ADJUDICATE.
Show Spelled Pronunciation [uh-joo-di-keyt] Show IPA Pronunciation verb, -cated, -cating.
–verb (used with object)
1.
to pronounce or decree by judicial sentence.
2.
to settle or determine (an issue or dispute) judicially.–verb (used without object)
3.
to sit in judgment (usually fol. by upon).
MADRIGAL.
–noun
1.
a secular part song without instrumental accompaniment, usually for four to six voices, making abundant use of contrapuntal imitation, popular esp. in the 16th and 17th centuries.
2.
a lyric poem suitable for being set to music, usually short and often of amatory character, esp. fashionable in the 16th century and later, in Italy, France, England, etc.
3.
any part song.
Origin: 1580–90; < It madrigale < ML mātricāle something simple, n. use of neut. of LL mātricālis lit., of the womb.
BATHOS.
–noun
1.
a ludicrous descent from the exalted or lofty to the commonplace; anticlimax.
2.
insincere pathos; sentimentality; mawkishness.
3.
triteness or triviality in style.
Origin: 1630–40; < Gk: depth
Monday, November 24, 2008
Ew. 1984.
Rome, with it's watches.
They gleam at me,
Catching my eye.
Now, says I, I would like to take them.
My brow furrowed.
And I began to sweat.
Bulgari-Assoma sweetened my lips,
As I rolled out my blue plans.
I sat there sweating,
Because I wanted those watches.
But I have to wait.
Because I'm only a child,
And besides.
Watches only do so much.
They gleam at me,
Catching my eye.
Now, says I, I would like to take them.
My brow furrowed.
And I began to sweat.
Bulgari-Assoma sweetened my lips,
As I rolled out my blue plans.
I sat there sweating,
Because I wanted those watches.
But I have to wait.
Because I'm only a child,
And besides.
Watches only do so much.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Coffee bean stare.
Last night, after I chopped myself to pieces
I got a coffee and it was good.
But the atmosphere still held the questioning affair,
Since I failed at drowning confusion in blood.
But sometimes, they say, ignorance is bliss,
Which is only true when the bass plays a different chord than you thought.
So I'm sitting below the ochestra crying,
With a vanity mirror sitting in front of me.
And how glass works is such a delightful metaphor,
Casting one shadow on one plain and another on another.
So blame me please, because it's all my fault.
I know, I drank the last of the bean.
I pilfered the essence of the dining room table,
And slash-and-burn planted my crops in your heart.
It was what I wanted all my life, and you could've just told me.
Next time you decide to feed the flames,
Feed them with our combined effort.
At least converse about the coffeehouse manner,
Before you intend to draw the conclusion.
And so I sit in chopped up pieces.
Feeling worse than before.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Truth.
If you could have smelled his breath,
Felt the beer coming off of him,
You would've done the same thing.
And tried to quiet him when he told you "the truth."
"The truth," he says, and I say, "my wife's pregnant,"
"Well, that's good," he says, and I say, "no, I can't talk to you right now. I broke my arm."
"Well, that's too bad, but the truth," he says, and I say, "I was in a driving accident,"
"Oh, that's bad! But the truth," he says, and I say, "I have a chronic speaking disorder, making me unable to speak rationally to you for more than two seconds."
"My poor man! but the truth," he says, and I say, "I'm deaf."
"How horrible! But the truth," he says, and I say, "Old man, don't tell me the truth is. I know all the truths, I know every single one. And there's no way in your inebriated state you could tell me the 'truth', and there is no way that you could possibly be anymore truthful than me. So sir, I ask you to leave me to tend to my many cats, and drink my 1775 sherry."
"Sir, I seem to think that you're not telling the truth. And in fact, I am not drunk. Indeed I can smell the liquor off of your breath, and feel your loss. I've watched you for days now, trying to approach you with the truth about your deceased wife, but each time, you feed me new lines that are incredibly obscene and belligerent. But this time, I think you should know the truth. Your wife wasn't killed in that house fire, she died trying to protect your daughter from a burglar. She died with a knife in her hand, wounding the assailant and allowing your daughter to flee." He says. And I say, "My wife died.... in a house fire..."
Felt the beer coming off of him,
You would've done the same thing.
And tried to quiet him when he told you "the truth."
"The truth," he says, and I say, "my wife's pregnant,"
"Well, that's good," he says, and I say, "no, I can't talk to you right now. I broke my arm."
"Well, that's too bad, but the truth," he says, and I say, "I was in a driving accident,"
"Oh, that's bad! But the truth," he says, and I say, "I have a chronic speaking disorder, making me unable to speak rationally to you for more than two seconds."
"My poor man! but the truth," he says, and I say, "I'm deaf."
"How horrible! But the truth," he says, and I say, "Old man, don't tell me the truth is. I know all the truths, I know every single one. And there's no way in your inebriated state you could tell me the 'truth', and there is no way that you could possibly be anymore truthful than me. So sir, I ask you to leave me to tend to my many cats, and drink my 1775 sherry."
"Sir, I seem to think that you're not telling the truth. And in fact, I am not drunk. Indeed I can smell the liquor off of your breath, and feel your loss. I've watched you for days now, trying to approach you with the truth about your deceased wife, but each time, you feed me new lines that are incredibly obscene and belligerent. But this time, I think you should know the truth. Your wife wasn't killed in that house fire, she died trying to protect your daughter from a burglar. She died with a knife in her hand, wounding the assailant and allowing your daughter to flee." He says. And I say, "My wife died.... in a house fire..."
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Travesty. 1984.
On your eyes was the happy candy-cane stare
That shouts, “I tie the ribbon in a foolish way.”
And the giggle of the scoff beneath the high top’s moustache;
To you its dissension doesn’t match the jolly red and white.
