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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Tuesday, December 31, 2002
*grins* hat drawn poems are eerie sometimes... "but invented the one correct answer, for every time around trash talking with threats of deeds." Sunday, December 29, 2002
29 December. St Thomas a Becket was murdered in Cantebury Cathedral at the behest of Henry II in 1170. Becket's father was supposed to have been taken prisoner by a high-ranking Moor during the crusades. His captor's daughter helped him to escape on condition that he retrun and marry her. She waited, but he didn't show, so, speaking no English, she travelled across Europe to Cheapside in London to find him. On her arrival, she converted to Christianity and they were married in the presence of six bishops, and the saint was their only child. Saturday, December 28, 2002
28 December. Childermas, the festival of the Holy Innocents (in memory of the Bethlehem children massacred by King Herod). Children used to be whipped to remind them of the event. It was long believed to about the most unlucky day of the year, and it was advisable to avoid putting on new clothes, beginning any work or entering any important undertaking. To marry on Innocents' Day was especially inauspicious. Friday, December 27, 2002
hear my pleas... (I adore thee EVOE! I adore thee IAO!) protect me from the world and it's cruel games and players (I adore thee EVOE! I adore thee IAO!) forgive my trespasses forgive my meanderings (wanderings and otherwise) and allow me the solace to see the way of things... (I adore thee EVOE! I adore thee IAO!) and allow me the strength to enter into my final incarnation (IO PAN, IO PANPHAGE, IO PANGENITOR) Sunday, December 22, 2002
in the end, though, there really is nothing... what I mean to say is, nobody will ever be honest... and nobody, no matter how much they claim to or you want them to, will always be there for you... nobody will never give up on you because in the end, every single person on this flying piece of space debris is, for all intents and purposes, completely and utterly useless... The truth is that it doesn't matter whether I destroy myself alone or destroy this planet -- or turn around and try to find my way to the right-hand path in some dreary monastery. The universe will roll blindly along, not caring, not even knowing. There's no Granddaddy in the clouds to pass a last judgement -- there's only a few airplanes up there, learning more and more about how to carry bombs. They court-martialed General Mitchell for saying it, but it's the truth. The next time around they'll really bomb the hell out of civilian populations. And the universe won't know or care about that either. And don't tell me that my flight from Death leads back to Death; I'm not a child, and I know that all paths lead back to Death eventually. Love is a myth invented by poets and other people who couldn't face the world and crept off into corners to create fantasies to console themselves. The fact is that when you meet another entity, either it makes way for you or you make way for it. Either it dominates and you submit, or you dominate and it submits. What of Love? Equality? Reconciliation? Acceptance? Those are the excuses of the losers, to persuade themselves that they chose their condition and weren't beaten down into it. Find a dutiful wife, one who truly loves her husband. I'll have her in my bed in three days, maximum. Because I'm so damned attractive? No, because I understand men and women. I'll make her understand, without saying it aloud and shocking her, that the adultery will, one way or another, hurt her husband, whether he knows about it or not. Love of country? Another lie; the truth is fear of cops and prisons. Love of art? Another lie; the truth is fear of the naked truth without ornaments and false faces on it. Love of truth itself? The biggest lie of all: fear of the unknown. People learn acceptance of all this and achieve wisdom? They surrender to superior force and call their cowardice maturity. It still comes down to one question: Are you kneeling at the altar, or are you on the altar watching the others kneel to you? It seems at first glance that authority could not exist at all if all men were cowards or if no men were cowards, but flourishes as it does because most men are cowards and some men are thieves. Actually, the inner dynamics of cowardice and submission on the one hand and of heroism and rebellion on the other are seldom consciously realized either by the ruling class or the servile class. Submission is identified not with cowardice but with virtue, rebellion not with heroism but with evil. To the Roman slave-owners, Spartacus was not a hero and the obedient slaves were not cowards; Spartacus was a villain and the obedient slaves were virtuous. The obedient slaves believed this also. The obedient always think of themselves as virtuous rather than cowardly. "What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page. And be alone on earth, as I am now." -- Byron Saturday, December 21, 2002
constructing more works of art unworthy both of attachment to those they are about in the high and low sense. 21 December. St Thomas's Day. The story of doubting Thomas, who would only believe in the Resurrection after seeing Jesus' stigmata, appears only in the so-called Gnostic Gospel of St John. Friday, December 20, 2002
neverwonder myTHoughts dreadnaughts ad/just young pervading fad to matchbox scythe files from the latest bombthreat justice cry cry cry for forgiveness feel just in justice and just us against the world metamorphosis metasyntactic meanderings alonethought tough I ought to be a gentleman but neversettle undercarriage yonder morning breaks and takes the cake and eats it too... Thursday, December 19, 2002
passing down a corridor freezing but not feeling the chill in the air that causes each sigh to be in air, still-born yet still born and borne of more than the sum of its parts and it parts me divided no longer for love nor the sake of a union but because I am too tired to fight and too alone to even wish for a cold stab in the back from even death. I am always underestimated and I always overestimated upon a chessboard tangled in webs of undecisions derisive laughter and who shall tower and who shall cower and who shall glower and who shall fall or fall victim to yourself (I have) and it's not about the game or it never was and we are the pieces and Love is on our side but the opponent is forever hidden shrouded in doubt and discontent miscontent malcontent I'm content to let the mystery stand and you just sit there wishing you could still feel (or do you still need the cold steel gashing [gnashing] against your fragile skin) beauty is only skin deep and your lies (a palimpsest) are but your skin paper thin like your allibi and your last try but they won't believe you when they see through your looking glass life or maybe you won't be allowed even the misfortune and fall alone Monday, December 16, 2002
