Conservatives against universal health care argue that we shouldn't let the government make decisions about our health care.
So instead we want some greedy bastard insurance company making these decisions instead? Check out this story. This insurance company in Philadelphia denied a girl in California a critical procedure because "there was a lack of medical evidence showing the procedure would work".
So if I follow correctly the insurance company deemed that this young girl was going to die anyways so...why fork over good money?
Who the f*** is the insurance company to decide if a procedure will work or not? My bet is that the doctor watching this girl die would be in a much better position to make that decision; not some money grubbing assholes thousands of miles away.
Folk this is wonderful invisible hand of capitalism working at its best. How could anyone continue to defend this ridiculous system?
Capitalism works great when you're selling useless crap like iPods, not so much when comes to the things people need to live (like a liver).
Friday, December 21, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Lieberman Endorses McCain
Lieberman endorses McCain. When I read this my first thought was “Lieberman, what an asshole” Is he doing this just be a prick? I continued reading the article. Lieberman’s argument: “[we need] a leader who can break through the partisan gridlock," and "The status quo in
(Even as I type that I get bad taste in my mouth. Sure i respect Lieberman, but I still think he is an asshole).
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
A Rare Flower
to M.
Asleep on the soft petals of a beautiful flower
I am awakened by the buzzing of others
“What is this flower? What do you call it?” They ask.
“A flower of unmatched beauty and nourishment” Obviously
hopping flower to flower, ask:
“but is it yours?, is it your flower?”
Perplex by these odd questions,
annoyed at such a rude awakening,
I answer curtly
“This flower is no more mine
then the sun is yours” Go away.
“But, but, what do you call it?” their voices shake.
“As you call the sun what it is,
this rare flower is.
as the sun welcomes you,
this flower welcomes me.
as you do not choose the sun
I choose no other flower.
For who are we, us little bees
to pick and choose
that which gives us life?”
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Perception of Others and The Self
dedicated to S.G. "not a dime store psychologist"
Here is a bit of dime store psychology that bubbled up to the surface of my mind the other night.
I suspect that for many people much of the qualities one sees in others is more of reflection of one's own qualities and not the other person.
I fashion my self a honest person. Also, a person that, on a good day, tries to see the best in people and, on a bad day, tries to see nothing; to with-hold judgment.
My thought is is that my own predispositions strongly affect how I see others. I have a tendency to assume that people reciprocate these same feelings I feel towards them; that people assume I am honest and non-judgmental and that I see the best in them.
I remember a time, as a typically confused and depressed teenager, that I believed most people to be miserable fucks and if they appeared to be happy they were probably bullshitting themselves.
I am the same person as that confused teenager. Human nature hasn't changed in 10 years What has changed? Me of course and consequentially my view of people.
Now I am not saying that how one views others directly mirrors how one sees oneself. If a person feels stupid that person most likely does not think everyone else is stupid, by definition this person will think everyone else is smarter.
The point is, is that this person's perception of others has little to do with observed qualities of others and more do with how that person feels about oneself.
Of course this phenomenon would be most prominent with people one knows the least.
Do you want to test your own predispositions? How do you feel about some people the first time you meet them? If you like them its probably because there are some qualities in them that reflect positive feelings you feel about yourself.
If after the first meeting you don't like them, through their behaviors you perceived qualities about yourself that you are not too fond of, but the source of those feelings is the person who don't like. Thats why you don't like them.
Thats not to say those qualities you perceive in others are non-existent. If I "perceive" someone to be an asshole that doesn't mean they are not an asshole, that does not mean "its all in my head". What I am saying is, is that whatever qualities one perceives in another person that led one to judge them "asshole" or any such label, is very much related to one's own personal qualities, and perceptions of self.
A room of ten people may all come to the conclusion that the eleventh person is an asshole but I suspect they will all have at least subtly different reasons for judging that person as such.
So whats the point of all this? How might knowing this relationship between perception of self and perception of others, if it has any validity, change how one treats people? Well the very act of perceiving people will become an act of self-perception. To put it another way, it will be an act of self-reflection.
How one perceives people will reflect back to how one perceives oneself. How one treats other people will reflect back to how one treats oneself, and vise versa. If one is more aware how one treats others I suspect one will treat others better.
This idea takes the golden rule a step further. Treat others as how you would want to be treated, perceive others how one would want to be perceived.
If you perceive everyone is out to bullshit you and take advantage of you how could you possibly treat others how you would want to be treated? You will treat people will suspicion. You might engage in dishonest manipulation yourself, assuming everyone else is dishonest and manipulative.
But do you want to be perceived (by yourself or others) as full of shit, exploitive and manipulative? Probably not. And I argue you wont be able to avoid both the behaviors and those nasty little feelings you feel about yourself if you continue to perceive those qualities in others and treat them accordingly.
Like I said before, the very act of interacting with others will become an act of self-reflection. How do I treat others? How do I perceive them? What does this say about myself?
And through this process of self-reflection one will have to confront oneself and through confrontation with oneself come out the other side a better person, treating people more as they would like to be treated (Not to mention having a bit higher opinion of them).
You see, I am predisposed to self-reflection. Consequently I have come up with a little BS amateur shrinkery that reflects my own predisposition. Fancy that.
Here is a bit of dime store psychology that bubbled up to the surface of my mind the other night.
I suspect that for many people much of the qualities one sees in others is more of reflection of one's own qualities and not the other person.
I fashion my self a honest person. Also, a person that, on a good day, tries to see the best in people and, on a bad day, tries to see nothing; to with-hold judgment.
My thought is is that my own predispositions strongly affect how I see others. I have a tendency to assume that people reciprocate these same feelings I feel towards them; that people assume I am honest and non-judgmental and that I see the best in them.
