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Topics - BADGE OF HONOR

#1
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / ATTN: PAYNE
June 09, 2010, 09:04:07 AM
Since you're not on AIM:  #3953
#2
Or Kill Me / And then...nothing.
May 12, 2010, 06:53:06 AM
It was the end: September 21.

I came home from school to a houseful of anxiety.  My mother, in her usual chair.  My father, sitting nearby.  I could tell something was wrong even before I heard her short, shallow gasps.  She had choked on a cream cheese danish--she often had trouble swallowing food--and had gone into respiratory distress.  Her lungs finally lost the fight, but her body just didn't know it yet.

I think mom knew she was going to die that day.  She insisted that we call my sister, so that she could talk to her one last time with that wasted, wrecked voice.  She bore all of our ministrations with her usual stoicism--or perhaps just trying to breathe took so much concentration that she couldn't complain.  I remember, far into the night, discussing whether to give her more of the morphine that the hospice worker said might help.  "I don't want to kill you," I said.  She just looked at me.

At some point in the night she grew too weak to cough, so we took turns pounding her back.  It must have hurt.  In the morning, she told my dad "Happy birthday."  I don't know but I think those were her last words.

Later in the day.  Everyone else had left.  I was sitting by her bed, holding her hand when the realization slowly penetrated her breathing had changed, transformed from the tortured rasps of a runner to something almost mechanical.  It took me even longer to realize that she was no longer conscious.  I knew she wasn't ever going to wake up.  Just looking at her body heaving with every deep, slow, gurgling breath...I was intimately familiar with it.  I'd been keeping her alive for six months.  I'd known it was coming.  It was almost a relief to see the end...almost.

Still later.  My dad and the hospice lady had returned.  I went to the bathroom.  Perhaps mom had been waiting for me to leave the room, because when I came back her breathing had changed again.  Quiet breaths, with long pauses in between, pauses growing longer and longer.  I remember the sunlight streaming sideways into the room, touching on her beautiful white hair.  I remember crying as quietly as I could.  I remember my dad saying to her, "Shh.  It's okay, you can go now.  It's okay."  Eventually there were no more breaths.

And that was the end.
#3
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / So uh
March 07, 2010, 07:43:15 AM
I guess I'm back.  Why did you all change your names?!
#4
IF I HAVEN'T DECIDED TO SHUN YOU YET, HERE'S YOUR CHANCE TO SAY SOMETHING THAT I CAN GLEEFULLY MISCONSTRUE IN ORDER TO DECLARE YOU DEAD TO ME.  IT MAKES ME FEEL MORALLY SUPERIOR, PLUS IT'S THE ONLY WAY I CAN ACHIEVE SEXUAL SATISFACTION WITH A WOMAN.
#5
Or Kill Me / A rough draft
December 04, 2008, 09:43:25 AM
As is customary for me, I went down to the desert for Thanksgiving.  Usually I go hiking and spend a lot of time outside, but sadly it snowed a lot, causing the top layer of dirt to become mud, and trapping me inside a cabin with ten adults and four toddlers.  So I split my time standing outside in the snow, to escape from the noise, and reading about South American religion, to distract from the noise.  So I had time to think.

My big book O South American religion started, naturally, at the beginning.  But the author was insistant in pointing out that while some begin with nothing, which is subsequently populated with the world by a supreme being, many do not.  Some traditions don't address the question of where we came from at all.  This started me wondering about the Big Bang theory, and whether the scientists who developed it would have thought up something else if they weren't so ingrained with the idea of something coming from nothing.  And if that theory would have been supported by different evidence.  But I quickly abandoned that, because I know shit-all about the BBT and I wasn't anywhere near a place to look it up.

Then I started thinking about nothing.  The concept.  The fact that, although it is completely impossible for a person to experience nothing (because the act of experiencing would create something), it's still there.  The idea.  It's not darkness, it's not quiet, it's not flatness, it's...nothing.  The closest we can come is during sleep, when time ceases to exist, and the physical world falls away.  All that's left is dreams, which, even if remembered, make no sense.  It can be argued that it's because dreams are merely the product of percolating brain juices, but I prefer to think that it's because dreams occur in a completely different universe, where time and space do not exist. 

Let me back up.

Many animals possess persistant spacial memory.  Squirrels, for example, depend on being able to remember where they stashed their loot.  Humans possess this talent in glorified truckloads.  Humans remember places.  They remember the names of places.  And, especially, importantly, they remember places they haven't even been.  Humans remember things that happened, and try to pre-remember things that will happen.  Humans weave an entire world, an entire universe, all tangled up with meaning and significance, overlaid over the rocks and sticks of the planet.  The very act of being conscious and observing things creates more and more layers, some shared, some unique, which all make up the tiny microcosm of the mind.  A teeny, tiny bit of the universe--but a fractal bit.  A subset.  Limited only by scale.  And what is left when you fall asleep and let go of the larger set?  Just yourself.  And what makes it still the same when you wake up?  Your memory, stubbornly insisting that today will be like yesterday, and the day before...
#6
Discordian Recipes / I'M FUCKING SICK OF BACON
November 29, 2008, 12:21:56 AM
IT'S GREAT IN MODERATION.

YOU ALL DISGUST ME.

THAT IS ALL.
#7
This will hopefully be a regular thing because I like to cook and it forces me to do my dishes.  The format will be: ingredients for all dishes, then instructions on how to cook everything at once cause that's how I roll.




HERE IS A DINNER FOR TWO THAT I COOKED TONIGHT AND ATE ALONE  :cry:

Sauteed apples & onions
1/2 large white onion
1 apple--I used Gala because that's what I had, but any tart variety should work
horseradish
fresh ground nutmeg--I have one of those whole nutmegs/grater deals, the end product is much sharper and more aromatic than pre-ground.  Also great in leek & potato soup, by the way.

