Hey Bob.
Yeah Carl?
How are we going to get rid of all this garbage on our street?
Hm, thats a tough one.
Maybe, some form of giant truck type thing?
Hey yeah that could work.
But wait, its going to need to pull over all the time, that could be hazordous to other drivers.
Mm, your right. Well what if we just did it when no one is on the road?
Hey thats a great idea! Right around 6 am should do the trick.
And seeing how no one is on the road when were driving it around, well have to make sure to put screechingly loud beeping devices all over it so no one gets hurt, just in case they didnt notice a 20 foot tall 80 ton truck with an engine the size of your house and a giant metal arm sticking off the top.
Oh and we definitely have to make sure the beepers are way way louder than the truck itself, otherwise they would never notice we were there and could get completely crushed by our incredibly slow moving metal arm.
BAH.
The only possible reason those stupid beepers could be a good idea is to wake everyone up who might have possibly forgotten to put the garbage out the night before so they can make it out just in time.
That's not what they're for.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
1.20.09
the classics, pt 2.
This, condition.
Our condition.
The "human", condition.
We are all bred, this certain way. This way were taught, brought up, and trained. Brought up to be some certain way to people that wont be around for much longer. What do we have to prove to them other than that we can hold a shovel and dig a grave. Nothing, I say. We have nothing to prove other than the simple fact that we will remain, and self sustain. Multiplication of self feels for so long as an option but soon becomes a need. The need to replicate is a strong one and can heavily influence the decisions one makes in this carnival called life. Pushed and pulled like some pig on auction we wander through this life adrift, lost amongst a sea of those who are certain.
Oh, certainty. Rare, but always pure. Its one of the few things in this world we can truly define as clean, and until dashed, wholely pure. For as long as its true to that person it will always retain its purity. The matter being of where we apply that certainty, thats the real enigma. Some are certain that no matter what, things will work out. Others, that the world will end if a single misstep is made. The human condition is what separates and binds us, twisting and twirling a billion humans at once through the universes washing machine. Trying to shake our grounding, our belief system, our morals. Strength is present in times like these and its true form is shown to us only when we discover it within ourselves. The strength to carry on, the strength to perservere, the will to do the bidding of our society, our parents, and the ones we love. That, is strength.
So what is it when we choose the opposite. What shows of our character when we don't align, or when we opt the latter. The "path less traveled", if you will. We become these, these characters of outcast. The understudies to the truly great. Waiting to snatch up whatever opportunity falls through the cracks of dissonance, and gobbling it up thusly. I feel slowly but surely Im becoming that, while all the while trying to maintain what my ancestors set in motion as the right idea, the correct plan. And then I start to ask myself what I truly want. Conformist? Or perhaps the role of Outcast. The one who fits not within our society but one within his own mind. Spinning and swirling in a humdrum of random thoughts, ideas, and unapplied theories. Sputtering drunk on 5th avenue telling of the end of the world to an audience that will never listen. Ill say it once and Ill say it again, what good is an idea if you dont have an audience. I pull on my strength and I pull on my ideals, both instilled in me by my forefathers and those before them. A caste system drilled into the skulls of the ever-willing and never questioning.
So who am I to question it.
Some...fucking punk.
Some guy who thinks he has the ability to be something different.
When I sit in a room with 30 others with ambitions close to my own. Falling back in to this repetitive cycle of stare, listen, and learn. I feign interest ever so carefully as I release my creative beast via pen and pad.
In a world that places little value in creativity I find myself clawing at its coat tails, begging to be one with it, when all I truly want is to be free from it. I'm more human then ever in these moments. Pondering when I should be consuming. Learning when I should be playing along. Creating when I should be conforming. Its that silly human condition. Say one thing, do another. And within that we find each other, either lying in the gutter, tounges relentless, or sitting at a desk, mouths zipped shut.
Pity we cant have both.
This, condition.
Our condition.
The "human", condition.