While feeding on the Elvin styles of that day,
Visible is the triumphant clause made with the star on pine,
Shedding bits of sprinkles and dust onto the Capitalist
Turning his head upward, with a glittery murmur,
He shouts “the delicious fragility of this travesty!"
And explodes into a community of feather-tipped confetti
Jingling the bells to a happy smile's note.
You recline and think your jellybean thoughts,
Feeling the calm rigidity and flowering of the air
Like a volcano your placid Christmas erupts, and you snooze to the place
Where we still laugh and wish.
That shouts, “I tie the ribbon in a foolish way.”
And the giggle of the scoff beneath the high top’s moustache;
To you its dissension doesn’t match the jolly red and white.
While feeding on the Elvin styles of that day,
Visible is the triumphant clause made with the star on pine,
Shedding bits of sprinkles and dust onto the Capitalist
Turning his head upward, with a glittery murmur,
He shouts “the delicious fragility of this travesty!"
And explodes into a community of feather-tipped confetti
Jingling the bells to a happy smile's note.
You recline and think your jellybean thoughts,
Feeling the calm rigidity and flowering of the air
Like a volcano your placid Christmas erupts, and you snooze to the place
Where we still laugh and wish.
PSYCHE.
Psychologist
Scarlet
The Psychologist brought home a picture he drew of his mom, his self and his dog. All the school had was red crayons. With a beaming smile, The Psychologist showed his mother the crude drawing. Her eyes dilated. Her smile turned into disgust and her eyebrows turned into hatred. She grabbed The Psychologist by his neck. Never again, she breathed, never again will you bring that, that, devil, into my house. His eyes were wide and filled with fear. She burned the picture, his mom and his dog going up in flames.
Prussian blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. His teacher told him to come back from time-out. He reluctantly pulled away from the window. What’s wrong with you? she silently muttered to herself.
Giving tree green
She was sitting outside in the grass, crying. The Psychologist didn’t understand why she was crying. He went over to inquire about her condition, and when he asked about it she smacked him. He didn’t understand. So he sat in the grass beside her and cried.
Timberwolf/Old man granite gray
He got into his father’s van. It was one of the few days that he got to see him, and they had arrived at Niagara Falls. He was excited. He opened the door and it hit the car beside him. The car now held a big gray streak. His father was infuriated. He punched The Psychologist in the face once, twice, three times, and screamed profanities at his innocent child. The Psychologist cried. He didn’t understand why his father was doing this, and so he cried.
Torch red
His house burned down. He stared at it with tears in his eyes. At his aunt's house he learned that neither his mom nor his dog survived.
Wild blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. He was muttering to himself. The principal called him into her office, What's wrong with you? She breathed.
Heavy black
He held the gun, shaking. The voices urged him on. Do it, they chanted. Do it, do it, do it. Another voice intruded his head. Don’t, please don’t kill me. The sleeping man was talking to him. Do it, No, don’t! Do it! No, don’t! Do it now! No! No please, have mercy! With a hideous scream he shot himself in the head.
Alizarin and electric indigo
He awoke in the hospital. You just barely missed, son. You’re lucky. But you’re brain is severely damaged, and unfortunately you’ll most likely be in a wheelchair the rest of your life.
Outer space and manatee
The Psychologist was comfortable in the patent leather burgundy chair. He looked around in amazement at all the certificates of completion, all the books and unnecessary curios. He looked at the psychologist’s face, at his warm smile, his round-rimmed wire framed glasses and his thinning hair and smiled. He felt warm. It felt like home. The psychologist told him they were going to play a game. He held up a picture with confused blots of black and white. Boy, he said, what do you see? The Psychologist answered, Love.
Corn
She was happy, sitting in the grass under the yellow leaves. He asked her why she was happy. She kissed him. He didn’t understand why she did, but now he was happy too.
Royal purple and canary, cloudy sky
He wheeled across the stage, beaming. He took his diploma and stood on the stage for a moment, holding up the stream of new graduates. His eyes glazed over as he began to remember all the things inhibiting him from this moment. Then he began to remember his constant question, “why?” The audience was confused when his face turned gloomy.
Black and white
He looked around pensively at all the certificates on the wall. His shelf had collected clutter, and he smiled at it. The Psychologist’s door opened, and in came a small youth. Good afternoon, boy said the psychologist. Have a seat. The boy sat in the burgundy chair and his face lit up. He looked at The Psychologist wearily, moving his eyes back and forth, blushing. The Psychologist smiles. It’s okay, son. I’m here for you. And it was like all the years of torment came back to him in the little boy’s grimace. And after the child was done, all he had to say was, “why?”
Heart red
At work, The Psychologist looked on his desk. There was a picture of him, with his wispy brown hair, his big wire-rimmed glasses and his wheelchair. One of his patients was next to him, a tiny stick figure. They were both smiling. They’re lips were red. So was the sun, so was the grass, so was he. And The Psychologist cried.
Scarlet
The Psychologist brought home a picture he drew of his mom, his self and his dog. All the school had was red crayons. With a beaming smile, The Psychologist showed his mother the crude drawing. Her eyes dilated. Her smile turned into disgust and her eyebrows turned into hatred. She grabbed The Psychologist by his neck. Never again, she breathed, never again will you bring that, that, devil, into my house. His eyes were wide and filled with fear. She burned the picture, his mom and his dog going up in flames.
Prussian blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. His teacher told him to come back from time-out. He reluctantly pulled away from the window. What’s wrong with you? she silently muttered to herself.
Giving tree green
She was sitting outside in the grass, crying. The Psychologist didn’t understand why she was crying. He went over to inquire about her condition, and when he asked about it she smacked him. He didn’t understand. So he sat in the grass beside her and cried.