I remember a time, as a typically confused and depressed teenager, that I believed most people to be miserable fucks and if they appeared to be happy they were probably bullshitting themselves.
I am the same person as that confused teenager. Human nature hasn't changed in 10 years What has changed? Me of course and consequentially my view of people.
Now I am not saying that how one views others directly mirrors how one sees oneself. If a person feels stupid that person most likely does not think everyone else is stupid, by definition this person will think everyone else is smarter.
The point is, is that this person's perception of others has little to do with observed qualities of others and more do with how that person feels about oneself.
Of course this phenomenon would be most prominent with people one knows the least.
Do you want to test your own predispositions? How do you feel about some people the first time you meet them? If you like them its probably because there are some qualities in them that reflect positive feelings you feel about yourself.
If after the first meeting you don't like them, through their behaviors you perceived qualities about yourself that you are not too fond of, but the source of those feelings is the person who don't like. Thats why you don't like them.
Thats not to say those qualities you perceive in others are non-existent. If I "perceive" someone to be an asshole that doesn't mean they are not an asshole, that does not mean "its all in my head". What I am saying is, is that whatever qualities one perceives in another person that led one to judge them "asshole" or any such label, is very much related to one's own personal qualities, and perceptions of self.
A room of ten people may all come to the conclusion that the eleventh person is an asshole but I suspect they will all have at least subtly different reasons for judging that person as such.
So whats the point of all this? How might knowing this relationship between perception of self and perception of others, if it has any validity, change how one treats people? Well the very act of perceiving people will become an act of self-perception. To put it another way, it will be an act of self-reflection.
How one perceives people will reflect back to how one perceives oneself. How one treats other people will reflect back to how one treats oneself, and vise versa. If one is more aware how one treats others I suspect one will treat others better.
This idea takes the golden rule a step further. Treat others as how you would want to be treated, perceive others how one would want to be perceived.
If you perceive everyone is out to bullshit you and take advantage of you how could you possibly treat others how you would want to be treated? You will treat people will suspicion. You might engage in dishonest manipulation yourself, assuming everyone else is dishonest and manipulative.
But do you want to be perceived (by yourself or others) as full of shit, exploitive and manipulative? Probably not. And I argue you wont be able to avoid both the behaviors and those nasty little feelings you feel about yourself if you continue to perceive those qualities in others and treat them accordingly.
Like I said before, the very act of interacting with others will become an act of self-reflection. How do I treat others? How do I perceive them? What does this say about myself?
And through this process of self-reflection one will have to confront oneself and through confrontation with oneself come out the other side a better person, treating people more as they would like to be treated (Not to mention having a bit higher opinion of them).
You see, I am predisposed to self-reflection. Consequently I have come up with a little BS amateur shrinkery that reflects my own predisposition. Fancy that.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
I nearly died last night
to M.
I nearly died last night.
it was a non-event.
no, nothing happened, but something almost happened.
a dark night, a fast bike
a missed stopped sign
a white van a few paces faster
a fast bike a few paces slower
a broken man on the dark cold pavement
bleeding and dieing alone.
no consolation, with no hope.
I thought of you
and my cold poison words still dripping through your ears
I want them back.
to pull them out of your ear out of the air
back into the pages and into my head.
where they can die the death of a rotten seed
and I can die the death of a grateful man,
a broken body, a mangled bike, cold asphalt
and a beautiful fall night
Monday, October 15, 2007
Celebrate your Deathday!
For those of you who hate birthday(I'm ambivalent myself) here is a thought: instead of birthdays, which are so egocentric and self-important, we should celebrate our death day. Now it sounds morbid on the face of it but listen: we pick a day of OUR choosing and celebrate our eventual death.
When you are born you have no choice as to when where and to whom you are born. But our death day, we get to choose. We choose not as dependent infantile human beings but as autonomous and free and beautiful people.
And on this day we reflect joyfully and with a good deal of sarcasm on our eventual death. Instead of a birthday where you go "one more year closer to death" on your deathday you reflect back on the year you had and say "fuck, I am alive and i had a pretty decent time of it, I wonder what this year will be like? I hope it doesn't suck..." And then you take another shot of tequila.
You see, a celebration of death is more of a celebration of life then a celebration of birth. But its not supposed be all that serious. Someone's death day is a day for morbid jokes, and laughter, and irony. Looking at how fucked life is and laughing at it with friends and drinking too much, laughing too much, talking too much, life in excess on the day your eventual death. And the whole idea of having a "deathday" on the face of it is morbid and hilarious and ridiculous and flies directly in the face of this stupid institution called the "birthday". Oh, and no gifts on deathday! On your death day you give gifts to your friends; gifts low in monetary value but high in sentimental or intoxicating value. (ie handwritten letters, framed pictures, shots of tequila ect)
When you are born you have no choice as to when where and to whom you are born. But our death day, we get to choose. We choose not as dependent infantile human beings but as autonomous and free and beautiful people.
And on this day we reflect joyfully and with a good deal of sarcasm on our eventual death. Instead of a birthday where you go "one more year closer to death" on your deathday you reflect back on the year you had and say "fuck, I am alive and i had a pretty decent time of it, I wonder what this year will be like? I hope it doesn't suck..." And then you take another shot of tequila.
