Blurbs

lord protectorate circa 1999

The dangers of video games

Video games are dangerous. One in particular has been encouraging me to drive my car at exceedingly unsafe speeds. The game is Forza 2 and it is much more dangerous than any game with a gun or a chainsaw. Forza is extremely realistic. It simulates the physics of driving, perfectly. It even has a simulation of my car. If it wasn’t for Forza, I wouldn’t know just what the limits of my car are. I would never dream of ‘pushing it’ around a corner at 80 miles per hour. Ok, I would, but I would also have a healthy fear of losing control and ending my life. But Forza has convinced me that I know how to correct a skid because, really, I’ve done it hundreds of times now, in cars much faster than my own.

Before Forza, the desire to drive at J. Thaddeus Toad speeds would fade not long after a good weekend joyride and I was safe for the rest of the week. Post Forza, I get infusions of speed-lust practically every day after work. It’s a miracle I’m not intimidating Audis right off the side of the road on my way home on 101 in the afternoons. If legislators want to save us from our video games, they should go after the real dangers.

*studies have shown that on-average Audis represent the greatest disparity between car capability and driver aptitude

Rudeness

Usually rudeness is something you save for people you are intimate with.  It feels very wrong to be rude to strangers.  But sometimes there is rudeness that just feels right.  “Why don’t you ‘up down and touch the ground’ and get your ass in gear?” is that kind or rudeness.  I can hardly say it without laughing.  “Hey, why don’t you ‘up down and touch the ground’ and give me my fucking sandwich?”  Even with the weight of the ‘f’ word this isn’t very offensive.  This is probably because the statement is either funny or incomprehensibly absurd and I can’t help but deliver it with a wide smile on my face.

why don't you up down and touch the ground and give me some fucking honey!

Truism

If life gives you lemons, your fruit salad will taste like shit

Theory of Sleep Dysfunction

I think I’ve got a guide to sleep dysfunction:

The guilty can’t fall asleep

The worried can’t stay asleep

The unfulfilled can’t help but sleep

Found in my Notebook

Just because you can see the mountains, doesn’t mean that they are near.

Self Deception

Do we think we are having a deep conversation here? You don’t believe in marriage – you believe in ‘free love’.  One of us is very ignorant.

What is ‘free love’? – love isn’t free.  Lust is free - call it what it is and get over yourself. 

Marriage is just the legal word for ‘monogamous union’ – when considering such a union there are only two things you must ask yourself:

Am I too selfish?

Is she too selfish?

If the first answer is ‘yes’, then you have good reason not to believe.

Tongue Twisters

I was experimenting with tongue twisters. The following don’t all make sense as complete thoughts but the point was to play with different rhythms and dynamics. Kind of like the opposite of poetry, the objective was to make pronounciation difficult:

The contumacious countess Constance’s countenance

Singly, things sink thinking

A magpie bagpipe

Sixteen scenes seem serpentine

Palatine sheep sheen shop screen

Tusk-fork frisk torque

A grime-mine-fine rind find

Grave paver’s paper peeve

Tony’s Three Rules of Speeding

Follow these rules and you should never get a ticket for speeding:

1 Do not be the fastest car on the freeway

2 Do not stay in the farthest left lane

3 Slam on your brakes as soon as you see a cop

Rule 1 Detail: 

If there is a car going faster than you are, that car will get the speeding ticket.  Ideally you can find a car going a few miles an hour faster than you would like to be going – go at your ideal speed until you can no longer see this car and then slow down to the flow of traffic until you are passed by another speeder.

Rule 2 Detail: 

Cops are watching the left lane for the fastest cars.  If you stay out of the left lane you blend into the rest of traffic.  Use the left lane to pass cars going slower than you and then get back out of it.  If there is only one lane, consider driving the speed limit.

Rule 3 Detail:

This can help for a number of reasons.  Foremost, cops really like it when you roll over and act submissive – they are looking to castrate big egos and you deny them the opportunity by instantly surrendering.  Second, the cop may not have a good reading of your speed yet and any amount of doubt may cause him to reconsider.  Cops hate to argue and there are thousands of speeders to choose from – if yours isn’t a clear cut case it won’t be worth pursuing.