I also considered putting in ginger, mustard, turmeric, cinnamon, or curry powder.  Anything warm and spicy would have worked.

Rosemary Pork Chops
2 pork chops
handful of rosemary
handful of garlic cloves

Mashed potatoes
2 potatoes
milk
(not as boring as it looks)

First things first, chop those potatoes up in little chunks and throw em in some boiling water.  Then slice your onion and put it in a skillet with some butter.  Cook to desired degree.  Slice apple, add to skillet.  Throw on desired spices.  Set aside.  Don't overcook or the apple will get mushy!  I learned this because I took too long deciding what to put on them :(
Chop each garlic clove in half or so, heat in a skillet with rosemary and olive oil. 
Remember those potatoes?  They should be boiled half to death now.  Mash the crap out of them!  (note to self: buy a potato masher)
Oh crap that garlic is looking a little brown.  No matter!  Scoop them out and put them in the potatoes.  Yum.
Throw your pork chops into the hot skillet, salt and pepper til they look good.  Cook til pink inside, especially if you're like me and leave the finding of a clean plate til the last minute, the residual heat will finish the job.


Yay food. 
#8
Discordian Recipes / Corn syrup: bad or just evil?
September 15, 2008, 01:43:00 AM
Anyway, I have a recipe for havregrynskage that calls for 1/4 c corn syrup.  Would molasses be a good alternative?  Also a little more proper, perhaps? 

Then it would be more like granola cakes.  Holy crap I am a genius.   :fap:
#9
Principia Discussion / Introducing myself
September 05, 2008, 08:48:30 PM
HI I'm new here!   :oops:
#10
Or Kill Me / YOU AND I ARE BUT JUICE pt III
June 28, 2008, 10:46:28 PM
I have said before, I am saying again:  people are social creatures.

Give 100 people a moral dilemma, and most of them will resolve it in the same way.  Is it cultural?  Probably.  But the thing is, we're all made of the same kind of meat.  The juices that run through our brains might vary from person to person, but evolution has handed us a very powerful tool.  We're on top of the food chain for a reason.  Millions of years of history screaming at us to use that lump of fat three feet above our ass.

And yet.

And yet everyone encounters stupid people every day.  People who just don't seem to think about anything.  Who don't consider how something works, or the consequences of their actions, or whether they might be wrong. 

The thing is, we don't really have to think any more.  Modern culture has removed that necessity.  It is entirely possible to fill up an entire day with noise.  Radio, tv, 24 hour news, movies, iPods, blackberries, malls, fast food drive throughs. 

And, worst of all, the internet.

Now, I love the internet.  I can't get enough of it.  It's a fountain of information and entertainment.  I've talked to some pretty interesting people on the internet.  But I also benefitted greatly from not having it for six months.  The internet cannot replace actual face-to-face social interaction.  On the internet, it's easy to find people who think similar things.  It's easy to ignore the people you disagree with.  It's even easier to forget that there's a thinking, feeling human being on the other end of the flame war.  The internet allows the creation of tiny cesspools

The internet made furries.

People who aren't furries automatically have a viscerally negative reaction to them.  It's just wrong.  As far as I know, furries didn't exist before the internet.  There is no victorian furry porn.  They represent, to me, a total and complete alienation from both the human race and all normal human interaction, especially sexuality.  How the hell does anyone look at a fox and think, "Ooh that is sexy"?  I say it is because a bunch of social retards sat in a circle and started agreeing with themselves.  Social affirmation is a great feeling, even in the flat, false society of the internet.  "Oh, your drawing of that fox fucking that lion was so great, do another one!" is probably the first praise any of these people have ever gotten. 

Actually, the internet isn't the root cause of any of this.  All it does is allow the socially awkward to remain inside and delude themselves into thinking that they have friends.  It is a tool, like the flint hand-axe, but unfortunately most people don't die if they use it the wrong way.  I can only foresee humans getting estranged and stranger, and so I say, as I have said before:  we are fucked.
#11
Or Kill Me / YOU AND I ARE BUT JUICE pt II
June 09, 2008, 07:38:08 PM
I've been listening to this song obsessively.  Over and over.  It's been bothering me, weighing on my like an abcess on my Id.  Something about the simple progression from childish attention-seeking to pure megalomania has been getting to me.  Words have been seeping in, and now they're spewing out.


Part of being human is ignoring how at the mercy you are to the rest of the world.  You hop into your car, despite the danger.  You go to work, hoping to have a good day.  You order a meal, not wanting to know what goes on in the kitchen.  But secretly, underneath it all, you know how you're just surfing on the edge of your own life, that shit can and will happen at any moment.

It manifests in the little escapes that we manufacture, in alcohol or drugs, or sex, or video games.  For the smallest moment, we no longer have to submit to life, for a moment our scope is sufficiently narrow that we can honestly say, "I am master of all I see."  In giving up control of the greater world, we gain that much more control over a tiny portion.

It manifests in ambition.  The need for control, for power, for moral authority.  For the ability to make change.  For the ability to destroy.

It's all from evolution.  It is thought that schizophrenics suffer from the same genes that initially gave us hominids the ability to think and create, the very genes that helped us become top of the food chain despite our physical weakness.  But intelligence isn't the only thing.  There is also drive, ambition.  The burning need to be faster, stronger, smarter, sexier, than any and all comers.  History tells me those who are the most grasping, the most driven, the most insane, are the ones divinely favored.  Happiness doesn't come into it.  They are holes needing filling by one thing--power. 

We are genetically programmed to have hierarchy.  Some people will be content with controlling the petty things in their lives, what to have for breakfast and whether to wear yellow today.  And others, others will need, desperately, to tell everybody else what to have for breakfast.  Those are the people who seek the positions of power, and those, sadly, are the ones who get it.  The old tired adage is true. 