You see, a celebration of death is more of a celebration of life then a celebration of birth. But its not supposed be all that serious. Someone's death day is a day for morbid jokes, and laughter, and irony. Looking at how fucked life is and laughing at it with friends and drinking too much, laughing too much, talking too much, life in excess on the day your eventual death. And the whole idea of having a "deathday" on the face of it is morbid and hilarious and ridiculous and flies directly in the face of this stupid institution called the "birthday". Oh, and no gifts on deathday! On your death day you give gifts to your friends; gifts low in monetary value but high in sentimental or intoxicating value. (ie handwritten letters, framed pictures, shots of tequila ect)
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
The B Sides
Ah shit... now I have two blogs. The new blog, Overextended Meta4 is strictly devoted to poetry. I have a feed on this blog linking to material on the new blog. So when I post a poem it should automatically update this blog with a link to the new poem. So...instead of keeping track of two blogs you only need to track one. Pretty slick I think, if it works...
Oh and you can now just go to www.meta44.com to get to this blog. Yeah, I'm a nerd, I got my own domain, but hell ,it was $7.00 for a year. Why the hell not?
Oh and you can now just go to www.meta44.com to get to this blog. Yeah, I'm a nerd, I got my own domain, but hell ,it was $7.00 for a year. Why the hell not?
September 11, 2007
I sit in one of the cafes
On positively fourth street
Too certain with no fear
Reading Machiavelli
Like this Sunday’s editorial
“the state will collapse”
When god dies and fear revolts
Our parents have felt the seams of society come loose
So they dare not ask us for a sacrifice
With their wealth they don’t need our bodies
But we will need the bodies of our unborn children
Never had to make the choice
To burn, to run, or to fight and die
With anxious but spotless minds
We ask our lambs to sacrifice
But they will not fear a dead god
They must fear us
If they refuse to ascend the steps
they will at knife point
but fear will revolt and the knives
will be at our throats
and with our blood a new god will rise.
...
inspired by W.H. Auden's September 1, 1939
Knots know
No knot, not knows
nothing. Sum things
know things nautical,
some not articles.
Knot art tickles
cots caught
gnarled cuticles,
tickles cut.
nothing. Sum things
know things nautical,
some not articles.
Knot art tickles
cots caught
gnarled cuticles,
tickles cut.
Raccoons in His Eyes
Raccoons in his eyes
Squirrels in his heart and
Bees in his blood
And folds of skin
like warm wax
The squirrels pierce the ears.
Raccoons dance
and dart,
rolling folds find their proper pose
And the skin on my face disconnects from my soul
Temptation Divided by Torpidity
Temptation divided by torpidity,
split asunder by academy's devior.
tepid rivulets carving time's soil
to conjugate 'nief the light of a city
split asunder by academy's devior.
tepid rivulets carving time's soil
to conjugate 'nief the light of a city
Telephone Poem
Sitting here at work
bored.
Time's death,
held off by ten short lines.
Her
blue words, are a cure for
beige.
bored.
Time's death,
held off by ten short lines.
Her
blue words, are a cure for
beige.
The Solipsist
The solipsist reads her words
and “cringes at the sight”.
Not to be discouraged
He diggs into the verses’ blue soil.
Stained with ink and confusion,
He comes back up for air.
And covered in words not his
he looks into the mirror
and recognizes himself.
and “cringes at the sight”.
Not to be discouraged
He diggs into the verses’ blue soil.
Stained with ink and confusion,
He comes back up for air.
And covered in words not his
he looks into the mirror
and recognizes himself.
Escape
Dust pumps slowly
through the narrow veins
in the crux of my arm.
from a dozen small holes
in my chest,
around the florescent lit knots
on either side of my head.
My yellows eyes rest
on the pithy quote that adorns
my cloth lined cage
from which one
cannot escape”
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Because I Don't Want to Study
Latest Random News:
- I bought a bike from my buddy Carl over at Everyone Is Dumb It is one of those hip single speed bikes. Its super light, very fast and my chances of making it to the age of 24 are slim. I love to go fast and I am an idiot. It doesn't look good folks.
- I am the newest employee of Dakota Jazz Club. This my first real job in the restaurant biz and I am excited. My friend Melinda over at My Roommate Has a Beard has some experience in the resturant biz and has been cluing me in. According to her working at a restaurant is like high school but with even more sex and cocaine. This job is gonna be fucking awesome.
An actual reproduction of a text message conversation between Melinda and I after I scored the job:
Me: Got the job at the Dakota. Holla!
Mel: Yes! Awesome, congrats! When do u start? I can't wait for all the coked-up sex hi-jinks stories! When do we celebrate?
Me: Me and the boss just did 4 grams off the snare drum and I feel like god. i love this job!
Mel: OMG, so dude im totally in class right now, the teach is lecturing and I just burst out laughing. So great.
Me: Yes!
- I just bought a iPod Shuffle. It's awesome, and I love it. I am not a fan of consumerism or brand names but if Apple made cliffs I would probably jump off 'em. That doesn't make any fucking sense. My friend Sarah over at Sarah's MySpace Blog has the exact same model and color (orange).
- My friend Frances over at Frances Lost in Space is in Venezuela being a total bad ass doing bad ass shit. She is 22 years old, in the middle of the Venezuelan jungle near the border of Colombia teaching University level classes on socio-economics and getting harassed by the government (actually more harassed by bed bugs then the government but yeah... a total bad-ass)
Thats enough for now.
- I bought a bike from my buddy Carl over at Everyone Is Dumb It is one of those hip single speed bikes. Its super light, very fast and my chances of making it to the age of 24 are slim. I love to go fast and I am an idiot. It doesn't look good folks.
- I am the newest employee of Dakota Jazz Club. This my first real job in the restaurant biz and I am excited. My friend Melinda over at My Roommate Has a Beard has some experience in the resturant biz and has been cluing me in. According to her working at a restaurant is like high school but with even more sex and cocaine. This job is gonna be fucking awesome.
An actual reproduction of a text message conversation between Melinda and I after I scored the job:
Me: Got the job at the Dakota. Holla!
Mel: Yes! Awesome, congrats! When do u start? I can't wait for all the coked-up sex hi-jinks stories! When do we celebrate?
