Recently I read a wonderful blog by my friend Jacob. It's called "Into the great wide open" which is cool cause its the name of a Tom Petty song/cd. Anyhows, I literally stumbled upon it and I read.
He complained about his roommate and his sloppiness. You know what Jake!!!!??!?!?! Some people just can not be clean no matter how hard they try. And you are just sitting around typing about his GENETIC disorder. That's terrible. Where is our culture going when people think they can blog freely about other people's tidiness problems? It simply gives me the shivers.
No but seriously folks, Jake's problem isn't some sort of joke. So stop laughing! He lives in an extremely hostile environment. Here he is, being himself, and all these clothes are just bombarding the room. Hey Jake, did you every think that the couches were cold and wanted some extra linens? Ugh, where is this country going if our furniture has no right to wear clothing? Are we simply uncivilized now a days? Next thing you know there is going to be a furniture revolution and we will have no where to sit or even sleep! But I guess you would like that, wouldn't you Jacob? I tell you folks, if he's not for furniture he's against it.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Blogs Want You! Join the task force!
Hey! You! Start blogging about your ideals!!!!!!!
Blogs are funny. There are sooooooo many blogs that one would have to sift through in order to find anything, and i mean anything, of substance, at least consistently. Oh how I wish Plato had a blog. Oh My Dear Plato, why do you not blog?
Well if Plato had a blog he would probably be all like, "My Blog is what I recall my blog being!" And everyone would be all like, "Woah. That made no sense."
Foolish cretins. Why do you speak of Plato and his illustrious blogging? Feel pity for him because his mentor has died by his own hand!
But If Plato had a blog I guess I would read it. Or I would reach deep inside my psyche and remember it from my former life. Yeah that sounds better.
But no, Blogs can be important. I like mine. It allows me to type freely and if someone stumbles on it and decided to read, that's cool.
I read this book Enders Game over the summer and this little girl and boy changed the world through blogs. It was actually pretty cool. So I guess any blog could change the world if you really wanted to.
Actually blogs are quite useful. My one friend got a job from a magazine to review new heavy metal albums because he posted them on the internet. That's nice. My other friend found this girl's blog that he knew. Now he knows her opinions and he can lay down a little game. Perhaps he will reveal his softer side. Ha. If he only read Plato's blog he'd know all about her already.
Blogs are funny. There are sooooooo many blogs that one would have to sift through in order to find anything, and i mean anything, of substance, at least consistently. Oh how I wish Plato had a blog. Oh My Dear Plato, why do you not blog?
Well if Plato had a blog he would probably be all like, "My Blog is what I recall my blog being!" And everyone would be all like, "Woah. That made no sense."
Foolish cretins. Why do you speak of Plato and his illustrious blogging? Feel pity for him because his mentor has died by his own hand!
But If Plato had a blog I guess I would read it. Or I would reach deep inside my psyche and remember it from my former life. Yeah that sounds better.
But no, Blogs can be important. I like mine. It allows me to type freely and if someone stumbles on it and decided to read, that's cool.
I read this book Enders Game over the summer and this little girl and boy changed the world through blogs. It was actually pretty cool. So I guess any blog could change the world if you really wanted to.
Actually blogs are quite useful. My one friend got a job from a magazine to review new heavy metal albums because he posted them on the internet. That's nice. My other friend found this girl's blog that he knew. Now he knows her opinions and he can lay down a little game. Perhaps he will reveal his softer side. Ha. If he only read Plato's blog he'd know all about her already.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Rip Van Wrinkle: Social Revolution versus Personnal Revolution
Recently I have read a very famous short story called "Rip Van Wrinkle" by Washington Irving. It's a very tall tale of a man who falls asleep for twenty years and when he awakes finds he has missed the American Revolution. Yes, he becomes a "free man" which doesn't mean anything to him.
Rip wakes up in a world of social revolution but has not undergone any "revolution" himself. He remains unhindered. He remains the same. But the question is, is that good? Rip doesn't seem to care very much since he no longer has any real worldly responsibilities. No more nagging wife. No more children. He has nothing and is content. He's still asleep or has been his whole life.
Though Rip's contentment is alluring I do not believe this is Irving's intention. Rip is contrasting by the dwarf-like men that he meets in the woods before his long nap. They are solemn little men yet they play a game. As if they are sentenced to a life of unhappiness and their torture is a life of games. They have no responsibilities. They are sleeping yet they are so tired. So tired of their nothingness.
