, in the specifics of the language: "Don't leave me on earth," or, by a shift of stress: "Don't leave me the earth" [for an inheritance]; "Pas quittez moi � terre, Starship, Don't leave me on earth, I've had enough of it." Abandonment is something I should have grown used to. Abandonment is something I should have grown used to. Starship, don't leave me here on this earth... Monday, July 16, 2001
For him, the rules of the world were written in pencil and he had a big eraser... the word palimpsest comes to mind in relation to reality... Too many people clutch to false hope, outdated imperialist notions of "good" and "evil," and go most of their lives in a blind, ambitious low-grade chronic emergency. They walk the streets worried that one technology or another they've invented will revolt against their chauvenistic (militaristic) dictatorship. Dancing an irregular waltz with a hooded character who abandoned his scythe (but never beat his swords into plowshares) for germ warfare and cloned sheep named "Dolly." But freedom dawns a few minds and the richer is the light that those shed on others. Fear... The last time I truly felt fear, in the conventional sense, was before I left on my trip. It stemmed from the answer she gave me when I asked her to be with me... something along the lines of: "we'll see what happens when you get back and we'll take it from where we left off..." for some reason, I didn't quite think I was enough to be taken seriously after only one night and be remembered for almost 4 weeks... maybe that's not fear, but something like insecurity... but hey, some people think my insecurity is nothing more than a ploy for attention. The kick is if I truly was insecure, then I wouldn't want the attention... so, I either have what I want (and why should I continue something that is self-destructive) or I am living in a hell of recieving more attention than I want. but some people also lie too much... twilight's tears the horizon of a voice where stars are falling and no cry interrupts the falling phoenix who rises, ever after, as a dove. A man who had studied much in the schools of wisdom finally died in the fullness of his time and found himself at the Gates of Eternity. An angel of light approached him and said, "Go no further, O mortal, until you have proven to me your worthiness to enter Paradise!" But the man answered, "Just a minute, now. First of all, can you prove to me this is a real Heaven and not just the wishful fantasy of my disordered mind undergoing death?" Before the angel could reply, a voice from inside the gates shouted: "Let him in -- he's one of us!" britfoot... quotes are a dime a dozen, but quotes that mean anything are few and far between... don't listen to mehums who don't know shit... "I slept with faith and found a corpse in my arms on awakening; I drank and danced all night with doubt and found her a virgin in the morning." -- Aliester Crowley Sunday, July 15, 2001
it's funny how I never get invited places unless I overhear or make a point to ask about something in the works. people make concessions to keep on my good side but in all fairness when did you ever give a fuck about me other than to save your own ass from my "dark side?" people to add to my shit-ledger: 1) people who say "myriad of" 2) people who want to be chefs and who cannot spell (or even recognize) the names of foods or wines 3) people who confuse your and you're 4) people who are ignorant and who don't care enough to learn 5) people who answer questions with only "because" that's all for now... in the deep sea of the subjective, I once lived a life of morals. But who can hold their breath that long in the deep, cold sea of the subjective? mindflash a new Nabokov variation too late, too long too much apprehension too much tension and she wouldn't even see the humour of sunset once upon a park hill one of them very much in love with the other and the other didn't even notice that he left no footprints in the pale mist and she was so reassuring and her speech so full of pleasantries but she never kissed him with her eyes closed "A census taker once tried to ask me a few questions... I hate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti..." -- Hannibal Lecter, M.D. Saturday, July 14, 2001
demons claw at angels plucking the feathers down and ripping apart the smile and replacing it with a frown. Friday, July 13, 2001
nothing can flourish in your absence except our faith in our happiness nurtured by a mind made mad with love. forbid me forbid flesh no repair so unfair images of thigh and breast and touch so sweet and pure with you I cannot find this rest no one else can help or cure Thursday, July 12, 2001
I was trained to speak in the language of the times: despair. I raged against anything I could find, but nothing fought back or stuck around long enough to get past the gloss of our age. Desolation means no angels to wrestle, no songs to recite in your head; Desolation means no comparisons. Tonight, the sky is alive; the rows of clouds repeat themselves like the ribs of some vast skeleton. And rainbows are to eyes the equivalent of thunder upon an overpowered hearing-aid. in this desert of tradition, I stand, unheroic, apart from my time and lacking the doubt that sets me apart. Desolation means no angels to wrestle. Desolation means no comparisons... Wednesday, July 11, 2001