Timberwolf/Old man granite gray
He got into his father’s van. It was one of the few days that he got to see him, and they had arrived at Niagara Falls. He was excited. He opened the door and it hit the car beside him. The car now held a big gray streak. His father was infuriated. He punched The Psychologist in the face once, twice, three times, and screamed profanities at his innocent child. The Psychologist cried. He didn’t understand why his father was doing this, and so he cried.
Torch red
His house burned down. He stared at it with tears in his eyes. At his aunt's house he learned that neither his mom nor his dog survived.
Wild blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. He was muttering to himself. The principal called him into her office, What's wrong with you? She breathed.
Heavy black
He held the gun, shaking. The voices urged him on. Do it, they chanted. Do it, do it, do it. Another voice intruded his head. Don’t, please don’t kill me. The sleeping man was talking to him. Do it, No, don’t! Do it! No, don’t! Do it now! No! No please, have mercy! With a hideous scream he shot himself in the head.
Alizarin and electric indigo
He awoke in the hospital. You just barely missed, son. You’re lucky. But you’re brain is severely damaged, and unfortunately you’ll most likely be in a wheelchair the rest of your life.
Outer space and manatee
The Psychologist was comfortable in the patent leather burgundy chair. He looked around in amazement at all the certificates of completion, all the books and unnecessary curios. He looked at the psychologist’s face, at his warm smile, his round-rimmed wire framed glasses and his thinning hair and smiled. He felt warm. It felt like home. The psychologist told him they were going to play a game. He held up a picture with confused blots of black and white. Boy, he said, what do you see? The Psychologist answered, Love.
Corn
She was happy, sitting in the grass under the yellow leaves. He asked her why she was happy. She kissed him. He didn’t understand why she did, but now he was happy too.
Royal purple and canary, cloudy sky
He wheeled across the stage, beaming. He took his diploma and stood on the stage for a moment, holding up the stream of new graduates. His eyes glazed over as he began to remember all the things inhibiting him from this moment. Then he began to remember his constant question, “why?” The audience was confused when his face turned gloomy.
Black and white
He looked around pensively at all the certificates on the wall. His shelf had collected clutter, and he smiled at it. The Psychologist’s door opened, and in came a small youth. Good afternoon, boy said the psychologist. Have a seat. The boy sat in the burgundy chair and his face lit up. He looked at The Psychologist wearily, moving his eyes back and forth, blushing. The Psychologist smiles. It’s okay, son. I’m here for you. And it was like all the years of torment came back to him in the little boy’s grimace. And after the child was done, all he had to say was, “why?”
Heart red
At work, The Psychologist looked on his desk. There was a picture of him, with his wispy brown hair, his big wire-rimmed glasses and his wheelchair. One of his patients was next to him, a tiny stick figure. They were both smiling. They’re lips were red. So was the sun, so was the grass, so was he. And The Psychologist cried.
Somebody's waiting for me at home 1984.
1. On that fateful night, when the sky was dark and the mood ominous, where were you?
2. Why, being where you were, in the world did you decide to come home?
3. That feeling, the deep feeling of foreboding you say you had in your stomach, why did you follow it?
4. Don't you realize that that's how horror movies begin?
5. How wet was the steering wheel from your sweat on the way back home?
6. What thoughts were going through your head, that night when the sky fell on your car and seemed to trap the air inside of it?
7. Why were you so anxious?
8. Did you drive safely, or did you rush home?
9. You moved slowly, but with a trepidacious apprehension that made everything speed-up?
10. Were you pulled over by the police?
11. Why didn't you stop?
12. What was in the back of your car?
13. What was in your house?
14. Did the sirens blare so loud that you're sanity was dispersed; did you lose all sense of reality?
15. Did you hit a car during your chase?
16. Was the body in the back okay?
17. When did you find yourself crying?
18. How did you feel when you saw two more police cars?
19. How did you feel when you saw their sirens?
20. How did the barricade feel?
21. How did you manage to slip past it, and lose the police?
22. How cool was the river that you drove the car into?
23. How hard was it to heave the body from the sunken car, when the water was pressing down on your very conscience?
24. What did the body say to you?
25. Why did you pause before putting hatchet to the body?
26. Why did your hands tremble?
27. Why was your face twisted in agony, in utter pain with each short cut of the hatchet?
28. Why did you think the deed was finished?
29. Why did you leave the hatchet in the water, the consuming, cold water that held all of your secrets?
30. How long did it take you to walk home?
31. Was it cold outside?
32. Why was your mouth struggling with an emotion to portray?
33. What were you thinking?
34. Why were your thoughts cluttered with red?
35. Why did you remember home?
36. Why did it begin raining after you left the water?
37. Was it perhaps a metaphor?
38. Do you think about that sometimes?
39. Do you ever wonder if nature held your future, and that you merely cut the body in accordance to prophecy?
40. Why did your footsteps hasten?
41. Why did you put your hands deep into your coat?
42. Why were you murmuring to yourself?
43. What were you murmuring to yourself?
44. Why did you go to hail a cab, but withdraw your hand?
45. Why did you think about home?
46. What was waiting for you at home?
47. As you walked home, did you feel your heart beat?
48. Did your heart beat match your steps?
49. Why did your heart beat go so much faster than your steps?
50. Have you ever thought that perhaps, in some pre-destined way, your heart was trying to put up a shield?
51. What if your heart was telling you to stay away, what if it was trying as hard as it could to run away?
52. Why didn't you listen to your heart?
53. Were your steps that much more persuasive?
54. Or was it your psychic energy, warning you of an intrusion?
55. Maybe it was that they were found, that all your precious loves were found, on that dark, oppressing night.
56. What color was your hands?
57. Was it an exact shade of vermillion?
58. You sure it wasn't scarlet?
59. What was waiting for you at home?
60. Why won't you tell me?
61. Why are you afraid of authority?
62. What happened when you were a child?
63. What dark things could your father possibly have put you through in order to cast such a looming shadow on your future?