We will always be a pile of rats clawing our way over our fellows towards the top.  That, I don't think, will ever change.  But what gets me every time, every god damned time is how the rats at the top are trusted by the people who think they put them there. 

The ultimate power is the power to destroy. 
#12
Or Kill Me / YOU AND I ARE BUT JUICE
June 06, 2008, 09:26:32 AM
The seat of the soul is the juices in your brain.  I know this because science tells me so.  Science tells me that imbalances in my serotonin levels can cause problems with mood.  Science tells me that good diet, regular exercise, and clean living can make live a healthy, happy life.  Science invented pills that are supposed to make it all better.

What science forgot to say is how seriously fucked up a person get without even realizing.  What science never mentions is how a person stops being a person and turns into a machine for eating, sleeping, and shitting, when those little "imbalances" happen.  That a formerly human being can crawl into a hole and die, and no one will notice.  That there are animals in human form walking among us, barely living, barely aware, simply existing in a tunnel of raw suffering, surviving from day to day.  Nobody notices.  Nobody cares. 

How many of us are really, truly happy?  How do you know you're not deluding yourself into thinking you are, but deep down, you know you aren't as human as you think?  That you have failed to reach that sublime level of harmony, that near unattainable state, where all is well with the world?  You can't achieve that state without shoving your head up your own ass, because even if you find internal order, all you have to do is look at your fellow "human" to see that the world as a whole is fucked.

All because we have failed to master the juices in our brain.

It has never been mind over matter.  Never.  Everything that you think and feel, happens because of chemicals seeping in the collection of fatty tissue encased in your skull.  Your logical processes are affected by the levels of hormones floating about your bloodstream.  You can truly have moments of stupidity, not because you are stupid, but because you are a tenuous consciousness in a flawed vehicle. 

And what happens when your body suffers little shocks, over and over?  It adapts.  It adjusts.  You ignore the filthy hobo in the street every day, until he just stops registering on your optical nerves.  You know your friends are depressed, or on drugs, or even mentally disturbed, but you just can't help them.  You can barely help yourself.  You take your pills in the hopes that tomorrow will be a little brighter, but really, what are you doing?  Painting sunshine on a jail cell wall.  Because the world is fucked.

We are fucked. 

The seat of the soul is juices long gone bad.
#13
Or Kill Me / Iceberg
December 16, 2006, 10:59:05 PM
You're on a cruise on the Arctic Ocean.  The travel agent showed you breathtaking vistas of ice and snow, northern cities lit up like Christmas, pictures of whales and albatrosses.  So why not?

So far you've done all right.  You've explored the bars (but gave up on the fancy drinks and settled down with your favorite beer).  You've gone out with the rest of the herd into said cities, to get even more drunk, to give money to obliging pale-skinned round-hipped women.  Then eventually you stumble back to lie in your own narrow bed while the world spins around you.

You've learned a lot about the ship.  You hear about The Captain all the time, though you've never seen him.  In fact the only crew you've ever seen is the maids and Security which acts as a sort of glorified nanny service, pouring sodden clients into their respective cabins.

Everyone's fucking everyone, but as time goes on people start to pair off, to huddle against the growing cold.  The sun appears less and less in the sky as you creep farther and farther north, and everyone withdraws inside, into the brightly lit casinos and bars which make their own little aurora borealii on the dark water.

You hold back, though, somehow.  You watch everyone else and you wonder just how you're supposed to enjoy yourself.  You feel yourself moving with the herd, you do what everyone else is doing, but underneath it all a secret voice is asking, what's the point...?

One day you stumble onto the observation deck.  A crowd of people is gathered against the railing.  You wander over to see what they're looking at and see, in the distance, a mound of white. 

"It's an iceberg!" an overly-tanned woman exclaims. 

You stand and watch at the rail.  Gradually the others grow bored with the ship's slow progress and fade away, but something makes you stay and watch.  Your legs grow tired and you shift from foot to foot, but still you don't retire to the comfort of the dining room.

Hours pass.  Slowly the mound grows larger, develops depth and substance.  It develops character, crags and folds.  You hope that The Captain will steer the ship closer to give you a chance to see it, to really give it a look.  And maybe, just maybe, The Captain does just that because the mound turns into a hill, than a mountain, radiating cold light high above your head.

You stare, thrilled by this strange phenomenon.  A real life iceberg.  Suddenly the clouds part and the sun breaks into the sky and you see, you really see it.  You see all the flaws and the dirt and the dead fish and the ice plankton and the grime that looks like dried blood.  You look down, and see the part nobody remembers, that you're only looking at the tip of it, and you see all the lumps and projections of the kind that, you remember, killed the Titanic.

You draw back, afraid.  The ship is so close.  What is The Captain doing?!  He'll kill you all if you get any closer.  He must be insane, you think, forgetting your wishes of just a few hours previous.

You run, almost, back to your tiny cabin and huddle under the thin blankets.  Slowly, as the dreaded grinding crash does not come, you relax, then finally fall asleep.  You dream of ice and regret.

The next day you curse yourself for not really participating in the drunken revelry and throw yourself into the festivities.  What's the point of refusing ignorance if there is no bliss to be had?



And somewhere, The Captain smiles.
#14
Or Kill Me / I've been thinking about death a lot lately
November 03, 2006, 07:37:17 AM
I watched my mother die about a month ago.  She died of lung cancer, and it would be nice to say she died in her sleep but actually she lapsed into a coma from lack of oxygen.  Her last conscious hours were filled with the terror and misery of slow suffocation.  Her breath was the long slow struggle of a coffee pot at full gargle.  For 24 hours.  Finally her breaths became fainter and fainter, and then, almost imperceptibly, she didn't breathe at all.

So I've been thinking a lot about death lately.

