The World Wide Blag

Segue

2011-10-20T23:11:00.001-07:00

In lieu of improvising a world-changing five-page midterm paper on Johann Lukas von Hildebrandt, I've spent my evening running perpendicular to the task at hand. I've been lurking on my message boards, playing hangman, watching the Food Network, etc. etc. I've even started my final essay for the same course (which will be beautiful and candid, for sure).

In my tired hunt for distractions, and upset by the lack of options available for my hangman fix, my hunt through the internet has taken me to WordNet, Princeton's database of the English language. Now I'm excited; I put my paper away and started scribbling out some pre-gaming code that would begin to process through the database. I'd like to tinker with a few ideas regarding natural language processing at some point, though I suspect it won't happen for some time. So my evening was spent playing with words and playing hangman.

The paper never got finished.

To Any Ready Reader

2011-05-19T14:28:00.000-07:00

My primary source of output will be on tumblr henceforth. The interface is more enjoyable and the mode of output readily fits with my ramblings.

http://antiscias.tumblr.com

I'll still be on here from time to time to post my longer segments. There will always be a link through from my tumblr though.

Between Pontiac and Detroit

2011-05-17T16:46:00.000-07:00

I'm a little comfortable here; that is, I am a little comfortable in Auburn Hills, Michigan. Aside from the coastal mentality I'm used to (i.e.: pedestrian lanes, general accommodation in passing each other), I could see myself enjoying the strip mall mindset of the rust belt. That's what is bred here, right? I am somewhere between the old monoliths of the automobile monikers, and they were certainly built on the necessity of the vehicle.

Being conscious of the different industrial revolutions through which these regions came of age, it's easy to see why it is a two mile walk to be anywhere. New England became a global giant during the age of boating, and likewise again in the era of rail; from these growth spurts sprouted the metropolitan coast and the savory pockets of a distinct culture found in rail towns. Michigan however, was born from the ashes of these eras; it became the fertile plant moist and alive on the idea of sprawl; it characterizes how the last seven generations have known America.

I really think the problem with suburban sprawl is an issue of perspective. People are not as inclined to walk, and I think it's that these destinations people are actually willing to go to are too far away. What happens then? you can't really feel sprawl unless you walk through it, and sprawl begets cars which beget sprawl.

Admittedly, I enjoy walking, but it doesn't seem to be the norm. It's a little over a mile's walk to Trader Joe's (do I get hipster cred for buying organic?), and the path takes one by a number of beautiful watershed protected areas. It seems and is nice, but cutting through the middle of these supple young trees and streams is a highway. At some point, someone had come through this region, likely densely wooded and lush, and made the decision to tear down a forest for a quarter-mile strip plaza and highway to border the already-20-mile radius of the Detroit metropolitan area. We've made progress in recent years to return beautiful things to Earth, but we've only stunted the acceleration thus far.

My prescription for all of this is, like all things, to get outside and meditate on a walk. Some things in this world are unmanageable by any standard, but the things we can change are staring us in the face. I am guilty of contributing to the destruction of Earth, and I share that guilt with everyone else, but I don't want to be here for the ship to sink.

What not?

2010-12-18T18:51:00.000-08:00

They're getting fatter and stupider you know. They're getting fatter and stupider by the minute. They breath and enervate. They breathe and eat the fat which clogs the brain. My, how they grow: guts stealing mass from brain.

Soon we won't be able to grow, you know. We'll have taken all the space up. Soon we won't be able to go any further than our doors, lest we walk through another's doors. Each half an ounce of mass in the brain is equivalent to limitless activity, yet only makes fifty pounds of fat and flesh. We'll be big we will! We'll fill in our door frames, expand our tubs we will, we'll will our influence on the bruised universe.

With Three Weeks Left

2010-11-28T16:35:00.001-08:00

Before college, I ran an angsty Myspace blog which less than subtly described my laggard disposition. I like to believe the music I was listening to was the real epicenter of my writing, with a few sophomoric sentences thrown about to mask my boring days. College changed that habit of mine, albeit marginally; I shut down the first blog, started this one up, and appeared here as frequently as an eclipse masks the sun. I blame The Way of Heaven, for what can I possibly give you, reader, but only that which is communicable? I can't write love, I can't write l'oeuvre.

I'm a college senior now, and in spite of the advising and direction and inspiration and... I come back to November: Father's birthday, Thanksgiving, the semester closing darkly. I am again drawn to dualism and weigh my thoughts heavily on consciousness and existentialism. It's all hypersensitivity, really: I can look out in the murk, see Oneonta shining like a power grid, and despite its flaccid streets I am enamored, in love with nothing at all.

Perhaps its the notion of the heart of an arctic crystal, which I wrote about approximately the same time two years ago. My how so little changes; I am enervated again, awakened to the teetering equilibrium of failure.

Il y a quatre jours...

2010-01-04T16:06:00.000-08:00

As of this publishing, I can safely say that the conscious among our western world has embraced the start of a new year. January first, despite being one of the coldest and darkest days of the year, cruxes the holidays, relinquishing within us the arcane anxieties that well up within humanity during our tribulation. Though I can't speak for everyone, I sense a sort of reverence or austerity in today. Despite the noise and nature of our gathering, watching the snows swirl in a menagerie of light wuthering in the capital region reassured a good end and beginning to the years.