64. How many people did he kill?
65. How many were held in your room?
66. How did that make you feel?
67. Did he threaten to kill you?
68. That's how you lost your thumb and your middle finger?
69. Back to your story, why did you run toward when your heart was running away?
70. Weren't you suspicious?
71. What made you do it in the first place?
72. How did she upset you so?
73. Jealousy is a monster, have your parents ever taught you that?
74. And did the others do the same thing?
75. How did it feel to see their dying love; fear, as you call it?
76. Why is love fear?
77. Why did you keep them?
78. Where did you keep them?
79. Was this in part revenge for what your father did to you?
80. So now, what did you do when you approached your house?
81. Could you feel the presence of curious pigs, searching your house for rotten meat?
82. Did you gasp when you saw the cars out front?
83. Why did you continue to walk towards the house?
84. Why didn't your heart burst out of your chest?
85. When you saw the yellow tape, why didn't your brain read the implied meaning of "caution"?
86. Did it hurt when they handcuffed you?
87. How hard were you crying?
88. Who's voice did you call out?
89. Are those all-- 6 women you had in your fathers room?
90. Do you feel regret?
91. Do you love them?
92. Do you miss them?
93. Were they your only friends?
94. Did you... in any way perform necrophilia?
95. You do know that that's a whole nother charge?
96. How do you think their parents and families feel?
97. Why don't you care?
98. How can you possibly think you're their your own family?
99. Because you never had a real family?
100. Well, would you consider two men in a jail cell a family?
And he was sentenced with 40 years to life.
2. Why, being where you were, in the world did you decide to come home?
3. That feeling, the deep feeling of foreboding you say you had in your stomach, why did you follow it?
4. Don't you realize that that's how horror movies begin?
5. How wet was the steering wheel from your sweat on the way back home?
6. What thoughts were going through your head, that night when the sky fell on your car and seemed to trap the air inside of it?
7. Why were you so anxious?
8. Did you drive safely, or did you rush home?
9. You moved slowly, but with a trepidacious apprehension that made everything speed-up?
10. Were you pulled over by the police?
11. Why didn't you stop?
12. What was in the back of your car?
13. What was in your house?
14. Did the sirens blare so loud that you're sanity was dispersed; did you lose all sense of reality?
15. Did you hit a car during your chase?
16. Was the body in the back okay?
17. When did you find yourself crying?
18. How did you feel when you saw two more police cars?
19. How did you feel when you saw their sirens?
20. How did the barricade feel?
21. How did you manage to slip past it, and lose the police?
22. How cool was the river that you drove the car into?
23. How hard was it to heave the body from the sunken car, when the water was pressing down on your very conscience?
24. What did the body say to you?
25. Why did you pause before putting hatchet to the body?
26. Why did your hands tremble?
27. Why was your face twisted in agony, in utter pain with each short cut of the hatchet?
28. Why did you think the deed was finished?
29. Why did you leave the hatchet in the water, the consuming, cold water that held all of your secrets?
30. How long did it take you to walk home?
31. Was it cold outside?
32. Why was your mouth struggling with an emotion to portray?
33. What were you thinking?
34. Why were your thoughts cluttered with red?
35. Why did you remember home?
36. Why did it begin raining after you left the water?
37. Was it perhaps a metaphor?
38. Do you think about that sometimes?
39. Do you ever wonder if nature held your future, and that you merely cut the body in accordance to prophecy?
40. Why did your footsteps hasten?
41. Why did you put your hands deep into your coat?
42. Why were you murmuring to yourself?
43. What were you murmuring to yourself?
44. Why did you go to hail a cab, but withdraw your hand?
45. Why did you think about home?
46. What was waiting for you at home?
47. As you walked home, did you feel your heart beat?
48. Did your heart beat match your steps?
49. Why did your heart beat go so much faster than your steps?
50. Have you ever thought that perhaps, in some pre-destined way, your heart was trying to put up a shield?
51. What if your heart was telling you to stay away, what if it was trying as hard as it could to run away?
52. Why didn't you listen to your heart?
53. Were your steps that much more persuasive?
54. Or was it your psychic energy, warning you of an intrusion?
55. Maybe it was that they were found, that all your precious loves were found, on that dark, oppressing night.
56. What color was your hands?
57. Was it an exact shade of vermillion?
58. You sure it wasn't scarlet?
59. What was waiting for you at home?
60. Why won't you tell me?
61. Why are you afraid of authority?
62. What happened when you were a child?
63. What dark things could your father possibly have put you through in order to cast such a looming shadow on your future?
64. How many people did he kill?
65. How many were held in your room?
66. How did that make you feel?
67. Did he threaten to kill you?
68. That's how you lost your thumb and your middle finger?
69. Back to your story, why did you run toward when your heart was running away?
70. Weren't you suspicious?
71. What made you do it in the first place?
72. How did she upset you so?
73. Jealousy is a monster, have your parents ever taught you that?
74. And did the others do the same thing?
75. How did it feel to see their dying love; fear, as you call it?
76. Why is love fear?
77. Why did you keep them?
78. Where did you keep them?
79. Was this in part revenge for what your father did to you?
80. So now, what did you do when you approached your house?
81. Could you feel the presence of curious pigs, searching your house for rotten meat?
82. Did you gasp when you saw the cars out front?
83. Why did you continue to walk towards the house?
84. Why didn't your heart burst out of your chest?
85. When you saw the yellow tape, why didn't your brain read the implied meaning of "caution"?
86. Did it hurt when they handcuffed you?
87. How hard were you crying?
88. Who's voice did you call out?
89. Are those all-- 6 women you had in your fathers room?
90. Do you feel regret?
91. Do you love them?
92. Do you miss them?
93. Were they your only friends?
94. Did you... in any way perform necrophilia?
95. You do know that that's a whole nother charge?
96. How do you think their parents and families feel?
97. Why don't you care?
98. How can you possibly think you're their your own family?
99. Because you never had a real family?
100. Well, would you consider two men in a jail cell a family?
And he was sentenced with 40 years to life.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Megabytes 1984.
