I remember how, when I was young, I often sat by the window, gazing out at the colours and wishing that when I grew up I could be one of those people who defined COOL. Don’t assume that I wanted to be a pop star or hip designer… I wanted to be the head of a corporation bent on monopoly that decided what its weak-minded consumers ate, watched, drank, wore and smoked. Or better yet, the head of a single organization bent on monopoly, represented by a bunch of apparently unassociated conglomerates that divide among themselves the rights to influence individual aspects of their weak-minded consumers’ lives.
Fine, I lied… this only occurred to me today while I was practicing my domination technique. When I was a kid I probably wanted to grow up into a tree.
It’s so utterly miserable that no matter how much you might want to be original, almost everything you are is not what you are. It needn’t be subliminal programming that countercultures and conspiracy theorists like to believe in. As far as I’ve seen, it’s all right out there in broad daylight, in every medium that exists. Everything is projected onto you in one way or another, maybe purposefully, sometimes ricocheting off the next person, but when one of those rays eventually sneaks one of its dirty little tendrils around you, you’re already the newest victim of urban culture.
Being a tree would be nice, though. Trees are cool.
“The frontline is everywhere, there be no shelter here.”
Rage Against The Machine – Wake Up
Joe Anderson and Salma Hayek – Happiness Is A Warm Gun
The rise of Floyd!
Little Ernie was having a problem with his homework. “Dad,” he asked, “What is the difference between ‘anger’ and ‘exasperation’?”
“Well, son,” said his father, “I’ll give you a practical demonstration.”
His father picked up the phone and dialled a number.
“Hello,” said a voice at the other end.
“Hello,” said Ernie’s father. “Is Melvin there?”
“There is no one called Melvin here!” the voice replied. “Why don’t you look up numbers before you dial them?”
“You see?” said Ernie’s father. “That man was not at all happy with our call. But watch this!”
He then dialled the number again, and says, “Hello, is Melvin there?”
“Now look here!” the voice said angrily. “I told you there is no Melvin here! You’ve got a lot of nerve calling again!”
“Did you hear that?” Ernie’s father asked. “That was ‘anger’. Now, we’ll see what ‘exasperation’ is!”
He dialled once again. And on hearing the voice at the other end, Ernie’s father said: “Hello! This is Melvin. Have there been any calls for me?”
Young girl: If I go up to your room, do you promise to be good?
Young man: Baby, I promise to be FANTASTIC!
Bacteria: The rear entrance to a cafeteria
Dogma: The mother of puppies
Ultimate: The last person to marry
Vice versa: Dirty poems
A rather inebriated fellow on a bus was tearing up a newspaper into tiny pieces and throwing them out the window.
“Excuse me,” said the woman sitting next to him. “But, would you mind explaining what you’re doing?”
“It scares away the elephants,” replied the drunk.
“But I don’t see any elephants around here,” said the woman.
“Bloody effective, i’nnit?” crowed he.
Har...
Damien Rice – 9 Crimes
Radiohead – Fake Plastic Trees
(TY - Reader's Digest)
Two-five is here at last. It’s not as though it dropped in unexpectedly, but two-four was bad enough without adding another year. I expect/want to live till I’m 55 (or did I say 2055 AD?) so I may be close to halfway there already.Floyd: Wow, did you use your fingers to count that? Happy Birthday, doofus.Considering that I’ve only really gone about life for about 11 years and slept one third of that time away, that leaves me with some 7 and change years done and an actual 20 to go. All my versatile number crunching may be obvious arithmetic, but I’m bad at telling this sort of thing.I hate my computer. I want to write for the sake of writing, but as soon as I sit down in front of the keyboard, the words dry up until I find a half decent laxative. I don’t write when I’m emotional, I write simply for the enjoyment. I am probably my own biggest fan, not because I’m narcissistic but because I can go back as an unbiased reader and judge everything I’ve ever written and sometimes hate it, but sometimes love it too. And I love that I can love my own stuff.Floyd: There’s a word for self-lovin’ y’know…The rest of this post: CANCELED in favour of self-loving.“If I could be who you wanted, All the time”Opus – Live Is LifeSheryl Crow – If It Makes You HappyNow frequenting: Wendy Molyneux at
http://fakeinterviewswithrealcelebrities.blogspot.com
It is difficult to get along, to match minds these days. The world grows ever rapidly and as more people populate the planet, it will be increasingly more difficult to get along, to find a matching of minds in those days.
