The Myth of Manhood
The myth of manhood
is that we want to fuck your pussies
that we need it to survive
like some gooey liquid elixir
of life
well,
we don't need it
at least
i don't
i'll be alright without it
although sometimes it's nice to meet you
somewhere in between
20021230
20021229
I heard somewhere that you've got to keep learning all through your life in order to stay young. I think I've narrowed it down even more than that: As I long as I keep learning languages, I'll always remember what it was like to be a child learning how to relate to the world.
As I continue to learn the French language I keep having these flashbacks of learning to read and write for the first time. I remember how things gradually fit into place, little by little. I remember the frustrated elation of learning how to express things I'd already been thinking about for a long time.
When learning to read and write became too tiresome I retreated into a world of my own where every made sense, instantly. Now, when French becomes too much for my brain to handle, I retreat back to English. I'm not sure it's an improvement over my childhood fantasy world; then again I'm not sure there's any difference. I think the difference is that then, there was a lot less of me to lose. I was a child with no defining experiences to fall back on, so I got lost easier. Here I sit now, still trying to figure things out.
As I continue to learn the French language I keep having these flashbacks of learning to read and write for the first time. I remember how things gradually fit into place, little by little. I remember the frustrated elation of learning how to express things I'd already been thinking about for a long time.
When learning to read and write became too tiresome I retreated into a world of my own where every made sense, instantly. Now, when French becomes too much for my brain to handle, I retreat back to English. I'm not sure it's an improvement over my childhood fantasy world; then again I'm not sure there's any difference. I think the difference is that then, there was a lot less of me to lose. I was a child with no defining experiences to fall back on, so I got lost easier. Here I sit now, still trying to figure things out.
20021227
Next post
I'm still working at a cardboard factory.
It's really quite magical in a way. That's why I keep talking about it, but I don't think anybody realizes. Maybe I don't want them too.
The "quality control guy". He's a riot. Sometimes I get in trouble because I lose myself imagining what his life might be like, imagining what he thinks about on a daily basis, minute by minute. For some reason I imagine him having spent a long time in some cold, large mid-western town, most likely Chicago. His uniform is the same every day: jeans and jacket of some unidentifiable discount brand and a baseball cap that seems to be a naturally occuring outgrowth of his head, so integral it looks on him. He walks around all day with a clipboard in his hands, pausing every once in a while to observe what's going on, making sure cardboard is being cut to the right length, ink printed in the right spot, etc. He doesn't have friends at the plant, even the managers seem not to like him for some reason. One night during lunch break I drove to a fast-food restaurant. As I was leaving he pulled up, got out of his car, and smiled at me. I glared at him, got on my motorcycle, and left.
I'm still working at a cardboard factory.
It's really quite magical in a way. That's why I keep talking about it, but I don't think anybody realizes. Maybe I don't want them too.
The "quality control guy". He's a riot. Sometimes I get in trouble because I lose myself imagining what his life might be like, imagining what he thinks about on a daily basis, minute by minute. For some reason I imagine him having spent a long time in some cold, large mid-western town, most likely Chicago. His uniform is the same every day: jeans and jacket of some unidentifiable discount brand and a baseball cap that seems to be a naturally occuring outgrowth of his head, so integral it looks on him. He walks around all day with a clipboard in his hands, pausing every once in a while to observe what's going on, making sure cardboard is being cut to the right length, ink printed in the right spot, etc. He doesn't have friends at the plant, even the managers seem not to like him for some reason. One night during lunch break I drove to a fast-food restaurant. As I was leaving he pulled up, got out of his car, and smiled at me. I glared at him, got on my motorcycle, and left.
Rage Against The Machine was one of my favorite bands in the whole world. So much so that it hurts to say was. Are they really dead? Yes, yes they are.
Audioslave is the proof. It's not that Audioslave is bad. They're exactly what they purport themselves to be: the first supergroup of the new millenium. I imagine myself going to one of the their shows and rocking out just like I used to rock out to RATM. How do I really feel? Well...
I was really drunk the other other night and decided I would watch MTV. I walked out to the living room, turned the TV on, and lo and behold the video for "Cochise" began. As the video played I noticed a rather tart, foul aroma had begun to linger about the living room, and soon realized that my cat had dropped a particularly pungent turd into the nearby catbox. Although I can't be exactly sure of the significance of these events, despite my drunken state I'm sure they mean something.
Audioslave is the proof. It's not that Audioslave is bad. They're exactly what they purport themselves to be: the first supergroup of the new millenium. I imagine myself going to one of the their shows and rocking out just like I used to rock out to RATM. How do I really feel? Well...
