I'm over here now for no other reason than I want to be.
http://alittlebitlouder.blogspot.com/
Monday, April 4, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I am continually drawn to the inauthentic. The failed. Persuasion is interesting. Failed attempts at persuasion is more interesting. Cloaking and deceiving. A wolf in sheep's clothing.
Over and over again attempts to accomplish a thing result in the opposite or at least something not the thing itself. Sometimes things work. That's fine. I like the voice of broken things.
We can barely understand one another and we're trying so fucking hard to understand what works. Perfect communication! Like the angels!
Jokes are funny when they work. They're even funnier when they don't work. Perhaps this is a topos of some sort. The topos of failure. The topos of trying really really really really hard. The topos of your mom.
Over and over again attempts to accomplish a thing result in the opposite or at least something not the thing itself. Sometimes things work. That's fine. I like the voice of broken things.
We can barely understand one another and we're trying so fucking hard to understand what works. Perfect communication! Like the angels!
Jokes are funny when they work. They're even funnier when they don't work. Perhaps this is a topos of some sort. The topos of failure. The topos of trying really really really really hard. The topos of your mom.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO
I need to refocus rewire redooverrestartremovedistractions and other such nonsense.
There is a scene I see in my head of me working tirelessly until my project is complete. I take breaks here and there for food, coffee, and the bathroom but I'm going strong. I'm intelligent and getting things done. I am having great ideas. I am translating those ideas onto the screen and marveling that I could come up with something so brilliant.
While I'm viewing that scene, I'm scrolling through Reddit or playing shitty 1990s PC games or watching television or anythingthefuckelse.
I need to reimagine the illusion and start to believe it. That's how we get by.
There is a scene I see in my head of me working tirelessly until my project is complete. I take breaks here and there for food, coffee, and the bathroom but I'm going strong. I'm intelligent and getting things done. I am having great ideas. I am translating those ideas onto the screen and marveling that I could come up with something so brilliant.
While I'm viewing that scene, I'm scrolling through Reddit or playing shitty 1990s PC games or watching television or anythingthefuckelse.
I need to reimagine the illusion and start to believe it. That's how we get by.
Monday, November 22, 2010
The men who made the machines
Here's something... didn't quite know how to end it...
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The man made machines were carefully affixed to the men who made them by the men who did not make them. The diagrams were clear as to where to attach each wire. The men who made the machines wanted to make sure that the men who did not make the machines made no mistakes in this delicate process. I imagine that this scene is relatively unimaginable at this moment. Let me take this opportunity to paint a clearer picture. The men who made the machines also, previously, made a laboratory. They were then referred to as the men who made the laboratory to anyone who cared to know them. Before that they were the men who one day dreamed to make a laboratory and before that just the men. Their identities were solely based on either their aspirations or their accomplishments. Other men who did or did not make things had many other titles for these men who made the machines over the years but those were only shared in private amongst friends. You could never be too careful, especially when referring to these men as "the men who should just shut the fuck up already" and "the men who couldn't get laid if they paid a thousand dollars to a ten dollar hooker." When crafting identity based insults, logical fallacies were no match for a tersely stated and generally held opinion or pure crassness.
But back to the scene. The laboratory was grey steel and white lab coats, much as you would imagine a laboratory to be. There were tables. There were instruments. There were lights and notebooks and pencils and masks and gloves and all of the other things you might imagine to be in a laboratory. This was not a laboratory like the old black and white movies with mad men making creepy creatures. This was your run of the mill, modern day, something-you-would-see-on-a-police-procedural-television-show style laboratory. Only this laboratory was filled with the glorious machines made by the men who made the machines. And at this very moment the men who did not make the machines were affixing wires to the men who made the machines.
The details of this experiment are unclear. There is no documentation of why the men who made the machines would want the wires attached to them. Aside from the men who made the machines themselves, no one really knew what the machines were or why they made them. It is not even clear, to this day, whether the men who made the machines knew what they created. All that is known is that they had a deep desire to attach the machines to themselves, or rather, attach themselves to the machines.
