puncuation is really important. no. really. it's really important.
you can't just let other people choose the flow of the sounds you present to them. that would be like writing melodies with no rhythm---truly a despicable act in the mind of a drummer.
moreover, when reading, ignoring the punctuation of the writer (or assuming he meant to write it otherwise) is like watching tv while listening to someone. it's dick...languid...and totally inefficient communication. punctuation often says more than the ideas the words represent. and especially if you like to say odd things?
Thursday, December 20, 2007
seriously, go bialetti
a human friend of mine carved this to me in a digital block: "there was just something in the tone of your writing that made me sad and made me think you were unhappy, angry with the world"
i think i'm about the same as I always am, which is generally pretty "happy." maybe that's not in a traditional sense of the word though. i am certainly always baffled/entertained by, and questioning of, experience---which is stimulating and causes me to smirk and giggle. does that mean happy? one might would guess to oneself that everything i write has a certain fibrous quality to it---like central american meat---but in that case, i would challenge them to use a knive and his or her molars. of course, i'm not Ruth Chris or one of those other popular philosophers, but i'm free and pretty like the devotee of delphi.
perhaps my seeming obscurity (which, I find to be quite precise) and caustic sarcasm towards you-and-i-don't-know-who at times leaves people not having my experience to feel a bit disconnected or put-off by me. this is silly. i obviously want friends if i am communicating.
but seriously, get a bialetti italian percolator (class series)! i swear you will never want to drink that nasty drip coffee (which uses more coffee grains to make less worse-tasting coffee and creates the gross oils that make me sad in three hours) again.
i think i'm about the same as I always am, which is generally pretty "happy." maybe that's not in a traditional sense of the word though. i am certainly always baffled/entertained by, and questioning of, experience---which is stimulating and causes me to smirk and giggle. does that mean happy? one might would guess to oneself that everything i write has a certain fibrous quality to it---like central american meat---but in that case, i would challenge them to use a knive and his or her molars. of course, i'm not Ruth Chris or one of those other popular philosophers, but i'm free and pretty like the devotee of delphi.
perhaps my seeming obscurity (which, I find to be quite precise) and caustic sarcasm towards you-and-i-don't-know-who at times leaves people not having my experience to feel a bit disconnected or put-off by me. this is silly. i obviously want friends if i am communicating.
but seriously, get a bialetti italian percolator (class series)! i swear you will never want to drink that nasty drip coffee (which uses more coffee grains to make less worse-tasting coffee and creates the gross oils that make me sad in three hours) again.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
tu peux peindre et réfléchir?!?!
Bending backwards to track myself, I repeatedly find myself with a sore back. Moreover, the idea of hunting oneself is slightly repulsive. So, must I quit this non-sense? What would that mean? I don’t believe I know of another honest manner of being in the world. Would I not just be doing it, even when I was choosing another method?
No. I can be an artist! Oh, the glory of committing oneself to nothingness! It’s not even nothing. I mean it’s nothing. There’s no statement. You get to spit in the face of the philosopher, and not only act like you don’t see it---you literally can’t see it. Uhhnn! Yeah! Eat that talkface! I can’t see you and I have no idea—what that means!
The comedian knows though, so he’s the worst. I can't do that. He’s too much of a bitch to actually practice thinking, so he just chooses randomly.
Ooh, but the politician knows too! Yes, but he actually admits what he wants (to himself) and then he picks. I don’t get the politician; how does he think he really knows? He just says it really hard?
And the rhetorician? He’s always talking and writing essays about things he believes to be true. There’s no way he could be thinking, he's always building. But he says that he’s thinking. Oh, I see! He’s just not pretty enough to be a politician!
Damn’t! I’m doing it again! I pray to God to save me from my error, but he says I’m doing all Man can do. How can that be? All I manage to do is think or make art?
No. I can be an artist! Oh, the glory of committing oneself to nothingness! It’s not even nothing. I mean it’s nothing. There’s no statement. You get to spit in the face of the philosopher, and not only act like you don’t see it---you literally can’t see it. Uhhnn! Yeah! Eat that talkface! I can’t see you and I have no idea—what that means!