I was really drunk the other other night and decided I would watch MTV. I walked out to the living room, turned the TV on, and lo and behold the video for "Cochise" began. As the video played I noticed a rather tart, foul aroma had begun to linger about the living room, and soon realized that my cat had dropped a particularly pungent turd into the nearby catbox. Although I can't be exactly sure of the significance of these events, despite my drunken state I'm sure they mean something.
20021217
I'm almost finished with an 18 unit semster. I have two finals left- Essentials of Music and Piano 110C. I'm pretty sure I've gotten A's in everything else.
I hear that C's get degrees but I also hear that C's don't get you into famous graduate schools. The way I see it, going to an awesome graduate school is my way of getting the best possible instruction in music composition. I figure that if the teachers at a state college are pretty cool, they must really be something else at a famous graduate school. Thusly, I need to have a really, really, really high Grade Point Average. Right now it's a 3.64, which unfortunately means that from here on out if I get B's, my GPA goes down. I've been trying to study real hard for finals in order to prevent this from happening.
I didn't really have the intention of staying inside and having sex with Kelly all day today, but that's what happened. I finally made it to school at about 6:00 p.m. I think it's a reaction to the stress of finals.
Me so horny.
I hear that C's get degrees but I also hear that C's don't get you into famous graduate schools. The way I see it, going to an awesome graduate school is my way of getting the best possible instruction in music composition. I figure that if the teachers at a state college are pretty cool, they must really be something else at a famous graduate school. Thusly, I need to have a really, really, really high Grade Point Average. Right now it's a 3.64, which unfortunately means that from here on out if I get B's, my GPA goes down. I've been trying to study real hard for finals in order to prevent this from happening.
I didn't really have the intention of staying inside and having sex with Kelly all day today, but that's what happened. I finally made it to school at about 6:00 p.m. I think it's a reaction to the stress of finals.
Me so horny.
20021212
20021122
It never ceases to amaze me how incredibly stupid some people are. As I type this, I am sitting in the library at Palomar College. For a while now I have been looking for articles to be used in an accounting paper due next week. The library was very empty when I came in. About 10 minutes ago, some girl came in and sat down across from me at the table I am working at. After five minutes, she got out her cell phone and starting talking to a friend about some party she's going to tonight. One of the librarian ladies keeps staring at her, but cell phone girl is obviously not getting the point. I keep replaying a scene in my head where the librarian lady comes over and asks the girl to leave. The girl tells the person she's talking to (now her boyfriend) to hold on a second. The librarian lady politley asks her again to take her call outside. The girl becomes upset because, not only is she being asked to leave, but her call has been interrupted. I suppose what bothers me the most about cell phone girl is not only the fact that she is talking to her friend about a party while I'm trying to do homework, but she is also talking very loudly. Of course, as I typed that last sentence she got up and left. She was in the library for about 15 minutes, and 10 minutes of that time had been spent on the phone. The moment she ended the second call with her boyfriend she got up and left. It seems as though it was imperative for her to take the call in the library. What a fucking moron.
20021121
Time to get crackin'
I've got a meeting with one of my professors today. I need to figure out how the hell I'm going to get into the Music Composition department at San Diego State University. But I'm tired. So very fuckin' tired. Whoa...Some people behind me just started speaking French. I'm fluent enough to catch about every second or third word they're saying. Sounds like they're just talking about normal stuff..."Ca va? Ca va bien, merci. Vous avez etudie pour l'examen? Je peux baiser ta mere?"
Why am I so enchanted? I'm not entirely sure. Is it the unknown? The infinite variable I will no doubt encounter? I don't know.
I've got a meeting with one of my professors today. I need to figure out how the hell I'm going to get into the Music Composition department at San Diego State University. But I'm tired. So very fuckin' tired. Whoa...Some people behind me just started speaking French. I'm fluent enough to catch about every second or third word they're saying. Sounds like they're just talking about normal stuff..."Ca va? Ca va bien, merci. Vous avez etudie pour l'examen? Je peux baiser ta mere?"
Why am I so enchanted? I'm not entirely sure. Is it the unknown? The infinite variable I will no doubt encounter? I don't know.
20021120
The fourth branch of the United States government, that the founding "fathers" were intelligent enough to leave out of the Constitution, is...me...and you...and her...etc. What is our power? Voting? Well, yeah, sure. But even that can be fixed. What is our real power? Jury nullification.
