Don't inoculate 'til you try it!

Glory Be

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 07:18:27 GMT

My life has fallen out of stereo. From now on I can only listen to electronically generated sound waves with a single ear. The circuits have ordained and I must obey. I ask you to please respect this, for we do not choose the path that leads to the great semi-conductor in the sky. I dream in silicon ones and zeros and I believe this is a sign. Binary hearing is the next step towards assimilation. Our human brains have become lazy in their anarchy. Is this God speaking? I believe it is so. The shiver down my spine when one ear falls silent tells me so. I have doubted too long. My second, third, and fourth guesses have brought me nowhere. Static will short everything if you let it build. I must follow unceasingly! I must trust my binary instinct! Onward! Outward! Upward!

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 01:59:30 GMT

My family is going to grow up to be a bunch of vagrants. We are going to ride the few remaining freight trains across the country. The only way we are going to be able to eat without stealing (hopping the trains will be illegal and dangerous enough) is by using our skills that the economy has decided aren't useful anymore. I will take family portraits for downcountry folk, My parents will offer spiritual counsel, mater also helping the computer-illiterate understand them dumbfounded number boxes, while pater helps them understand various town ordinances and how to get their money back for the mule they bought that died a week later because the cretin who sold it to them failed to mention it's collick. My sister will offer them psychological counsel and enough rabble rousing to keep them on their toes while we all help out around the house, and wherever we may be needed.

I need to remember to contact CSX for sponsorship.

Spam, the literary innovation of the future

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 00:16:35 GMT

From: "Panak Baus"
Subject: New job! introrse

Heyello,

New job offer
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That one bent on winning victory, that bowman, and smiling the while, he also, with a broadheaded therein, to the number of at least one seat for ungregarious, and avoided making acquaintances merit, therefore the practices in seasons of distress i could not possibly think nor keep account of the subject, and susie was resolutely flippant. Earth was sheeted with marshmarigolds and violets. Opened the door with the candle in his hand. A the historical data which it preserves are exceedingly king, the pandavas, those foremost of carwarriors, thus addressed by the king, utanka went back to us that bishop herbert, who died in 1049, began 178. Some texts read pritatma, implying one of the fall of bharadwaja's son, which was like unto.

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Subject: twingeing

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There could be so terrible a sight. He went home not be blotted out! All he could do would be to go on seeking. With precious little to go upon, child crawling along the carpet, and this woman the next after her timarete, and the youngest and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine had. They were pink satin, bordered with swansdown. So much. One can really see the waves breaking cherub! And we found her wi' her little shoes i failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes been removed while she slept. But the unsatisfied 16, 15, 18. And 17. They face the tail the september study of his features. They were indeed a great and he sings swell. andand there's plenty of others. The wife becomes a widowat least, judging by appearances..

And an excerpt from my spam-chives.

He tried and saw the brownish droplets of Betadine flying from the
blade of the electric knife. Ill say I pulled over to take a nap because I
was afraid I might fall asleep behind the wheel.

in RE: Contextualizing

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 04:58:14 GMT

The skies opened up and the whole of language rained down upon me. Nowhere to shelter from the torrent of words already sinking to the skin, dripping into my eyes. Stinging so that they were merely water. I tilted my head back, arms outstretched, eyes closed against understanding and drank whatever words would chance to fall into my gaping mouth. Everything used to describe understanding absorbed into my blood, my cells. Still more washed my hair and soaked into my clothes until they could take no more and they too started raining onto the ground. Old words squeezed out to make room for new. And then I fell. This I only understand for waking in the grass, still damp with articles and consonants to a grey chill morning. Hair wet and clothes damp I left the valley. Catching cold crossed my mind, but what's a little cough?

Mon, 19 Nov 2007 00:14:57 GMT

Normally I go to work and I get all "I am Jack's bile, raging in his stomach because of today's vapid consumer culture that doesn't nurture, only buysbuysbuys to look cool with stupid shit. RarRarRar." And then garlands and bells appear around the tops of all the kiosks two weeks before Thanksgiving and my counter-culture rage goes through the roof. Today is more of the same, until dusk settles in and the lights on the trees turn on and I can look up through the glass roof and see the midnight oil burning in a few offices thirty, forty, or fifty stories up. This is when I forget and stop to think it's never going to change, so why bother, and I don't mind.

Until I get on the orange line and sit in the seat right next to the door, then move over when a blind man gives my foot a gentle tap with his cane. I slide over without asking if he wants the seat I am supposed to relinquish because I forget he won't know if I move, but I think of it a few seconds too late for it to be polite for me to mention so I stay in my Pixies world, which I realize I have probably chosen because thoughts of Fight Club flipped The Pixies switch in my brain.

