So in my last public post I received a comment, informing me about the Largest Ebook Library and something about a monthly fee, hovering over the image revealed the url to be a site hosted on http://www.sites.google.com/. I felt that a snarky reply and deleting the comment as 'spam' were insufficient to convey my disdain for potentially spreading a virus to all my none of readers, so I sent the offending journal a message.

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Subject: Have you ever considered dying in a fire?

I really would appreciate it if you did take a minute, right now, out of your busy schedule of spamming, to contemplate that maybe you should throw yourself into a raging inferno. It just seems like it would improve my life a bunch if you ended up as a charred corpse identifiable only through your melted teeth being matched up with dental records by a jaded forensic professional.

Having ads in my journal from the hosting site is bad enough, but having you make me drag my ass over here and delete your shit asap so it doesn't have a chance to be seen by anyone is a waste of time that I could spend being a worthless piece of shit all day and playing all these games. Also no one reads my journal, why are you even posting there? Go harass renegade_mime or something.

I may not have actually included that last line.

So it turns out you can sleep too much. How about that?

So I guess my MSN name got onto some spam list, because bots keep adding me. It can be fun though, as the recent encounter with 'Janee' proved.

( Read more... )

Lying in bed, next to the real doll of your dead husband. How is mediocrity? I've always said you hold on to things too long, but this is a whole new level.

I still remember walking in on you. It was an embarrassing moment, but I still think that it was your fault. Oh well. We can see how that turned out. Me, sitting there on the bus, humming romantic tunes I can't get out of my head. You, spilling your hand without realizing it.

I hear your memories; "The plastic is less warm than the body I loved used to be, but I haven't the heart to hold it against you. There is no movement, no vibration, no sound. The sound, that was like an echo off of your soul. I used to live by it, blind to the intricacies of it but sustained by the knowledge it was there. Like a god. There is no equal. But there is a proxy. I can roll and buck and gyrate along with your surrogate, and if I close my eyes sometimes it's like . . .
Like I've come alive again. Just for a second."

No longer good for combat, too fragile for moving targets, but still a savior to the weak. Everything in this world has it's place, it's contentment is if that place is where it wants to be. Discontent is a place.

I hear that some dice can come naturally loaded. A clipboard and time are all it takes to make things unfair. Unfair is when you hide the truth, injust is when something hidden harms.

( nonsense under cut )

Walter Benjamin's theory of translation was that a transparent restatement of meaning is untrue to it's source. To state something is to create, because the frame is as much a part of the picture as the headphones are a part of the sound. It may not be the intent, but when we post someone else's creative work (like lyrics) as a whole in lieu of content, to express ourselves, we are creating something. And I don't mean to put anyone down, but you guys are fucking terrible at framing. That's really why I say not to do it, because you're not usually expressing anything but how awesome you think lynkin park is, or how you don't understand what the song is about.

The other side to this is that there is a core of meaning within lyrics that transmits a message, and it would be egotistical to say that we could express it better than the "great artists" who wrote it. Kill yourself. If you don't think you can express yourself better than someone else can express you, why are you alive? And taking this whole 'framing' thing into account, it's even more egotistical to say you can improve an artist's work by slapping it up in your journal that nobody reads, and that you keep friendslocked. It's tackier than a postcard of the Mona Lisa, or a user icon of Pollock.

Holy shit, I actually did it.


Holy shit.


I hope it doesn't backfire horribly.

Song lyric posts: Introspection that other people do for you.

When Plato wrote about the unexamined life being not worth living, to me it was because it is someone else living for you. Most simply chase animal desires and use physicality as justification.

But if you're going to use physicality to validate, why not try mathematical hedonism? Here's how it works: It's a simple system where you give each physical act a numerical score based on how pleasurable it is to you, and how much it raises your status in the eyes of your peers. (If the two are one in the same, you're on the right track.) Then, try to create a schedule where you can net the most points, and keep a running tally. Then, set a point value where you are fulfilled by your accomplishments, and life is meaningful.

HUG LYFE.

There is a noisy party next door, and I just overheard someone say "No, it's 'float like a bee, sting like a butterfly.'"

No one questioned it.