Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Today's Lesson
If television teaches us anything, it's that small children are taken more seriously in the boardroom if wearing comically fitted business suits. However, the notion of children having influence or wisdom is only accepted if they are selling something related to shit.*Shit=Money/Money=Shit (Freudian dream symbology)
A certain mental toughness
...Is required of any individual unwilling to adhere to the fear driven mindset that is permeated throughout the mass media. To cling to the belief that people are inherently benevolent can be construed nowadays as plain ol' naivete. To maintain a calmness within oneself when all else seems lost is not possible at all times, and to wear a smile in the face of of the worlds scowl is downright delusion. So I strive for middle ground. I get stressed, but the stress is mine. It is not the fault of the world only my reaction to it. And I own it, and dip into realms of ink blot darkness. I can emerge again though, as the world can, and hold my head higher. I have swam through Cthulu's chaos as myself. And fuck it, still love this stupid place.
Stock Market Crisis 1608
Due to what some have regarded as fiscal irresponsibilty from leading members of the Treasury, the economy of the British Empire has been thrown into dissarray today. When asked to make her plans to combat the downturn known Queen Elizabeth went on record saying "Put the fuckers heads on spikes."
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Q&A #03
Q.
Oh, nothing really. Another one is all.
Q.
Well, right now what preoccupies me is how she asked one time what I do when I get sad.
Q.
Drink a bottle of red wine and listen to music.
Q.
Well, I think I would like to revise that. I never know what I do when I am not presently in the enquired emotional state. I was happy and gave a frivolous answer. I was near her. She me.
It is when I am bored or happy or afraid that I drink.
Q.
Stare at the pavements I walk along. Mouth agape. Resent my inability to overcome my broken inner self. General stupid intoxicating pity.
...
...Sorry, I thought you were going to ask something there.
Q.
Maybe, Why do you not fight?
Q.
Well, like, impregnate your will on your surroundings, that kind of thing.
Q.
Sure. It's not clear in my own mind either.
...Q.
Well, there are things that I will reveal and things that I won't. At an essential level, though, I would bring it down to competition.
I was always reluctant to compete.
It always struck me as a fallacy, a way to self-aggrandizement or -congratulations or -importance. A masturbatory exercise. A patriarchal institution. Men vying with other men to see who's stream of piss arcs farthest.
Q.
You're not wrong. But what can I do? I do believe that not all is competition. Dickens came from London so it was different for him and that he held competition to be the source of all human drama simply informs a reading of his work; it does not commit one to his thesis. (In fact, I took a sense of justification from the learning of this.)
Q.
No.
Q.
I don't.
Q.
...No.
I didn't.
Q.
And now she's gone. Yes.
Q...
That's enough - too much; you win.
Q.
...
Oh, nothing really. Another one is all.
Q.
Well, right now what preoccupies me is how she asked one time what I do when I get sad.
Q.
Drink a bottle of red wine and listen to music.
Q.
Well, I think I would like to revise that. I never know what I do when I am not presently in the enquired emotional state. I was happy and gave a frivolous answer. I was near her. She me.
It is when I am bored or happy or afraid that I drink.
Q.
Stare at the pavements I walk along. Mouth agape. Resent my inability to overcome my broken inner self. General stupid intoxicating pity.
...
...Sorry, I thought you were going to ask something there.
Q.
Maybe, Why do you not fight?
Q.
Well, like, impregnate your will on your surroundings, that kind of thing.
Q.
Sure. It's not clear in my own mind either.
...Q.
Well, there are things that I will reveal and things that I won't. At an essential level, though, I would bring it down to competition.
I was always reluctant to compete.
It always struck me as a fallacy, a way to self-aggrandizement or -congratulations or -importance. A masturbatory exercise. A patriarchal institution. Men vying with other men to see who's stream of piss arcs farthest.
Q.
You're not wrong. But what can I do? I do believe that not all is competition. Dickens came from London so it was different for him and that he held competition to be the source of all human drama simply informs a reading of his work; it does not commit one to his thesis. (In fact, I took a sense of justification from the learning of this.)
Q.
No.
Q.
I don't.
Q.
...No.
I didn't.
Q.
And now she's gone. Yes.
Q...
That's enough - too much; you win.
Q.
...
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