I hate Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill." It sucks. It's a sucky song. It's a song that always feels like it's going somewhere, but never gets there. It never resolves. It stresses me out. Every time I hear it I turn it off (if I can). The lyrics are uninspiring but mostly unoffensive ("Hey look I found Christ!").
This blogpost is important, because as of right now there are zero, count 'em zero hits when searching "Solsbury Hill sucks" on Google. That is a travesty. Cause this song really sucks. It's one of my least favorite.
Luckily, in just a few instances, this post will remedy that lack. Which is important, because really, I can't stand this song. Seriously guys. Solsbury Hill sucks.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Saturday, September 5, 2009
This evening
Spirit with spirits – I've made poor choices, but have no regrets.,
El Diamante spends his life in a semi-intoxicated haze – why shouldn't I be in similar shape while I play?
El Diamante spends his life in a semi-intoxicated haze – why shouldn't I be in similar shape while I play?
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Man I had forgotten about Buttons.
Now I want to go to sleep even less. I could stay up for hours on this.
Now I want to go to sleep even less. I could stay up for hours on this.
Friday, June 26, 2009
~*Problems*~
I am living with a profound shame. I think I like Say Anything. It...it's not on purpose. Actually, it's Angelica's fault. But the shame is mine.
It started as a joke, sorta. You see, back when I used my MP3 player (before the lack of backwards compatibility from Vista and the lack of forwards compatibility from Zen semi-bricked it), I would occasionally play a game called "Unfortunate Musical Juxtapositions." It basically consisted of me playing the edges of my library for (presumed) comic effect. One of my more effective combos was Buddy Holly's "Every Day" followed by "Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too" (that version I link sucks far more than the low-fi version I had on the Zen). People would get very irritated, even though I don't think that most of them actually cared about Buddy Holly one way or the other. I was able to excuse away having this song as being part of the game and also maybe being just the one song like this that rubbed me right.
But now it's another one – "The Futile" – that I encountered on one of Angelica mix CDs. I really wish I hated it, but I don't. I see Youtube screennames like "chickidychina95" and "xXemoscenewhateverXx" and realize that, in some small way, I am among them.
I shouldn't like this! I should scorn this. But I don't. I sorta dig it. And I am ashamed.
It started as a joke, sorta. You see, back when I used my MP3 player (before the lack of backwards compatibility from Vista and the lack of forwards compatibility from Zen semi-bricked it), I would occasionally play a game called "Unfortunate Musical Juxtapositions." It basically consisted of me playing the edges of my library for (presumed) comic effect. One of my more effective combos was Buddy Holly's "Every Day" followed by "Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too" (that version I link sucks far more than the low-fi version I had on the Zen). People would get very irritated, even though I don't think that most of them actually cared about Buddy Holly one way or the other. I was able to excuse away having this song as being part of the game and also maybe being just the one song like this that rubbed me right.
But now it's another one – "The Futile" – that I encountered on one of Angelica mix CDs. I really wish I hated it, but I don't. I see Youtube screennames like "chickidychina95" and "xXemoscenewhateverXx" and realize that, in some small way, I am among them.
I shouldn't like this! I should scorn this. But I don't. I sorta dig it. And I am ashamed.
Monday, May 11, 2009
The ideals of ignorance
You know what gives me a good feeling? This whole Roxana Saberi thing. And I mean yes, I'm glad she was released (particularly because it happened without a lot of American posturing and threats), but more than that, I'm glad that she's half Japanese. Or rather, I'm glad that I didn't know that until I chanced to see a picture of her mother, and then went to look it up.
No one mentioned her ethnic makeup. In none of the articles I read in the few months did any news agency feel compelled to note, as an aside, that her mother was Japanese. They mentioned her Iranian heritage – because it was a propos – but they let her non-relevant ethnicity pass without mention. This is a hopeful thing! Ethnicity is typically not actually relevant, but its mention as an identifier tends to give it much more weight than it deserves. I hope in the future I have no idea that the guy who negotiates a peace with India and Pakistan is half Mongolian and half Ecuadorian. Or whatever.
