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, June 30, 2003
My alliance? hmm... maybe Chaotic Neutral with Good tendencies. In other words, I mean well, but I'm a little bit crazy, so be careful around me and try not to make eye contact. Thursday, June 26, 2003
"Back to the drawing board with the words you've heard a million times before..." -- Drawing Board, by Mest Monday, June 23, 2003
Honestly though, if I fell who would be the people rushing to my side? Who would know just what to say or even when to just show up? I used to think that everyone just knew and that somehow, that they shared some brilliant insight into each other�s emotional well-being that was somehow entwined with their own. This observation was made, chiefly, by using my powers of observation. Observation alone seemed to demonstrate to me that other people seem to have this perfect sense of what is right and that everyone is, somehow, tuned into some gestalt that provided some sort of archetypical emotional bonding. This simple fact is why observation is important, but it is only a cornerstone. Observation fails, though, when without interpretation. (It is indeed a precarious person who can tread the line neatly between the two, without lapsing to extremes.) I fell for about the oldest trick in the book� or, rather the trick in (probably) the oldest book (read: story). The irony of being subject to an archetypical set of genetic and emotional failure scripts is not lost on me at all, at all. People go through life playing the roles that they have, for themselves, chosen; the catch is that we don�t truly remember choosing them. People use each other as crying pillows and that, to them, is the best with which they have been confronted. When someone does finally come along who truly cares and does more, not for any other reason than that SHe cares, how is one to know that it is better? Well, I suppose the simple answer is that there is always a period of adjustment. Somehow, a simulacrum of doubt is all that is required to add years to this time frame. (Wow, flashbacks to �the pretence of fear is only one letter away from the presence of fear.�) We escape our reality not by fleeing, but by creating little meta-worlds of our great dread into synecdochical archetypes that only serve to insulate ourselves. The real problem, as I see it, with this is that people (and I am by no means an exception) tend to take themselves too seriously and literally. Thus, the simulation(s) of Love and Reality begin. Thursday, June 19, 2003
Alive in the land of the dead. They eat dead food with false teeth. Their buildings have false fronts, their radio and television stations broadcast dead air. They kill time as spectators of false images. Their corporations are guilty of false advertising, and their employment 'opportunities' offer only murderous mistreatment, lethal boredom, and fatal submission; they demand that you meet deadlines, that you pitch tent in the death camps. Does the dead end justify the means? They inhabit dead cities and make false moves, really going nowhere at all, treading day after day the same path of despair. Even their air is conditioned. They ask you to give your lives for their countries, for their religions, for their economies, leaving you with only. . . . Their system is organized by artificial intelligence and provides only virtual reality. Their culture will pin you down and bore you to death, their lifestyle is lifeless, their existench is a permanent deadlock. Everything about them is dead and false. The only thing that is unbearable is that nothing is unbearable. Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Monday, June 16, 2003
(happy Bloomsday, everyone... be on the lookout for synchronicities -- surely they are on the lookout for you) Sunday, June 15, 2003
any fool can be honest, fori it is only what he knows. a wise man is aware of when to share the truth. Saturday, June 14, 2003
I have lost nothing in translation nothing in the transfer from mind to medium nothing in its inherent nature (structure) form and syllogism an uninterrupted circuit without reference or circumference noninterference (coherence) danger forever lies in unmasking images for they dissimulate the emptiness that lies on a shelf-life preservatives and self-preservers stockpile the past in plain view causality and perfect syllogistic recall logic is self-defeating and unfinished a parable on the human condition I want to evanesce in a wisp coagulate form to thought form to formlessness information static imprint despite fundamental design flaw malleability of motive (in-FORM-ation) DIScussion DEsign FORum phrenic breathing beating pulsing racing unbound and watching my callipygian sylph satyrized (cauterized / criticized) forever entwined Friday, June 13, 2003
June 13. Feast Day of St Anthony of Padua, invoked to find objects. He died in 1231 in the odour of sanctity. The bodies of the saints were supposed to give off a perfume which could work miracles and cure diseases and to remain 'uncorrupted'. The church recognised that vampires did not decay either, but insisted there was a difference. This belief in sweetly smelling corpses was borrowed from the Egyptians, whose doggy guardian of the underworld Anubis sniffed people to make sure they could enter. Thursday, June 12, 2003
(the price we paid for that vision was the possession of that vision...) this is something worth remembering. Only the captain of a sinking ship knows this vertigo, this wound. To survive terror is the essence of true Initiation. For they live happiest who have forgiven most and, as Nietzsche said, anything that doesn't kill me makes me stronger. the flaming fantods return deep in observation index expurgatorius about as universal as gravity (or, for that matter, brevity) when you start looking for it you find it everywhere my approach is fanciful rather than functional gleefully losing touch and wouldn't you like to know remember to look for the hunchback behind every soldier... when shown something that lifts a part of the veil, most people group together to share the information... often, they chatter as excitedly as a group of chimpanzees who had just found a mirror. (because I am real, and you are only imaginary...) Tuesday, June 10, 2003