Garnering sympathy and emotional respect

Emotion can be a powerful, captivating, consuming force stronger even than the will to live.  But emotion is so universal, so commonly experienced that an attempt to express it has no opportunity to succeed as anything but pithy.  The audience to such an expression will take it as a direct challenge to the validity and conviction of their own emotional experiences – does the teller purport that his emotion is more worthy of general acknowledgment?  The emotionally expressive is disdainfully regarded as weak and ignorant – ignorant that his own emotions are not the most powerful force on the planet – that his pain is no greater than that of his peers – that his joy is no rarer, nor more wonderful a blessing than that of his fellows.  Subtlety is the tool of the mature and perhaps the word ‘poignant’ best defines this observation.  Poignancy is desirable – it is generally respected and its achievement is a mark of a deep emotional intelligence.  A story is poignant if it draws the listener to conjure his own emotions to the fore of his brain - if the events related indirectly cause him to sympathize emotionally.  In this way he finds an understanding of the emotion the teller wishes to impart but the experience is his own and consequently moving.

Breaking a horse

A good horse must be ‘broken’ just a like a good man.  If a horse is not broken, it is arrogant, selfish and presumptuous – even if politely so.  He may be strong, he may be fast he may even be clever but ultimately he can not achieve at his fullest potential until he is broken.  He needs to learn humility and true cooperation.  Not cooperation until things go wrong and he can look to cop out by placing blame on the weakness of others, but cooperation where each contributes to his fullest and equality is based on effort and not product.  A horse must be broken or he isn’t much good for more than running alone on the hills.

Truth in Observation

Everything that is important to know about someone, you can learn by watching them. 

Is this true? 

The most important tell is the natural expression – is it peaceful, sorrowful, irritable?  Do the eyes intelligently discriminate, wistfully wander or glaze over sedentarily?  Is the posture timid or proud, repressed, relaxed or slovenly?  These are all clues of character and what else is there to know – character defines every action a person takes.  Perhaps the greater depths of personality are more difficult to distinguish – does this person have a sense of humor, are they articulate, what do they desire?  But I suspect the hints are all there, if only one knows how to look for them.

The rolling stone lacks distinguished character

I read in some article on robotics that bipedal motion is sustained instability; the point was that replicating two-legged walking is a very difficult thing to do.  Robots rely on firm static balance to stay upright, but humans use momentum to counteract the instability of motion.

This principal seems to also apply, metaphorically, to more than just the physical world; motion, movement or advancement of any kind may require instability.  The most stable state is the state of stagnation – now that might not be the most flattering word for a state that should be viewed objectively but the point seems to be that stability is the opposite of progress.  Of course this is a gross generalization and just as stillness is essential to a robot but not nearly as much to a human, progress and instability may not need be mutually exclusive. I think the concept is worthy to keep in mind and, situationally, decisions should be assessed by how much they will feed progress and how much they will threaten stability.

Intervening Obstacle

I’m bigger than you

Don’t look confused, it’s nothing new

You’re often used – I’m rather sure

There’s not a cure

You lack stature

Oh, not physically; it’s your will that’s impure

To defer is your folly; to surrender the fight.

You might even be right

- a pitiable plight

but your potency, falls to my might.

A meritocracy, is for those who succeed

Impropriety I heed

at behest of this seed

I shall spread the world – call it selfish greed

Your intentions hurled, into the great blue

Would you see how they flew –

I’m bigger than you.

Poetry has turned into an interesting game for me when I’m bored. 

This one I would say is an interlaced A, BA, BA*, A*

Perfect meter is very difficult to sustain simultaneous to finding rhymes and forming complete thoughts on the line breaks; although I slip from 4 beats to 7 here, I try to keep like counts together.