She is awfully pretty though. No wonder.
No one mentioned her ethnic makeup. In none of the articles I read in the few months did any news agency feel compelled to note, as an aside, that her mother was Japanese. They mentioned her Iranian heritage – because it was a propos – but they let her non-relevant ethnicity pass without mention. This is a hopeful thing! Ethnicity is typically not actually relevant, but its mention as an identifier tends to give it much more weight than it deserves. I hope in the future I have no idea that the guy who negotiates a peace with India and Pakistan is half Mongolian and half Ecuadorian. Or whatever.
She is awfully pretty though. No wonder.
I am a rational actor
I just got back from an unspeakably fun session of Spirit of the Century. There will soon be a full re-hashing of events on my character's blog, but suffice to say, it was totally, 100% worth the studying I didn't do.
Now I've gotta sleep instead of doing that studying. Finals weeks is shaping up to be fun.
Now I've gotta sleep instead of doing that studying. Finals weeks is shaping up to be fun.
Friday, May 8, 2009
العربية بدون سبب
والآن سأكتب بالعرية لأنني أريد أن أحدّث على نفسي وأنا أعرف أنّه في المستقبل سأضحك عندما أقرأ هذا النص.
أشعر بالحزن قليلا الليل. لا أعرف السبب الكامل, لكن هذا غير مهم. المهم هو الشعور. فقد أرجو أنّ حبيبتي كانت هنا معي, وأرجو أنّني تكلمت وكتبت بالعربية أحسن.
يا الله
أشعر بالحزن قليلا الليل. لا أعرف السبب الكامل, لكن هذا غير مهم. المهم هو الشعور. فقد أرجو أنّ حبيبتي كانت هنا معي, وأرجو أنّني تكلمت وكتبت بالعربية أحسن.
يا الله
Thursday, April 23, 2009
FUK IT THUG LIFE
[23:16] tyedyedtruth:
MA NAMEZ JENNY DE LA CRUZ N I LIVE N A GHETTO AZZ TOWN CALLED MADERA AKA MADDTOWN N I HAV NO FUKN IDEA Y WE MOVED HERE BUT WE DID N I GOTA MAKE DA BEST OF IT, YADIDAFEEL?! MOST OF YAL PROLY NO ME BI DA MADDTWON PIMPCESS,WICH IZ MA NAME SO AL YAL DUNT NEED N TRY N COP IT. IMA KOO AZZ GURL 2 NO N KIKIT WIT N IM ALWAYZ DOWN 4 MY SHYT I DUNT TALK SHYT AT ALL IF I GOT SHYT 2 SAY I RATA JUZ HANDLE IT, CAUSEZ LESS DRAMA. FUK DA HATERZ WHO TALK SHYT CUZ DEY AINT DUIN SHYT BUT RUNNIN DER MOUTH N LETN ME NO DER SCARED, N IM STIL REPN DAT N.S.M-N.B SO IF YAL GOTA PROB DU SUMTHN BOUT IT, N ALL YA SCRAPZ LUKIN AT MA PG NEEDA GET DA FUK OFF, N I AINT GUNA GO N2 AL DAT CUZ THREATZ OVA DA COMP AINT SHYT.IM DONE 4 AL MA HOMIEZ N HOMEGURLZ DEY KAN ALWAYZ COUNT ON ME 4 ERYTHAN N ANYTHAN BUT IF U DU ME WRONG I AINT DAT FORGIVEN. I AINT DA TYPE OF GURL 2 START HELA SHYT BUT I WIL FINISH IT I AINT EVEN TRIPN FUK IT THUG LIFE. THANX 2 ALL MA TRU FRIENDZ 4 AL DA SHYT U GUYZ HAV DONE 4 ME U NO I LUV YAL! N IF UR NOT ON MY TOP 8 DOEZNT MEAN I DUNT KARE BOUT YA, WEL IF YAL NO ME DEN GET AT ME ON MA CELLY N IF YA DUNT DEN GET ATCHA GURL WITA MSG.