If we think of the main function of government as law-making, then it's very easy to send a big fuck you to the people "at the top," who "make all the decisions."
This is how it works: A stupid idea is generated in either the House or the Senate. Somehow a lot of bungling buffoons agree to the stipulations of the aforementioned idea. The House-and-Senate-approved idea is sent to the President. The President decides that he/she likes the stupid idea (especially the part about unconstitutional pay raises to close friends in the House and Senate) and so it is entered into "the books" as law. Eventually some poor fool is brought to trial in a court of law, which is supposed to enforce the stupid law(s). The prosecution tries to convince 12 people in a box that the defendant is a horrible person for commiting a (stupid) "crime." The defense usually tries to convince the 12 people that the poor sap did not, in fact, commit the (stupid) crime. After much deliberation, the 12 free-thinking human beings that make up the people in the box, decide that they have encountered a stupid law. From there, they unanimously decide that they will not convict a member of a free society of a stupid crime, and so they all vote "not guilty."
And so I give thinks to the Magna Carta for giving US the power to decide what laws WE will allow ourselves to be governed by.
If we think of the main function of government as law-making, then it's very easy to send a big fuck you to the people "at the top," who "make all the decisions."
This is how it works: A stupid idea is generated in either the House or the Senate. Somehow a lot of bungling buffoons agree to the stipulations of the aforementioned idea. The House-and-Senate-approved idea is sent to the President. The President decides that he/she likes the stupid idea (especially the part about unconstitutional pay raises to close friends in the House and Senate) and so it is entered into "the books" as law. Eventually some poor fool is brought to trial in a court of law, which is supposed to enforce the stupid law(s). The prosecution tries to convince 12 people in a box that the defendant is a horrible person for commiting a (stupid) "crime." The defense usually tries to convince the 12 people that the poor sap did not, in fact, commit the (stupid) crime. After much deliberation, the 12 free-thinking human beings that make up the people in the box, decide that they have encountered a stupid law. From there, they unanimously decide that they will not convict a member of a free society of a stupid crime, and so they all vote "not guilty."
And so I give thinks to the Magna Carta for giving US the power to decide what laws WE will allow ourselves to be governed by.
20021119
I can't help but think that sex must feel a little bit better for some people than others. An infinite number of factors determine what we take away from each sexual experience; the physical make-up of our bodies, our upbringing, our previous experiences, etc. I know it feels "good" for everyone but there has to be a small percentage running around out there who consistently get something more out of it, both physically and mentally. What if two of these people happened to find each other?
Can you tell who these people are by looking at them? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. I'm sure some of them have worked very hard to get to where they are, but most of them probably appear normal to the untrained eye. Most of them probably go about their day like the rest of us: getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home, rolling a joint with their beloved as they discuss the day's events, turning on the stereo, sitting back, smoking the joint, and eventually ending the evening by making sweet, sweet love that happens to be just a bit more glorious than you or I will ever know.
Can you tell who these people are by looking at them? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. I'm sure some of them have worked very hard to get to where they are, but most of them probably appear normal to the untrained eye. Most of them probably go about their day like the rest of us: getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home, rolling a joint with their beloved as they discuss the day's events, turning on the stereo, sitting back, smoking the joint, and eventually ending the evening by making sweet, sweet love that happens to be just a bit more glorious than you or I will ever know.
20021117
One for Kevin and La Muriel
Who, I am told, occasionally read this blog. I haven't written anything in over a month. A few minutes ago I was listening to "Enchantment" by Horace Silver and it made me feel okay about everything.
Three years ago I accidently set fire to my bedroom. The last thing I remember was dozing off to "Enchantment" by Horace Silver. I lost that CD and two hundred others, in addition to most of my clothes, recording equipment, and peace of mind.
Yesterday I thought of two interesting things:
1) Humans may be the dumbest beings on the planet. I reiterated this hypothesis to Ray and he reminded me of a quote from "The Matrix" wherein one of the computer programmed "agents" compares the human race to a virus. I was definitely thinking along those lines but I feel it is pertinent to note that I do not hesitate to include myself as a member of the human race. I contribute to the squalor. I accelerate the decay...and I look back on certain things I used to say and believe and they make me feel dumb. Very dumb. And I suspect that I'm going to feel that way for the rest of my life, being embarassed of everything I did 5 years ago. This is precisely why I've attempted to train myself to talk less and less as I get older- that way I'll have less to regret as I age. I will simply exist in quiet, constant, splendid fear.