Meanwhile the men of the village are different. They become politicians in a sense, they become citizens of a democracy. They have their own ideas, their own morals, new responsibilities. They seem quite content. They are not merely living a life. They are living their lives. They are free men.
So what? Big deal right? Everyone is happy at the end. Isn't that important? Yes, it is, but what is Irving's message? It's rather ambiguous, perhaps not upon the first reading but definitely after contemplation. While Rip remains static the other characters do not. Some, as a result, die. Others live and live well. They have engaged their responsibilities. They have challenged the task at hand. What is better? Well like I said it remains unknown. They are all "free men" but in different ways
Rip wakes up in a world of social revolution but has not undergone any "revolution" himself. He remains unhindered. He remains the same. But the question is, is that good? Rip doesn't seem to care very much since he no longer has any real worldly responsibilities. No more nagging wife. No more children. He has nothing and is content. He's still asleep or has been his whole life.
Though Rip's contentment is alluring I do not believe this is Irving's intention. Rip is contrasting by the dwarf-like men that he meets in the woods before his long nap. They are solemn little men yet they play a game. As if they are sentenced to a life of unhappiness and their torture is a life of games. They have no responsibilities. They are sleeping yet they are so tired. So tired of their nothingness.
Meanwhile the men of the village are different. They become politicians in a sense, they become citizens of a democracy. They have their own ideas, their own morals, new responsibilities. They seem quite content. They are not merely living a life. They are living their lives. They are free men.
So what? Big deal right? Everyone is happy at the end. Isn't that important? Yes, it is, but what is Irving's message? It's rather ambiguous, perhaps not upon the first reading but definitely after contemplation. While Rip remains static the other characters do not. Some, as a result, die. Others live and live well. They have engaged their responsibilities. They have challenged the task at hand. What is better? Well like I said it remains unknown. They are all "free men" but in different ways
Thursday, October 22, 2009
"If you hate the taste of wine
Why do you drink it till you're blind?
And if you swear that there's no truth and who cares
How come you say it like you're right?
Why are you scared to dream of God
When it's salvation that you want?
You see stars that clear have been dead for years
But the idea just lives on...
In our wheels that roll around
As we move over the ground
And all day it seems we've been in between
A past and future town
We are nowhere and it's now"
-Bright Eyes "We Are Nowhere And It's Now"
Conor Oberst is a personal hero of mine. He is a singer-songwriter for numerous bands which include Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst and the Mystic River Band, and most recently (and most awesomely) Monsters of Folk. His voice isn't particuarly good, at all, instead even his most uplifting songs, of love, redemption, and personal and wordly accpetance, convey some sort underlying saddness. Some sort of pain. But maybe you need to suffer to evolve (but I'm sure I will be discussing that in the future; 'no happy woman ever writes'- Ruth Hall by Fanny Fern). Anyway, I digress. With that out of the way let us get back to our discussion. Rather, my discussion; because no one reads my blog.
This song poses a very funny idea: an atheist or possibly anarachist trying to make others believe of their system or their 'order'. It's funny because it's hypocritical, I appologized if it seems like I didn't think you understood the pun because it is rather pretentious of me to do so. Still, I digress.
Is this not true? I know alot of people who fall under some sort of atheistic religion and many of them are rather outspoken in their beliefs. But it seems that goes against what they are preaching. In the Bible someone of religious importance once said that the man who prays to himself, quiet and alone, is morally stronger than one who screams his prays for others to be heard. It's as if they want justifacation of their faiths. And now that I think of it, this applies to all religions. Anyway, back to the song.
This girl he speaks of, she is stuck. She's looking for a reason, a chance to explain, something to make life worth the work, a meaning. But she falls short. It seems as if she's settling for a nothingness but knows that she's settled. This causes her to repress her feelings, to drink, to dream of salvation. We are nowhere and it's now.
Wow. What an image you know? I think its such a pungeant idea. It's moving. It truly is.
The funny part is that many people won't listen to him because his voice really isn't good, at all. Oh, what they are missing. Or should I say, 'who cares if their missing it'.
Why do you drink it till you're blind?
And if you swear that there's no truth and who cares
How come you say it like you're right?
Why are you scared to dream of God
When it's salvation that you want?
You see stars that clear have been dead for years
But the idea just lives on...