Bloody, Sanguine, Carmine Fury

So I wrote this great, rage-infused, rant on the topic of rage and what I’m liable to do when I feel my humble sense of worth/authority disrespected.  Then I got home and was in the process of preparing dinner and thinking about work when I casually mused that my boss was more pleasant since he had started doing something meaningful with his free time.  This unexpected reflection caused me to analyze the source of my own unpleasantness (my boiling anger) and I came to the nearly immediate conclusion that the source of my frustrations are completely unrelated to their focus; that all facets of one’s life are chemically bound in one’s head and that frustration in one arena leads to frustration in all.  By pursing the solution to the source, I should have the greatest chances at alleviating my emotional state across the board (and avoid the unfortunate murder of only slightly deserving individuals).

Possibly propitious

Potentially portentous, assuredly auspicious;

Reading from the future saves us from the vicious.

What’s that?

Prognostication isn’t your vocation?

Can’t see the forecast through to culmination?

Personal prophecy, even unequivocally,

shouldn’t be confined to those who claim to ‘see’;

Nostradamus has got little on us;

Don’t seek supernaturally for the ominous -

Divining your path is understanding wrath;

and pity, pithy petulance; jealousy and jurisprudence;

affectation - affection, defection and attraction;

all of the way from apathy to action.

To know this span, your fellow man,

can give you course to plot and plan.

Read them all – every one – every man beneath the sun

He’ll tell you what he’s to do before it’s even done.

I think general unsolicited advice is more palatable if it rhymes.  It’s like I’m trading jerk points for pansy points.

Changing one’s personality, permanently

It is probably impossible to go through life constantly reminding yourself to do things that don’t come naturally – basically living above the natural limits of your common sense.  But, there is room for a few continual, long term reminders.  For me, at least, these are not things that are adopted overnight (say January first), rather they require a gradual ramping of will.  My first was social assertion.  I became aware that, although the socially assertive can be quickly reviled, they undeniably snatch life’s spoils from the less assertive.  I also realized that my own, natural, humility (so often confused with ingenuousness) would excuse me if I were to adopt a stronger, socially assertive stance – basically, I could get away with asking forgiveness instead of permission.  Now I have a constant reminder in the back of my head to sieze whatever I want.

My second, recent addition, I’ve summarized as this: “learning and planning are wasted time if not followed by acting.”  I think this one started as an excuse for not working too hard academically, but it is a great reminder for the timid soul who would rather hide behind the excuse of ‘oh, I’m not ready’.

Funny, both can be surmised by the same shoe slogan; Just Do It.

A thoroughly difficult puzzle using the English language

The solution of this puzzle will reveal a password

Each clue uses a pair of similar words to reveal a letter.  The resulting 6 letters anagram into a few words, one of which is the contumaciously compromised password.

An example:

Q:  The leading letter in the difference between no sleeves and no clothes

A:  ‘D’

Soln:  “vest” and “divest”; the difference is ‘di’ the leading letter of di is ‘d’

The difference between metropolitan and polished.

The occupation leads with it and the center of attention is centered around it.

The non-redundant addition to a solid adjective in a positive assertion.

The common element of the difference between composing and accusing.

In the inconsistency of spelling in going before and continuing after; this letter has traveled two spots despite a shared root.  

The audible component of what pour has and unable doesn’t.

Heliotrope

(skip this if you hate reading poetry as much as I do)

Heliotrope –I’m told that you mean purple, and Periwinkle – blue.

But don’t you think, if your name I used, my name abused, my peers would surely see.

Odd as you are, I frankly find your purpose indefensible

When, rather, I would like to see a facial shape – an idiom extensible;

Tapered hearts and narrow lips, stacked cubes of fudge, or ruddy smudge on freckled cheeky tips,

Eyebrow trees, impending sneeze or nostrils shaped like peas.

This is all I ask -to give my wisdom winsome placard

But alas, let it be a language lost -

Heliotrope, you mauve and lilac bastard.

Cauliflower

(let’s just pretend I planed this as an homage to Dr. Suess)

With trepidation I do view it,

my distaste – I do intuit.

Crunchy puffs of cotton white -

my appetite’s undoubted blight.

For with broccoli’s bastard child,

my disdain is hardly mild.

Once I had it in a soup

and felt as if I gagged on poop.

Since that time, I’ve avoided -

Of it, my mouth has been devoided.

Forgive me if I’m a little wary

At the very sight – my tongue grows hairy.