all that is left of me is residue, past due... I'm just taking up space now on a bulletin board where photographs trade on memories, and synecdoches are lost on you... but what else is new? Kaelan, You're out of my life now... so stop reading my weblog. (and you know how patient I can be, especially when it comes to repaying pain.) Sunday, December 15, 2002
the inertia and acquiescence with which domesticated primates comply both comforts and confounds me... 15 December. In 1980 members of the Truth Tabernacle Church in Burlington, North Carolina, staged a mock trial, charging 'Satan Claus' on ten counts, including child abuse, impersonation of St Nicholas, Baal idolatry and falsification of Christ's birthday. He was found guilty and habged in effigy. In 1989 a huge effigy of Father Christmas was made with conscientious attention to detail for one of Tokyo's largest deparment stores. The staff were delighted, but got their western festivals confued. Father Christmas was put on the roof and crucified. Friday, December 13, 2002
13 December. St Lucy's Day. She is popularly invoked against diseases of the eyes, and is often represented as holding her gouged out eyes on a dish. As Juno Lucina or Lucetia, the Mother of Light, she was a Sabine goddess who gave enlightenment, sight and opened the eyes of newborn infants. The suggested name for the Loch Ness Monster, Nessiteras rhombopteryx, given to Sir Peter Scott by a schoolmaster, was discovered on this day in 1975 to be an anagram of 'Monster hoax by Sir Peter S.' This was said to be 'mere' coincidence. Thursday, December 12, 2002
okay, it's been damn near 3 years since we've had any contact... you could have at least asked how I was and pretended to care seeing as how we were so much in Love... but no... you didn't even do that before you blocked me. *sigh* I don't think I deserved that. Apparently, She doesn't agree... (that makes me VERY sad) I have moments of almost complete clarity when I'm zonked out on pain medication... Well, it wouldn't very well have been as funny if they said, "We are the Knights who saaaaaay, `Two!'" -- me "I'll try to describe the way that it felt to tell my own mother her son is a failure his heart is too cold to love anyone but himself. it's like stabbing an icicle straight through your chest your whole body shivers as it coarses your blood and your quiverin' throat keeps choking on those words mama I tried a thousand times I'm frozen to the core your son is a glorious mess who wrecks anything he adores. but deep in his center he swears there's a candle just waiting to burn and melt so who's gonna burn him yeah who's gonna break him into a thousand pieces melting over flames of perfection. I once felt it's warmth, but it left me shivering in the dark. mama I tired a thousand times the pieces wouldn't fit. son, love is a punch in the eye. it's a sudden and swift surprise. it's not a candle, it's not waiting to burn. so baby, just wait your turn. and when it hits you, you'll see through rose colored apathy; through the blues that bruise can leave. was it really worth the wait?" -- What We Fall For When We're Down And Out, by The Good Life Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
"I heard that you were home again, but you don't look like your back to me But if your focus is changing your gaze is transfixed on the part that i cannot see You've got your new ties, i've got your old lies, you've got your inside lines But your never happy with what you've got Hold me now you're so beautiful when you've convinced yourself noone else is quite as beautiful I heard the you were making up, but you don't look like you're living to me though the sparkle is gone, this smile is invasive and everyone watching can see you've got them all confused and i know it so well but you've convinced your friends that you can count on them Hold me now you've got everyone convinced that your alright noone else is quite as fond of it as soon as you got it you want something else it's not the sell that you love its the CELL it's not the price that's going to cost you it's just the weight that's going to bring you down, down, down, down it's going to bring you down, down, down, down, down hold me now you've got everyone convinced that you're alright noone else is quite as fond of it careful now you're so beautiful when you've convinced yourself noone else is quite as beautiful as soon as you got it you want something else it's not the sell that you love its the CELL it's not the price that's going to cost you it's just the weight that's going to bring you down, down, down, down it's going to bring you down, down, down, down, down as soon as you got it you want something else it's not the sell that you love its the CELL it's not the price that's going to cost you it's just the weight that's going to bring you down" -- So Beautiful, by Dashboard Confessional Thursday, December 05, 2002
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
"We were once so good together so close we couldn't see what's up ahead another one will give you pleasure then you'll turn your back on me Don't tell me lies I've heard them all before you're never gonna change don't tell me why I'm not interested in, in what you have to say Now trouble seems to seek you out attracted by the void that's left in you so when you've had enough of living without I hope you'll look within but you won't so Don't tell me lies I've heard them all before you're never gonna change don't tell me why I'm not interested in, in what you have to say You take one step forward and two steps back but this time you're all on your own prove to me that I'm not wasting time on you and all your paper promises when you say that you've had enough of all the trouble that you've been facing why can't you show that to me why can't you show that to me? Don't tell me lies I've heard them all before you're never gonna change don't tell me why I'm not interested in, in what you have to say nooo, nooo, nooo, nooo" -- Paper Promises, by Hoobastank Tuesday, December 03, 2002
"I'm not asking you to give up on the things that seem to make you gone but I could be gone too..." -- Anyone, Anyone, by Dashboard Confessional Monday, December 02, 2002
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faeries have died because YOU haven't been clapping hard enough.