goals

today, i wanted to write a page.  a single publishable page.  that means no talking about family, facebook “friends” or landowners.  good luck with that.

found some Vonnegut in the library.  do you really think that will satiate my need for human contact?  why, music does.  yeah, it might.  all of my friends are dead.  fuck you.  what i say in real life is real.  what i say online is real.

when you’re on, write.  when you’re off, write.

“Nobody is going to listen to what you say,” he assured me. “People are seldom interested in the actual content of a speech.  They simply want to learn from your tone and gestures and expressions whether or not you are an honest man.” (p xvii,  preface to Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons).

“Thucydides is the first New Journalist I know anything about. He was a celebrity who put himself at the center of the truths he was trying to tell, and he guessed when he had to, and he thought it worthwhile to be charming and entertaining. He was a good teacher. He did not wish to put his students to sleep with the truth, and he meant to put the truth into strikingly human terms, so his students would remember.”

~Kurt Vonnegut, from the preface to Wampeters, Foma & Granfalloons [pro tip, when twitter gets preachy, go vonnegut :)] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thucydides

have i not incorporated education and entertainment, logic and love into my campaign?  it is that, despite your constant, never-changing objections.

out the window, there’s a dark blue and white brat. it’s raised.  it’s beautiful. i don’t think it’s a brat, but it’s some kind of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coupe_utility.  AMC?  i will have to walk past it when i leave.  my end-of page goal is in sight.

oh right, like my papers in college didn’t include lots of quotes from smarter people as filler and observations about unrelated things.  i got a few A’s, but they curved around a B+, so mostly i got those.  nobody cared.  nobody cares.  there isn’t time.  optimize your keywords.  there’s no means for determining whether a thing/person has actual worth any more, so we are told to refine/use the poor substitutes which are sold to us.  what a waste.

my home is 23 feet long, and as wide as a pick-up truck.  it has a 45-foot extension cord.  it needs work.  i would like to work somewhere warm.  i would like help.  i would like inspiration.  i would like contact.  i would like a family.  i would like friends.

why wouldn’t i want to meet people?  oh, because they tend to insult me.  then i insult their insults, and they get horribly insulted and leave.  no clarification, just quitters.  backing away from the table.  saying “i will call” without the intent to do so is a lie.  tell me i disgust you and you will never stop ignoring me, let alone actually give me any of your extra/scraps.  your message is clear enough, but your honesty is lacking.

behind locked doors, and seated at the head of the table, the patriarch laments the lack of love from the child he has locked out in the cold.  from out in the freezing wilderness, the homeless queer deviant free radical strips away each successive layer of hate within which it has been imprisoned.  its heart heats up like a self-cleaning oven, and the inessential is vaporized.

peace,
t

p.s. mishh awn ack om plish’d ;))))))))))

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-02-1 (Wednesday).

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