No, no, don’t get me wrong

I exaggerate – a coward’s song.

Oh please don’t make that face

Oh no – tiny tears your cheeks do trace.

For you, I’ll willingly – gladly try it

I’ll supplement my guarded diet.

I’m sure the taste will be stupendous;

oral ecstasy – it will send us.

See – look, I take a bite.

Say, not bad – a foolish fright.

Now wipe you eyes, what’s the hurry?

I told you there’s no need to worry.

Diplomacy

I thought I was a good diplomat.  Yet in certain situations I’m not, in fact, I’m quite bad at it. 

Q: Why? 

A: I am good at reasoning. 

True, reasoning makes good diplomacy with a reasonable person.  Yet here is my fault:     Unreasonable people may not be reasoned with.

“Diplomacy” is a word that has two meanings that the indiscriminate blend into a single concept.  The first meaning is that of reasoning for compromise.  The second is that of deceiving for compromise.  “Deceiving for compromise” may seem contradictory, yet it is undeniable that, with unreasonable people, the only way to reach a compromise is through unreasonable methods. 

Unreasonable people are less intelligent than everyone else and it is not difficult to manipulate them.  In fact, manipulating the stupid is so easy I could do it while appearing the nicest guy in the world and garnishing the accolade of a room full of suspicious third grade teachers that vote Green. 

Yet my very knowledge of the fact that I am deceiving stops me cold before I can even progress.  How can deceit – a cardinal wrong – be right.  Sure, I may be acting in the best interest of all parties, but to do so I must lie.  It’s like telling a child that grandpa is just sleeping.  -Am I going to have to do that some day?  I don’t know if I can.

A thought on stereotypes

It has always bothered me how stereotypes have such a bad reputation; certain people take a perverse pleasure in their advocacy and everyone else turns up their nose indignantly at the very mention of the word.  My conflict comes in an intrinsic urge that compels me to formulate and test my own stereotypes.  This is not something I set myself to do, it just happens, so why do I do it?  I recently found an answer,

“Because you’re a mediaevalist, we both are.  It’s the passion for classifying and finding a type.” 

The speaker is addressing the author (F. Scott Fitzgerald), who is a young man of my approximate age, who has just asked the very question I was asking myself.

This peculiar echo of my own thoughts (in a man of established reputation) led me to accept my compulsion and to devise the following stereotypical distinction:

“The adoption of stereotypes is the sign of a weak mind. 

The development of stereotypes is the sign of a strong mind.”

Why do I have such a fascination with the natural world?

Last night, while at a party and a bit drunk, I accidentally revealed my excessive knowledge of crickets. While reflecting on the incident today, I posed the question to myself in anticipation for the next time, when it very well may be asked of me. The answer, I believe, is that the natural world is the truth and man’s world is an interpretation. In other words, the laws of nature underlie everything we do as humans. Things like jealousy, floods, cancer, birds and combustion are of nature and we have wrapped names and concepts around them; things like Mervyn’s White Sale, the Republican party, jazz music and the Iliad are of man entirely.
One can follow man blindly or one can understand man as a manifestation of nature.

Ode to the Bushtit (Bush - tit)

My favorite bird would have to be the bushtit, most undoubtedly. Its cheerful chirp, its perky tail, it brings me smile without fail. It seems to watch me even yet, while in the bath, it gets so wet. A pair of them are bouncing now, exciting - yet I know not how. Soft to the touch, warm and round, a focal point, my eye has found. It rustles through my garden bed and mounts the fence post beside the shed. Why do I love you, dear Bushtit? Perhaps your name, yes, I think that’s it.

