Friday, July 25, 2008

How It Was Then.

-This is how it was then. ‘Then’ was a time ago. Some of then was just a few days back, Some of then was this very morning, and some of then was weeks, months, and even years ago. We speak fondly of ‘Then,’ or at least some of us do, some of the time. Some of us never speak fondly of past ‘Then’ only of future ‘Then’ while others have the quite opposite malady. Regardless, we all have a ‘Then’ or many a ‘Then’ and we all speak of it in one fashion or another depending on the present day, feeling, frame of mind, and intended usage for the ‘Then’. Is ‘Then’ quite dead yet? I should say not, and for the sake of my ‘, T, h, e, and n keys I will just say T from now on.
-On the particular day that I sit and think about a few particular T’s, I can draw a few particular points, which in no doubt will play into some angle that I have set about, consciously or subconsciously to make. If I end up making the point I am not much sure I care, that is in large part to do with, I have little idea of what point I am actually setting out to make. It is no small wonder how it takes the strain off the ol’ mind when one has no direction where they are going, therefore can not possibly be bothered with whether they are going in the correct direction or not.
-T1. It was a time of peace and harmony, for the most part. LOVE, a word that drips out of my mouth with utter disdain, was abundant in the air and all was right in the universe. (or so they tell me) (and so I told myself) (although as you read this you no doubt see that I am writing this having seen the erroneous way in which I was traveling) I was in LOVE, that wretched and traitorous whore of all words, and loving it. (Pun intended because poor puns flow so intrastately with sappy love sentiment.) T was a time. It was there and it passed. In T1 it did seem as there though there actually was a love, which was made of two…almost. In my heart of hearts maybe I wanted so to believe it that I would allow it to be nothing else. OR it actually really was, and in my now heart of cynicism, I cannot see it for what it actually was. (I lean toward the first explanation and you may or may not agree with me by T’x end)
-T2. Is a time nearer to now, now being when I am writing this, not now being when it is read. Although, T1 is, in the course of straight line time, before T2, so it would seem that from this point forward T2, will always be after T1. How much time I waste! At T2 I look back at T1 as if I was having an intestine transplant, not sure why I would be, but I am, and I have opted for the blue light special, which uses no anesthetic, and is performed by a group of 9th graders deprived of their frogs on dissection day. It is a fantastic state of affairs. Little grubby fingers probing around in my belly. How did I ever think I was living before this? (yes, I am being mildly sarcastic, mildly perverse, but not at all overstating the position of my T) I am living now, and while I will not say, ‘in hell’ I will say ‘I am not living well’ so there is that. It is not that I aspire to live well in the traditional sense of the saying (yet I do) but that is not what I am pointing out. I am seeking to explain that things are bad, and by bad I mean, very, very not good. I cannot relate the state of current affairs to hell anymore than I can relate them to Brazil; I have been to neither. I can say that I sit now with a feeling of T2 that is reflecting on T1. T2 would tell me that in T1 there was love from my part. That in my part I loved the best I could know how. (the word sickens me) (yet I am a cynic and I would retort to me, ‘isn’t it nice to hide behind what you think you did…then, self?) Regardless of jesse, or jesse, I can only say what I can say, and only record what T2 tells me. T2 tells me that I did love the best way I knew, and in this I did love…period. T2 goes on to say that in missing and hurting and bleeding soul in the wake of T1, there is no other explanation aside from love. Finally, T2 tells me that if you are on the end of T1, looking over the destruction, the barren wasteland that lies below, and there is no cry from behind a stone, no whisper in the broken trees, no subtle babble from the dying brook, “I did too”…it is easy enough to deduce, it never did. T2 further degraded me by explaining that I needn’t be anymore discerning than a frog to deduce this final, pointed fact.
-I suppose then, if this were a good story, there would be a T3. T3 would use these lessons on the past, and look at the future and potentially project the outcome, or forecast some lessons that should be abided by. This is neither a story nor good, so I am lucky to avoid having to be concerned with writing about T3 and whatever other fairytales a story would wish me include.
-This is a brief recorded history, facts. While my whole life I have contended that history is written by the winners, I am clearly not a winner in this instance, (or maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, maybe I am a winner in the ‘well I did not end up marrying someone that does not love me back.” Yes, there is winning in that!) At battles, or wars, there are winners and losers, or there were in the old days, after which, some crusty old vet would sit and pen the account. No doubt events were changed, 500 men in the last stand was reduced to 50, and 400 Japs was increased to 2500…all of this is to say, I am sure there are points here that are amiss, points I do not see, because I am involved and points that are much larger or smaller due to my involvement…none the less, in some way I contend that that this is fact. I can contend this is fact, because even if this is not exactly how it unfolded, at this T’x, it is how my mind is unfolding it. (I think, this is not clear, more a stream of thought…not clear at all)



