you know whats wierd
when you are convinced you really understand yourself and what your past means
and when that convinced feeling actually complells you to believe that its real
and then you forget it
and the next night you get the same feeling, but convinced of a different realization
people really dont know much about themselves in terms of how their past affects their present
and when they think they know, they are often wrong
the impressions they get about what their past means is ephemeral and transient
and its only real purpose is to find some reason to keep going
a reason not rooted in any kind of "real you"
just something passing by because people cant stay still
they need to re-invent themselves every day

oh shit im motivated again!

first off, im sorry if I ever led you to believe I knew anything you didnt. If I do, I couldn't tell you what it is, and by the time you point it out to me, it wouldnt be something you didnt know. Anyway, ive got this plan.

Welcome back! A month! that sure was a while. I was just thinking about someone I admire who makes music and art. I was thinking about these two books he published that have his art and commentary. I was thinking about the commentary and how it relates. When does the commentary become not useful? Would too much distract from the art itself? Would not enough render it useless?

Excerpt from Bluebeard, by Kurt Vonnegut

"The team must consist of three sorts of specialists, he says. Otherwise, the revolution, whether in politics or the arts or the sciences or whatever, is sure to fail.
The rarest of these specialists, he says, is an authentic genius-- a person capable of having seemingly good ideas not in general circulation. "A genius working alone," he says, "is invariably ignored as a lunatic."
The second sort of specialist is a lot easier to find: a highly intelligent citizen in good standing in his or her community, who understands and admires the fresh ideas of the genius, and who testifies that the genius is far from mad. "A person like that working alone", says Slazinger, "can only yearn out loud for changes, but fail to say what their shapes should be."
The third sort of specialist is a person who can explain anything, no matter how stupid or pigheaded they may be. "He will say almost anything in order to be interesting and exciting," says Slazinger. "Working alone, depending solely on his own shallow ideas, he would be regarded as being as full of shit as a Christmas turkey."

You might not agree with Christians, but they sure do feed a lot more hungry people than you do.

Ever wonder why all these different buisnesses can get away with selling the same stuff at dramatically different prices?
In BC, one reason is that convenience and atmosphere are as important as the product itself.
Product A available a 10 min drive away is cheaper than product A available at your door,
and in BC, both products sell enough to profit
because BC is economically driven by rich, old, lazy people

beauty, like most lies, can help people if managed properly.

beauty, like most lies, usually hides things.

Dont fear change, I hear.

Ok, fair enough.

but its tricky sometimes, you know? Tricky how I fear it when I like whats happening too much.

as in "ok I accept change except this part and this part should stay the same cause I like those ones"

except that wont work, you know,

cause things that matter that have to change can hide behind them.

never be afraid to question your own beliefs.

it comes and goes, you know

A friend asked me

"Which is the greater tragedy; the writer who no longer wants to seek, or the seeker who no longer dares to write?"

To which I replied

"ok, in order to answer that, here are some concepts.

Imagine that probably everyone experiences things that are insightful and interesting and beautiful and (to an extent) unique, things that are worth writing down, and would make great raw material for different forms of art (writing, painting, photography, music, etc etc etc).

Then, imagine that probably some fraction of everyone actually believe that what they experience would make art worth making ("worth making" meaning that the person believes they should make it).

Then, imagine that probably some fraction of that fraction actually attempt to make art.

Then imagine some fraction of that fraction of that fraction make art that at least generally represents the experience he had in a way that makes sense to that person

Then imagine some fraction of that fraction of that fraction of that fraction make some kind of art that at least generally represents the experience he had in a way that makes sense (or "resonates") with that person AND other people.

And, finally, imagine some fraction of that fraction of that fraction of that fraction of that fraction also find that a LOT of people appreciate ("resonate" with) what he did, and he can therefore make a living off of it.

Ok, now to actually answer your question. I dont think that experiences people have that COULD make great art that end up not becoming great art is a tragedy. If I believed that, I would be expecting people who experience beautiful stuff to go out and turn it into art, and that would probably mean that I also believed that people who are capable of turning an experience they have in to art actually experience more (or are more "in tune" with what they experience), which is (as far as I can tell) not only NOT TRUE but also pretty unhealthy to think about other people.

TL;DR: Writers who dont seek and seekers who dont write arent tragic. Not everyone needs to share their experiences, and those who dont could be experiencing stuff just as intensely/artistically/whatever. And those who DO share it arent actually experiencing more intensely if they happen to be more effective at writing it down in a way that resonates with people. "

I am not drawn to it because it is true,

I am drawn to it because it simply contains truth.

It contains truth, and is not true, because truth is not simple.

So I simply like it because it contains truth.