We are all bred, this certain way. This way were taught, brought up, and trained. Brought up to be some certain way to people that wont be around for much longer. What do we have to prove to them other than that we can hold a shovel and dig a grave. Nothing, I say. We have nothing to prove other than the simple fact that we will remain, and self sustain. Multiplication of self feels for so long as an option but soon becomes a need. The need to replicate is a strong one and can heavily influence the decisions one makes in this carnival called life. Pushed and pulled like some pig on auction we wander through this life adrift, lost amongst a sea of those who are certain.
Oh, certainty. Rare, but always pure. Its one of the few things in this world we can truly define as clean, and until dashed, wholely pure. For as long as its true to that person it will always retain its purity. The matter being of where we apply that certainty, thats the real enigma. Some are certain that no matter what, things will work out. Others, that the world will end if a single misstep is made. The human condition is what separates and binds us, twisting and twirling a billion humans at once through the universes washing machine. Trying to shake our grounding, our belief system, our morals. Strength is present in times like these and its true form is shown to us only when we discover it within ourselves. The strength to carry on, the strength to perservere, the will to do the bidding of our society, our parents, and the ones we love. That, is strength.
So what is it when we choose the opposite. What shows of our character when we don't align, or when we opt the latter. The "path less traveled", if you will. We become these, these characters of outcast. The understudies to the truly great. Waiting to snatch up whatever opportunity falls through the cracks of dissonance, and gobbling it up thusly. I feel slowly but surely Im becoming that, while all the while trying to maintain what my ancestors set in motion as the right idea, the correct plan. And then I start to ask myself what I truly want. Conformist? Or perhaps the role of Outcast. The one who fits not within our society but one within his own mind. Spinning and swirling in a humdrum of random thoughts, ideas, and unapplied theories. Sputtering drunk on 5th avenue telling of the end of the world to an audience that will never listen. Ill say it once and Ill say it again, what good is an idea if you dont have an audience. I pull on my strength and I pull on my ideals, both instilled in me by my forefathers and those before them. A caste system drilled into the skulls of the ever-willing and never questioning.
So who am I to question it.
Some...fucking punk.
Some guy who thinks he has the ability to be something different.
When I sit in a room with 30 others with ambitions close to my own. Falling back in to this repetitive cycle of stare, listen, and learn. I feign interest ever so carefully as I release my creative beast via pen and pad.
In a world that places little value in creativity I find myself clawing at its coat tails, begging to be one with it, when all I truly want is to be free from it. I'm more human then ever in these moments. Pondering when I should be consuming. Learning when I should be playing along. Creating when I should be conforming. Its that silly human condition. Say one thing, do another. And within that we find each other, either lying in the gutter, tounges relentless, or sitting at a desk, mouths zipped shut.
Pity we cant have both.
1.19.09
the classics, pt. 1.
(re)Cycle
Its 4:34 am.
You sit there, staring.
Staring at this blinking line.
Fuck you blinking line.
Taunting me.
That little insignificant blinking line is attached to a word. That word, is hooked on a sentence. The sentence, is clinging to a paragraph and that paragraph is splashed on a page. The page is attached to a document, and that document is nice and warm inside a screen. Soon that document will be thrust out into the cold cruel world, and then soon after stuffed inside a nice, secure, hard cover binder. That binders goin inside a soft pouch and that pouch is slung on an arm. That arm is going to pilot a car to a class where that document is destined to once again be ripped from its security, soon to be scrutinized and judged for its content. After its involuntary beauty pageant that paper is getting a tattoo. That tattoo is going to be copied in to another nice, warm, computer. Then it will be sent out with a bunch of other tattoo's and become a math problem. That math problem will be calculated, revaluated, and printed again, thrust out onto a transcript. That transcript will then be stuffed inside an envelope with another document ,full of suck ups and kiss ass. That sucking, kissing envelope will then land you in another place, in another time. Time will pass, years will fly. Soon, youll be handed a shiny, gold leafed document that says you turned in other documents and did other math problems, cheating on the original ones. You take that shiny document and show it off, where it gets placed in a lock-tight super secure cherrywood frame, behind freshly cleaned glass. Soon enough, that shiny gold leaf piece of paper will get you a desk, inside your very own warm, secure, hard cover cubicle. At that desk, will be a computer. In that computer will sit a document, holding a page, supporting a paragraph, precursing a sentence, maintaining a word, with a little, blinking line at the end of it.