So plug your megabytes into the mainframe, and take this dose of whatever's in here.
It may hurt to not understand the issue that's at hand, but you won't think twice due to whatever's in here.
Oh, so your megabytes are in dissarray, you say? Were they ever in array? Don't think about it, just take whatever's in here.
I said for you to shush, let the mainframe work; bequiet and take whatever's in here.
So tell me about yourself, tell me about these various electrons and atoms, megabytes and terrabytes flowing through your "existence." Or are you nothing but an extension of the mainframe, tell me that? The mainframe that doesn't exist? But it matters not, since you're to take whatever's in here.
It's all we have left, I'm sorry. Just take whatever's in here and I assure you you will feel better.
Oh no, oh no. I did not expect this. Whatever's in here must be poisonous, or perhaps you haven't taken it right. Regardless, your electrons and megabytes have gone away, probably to heaven. You'll probably fall over in a minute. And I declare to you, for that predicament, you need to take whatever's in here...
It may hurt to not understand the issue that's at hand, but you won't think twice due to whatever's in here.
Oh, so your megabytes are in dissarray, you say? Were they ever in array? Don't think about it, just take whatever's in here.
I said for you to shush, let the mainframe work; bequiet and take whatever's in here.
So tell me about yourself, tell me about these various electrons and atoms, megabytes and terrabytes flowing through your "existence." Or are you nothing but an extension of the mainframe, tell me that? The mainframe that doesn't exist? But it matters not, since you're to take whatever's in here.
It's all we have left, I'm sorry. Just take whatever's in here and I assure you you will feel better.
Oh no, oh no. I did not expect this. Whatever's in here must be poisonous, or perhaps you haven't taken it right. Regardless, your electrons and megabytes have gone away, probably to heaven. You'll probably fall over in a minute. And I declare to you, for that predicament, you need to take whatever's in here...
Positively 1984.
Speaking metaphorically only, positively speaking, nothing is seen as so.
Speaking only metaphorically, nothing is seen as so, positively speaking.
Do you understand the play on words, by thinking of the different ways that it's good.
Speaking only metaphorically, why do you not log on to the world and search for the love, positively speaking.
Only positively speaking, a metaphor for everything that we lack is negative, and so I'm caught in my own fault.
Positively speaking, should I not be speaking in different words, words that don't hold negative connotations?
But nothing is seen as so, so why should it matter the outlook of this metaphor, speaking positively.
No one understands me, speaking positively, however metaphorically, if you decide to interpret it that way.
Though I doubt it, for nothing is seen as so.
Speaking only metaphorically, nothing is seen as so, positively speaking.
Do you understand the play on words, by thinking of the different ways that it's good.
Speaking only metaphorically, why do you not log on to the world and search for the love, positively speaking.
Only positively speaking, a metaphor for everything that we lack is negative, and so I'm caught in my own fault.
Positively speaking, should I not be speaking in different words, words that don't hold negative connotations?
But nothing is seen as so, so why should it matter the outlook of this metaphor, speaking positively.
No one understands me, speaking positively, however metaphorically, if you decide to interpret it that way.
Though I doubt it, for nothing is seen as so.
Grain, 1984.
To sift, to sit, and to sift is like a bad story.
A bad time of famine throughout the east, and a bad taste of wealth against Siddartha's tongue.
The grain is like the touch of Moses, and the resolve of the least favored
In the storehouse is not only what's to be caught, but also what is to be given to the ones that have everything.
Only, that is how it happens in the illusion where work is worth.
How corrupt, how corrupt and cojoiling is this teeth of this beast, who snaps you up with the idea of making it for yourself in the belly.
The humor in it is that even in being snatched up by the evil of the self, you're much more content with the evil of self than with the good of others.
And some would ask, why is that?
But some will sit and laugh, and drink.
And fight.
A bad time of famine throughout the east, and a bad taste of wealth against Siddartha's tongue.
The grain is like the touch of Moses, and the resolve of the least favored
In the storehouse is not only what's to be caught, but also what is to be given to the ones that have everything.
Only, that is how it happens in the illusion where work is worth.
How corrupt, how corrupt and cojoiling is this teeth of this beast, who snaps you up with the idea of making it for yourself in the belly.
The humor in it is that even in being snatched up by the evil of the self, you're much more content with the evil of self than with the good of others.
And some would ask, why is that?
But some will sit and laugh, and drink.
And fight.
1984.
1. And from the eyes of that golden chalice, I hear the word suspend.
It brings tears to my eyes, going back through my geneality, bringing lashes to mine older.
Crimes against the paid ones wash over the side of my body, and make me restless against the grain of a solid table.
Suspension isn't all that bad, they say, when you've got a tube in your head.
2. Suspend the number of tries for you to have me fall from here. And you try it again and again, because of the cruelty and judgement in your sleep.Fell from the time of suspend, karma enraged and wrapped around my finger.The ligaments in my back broke.
It brings tears to my eyes, going back through my geneality, bringing lashes to mine older.
