Hey guys, here's a quick snippet of some stuff from the old blog before Google took it over. The original blogs were 'Searching for Subtlety' and 'Fun things to play with' Subtlety was a run of the mill personal/rant blog and Fun things was a posting area for short stories and stuff. Most of this crap runs from 03/04 and its fun to look back and see how much life has changed since the twilight of my collegiate experience.
Searching for subtlety...
So everyone else has a stupid live/dead journal or some kind of weblog... but they all suck, and mine will be a grandiose departure from the norm. I think, so you don't have to. Email me if you feel the urge to comment or something. (email@example.com)
I have not been angry for far to long.
I realize now that I have not been civilized or exercised restraint and thus cheated myself from greater reward in exchange for more immediate pleasures. This is not how I want to live my fucking life.
But I have been angry today. Did it change much? In a way, I got all I needed to get done over with. Do I feel any better about the costs of it? No, not really.
It got me to thinking about this crazy asshole that used to go out with Jenny from Anthropology. He cut himself a hundred times on the arm with a razor blade just to get the attention of said Jenny. Isn't that a little creepy and crazy? Yeah I think so, but then I wonder if its not one way towards attaining what you want.
I have known a lot of people that inflict pain on themselves as punishment. Certain ex half-girlfriends of mine and their friends did this for...you ready...colorguard. Now how exactly slicing up your skin translates into throwing flags and sabres around a little better I do not know. But they did it, and it must do something or mean something.
There have been times when I myself did stuff like that. When I got my sword I cut my hand and whetted the sharpening stone as a sort of Moby Dickesque blessing on the blade. That metal tasted my blood first and hopefully will never taste it again. Now I am far from superstitious, it was a weird but uniquely gratifying experience to sharpen a weapon with my own vital fluids. Maybe I have missed something by simply denouncing some of the oddities that people exhibit.
So I wonder now what kind of extremes do people go to that I am unaware of. Self inflicted pain is incredibly commonplace it seems. What about sexual fetishes, compulsions, weird habits, stalking people or obsessing over material things? Is there some nugget of wisdom tucked away in these little insanities?
Now I am tempted to believe that it is merely a vessel to carry power (or the illusion of it) to the person doing harm to themselves. Control this and maybe the universe is tolerable. But others can inflict pain just as well as I can. Is there something I just missed?
Maybe it is not the pain itself that they revel in but the knowledge that they are acting fucking crazy. When I nearly had a nervous breakdown sophomore year there were times that I flirted with insanity. Sometimes I wish I had just sunk away from my life and done nothing but study psychosis and write the rest of my 155 sonnets. Junior year first semester I wrote forty of these poems. Since the total has only climbed to sixty.
Now I wrote before my crack and probably would have written in the absence of it. But maybe I wouldn't have either. Any one that knows anything about me knows that the book came about as a way to justify my own failure at a relationship long since lost. Nearly two and a half years later I see my stupidity, my pride and the unblinking heat of failure staring out from the pages of Fair Coin.
When I get pissed or bothered I just jot it down and try and make it interesting and logical. Maybe that's the root of my problems...maybe instead of writing how I feel I just need to remember better.
On that note, back to work.
posted by Seth # 3:43 PM
So first of all a quick update for all my loyal book fans (all 3 of ya!). Fair Coin is coming nicely along at 150+ pages. Evansiana is still at 115.
So the topic of today's long belated entry is "Why do people do that fucked up shit they do?"
First example from last night at work: Two cars with two people in them each got into an altercation near one of the decks. Both cars had a guy and a girl in them, both got a window punched out, and both claimed it was the OTHER person that started it.
Now isn't that strange, because it HAD to be one or the other. I'm sure the cops are gonna have a fun time figuring that one out.
Driving by the only benefit was seeing of the girls in a little white shirt *and it was MAD COLD out* poking out of her shirt while she was being dusted off for glass. Hearing that someone had glass in their eyes was pretty terrifying though.
Item the second: Guys going to strip clubs to see naked midgets.
Now this raises several interesting points that i feel the need to break down for a second. First of all, the guys in question here used to abhor strip clubs and now they go a lot. That's strange first of all but not so much since preferences do change. I'm sure an outsider looking at my religious experience would be confused by it. Second, the ex girlfriend of one of the guys is short...now you don't have to be a physics major to link up short and dwarf (naked)
to get a weird freudian vibe from that. Can we say displacement perhaps? Third, the physics associated with midget exotic dancers...