Me: Me and the boss just did 4 grams off the snare drum and I feel like god. i love this job!
Mel: OMG, so dude im totally in class right now, the teach is lecturing and I just burst out laughing. So great.
Me: Yes!
- I just bought a iPod Shuffle. It's awesome, and I love it. I am not a fan of consumerism or brand names but if Apple made cliffs I would probably jump off 'em. That doesn't make any fucking sense. My friend Sarah over at Sarah's MySpace Blog has the exact same model and color (orange).
- My friend Frances over at Frances Lost in Space is in Venezuela being a total bad ass doing bad ass shit. She is 22 years old, in the middle of the Venezuelan jungle near the border of Colombia teaching University level classes on socio-economics and getting harassed by the government (actually more harassed by bed bugs then the government but yeah... a total bad-ass)
Thats enough for now.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Privatization of Violence
I am never enthusiastic to support any kind of violence however I do believe that in a democratic society it is the government, accountable to the people, who should hold a monopoly on over its use, not a private for-profit company like Blackwater, whose name Stephen Colbert pointed out is "cartoonishly evil". Check out their logo:
Wow, if that doesn't scream "amoral greedy lawless mercenaries who do the governments dirty work" then I don't know what does.
These guys creep me out. What's even more scary is the implications. The one thing governments, for all times, have had a monopoly over, the thing that might even define them as governments, is the ability to legally enact violence, either on its own citizens or another state. Like so many other government "services" it is being privatized and outsourced, to be held accountable not by citizens but by shareholders.
Here is the latest story on Blackwater from the New York Times:
Another Probe Involving Blackwater
A report on Blackwater by The Nation's Jeremy Scahill
Wow, if that doesn't scream "amoral greedy lawless mercenaries who do the governments dirty work" then I don't know what does.These guys creep me out. What's even more scary is the implications. The one thing governments, for all times, have had a monopoly over, the thing that might even define them as governments, is the ability to legally enact violence, either on its own citizens or another state. Like so many other government "services" it is being privatized and outsourced, to be held accountable not by citizens but by shareholders.
Here is the latest story on Blackwater from the New York Times:
Another Probe Involving Blackwater
A report on Blackwater by The Nation's Jeremy Scahill
Friday, September 21, 2007
Raccoons in his Eyes
Raccoons in his eyes
Squirrels in his heart and
Bees in his blood
And folds of skin
like warm wax
The squirrels pierce the ears.
Raccoons dance
and dart,
rolling folds find their proper pose
And the skin on my face disconnects from my soul
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Battle for St. Paul: 1 Year Away
This is a trailer for the Republican National Convention Welcoming Committee, a group of anarchist organizing protests against the Republican Convention coming to St. Paul August 31st.
These are the guys at protest who will be lighting shit on fire and grabbing canisters of tear of gas with their bare hands and throwing it back at the cops.
Side Story: At the last protest I was at I stopped a group of these guys from taking apart this huge float-like puppet thing so that could use the wooden support beams as weapons against the cops. See, while the rest of us are protesting peacefully these guys start shit with the cops and then everybody gets tear gassed and shot with salt pellets. Not very fun.
Point: These guys are nuts. However they do have a sense of humor:
I guess some of these guys were involved in the recent clash between police and the activist group Critical Mass.
The Star Tribune reported that the normally peaceful monthly bike protest was "infiltrated" by protesters who sought to provoke police. I will put money on it that it was some of these guys. However the City Pages write up about the incident made it seem pretty clear the cops where out to beat some ass (anarchist or no anarchist).
While I have political sympathies with them I don't buy into the anarchist ideology or their methods. If I am going to swallow the pill of any radical ideology its going to be Marxism. Meanwhile I will just stick with my incoherent jumble of ideas I lazily call "democratic socialism" and stick to non-violent direct action (no Molotov cocktails for me...)
When a group is vastly out-gunned, be it by the cops on the street or society at large, it is their moral authority that is their source of power. Engaging in violent direct action only allows the authorities to strips us of our liberties beyond legal doubt and strip us of our moral authority in the eyes of the masses. To think one can engage in direct action with out consideration to how it is perceived by the sheepish masses watching us get our asses beat on television is to be either naive or to be a "True Believer"
True Believers: people who want to escape a flawed self by creating an imaginary self and joining a compact collective whole to escape themselves.
These are the guys at protest who will be lighting shit on fire and grabbing canisters of tear of gas with their bare hands and throwing it back at the cops.
Side Story: At the last protest I was at I stopped a group of these guys from taking apart this huge float-like puppet thing so that could use the wooden support beams as weapons against the cops. See, while the rest of us are protesting peacefully these guys start shit with the cops and then everybody gets tear gassed and shot with salt pellets. Not very fun.
Point: These guys are nuts. However they do have a sense of humor:
I guess some of these guys were involved in the recent clash between police and the activist group Critical Mass.
The Star Tribune reported that the normally peaceful monthly bike protest was "infiltrated" by protesters who sought to provoke police. I will put money on it that it was some of these guys. However the City Pages write up about the incident made it seem pretty clear the cops where out to beat some ass (anarchist or no anarchist).
While I have political sympathies with them I don't buy into the anarchist ideology or their methods. If I am going to swallow the pill of any radical ideology its going to be Marxism. Meanwhile I will just stick with my incoherent jumble of ideas I lazily call "democratic socialism" and stick to non-violent direct action (no Molotov cocktails for me...)