Actually I want to die.  Sometimes I want it so bad I can taste it.  I don't want to have to wait for the inevitable, miserable end.  I don't want advanced warning.  I don't want to spend my last hours knowing I'm going to die but fighting against it anyway.  I want my death to be sudden, violent, and unexpected.

I'm not actually suicidal, though.  Sure, my life is shit, but if that were a good reason to die it'd be Earth, Population 200.  So when I drive to work I ponder what'd happen if the semi next to me blew a tire but I don't try to help it along.

...

When I arrived at work tonight I arrived at chaos.  It seems the Bigwig, the Founder himself, was coming to visit.  As I've mentioned before, I work inventory in the distribution center for a well-known contact lens distribution company (which you've probably heard of).  On a normal night I spend four hours standing around counting things.  Not the most exciting job ever, but at least I don't have to deal with The Public.  But this was not a normal night.  Tonight I arrived and was told I was going to...dust. 

Those who have been in warehouses have already let out a peal of laughter.  Dusting a warehouse is like icing a shit cake.  I was given a rag that had clearly been used to dust the warehouse the last time it happened (maybe a decade ago), and I set about smearing the grime around.

It's really a pointless job.  There's only so much you can do with full shelves.  And really, how long was this guy going to be there?  Maybe 15 minutes walkthrough.  I imagined him, a faceless Donald Trump with a pair of white gloves.  He wipes it across a shelf, frowns at the result, and announces, "You're fired.  You're all fired!" 

In the grand scheme of things, a bit of dust really doesn't matter.  But in the grand scheme of things, nothing matters really.  Everyone with eyes can see that human civilisation is going to shit.  Either God or Mother Nature or North Korea is going to bomb the everliving fuck out of us and we'll all go down in the savagery and chaos of anarchy. 

Now some of you might be getting visions of Mad Max dancing about in his head.  I say, fuck that shit.  I hate camping with the passion normally reserved for homofags and dirty hippies; no way in fuck am I going to live the rest of my life without water or electricity.  Also, I am nearly blind and would have to survive on my shitty, shitty glasses after my contacts tore to shreds on my eyes.  But I probably wouldn't survive that long, because people like me are subject to rape and pillage.  I have a vagina; ergo I am commodity. 

No, I have no illusions about the dystopian future.  When armageddon comes, I'll finally have a good excuse to kill myself.  Then I'll eat every narcotic I own and take one final, hot bath (heres to optimism).



Or motherfucking kill me. 


RBG,
had to say it.
#15
Or Kill Me / I like this dude
February 15, 2006, 03:45:21 AM
Cause he says such exciting things as religion inhibits rational thinking.
#16
Or Kill Me / A future conversation
February 14, 2006, 05:01:48 PM
Two young men approach a dilapidated house somewhat nervously.  They ring the bell and stand around adjusting their dark suits.  Finally, a scruffy individual opens the door.

Them:  Hello, I'm Elder Genericsen and this is Elder Thatguyson.  We're representing th--
Us:  I know.  I've been waiting for you, I have a question to ask.  Won't you come inside?

The two men enter the house with some trepidation, but are relieved that someone finally wants to talk to them.  The interior is surprisingly pleasant, and they settle down on a comfy couch.

Us:  I have a question about the nature of God.  Do you think you can answer that?
Them:  Well, certainly.
Us:  Okay.  Well first, you guys don't hold truck with magic, right?
Them:  We think it's a dark path to travel.
Us:  Okay, don't elaborate.  
Us:  So you guys follow the whole Judeo-Christian mythos of God being a giant beard in the sky, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent right?
Them:  Well, I don't know if I would characterise--
Us:  Yes or no?
Them:  Um, yes.
Us:  And if anyone has enough faith and prays hard enough can call on this giant beard in the sky and get it to help them out, yes?
Them:  Yes.
Us:  And yet, though He will pay attention to everyone's individual nitpicks, he has yet to bother with any massive human crisis, especially not the ones engendered in His name.  
Them:  You don't know God's plan...
Us:  I know, I know, God's ineffible, which also means you don't know God's plan either.  
Us:  So here's my question:  there's this omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, ineffible force that you can call upon personally to aid you in any situation...
Us:  How is that not magic?
#17
Or Kill Me / Logic and Belief
January 27, 2006, 05:00:46 PM
The other day I walked by a couple of Mormon missionaries.  Naturally I pretended that they didn't exist, but was confused by their presence in this northern Utah town.  Who are they going to convert?  Almost everyone, even the international students, are already Of The Faith.  

After more contemplation, I decided that LDS and other conservative Christian faiths like to do the whole re-born-again thing.  Reaffirming the faith is a big way to make sure that people stay after the initial emotional rush of converting has passed, or to keep the people who have grown up with it from getting bored.  Basically, it's a way to keep the faithful from thinking on a non-emotional basis about the nature of their own religion.

This, then, is the main reason why I have trouble with religion.  Abstract concepts and emotions just shouldn't mix so blatantly.

But then, I contemplated some more.  Was what I was thinking really rational either?  If "The Truth" is just what we choose to believe, and if belief is inherently emotion-based, even the coldest of science is a form of religion which just happens to have more facts and arguments at hand to affirm and uphold "The Truth".  I guess this is why people who were raised in the same place at the same time by the same culture can both violently reject evolution and firmly uphold it.  To each faction, "The Truth" is perfectly evident--it's just a matter of which logic system to adhere to.

Anyway, then I almost got sucked into the pitfall of relativism, but then decided that since I adhere to a particular system of logic--fact-based--I can still feel superior to religious idiots, because by my system they are incorrect.  I don't see why I should give their views any credence when they have chosen to believe in the wrong things.

I'm sure this has been gone over countless times, but it's good to do one's own thinking over such things.
#18
This is a PM I sent to him, but on second thought I decided that everyone ought to see it.  Some people have noticed that I bitch every time there's a major grudge-fest around here.  Well, here's your answer for why.