[23:19] SquidgeeMoot: My favorite part is AINT DA TYPE OF GURL 2 START HELA SHYT BUT I WIL FINISH IT I AINT EVEN TRIPN FUK IT THUG LIFE.
[23:19] tyedyedtruth: yessssss.
[23:19] tyedyedtruth: Especially the "FUK IT THUG LIFE" bit.
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: It was like she was getting all worked up and then just blurted out a "FUK IT THUG LIFE" all spastic.
[23:20] SquidgeeMoot: But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, fuck it, thug life.
[23:20] SquidgeeMoot: *fuk
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: Hahahahah.
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: No dude, no comma.
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: There's no pause.
[23:20] SquidgeeMoot: Hahaha
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: It's just straight FUK IT THUG LIFE.
[23:21] SquidgeeMoot: Pretty sure there is no text which would not benefit from that.
[23:22] SquidgeeMoot: Whereas the peoples of the United Nations have in the Charter reaffirmed their faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person and in the equal rights of men and women and have determined to promote social progress and fuk it thug life.
[23:23] tyedyedtruth: Therefore, let every one that is out of Christ, now awake and fly from the wrath to come. The wrath of Almighty God is now undoubtedly hanging over a great part of this congregation: Let every one fly out of Sodom: "Haste and escape for your lives, look not behind you, escape to the mountain, lest you be consumed." Fuk it thug life.
[23:26] SquidgeeMoot: After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs fuk it thug life.
[23:27] SquidgeeMoot: (This needs to go to the next level.)
[23:28] SquidgeeMoot: I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at fuk it thug life.
[23:28] tyedyedtruth: No one could read the old writing now, but things were told by word of mouth. The chanted ritual was not the secret—that was never spoken aloud, only whispered. The chant meant only this: "In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming. Fuk it thug life."
[23:30] SquidgeeMoot: Hahahaha
[23:30] SquidgeeMoot: Every reader finds himself. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have seen in fuk it thug life.
[23:31] SquidgeeMoot: Emily Dickinson. Anne Frank. The Old Testament. Lovecraft. Marcel Proust.
[23:31] tyedyedtruth:
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Fuk it thug life.'
[23:34] SquidgeeMoot: I can imagine all these writers writing that, throwing down their quills or whatever and cooly storming off.
[23:34] SquidgeeMoot: Mounting motorcycles.
[23:35] tyedyedtruth:
"Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn't touched. I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror -- of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision -- he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath:
"'FUK IT THUG LIFE.'
[23:36] SquidgeeMoot: Hahahahaa
[23:38] SquidgeeMoot: Hang on I've gotta get this accurate.
[23:38] tyedyedtruth: Et tu, Brute! Then fuk it thug life.
[23:44] SquidgeeMoot: lol
MA NAMEZ JENNY DE LA CRUZ N I LIVE N A GHETTO AZZ TOWN CALLED MADERA AKA MADDTOWN N I HAV NO FUKN IDEA Y WE MOVED HERE BUT WE DID N I GOTA MAKE DA BEST OF IT, YADIDAFEEL?! MOST OF YAL PROLY NO ME BI DA MADDTWON PIMPCESS,WICH IZ MA NAME SO AL YAL DUNT NEED N TRY N COP IT. IMA KOO AZZ GURL 2 NO N KIKIT WIT N IM ALWAYZ DOWN 4 MY SHYT I DUNT TALK SHYT AT ALL IF I GOT SHYT 2 SAY I RATA JUZ HANDLE IT, CAUSEZ LESS DRAMA. FUK DA HATERZ WHO TALK SHYT CUZ DEY AINT DUIN SHYT BUT RUNNIN DER MOUTH N LETN ME NO DER SCARED, N IM STIL REPN DAT N.S.M-N.B SO IF YAL GOTA PROB DU SUMTHN BOUT IT, N ALL YA SCRAPZ LUKIN AT MA PG NEEDA GET DA FUK OFF, N I AINT GUNA GO N2 AL DAT CUZ THREATZ OVA DA COMP AINT SHYT.IM DONE 4 AL MA HOMIEZ N HOMEGURLZ DEY KAN ALWAYZ COUNT ON ME 4 ERYTHAN N ANYTHAN BUT IF U DU ME WRONG I AINT DAT FORGIVEN. I AINT DA TYPE OF GURL 2 START HELA SHYT BUT I WIL FINISH IT I AINT EVEN TRIPN FUK IT THUG LIFE. THANX 2 ALL MA TRU FRIENDZ 4 AL DA SHYT U GUYZ HAV DONE 4 ME U NO I LUV YAL! N IF UR NOT ON MY TOP 8 DOEZNT MEAN I DUNT KARE BOUT YA, WEL IF YAL NO ME DEN GET AT ME ON MA CELLY N IF YA DUNT DEN GET ATCHA GURL WITA MSG.