Crimes against the paid ones wash over the side of my body, and make me restless against the grain of a solid table.
Suspension isn't all that bad, they say, when you've got a tube in your head.
2. Suspend the number of tries for you to have me fall from here. And you try it again and again, because of the cruelty and judgement in your sleep.Fell from the time of suspend, karma enraged and wrapped around my finger.The ligaments in my back broke.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Communism.
From who's lips have you heard that communism is evil? Was it from the lips of your teachers? The mouths of your parents? The jowls of the movie screen? Have your teachers, parents, has the media ever explained to you what true communism is? Well, my friends, disliking without knowledge is simply ignorant, and as we can see, ignorance is something thoroughly promoted in this glorious country of ours.
Marxists, or communists, base their political views on their philosophical views. They practice dialectics, which is to say that they use contradictions to resolve a problem and that everything is made up of opposing forces. Dialectics also sees things at their essence, rather than simply looking at their appearance, to find that everything is relative. Change is also a big part of dialectics, and it stresses cause and effect.
To grasp dialectics might be confusing, but it can also be as easy as 1-2-3.
One - Everything is made of opposing forces.
Two- Gradual change leads to turning points where one force overcomes the other.
Three- Change moves in spirals.
http://home.igc.org/~venceremos/whatheck.htm
These laws hold true everywhere; science, the social theatre and psychological realm. And these true thoughts are the basis for communist philosophy.
To put Marxism-- often considered true communism-- into laymen terms is very difficult, and nearly impossible. But I will try to explain it. Marxism is a branch off of socialism, which is a very wide ideology and simply asks for the degradation of individual states and countries, and is called the intermediary between capitalism and communism. First of all, communism is a utopia. Every one's classless and equal. Marxism is the means to get to the end, as communists will say. Karl Marx believed that the proletariat must revolt, and only when the proletariat comes up against the bourgeoisie will communism start.
Now, due to American propaganda and the selfishness that goes along with capitalism, the ideals of a communist world have been trampled and tossed aside without a second look. Since the idea of collectivism threatens to take away a person's individual money, people get protective and ignorant. People also argue that communism has killed 20 million people, which is not completely true. Even though communists like Stalin and Lenin and Mao have tried to achieve communism, they haven't and ended up with totalitarian governments.
In truth, in a communist world there would be no alienation of labor, which can be translated into alienation from labor. Alienation of labor is most apparent in factory work, where you are not individually involved in your product, and can not feel pride for your work. In capitalism, labor has become a Means rather than an End. Means meaning it's become a way to get money rather than a way to live your life, or a tradition, or a cultural statement. In communism, labor is an End, meaning that you can do what ever you'd like and be able to take pride in it; labor would also be one of the main reason for you to live. Say I was a butcher today, I could be a blacksmith tomorrow. Since everyone is maintaining everyone, there's no limit to the dreams you can achieve.
Now, when it comes to brainwashing, doesn't capitalism brainwash you too? But capitalism does it for the worst, making you selfish under the guise of making it for yourself. Pulling yourSELF up by your boot straps. Capitalist governments change their information all the time, and thoroughly control their media and other forms of getting information out to the people. However, in capitalism, since there is no social class, there is no way to misinform a group of people on a widespread basis.
So, in a nutshell, communism is the equality of all people, and a higher level of consciousness. Many things can go wrong in getting to communism, but communism itself is a pure utopia.
Marxists, or communists, base their political views on their philosophical views. They practice dialectics, which is to say that they use contradictions to resolve a problem and that everything is made up of opposing forces. Dialectics also sees things at their essence, rather than simply looking at their appearance, to find that everything is relative. Change is also a big part of dialectics, and it stresses cause and effect.
To grasp dialectics might be confusing, but it can also be as easy as 1-2-3.
One - Everything is made of opposing forces.
Two- Gradual change leads to turning points where one force overcomes the other.
Three- Change moves in spirals.
http://home.igc.org/~venceremos/whatheck.htm
These laws hold true everywhere; science, the social theatre and psychological realm. And these true thoughts are the basis for communist philosophy.
To put Marxism-- often considered true communism-- into laymen terms is very difficult, and nearly impossible. But I will try to explain it. Marxism is a branch off of socialism, which is a very wide ideology and simply asks for the degradation of individual states and countries, and is called the intermediary between capitalism and communism. First of all, communism is a utopia. Every one's classless and equal. Marxism is the means to get to the end, as communists will say. Karl Marx believed that the proletariat must revolt, and only when the proletariat comes up against the bourgeoisie will communism start.
Now, due to American propaganda and the selfishness that goes along with capitalism, the ideals of a communist world have been trampled and tossed aside without a second look. Since the idea of collectivism threatens to take away a person's individual money, people get protective and ignorant. People also argue that communism has killed 20 million people, which is not completely true. Even though communists like Stalin and Lenin and Mao have tried to achieve communism, they haven't and ended up with totalitarian governments.
In truth, in a communist world there would be no alienation of labor, which can be translated into alienation from labor. Alienation of labor is most apparent in factory work, where you are not individually involved in your product, and can not feel pride for your work. In capitalism, labor has become a Means rather than an End. Means meaning it's become a way to get money rather than a way to live your life, or a tradition, or a cultural statement. In communism, labor is an End, meaning that you can do what ever you'd like and be able to take pride in it; labor would also be one of the main reason for you to live. Say I was a butcher today, I could be a blacksmith tomorrow. Since everyone is maintaining everyone, there's no limit to the dreams you can achieve.
Now, when it comes to brainwashing, doesn't capitalism brainwash you too? But capitalism does it for the worst, making you selfish under the guise of making it for yourself. Pulling yourSELF up by your boot straps. Capitalist governments change their information all the time, and thoroughly control their media and other forms of getting information out to the people. However, in capitalism, since there is no social class, there is no way to misinform a group of people on a widespread basis.