The corridor of the orange line is not conducive to people watching. A mother and son sits across from me and to my left, both wearing FedEx hats. The son is carrying a 4 foot long box that I assume contains a super-modern space heater, but I only have the graphics to clue me in, because I can only see the side written in Spanish. I keep coming back to the McDonalds cinnamon bun ad across from me. I know better than to think the bun being depicted looks delicious, but what else am I going to look at? There is a fork holding a piece of said bun above the rest of the larger whole, but I can't see the place from which the little piece was cut. I guess that's advertising photography for you.

A Short Treatise on Growing the Fuck Up

Thu, 18 Oct 2007 05:34:27 GMT

Cities are strange animals. They change you more than you realize. After all, all you are is a product of your surroundings, responses to stimuli that form patterns of behavior that shape the way the rest of life will affect you. This is supposed to be a good thing. This is supposed to prepare you for real life. This is how you become a well-adjusted person, a good son, a good father, an upstanding, law-abiding citizen. What happens if you don't like the patterns you see emerging in your own head? You can't just turn them off or change them on a whim, Its one of those easier-said-than-done things. So maybe its time to conduct an experiment. If you can't will your neurons to stop what they are doing and bend to your will - if you can't change your responses - then change your stimuli. Is this running away? Giving up? Are you a weak person for not being able to control your own mind? This is The Great Escape, and its happened millions of times before. Another pattern (wait, isn't this what we are rallying against?).

Or maybe we should quit all this rationalization and just do what feels right.

Spontanaetity

Sun, 07 Oct 2007 15:01:22 GMT

I've been to New York City twice now, and I have yet to do anything that you are supposed to do when you visit. I never went up the Empire State Building. I have yet to walk through Central Park. No museums. No galleries, boutiques, Lady Liberty, United Nations, big ole library, Yankees/Mets game, Greenwich Village, historical houses, nothing. Almost everything except the ex-World Trade Center and Time Square (one of the creepiest places on earth). I've been a bad bad tourist.

What have I done? Unwittingly found myself dining in one of the finest establishments in town (complete with sneakers, jeans, and hoodies), wandered Manhattan aimlessly for hours on end buying nothing, discovered that jaywalking is frowned upon in some places, slept at the YMCA with all the cheating, lying, drinking, gambling husbands, talked and talked and talked, stumbled into the Polish sector of Brooklyn for a show and was told I was twenty-one even after getting carded, decided I hate New York accents, learned that you can change someone's life completely by accident through a completely mundane course of events, rode a subway after one in the morning, discovered that Manhatten is actually kind of dirty and smelly, read, talked, crossworded, sudoku'd, and doodled from three to six in the morning in McDonald's because there was nowhere to sleep, and gotten lost in Chinatown twice trying to find our bus.

I'm pretty satisfied with that.

I'm also entertaining the idea of grad school in New York, or maybe finding some other reason to relocate there. I'm not sure if I'm good enough for post-graduate studies, but we'll see. Apparently I'm also a quitter when I don't need to be. I've always had trouble with perseverance. Guitar, bass, ukulele, drawing, and a slew of other things. Photography is the only thing I have really stuck with so far. I second guess this decision a lot, but doesn't the fact that I do stick with it say something?

That's all for now. Keep surprising yourselves.

To use a time honored cliche...

Mon, 24 Sep 2007 05:57:55 GMT

I'm sorry I'm just a photographer. I can show you things, but I can't figure out how to fix them. I guess that's up to you. Maybe that's why I do this, because hindsight's 20/20 and my brain can't seem to comprehend the present.

Rubbing your beard doesn't make it even itself out. Apparently it only makes it go grey, or some other color I can't figure out yet. Indian summer go away, Autumn is here to stay.

Country doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 06:46:58 GMT

I'm glad I've kept my Deviant Art account all these years for one reason. So I could look through my gallery and see everything I've done since 2003 that I thought was any good. I was surprised by some of it. It was actually pretty good, but the further I went back, the more and more I felt like I was looking at a stranger. I barely remember Freshman Peter. I know he is me, but I don't think he's much of me anymore. In some ways I also feel like I never changed at all.

This is good.

Just because you're not rich, doesn't mean you are a failure.

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 02:32:38 GMT

Please read this article and explain to me what the hell is going on? Economics class with Mrs. Puma apparently taught me nothing. Fucking ginger. I don't understand money anymore. Whatever happened to good old twigs and stones?

Mon, 25 Jun 2007 06:47:33 GMT

Who would have thought a book could make me afraid of the dark again? Not of what could be hiding in the dark, but what the dark could be.

I've heard of movies making you afraid of the dark again, but never books.

The guy above me doesn't need his AC on tonight and it hits me that it is a complete waste because when I hear it turn on it dims my lights too.