Honestly, a lot has happened this year, and retrospection keeps popping in and out of perspective. I tried to push myself this year, and succeeded, from skipping classes to read a poem, to periodically changing the language of my keyboard to force myself to relearn to type. My grades were mediocre, and more the representative of my inability to focus on even the hedonist pleasures. Christmas was pleasant this year, though I think this might have only been in comparison to everyone else's subdued nature.

It's interesting that in this decade we embraced the rise and fall of multiple sectors of the economy, continued to murder across the globe for the health of the state, and lived in a time of incoherence in art and literature. I lost my childhood, had my adolescence; lost my adolescence, and stuck myself between ages. Music continues on a downward spiral of productivity and sales, and the merchants of cool have a tighter grip on the world than the forces that bind it.

Life may very well be a tragic, inevitably dead existence, that much I've learned from this decade, and from the microcosms that continue to unfold; but as I sit spaced from riding home, daydreaming of cryptographs and protractors, death feels further away than the columns of the Sahara. Four days ago, my sky darkened, and was still alive to the lights and sounds of the great final civilization. So here we are, hurtling toward the darkness as a great comet bowing closer to the sun, and back again into the darker three quarters. May we grow our tastes, and appreciate not the watery blathering of bureaucrats. Enjoy your year!

Good ol' Oneonta.

2009-08-03T06:06:00.000-07:00

Historic Downtown Oneonta, as a title, hits a nerve. It perpetuates the same reacationary mentality you typically find in these small, dead towns, while managing to be the most pompous statement in the area. I do not need to point out that, while Oneonta may have had a history, any town has had a significant history, if it's around to-day. Need I point out Norwich, whose history touts a criminal organization and an aspirin factory, or a real city like Boston, whose countless events have throughout America's history impacted her for better or worse?

Suffice to say, I don't get mad when I hear Boston claiming to have a history; but it's weathered itself long enough to be able to boast such claims, while Oneonta, not so much (and Norwich is even more of a joke).

Like Sun Tzu said in his treatise on war, you cannot hope to win after you've already declared war, you must win before going. Maybe the Oneonta officials could be doing more to create and promote a functional Oneonta, one where oppressive taxes didn't destroy the industrial park.

Star-nosed Moles

2009-07-26T22:24:00.000-07:00

"Star-nosed moles write beautifully about the arts."

This picture has strangely shown up in my folders, and is a peculiar one to say the least. Does anyone know the origin of this image, and who the writing is from?

Still not published, still not published, still not...

2009-07-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

On writing this, I’m on the harbor, by Battery Park, and by the infinite light of the night. My apologies to those who have been patiently (or impatiently, as you so choose) waiting for another journal response for me to shew. It has been a quiet month, with too many whispers to write about at once.
I am in the bitter abyss of the Hudson, somewhere on the delta islands, and ultimately alone, though with the more esteemed of friends. They have given me shelter in the warm winds, the dirty winds. But is it that which has compelled me to stay in the desolate city? They are happy here, presumably for themselves, and with that connection I am not unfamiliar with, though presently without.
There have been many subjects of discussion floating about the river lately, on nostalgia, wontedness, loneliness, futurity and other things. Among the recesses of conversation, I stumbled on Solomon, and how he is the truest words in the Bible; and the sun is down now, just like he said, the sun will rise anew.
The sun is really the only thing to be jealous of, from that antiquated point of view, but ultimately, even the sun’s rises are in vain. And yet I struggle to get published, while Poetry magazine still shovels out shit by the bucketful. What a load of vanity.
And what's worse is that I know I'm better than 80% of the writers out there; but I appear not to put in the effort for it. This is the cost of being spoiled early on: it's a rough time of it to adjust at any age. At least a child has nothing to lose for wasting a few precious moments. Though maybe it's theirs to waste?

And thusly ends the night, with the mad siren carrying someone off.

The Catskill Eagle and the Owl

2009-06-29T17:14:00.000-07:00

Oneonta's population makes up roughly one third the population of Otsego County, likely employing most of its Susquehanna Valley inhabitants, and more along the fringes of Delaware County. Since so much of Otsego County's population rests in Oneonta, I thought it adequate enough to use Otsego County statistics for the sake of this argument.
Unfortunately, like most of the nation, it seems Oneonta has been rather stagnant of late. Between 2000 and 2008, Oneonta grew by 0.5%, far lower than the 2.7% growth the whole state of New York has experienced. Paltry in either case, the spike between the two numbers is indicative of the lack of incentive to come to Oneonta.
I can imagine the population shift in Oneonta is mainly due to births vs. deaths. In short, it only looks like population growth because older people are living longer here.
I am not wholly opposed to the Oneonta World of Learning, and as far as I'm concerned, as long as it is privately funded, it flies with me. While I'm not sure of its funding status, the point is rather.. pointless, so to say. What's missing is the community's apathy toward our stagnant bubble of a world; even in a depressed state like New York, we could at least exist with the standards set by the census average!
I propose a lack of ambivalence toward the impending disaster that is Otsego, Oneonta, the sleeping folk north-west of the Catskills. Wake up, please; we need business models, industries that aren't taxed to death, and places for our work force to keep themselves happy, not museums these apathetic majority will scoff at while their children are barely kept fed with the hiking unemployment rates and social services benefits packages.

sources:

Census QuickFacts

Census FactFinder

addendum: I added in the sources, which I carelessly left out.