2) Information does not double. Information does not increase. It does not decrease. Information exists.
Other interesting developments summed up for posterity:
a) Kelly and I are still together. I am still happy to be with her. We have been together for over four months now- my 3rd longest relationship (I know I'm eventually going to feel dumb for having such pathetically brief relationships, I just can't tell you why- not yet at least). She took a brief vacation to visit her relatives in New Jersey and I picked her up from the airport. The fear of rejection still occupies a large portion of my thought processes.
b) I ran into my last girlfriend, Annavelle, while Kelly was away. The last time we had contact was some months ago via email and it didn't go well. On Halloween she walked into the backyard where I was sitting. I said in surprise, "Whoa, it's Ann." She continued walking and left the party soon afterwards.
c) I now have two part-time jobs in addition to 18 units of school. During the week I do odd jobs around a cardboard box making factory. Most of the guys that work there are Mexicans who don't speak very much English. Most of the guys who run the place are Americans who don't speak very much Spanish. I am a disgruntled American who speaks enough Spanish to get by, thus far. The other job is housecleaning at a shelter for homeless cats. It's owned and operated by a woman named Johanna, who speaks French. My French is getting better all the time.
d)I'm starting to get sick because I have no time to relax.
Who, I am told, occasionally read this blog. I haven't written anything in over a month. A few minutes ago I was listening to "Enchantment" by Horace Silver and it made me feel okay about everything.
Three years ago I accidently set fire to my bedroom. The last thing I remember was dozing off to "Enchantment" by Horace Silver. I lost that CD and two hundred others, in addition to most of my clothes, recording equipment, and peace of mind.
Yesterday I thought of two interesting things:
1) Humans may be the dumbest beings on the planet. I reiterated this hypothesis to Ray and he reminded me of a quote from "The Matrix" wherein one of the computer programmed "agents" compares the human race to a virus. I was definitely thinking along those lines but I feel it is pertinent to note that I do not hesitate to include myself as a member of the human race. I contribute to the squalor. I accelerate the decay...and I look back on certain things I used to say and believe and they make me feel dumb. Very dumb. And I suspect that I'm going to feel that way for the rest of my life, being embarassed of everything I did 5 years ago. This is precisely why I've attempted to train myself to talk less and less as I get older- that way I'll have less to regret as I age. I will simply exist in quiet, constant, splendid fear.
2) Information does not double. Information does not increase. It does not decrease. Information exists.
Other interesting developments summed up for posterity:
a) Kelly and I are still together. I am still happy to be with her. We have been together for over four months now- my 3rd longest relationship (I know I'm eventually going to feel dumb for having such pathetically brief relationships, I just can't tell you why- not yet at least). She took a brief vacation to visit her relatives in New Jersey and I picked her up from the airport. The fear of rejection still occupies a large portion of my thought processes.
b) I ran into my last girlfriend, Annavelle, while Kelly was away. The last time we had contact was some months ago via email and it didn't go well. On Halloween she walked into the backyard where I was sitting. I said in surprise, "Whoa, it's Ann." She continued walking and left the party soon afterwards.
c) I now have two part-time jobs in addition to 18 units of school. During the week I do odd jobs around a cardboard box making factory. Most of the guys that work there are Mexicans who don't speak very much English. Most of the guys who run the place are Americans who don't speak very much Spanish. I am a disgruntled American who speaks enough Spanish to get by, thus far. The other job is housecleaning at a shelter for homeless cats. It's owned and operated by a woman named Johanna, who speaks French. My French is getting better all the time.
d)I'm starting to get sick because I have no time to relax.
20021104
20021012
The other day I went to put my laundry in the washing machine and someone else's stuff was already in there, washed and still wet. I'm always a little hesitant to move someone else's laundry, even though I wouldn't mind if somebody moved mine. I think about what happened to my dad. A few years ago he moved someone else's laundry.
After my parents got divorced he and my sister moved into a medium-sized apartment complex. He went out to do laundry one morning and found another tenant's already washed clothes in the machine, so he placed them on the dryer next to it and put his clothes in the washer. He came back to check on his clothes and found that the other person's laundry was gone and that somebody had tossed a few handfuls of dirt into his.
He beat on every door in the complex demanding to know who had thrown dirt on his clothes. When he got to one apartment a short, late-twentysomething surfer dude opened the door. My dad, standing over six feet tall, weighing at least 250lbs, covered in tatoos and visibly upset, inquired as to whether or not he had thrown the dirt. With a touch of both arrogance and stupidity, the short, late-twentysomething surfer dude said, "Yeah, I did." My father replied with a swift kick to the center of his chest, knocking him to the floor in the doorway of his apartment. Another man standing in the apartment put up his hands and asked my father to calm down. My dad pointed at both of them and screamed, "Don't do it again!"