Every messiah is, at one time or another, a pariah... Every fact of science was once Damned. Every invention was considered impossible. Every discovery was a nervous shock to some orthodoxy. Every artistic innovation was denounced as fraud and folly. The entire web of culture and "progress," everything on earth that is man-made and not given to us by nature, is the concrete manifestation of some man's refusal to bow to Authority. We would own no more, know no more, and be no more than the first apelike hominids if it were not for the rebellious, the recalcitrant, and the intransigent. As Oscar Wilde truly said, "Disobedience was man's Original Virtue." In conclusion, there is no conclusion. Things go on as they always have, getting weirder all the time. Monday, June 09, 2003
Ligur' aoide "Possum ego naturae non meminisse tuae!" ("Can I forget thy nature" or "thy inwit" or "thy soul" [Propertius, praising Cynthia for beauty not visible but felt]) "A man of genius has a right to any mode of expression." "It is difficult to write a paradise when all the superficial indications are that you ought to write an apocalypse. It is obviously much easier to find inhabitants for an inferno or even a purgatorio." "I should consent to breed under pressure, if I were convinced in any way of the reasonableness of reproducing the species. But my nerves and the nerves of any woman I could live with three months, would produce only a victim... lacking in impulse, a mere bundle of discriminations. If I were wealthy I might subsidize a stud of young peasants, or a tribal group in Tahiti." -- Ezra Pound two years ago today, I was in love... I still feel it. one year ago today, I was in Love... I still feel it... though admittedly more now than then. I posted nothing to my blogger on those days. we live in revolutionary times and we pass a hundred heroes on the street every day you never know how well they are carrying their burdens Untogether you can't go through life holding the shreds of yourself so painfully untogether something will warp in the torrents of time and the pieces will not mend themselves Sunday, June 08, 2003
The number of enlightened people needed to set off the spiritual liberation of humanity has been bandied about by some of this century's visionaries as between 5 to 200 buddhatomic Christs. Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, who once counted the Beatles and Beach Boys as his disciples, predicts that only one-tenth of 1 percent of humanity is needed to create enough good vibrations to usher in world peace. The end of the Kali Yuga is history's darkest moment. In her dark age, the population explosion has dumped more unconscious human burdens on the Earth than ever before. According to the Indian mystic, Osho, these darker times exert a higher pressure of unconsciousness, which could produce a greater buddhatomic detonation of joy and awareness. Osho estimates that at least 5 percent of the human seed base has the potential intelligence to germinate an awakening. Out of a manure pile of 5.5 to six billion people having fertilized earth during the nightmarish nineties, there are more potential buddha buds than there were people alive on the Earth at any time for most of man's four million year history - between 275 to 300 million spiritual rebels! If only 200 of these found the right gardener to water them, this could turn out to be a great vegetable patch, shit and all, for the next twenty centuries. Saturday, June 07, 2003
"I think true deep relationships between two people are few and far between, and I don't feel elitist saying that most relationships I see among my acquaintances are rather artificial and superficial -- at least too much so for me." -- Jeremy Jeremy, you and I have far too much in common and far too many unspoken agreements and understandings... it's almost comical. Friday, June 06, 2003
"lay awake wondering if things could have been much different second chance what's become of a friendship if you can call this one stayed in touch stood behind while i gave you space and you invade mine while everyone makes mistakes you let me down for the last time truth prevails and theres nothing you can hide and i wash my hands of you getting on with my life wanna call and catch up but no matter what i know you still suck took the drugs from my friends whatever were you thinkin? stayed in touch stood behind while i gave you space and you invade mine while everyone makes mistakes if the shit remains the same it makes no difference in this stupid world we know" -- The Pharmacist, by Hot Rod Circuit sometimes, I cease to be amazed and others, I cease to be bothered troubled, instead, about the unforgotten tragedy of unrealized dreams intent remains the binding force of gravity's unburdened rainbow casting shadows over pots of gold Thursday, June 05, 2003
"Stepford wives, who are we to complain?" -- A Wolf At The Door, by Radiohead such simple elegance is to be admired... Tuesday, June 03, 2003
"Nowadays I get panicked I cease to exist I have ceased to exist I feel absolutely nothing The words are out of ink The words you know are out of ink" -- Follow Me Around, by Radiohead Monday, June 02, 2003
"There is no answer. You're just an allegory on the universe itself, and every explanation of you and your actions is incomplete. There will always be a new, more up-to-date explanation coming along a while later. That's my answer..." Of course, it's true of any human being. We're all allegories of the universe, different faces it wears in trying to decide what it really is... shadowboxing some lost, some forgotten rivers of bad blood and none of it flows beneath the bridges pain is seldom presentable i've picked a thousand flowers to lay by your feet in earnest and pray that you might allow me any petense of your attentions flashbacks to deep tongue kisses that melted the ice my heart's cry is no longer potent forgetting even the epitaph of our love born and raised on the edge of a knife apart from my time, softspoken and honest always honest I would pick a thousand more flowers having searched a hundred or more and never touched one... |
faeries have died because YOU haven't been clapping hard enough.