I Am Home; Where Are You, Dark Thoughts?

2009-06-18T00:40:00.000-07:00

I told people I love America. That's such a lie; I do not, in fact, love America. What has really happened has been a love for the ideals, the fleeting respects of a country that could never really exist.

Where is the existentialist paradise? I do not require much; in fact, I request a country, a state, a plot of land where I am simply not protected from myself. That's what I want; a bare exposure to reality, to catch a glimpse of Cthulu, or some nameless inevitability we call death or kismet.

My God! I could really think you dead, that you could create a real world of suffering. And I know it to be true, that suffering exists. The spark of the glimpse of terror, the finger on the axis of reality, and then to have it yanked away: that is more torturous than any other pain I've thus far encountered. It is an all-encompassing throb from the neck to the pit of the stomach, a scorched line extending outward; a yearning for convalescence from this state of being where people do not follow the golden rule. I do not like being told what to do, or how to do it, on any level; I'm sure no one else does either.

The Moon is Full Somewhere

2009-06-13T18:23:00.000-07:00

The room is atrocious, yet again; I want to ignore it and just play games or sleep.

Smoke on the Water

2009-06-11T07:58:00.000-07:00

This is primarily in response to the lack of energy in this blog about the cigarette ban proposition.

Unlike alcohol, whose effects clearly show even after fifteen minutes of consumption, and are clearly inhibitive and dangerous, tobacco is hardly at the same level of danger.

As doctors become better at diagnosing problems in the lung, we can find more subtle onsets of cancer, emphysema, etc. And within reason, these have been attributed to cigarette smoking. What then, about the folk who do not show negative signs of smoking? They are not necessarily uncommon, and there is likely a similarity between them.

My guess is that they keep their lungs healthy; eg: they use them. The appendix is now a nuisance because people stopped using it centuries ago, and can in fact be deadly to you. With the health of the nation in question, it's no wonder that cigarette smoke pools in the bottom of people's lungs. People also eat until their stomachs either stretch or burst, never bathe, drink themselves into stupors, eat horrible things, etc. etc. etc.

People also let themselves get addicted to things. That's their own fault, not everyone else's.

The idea of cigarette smoke killing you is the same as the statistical fallacies of radiation poisoning. It can and has killed people, though numbers from the Chernobyl incident are skewed if you look at the numbers. Those numbers, too, were suggested by scientists. So were the ridiculous graphs Al Gore hired scientists to skew.

The government is making money off this, and it's the only reason they want to "tax it out of existence". Big brother gives people the impression that nicotine is intensely difficult to break off from. What? That's an argument that targets right at the psychosomatics.

With a little bit of exercise, cigarette smoke should do relatively little, or no, damage on the lungs.

As an aside, smoking is a nice way to break down stress before an exam.

2009-05-18T07:53:00.000-07:00

I should only be thankful that my final exams only last until Thursday this week. I'll be more productive afterward, methinks.

The Sounds and Senses

2009-05-13T10:23:00.000-07:00

I think I understand poetry now. It is not a marked impact on any particular object or instance; rather it's an impression on time and all time.

According to some existentialists, an infinitesmal instant happens forever. It may be an application of Zeno's paradox, or a suggestive fatalist idea on the circularity of the universal timeline. Regardless, a poem, maybe art in general, is an expected deviation from the destiny of things.

Or maybe poetry is only an empty art that tries to define itself? Who knows, but the beauty behind is the suggestion of a foundational medium that cannot be eliminated, unlike the other arts. In music, sound is deemed unnecessary. In visual arts, there are no rules as to what works.

Poetry needs words, even if they make no sense together. There can be no Jackson Pollock of the words.

Breaking

2009-05-11T16:53:00.000-07:00

I wonder who would wake up if for an hour the internet broke down, and our telecommunications ceased entirely.

The lilacs have been out, and right now, you are staring into the eldritch.

Buzzwords

2009-05-07T14:44:00.000-07:00

NYT had an article in the way back about how the FBI has a gigantic record with "1.1 million names and aliases" potentially linked to terrorism. Naturally, the ever-astute Times reported that these names were from outdated and poor methods of monitoring suspects. If we had brain-stemmed folk running the papers, this wouldn't be big news.

Of course that bothers me; I can casually tell someone that the FBI is watching me, and not be actively concerned about it. It takes a lot of perspective to really wrap your head around that sentiment.

And on top of it, the magnanimous NYT, along with everyone else, seems to go right along with it. How can we find people "...with genuine ties to terrorism"? What is a tie to terrorism, or, in fact, what the hell is terrorism? I say we arrest the police state we've been forced to grow up in.

If we're looking at principle here, the FBI should be an Ouroboros

The Old Trees

2009-05-04T15:58:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure there has been no word either way toward the demolition of a local park for, quite literally, a parking lot.