Horab:  let me explain my motivations to you, since you appear to be upset by what I said.  

I'm apparently an anachronism, because I uphold human decency and civil behavior.  Especially on the internet, where all we have to judge each other is our words.  Whenever someone stirs shit, I get pissed off.  It doesn't matter who it is.  

I was happy when Roger left for that couple of days, because that meant that (hopefully) peace would return to the boards.  Of course, that was not to be, but it was a respite.  So then you show up and start it up again, rehashing the same arguments for the sake of...whatever.  I can assume, but I don't know.  It's bad enough with Roger and Turd and Cain and Fnrodie and god knows who else around, ready to explode at the slightest provocation, without you getting all self-righteous.  I agree with you, I really do, but the way you acted was just as bad.  Ergo, my ill-will.  That will stop as soon as you stop acting like a jackass.

Maybe I'm stupid for wanting a little bit of peace in a place that is characterised by endless bickering and posturing.  Really, all I want is for everyone to just shut the fuck up every once in a while.



All I want is a little more decency and a little less hating.  I didn't even hate Eric or Aini, I just wished they'd stop being total asshats.  Civility is all I'm asking for.  For at least a couple days.  That's all I want.
#19
Or Kill Me / There is no oppressor anywhere
November 07, 2005, 10:23:28 PM
This morning as I exited my dorm I was confronted with the sight of a giant pile of garbage and a cubical construction entitled "The Wall of Oppression".  I didn't have any time until just now to examine it closely, but it was plastered with random pictures and sayings that We* are apparently supposed to identify with.  I barely paused to look closely at it, but there was a picture of "Big Brother is watching you" and somebody had cutely written, "But who is watching him?"

AAAAAAAAUUUUGGH!!!


So anyway, I immediately siezed the handy sharpie they had so nicely hung (ten bucks says it's gone tomorrow) and wrote, "I refuse to self-victimize.  I blame myself for my problems, not The Man.  The Man doesn't give a shit about me or anyone else.  It's up to us to dig ourselves out of whatever pestilential hell-hole we were born into.  There is no oppressor anywhere."  i.e. I harped on what I always harp on.  Of course, when I turn around, who is standing behind me but the most EXTREEEEEME feminist around, the one who is "transgendered" because apparently she wants to be part of the patriarchy or soemthing.  

So much for lying low.

Not that my reputation was all that great anyway.

There is no oppression anywhere!


*We being white middle class college kids
#20
Or Kill Me / Find out what YOU can do to help!
November 03, 2005, 11:01:03 PM
Sitting at lunch today, my little eye espied a flyer folded and stapled into that clever triangular shape so that it would stand up and be extra-visible.  IT was also brightly colored.  So I briefly interrupted my face-stuffing (I only had a couple minutes as I had tarried a bit too long) and picked it up.  

The flyer was full of the typical outrage one finds on liberal college campuses.  The School of Americas has been training assassins to mess with the politics of latin america since 1946!!  Here are some atrocities to get excited about!  It's time to put a stop to the madness!!  I snorted and rolled my eyes, then paused.  

It's a perfectly good cause.  Why am I being so cynical?  Or is it lazy?  Am I in denial?  Do I just not care about anything not directly connected to me?  Well, yes.  But also, I've seen it before.  Somebody decides to get all up in arms about something, a group is formed, flyers are made, a meeting is had--then, nothing.  It's a fad cause.  Just like Taco Bell and gender neutral bathrooms last year, and Coca-Cola and now the SOA this year.  Nothing really gets done, just paper and time is wasted.  

Oh, and a bunch of priveleged upper middle class white kids get to feel better about themselves.  Woooh.  Do you know what they're advocating?  "Direct non-violent action".  What in twelve fucks is that?  They want to organize a protest "in November".  Well I've got news for you:  it's already November.  It's too god damn late to go to Washington.  Lots of plans, lots of yelling on flyers--then, nothing.  Within a month it will be something else.

Same god damn time, same god damn station.  Over and over again.
#21
Or Kill Me / A story I may have told before
October 29, 2005, 08:24:56 PM
I woke up thinking about this story.  I also woke up in a great deal of pain, but whatever.

A teacher of mine (who was an interesting character in himself) used to be a veteranary aide for a livestock vet.  He had many entertaining stories, and this is one of them.

One day a man brought in his horse.  It was a big ol' draught horse, and on its shoulder was a big ol'...something.  A growth, perhaps?  Whatever it was, it was freakin huge.  Bigger than your head.  Lord knows why this guy didn't bring the horse in sooner.  

So the vet and his helpers kind of look each other, shrug, and the vet just decides hell, might as well cut into the sucker and see what's up.  So he cuts into it and out shoots--spurts, rather--a rain of maggots, pus, and stench.  The poor vet is drenched.  Hundreds and hundreds of maggots.  Remember, this thing was huge.  

So they cleaned out the wound, it took forever but they got it done.  The owner, horrified, takes his horse home, and the vet goes home to have a shower and a lie-down and burn his clothes.

End of story, right?  Wrong!

A couple weeks later, the owner brings his horse back.  There's a little...thing...on the horse's neck.  On the opposite side of the big thing.  Again, the vet shrugs and cuts into it.  Out spills just a little bit of pus and one maggot.  

One maggot.


That little bastard had chewed its way through the poor horse to get to the other side!!  The horse had a hole going all the way through!  Like a worm in an apple.  Man, that's just disgusting.



Moral of the story:  I'm sure I could make this into an interesting parable about politics or something but I'm too lazy.  DIY, damnit.
#22
Or Kill Me / Wankassery
October 26, 2005, 07:41:37 PM
Or, What the hell is wrong with being intelligent AND well-spoken?