As an extension of man, the machine could represent many things and serve any number of functions. Again, the exact nature of the machines and the relationship to the men who made the machines once attached is unclear. The only thing we can say for certain is that once the men who did not make the machines attached the wires to the men who made the machines, the men who made the machines smiled. It was not the smile of satisfaction one gets after a job well done. Rather it was the smile of sublimity. The smile of impossible dreams come true. If we didn't know any better (which we didn't), it could be the smile of an opiate user before the crash.
A short while later the wires were removed as per the instructions left by the men who made the machines. In interviews after the experiment the men who made the machines made it clear that their attachment to the machines would forever change the course of human history. But they didn't say why. Or how. In fact, as a response to the very next question asked they replied, "No comment". They then shooed away everyone except one of the men who did not make the machines and retreated back into the laboratory. A few minutes later, the man who did not make the machines emerged from the laboratory, shut the door behind him, and locked the doors with an absurdly large padlock. He then filled the keyhole with superglue and posted a sign that stated in clear block letters, "DO NOT DISTURB". And the men who made the machines were not disturbed.
Though we don't know why or how, the connection of these men to those machines has apparently had some effect on the world. We may never know the extent of this impact for the men who made the machines never told us. For now, all we can do is keep a keen eye on our television screens, computer monitors, and radio dials in hopes that one day this connection will be made clear.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The man made machines were carefully affixed to the men who made them by the men who did not make them. The diagrams were clear as to where to attach each wire. The men who made the machines wanted to make sure that the men who did not make the machines made no mistakes in this delicate process. I imagine that this scene is relatively unimaginable at this moment. Let me take this opportunity to paint a clearer picture. The men who made the machines also, previously, made a laboratory. They were then referred to as the men who made the laboratory to anyone who cared to know them. Before that they were the men who one day dreamed to make a laboratory and before that just the men. Their identities were solely based on either their aspirations or their accomplishments. Other men who did or did not make things had many other titles for these men who made the machines over the years but those were only shared in private amongst friends. You could never be too careful, especially when referring to these men as "the men who should just shut the fuck up already" and "the men who couldn't get laid if they paid a thousand dollars to a ten dollar hooker." When crafting identity based insults, logical fallacies were no match for a tersely stated and generally held opinion or pure crassness.
But back to the scene. The laboratory was grey steel and white lab coats, much as you would imagine a laboratory to be. There were tables. There were instruments. There were lights and notebooks and pencils and masks and gloves and all of the other things you might imagine to be in a laboratory. This was not a laboratory like the old black and white movies with mad men making creepy creatures. This was your run of the mill, modern day, something-you-would-see-on-a-police-procedural-television-show style laboratory. Only this laboratory was filled with the glorious machines made by the men who made the machines. And at this very moment the men who did not make the machines were affixing wires to the men who made the machines.
The details of this experiment are unclear. There is no documentation of why the men who made the machines would want the wires attached to them. Aside from the men who made the machines themselves, no one really knew what the machines were or why they made them. It is not even clear, to this day, whether the men who made the machines knew what they created. All that is known is that they had a deep desire to attach the machines to themselves, or rather, attach themselves to the machines.
As an extension of man, the machine could represent many things and serve any number of functions. Again, the exact nature of the machines and the relationship to the men who made the machines once attached is unclear. The only thing we can say for certain is that once the men who did not make the machines attached the wires to the men who made the machines, the men who made the machines smiled. It was not the smile of satisfaction one gets after a job well done. Rather it was the smile of sublimity. The smile of impossible dreams come true. If we didn't know any better (which we didn't), it could be the smile of an opiate user before the crash.
A short while later the wires were removed as per the instructions left by the men who made the machines. In interviews after the experiment the men who made the machines made it clear that their attachment to the machines would forever change the course of human history. But they didn't say why. Or how. In fact, as a response to the very next question asked they replied, "No comment". They then shooed away everyone except one of the men who did not make the machines and retreated back into the laboratory. A few minutes later, the man who did not make the machines emerged from the laboratory, shut the door behind him, and locked the doors with an absurdly large padlock. He then filled the keyhole with superglue and posted a sign that stated in clear block letters, "DO NOT DISTURB". And the men who made the machines were not disturbed.
