-Christians, again. Not all of them, just a few, really. I swear to Newton, the next little prick who tells me I'm going to hell 'cause I don't fucking believe in Jesus is getting his little cross necklace shoved up his ass. These stupid motherfuckers think that, no matter what you do with your life, if you don't worship JESUS like some kind of goddam SHEEP, you're gonna get your ass pounded by Satan for all eternity, or whatever. By their rationale, Ghandi, Siddharta Gautama (the Buddha, stupid), and Thomas Jefferson (most of the founding fathers, in fact. Enlightenment, you little punks) are all burning as we speak! I CANNOT agree with that stupid, elitist shit. So, the next person who spouts that kind of crap is getting their ass whupped on by the NEW damned Enlightenment. We're logical, AND pissed. Watch the fuck out.
-Energy Drinks. I had a whole post on this, but I lost it, so, fuck it. Anyway, I drink the stuff, but I've got a coupla problems with it. First, it doesn't work as described. I had a Monster THIS MORNING, and I threw away the empty can at 7:03. I was falling asleep in the library by 9.30. It may be 'cause I was studying my AP Euro book, but I tend to think it's 'cause energy drinks don't really do SHIT. The second problem I have is that the little fuckers are addictive. Honestly, when you're drinkin' 'em in the morning, you're fine. When you're drinkin' 'em alone, you're still fine. But when you're missing food, and water, for that swill, I will have to intervene.
-Just about everything between here, and LA. And everything between here, and England. Distance sucks.
-Jake. Seriously, he's makin' me MAD. See, the thing about Jake, is that he and I agree on LOTS of shit. It's kinda scary. But lately, he's just been abusive. There's really no other word for it. He's mean about the people I hang out with, he's mean about my friends, he's mean to me in particular. I don't mind the last one, honestly, but when he's calling my friends immoral, he can kiss my ass. Also, his girlfriend... look, she's a nice enough kid, and she's pretty and all, but my god can she be a bitch. I don't think she means to, I think she's just trying to make Jake happy. And another thing, they're both really fucking mean to everyone when they're together, just to make themselves look good to each other, and that's fuckin' pitiful.
More later if I can think of anything.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Typewriter-y goodness
On saturday I got an old electric typewriter. I like typewriters, almost more than computers, because it's such a solid medium by comparison. You aren't going to lose your work if you don't save, and they make a lot more sound. Really, they just sound, and even smell, more... I don't know, real than a computer. But I've been playing with it, and testing the keys, and have come up with some rather strange things. The other day I wrote this:
A letter of Apology, or, lack thereof:
Dear Sir Or Madam:
I realize that at some point I have likely offended you. I would like to make it clear that I do not give a damn. If I went out of MY way to piss you off, you most likely deserved it, and are probably a worthless stupid prick. You have done something to deserve not only my notice, but also my decidedly negative attention. You have obviously discovered that I am a radically cynical bastard, and that I am not to be trifled with. If you have a particular problem with me, you bloody well better suck it up. I am NOT here for your amusement, and I will NOT change to fit your perceptions of an ideal person. I absolutely REFUSE to submit myself to your will, or to anyone's will, for that matter. If you have objections, you may take them to my secretary, who will propmtly and politely inform you that you can KISS MY ASS.
MOST Sincerely,
Alexander Anderson
Wooo! Fun stuff, eh? I also wrote this after reading something on Sarah's blog. I can't remember the exact sentence that triggered it, but I do remember that I thought it was well-written and insightful. Here we go:
There is a feeling of power associated with the act of typing. I think it might be that it's a form of creation, like art or music. By typing out our thoughts and feelings we are comitting our emotions to paper. Though it's not an irrevocable act (there's always a lighter handy if you fsck up), it's a feeling that you have created something that isn't going to go away. Thirty years from now, if it is taken care of, this paper will still be readable. Sure, it'll be a bit faded, but then, all art fades with time. Some of it is rediscovered by each successive generation, like good music or a fun hobby, and some by those who come much later, like the cave paintings in Lascaux. But in the end, creation is an amazing feeling like you've done something that will last and secure the immortalitly of, if not your mind and body, then at least a little bit of your soul.
A letter of Apology, or, lack thereof:
Dear Sir Or Madam:
I realize that at some point I have likely offended you. I would like to make it clear that I do not give a damn. If I went out of MY way to piss you off, you most likely deserved it, and are probably a worthless stupid prick. You have done something to deserve not only my notice, but also my decidedly negative attention. You have obviously discovered that I am a radically cynical bastard, and that I am not to be trifled with. If you have a particular problem with me, you bloody well better suck it up. I am NOT here for your amusement, and I will NOT change to fit your perceptions of an ideal person. I absolutely REFUSE to submit myself to your will, or to anyone's will, for that matter. If you have objections, you may take them to my secretary, who will propmtly and politely inform you that you can KISS MY ASS.
MOST Sincerely,
Alexander Anderson
Wooo! Fun stuff, eh? I also wrote this after reading something on Sarah's blog. I can't remember the exact sentence that triggered it, but I do remember that I thought it was well-written and insightful. Here we go:
There is a feeling of power associated with the act of typing. I think it might be that it's a form of creation, like art or music. By typing out our thoughts and feelings we are comitting our emotions to paper. Though it's not an irrevocable act (there's always a lighter handy if you fsck up), it's a feeling that you have created something that isn't going to go away. Thirty years from now, if it is taken care of, this paper will still be readable. Sure, it'll be a bit faded, but then, all art fades with time. Some of it is rediscovered by each successive generation, like good music or a fun hobby, and some by those who come much later, like the cave paintings in Lascaux. But in the end, creation is an amazing feeling like you've done something that will last and secure the immortalitly of, if not your mind and body, then at least a little bit of your soul.
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