In our wheels that roll around
As we move over the ground
And all day it seems we've been in between
A past and future town
We are nowhere and it's now"
-Bright Eyes "We Are Nowhere And It's Now"
Conor Oberst is a personal hero of mine. He is a singer-songwriter for numerous bands which include Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst and the Mystic River Band, and most recently (and most awesomely) Monsters of Folk. His voice isn't particuarly good, at all, instead even his most uplifting songs, of love, redemption, and personal and wordly accpetance, convey some sort underlying saddness. Some sort of pain. But maybe you need to suffer to evolve (but I'm sure I will be discussing that in the future; 'no happy woman ever writes'- Ruth Hall by Fanny Fern). Anyway, I digress. With that out of the way let us get back to our discussion. Rather, my discussion; because no one reads my blog.
This song poses a very funny idea: an atheist or possibly anarachist trying to make others believe of their system or their 'order'. It's funny because it's hypocritical, I appologized if it seems like I didn't think you understood the pun because it is rather pretentious of me to do so. Still, I digress.
Is this not true? I know alot of people who fall under some sort of atheistic religion and many of them are rather outspoken in their beliefs. But it seems that goes against what they are preaching. In the Bible someone of religious importance once said that the man who prays to himself, quiet and alone, is morally stronger than one who screams his prays for others to be heard. It's as if they want justifacation of their faiths. And now that I think of it, this applies to all religions. Anyway, back to the song.
This girl he speaks of, she is stuck. She's looking for a reason, a chance to explain, something to make life worth the work, a meaning. But she falls short. It seems as if she's settling for a nothingness but knows that she's settled. This causes her to repress her feelings, to drink, to dream of salvation. We are nowhere and it's now.
Wow. What an image you know? I think its such a pungeant idea. It's moving. It truly is.
The funny part is that many people won't listen to him because his voice really isn't good, at all. Oh, what they are missing. Or should I say, 'who cares if their missing it'.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
One More Creamer
"Her face seemed ancient now. Jaded by the sands of time, standing alone in the desert like Sphinx, she represented what was and now will never be."
"You know, you are quite literate when you try," said the doctor, closing his news paper.
"I have never dared to try my friend, not since then. Not since her."
They both sat down again and beckoned the waitress for a refill.
"This woman you speak of, you knew her well?"
"Well enough to know I'll never really know a woman."
They both laughed while the young waitress poured their coffees.
"One more cream please miss? Thanks."
"Well, I've never heard of anyone being described as monument before. You had to of known her well enough."
"I suppose."
"And what of this new girl I've seen you with? Another monument?
"Perhaps. There has to be more sweat and blood, but yes, she has the framework for something like the Colosseum I guess."
"The Colosseum eh? Well when is the Fall of Rome?"
"Honestly, you probably know better than I do."
"You know, you are quite literate when you try," said the doctor, closing his news paper.
"I have never dared to try my friend, not since then. Not since her."
They both sat down again and beckoned the waitress for a refill.
"This woman you speak of, you knew her well?"
"Well enough to know I'll never really know a woman."
They both laughed while the young waitress poured their coffees.
"One more cream please miss? Thanks."
"Well, I've never heard of anyone being described as monument before. You had to of known her well enough."
"I suppose."
"And what of this new girl I've seen you with? Another monument?
"Perhaps. There has to be more sweat and blood, but yes, she has the framework for something like the Colosseum I guess."
"The Colosseum eh? Well when is the Fall of Rome?"
"Honestly, you probably know better than I do."
Sunday, October 4, 2009
"People Watching"
A common belief about women is that they have a lot of shoes. Shoes they may wear once and then never again. But don't we all wear shoes? Don't we all at least find ourselves thinking of wearing different shoes. Following a different path. Living a different a life. Being someone else, if only for a moment.
I have find myself doing this constantly. Just thinking of being someone else. Living their routine or lack thereof. Tying the dirty laces of their shoes. I imagine their minds, their thoughts. I wonder what the wonder about. What intrigues them, motivates them, haunts them. What skeletons do have on hangers in their closets. What crosses do they carry. And most importantly, what gives them hope. What they want their life to aspire to.
I carry on these imaginations randomly. A simple scar or tattoo or hat is enough to build a life, enough to fabricate a stranger's past. I write their fictional stories. And I think about the characters. I become the narrator of translation of a mix of dream, fascination, curiosity, and amusement. Some people become exemplars while others lie in the numerous shades of gray.
And I think of their motives. Their plan. Their mission. I wonder what life means to them because it helps me find my own answer, or at least come closer to one.