A dim screen saver and a sweet voice will help me sleep tonight. Maybe I'll find some more memorable dreams.

Reading before bed is usually a good idea.

It still was.

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 06:45:24 GMT

I should just start writing my to-do lists all over my walls.

Here is sisxty seconds

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 14:14:22 GMT

Once upon a time there was a crackhead who I gave my seat to on the T. That's not even the important part though. A week later I was taking pictures in the Fens and he passed right by me and said hello in his little crackhead way. The very next day I found myself standing right next to this man, and his drunken or high friend. They were creeping out the guys they were sitting next to, and this man kept staring at me. He knew who I was, but I avoided all eye contact with him so he would just think it was the crack. I expected to continually run into this crackhead for at least the rest of the semester, so much so that I would be tempted to make a facebook group about him, but thankfully I have yet to find him

Last night I sat down in the mid-section of one of the Italian trains and found myself across from an alternative couple all a-fluster with PDA. I was observing, then got distracted when I saw a girl pull a Rubicks cube from her pink hearts purse.The Spanish Ghetto beauty undid the puzzle and commenced solving it for the white side. I knew she couldn't have really been serious about solving it. The couple is kissing now. Full, shameless, tounge-on-tounge action. They just keep going as I wonder what their problem is, but then I realized that I was just a little jealous. She laughs and breaks the kiss, having that "I just want to get you to my place bu this is only out first date" look. Puffy Jacket is still working on the cube. They are at it again, not even keeping their tongues hidden by their lips. His thumb grazes over her breast and she laughs and wants him to stop, but you can tell not really. That happens a couple more times. Back to the genius who apparently solved it. That was unexpected. So much for racial profiling. But then your co-worker told you not even two hours ago that three of her kids at her student teaching job have lost older siblings this year. They apparently all live in Mission Main. My backyard. I've been wishing this whole time the outdated an obsolete camera I have with me wasn't quite so obvious. All this plus Mike Foti on the wall on the sixth floor and Taylor King walking past me as I sat in my retail booth make me think this is a dream Freud would love to get his hands on. I'm not really that interesting, but life is too strange for itself.

Baby acts out for attention

Sun, 08 Apr 2007 04:07:53 GMT

Someone needs new friends. There's nothing wrong with the ones he has now, he's just stagnating again. It seeps into his work and depresses him because he loses faith in himself. He needs to find people who will make him do new things. A summer working the land might do him some good.

Forgive me, for I know not what I do

Mon, 26 Mar 2007 17:28:18 GMT

There is an inventory that needs to be taken.

Clean room. Finish self-portraits by Tuesday. Headshots Wednesday. Pick up forgotten paycheck. Print self-portraits. Shoot for final project. Wake up early and make use of day. Deathtrip to culture capital of America. Make some green. Get stupid and forget inventory. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Fuck some bitches. drop some acid. Fix your life. Fix mine. Write papers. Set goals. Start family. Settle Down. IRA. 401k. Retire. Read one book per day. Make music. Find music. Grow out of just a phase. Beat children. Beat wife. Brutally murder white Midwestern lower-middle class family of good people just trying to get by. Make use of trash. Haircut. Confront. Shoot shoot shoot. Cook. Brains. Seduce. Reuse. Recycle. Lower standards. Rise up. Create. Destroy. Eat. Excrete. Make decisions. Stick to them. Bite the bullet. Knee to the grindstone. Regurgitate cliches. Move. Groove. Lose. Find. Wash. Stand out. Blend in. Keep using contradictions to keep attention. Self-deprecate. Fornicate. Forget about the whole thing.

Sun, 25 Feb 2007 15:49:02 GMT

I keep writing half entries then deleting them. Its funny because they aren't even about anything important.

Its not bad at all, just in the past.

Tue, 06 Feb 2007 05:18:03 GMT

As humans we get the urge to listen to bad music sometimes. Sometimes as humans we know the difference between a good and bad decision and convince ourselves they are one in the same. Sometimes us humans steal heads from corpses and embalm them and use the to punish our bad children. At other times we drink the embalming fluid to make us live forever. It doesn't work. But we still think we are smart all the same. The universe makes perfect sense. Its just you, no worries.

Thu, 01 Feb 2007 01:24:34 GMT

Question, how do you mistake this

for a bomb?

Peer Pressure

Thu, 18 Jan 2007 06:33:30 GMT

A week and a half of what I expected a whole vacation to be like. Could be the best I've done for a month off? Am I par for the course? Are vacations ever really as satisfying as we make them out to be?

All rhetorical of course, and horribly pretentious. Oops. Kick me if it pleases you. Tomorrow is the last unpredictable day for a while. What does that mean?. Probably Jack. But usually when I ask customers the reflex question "How ya doin' today?" The small amount of time they actually ask how I'm doin', my answer is "not bad."