[23:19] SquidgeeMoot: My favorite part is AINT DA TYPE OF GURL 2 START HELA SHYT BUT I WIL FINISH IT I AINT EVEN TRIPN FUK IT THUG LIFE.
[23:19] tyedyedtruth: yessssss.
[23:19] tyedyedtruth: Especially the "FUK IT THUG LIFE" bit.
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: It was like she was getting all worked up and then just blurted out a "FUK IT THUG LIFE" all spastic.
[23:20] SquidgeeMoot: But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, fuck it, thug life.
[23:20] SquidgeeMoot: *fuk
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: Hahahahah.
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: No dude, no comma.
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: There's no pause.
[23:20] SquidgeeMoot: Hahaha
[23:20] tyedyedtruth: It's just straight FUK IT THUG LIFE.
[23:21] SquidgeeMoot: Pretty sure there is no text which would not benefit from that.
[23:22] SquidgeeMoot: Whereas the peoples of the United Nations have in the Charter reaffirmed their faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person and in the equal rights of men and women and have determined to promote social progress and fuk it thug life.
[23:23] tyedyedtruth: Therefore, let every one that is out of Christ, now awake and fly from the wrath to come. The wrath of Almighty God is now undoubtedly hanging over a great part of this congregation: Let every one fly out of Sodom: "Haste and escape for your lives, look not behind you, escape to the mountain, lest you be consumed." Fuk it thug life.
[23:26] SquidgeeMoot: After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs fuk it thug life.
[23:27] SquidgeeMoot: (This needs to go to the next level.)
[23:28] SquidgeeMoot: I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at fuk it thug life.
[23:28] tyedyedtruth: No one could read the old writing now, but things were told by word of mouth. The chanted ritual was not the secret—that was never spoken aloud, only whispered. The chant meant only this: "In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming. Fuk it thug life."
[23:30] SquidgeeMoot: Hahahaha
[23:30] SquidgeeMoot: Every reader finds himself. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have seen in fuk it thug life.
[23:31] SquidgeeMoot: Emily Dickinson. Anne Frank. The Old Testament. Lovecraft. Marcel Proust.
[23:31] tyedyedtruth:
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Fuk it thug life.'
[23:34] SquidgeeMoot: I can imagine all these writers writing that, throwing down their quills or whatever and cooly storming off.
[23:34] SquidgeeMoot: Mounting motorcycles.
[23:35] tyedyedtruth:
"Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn't touched. I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror -- of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision -- he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath:
"'FUK IT THUG LIFE.'
[23:36] SquidgeeMoot: Hahahahaa
[23:38] SquidgeeMoot: Hang on I've gotta get this accurate.
[23:38] tyedyedtruth: Et tu, Brute! Then fuk it thug life.
[23:44] SquidgeeMoot: lol
Friday, April 17, 2009
Bits and pieces
Over the last few months there have been a number of posts I've begun and never finished. Here, in order from oldest to most recent, are the fragments.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Catherine said that her blog wasn't representative of the way she thought. It was, rather, representative of the way she thought when she was in the mood to blog. Fascinating.
Think of that. This blog will doubtless be the same way. What about my poetry? Any poetry? That would mean poetry doesn't reveal anything about the poet, but rather the state of inspiration that created the poetry. The poet is anonymous to his own work.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I had the singular opportunity this last weekend to see someone get everything they wanted. Take a pause and consider that – everything worked out. In my experience, actually, I'd be prepared to call that unprecedented.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm hungry.