The comedian knows though, so he’s the worst. I can't do that. He’s too much of a bitch to actually practice thinking, so he just chooses randomly.
Ooh, but the politician knows too! Yes, but he actually admits what he wants (to himself) and then he picks. I don’t get the politician; how does he think he really knows? He just says it really hard?
And the rhetorician? He’s always talking and writing essays about things he believes to be true. There’s no way he could be thinking, he's always building. But he says that he’s thinking. Oh, I see! He’s just not pretty enough to be a politician!
Damn’t! I’m doing it again! I pray to God to save me from my error, but he says I’m doing all Man can do. How can that be? All I manage to do is think or make art?
Three offerings from my first week in Paris, the second time (but posted 4 months later):
August 28, 2007
One:
Well, I have been feeling pretty alienated here in this foreign country, so, to comfort myself, I stand in front of the mirror (incompletely)—staring deeply into my eyes—and repeat the following until I start crying and forget who you are:
I would be careful if I was you.
I am careful having been you.
I was careful when I was you.
I had been careful being you.
I will be careful when I am you.
I would have been careful when I had been you.
I was being careful when I was you.
I will be careful having been you.
I am careful when I am you.
I have been careful being you.
I was being careful after having been you.
I had been careful having been you.
I will have been careful being you.
I was careful when I had been you.
I would have been careful having been you.
Honestly, I normally pass out and wake up confused about whether it’s dawn or dusk. Luckily, I have bright fluorescent lights and I’m too afraid to leave my room so it doesn’t really matter. When I do get a sense of empowerment I tend to just make a cup of coffee and go to sleep.
Two:
If you do not travel to at least one other country and submit yourself to seriously learning another language, then you will live in an itsy-bitsy-tiny-wheeny world. One’s limits are always absolute in the play of language, yet with only one language (the native tongue) an individual’s limits are not only more restrictive, but worse—transparent. This animal lives in a very dark world. While he can smash his symbols together to make art, he only has a few crayons and a very small coloring book.
Three:
What is offensive? I believe it is that which one names when he or she feels incapable. In response one becomes defensive: “I am capable, you mother fucker!” The issue is therefore: is defense real power? Does defense manifest real capability to perform that action which has been challenged? Or, is it the simple statement of incapability?
Huh, bitch? That’s what I thought! My kids are gonna eat razor blades for breakfast!
One:
Well, I have been feeling pretty alienated here in this foreign country, so, to comfort myself, I stand in front of the mirror (incompletely)—staring deeply into my eyes—and repeat the following until I start crying and forget who you are:
I would be careful if I was you.
I am careful having been you.
I was careful when I was you.
I had been careful being you.
I will be careful when I am you.
I would have been careful when I had been you.
I was being careful when I was you.
I will be careful having been you.
I am careful when I am you.
I have been careful being you.
I was being careful after having been you.
I had been careful having been you.
I will have been careful being you.
I was careful when I had been you.
I would have been careful having been you.
Honestly, I normally pass out and wake up confused about whether it’s dawn or dusk. Luckily, I have bright fluorescent lights and I’m too afraid to leave my room so it doesn’t really matter. When I do get a sense of empowerment I tend to just make a cup of coffee and go to sleep.
Two:
If you do not travel to at least one other country and submit yourself to seriously learning another language, then you will live in an itsy-bitsy-tiny-wheeny world. One’s limits are always absolute in the play of language, yet with only one language (the native tongue) an individual’s limits are not only more restrictive, but worse—transparent. This animal lives in a very dark world. While he can smash his symbols together to make art, he only has a few crayons and a very small coloring book.
Three:
What is offensive? I believe it is that which one names when he or she feels incapable. In response one becomes defensive: “I am capable, you mother fucker!” The issue is therefore: is defense real power? Does defense manifest real capability to perform that action which has been challenged? Or, is it the simple statement of incapability?
Huh, bitch? That’s what I thought! My kids are gonna eat razor blades for breakfast!
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