"This was a goddess who could not dance, would not dance, and hated everybody at the high school. She would like to claw away her face, she told us, so that people would stop seeing things in it that had nothing to do with what she was like inside. She was ready to die at any time, she said, because what men and boys thought about her and tried to do to her made her so ashamed. One of the first things she was going to do when she got to heaven, she said, was to ask somebody what was written on her face and why had it been put there."


Page 49, Kurt Vonnegut's "Deadeye Dick"

t

t

I'm not saying that it's wrong
I'm not saying that it's right
you drew a line in the sand
and now I'm out of you're life

I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt sometimes
but musicians only advocate their side
still I'm wondering if I saw you try
cause god knows we all saw me try

I've got some selfish pain that I can't hide
goodbye

when im fixing I wish I was dancing
and
when im dancing I wish I was listening
and
when im listening I wish I was wondering
and
when im wondering I wish I was fucking
and
when im fucking I wish for more time
but
and when its over I dont wish for anything.

The next morning, I wish I was smiling
and
when im smiling I wish I was sprinting
and
when im sprinting I wish I was fighting
and
when im fighting I wish I was winning the fight
and
when I win the fight I wish I would never fight again.

Then I walk home.

we all justify everything we do, you dont need to convince anyone but yourself that your justification tools are right for you, etc etc

HOWEVER thats true for other people too, hence the "your an asshole" notion

This song is called "Night on the Sun" by Modest Mouse. I think its interesting that the lyrics themselves get kind of morbid and disgusting, but when coupled with the music, its really soothing.



So, turn off the light 'cause it's light of the sun
You're hopelessly hopeful
I hope so, for you
Freeze your blood and then stab it into in two
Stab your blood into me and blend
I eat my own blood and get filled up get filled up;
I get filled up on me and end so turn off the light
'cause it's night on the sun you're hopelessly hopeless
I hope so, for you
Turn off the light 'cause it's night on the sun
You're hopelessly hopeless
I hope so, for you
Freeze your blood and then stab it into in two
Stab your blood into me and end
I eat my own blood and get filled up get filled up
I get filled up on me and end
Freeze your blood and then stab it into me
Freeze your blood and then stab it into me
Freeze your blood and then stab it in two into me and blend
Turn off the light 'cause it's night on the sun
You're hopelessly hopeless
I hope so, for you
Well there's one thing to know about this town
It's five hundred miles underground; and that's alright
Well there's one thing to know about this globe
It's bound and it's willing to explode and that's alright
Well there's one thing to know about this town
Not a person doesn't want me underground
There's one thing to know about this town
It's five hundred miles underground; and that's ok
There's one thing to know about this earth
We're put here just to make more dirt; and that's ok
night on the sun...

that feeling is like a drug.

you better ration it

hey, what are you hiding?

is it driving you

moving you

while you act like its not there?

does it bother you that im pointing at it?

that im pointing at it and looking at you and saying

"hey, what are you hiding?"

my heart is a deep, wide, slow river in the jungle. I had a dream once that I swam in it, and I could see all the way down. there was a ship underwater, and I explored. I love exploring!

hey beautiful, lets sit around and make fun of beauty

Some kinds of love
Marguerita told Tom
Between thought and expression lies a lifetime
Situations arise because of the weather
and no kinds of love
are better than others

Some kinds of love
Marguerita told Tom
like a dirty French novel
combines the absurd with the vulgar
and some kinds of love
the possibilites are endless
and for me to miss one
would seem to be groundless

I heard what you said
Marguerita heard Tom
And of course you're a bore
but in that you're not charmless
cause a bore is a straight line, now
that finds a wealth in division
and some kinds of love
are mistaken for vision

Put jelly on your shoulder
Let us do what you fear most
That from wich you recoil
but which still makes your eyes moist

Put jelly on your shoulder baby
lie down upon on the carpet
between thought and expression
let us now kiss the culprit

I don't know just what it's all about
Put on your red pajamas and find out


-Some Kinda Love, by the Velvet Underground

r

r

you know, I could live without you
but I don't want to

the woods, the woods, please don't enter the woods x2

your grandfather died cause he went to the woods

and if he found it, he left it in those godforsaken woods.

please stop thinking about what hides in the trees

at night I can see you, but you can't see me

I'll warn you one more time to stay out of the woods

cause if I find you there tonight you're gonna die!

my greataunt died a short while ago, and Ive been getting spam messages from her email account since then.

strange days

You are pretty, and i'm going to leave you alone.

You are tortured, and i'm going to leave you alone.

You are beautiful, and i'm going to leave you alone.

You are love incarnate, and i'm going to leave you alone.

You gave me burning memories, and i'm going to leave you alone.

I'm going to leave you alone, i'm going to leave you alone.

academic feminism has taught me to ask these questions whenever I write:

Who could see this?

How would someone else interpret this?

Is what I'm saying reflective of what I mean to say to me?

Would what I'm saying be reflective of what I mean to someone else?