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or : “What was the name of his other leg?”
I once met a man with two penises. When I asked him which of the two he used, he replied that he was freely able to use either.
…I suppose that would make him ambi-dick-strous…?
I’ve been here before.
The land of anxiety, impatience, unease, and doubt. And it always puts me in the same funk where nothing makes me happy and all I want to do is go places and be by myself.
I turned in my application for CSULB a couple of weeks ago. Both majors I want to pursue, however, are impacted majors. Add that to the outrageous budget cuts, and you have a rejection disaster in the making. I should be angry and upset.
But I’m not. Not really, anyway.
What does it say about me that half of me is hoping that I won’t get in? If they reject me, then it wasn’t my choice not to go. It’s like a kick in the ass to go out and do what I have to do to be successful.
I want to do art. I want to make movies. I want to sing in a small club or coffeehouse. I want to do nothing but use my creative side and get paid for it. That’s what I REALLY want. That’s my ultimate goal in life.
Pursuing a degree to be a teacher has always been the thing that can hold down a job while I go for it.
But I’ll be 24 in 52 days.
When I finish school and get that part of my life started, I will be…27? That’s too old to start the things I really want to do. I feel like I’m too old now. I should have gone for it before. I should have worked harder. I should have stopped screwing around.
A quarter (maybe a third?) of my life has come and gone, and I feel I have nothing to show for it.
So I guess you could say I’m angry and upset.
But sometimes I think I might be more upset about actually getting in than I am about not getting in.
What to do…what to do…
I was at a football game yesterday afternoon (a fine place to be on a fine afternoon) and, as per usual, just before opening kick-off we were asked to stand for the singing of the national anthem. A children’s choir had assembled on the field and, with an encouraging nod from their cotton-haired conductor, they began singing with mellifluous, slightly tremulous harmonies (and the occasional very anglicised French word). However, towards the end of the song, there was the sound of something neither melodious nor timid: there were boos drowning out the sound of the children’s voices.
I guess it’s been awhile since I’ve been to an event where our anthem is sung, because apparently it has become normal for people to boo in response to the word “God” in the song.
There are so many things I could say to that, but I will limit myself to just two :
1. Canada is a glorious and free country. You would think Canadians would be thankful if someone was contributing to the upkeep of their country, since the majority of them do absolutely nothing to appreciate or contribute to the amazing freedoms and opportunities offered to them here.
2. It’s a kids’ choir, assholes. If you want to make a statement, make one a little more intelligent than : ”I’m going to publicly humiliate a nine-year old.”
~The Devil Makes Three
or: “The WABAC Machine”
Some people believe that only the things that are imagined or conceived can truly exist. Modern philosophy will decidedly state that a tree fallen without witness to bear does, in fact, make no sound at all. And why should it? Save the curtain-call for the populated theater. This would, however, equally mean that such things do not exist at all prior to their (most likely) abrupt cogitation. Imagine the powerlessness of it. Where does thought come from? What dictates what you will think? What is the driving force of consideration? The problem with “I think, therefore I am” is that that particular thought never occurred before. One thinks such things because the thoughts simply come to them. How do I know I exist? Oh, obviously since that thought came to me, I must. Without knowing where the thought came from, the answer is quite meaningless.
The question “why can’t i get this song out of my head?” seems just as important to answer as “how do i know i exist?” Why do I have to listen to “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” play through my head instead of “All along the Watchtower”?? Why do the random firing of my synapses find the patter that causes this to happen to fall into for a short period of time? Because I can’t help it? Then what, if anything, can I help?
Unfortunately, all of this questioning, and the answers, inevitably lead to a set of giant wrought iron doors behind which the omni-puppeteering force that makes me not believe in it sits. It leads to a crystal ball where Zephora the Seer can look into the future this force has created for me. Or, at least, the one it lets me believe I chose for myself. It leads to us walking around with hourglasses in our hearts. It seems to me (a phrase i both love and hate) that from thought follows action. Or inaction, as the situation may dictate. And from the combination of the two, existence is derived.
There is nothing but static. Nothing but everything. And it is only a byproduct of its own being from nothing. Not Deus ex machina, but simply Machina. A self-sustaining anti-progressive, anti-regressive, anti-existing, nothing. This is singularity. This is the beginning, the end. This is.
Unfortunately, all of this leads to nothingness. No actions, no consequences. No gravity, earth or oxygen. We are the result of dormancy.
Ama, et fac quod vis.
It is my plan to run away to Boston, find a Jew who’s willing to move with me to Ireland, and then figure out life from there.
Not too complicated, right?
-R