all alone all day completely surrounded by four white walls each one mocking me as morning mocks its flowers by becoming Afternoon Tuesday, July 10, 2001
sometimes, I lie in bed and wonder where expressions like "top-notch" come from... then I realize, it comes from bed-posts... *grins* Monday, July 09, 2001
maybe my words aren't so fresh and the novel intentions lose their lustre, when always wed in a shotgun style or maybe they take me for granted the dark tremolo of summer crickets I can taste the love of a sweet discouraged girl thinking she has found the beauty of truth and I used to sit in my high-back chair reading Proust and Apollinaire while the days turned to dust and a nightwood sprang up around me Solidified nostalgia indeed -- and the great stone tomb of hearts destroyed with the solidified ennui of eternity and, Yes, here I knew such aloneness. dumb trauma of youth! such wastes of love such wordless hungers mute neuroses yearnings & gropings fantasies & flame-outs such endless searching such highs and sweet inebriations -- I salute you now sweet inchoate youth and offer you my left hand with a slight derisive laugh into the crystal night of time in the endless silence of the soul in the long loud tale of man in his enless sound and fury signifying everything with his endless hallucinations adorations annihilations illuminations erections and exhibitions facismo and machismo circuses of the soul astray merrygorounds of the imagination coney island of the mindless endless poem dictated by the uncollected voice of the collective unconscious blear upon the tracks of time. In a dream within a dream I dreamt a dream of the reality of existence and the Arrow of Time flies both ways through bent space in this wind-up model of the universe in which I was a fish who eats his tail a yin-yang yolk of good and evil about to consume itself. A tuning fork in the inner ear, struck of another chord, to strike below the surface. Of your own sweet Self still sing yet mutter your "I love you"s so nobody else will see the true beauty tinged with rose and gold and the light, the light, so unadultered, so right... and so engulfing. Poetry the common carrier for the transportation of the public to higher places than other wheels can carry it. Time now to face outward in the lotus position with eyes wide open, and time to sing of this in all your tongues and all your voices to all sentient life... and even those who are too innocent to listen. So, there's a party in my pants... everyone's invited... no need to RSVP; it's first come, first serve... Sunday, July 08, 2001
The power of (real) Beauty is not that of overwhelming and awe, but it is the power to slow down and finally to stop the irritable movements of your ratiocinative machinery; when your rational ideas are wholly destroyed and putrefied, you will succeed in enflaming them in the fierce Furnace of your Creative Wills, until all things burn up together into one blazing mass of living, of relentless Light. Igni Natura Renovatur Integra Saturday, July 07, 2001
miss roach seems to think that "thought is form" is a "malcolm-esque quote." however much I am inclined to agree, though, I am quite equally inclined to disagree on the grounds that "p is q" does not mean that "q is p." explination: "thought is form" -- while thought indeed does create form, this syllogism is a bit of a stretch; thought does not equal form simply because it creates it. "form is thought" -- I would, perhaps, be a bit more inclined to believe this premise for the reason that since thought creates form, then it is very easy to deduce that creating form is a form of thought. But, (and here comes the infinite regress that I oh-so-love) since creating form is a form of thought itself, then one must create a second thought to create the form of thought for the first creation of form -- and so on ad infinitum, though usually only ad nauseum. the only problem that I wish to expound upon with the reasoning thus far is that, then: all forms are thoughts thoughts create forms since all forms are thoughts and created by thoughts, form is subjective -- form is no more "real" than the thoughts of unicorns thus, form cannot exist and all that appears as form is simply thought. mmm... loose logic... I love it... p.s. thank you, miss roach, for thinking of me... no words... perfection... love... nothing... all... beauty... not innocence, any longer... just TRUTH! Friday, July 06, 2001
with bared breasts She wrestled against me; in how many varied embraces, our changing arms, Her kisses, how many, lingering on my lips. "turn not Venus into a blinded motion, eyes are the guides of love." This afternoon, I had a moment of thought... Ever have one of those moments where you sit there and realize, in the midst of rejection, that you've fucked up your life beyond repair and wonder why you're doing what you're doing and why it's with certain people, wonder what compelled you to be with someone or why you put up with them wonder how you can simply shut down all communication with someone and hurt them more than they ever thought possible? My thought, this afternoon, was not one of those moments... Thursday, July 05, 2001