When a group is vastly out-gunned, be it by the cops on the street or society at large, it is their moral authority that is their source of power. Engaging in violent direct action only allows the authorities to strips us of our liberties beyond legal doubt and strip us of our moral authority in the eyes of the masses. To think one can engage in direct action with out consideration to how it is perceived by the sheepish masses watching us get our asses beat on television is to be either naive or to be a "True Believer"
True Believers: people who want to escape a flawed self by creating an imaginary self and joining a compact collective whole to escape themselves.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Why we are miserable.
Check out this article by David Wong at Cracked.com. It is a great piece about friendships in the age of text messages, emails and Facebook. He has some interesting points about text messaging (I am personally on the verge of boycotting them) and emails. I suspect the point about emails is that they are so quickly and poorly written. Email seems cheap, fast and informal and our writing reflects that. In my long email exchanges with friends overseas I have been trying a bit harder to write with greater clarity and proper punctuation but I am not usually sober when i do so my efforts have been falling a bit short.
7 Reason the 21st Century is Making you Miserable.
by David Wong
#1. We don't have enough annoying strangers in our lives.
#2. We don't have enough annoying friends, either.
#3. Texting is a shitty way to communicate.
#4. Online company only makes us lonelier.
#5. We don't get criticized enough.
#6. We're victims of the Outrage Machine.
#7. We feel worthless, because we actually are worth less. (my favorite one)
7 Reason the 21st Century is Making you Miserable.
by David Wong
#1. We don't have enough annoying strangers in our lives.
#2. We don't have enough annoying friends, either.
#3. Texting is a shitty way to communicate.
#4. Online company only makes us lonelier.
#5. We don't get criticized enough.
#6. We're victims of the Outrage Machine.
#7. We feel worthless, because we actually are worth less. (my favorite one)
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Secret: Self-Help Books and Nietzsche
Walking to the elevators to head down to the cafeteria for lunch I saw my friend Sarah sitting on a bench near the windows reading a book.
So my friend Sarah read this post and came over with the book that started this discussion "The Power of Now". She pointed out a passage which address Nietzsche proclamation that "God is Dead" and then flipped to another page and had me read a passage she found especially interesting. I read and then flipped through a book I happen to have of Nietzsche's "On the Genealogy of of Morals" and tried to find a relevant passage. I found and aphorism which ended with a quote from some guy named Master Eckhart "I ask God that he rid me of God". Sarah came back over and ask me what I thought. I thought it was pretty interesting- that I agreed generally with it. Then I looked at the spine of the book a noticed the guys name- Eckartt Tolle.
Wait a sec. I flipped back to that random passage I had found with the quote from Master Eckhartt. I read the footnote "Master Eckhartt (1260-1327) was the greatest German mystic of the Middle Ages" I pointed it out to Sarah. "Weird, yeah, i just sent you a wikipedia link about the guy, I don't think its his real name" What a weird coincidence.
So I checked out the wiki page and turns out the guy is from Germany and of course took the name of the famous mystic that Nietzsche quoted, who in turn quoted Nietzsche and wrote a book that my friend read that started this whole conversation. I thought that was pretty weird and one hell of coincident.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
A Saturday Night
So I went down to the Luce Blockalypse music-beer-and-pizza thing. Met up with some friends (Melinda, Ben and Andrea).
Things we getting late and we were not getting any more sober. Annie crashed in her bed around
Two minutes later Melinda comes out the bedroom, fully awake. “Ok lets go” Wait what? I passed out around
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Some Poems, Vol. I
The Solipsist
The solipsist reads her words
and “cringes at the sight”.
Not to be discouraged
He diggs into the verses’ blue soil.
Stained with ink and confusion,
He comes back up for air.
And covered in words not his
he looks into the mirror
and recognizes himself.
Telephone Poem
Sitting here at work
bored.
Time's death,
held off by ten short lines.
Her
blue words, are a cure for
beige.
Temptation Divided by Torpidity
Temptation divided by torpidity,
split asunder by academy's devior.
tepid rivulets carving time's soil
to conjugate 'nief the light of a city
The solipsist reads her words
and “cringes at the sight”.
Not to be discouraged
He diggs into the verses’ blue soil.
Stained with ink and confusion,
He comes back up for air.
And covered in words not his
he looks into the mirror
and recognizes himself.
Telephone Poem
Sitting here at work
bored.
Time's death,
held off by ten short lines.
Her
blue words, are a cure for
beige.
Temptation Divided by Torpidity
Temptation divided by torpidity,
split asunder by academy's devior.
tepid rivulets carving time's soil
to conjugate 'nief the light of a city
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Escape
Escape
through the narrow veins
in the crux of my arm.
from a dozen small holes
in my chest,
around the florescent lit knots
on either side of my head.
My yellows eyes rest
on the pithy quote that adorns
my cloth lined cage
from which one
cannot escape”
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Obama
Obama came to the International Market Square on Friday. I was standing about 5 feet to the left of this guy who shot the video. After the speech I got to shake his hand. I have yet to wash my hand.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Life, Death, and Milk Duds
You know when your are snacking on a bag Skittles or maybe a box of Milk Duds, you put the wrapper down thinking its empty. A few minutes go by, candy forgotten, then remembered. You are sure there isn’t any skittles left but you check any way and be hold…one or two last pieces of candy are clinging to the inside of the packaging. Your wrestle the last few pieces into your mouth and for some reason they are the best tasting pieces in the whole bag, in fact probably some of the best tasting piece of candy you have ever eaten
I hope that is how my life ends, with the same kind of feeling. Maybe laying on my death bed thinking of the ups and down, the successes and failures and like that bag of candy, you are feeling pretty good about the whole endeavor. Then maybe a few moments before the wrapper is discarded, a few last jewels are discovered. You had been perfectly content with what you have been given- but look hear…one or two delicious morsels you never expected, never even asked for, are there for you to enjoy before it all goes away, and those will be the best tasting morsels of life you have ever had. That would be pretty cool.