Read this carefully:

Quote from: Roland BarthesA text is not a line of words releasing a single "theological" meaning (the "message" of the Author-God), but a multidimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash.

Now, I know what Mr. Barthes is getting at...sort of...after several hours of learning about linguistics, semiotics, structuralism, and post-structuralism (deconstruction).  So I know that he has made a point--the question is, is there any point to the point?  

Postmodernism and deconstruction are said to be "tools" by which people analyze the world and the products of it.  Many things are kept in mind, such as the influence of perception on meaning, the plasticity of perception, cultural relativism, the media by which messages are conveyed, etc etc etc.  It's the bastard child of psychology and sociology, with a little semiotics thrown in.  

When reading about these sort of things, they seem interesting enough.  

But try actually reading a postmodernist "scholarly" text.  


I dare you.


All of these interesting little bits and pieces don't actually add up to anything.  They have little to do with actual postmodern practices.  You want to know why?  Huh?

To put it simply, postmodern intelligentsia is infected with jargon.

Now, jargon is perhaps a cause, and perhaps a symptom.  Either way, nobody says anything worth reading.  Art, literature, philosophy, and all the parasitical* practices that surround them, have descended into pure gibberish.  Is it a defensive measure?  Has It All Been Done?  Is it a bizarre and sadistic form of competition to see who can be the most incestuously baroque?  I don't know.  All I know is people can get away with things like this:

Quote from: Arundhati RoyAs Khubchand lay dying on his cushion, Estha could see the bedroom window reflected in his smooth, purple balls. And the sky beyond. And once a bird that flew across. To Estha—steeped in the smell of old roses, blooded on memories of a broken man—the fact that something so fragile, so unbearably tender had survived, had been allowed to exist, was a miracle. A bird in flight reflected in an old dog’s balls. It made him smile out loud.

QuoteThe sculpted hollows on either side of his taut, beautiful buns. Tight plums. Men’s bums never grow up.**

Shiny purple dog balls.  And this is one of the seminal texts of postmodern literature.  I know for a fact that she edited three pages of the entire thing.  Three pages.  A pile of stream-of-consciousness purple-dog-ball-tight-plum-bum SHIT.

NO WONDER PEOPLE WANT TO BE STUPID.


When it takes a hundred times as much explaining to understand something as it takes to look at it, it's time to go home and take a fucking nap and a common-sense suppository.


*Meaning dependent on, not but not inimical to
**Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
#23
Bring and Brag / Flying radish
October 22, 2005, 08:05:47 PM
Well, I saw a picture that was a picture of a bird but it looked like a flying radish.  So I drew a flying radish in Paint.  Rah!







Edit:  argh damn Photobucket shrinking my stuff down...mumble
#24
Or Kill Me / Feminist critique
October 13, 2005, 05:37:27 PM
or, why having a vagina isn't really all that bad.

Quote from: Linda NochlinArt is not a free autonomous activity of a super-endowed individual, "influenced" by previous artists and more vaguely and superficially by "social forces" but rather occurs in a social situation, is an integral element of social structure, and is mediated and determined by specific and definable social institutions.

The main problem with feminism is that it doesn't acknowledge that everyone is equally fucked, especially in this day and age.  Call modern society the Machine, or Fat City, or the Establishment, whatever, it's an equal-opportunity crusher, and dwelling on one specific aspect of one's disadvantage merely generates unhappiness.

In my important opinion, the largest issue within feminism today isn't whether women are being properly "represented", or whether women are being "offended" by painting the locker rooms pink, or whether saying "woman" is bad and "womyn" is good.  The most important issue is the persistant proliferation of sexual violence against women, or rather the events and issues that surround a woman protesting sexual violence done to her.  

But that's not the main thrust of this rant.  I am concerned here and now with the oh-so-important discussion of feminist art criticism.  

Firstly, there is the issue of art vs. craft.  Apparently, because "high art" has mainly been the purview of men, and "handicrafts" has been the domain of women, there is conscious, intentional oppression of women within the realm of art.  But let's think about this for a moment.

All cultures divide tasks by gender.  It's just the way it is.   In its most basic form, hunter-gatherer societies, the men go hunt and the women gather.  This sets up a pattern:  the men do things that require a great deal of concentration, that should not be interrupted, often away from the home and often needing a great deal of effort.  Consider traditional men's occupations:  farming, herding, hunting, woodworking, metalworking, etc.  Women, on the other hand, stayed home and took care of everything else.  Shocking, I know, but that's how it happened.  They had to do a great variety of labor-intensive but necessary tasks, such as cooking, cleaning, tending to children and animals, and managing the family's finances.  So the women have crafts that are utilitarian--because who has time for purely frivolous pursuits--and can be interrupted or done while multitasking.  Quilt-making is the prime example:  quilts, while still quite decorative, are still functional and even essential.  Quilts can be done collaboratively, and often serve significant social functions.

So what's the pattern here?  Women didn't do "high art" because they bloody well didn't have time.  Art is basically frivolous, it's messy, it requires one's full attention, and needs a high amount of specific knowledge, practice, and skill.  In essence, it's a manly thing to do.  For a woman to succeed at art, she basically had to be independantly wealthy, an uncommon thing for most of history.

Only in the 20th century have we seen an upsurge in women participating in art, basically because of a breakdown in traditional gender roles and the acknowledgement that women have the right* to do whatever they want.  But the major sticking point for feminists is that women artists are still operating within a man's world.  I say so?  Women CEOs are operating within a man's world too, and I haven't seen anyone question the entire institution of corporate patriarchy.  Yes, there have been accusations of discrimination, as with everywhere else, but no one seems to question that women basically have to act like men to succeed in the corporate world.  That is the basic feminist objection to the art "Establishment".