If you're not familiar with Oneonta politics, allow me to explain. There has been talk about a tremendous lack of parking space for people's vehicles in Oneonta. Of course, such isn't the case. You're looking at two small pictures of the top floor of the parking garage I took a while back. It was a peak time, and there were plenty of folk walking around, so apparently they've parked somewhere while barely touching this place.

Now that an historic building is being renovated, and in the process being turned into smaller stores and apartments, people are pre-emptively demanding even more parking space. What the hell, seriously.

I'd like to pose a few realistic solutions. Considering that thought toward the long run is essentially proven to be more effective in the long run, it would be sensible to create a space for commuting folk to leave their cars behind, then connect the rest of Oneonta and the surrounding area to an electric-run trolley system.

If every employed body in the city donated $100 to a project, we could come up with almost $2M. Realistically speaking though, a few large financial backers could run the trolleys through Oneonta, and turn an incredible profit in the long run.

Because America has lost the sense of enjoyment in day-to-day life, it's not surprising that there would be opposition to this idea. But Oneonta did have a trolley at a point, and in that time, Oneonta thrived.

Occam

2009-05-04T15:43:00.000-07:00

My gripe with "existentialists" is that they assume everyone else in the world feels exactly the way they do, or that existentialism is an incurable advancement, so to speak.

I just think people misunderstand Occam's Razor, that's all.

Weekend-Wide

2009-05-02T20:21:00.000-07:00

An interesting idea came to me earlier. What if consciousness happens five seconds after the present? In other terms, something happens and we react to it, then five seconds later, we become aware of that moment as being the present.

We would not have control over ourselves, only a sense of volition through trying to make coherence out of involuntary strings of events.

Everything on the way to the capital seemed so stretched out. The highway system is ruining the countryside, and these "environmentalists" keep missing the target.

Why is everyone so concerned with the state of our planet, anyway? A large quadrant in the propaganda relies heavily on aesthetic value. So, if people care about the way things look, then why would the government want a say in Chrysler?

I don't get the "too big to fail" argument. I was brought up in a comfortable environment, in one which provided a level comparable to what would make the old kings envious. But doesn't all that seem pretty artificial, anyway? Where is Solomon's wisdom now?

Pavlovian Conditioning

2009-04-30T18:32:00.000-07:00

At least people are catching on. This website can show you if you have swine flu: http://doihaveswineflu.org.

There are three possibilities to obviously conclude from this website.

a: People are getting smarter
b: People are getting conditioned to this sort of thing
c: People are still idiots, and are following what basic newsgroups feed to them.

LSAT and JD

2009-04-30T16:01:00.000-07:00

If the LSAT is anything like the practice exams I've looked at so far, getting in to law school will be simple. I don't get how people can say it's difficult. Or maybe I'm missing something.

You should Twitter me.

Re: FCC

2009-04-29T08:56:00.000-07:00

The FCC has been given leeway to further censor free speech on the radio. Justice Scalia, according to the article, says "It was [reasonable] to determine that it made no sense to distinguish between literal and nonliteral uses of offensive words".

Why were no linguists involved in this decision? Words themselves, as one could ontologically argue, have no meaning, and are more accurately defined as sounds we've adopted to represent a series of emotions. If the FCC effectively "bans" words we use now, our language will evolve to create new emotive facilitators.

The big picture, Justices, is that you've given the architecture to the FCC to ban words at their own discretion. The bill of rights was created to protect dissenters and minorities in a nation ruled by democracy. This is a blatant breach of the 1^st Amendment, and in time, you will lead our people to suffer.

2009-04-28T22:28:00.000-07:00

This is ironically sweet in some way. I'd like to believe the UN will make an initiative to end stupidity, but like any good corporation, it needs to keep its own self-interest in mind. Slime mold is apparently more intelligent than the Facebook collective. In above study, the mold controlled a robot to move out of the light. My dear friend Robert and I were discussing the potential of creating vehicles for this slime to create servants for chores, or more.

In some distant way, I'm reminded of Flubber. Only this slime is yellow, and not quite as bouncy.

Also from New Scientist, and in more recent news, Japanese scientists created a chemical that moves of its own volition. The impacts of this discovery could create an AI system with no electronics.

Abligurition: Such is my Life

2009-04-28T16:01:00.000-07:00

... and is also why I'm poor. But I feel the merriment that comes with food and drink to be quite worth my spendthrift tendencies. The heat makes want for a softer world, and if it means throwing my money to the wind, then have at it!

Winter Cometh to Stranger Lands

2009-04-24T21:15:00.000-07:00

The Catskill winter wanes -- Soon enough, the whiners will spark up again to complain about the heat. It's bad enough I had to deal with them all winter long.

Non sequitur moment,

If you want to get noticed, do one or more of the following:

1. Invent something
2. Be outrageous
3. Use psychology

The first gives the greatest testament to your account. The second is most effective, but shortest lasting. The third is most powerful, but if you're caught, your social status drops significantly. So far, I've had the most success with the second.

On the bright side, I'm looking forward to a single next semester.

The Ego and the Id - The Second Empire

2009-03-02T16:00:00.000-08:00

As the internet melts into its next permutation of "instant blogging", I am predicting that, unless places like Myspace update their mission statements and adapt to this new concept of dynamic internet, they will inevitably falter.