I hope that is how my life ends, with the same kind of feeling. Maybe laying on my death bed thinking of the ups and down, the successes and failures and like that bag of candy, you are feeling pretty good about the whole endeavor. Then maybe a few moments before the wrapper is discarded, a few last jewels are discovered. You had been perfectly content with what you have been given- but look hear…one or two delicious morsels you never expected, never even asked for, are there for you to enjoy before it all goes away, and those will be the best tasting morsels of life you have ever had. That would be pretty cool.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Party Crashers: Rock Star Suite @ The Chambers Hotel
Saturday night...
My friend Melinda and I have been bar hopping all night and we end up on the top floor bar of the Chambers Hotel.
Hanging out on the patio, we see on the other side of the hotel a private party on the top floor suite. There are around 20-30 hanging out having drinks on the patio of what seems to be a huge hotel room. We talk about how cool it would be to throw a party like that, we guess how much it cost. Our guess is between $800 and $1200. Through the glass windows of the walkway connecting the two buildings we see people going back and forth, to and from the party.
Some gears begin to click, well oiled by cheap vodka, and an idea comes: “We could walk right in”. “Yeah we could” Melinda agrees, now her well oiled gears turning. We briefly mull over the delicacies of the purposed operation “…like we know what we are doing….”. We get a serge of confidence and agree to go for it. We walk out of the bar, drink in hand and head toward the walkway and on to the room. We get to the end of the hallway I in the lead, and the door is propped open. “Lets do it…strait to the patio” I open the door and walk in, not looking around, like I have already been there the whole night, and Melinda follows me out to the patio. I lean against the rail, cool and calm, she does the same.
We turn to each other, hunching our shoulders and start giggiling like little school girls. “Holy shit, we are in…all right be cool, be cool” We calm down a bit and my partner in crime suggests we start talking to people, gather some info, incase somebody starts asking questions.
She starts chatting with a couple of guys and she introduces me. They completely ignore me and focus all there attention on her. Perfect. After some empty chatter and feeling a bit more comfortable I suggest we grab some drinks. This is the next challenge. Like before we walk back in to the room, like we own the place, and go strait to the booze. I confidently and cool scoop up some ice into my low ball, grabbed one of the 5 bottles of grey goose like I bought it myself and began making a vodka tonic. Melinda mixes her self a drink and I suggest we chill on the couch. We sit down a begin to take stock of the room and the people “Holy shit, this place is nice”
For next few hours we hang out, mixing drinks, dodging polite questions about how we know Nick, and what we though of his comedy. Nick who? At some point a server came up with 4 gourmet pizzas in those platters with the metal tops. I’m pretty sure I ate one all to my self. By the end of the night it was me, Melinda, this professional cage fighter, his girl friend and his buddy. At one point cage fighters girl friend pulled out a Polaroid camera (provided by the hotel I think) and started yelling at the two guys to start taking their cloths off. They obliged her request, cage fighter falling short of complete nudity complaining of some shrinkage, but his buddy not all shy showing us it all. We and Melinda are looking at each other, laughing, giggling and mouthing numerous “Holy Shits” Time to go. We say our good byes, shake some hands, both guys still in their underwear. We walk out at cool as we walked in. The door closes a safe distance is reached, and the giggling commences. “Holy fucking shit…that was awesome”, “Dude, we could do that every week” Melinda suggest. “Why the hell not” I respond. We walked out, well oiled and high on our adventure. A couple of high fives and a hug and we parted ways.
The morning after…
The next morning, curious, I called the hotel, asking to reserve the room we were at last night. “Oh the Rock Star Suite?” The Rock Star Suite? Holy Shit. “Yeah, I guess that’s the one, what’s the price on that?” “Hold on sir while I check on that…for that room the price is $3240” Once again, Holy Shit.
Then, curiosity not sated, I cross reference some bits of info from last night with show listing for last night. Turns out the room belonged to this comedian Nick Swardson who just had show that night at the State Theater. He is originally from St. Paul, but now in Hollywood doing movies with Adam Sandler. Cool, My new favorite comedian. So, yeah. That’s that.
My friend Melinda and I have been bar hopping all night and we end up on the top floor bar of the Chambers Hotel.
Hanging out on the patio, we see on the other side of the hotel a private party on the top floor suite. There are around 20-30 hanging out having drinks on the patio of what seems to be a huge hotel room. We talk about how cool it would be to throw a party like that, we guess how much it cost. Our guess is between $800 and $1200. Through the glass windows of the walkway connecting the two buildings we see people going back and forth, to and from the party.
Some gears begin to click, well oiled by cheap vodka, and an idea comes: “We could walk right in”. “Yeah we could” Melinda agrees, now her well oiled gears turning. We briefly mull over the delicacies of the purposed operation “…like we know what we are doing….”. We get a serge of confidence and agree to go for it. We walk out of the bar, drink in hand and head toward the walkway and on to the room. We get to the end of the hallway I in the lead, and the door is propped open. “Lets do it…strait to the patio” I open the door and walk in, not looking around, like I have already been there the whole night, and Melinda follows me out to the patio. I lean against the rail, cool and calm, she does the same.
We turn to each other, hunching our shoulders and start giggiling like little school girls. “Holy shit, we are in…all right be cool, be cool” We calm down a bit and my partner in crime suggests we start talking to people, gather some info, incase somebody starts asking questions.