I must say that I find the Second Law of Thermodynamics to be one of the most pessimistic and amoral formulation in all human thought. Real reality is there, but everything you know about "it" is in your mind and yours to do with as you like. CONCEPTUALIZATION IS ART, AND YOU ARE THE ARTIST! Wednesday, July 04, 2001
I have strange dreams sometimes but they're not half as wierd as what I see walking down the street. And a streetcar named apprehension passes you by. I didn't get much sleep last night thinking about underwear Have you ever stopped to consider underwear in the abstract When you really dig into it some shocking problems are raised Underwear is something we all have to deal with Everyone wears some kind of underwear The Pope wears underwear I hope Underwear can really get you into a bind You have seen the underwear ads for men and women so alike but so different Women's underwear holds things up Men's underwear holds things down Underwear is one thing men and women have in common Underwear is all we have between us You have seen the three-colour pictures with crotches encircled to show areas of extra strength and three-way stretch promising full freedom of action Don't be decieved It's all based on the two-party system which doesn't allow much freedom of choice the way things are set up America in its underwear struggles through the night Underwear controls everything in the end Take foundation garments for instance They really are fascist forms of underground government making people believe something but the truth telling you what you can or can't do DId you ever try to get around a girdle Perhaps Non-Violent Action is the only answer Did Ghandi wear a girdle? Did Lady Macbeth wear a girdle? Was that why Lady Macbeth murdered sleep? Ad that spot she was always rubbing -- Was it really in her underwear? She must have had a huge guilt complex always washing and washing and washing Out damned spot Underwear with spots very suspicious Underwear with bulges very shocking Underwear on clothesline a great flag of freedom Someone has escaped their Underwear May be naked somewhere Help! But don't worry Everybody's still hung up in it There won't be a real revolution And poetry still the underwear of the soul And underwear still covering a multitude of faults in the geological sense -- strange sedimentary stones, inscrutable cracks! If I were you I'd keep aside an oversized pair of winter underwear Do not go naked into that good night "I have tried to write Paradise. Stand still. Let the wind speak. That is Paradise." -- Ezra Pound I'm inclined to agree... Tuesday, July 03, 2001
most people lose faith when the first kiss exhileration is gone, but I see beyond the routine and I still get the butterflies. every kiss grows with excitement from nape to lips stains of love upon your breasts in lots of 5 always 5 always perfect in your beauty and in my heart, coccoons of love hatching.. One by one they drink silence and without looking back disappear forever Like certain people in my life... Monday, July 02, 2001
"Moral perfection isn't necessary for Discordian Sainthood. You just have to suffer a lot." -- Principia Discordia in this choaslust
torn reality for-
both broken
Sunday, July 01, 2001
"Anytime at all, all you've gotta do is call and I'll be there..." -- Lennon/McCartney, Anytime At All In the eternal dream-time a fish dreamt ocean a bird sky And I stand on the beach in the land where all is still frontier and don't dream sand running through my head as through an hourglass. Sun on fire sucked into ocean And the only shadow the shadow of desire afire. Back at the house the white copy of Venus Aphrodite stands silent in the doorway Her hair, silk, glistens and quivers in wind lyre-strands strung from head to shoulder my eyes wander browsing on the alabaster breasts and move to the very mouth of Venus who is no longer a copy The Universe Breathes... O you, and my pride is there, who are less in your own light, better-loved, who are strange to me no longer. We have grown, I know, in the same dark gardens. We have drunk the same difficult water under the trees. The same severe angel has menaced you. And our steps are the same, freeing themselves from the brambles of forgettable childhood and the same impure imprecations, You, who are more beautiful than lightning, stain the white windows of my memory. when will people realize that I don't reccomend music unless it's good... they still don't trust my judgement yet... ouch... well, that trip was quite fun... I must say the only thing more frightening than the skydiving was waking up and realizing there was someone in the bed with me and not remembering how she or I got there... too much drink, too much *pauses* nevermind... |
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faeries have died because YOU haven't been clapping hard enough.