I think some may call this 'people watching'. But I don't know if it's quite the same as that. The point is not to judge or mock but to recognize certain values people have and wonder what compels them to do believe them. Why will someone smile at a stranger? Why will someone sit in the park all day just to watch the birds? What do they see? What beauty have they found? What pain have they felt? What causes that smile? What allows that contentment?
Of course, these are fabricated tales. The process is just working backwards to the beginning to find some unlearned life lesson that you, the author, have created. Then you think, "Hey I wonder who's writing my story, my alternative life, my lesson."
I have find myself doing this constantly. Just thinking of being someone else. Living their routine or lack thereof. Tying the dirty laces of their shoes. I imagine their minds, their thoughts. I wonder what the wonder about. What intrigues them, motivates them, haunts them. What skeletons do have on hangers in their closets. What crosses do they carry. And most importantly, what gives them hope. What they want their life to aspire to.
I carry on these imaginations randomly. A simple scar or tattoo or hat is enough to build a life, enough to fabricate a stranger's past. I write their fictional stories. And I think about the characters. I become the narrator of translation of a mix of dream, fascination, curiosity, and amusement. Some people become exemplars while others lie in the numerous shades of gray.
And I think of their motives. Their plan. Their mission. I wonder what life means to them because it helps me find my own answer, or at least come closer to one.
I think some may call this 'people watching'. But I don't know if it's quite the same as that. The point is not to judge or mock but to recognize certain values people have and wonder what compels them to do believe them. Why will someone smile at a stranger? Why will someone sit in the park all day just to watch the birds? What do they see? What beauty have they found? What pain have they felt? What causes that smile? What allows that contentment?
Of course, these are fabricated tales. The process is just working backwards to the beginning to find some unlearned life lesson that you, the author, have created. Then you think, "Hey I wonder who's writing my story, my alternative life, my lesson."
Gatsby's Green Light. What does it mean?
So many times I just want to write. I just want to sit down at a computer and type. Type anything really. Type something. But it seems that any sort of substantial inspiration about anything comes at times when you can't write it down. You can't let your ideas flow. And what is left? Only the small and cluttered remnants of a pulse of inspiration that has come and gone with no intentions of ever returning. You're left with a puzzle, a damn confusing puzzle.
Soon you forget why you found that house so interesting. You can no longer ration the beauty you once saw in a squirrel rummaging through garbage or that certain awe you felt about seeing a green color in a window at night. You felt something new in the shade of the light. Something different. So where does this appreciation, this universal connection, you have felt go?
Has the concept of wonder left us? In our day to day lives we become jaded to the simple joys of the world. And maybe those moments of purity, of admiration, of beauty are just small rays of innocence and naivety that shine through our walls of mundane acceptance.
I've noticed that the people who do notice the beauty of the everyday are scene as 'eccentric' possibly a little crazy or this new fashionable term 'hipster', which I think is a mix between being a hippie, educated, vegetarian, and probably poor. But what's that about? So many of my collegiate friends look upon this subculture mockingly. But who can really judge? Who decided the way to live an American life. Some become happy about a paycheck or a bigger house or a boat with a terrible name. And some find their happiness in being happy about living, at being content. Some want to live in a world away from the chaos and desires of wants. They desire nothing really. Just some piece of mind. Because we all know, we can never have the whole pie.
Soon you forget why you found that house so interesting. You can no longer ration the beauty you once saw in a squirrel rummaging through garbage or that certain awe you felt about seeing a green color in a window at night. You felt something new in the shade of the light. Something different. So where does this appreciation, this universal connection, you have felt go?
Has the concept of wonder left us? In our day to day lives we become jaded to the simple joys of the world. And maybe those moments of purity, of admiration, of beauty are just small rays of innocence and naivety that shine through our walls of mundane acceptance.
I've noticed that the people who do notice the beauty of the everyday are scene as 'eccentric' possibly a little crazy or this new fashionable term 'hipster', which I think is a mix between being a hippie, educated, vegetarian, and probably poor. But what's that about? So many of my collegiate friends look upon this subculture mockingly. But who can really judge? Who decided the way to live an American life. Some become happy about a paycheck or a bigger house or a boat with a terrible name. And some find their happiness in being happy about living, at being content. Some want to live in a world away from the chaos and desires of wants. They desire nothing really. Just some piece of mind. Because we all know, we can never have the whole pie.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