So, in a nutshell, communism is the equality of all people, and a higher level of consciousness. Many things can go wrong in getting to communism, but communism itself is a pure utopia.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Now think about it.
Soul jar killed in a pass dime whore, urn necessary debt, don't you know. Ale put to gather in a mad main's head ant put in do axe shun bye the hire up. Dyed they heffer sink a clout the camel knees in thoughs pour sit e's?
Friday, November 7, 2008
November TODAY. 1984.
Psychologist
Scarlet
The Psychologist brought home a picture he drew of his mom, his self and his dog. All the school had was red crayons. With a beaming smile, The Psychologist showed his mother the crude drawing. Her eyes dilated. Her smile turned into disgust and her eyebrows turned into hatred. She grabbed The Psychologist by his neck. Never again, she breathed, never again will you bring that, that, devil, into my house. His eyes were wide and filled with fear. She burned the picture, his mom and his dog going up in flames.
Prussian blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. His teacher told him to come back from time-out. He reluctantly pulled away from the window. What’s wrong with you? she silently muttered to herself.
Giving tree green
She was sitting outside in the grass, crying. The Psychologist didn’t understand why she was crying. He went over to inquire about her condition, and when he asked about it she smacked him. He didn’t understand. So he sat in the grass beside her and cried.
Timberwolf/Old man granite gray
He got into his father’s van. It was one of the few days that he got to see him, and they had arrived at Niagara Falls. He was excited. He opened the door and it hit the car beside him. The car now held a big gray streak. His father was infuriated. He punched The Psychologist in the face once, twice, three times, and screamed profanities at his innocent child. The Psychologist cried. He didn’t understand why his father was doing this, and so he cried.
Torch red
His house burned down. He stared at it with tears in his eyes. At his aunt's house he learned that neither his mom nor his dog survived.
Wild blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. He was muttering to himself. The principal called him into her office, What's wrong with you? She breathed.
Heavy black
He held the gun, shaking. The voices urged him on. Do it, they chanted. Do it, do it, do it. Another voice intruded his head. Don’t, please don’t kill me. The sleeping man was talking to him. Do it, No, don’t! Do it! No, don’t! Do it now! No! No please, have mercy! With a hideous scream he shot himself in the head.
Alizarin and electric indigo
He awoke in the hospital. You just barely missed, son. You’re lucky. But you’re brain is severely damaged, and unfortunately you’ll most likely be in a wheelchair the rest of your life.
Outer space and manatee
The Psychologist was comfortable in the patent leather burgundy chair. He looked around in amazement at all the certificates of completion, all the books and unnecessary curios. He looked at the psychologist’s face, at his warm smile, his round-rimmed wire framed glasses and his thinning hair and smiled. He felt warm. It felt like home. The psychologist told him they were going to play a game. He held up a picture with confused blots of black and white. Boy, he said, what do you see? The Psychologist answered, Love.
Corn
She was happy, sitting in the grass under the yellow leaves. He asked her why she was happy. She kissed him. He didn’t understand why she did, but now he was happy too.
Scarlet
The Psychologist brought home a picture he drew of his mom, his self and his dog. All the school had was red crayons. With a beaming smile, The Psychologist showed his mother the crude drawing. Her eyes dilated. Her smile turned into disgust and her eyebrows turned into hatred. She grabbed The Psychologist by his neck. Never again, she breathed, never again will you bring that, that, devil, into my house. His eyes were wide and filled with fear. She burned the picture, his mom and his dog going up in flames.
Prussian blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. His teacher told him to come back from time-out. He reluctantly pulled away from the window. What’s wrong with you? she silently muttered to herself.
Giving tree green
She was sitting outside in the grass, crying. The Psychologist didn’t understand why she was crying. He went over to inquire about her condition, and when he asked about it she smacked him. He didn’t understand. So he sat in the grass beside her and cried.
Timberwolf/Old man granite gray
He got into his father’s van. It was one of the few days that he got to see him, and they had arrived at Niagara Falls. He was excited. He opened the door and it hit the car beside him. The car now held a big gray streak. His father was infuriated. He punched The Psychologist in the face once, twice, three times, and screamed profanities at his innocent child. The Psychologist cried. He didn’t understand why his father was doing this, and so he cried.
Torch red
His house burned down. He stared at it with tears in his eyes. At his aunt's house he learned that neither his mom nor his dog survived.
Wild blue
The Psychologist looked outside. The sky was blue. He was muttering to himself. The principal called him into her office, What's wrong with you? She breathed.
Heavy black
He held the gun, shaking. The voices urged him on. Do it, they chanted. Do it, do it, do it. Another voice intruded his head. Don’t, please don’t kill me. The sleeping man was talking to him. Do it, No, don’t! Do it! No, don’t! Do it now! No! No please, have mercy! With a hideous scream he shot himself in the head.
Alizarin and electric indigo
He awoke in the hospital. You just barely missed, son. You’re lucky. But you’re brain is severely damaged, and unfortunately you’ll most likely be in a wheelchair the rest of your life.
Outer space and manatee
The Psychologist was comfortable in the patent leather burgundy chair. He looked around in amazement at all the certificates of completion, all the books and unnecessary curios. He looked at the psychologist’s face, at his warm smile, his round-rimmed wire framed glasses and his thinning hair and smiled. He felt warm. It felt like home. The psychologist told him they were going to play a game. He held up a picture with confused blots of black and white. Boy, he said, what do you see? The Psychologist answered, Love.