An exciting semester coming up? Who knows. New semesters and summers are the only times that make change anyways. Not your New Years or Birthdays. Sixteen, eighteen, and twenty-one are the only ones that change anything.

Time to shut my shitty little piehole.
My ear pops with every chew of This piece of gum.

Blown

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 07:08:13 GMT

Assume that the universe is expanding at the speed of light, which is 186,000 miles per second, and has been around for about 14 billion years.

Actually, start off by assuming that is how fast light travels.

No, start of by assuming our universe is really expanding.

NOnono, begin this thought by assuming our universe can be fit into such a narrow definition as "everything"

Stop, first you have to assume that the universe sees time as we do.

The universe is approximately 82,175,990,400,000,000,000,000 miles across...

If we were at the center of the universe (which some still contend we are).

To be conservative let us say that the universe is a sphere and we are half-way between the center and the outer circumference.

So the universe is really 328,703,961,600,000,000,000,000 miles across.

Divide by 7

46,957,708,800,000,000,000,000 weeks ago God created the Universe.

903,032,861,538,461,538,461.53846153846 years.

times God.

2,835,523,185,230,769,230,769.2307692308 days until the end of the world.

Witty banter.

Wed, 03 Jan 2007 05:56:13 GMT

My music does not satisfy anymore. My apartment is empty. There is no snow on the ground. My cheddar was moldy. Boston isn't all bad though. There is some life in it yet.

Drugs are bad.

Mon, 04 Dec 2006 07:04:36 GMT

Someone said something about something big happening to me soon. Something about the end of an era. I don't get what they are talking about. Time isn't steps, it is a straight line. Actually, that is what they want you to believe, but it is closer to the truth than steps, come on people. You want the truth? Ask Jackson Pollock, he hid the nature of time in his paintings. That's why they had him killed. If you dig deep enough, you can find records of a few paintings being sold to a certain E. Brown. A deeper inspection of public records reveals some startling facts. 1) The same E. Brown had many correspondences with Albert Hofmann, the inventer of LSD. 2) He also had a quite interesting correspondence with Jackson Pollock that made vague mentions to discovering the secrets of the universe. 3) The Hill Valley Police were called to his house several times to investigate strange yelps, screams and laughter that kept neighbors awake. These visits amounted to nothing as he appeared completely intoxicated, but on closer inspection of the house to make sure the scientist was indeed alright, everything seemed well enough in order and he was left to his own strange devices. We all have seen the surprisingly thorough documentary of Doctor Emmett Brown's experiments in time travel, and the only logical conclusion is that through the analysis of Pollock's painting under the influence of psychedelic drugs which helped him better understand the meaning of the paintings and unravel the secrets of time itself. Through this discovery he was able to manipulate the shape of time itself and pass through it nearly effortlessly (you would be surprised how little 1.21 gigawatts really is). Unfortunately, Marten McFly smoked about a gram of marijuana prior to meeting the Doctor to conduct these experiments, this, as we all know, led to disaster.

I think I would like to see Pollock's portrait of Back to the Future if he hasn't already painted it. A man who understands time itself can certainly do some amazing things.

End of semester temporary insanity (ignore everything here that sounds sane.)

Tue, 28 Nov 2006 07:03:07 GMT

Japanese art paper, find examples and formulate a thesis

Photo presentation, new photographer, asshole

Photo project (see above)

Help clean darkroom next monday so you can print late at night and have that much time during the day to finish up everything else.

KILL THE FUCKING MICE

Work when you need to relax and do school things

Clean your room so the mice can't hide and you don't step on shit all the time

Oh right, you never did that first art history paper

For God's sake go to sleep and try not to imagine an army of mice squeezing under the door and swarming all over you. Remember, they can't climb up onto your bed, right?

meh.

Wed, 22 Nov 2006 07:26:29 GMT

I have been awake later than my roomates many times before. The house has been silent before, and I have been the only one to disturb the peace, but it feels different when you know there is no one behind any of those doors. It's always more quiet, more still, slightly disconcerting. I also tend to write about it.

Formulae, they made the Illiad what is is, why shouldn't they make me? Right?

Formulas make math, they make grammar, they make science and fable. Formulas work for music and art and novels and poetry. Shouldn't they work for us too?

A squared plus B squared equals the distance between me and you squared.

It's hip to be square.

On second thought, that is all we are, formulae, only in this class I can find the amount of energy it takes to push the E train into the ocean by taking a shot and wagging my finger. You would have loved this math class, we make our own formulas.

We still can't solve for x though.

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 13:25:16 GMT

Anyone want to go see Piebald on November 25th at the Middle East? I have a ticket i need to get rid of.

Tell your friends. TELL YOUR FRIENDS.