The second major theme within feminism is that men and women experience and perceive reality differently.  This is apparently tremendously exciting and ground-shaking, but any pop psychologist could have told me that and I still would go on my merry way.  The problem with focusing on this particular difference is that other differences fall by the wayside.  Everyone experiences reality differently, because everyone is different.  Sure, gender is the most basic difference between human beings, but it isn't the only thing.  Personality, that driving force behind the creation of art, is affected by any number of variables, from sexuality to income to parentage to brain chemistry to religious upbringing ad infinitum.  Stating that men and women artists do things differently is like saying that Caravaggio and Michelangelo have different styles--if that’s the only thing you say, there’s no real point in saying it.

Unfortunately, the issue of gender is still chaotic and sticky.  Since the dissolving of traditional gender roles, the difference between men and women suddenly become that much harder to deal with, since there are no longer structured methods of interaction.  In some ways, this is good, but in a society that is attempting to homogenize everyone into a doughy middle-class, difference of any sort is as painfully obvious as a pimple on the end of everyone's nose.  Suddenly, being different and alluding to difference becomes a tricky, delicate subject, or in the case of art, something that can be relished and exploited.

Sadly, contemporary art is still suffering from avant-garde extremism.  Instead of just making art, it must be right on the bleeding edge of whatever ideology you buy into.  Really, really unfortunately feminists tend to take "bleeding edge" literally and you have women playing with their own menstrual fluids.

I'm not saying that feminism is entirely bad.  It's made huge strides over the last hundred years.  Feminism is why I can sit here now saying whatever I want about random shit.  But it is an ideology that is not particularly suited for application everywhere, and frankly needs an update.  The only time I have really been oppressed, ironically, is when feminists have told me that I am.  It needs to stop talking in terms of "us and them" and get into a more progressive, proactive, and practical framework.

Thank you for your time.  This work was inspire by The Feminist Critique of Art History by Thalia Gouma-Peterson and Patricia Mathews.  I recommend not reading it.



*This should be distinguished from "can".  Legally, women can do whatever they want, but they still must operate within societal restrictions.
#25
Or Kill Me / A final piece of advice to noobs:
September 21, 2005, 03:52:33 AM
If you're going to bullshit for bullshit's sake, at least have the decency to make your own.  Stop analyzing, quoting, arguing with, and making clever references to any of the so-called "seminal Discordian(tm) texts".  

Sure, they're a Real Head Trip, but clever wears itself out real, real fast, and it's getting on 30-40 years since this crap has been floating around.  That's longer than you've been alive, I wager.  RAW and Mal-2 were stoned when they wrote that shit anyway.  I bet they're embarassed by people like you who take them seriously.  If you keep this up they'll be the new L. Ron Hubbard, and Discordianism(tm) will be the new Scientology.  Do you really want that?  Do you?  Huh?!  


Being a Real Discordian(tm) involves having a finely tuned sense of irony.  We've all been through it.  Is it a joke?  Is a religion?  Is it a religion disguised as a joke disguised as a religion disguised as a philosophy disguised as a joke?  If it's a joke, am I supposed to laugh?  How come nobody else is laughing?  Oh god, They're watching me again!

*cough*

Anyway, Discordianism(tm) is kind of like Ramen noodles.  There's lots of kinds, but it takes a special sort of appetite for them to be worth eating, especially considering the net negative nutritional gain. Is it worth the effort, or should you just order a college special from Jeebus Pizza?  Or maybe just be a regular ol' atheist.  I hear they've unionised.  Maybe you should try it.




So, you're still here.  I never have the patience to read the long posts.  Hell, I've never read all of the Principia Discordia(tm).  Even if I did, I wouldn't remember it.  I can quote, "Munching on the tasty grass, the sacred chao goes 'mu'" but it took a lot of effort and I'm so not into that.  But I'm also not into bullshitting for bullshit's sake.  I'm just easily amused.  That's why I'm here.  Sometimes that's why I'm not here.  

So shut up, take a look around with your eyes open this time, and "make your own trip" or whatever it is they used to say.
#26
Or Kill Me / Get Old Skool
September 07, 2005, 06:31:26 AM
Quote from: HesiodAnd she, destructive Night, bore Nemesis,
who gives much pain
to mortals; and afterward cheating Deception
and loving Affection
and then malignant Old Age
and overbearing Discord.
Hateful Discord in turn
bore painful Hardship,
and Forgetfulness, and Starvation,
and the Pains, full of weeping,
the Battles and the Quarrels, the Murders
and the Manslaughters,
the Grievances, the lying Stories,
the Disputations,
and Lawlessness and Ruin, who share
one another's nature,
and Oath, who does more damage than any other
to earthly
men, when anyone, of his knowledge,
swears to a false oath.

Scholarship, motherfuckers!  In case you didn't know, the first of all the gods was Chaos, but Chaos wasn't Chaos, Chaos was a yawning pit of nothingness in Gaia, i.e. her vagina.  So the first of the first was Gaia, She just didn't know it yet.  Eris is just a young upstart, but like Gaia she produced countless young without any help, and unlike Gaia no hindrance.  Upstart she may be, but she's still older than that randy bastard Zeus.  

Eris doesn't need any help, nor does she need any virgins.  She is not vengeful, nor does she visit her ills upon mankind for any particular reason.  It's just the way she is.  She's just a bitch...and then you die.
#27
Or Kill Me / Yet another flounce thread
August 05, 2005, 02:00:59 AM
Yep, I'm leaving.  Boredom kept me here for a while, but even I have limits as to how much pointless bickering I can stand.  When CHEF the Whiniest Bitch of All shows up, it's time for me to leave.  

Hopefully when I come back in a couple months ya'll will have put your dicks back in your pants.  Or flounced.  I, meanwhile, will be that much happier without participating in whatever "jihad" you think you're doing.  Go on, fight a "war" on TEH INTARNET.  See how much better and happier it makes you!