Can a midget POSSIBLY give a regular guy a lap dance without putting nuts in danger? Do they have a special thinner pole or do they just cope with the bigger one? Also, lets consider midget underwear. Do companies make this or do they just wear little kid undies? If they have to get little kid panties...how do they get sexy panties!? I mean i know abercrombie was trying to market thongs for 7 year olds but still. That's pretty fucked up. Also, are midgets capable of doing the dollar trick? (If you don't know then you'll have to learn about it somewhere else)
Thirdly the incident with a girl at state being robbed and nearly raped is still fresh in the mind. It seems to me that the guy just wanted money at first (he insisted on 20 dollars but she only had 4, so he should have run with that to golden dragon and not been even more of a fuckhead). However, when no help came I imagine he thought two things. 1) I didn't get much money, 2) I want to get my money's worth. So he molested and attempted to yank some pants off but a few kicks in the face for his troubles.
And rightly so, what a bastard.
Now the gritty personal revelation.
When I was younger, more horny and less experienced sex almost seemed magical and wonderful. Now I am a little less affected by the lures and wiles of sinister females and their scary ploys. However, one can't deny that being in a country filled so many ridiculously good-looking women makes you jealous and bitter sometimes.
It's kind of like the music problem (though this goes for nearly all of entertainment in our times). Only a very select few bands and musicians can be super popular at one time. This sucks because there is so much talent out there that isn't necessarily going to sell 45 million records in a weekend that gets screwed out of due recognition. See, schools know that the more people the greater chances of greatness. That's why conferences have 1/2/3A and then 4A schools seperated. Now expand this concept. You have a town with a great local musician. There could be no one else in the town as good or original and talented as this person. BUT, you can always turn on the radio and hear music from the entire country. I dedicated a good bit of my life and energy into swimming at one time. Though I was undefeated in regular seasons regional and state matches were always humbling. I take comfort that I could place among the greats...but there has never been a time, even at the peak of my performance where there weren't several thousand people on earth that could better me.
Now drop back not to music but to visual media. Tv, movies and porn are all vectors for the spoiling virus. When we were in africa and not exposed to ANY viable females the first one we ran into looked much hotter than after we got our photos developed. That's part of the motivation for the Africa Sex Story (which will probably be posted later today or some time this week.) Now when we came back there was a time that all girls looked outstanding, much more so than usual anyways. But that died down and girls became just girls again. Now if you surround yourself with images of the elite than even local superstars become lessened. I personnally don't suffer needlessly from this due to my disdain for the stereotypical american girl attitude. There are times though when you see a girl and your heart sinks because you can't believe how badly you want her and have not a chance in hell.
Does this make it understandable why so much rape and molestation goes on? I don't think its an excuse, but it is something to be aware of. Artificially raised expectations goes both ways for both sexes too. You see what the other sex is 'supposed' to look like and what you yourself is 'supposed' to be like and that just causes problems. At one time I would have guessed that one BJ was as good as any other because EVERY porn I have seen has at least one competent cocksucker. Life alas, is not so sweet.
In the spirit of pointing out some greats that aren't so popular I submit the following: Opeth, Tool and Two Skinnee J's are all awesome bands that deserve being listened to. So check them out, then check back for the story.
posted by Seth # 2:28 PM
Evansiana is up to 103 pages, a thank ya!
posted by Seth # 2:43 PM
I sat outside tonight smoking a cigarette during a break between children of dune and whatever else the night holds for me. Probably writing, probably more smoking and sundrop as well.
When i first started to smoke I would get a fun and fanciful buzz each and every time i put my lips on plastic attached to burning plant. It was good in the way that sex is good. Enjoyable and exotic at first, then routine, then a distasteful stab at something I know resides elsewhere but am to afraid or to reluctant to pursue with conviction.
I told myself, "the first time you smoke and don't get a buzz is the last time you will pick up a cigarette." First it was only a few drags before the feeling set in. Usually in the cold nights of work, sometimes in Bunn's apartment or Luke's basement. Then, tolerance set in. My pleasure soured as it inevitably does. Insomnia surely did not help. Now that time is so unbearably close and I can feel the wolf of addiction slavering on my neck.
The slow march of burning tobacco towards the filter is like a burning fuse. Soon will come the time that a single smoke will not satisfy and then a good bit of my money and myself will fade into burning ash. Who knows what will happen then.
Sometimes I see life through my addictions as I saw so clearly tonight. When I stand on the timber steps adjacent to my house staring at the full moon I can see it clearly. The smoke and cool air I suck in iambically are just players. Ash and light are the true meaning here. What burns, and what illuminates.
If you hold a burning cigarette into the wind it glows bright and eager. Yet dies all the sooner.
Shield it from the life of oxygen and it smolders, living longer but dim. So very dim.
Are these my choices? Does life afford only the chance to be great and meet doom early? Or will simply smoldering the true end of me. I fear for myself in what I indulge. So many choices given to me, so many wrongs just waiting to happen.
But where are the rights?
posted by Seth # 1:06 AM