She starts chatting with a couple of guys and she introduces me. They completely ignore me and focus all there attention on her. Perfect. After some empty chatter and feeling a bit more comfortable I suggest we grab some drinks. This is the next challenge. Like before we walk back in to the room, like we own the place, and go strait to the booze. I confidently and cool scoop up some ice into my low ball, grabbed one of the 5 bottles of grey goose like I bought it myself and began making a vodka tonic. Melinda mixes her self a drink and I suggest we chill on the couch. We sit down a begin to take stock of the room and the people “Holy shit, this place is nice”
For next few hours we hang out, mixing drinks, dodging polite questions about how we know Nick, and what we though of his comedy. Nick who? At some point a server came up with 4 gourmet pizzas in those platters with the metal tops. I’m pretty sure I ate one all to my self. By the end of the night it was me, Melinda, this professional cage fighter, his girl friend and his buddy. At one point cage fighters girl friend pulled out a Polaroid camera (provided by the hotel I think) and started yelling at the two guys to start taking their cloths off. They obliged her request, cage fighter falling short of complete nudity complaining of some shrinkage, but his buddy not all shy showing us it all. We and Melinda are looking at each other, laughing, giggling and mouthing numerous “Holy Shits” Time to go. We say our good byes, shake some hands, both guys still in their underwear. We walk out at cool as we walked in. The door closes a safe distance is reached, and the giggling commences. “Holy fucking shit…that was awesome”, “Dude, we could do that every week” Melinda suggest. “Why the hell not” I respond. We walked out, well oiled and high on our adventure. A couple of high fives and a hug and we parted ways.
The morning after…
The next morning, curious, I called the hotel, asking to reserve the room we were at last night. “Oh the Rock Star Suite?” The Rock Star Suite? Holy Shit. “Yeah, I guess that’s the one, what’s the price on that?” “Hold on sir while I check on that…for that room the price is $3240” Once again, Holy Shit.
Then, curiosity not sated, I cross reference some bits of info from last night with show listing for last night. Turns out the room belonged to this comedian Nick Swardson who just had show that night at the State Theater. He is originally from St. Paul, but now in Hollywood doing movies with Adam Sandler. Cool, My new favorite comedian. So, yeah. That’s that.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Its Thursday, I'm in a cubicle, I'm full of useless knowledge, and I'm trying to quit biting my nails.
Am I alive or am I Dead?
Some verses floating through my head at the moment. Maybe they can float through yours. If nothing else, at least that entry about the dog moves down the page. Yep...
to anyone all day. The human wolves don't even see me.
They fear me not.
~ James Tate, The Promotion
You hear a whistling overhead
Are you alive or are you dead?
It's only Thursday
You feel a shaking on the ground
A billion candles burn around
Is it your birthday? Tomorrow never comes until it's too late ~ DJ Shadow, Six Days Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge
~ Bob Dylan,
this isn’t our song
this isn’t even a musical
I think life is too long
to be the whale in a cubicle
nails under your cuticle
~ Andrew Bird, Plasticities
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Little Jack
Two brothers taking care of the thirds dog. He is away, in jail, for third DWI, the dog gets out, hit by a car, I hear the scream, a dogs at first then a human child, then a dog again, god the pain, the suffering, I run around from the back, I see the brother coming towards the dog, I see the dog screaming limping away from the cold concrete, its back legs bloody, not moving, it crawls, 15 feet, why is it crawling?, it must hurt so bad, it continues to crawl, it back legs crushed and bleeding, it find the cool grass and lies down, it crawled 15 feet, 15 torturous feet across black street, our streets to get the grass, to lie, and to bleed, to die? Who knows its a damn small dog. The third brother, Dave, Christ such a nice man, not a smart man, but a nice man. His dog is going to die. The brothers, one begins to cry, they both have long grey hair. Working men. Beer and classic rock men. That damn dog crawled 15 feet without back legs to lie in the grass. That beautiful green grass. It could have stayed in the street but it would not. What could have been going through it tortured little mind? Fuck, Dave, Dave is going to be crushed. That dog looked pretty messed up. Even from a 100 yards away I could see the bloody lower half. Fuck, Dave is such a nice guy, and such cool little dog. He loved that dog. His only constant companion, unmarried. The dog still lives, I can hear its moan. Well I heard its moan about a minute ago. Fuck, Dave is gonna be crushed. He is the can, and he is gonna learn his dog has died. I hope the dog lives, I hope the dog wants to live. That little fucker crawled, his lower half crush, crawled 15 feet to lay in the grass and bleed. Crushed by a car, crushed between rubber and cold concrete. Jack. Little jack.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Of Finals and Convertables
A blog in bullet points and dot dot dots...
- Finals are done, I have a whole 2 weeks until summer classes start. Loving that...
- I think i might have actually passed Spanish. Thats pretty awesome...
- Its lightning out, I love lightning...
- I Mormon missionary approached me today, I asked him what he thought about Mitt Romney, he said he is not allowed to watch television so he doesn't really know, that was kinda funny...
- I drove home with the top down enjoying the beautiful weather, then sitting at my computer, i heard the unmistakable patters of rain outside my window, oh rain i thought, how nice...FUCK!!!, and i ran out to my rain soaked car and put the top back up amidst rain, lightning and hail, i am an idiot...
- So yeah...
- Finals are done, I have a whole 2 weeks until summer classes start. Loving that...
- I think i might have actually passed Spanish. Thats pretty awesome...
- Its lightning out, I love lightning...
- I Mormon missionary approached me today, I asked him what he thought about Mitt Romney, he said he is not allowed to watch television so he doesn't really know, that was kinda funny...
- I drove home with the top down enjoying the beautiful weather, then sitting at my computer, i heard the unmistakable patters of rain outside my window, oh rain i thought, how nice...FUCK!!!, and i ran out to my rain soaked car and put the top back up amidst rain, lightning and hail, i am an idiot...
- So yeah...