*FLOUNCE*
#28
Or Kill Me / Personal hate
August 01, 2005, 10:06:16 AM
QuoteLove the ones you hate

is motherfucking TRITE.

Of course the things we hate in others are the things we hate most in ourselves.  SO?!  Nobody's perfect.  These things are fucking obnoxious and they should be hated.  The people we hate are the blatant reminders of what we really shouldn't be doing.  The outer struggle is the inner struggle.  There is absolutely no reason to love the ones we hate, except for total bullshit common theory triteness.  If we're not hating, we're lying down and taking it like a dead sheep.  

I'm not talking about prejudicial, blindly classifying hate; I'm talking about hot, insistant, personal hate, that causes rage to bubble up at the very thought of this offending piece of long pig.  And the question is, why, why, WHY?  

Perhaps this person is your complete antithesis.  Perhaps he or she represents everything you've ever hated about society in general.  Or perhaps they're just a total douchebag.  Either and any way, there should be a deadly solid reason for this needle-poking, TMJ-causing venom.  If not, find it.  

There is your struggle.  Society changes with the generations; fucked if you can change it here and now.  But you can tight-focus your outrage on this sheepfucker and once, just once, change something.  Tripping the bastard in the street can bring more satisfaction than all the political reform in the world.

"But," you say, "shouldn't you rise above this hate?  Isn't it just destructive?"  
In response, I drag in another rotting corpse of triteness:

QuoteHate is the mirror image of love.

Are you certain you can love completely, if you cannot allow yourself to hate completely?  

I say:  give in.  You'll feel much better, afterwards.


I promise.
#29
If I were male, I'd be a violent sociopath.  Instead, I'm a sadistic bitch with emotional problems.  Who isn't?  The question is, what are you looking at with those big eyes?  Either look away or take it up the ass and ask for more.  Yes, I'm talking to you.  If you're confused, so?  Use your brain for something besides skull-pie filling.  I'll swallow you, I'll crack your head open and yank your crawler out.  And you better watch your feet when you walk away.  If you're better than Jesus, the land-mine will miss.  So work up the confidence to step.  Fear is your magnet.  
Waking up one day to discover that everything you've ever been told is wrong is a natural part of growing up, so fucking do it already.  Or at least use those Christ-goggles.  They're there for a motherfucking reason, not so you can sit on your fat ass eating shit like it's mother's milk and crackers.  

How dare I say this?  Fuck, I've still got my legs and I'm standing on them.  Bend over, sonny.
#30
I don't read it.



Thank you, have a nice day.
#31
Or Kill Me / SLC: Land of Zion, eh?
July 18, 2005, 07:04:33 AM
I was born and raised in Salt Lake City, Utah.  Hell, I'm still living in the same house I was born in.  It's a weird place.  It probably made me what I am.

When I was growing up, all I could think about was how much I wanted to leave.  

But then I left.  And I realised that there are, indeed, worse places.  Sure, there aren't as many Mormons in other places, and the weather might be nicer, but it's really not the same.  As weird as this place is, with all of the repression, frustrating politics, gratuitous prejudice, etc, I can still...work better here.

Perhaps it's because I'm a freak no matter where I go.  I can't help but be an individual, a shark among the guppies.  I'm used to getting stares.  But at least, in good ol' Utah, it's a certain kind of stare, a certain of individuality.  I understand the people around me, the Mormons, the ex-Mormons, the anti-Mormons, the bewildered transplants.  

I'm a better mindfuck here than anywhere else.  It truly is a land of opportunity.


Besides, I couldn't live without my precious mountains.
#32
Or Kill Me / The 5 commandments of God
July 08, 2005, 07:14:30 PM
I  YOU SHALL SUFFER, PUNY MORTAL
II  ENJOY YOURSELF, WHILE YOU STILL CAN
III  JUST DON'T GET TOO COMPLACENT
IV  THINK FOR YOURSELF!
V  I NEVER LIKED YOU ANYWAY.
[/b]

I don't worship Eris.  She died with her people millenia ago, and to revive her smacks of neo-paganism (ugh).  But the principle is the same.  God shouldn't be trusted to do what you want, just because you've been good.  That leads to a dependence, which leads to expectations, which leads to the inevitable, "Why!!!" when things go wrong.  The real why is, God might not even exist, and if He* does, you'd better not get his attention, cause he's just as likely to kick you in the ass as to pat you on the head and give you a lolly.  
I'm so sick of these people who depend on their God to do all their thinking for them.  They've got a Bible (or whatever) quote for everything, an aphorism to apply to each situation, and a treachant mindset like a groove in titanium steel.  Righteousness replaces thinking.  Why bother thinking for themselves when they've had people to do it for them for thousands of years?  
But enough complaining.  After all, God will sort them out in the end.  If there is a god.  Atheism is boring, though, so I might as well as believe in something.

I proclaim myself the rabid badger of God.  Guard your ankles well.









*Does gender apply to deities?  "God" and "He" are shorter to type than "Goddess" and "She", plus I don't want any of you getting the wrong idea.  I guess I could say It.  Bah.
#33
Or Kill Me / Better lie low
May 10, 2004, 07:22:43 PM
Well, today I woke up and looked at the clock--2:48.  At which point adrenaline hit my like a ping-pong paddle to the ass, as I have a test today at 2:00.  Well, I hurried to the place, cursing the entire way, thinking I'd be late but that'd be okay because the session goes til 5.  And yet, when I got there, the room was not only empty but dark and locked.  My professor was nowhere to be found.  What the fuck?!  
So then I scurried to a computer and started composing a desperate email to the prof.  I was about to hit "send" when I happened to glance at the clock...12:56.  
12:56!!!  Wow...
I think Eris has taken notice of me.  It's just her style, telling me to be more careful with a ping-pong paddle to the ass.  So I figure I better lie low for a bit, and let her sort of...ease off...yeah...