Corn
She was happy, sitting in the grass under the yellow leaves. He asked her why she was happy. She kissed him. He didn’t understand why she did, but now he was happy too.
October Today, 1984.
There are five doors in front of him.
One is an arbitrary silver-red and shines with the brightness of a dull September evening.
One is a luscious yellow-green, which stinks of a human cesspool.
One is the dream of a million kings, gilded in gold with precious jewels adorning the knob.
One is a plain brown, boasting nothing but Jesus himself.
One is a bright orange, emitting heat with it that was eternally and slowly melting the hinges, but not enough to allow a peek.
He was to chose, for beyond one of those doors, infinite knowledge and wealth lie.
But he decided his pacifier was more interesting than anything else.
One is an arbitrary silver-red and shines with the brightness of a dull September evening.
One is a luscious yellow-green, which stinks of a human cesspool.
One is the dream of a million kings, gilded in gold with precious jewels adorning the knob.
One is a plain brown, boasting nothing but Jesus himself.
One is a bright orange, emitting heat with it that was eternally and slowly melting the hinges, but not enough to allow a peek.
He was to chose, for beyond one of those doors, infinite knowledge and wealth lie.
But he decided his pacifier was more interesting than anything else.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
How to break up with a girl.
How to break-up
Try #1.
Hey baby. I uh, I'm sorry to say, but I uh, I uh, I... I don't... I don't think we should like... date anymore. Especially since I fucked your best friend... So uh, yeah, bye.
FAIL.
Try #2.
Take her to dinner.
Haha, yeah. So are you enjoying yourself? Good, good. Well, I just want you to know that I'm leaving you. Oh, don't look at me like that. You knew it was coming. Ever since you started talking to that... that cock. That pompous dick. I've felt that you... you sort of liked him. And you know, I can't have my girlfriend liking some other dude, ya' know? And then you started spending more and more time with him. So guess what? I decided to have my own little fuck-buddy. Your best friend. So, I'd like you to know, I'm leaving. Have a happy forever, bitch.
Give her the bill and leave.
FAIL.
Try #3.
I love you but I have to go. My family's moving to Africa. (Lie). I wish we could, but that long-distance... I don't think so baby.
FAIL.
Try#4.
Kill her.
FAIL.
Try#5.
Pull a houdini.
FAIL.
Try #6.
Okay... listen. I'm sorry, but I feel like we've sort of... drifted away, ya' know? I mean, we have two choices. Try to make this thing work or... end it here... What do you think we should do? Mm, okay. I agree. But can we still be friends? Good. Kiss her goodbye. BTW BITCH I FUCKED YOUR BEST FRIEND. Bye!
SUCCESS!
Try #1.
Hey baby. I uh, I'm sorry to say, but I uh, I uh, I... I don't... I don't think we should like... date anymore. Especially since I fucked your best friend... So uh, yeah, bye.
FAIL.
Try #2.
Take her to dinner.
Haha, yeah. So are you enjoying yourself? Good, good. Well, I just want you to know that I'm leaving you. Oh, don't look at me like that. You knew it was coming. Ever since you started talking to that... that cock. That pompous dick. I've felt that you... you sort of liked him. And you know, I can't have my girlfriend liking some other dude, ya' know? And then you started spending more and more time with him. So guess what? I decided to have my own little fuck-buddy. Your best friend. So, I'd like you to know, I'm leaving. Have a happy forever, bitch.
Give her the bill and leave.
FAIL.
Try #3.
I love you but I have to go. My family's moving to Africa. (Lie). I wish we could, but that long-distance... I don't think so baby.
FAIL.
Try#4.
Kill her.
FAIL.
Try#5.
Pull a houdini.
FAIL.
Try #6.
Okay... listen. I'm sorry, but I feel like we've sort of... drifted away, ya' know? I mean, we have two choices. Try to make this thing work or... end it here... What do you think we should do? Mm, okay. I agree. But can we still be friends? Good. Kiss her goodbye. BTW BITCH I FUCKED YOUR BEST FRIEND. Bye!
SUCCESS!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
November 5th
For twenty seven days
Slowly it became taut
The net beneath our feet
So the lesser one could drop
And now he has
From his acrobatic stand, fell
Unto the earthen ground
And dissolved to wet, hot sand
For weeks now they swung
Back and forth
And traded the baton with a
Condescending force
But now the rope has caught
And the giant cane him come to play
Pulling out the unable
From the taxing fray
And he's humiliated
Laying on the netting of the rope,
Make up smeared
His heart lacks hope
And comparing to a joust,
With two men with poles
Galloping toward eachother
Looking to make a hole
Each gathering friends, fans the like
Cheering for the one
Who they think might.
But when the lesser
Gets impaled by the stick
The fans cry out,
It's the end of his wick.
And so now the strong light is brandished anew
Atop of the thin, tight rope
The net is still taut, for they don't know what he'll do
He might jump off and diminish our hope.
Amen.
Slowly it became taut
The net beneath our feet
So the lesser one could drop
And now he has
From his acrobatic stand, fell
Unto the earthen ground
And dissolved to wet, hot sand
For weeks now they swung
Back and forth
And traded the baton with a
Condescending force
But now the rope has caught
And the giant cane him come to play
Pulling out the unable
From the taxing fray
And he's humiliated
Laying on the netting of the rope,
Make up smeared
His heart lacks hope
And comparing to a joust,
With two men with poles
Galloping toward eachother
Looking to make a hole
Each gathering friends, fans the like
Cheering for the one
Who they think might.
But when the lesser
Gets impaled by the stick
The fans cry out,
It's the end of his wick.
And so now the strong light is brandished anew
Atop of the thin, tight rope
The net is still taut, for they don't know what he'll do
He might jump off and diminish our hope.
Amen.
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