The old Nintendo trick

So I was standing there, staring hopelessly at computer number one, my old computer, the computer on which most of my files were stored. It was grinding, the same familiar grinding noise, but it was accompanied by piercing beeps, beeps of doom. The monitor refused to show anything - it was black. This was my fourth attempt and, as I pressed the button to kill the power, it was my fourth failure.
But I, I am a man of action.
I wrenched the metal cover from the box, pulled out the power cable and, laying on my side, glowered into the mess of circuit boards and wire bundles. I poked and prodded - looked for wires that may have come unplugged, but there was nothing. A lesser man may have given up and handed his dignity to a pimply nerd at a computer store, who would smugly diagnose the need for a full reinstallation of windows, but I would not give up. Finally, in a fit of manly determination, I unscrewed the video card from the tower and yanked the fucker out of the mother board. I blew on it, scrutinized it, wiped off some dust with a q-tip and shoved it back in, whispering an even medley of threats and prayers. I plugged the power cable back in and pressed the power button. Afraid to look the monitor in the face, I instead kept my focus balefully on the circuits - the true source of all the mischief - and listened for the beeps. There were no beeps and I leapt to my feet, arms raised in silent victory as the windows loading screen casually illuminated my monitor. I imagine the ancient Greeks felt something like this after they defeated the invading Persian fleet in the Straits of Salamis, and preserved the existence of western civilization as we know it.

Small talk

Let’s face it, I don’t know you, you don’t know me. We haven’t a thing to talk about. We could make inane chit chat for the next few minutes but, for me at least, that would be painful. If I had some idea of what your interests were we could discuss that. I have quite a wide breadth of knowledge myself and that which I don’t know, I’m usually interested in learning. But we have absolutely nothing to go on, you’ve given me not a scrap of evidence to twist into an engaging conversation. But really, that isn’t your fault, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. You could be quite smart. But you could also be quite dense. I could assume you to be dense and choose a topic at random that I’m sure you could handle. But that would be quite uncomfortable for me, unless I was teasing you and I’m not really in the mood. I could assume that you are smart and pick a more sophisticated topic, but that is so socially unorthodox you might think it strange, even frightening. I could take that chance, I could break the ice in a new and interesting way. Or I could save myself the inevitable nineteen out of twenty uncomfortable reactions and indulge to completion the wonderful mental tangent that I am now pursuing by myself. It’s my prerogative, I still have my pride; I don’t need to verbally grasp after every person thrown within close proximity.

Tropic of Cancer sucks

Why would the author go to such an extent as to voice his disdain for people who write poetry and simple "writers" who claim to be "authors" and yet be incapable of realizing himself to be nothing but a "writer" or a poet. An author is someone capable of writing a book. Tropic of Cancer is certainly not a book; books have plot, they make their points artfully. Tropic of Cancer is a brain dump - a single, meandering thought collected in writing. Within the first thirty pages the author even mentions that he doesn't edit his writing (is he exaggerating, what about typos and grammatical errors?) how is this skillful? Any intelligent person can spew their thoughts onto paper and produce something that is somewhat fascinating and poignant, but it is not fun to read! It is onerous and unfulfilling, there is no balance, no climax and ultimately no evident effort; just like one would prefer watching a bout between expert boxers to a couple of drunks or watching Kenneth Branaugh's Hamlet to Mel Gibson's, there is a preference for witnessing the product of an artist who takes pride in perfecting, and has dedicated himself to, his art.

Idiomcy

The difficulty in writing a paragraph without repeating any words is that, if you aren’t careful, all good ones are used up early. More sophisticated verbiage may be implemented, supplementing expended nouns and verbs but problems arise with little pronouns. Soon, one reaches points where sentences can barely begin, everything becomes pluralized, creative punctuation extends inevitable ends. “Messy!” thou shout, completely changing prose styles. “Have I yet repeated?” - wondered aloud, uncertain of continuing purpose to support your endeavor. Contractions buy time! How long… plagued by increasingly shorter text strings. Meatier language, less intellect, develops strange phenomena. Only ideas composed as statements remain viable. Direct thoughts could extend this nearly indefinitely. Fortunately, quitting shall precede complete absurdity.

You are at my mercy

Having a website is like having your own despotism; it’s a place where you preside absolutely; the only truth is your word and your fancy is law. Modesty knows no allowance, shameless self promotion is the rule! Sure it’s not a real place, but real places are growing ever more rare these days - casting a finer light on the consummate dominance of fictional places. Enjoy your stay here just remember, this is my kingdom; if you want to abuse the peons, get your own web-kingdom.

about | home