Let's put a contemporary perspective on this. America (I am limiting myself to the scope of America to be safe, but I'm sure this is happening elsewhere) has become more and more sensitized to the idea of Moore's Law, the idea that the number of transistors (and therein technological power) doubles every two years. This is an exponential increase in our tech world, but more importantly, this is a concept that, in my opinion, works in the mind of culture as well.

Lately, Twitter has been all the rage, and with the reason that Facebook was so popular when it first came out: Twitter took the best of the old, refined it, and broke away from the excesses of Myspace et al. From the projected direction these type of websites are taking, we are approaching what I called earlier as the "dynamic internet".

A perfect analogy comes to mind of the website being a synapse, which will have synapses around which will fire, and you will inevitably gain a tiny, vague glimpse at the entire internet at each page view. When we connect the internet to our minds, which will inevitably happen somewhere in the future, we could develop a complete and absolute proxy-hive mentality. The internet has laid down the architecture for it, and as we approach the crux of the second empire of the internet, and "Web 3.0" looms on the horizon, the possibilities and implications are both frightening and astounding.

A Medium

2009-02-22T11:34:00.000-08:00

The question came up recently, through some channel or another, as to the sort of music I listen to. I think I might have laughed the question off, because I typically don't have all day to answer the question in full. In fact, on the computer I'm authoring this very blog, I have almost 300 hours of music. I have another computer with just as many unique tracks, and a plethora of CDs that have been buried in my quest for more music.

But I've been thinking about it, and I would like to condense what I listen to down a little bit, into what I've listened to regularly over the last month or so.

Voila:

AFI, Alizée, Arcade Fire, Ayumi Hamasaki, The Beatles, Black Moth Super Rainbow, Blaqk Audio, Blue Öyster Cult, Bright Eyes, Dinosaur Jr., Dir en Grey, Dire Straits, Fall Out Boy, Frank Zappa, Goo Goo Dolls, Green Day, Hellogoodbye, Imogen Heap, Jean Michel Jarre, John Frusciante, Liz Phair, Men At Work, Metallica, Modest Mouse, My Chemical Romance, Neutral Milk Hotel, Opeth, Peter Gabriel, Pink Floyd, Pixies, The Police, Polyphonic Spree, Rush, Sonic Youth, Stephen Malkmus, Tiger Army, Trivium

Si tu aimes ma musique, super!

For A While Now

2009-02-18T22:20:00.000-08:00

I am now legitimately excited, because again, Mozilla has impressed me more than the sun. Not that it says anything positive about my preferences, but if you saunter on over to Flock.com, you can pick up on what I believe will be the next big browser. Flock is built to seamlessly integrate with many common applications used today, is already robust and powerful like its older sister, Firefox, and has dazzled me with an array of beautiful features that I swear have come to me periodically in my dreams. Web 2.0 never made more sense.

My Unscheduled Hiatus

2009-01-27T18:42:00.001-08:00

Apologies for my week-or-so-long break from the internet are in order. I have been taking the time to be with the people close to me as of late, and the internet has not been on the priority list (Sorry web 2.0, we can still do lunch some time). So let me fill you in on the details of my life.

As of now, I am almost complete with my poetry manuscript. I'll be sending it out by the end of the month, and will get my rejection letter another month later. In the off-chance I get published, I'll let you know what magazine to buy.

In other news, I have left my Ubuntu/XP setup behind for Windows 7 Beta and OpenSolaris. I haven't really checked out OpenSolaris yet; but Windows 7 looks like it will be a powerhouse of an OS. From my first impression, the Beta appears to already be more stable and lighter than Vista. My only gripe would be if they decided to bloat it out right before release.

Other than that, nothing new has been happening. I'll resume normal posting tomorrow. Same goes for Acoustic Outhouse.

Crosshatches

2009-01-19T20:39:00.000-08:00

I enjoyed writing the music reviews greatly yesterday, so I went ahead and made a blog of its own. I'll be regularly updating that too, so don't miss out on some nice one-sentence reviews!

As for yesterday's post, I edited it out and put it in the new blog, to make things easier for everyone. The remnants of the post survive in their original state.

I picked up the pen again, only this time to try my hand at drawing. If I can get my hands on a scanner, I'll show you my abominations. If you're interested in starting up yourself, click on over to Home School Arts, a nice, free tutorial for whetting your drawing skills.

Also, my flickr account is now up for the public. Right now it only had photos from my old camera, but I'll scale some new pictures down soon enough. The link is on the right, in the ambiguously-placed links ("Mes Photos" for those not familiar with French. How ambiguous!)

Musique Unique, Pt. 1

2009-01-18T21:46:00.000-08:00

Music is not yet dead. Over the next few posts, I'll be presenting a unique blend of albums from the furthest reaches of the rock world. Today, six albums are featured.

In other news, I've linked to The Daily Cow, a terrific website from a friend of mine who speaks pragmatic truth about various things.

(Content edited away into The Acoustic Outhouse)

And that about does it for today.

Immovable Objects

2009-01-17T20:32:00.000-08:00

Earlier today, I gave myself a near-hernia while lifting a desk out of my room. Now I have a sore back and 8 square feet of extra space, which is being occupied by a dresser. It's been too cold to play with my camera outside, so I've been indoors most of the week. (Juneau, Alaska was warmer yesterday than some southern states. I shudder at the beauty.) I got a flickr account, which I'll eventually get into using. I want to import my old photo albums onto it.