You sit there staring.
Staring at a line.
That line, points to a number.
It has another, shorter line attached, pointing to a different one.
Fuck you line.
Taunting me.
Its 4:34 pm.
(re)Cycle
Its 4:34 am.
You sit there, staring.
Staring at this blinking line.
Fuck you blinking line.
Taunting me.
That little insignificant blinking line is attached to a word. That word, is hooked on a sentence. The sentence, is clinging to a paragraph and that paragraph is splashed on a page. The page is attached to a document, and that document is nice and warm inside a screen. Soon that document will be thrust out into the cold cruel world, and then soon after stuffed inside a nice, secure, hard cover binder. That binders goin inside a soft pouch and that pouch is slung on an arm. That arm is going to pilot a car to a class where that document is destined to once again be ripped from its security, soon to be scrutinized and judged for its content. After its involuntary beauty pageant that paper is getting a tattoo. That tattoo is going to be copied in to another nice, warm, computer. Then it will be sent out with a bunch of other tattoo's and become a math problem. That math problem will be calculated, revaluated, and printed again, thrust out onto a transcript. That transcript will then be stuffed inside an envelope with another document ,full of suck ups and kiss ass. That sucking, kissing envelope will then land you in another place, in another time. Time will pass, years will fly. Soon, youll be handed a shiny, gold leafed document that says you turned in other documents and did other math problems, cheating on the original ones. You take that shiny document and show it off, where it gets placed in a lock-tight super secure cherrywood frame, behind freshly cleaned glass. Soon enough, that shiny gold leaf piece of paper will get you a desk, inside your very own warm, secure, hard cover cubicle. At that desk, will be a computer. In that computer will sit a document, holding a page, supporting a paragraph, precursing a sentence, maintaining a word, with a little, blinking line at the end of it.
You sit there staring.
Staring at a line.
That line, points to a number.
It has another, shorter line attached, pointing to a different one.
Fuck you line.
Taunting me.
Its 4:34 pm.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
1.17.09
Did Keystone set out originally to make the shittiest beer out there? Like were there a couple guys just sitting around like, "Man, I want to make the cheapest, crappiest beer that has ever existed, lets do this."?
And then did Natural Ice come along with a big
FUCK THAT
We, Natty Ice, will make the cheapest shittiest beer ever forever!
All the while Milwaukee's Best is sitting in the back, plotting their own plan for domination of the really shitty Im completely broke beer market.
Just all these companies trying to make their beer cheaper and cheaper than the other guys, and not giving a rats ass about quality.
Funny to think about.
And then did Natural Ice come along with a big
FUCK THAT
We, Natty Ice, will make the cheapest shittiest beer ever forever!
All the while Milwaukee's Best is sitting in the back, plotting their own plan for domination of the really shitty Im completely broke beer market.
Just all these companies trying to make their beer cheaper and cheaper than the other guys, and not giving a rats ass about quality.
Funny to think about.
Friday, January 16, 2009
1.15.09
America runs on Dunkin'.
I heard that slogan and then this came out.
America runs on 7-Eleven, Quik Stop, and gas stations, around the corner and fully operational 24 hours a day.
America runs on McDonalds, Burger King, and Jack in the Box, faster than a speeding bullet and cheaper than one too.
America runs on Pizza Hut, Round Table, and Little Ceasers, for all its soccer victory parties.
America runs on Panda Express, Taco Bell, and P.F Chang's, to feel better about ethnic cleansing.
America sits down at Applebees, Denny's and Carrows.
When we feel like eatin fancy.