Friday, May 04, 2007
Good Weather
The forecast for this weekend looks great. All grey clouds, rain and misery. I only wish it was going to be 20 degree colder. While the rest of you are sitting around stuck to the TV, or reading dumb books instead of playing outside, I will be in front of the computer, my healthy tan fading back to February White, bleached by the glow of computer screen, writing another miserable paper about some miserable dead political theorist. All least my own misery will be ameliorated by the knowledge that no one else is outside playing in the sun, enjoying a beautiful spring day. Misery <3 company
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
D.F. Wallace
Speaking of DF here is a commencement speach by the man. It's pretty good, i think, i dont know, I didnt read it, well some of it, but he is good so his speech is most likely good. Maybe somebody will read it and tell how good it really is.
Oscar-Meyer
A Quote from Oscar Wilde: (which might imply that I know something about the man or that I am familiar with his work, which I am not, this quote coming off some Google “quote of the day” page, I wouldn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea, like I know what I am talking about or anything. I am currently reading D.F. Wallace so I am really pushing this whole “meta” thing, which is of course referenced in the title of my blog “Meta .44”) Oh yeah, The Quote:
“A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets make a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.”
I was going to make some comments about it but I no longer want to. What do you think?
“A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets make a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise.”
I was going to make some comments about it but I no longer want to. What do you think?
Monday, April 30, 2007
Seasonal Depression
Seasonal depression does not take place during winter. No, seasonal depression happens when you have to sit in a biege cubicle when the sun is shinning, and a cool spring breeze is blowing.
A poem...
The Promotion
By James Tate
I was a dog in my former life, a very good
dog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being.
I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmer,
guarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotes
tried to get past me almost every night, and not
once did I loose a sheep. The farmer rewarded me
with good food, food from his table. He may have
been poor, but he ate well. And his children
played with me, when they weren't in school or
working in the field. I had all the love any dog
could hope for. When I got old, they got a new
dog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade.
He quickly learned, and the farmer bought me into
the house to live with the family. I brought the farmer
his slippers in the morning, as he was getting
old, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at a
time. The farmer knew this and would bring the
new dog in to visit me from time to time. The
new dog would entertain me with his flips and
flops and nuzzles. And then one morning I just
didn't get up. They gave me a fine burial down
by the stream under a shade tree. That was the
end of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it so
I sit by my window and cry. I live in a high-rise
that looks out at a bunch of other high-rises.
At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak
to anyone all day. The human wolves don't even see me.
They fear me not.
A poem...
The Promotion
By James Tate
I was a dog in my former life, a very good
dog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being.
I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmer,
guarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotes
tried to get past me almost every night, and not
once did I loose a sheep. The farmer rewarded me
with good food, food from his table. He may have
been poor, but he ate well. And his children
played with me, when they weren't in school or
working in the field. I had all the love any dog
could hope for. When I got old, they got a new
dog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade.
He quickly learned, and the farmer bought me into
the house to live with the family. I brought the farmer
his slippers in the morning, as he was getting
old, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at a
time. The farmer knew this and would bring the
new dog in to visit me from time to time. The
new dog would entertain me with his flips and
flops and nuzzles. And then one morning I just
didn't get up. They gave me a fine burial down
by the stream under a shade tree. That was the
end of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it so
I sit by my window and cry. I live in a high-rise
that looks out at a bunch of other high-rises.
At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak
to anyone all day. The human wolves don't even see me.
They fear me not.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Moyers and Stewart.
Here is an interview by Bill Moyers with Jon Stewart of The Daily Show.
Moyers is pretty awesome. I guess he was this bad-ass reporter from back during the Vietnam war. They brought him back from the dead because our generation of journalist are too busy giving road head to Bush while he drives us off the cliff.
I guess with all the swearing and sexual references this isn't a blog for the kids.
Moyers interviews Stewart
Moyers is pretty awesome. I guess he was this bad-ass reporter from back during the Vietnam war. They brought him back from the dead because our generation of journalist are too busy giving road head to Bush while he drives us off the cliff.
I guess with all the swearing and sexual references this isn't a blog for the kids.
Moyers interviews Stewart
First Post
This is going to start as a place to keep track of my thoughts, of news stories i think people should be reading and maybe some photos and other art (my own and others) that i like. Maybe it will evolve into something interesting, something worth reading, but most likely not. I have been flirting with the idea of blog for awhile and have made a few abortive attempts (if you cant count myspace as an actual blog). I guess i finally decided to commit to a blog because myspace and facebook and Microsoft word was unable to really fit my needs of tracking the news of world and my thoughts about it.
I am really trying to avoid apologizing for my blog. I feel like i dont have the talent or the creativity to produce something interesting so i shouldn't even bother, or have the audacity to think somebody will actually read this, but I came to a conclusion: Fuck it. If i actually want to produce something interesting, and add a worthwhile voice to the public discourse, i wont do it worrying about how I stack up to others, or worrying about criticism of my ideas, or spelling and grammar mistakes. Who gives a shit.
I think thats an apology for my blog. Damnit...
Oh, a shoutout and thank you to my friend Jessica at UofM Feminist for encouraging me to start a blog and otherwise making a concerted effort at emasculating me for not doing so sooner.
I am really trying to avoid apologizing for my blog. I feel like i dont have the talent or the creativity to produce something interesting so i shouldn't even bother, or have the audacity to think somebody will actually read this, but I came to a conclusion: Fuck it. If i actually want to produce something interesting, and add a worthwhile voice to the public discourse, i wont do it worrying about how I stack up to others, or worrying about criticism of my ideas, or spelling and grammar mistakes. Who gives a shit.
I think thats an apology for my blog. Damnit...
Oh, a shoutout and thank you to my friend Jessica at UofM Feminist for encouraging me to start a blog and otherwise making a concerted effort at emasculating me for not doing so sooner.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)