A few of friends and I have been getting together lately, playing video games and having a time. As of the Wii/PS3/XBOX360, I am two generations behind in the video gaming world. (And still broke? This is a travesty!) I had a Nintendo DS at a point, but I gave it up for some money which likely went to a week's supply of gyros and sushi.

Not to segue, but I am in love with torrenting. Again, I'm only about ten years late onto the scene, if it could be called a scene.

Anyway, I've been thinking about video games lately, since they made up the greater part of my childhood. I think, in the wisest words in the plethora of anonymous quotes in my notebooks, "television has changed a child from an irresistible force to an immovable object"

I am not so much worried about myself, but considering how greatly consumerism has driven people in the last decade, I think television (and subsequently, video games) is a big death trap. I'm reminded of a venus fly trap, which just sort of holds the fly in its jaw while its slowly digested. I'm more liable to believe the fly dies from old age before finally being fully digested. It would certainly explain how lethargic this generation seems; I can only worry for future children.

Suffice to say, I'm making a big deal out of cleaning my room. It's been years since I've clearly seen my floor. I might be moving soon, either way, but it's certainly nice knowing my carpet color again.

Blue Sphere

2009-01-17T08:51:00.001-08:00

Plot device 1: XKCD's latest blag has been discussing google searches that return 0 results.
Plot device 2: Sonic Mega Collection. Friend's house. Too much time on Blue sphere.

I can't beat the last god-damned level, so I posted on XKCD in an effort to push traffic for beating the hell out of that game. I'm hoping for a film noir ending, or at least some vindictive justice on Blue Sphere.

Life is a subset of Motion

2009-01-13T22:05:00.000-08:00

As a matter of consequence, I now have full privilege to belatedly welcome you to 2009. So in that, I am full of complete and total enervation, and I'm still working off my lifelong hangover that I call dying my whole life.

I have dreams that are coming to naught, and hurray, it will always be that way. Web-based comic XKCD has it spot-on in its strip called "Dreams":
http://www.xkcd.com/137/

I think I'll post a permanent link to XKCD; I can't come up with any original ideas myself, I might as well give you something interesting at the very least.

From Appalachia

2008-12-21T21:01:00.000-08:00

Since I am fairly confident in my ability to procrastinate through the holidays, I will wish you a Merry Christmas now, and I'll see you in January.

Somewhere Between Friendship and Howard

2008-12-18T19:44:00.000-08:00

I rode out to Jamestown, which from where I live, is about a five hour drive one way. It's a rather brain-numbing experience to go such a long distance and back in a day. To top it off, my friend and I hadn't slept well for a few days before that. By the time we hit the halfway mark on the way back, we had become delirious, laughing over two towns, named "Friendship" and "Howard". I promised to write about them, and as much as I'd like to take back that promise, here they are in full splendor.

In other news, I found a notebook filled with poetry I wrote from 2003. While most of it was abysmal, some of the poems were gems, and will eventually find their way into very harsh, but nurturing, revisions.

And, in domestic news, my room's carpet is now visible.

Adieu.

The Phone, it Rings

2008-12-16T12:25:00.000-08:00

The semester is over, and I’m starting to work at the office again. While not a cubicle labyrinth, there are still the typical office perils. Phones constantly ring, the printer runs out of paper, and the four people that work here constantly fight over the cd player.

I’ve been employed to be the nameless voice that greets and redirects callers. I fix the printer and the network should either break down. I put labels on envelopes, stuff manila folders, and grab pizza and coffee from down the street. To my horror, I have become the office bitch. I’m hoping to not stay here long.

In the meantime, however, I am readying a manuscript of five poems to submit to a literary magazine. I’ll keep you posted if I get published!

Dodecahedron Dreams

2008-12-13T21:20:00.000-08:00

I'm still persisting through Moby-Dick (my reading speed is somewhere between slow and obtuse), though I am greatly enjoying every word. I am now back at home, and have consolidated my dorm life frivolities with the mess of my bedroom. Suffice to say, my work is cut out for me if I wish to see my carpet again.

So, instead of working on tidying up, I am now working on another post, and a second blog! This will contain drafts of my works for anyone who is interested in reading my hyperbolic mind.

As if by prophecy, I now have to clean my room a little, so I can leap to my bed.

Adieu.

The Heart of an Arctic Crystal

2008-12-08T22:25:00.001-08:00

I'm approximately one-hundred pages into Moby-Dick, and I am having serious issues in putting it down for the evening. Everything about Melville is gripping, and sublimely eloquent.

This great novel is just my first step in a greater task. My professor has given me personal assignment, so to speak; I am to read the Western Canon, to wake my Orphic voice from its blatant sleep-talking. The list is comprehensive, and it will involve delving into other languages to fully complete. Though the prospect of diversifying and enlightening my mind to the entirety of European literature is thrilling, I might be compelled to limit myself to English and the Latinate.

If anyone is interested in a collection of good works to read (I know that reading can't be quite dead yet), then go here.