Happiness seems to need to be earned (which is not always a bad thing) so it is probably a lot easier to find comfort in knowing that your conveniently begotten sorrow makes you more alike the rest, than your happiness can.
Since one is alive, one is likely at any given moment, to ask the universally clichéd and redundant question of “Why do I live?” The truth is that the answer holds neither importance nor value; the real question one might want to ask is “Why should I live?”
All things must die and therefore, one must too, at whatever time is deemed proper. But, since one cannot know if said time shall be struck by the clock within a reasonable count of seconds, days or years, one can always assume that the time is near at hand, so as to comfortably take into account all that is required to complete what is deemed to be a satisfactory lifetime.
I’ve never stopped to think either way, because I already know that I don’t know either answer. It is less trouble to ignore the question than to be haunted by the knowledge of your own ignorance.
Not knowing the answer to the first question is no crime. Most would believe (or want to) that some unrevealed purpose has been pre-ordained for them and that they are merely fulfilling their respective prophecies, however insignificant/not they may be.
But not knowing the answer to the second question is abuse of the right to survive. If I don’t know why I love to live, what is the point? Lots to learn as yet.
Floyd: Fuckin’ eloquent as usual, eh? Here’s a tip, MEET NEW WOMEN! Then we’ll see how you find time to keep spouting this morose bullshit.
“Life, is a single skip for joy”
Matt Willis – Crash
Peter Sarstedt – Where Do You Go To, My Lovely?
Nothing good can ever come of the truth. Truth is an ugly, honest-to-god un-beautiful thing. It may seem sad to the altruistic mind, or even one corrupted manifold, but THIS IS the truth.
See? Nothing good came of that either.
Our entire existence is spent living in the elaborate lies we create, tangled into those woven by the people we let into our lives, and each one touching a hundred more till the web is infinity in itself. No matter how much one may say one is truthing, one will never be completely truthful. In fact one is not even capable. What good can come of it?
You’re beautiful. Although, you have that wart on the back of your neck… and soon, once I’ve seen enough of your face, I’m going to focus all of my attention on hating the wart, so that every time I see your face I see the wart and soon I’m not going to want to see your face anymore just because I’ve started to hate it just as much as I hate that wart.
The lie is what gives life its value and bearability. It makes lives worth spending in the company of friends and loved ones. Because they don’t need to hear your truth, because they know just what the truth is and because they know just how to keep the truth in that dark place where you keep their secrets too. The difference between these lies and the ones the world will tell you, are in the ends for which they are the means.
The truth is embarrassing; the truth is raw; the truth is a host of negative emotion. But if you knew it all, for the sake of naked, unashamed, white-faced honesty, would you want it still?
The truth is humbling; the truth is innocent; the truth is horrific. The truth is the child who killed himself because he understood. The lie said he was disturbed.
The truth is not love; the truth is not light; the truth is not the sacrifice. The truth is the loner. The lie is in the wedding dress.
The truth is not what’s bursting out; the truth is not what we’re dying to tell the world; the truth is not what we’re desperate to confess to our closest companion; the truth is what we don’t.
I wish I never did this.
“Be not so long to speak; I long to die” – J
Cover week:Sheryl Crow – D’yer Mak’er
Girls Aloud – I Think We’re Alone Nowimage courtesy cricinfo.com
I remember how, when I was young, I often sat by the window, gazing out at the colours and wishing that when I grew up I could be one of those people who defined COOL. Don’t assume that I wanted to be a pop star or hip designer… I wanted to be the head of a corporation bent on monopoly that decided what its weak-minded consumers ate, watched, drank, wore and smoked. Or better yet, the head of a single organization bent on monopoly, represented by a bunch of apparently unassociated conglomerates that divide among themselves the rights to influence individual aspects of their weak-minded consumers’ lives.