Though we don't know why or how, the connection of these men to those machines has apparently had some effect on the world. We may never know the extent of this impact for the men who made the machines never told us. For now, all we can do is keep a keen eye on our television screens, computer monitors, and radio dials in hopes that one day this connection will be made clear.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
BBW.. no not that kind, pervert
I always think I have to write longish things for the blog and save the short stuff for Facebook. More people see Facebook and therefore more people know the force of my wit than do here... except that for the only people that read this blog are also friends on Facebook?
I'm doing that now, right?
Anyway, I'm rethinking the blog cause Andrew told me to and I do what people tell me to do.
I'm thinking I need to reincorporate the bornbackwards style and ethos into not only my everyday life, but my internet life as well. Minus the procrastination.
Does this mean more posts about the absurdity of major and minor news stories and making things up? Probably. Does it feel weird because now this is clearly the domain of The Daily Show and other popular outlets? Yes. Do I still have some pride of being part of an early pre-blog blog style website that was in hindsight way funnier than I thought at the time and way less popular than it should have been? Yes.
We could be so internet famous had everyone else put in as much effort as Ryan did. And actually took ourselves kind of seriously. Oh, the mistakes of our youth.
Anyway, short posts long posts fake news posts. I need to reconsider these things!
I'm doing that now, right?
Anyway, I'm rethinking the blog cause Andrew told me to and I do what people tell me to do.
I'm thinking I need to reincorporate the bornbackwards style and ethos into not only my everyday life, but my internet life as well. Minus the procrastination.
Does this mean more posts about the absurdity of major and minor news stories and making things up? Probably. Does it feel weird because now this is clearly the domain of The Daily Show and other popular outlets? Yes. Do I still have some pride of being part of an early pre-blog blog style website that was in hindsight way funnier than I thought at the time and way less popular than it should have been? Yes.
We could be so internet famous had everyone else put in as much effort as Ryan did. And actually took ourselves kind of seriously. Oh, the mistakes of our youth.
Anyway, short posts long posts fake news posts. I need to reconsider these things!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Choosy moms choose to get out of my brain already geez
Sometimes my thoughts invoke images procured from advertisements. For instance, in my current reading Virginia Woolf describes a dream where the scene changes from a room of some sort to specifically a shop. In my head I see wispy figures and the world dematerializing as these figures move into this new setting. Now, I know that without some former image I've absorbed, that would not be my go to thought. I can't remember the advertisement but it has to have something to do with air fresheners or candles or tampons. I'm not sure which but the idea is someone so comfortable or refreshed and the cartoon woman (it is definitely the figure of a woman in ads like this) loses her legs in favor of wispy ghost tendrils as she flows around the screen in ecstasy.
This explains nothing but it's no wonder we remember the advertisements of our youth. In our formative years as our brains are developing we are confronted with images designed to be remembered, even beyond the life of the product or sale or whatever else is being sold. Certain smells or colors will remind me of Lucky Charms or Doublemint or Kix or British Knights shoes with the neon laces.
Whatever the underlying reasons, it baffles me that I read Virginia Woolf and images that didn't exist at the time of the writing pop into my head. Time and space are tightening around us and Virginia Woolf sits next to Wonder Woman and choosy Jif moms and the ghosts of tampon users.
This explains nothing but it's no wonder we remember the advertisements of our youth. In our formative years as our brains are developing we are confronted with images designed to be remembered, even beyond the life of the product or sale or whatever else is being sold. Certain smells or colors will remind me of Lucky Charms or Doublemint or Kix or British Knights shoes with the neon laces.
Whatever the underlying reasons, it baffles me that I read Virginia Woolf and images that didn't exist at the time of the writing pop into my head. Time and space are tightening around us and Virginia Woolf sits next to Wonder Woman and choosy Jif moms and the ghosts of tampon users.
I am collecting PDFs. Assembling an arsenal of information waiting in the darkness of virtual file folders to spring upon the enemy. The enemy is procrastination. The enemy is confusion. The enemy is hopeful/less flailing about trying to find something to hold on to. The more I add the more comforted I become. Yet this means more reading and where is all the time gathering. I'm not using it so it has to be going somewhere. Stockpiling time for future benefit. That's how it works, right?
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