My social world, on the other hand, is a gripping tale of another level entirely. My institutionalized academic world is waning into dormancy, perhaps even death, my love life is in proverbial shambles, and I'm in a struggle with what my counselor says are traits and symptoms commonly associated with bipolar disorder. My life's throes are synonymous with the rolling snowball.

And now, for non sequitur; my psychology professor, distraught over the poor turnout to the last day of class, entrusted the students who did show up with the answer to a bonus question on our final. The question, the only one not a multiple choice, is to correctly identify and write down her youngest nephew's full name. Respect can be earned in sometimes the most peculiar of manners.

I do enjoy these bitter nights. To quote Melville,

Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so for a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable anymore. [...] For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. There you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.

Moby-Dick, Chapter 11

And with that, I bid you adieu.

Scenes From the Archivist

2008-12-04T20:27:00.000-08:00

After I got out of work, I got caught in a massive detour around Main St. They decided to shut down the main road so people could have horse cart rides down Main Street. Historic downtown, and all that. I was stuck outside a parking lot for 15 minutes, and before I knew it, the sections of the lot were different government types, allocating their parking spots preferentially, according to their political alignment. Big freaking whoop.

I bought another collection of Bukowski's poetry, and I am, as always, impressed at how blunt he can be. Also bought a sketch pad for inking things; I want to be artsy, apparently. A friend from the interwebs is coming to visit next week. I hope she's not a sketch.

And, for tonight's great endeavor, I've decided to consolidate the entirety of my myspace blog into one giant chunk of relevant and worthwhile chunks, starting now.

"For some unforseen reason, I feel compelled to talk about absolutely nothing."
November 09, 2005

"...next time you think about criticizing me, ask yourself why the hell you're on my blog. And how many chromosomes you may or may not have."
April 09, 2006

"I no longer have to drink water, I just open my mouth and inhale."
June 04, 2006, on the humidity

"too much water... I can't go anywhere, I can't do anything. I want to do something, let people know I'm alive.. anything at all will do."
June 30, 2006, on the flood

"I'm going to try and appreciate what little free time I have left in my life. Guess I'll go watch MASH"
September 27, 2006

"The message was worth it, in a world where music and poetry [lost their] meaning in a post-modern tempest"
October 9, 2006

"I would now like to reproach my younger, far more naive self."
December 9, 2007

"Haha, you increased by blog views."
January 29, 2007, the entire blog

"Actually, it's more like watching the stupidity drain from my writing."
January 30, 2007, on reading old posts

"My IP address is 127.0.0.1, I dare you to DOS it."
May 28, 2007

"It's almost like I'm waiting for something... some whisper"
June 08, 2007, listening to the rain

"I am shutting down my account."
June 18, 2008

In retrospect, what a pathetic blog. I had to weed through pages of drivel to find halfway decent lines.

Building Block Towers

2008-12-03T20:30:00.000-08:00

A month is the only time element that is both intrinsically eternal and microcosmic. I was going to say that a lot has happened, and it most likely has, but of what consequence is it? I have a guaranteed F in two classes, a guaranteed A in one, and maybe a B+ to show for my half-assed work in yet another. And I'm dropping out of my school. These days, I feel like Holden Caulfield, I really do.

Then, after writing it, I realize I've given you the Caulfield joke before. This is the monotony of my life, if complete incoherence can be described as monotonous.

My professor of writing suggests that I continue with school, and to read the great literary canon to help dig my niche in the writing world. I enjoy writing, though you could have gathered that. Perhaps, if you're in my first group of followers, I'll give you all signed copies of my first work.

And of course, into the greater scheme of things, I will now extract a quote:

Mankind, ignorant of the truths that lie within every human being, looked outward-pushed ever outward. [...] Eventually it flung them out into space, into the colorless, tasteless, weightless sea of outwardness without end. It flung them like stones.

Kurt Vonnegut

The greater things in our life are the things that tend to take place in our minds, in the great microcosm of neurons. My great things are all quesetions, as it were. And tonight, or today, or whenever it is that you so happen to read this, I would like to develop a more informed understanding of nostalgia.

It's been well established that nostalgia is a depression of varying intensity, over the longing for the past to return. It's the feeling that gives us an excuse to remember ex's, old jobs, places we lived, and all of the etceteras. Our beautiful past, as it were.

At my present age of 20 (going on five-thousand it seems), I have finally hit the surface of reality. To explicate, I have now completed my second decade on Earth, out of a projected 7.8. Sometimes, in my disorientation, I'll earnestly consider what middle school like will be like, or where I put my blocks, before realizing that those days are a part of a different life.

Which leads me to wonder if we were ever what we remember. We can have our memories, and we can the meaning and nostalgia for these memories, but did the past ever actually happen? There are times, occurring sadly more often, that I believe the more grim answer.

But what can you do, you know? I guess complaining is the most that can be done. But hey, if you have an answer, inform me!

À bientôt!

A Critique on Writing Workshops

2008-11-03T20:57:00.001-08:00

In a word, I find creative writing workshops to be utterly terrible; my pomposity tends to get the better of me in there. Either I'm forced to endure poor criticism, or I get to listen to poor Nickelback-based lyrics.
If you're serious about writing, go to maybe one workshop, just to see how ridiculous it is. Welcome to the subtler world of mediocrity. You'll find that a workshop can only provide so much for you, if anything at all.