Saturday, July 19, 2008

iHate. (the_thoughts_of_an_inwardly_jealous_man)

The norm and what I hate about it…uggg; where to begin? There is no clear thought in my mind as to whether the average man is really seeking the average life, or if he is seeking more or even possibly less than said normal life. I am not speaking in terms of some spiritual or spirituality concept or the like, (with fingers in Mr. Burns form) I am speaking purely in terms of ‘everyone says X is so good, so X must be awesome.’


For the longest time as a kid I heard people rave about DMB. The lunacy eventually became so rancid that I had to kill myself.
The End.
Okay, that was a minor bluff on the suicide bit; but hardly an understatement. Everywhere I turned my ear I heard satellites and two-stepping…life was in a state. Eventually, as per usual, the hysteria wore off and people began to feel their lips again, I believe many people felt the scars from constant biting while under the anesthetic. Note, DMB did not fade into the west, but the tide had turned. About this time or soon thereafter I happened to win an event at Younglife. I do not recall the specifics but if I have to have a game I will imagine in involved a tarp, ice cream, water noodles, and a strobe light. The treasure I was granted for being the greatest tarp-rolling, noodle-battling, ice cream-eating, strobe light-dealing athlete was Crash, and not the film…don’t get me started on ‘the norm’ and Crash the film…you don’t have the bandwidth, and I am already 27, so I haven’t the time.
I made a face like this (only much more angry, scoffing, and resentful) when I looked at the CD.

It probably could have been (insert your least favorite album every recorded here) and I would have been more receptive. Sigh…if only iTunes had existed and I had been gifted a gift card…I would not be writing this now, you would not be wasting your time reading it…(I need to stay on track here) Begrudgingly I jammed the CD into my overly generous pocket and skulked back to my respective seat on the floor amidst a shower of congratulatory cheers from my peers; double-ugggg.

Now my point is this, after months of sitting on my shelf, I finally did put the CD in and listen to the set. Much to my shagrin it was quite good, I actually found myself liking a handful of the tunes. This brings me to the larger point, the largest point of this minute drivel.
The iPhone, seems to be my own personal next DMB. There are differences and I would be remiss if I did not spell them out to get the full-bodied aroma this thought is due. (had too, sorry) Since the iPhone was introduced I have wanted it. It is all that is functional in my ridiculously, stupid techie mind. (note: I chase ‘cool’ too, I just call it ‘functional’ etc.) Then there was the overflowing of people buying it; this brought on the aforementioned general DMB aura. The mad DMB influenza is a close relative of the iPhone influenza, or visa-versa, I am not certain of the proper genealogy of influenza as it relates (or inter-relates) to music and or technology. With the inflation of iPhone’s ego, I found it less and less palatable, like his brother Dave.
My issue is this, I never yearned for Dave…(that is not a dangling sentence I ever thought I would type) But, I do yearn for the iPhone. GPS, web, talking, texting (not that I do it), music, pics, etc…it just goes on and on…if you are reading a blog; you more than likely know the functionality and interface attractions all to well. Yet, in wanting an iPhone I become one of them, and I hate them.
I mean seem to have developed ‘iHate,’ apparently macs are not as impervious to viruses as once thought.