America runs on John Deere for his perfect lawn, and Miracle-Gro for her flowers.
We run on Ford and Chevy to pile in the illegal immigrants that maintain both.
'Course we pick em' up at Home Depot, Lowes, and OSH.
(Same place we got the mower and the Miracle-Gro)
America runs on one-stop shopping.
America runs on malls.
America runs on Macy's, Nordstrom, and Gap, to impress others with showings of wealth.
Can't forget about Brookstone, Sharper Image and Spencer's Gifts, for showings of stupid people who somehow got richer than you.
America feeds on Pasta-Roni and Hamburger Helper, to keep our children from jumping so damn high.
Canned fruit and Manwich, to get our fruits, carbs, and protein.
America runs on DirecTV, Comcast, and Blockbuster, to keep ourselves distracted from how utterly terrible and depressing our lives are.
America runs (and then promptly falls) on alcohol, pharmaceuticals, and good ol fashioned hard drugs, to make all of the above more entertaining.
America runs on Wal-Mart.
For everything else that I forgot to mention and so much more.
America runs on everything the rest of the third world wish they had for a day.
America doesnt run on the natural.
Its supernatural or bust.
We need it fast.
We need it easy.
We need it cheap.
We need it built on the backs of Latin Americans, Chinese, and even a couple of our own.
We need it now.
And were all completely guilty.
I heard that slogan and then this came out.
America runs on 7-Eleven, Quik Stop, and gas stations, around the corner and fully operational 24 hours a day.
America runs on McDonalds, Burger King, and Jack in the Box, faster than a speeding bullet and cheaper than one too.
America runs on Pizza Hut, Round Table, and Little Ceasers, for all its soccer victory parties.
America runs on Panda Express, Taco Bell, and P.F Chang's, to feel better about ethnic cleansing.
America sits down at Applebees, Denny's and Carrows.
When we feel like eatin fancy.
America runs on John Deere for his perfect lawn, and Miracle-Gro for her flowers.
We run on Ford and Chevy to pile in the illegal immigrants that maintain both.
'Course we pick em' up at Home Depot, Lowes, and OSH.
(Same place we got the mower and the Miracle-Gro)
America runs on one-stop shopping.
America runs on malls.
America runs on Macy's, Nordstrom, and Gap, to impress others with showings of wealth.
Can't forget about Brookstone, Sharper Image and Spencer's Gifts, for showings of stupid people who somehow got richer than you.
America feeds on Pasta-Roni and Hamburger Helper, to keep our children from jumping so damn high.
Canned fruit and Manwich, to get our fruits, carbs, and protein.
America runs on DirecTV, Comcast, and Blockbuster, to keep ourselves distracted from how utterly terrible and depressing our lives are.
America runs (and then promptly falls) on alcohol, pharmaceuticals, and good ol fashioned hard drugs, to make all of the above more entertaining.
America runs on Wal-Mart.
For everything else that I forgot to mention and so much more.
America runs on everything the rest of the third world wish they had for a day.
America doesnt run on the natural.
Its supernatural or bust.
We need it fast.
We need it easy.
We need it cheap.
We need it built on the backs of Latin Americans, Chinese, and even a couple of our own.
We need it now.
And were all completely guilty.
1.14.09
Ok, tomorrow I make up for three of them.
Been super busy, work sucks, Ill get on it, I will.
Chill.
Been super busy, work sucks, Ill get on it, I will.
Chill.
1.13.09
Services and actions that were wiped because of the internet.
Phone books
Physical maps
The questions of who what when and where
The classified section
Come to think of it, the whole newspaper is soon to be obsolete really
Travel agencies
Garage sales
This list is going to continue as I think of more or as more are rendered extinct, I intend to keep it up for coming years
Phone books
Physical maps
The questions of who what when and where
The classified section
Come to think of it, the whole newspaper is soon to be obsolete really
Travel agencies
Garage sales
This list is going to continue as I think of more or as more are rendered extinct, I intend to keep it up for coming years
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