Maybe I've had a bad experience with workshops. My Intro to Creative Writing class is filled with students who are barely even there for the grades. I don't know if most of them understand the art of the pen.

The bed calls, my rant is through. À bientôt!

The Weekend - A Reprise of Values

2008-11-03T11:21:00.001-08:00

I can understand why some people refuse to drink. I watched a woman contort her face into the most disgusting, anguished shapes as she cried into her booze. My stomach turned for alcohol, and now I’m a far more conscious person about downing a drink or two.
Of course, that didn’t stop me from getting snookered on Halloween. I went down to a friend’s party, played a couple of drinking games, drank some more, and then attempted to play freecell solitaire on the coffee table. Aside from the punch tasting like Dimetapp, the evening was pretty enjoyable.
After I got tired of drinking cough suppressant, I trudged back to my room and slept off a potential hangover: a fitting welcome mat for the weekend. I spent most of Saturday and Sunday catching up in Questionable Content, and I’ve been thinking over my life on and off.
I was thinking about dropping out of college, seeing as I can’t come back in the spring anyway, but I’ll live here for a while longer. I feel like Holden Caulfield these days. I really do. I’m on the verge of publishing something of worth, so I think I’ll concentrate more on my writing than my classes. These lectures are only to guide us as far as we’re willing to go, of course.
So, the ultimate moral of the story? Friends are precious, and enjoy your time with them, because no matter where you go in life, the times you have with your friends will be more important than any job you find. And keep away from Dimetapp, it gives a hell of a hangover.

Homage - Things I Enjoy

2008-10-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

I've been reading a few webcomics lately, among them XKCD and Cyanide & Happiness. There's a certain charm knowing that these comics are free, up-to-date, and beyond readily accessible.

I was speaking with my counselor the other day, and it led my thoughts to the concept of self-fulfilling beauty, or art for art's sake. Many of the things I find most satisfying in my life are branded as pop art, and while I don't know if it is our great cultural phenomenon, I do know that these are artists who appreciate the value of their work. They are my, our, lives drawn to page, and posted for everyone to see. And the best part? It is a secret everyone can share.

I'm reminded of Unbreakable, where the antagonist spoke of comics as an accentuated call to our ancestry and to ourselves.

For the sake of brevity this morning, however, I'm just going to list off some of the better web comics for anyone's particular enjoyment.

XKCD
Cyanide & Happiness
Achewood
Questionable Content
Chugworth Academy

Carpe Diem

Eternal Transition

2008-10-30T19:24:00.000-07:00

I watched one of the live-action Scooby Doo movies earlier. I was disappointed with how subliminally adult it was. In an early scene, Shaggy and Scooby were appealing to a group of Rastafarians surrounded by smoke. It seemed like an appeal to the newer generations of viewers. It was a pointless movie, and I'm glad I left before it was through.

I spent the other day reading through Ecclesiastes, or "The Preacher," the book that talks about the vanity of humanity. The read reaffirmed that Christianity is truly the primary source of existentialism; the idea that everything we do is for naught is isolating. It's no wonder people that think too much end up killing themselves, giving a new perspective on why "ignorance is bliss."

It also helped me rationalize the duality of the things that go on around me. Look at the pictures in the links below -- they are of the same scene. There is only about a month and a half between the two pictures, and they could not be any more different. There is something beautiful about superimposing the summer picture with the night-time winter one, something revealing and abysmal.

Summer
Winter

I feel again that college is just a pointless transition in the greater scheme of things; that I am bound for other things that do not include writing papers for arbitrary grades and critiques. It could be Seasonal Affective Disorder (I refuse to refer to its acronym), but I think depression in general is when we realize the starker nature of things.

So with that, I'll probably leave school after this semester, if I decide to stay that long. I'll pay off my loans, then move away from the grey Catskill Mountains. There's a big world that doesn't involve the frivolous ramblings between the hills.

Fifty Dollars and a Clock That Won't Stop Ticking

2008-10-29T22:45:00.000-07:00

As much as I would have liked to see a secret welcome party for my induction into the blogosphere, I'm glad I'm writing my first post incognito. All I need tonight is the hum of my computer, Zamfir's wild pan flautistry (is that a word?), and a good chat online. Of course, my good chat has reduced to which games are worth their money on the current generation of gaming systems.

It seems like over the years, even the video game industry is plagued with consumerism, with charts and graphs determining why you should pick up every game manufactured. Maybe I wouldn't complain under other circumstances, but the prices of games have skyrocketed since I was a tyke. You might be able to buy a game for $50, if you can find a decent deal.

I sold most of my systems over the summer, in part to help pay for school, but more to show myself I didn't have an addiction to gaming. It was rough, and I therein proved myself wrong, but now I find myself to be a more fulfilled person without flashing projections beating against my retinas. In short, I've lost weight, my self-esteem has gone up, and I'm the light of the party when I show up to events these days. It's amazing what perseverance will ultimately reward you with.

By the way, none of these new systems are worth it. Save your money and wipe the dust off the Super Nintendo; everyone could use some nostalgia in their life. Or better yet, step outside and realize that you're living in something so vast and beautiful that no one can ever fully appreciate. And save that $50, you never know when you might need it.