He told me later that he felt truly embarassed by the whole thing and eventually apologized to the man. I'm 6 foot 3 inches and I weigh almost 200lbs, but I still hesitate every time I move someone else's laundry.
After my parents got divorced he and my sister moved into a medium-sized apartment complex. He went out to do laundry one morning and found another tenant's already washed clothes in the machine, so he placed them on the dryer next to it and put his clothes in the washer. He came back to check on his clothes and found that the other person's laundry was gone and that somebody had tossed a few handfuls of dirt into his.
He beat on every door in the complex demanding to know who had thrown dirt on his clothes. When he got to one apartment a short, late-twentysomething surfer dude opened the door. My dad, standing over six feet tall, weighing at least 250lbs, covered in tatoos and visibly upset, inquired as to whether or not he had thrown the dirt. With a touch of both arrogance and stupidity, the short, late-twentysomething surfer dude said, "Yeah, I did." My father replied with a swift kick to the center of his chest, knocking him to the floor in the doorway of his apartment. Another man standing in the apartment put up his hands and asked my father to calm down. My dad pointed at both of them and screamed, "Don't do it again!"
He told me later that he felt truly embarassed by the whole thing and eventually apologized to the man. I'm 6 foot 3 inches and I weigh almost 200lbs, but I still hesitate every time I move someone else's laundry.
20021009
20021007
Tom: I noticed you haven't posted anything yet.
Satan: I'm warming up.
Tom: Don't you have anything to say?
Satan: Sure.
Tom: Tell me something.
Satan: Well, I was thinking about what it will be like on the day they legalize marijuana in the United States.
Tom: Fuckin' A!
Satan: Pot smokers the world over will gather to celebrate in every setting imaginable. Downtown cafes will spread their tables out into the streets in anticipation, a cross between a European festival and New Year's Eve 1999. Patrons will begin packing their bowls at around 11:30 p.m. while completely unnecessary patrolling police officers will make half-hearted attempts to hassle them. Despite their actions the police officers will not ruin the feeling of calm celebration in the air and some of them may even participate in the festivities.
At the inevitable stroke of midnight there will be the sound of millions of people inhaling as one. Los Angeles news stations will begin telecasting nonsensical live interviews with smokers in New York who have already been high for three hours. Pizza deliveries and Mexican fast food restaurants will experience an unprecented upward spike in revenues for the evening, as will Trojan, Durex, and other condom manufacturers as couples unite and for the first time legally experience the bliss of love-making while stoned out of their minds.
Life will eventually go on much as it had before, only with a little less crime, a little less anguish, and a little more sense.
Tom: I, um...gotta go.
Satan: Rest easy my son.
Satan: I'm warming up.
Tom: Don't you have anything to say?
Satan: Sure.
Tom: Tell me something.
Satan: Well, I was thinking about what it will be like on the day they legalize marijuana in the United States.
Tom: Fuckin' A!
Satan: Pot smokers the world over will gather to celebrate in every setting imaginable. Downtown cafes will spread their tables out into the streets in anticipation, a cross between a European festival and New Year's Eve 1999. Patrons will begin packing their bowls at around 11:30 p.m. while completely unnecessary patrolling police officers will make half-hearted attempts to hassle them. Despite their actions the police officers will not ruin the feeling of calm celebration in the air and some of them may even participate in the festivities.
At the inevitable stroke of midnight there will be the sound of millions of people inhaling as one. Los Angeles news stations will begin telecasting nonsensical live interviews with smokers in New York who have already been high for three hours. Pizza deliveries and Mexican fast food restaurants will experience an unprecented upward spike in revenues for the evening, as will Trojan, Durex, and other condom manufacturers as couples unite and for the first time legally experience the bliss of love-making while stoned out of their minds.
Life will eventually go on much as it had before, only with a little less crime, a little less anguish, and a little more sense.
Tom: I, um...gotta go.
Satan: Rest easy my son.
20021003
"And God said unto Moses: I AM THAT I AM; and He said: 'Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel: I AM hath sent me unto you.' And God said moreover unto Moses: 'Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel: The Lord, God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, hath sent me unto you; this is My name for ever, and this is My memorial unto all generations.'" Exodus 3:14-15
Who is God?
I AM...
Who is God?
I AM...
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