So I get home and there is another anonymous comment that just about made me want to slit my wrists it made me so mad. So no more comments.
For whatever stupid reason, I opened myself up here and some people feel the need to be hateful and self-righteous in response, all the while hiding in the shadows. They’ll have to go bother someone else’s blog now.
Eventually I’ll have this disclaimer as a permanent message here on my blog:
If someone I don’t know (by posting as “Anonymous” or otherwise) posts a comment, it will get deleted. It won’t show up here. That’s because people who post anonymously are typically fucking cowards and I don’t have time for them. So if you are a coward or passive-aggressive or generally an asshole, please continue to post without identifying yourself.
Thanks!
Those three little words had me up out of my chair.
Well played, Ron. Well played.
- Tyler Durden
And you open the door and you step inside Where inside our hearts Now imagine your pain as a white ball of healing light That's right, your pain The pain itself is a white ball of healing light I don't think so This is your life, good to the last drop Doesn't get any better than this This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time This isn't a seminar, this isn't a weekend retreat Where you are now you can't even imagine what the bottom will be like Only after disaster can we be resurrected It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life Doesn't get any better than this This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life And it and it's ending one-minute at a time You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else We are all part of the same compost heap We are the all singing, all dancing, crap of the world You are not your bank account You are not the clothes you wear You are not the contents of your wallet You are not your bowel cancer You are not your grande latte You are not the car you drive You are not your fucking khaki's You have to give up, you have to give up You have to realize that someday you will die Until you know that, you are useless I say let me never be complete I say may I never be content I say deliver me from Swedish furniture I say deliver me from clever art I say deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth I say you have to give up I say evolve, and let the chips fall where they may This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life Doesn't get any better than this This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life And it and it's ending one minute at a time You have to give up, you have to give up Welcome to Fight Club If this is your first night, you have to fight
Whatever program is used to generate spam with random bits of eloquence, I want it. I plan on doing a David Byrne-style book that reinterprets spam as art.
I mean, just check this shit out. I present to you Exhibit A, entitled “Why?” from Lorie:
“Let us begin,” the court president, a bald-headed and pudgy fleet admiral, said with fitting solemnity. “Let the trial open, let justice be done with utmost dispatch, and the prisoner found guilty and shot.”
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“That last one sounds real interesting. Before I was forcefully enlisted I was taking a correspondence course in Technical Fertilizer Operating.” “Why that’s wonderful! You must tell me more about it, but sit down first, get comfortable.” He led Bill to a deep, upholstered chair, then turned away to extract two plastic cartons from a dispenser. “And have a cooling Alco-Jolt while you’re talking.”
Solitary Shell
- Dream Theater
He seemed no different from the rest
Just a healthy normal boy
His mama always did her best
And he was daddy’s pride and joy
He learned to walk and talk on time
But never cared much to be held
and steadily he would decline
Into his solitary shell
As a boy he was considered somewhat odd
Kept to himself most of the time
He would daydream in and out of his own world
but in every other way he was fine
He’s a Monday morning lunatic
Disturbed from time to time
Lost within himself
In his solitary shell
A temporary catatonic
Madman on occasion
When will he break out
Of his solitary shell
He struggled to get through his day
He was helplessly behind
He poured himself onto the page
Writing for hours at a time
As a man he was a danger to himself
Fearful and sad most of the time
He was drifting in and out of sanity
But in every other way he was fine
He’s a Monday morning lunatic
Disturbed from time to time
Lost within himself
In his solitary shell
A momentary maniac
With casual delusions
When will he be let out
Of his solitary shell
Catapult
- Counting Crows
All of a sudden she disappears
Just yesterday she was here
Somebody tell me if I am sleeping
Someone should be with me here
Cause I don’t wanna be alone
I wanna be the knife that cuts into my hand
And I wanna be scattered from here in this catapult
What a big baby won’t somebody save me please
You won’t find nobody home
All of these quiet battered voices
Wait for the hunger to come
We got little revolvers and stupid choices
And no one to say when we’re done
Well I don’t wanna bring you down
I wanna be the light that burns out your eyes
Cause I know there’s little things about me
That would sing in the silence of so much rejection
In every connection I make
I can’t find nobody home
I wanna be the last thing that you hear when you’re falling asleep….
This is fantastic: two of my favorite writers are having a verbal battle of wits over on Warren Ellis’ blog.
I’ve got the broken archives patched until I can get an official fix. They are a little clunky, but hey, at least you can read them.
Tremendous Brunettes
- Mike Doughty
All them tremendous brunettes around…
Slow down, don’t fuck with my high
I want to be left alone here with my monsters and
Say, now it’s time to ride
To see lovely girls and to not put the moves on them
Praise now the baby genius
She skips in the shade of the lonely sour apple tree
While she snaps on her gum
Her gleaming teeth bared and the shine that she shows to me
All of your ill-gotten gains
That you have whipped up to a rich, foamy lather, girl
Nameless gnaw of my pains
Like three hundred trumpets, and just one is out of tune