This in itself is not interesting; I often forget about/put off eating for one reason or another and wind up ravenous. At the moment, however, I'm hungry, but without craving. Usually it's fairly obvious what I want – most often it's salt or sugar, and occasionally I just want broccoli. But at the moment, nothing. I have the physical sensation of hunger, but the thought of actually eating something fails to excite me. I don't really want raviolis, or sausage, or cinnamon toast, or a pepper-turkey sandwich, or milk, or a PB&J, or what have you.
Just to test, I tasted some cinnamon sugar, but it failed to hit any kind of spot. Same with a small dash of salt.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm not acknowledging the fact that my last post was in early December.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm getting into cheese.
Cheese is complex, varied, potentially expensive; in a word, sophisticated. Cheese, as I've oft argued to my idiot roommate, is in effect the pinnacle of Western gastronomy. While he balks from even washing a dish that's been previously occupied by some truly harmless pecorino romano, I'm coming to relish the rich and powerful flavors of what is, essentially, a moldy block of spoiled, compressed sheep excretion. I recall the afternoon after acquiring my 1/4 lb sliver of blue-veined
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The beach in San Francisco was windy today. Tiny dunes in the sand. There was a big container ship leaving the bay all loaded up and it was ridiculously large and gave me that subtly unsettling feeling I get when I think about being in the water next to such a big thing. I had forgotten about the ocean kinda. I guess I had started to think the Bay was the ocean, so I was surprised by how rough the surf was and how far the water went. Someone asked me a dumb question one time, about whether I was more a mountains person or an ocean person (as if it was necessarily one or the other), and I said I was mountains. Easy answer.
I feel ultimately safe in the mountains.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm not sure if any of this means anything.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Catherine said that her blog wasn't representative of the way she thought. It was, rather, representative of the way she thought when she was in the mood to blog. Fascinating.
Think of that. This blog will doubtless be the same way. What about my poetry? Any poetry? That would mean poetry doesn't reveal anything about the poet, but rather the state of inspiration that created the poetry. The poet is anonymous to his own work.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I had the singular opportunity this last weekend to see someone get everything they wanted. Take a pause and consider that – everything worked out. In my experience, actually, I'd be prepared to call that unprecedented.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm hungry.
This in itself is not interesting; I often forget about/put off eating for one reason or another and wind up ravenous. At the moment, however, I'm hungry, but without craving. Usually it's fairly obvious what I want – most often it's salt or sugar, and occasionally I just want broccoli. But at the moment, nothing. I have the physical sensation of hunger, but the thought of actually eating something fails to excite me. I don't really want raviolis, or sausage, or cinnamon toast, or a pepper-turkey sandwich, or milk, or a PB&J, or what have you.
Just to test, I tasted some cinnamon sugar, but it failed to hit any kind of spot. Same with a small dash of salt.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm not acknowledging the fact that my last post was in early December.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm getting into cheese.
Cheese is complex, varied, potentially expensive; in a word, sophisticated. Cheese, as I've oft argued to my idiot roommate, is in effect the pinnacle of Western gastronomy. While he balks from even washing a dish that's been previously occupied by some truly harmless pecorino romano, I'm coming to relish the rich and powerful flavors of what is, essentially, a moldy block of spoiled, compressed sheep excretion. I recall the afternoon after acquiring my 1/4 lb sliver of blue-veined
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The beach in San Francisco was windy today. Tiny dunes in the sand. There was a big container ship leaving the bay all loaded up and it was ridiculously large and gave me that subtly unsettling feeling I get when I think about being in the water next to such a big thing. I had forgotten about the ocean kinda. I guess I had started to think the Bay was the ocean, so I was surprised by how rough the surf was and how far the water went. Someone asked me a dumb question one time, about whether I was more a mountains person or an ocean person (as if it was necessarily one or the other), and I said I was mountains. Easy answer.
I feel ultimately safe in the mountains.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm not sure if any of this means anything.
Friday, March 13, 2009
On the Incoherence of the Philosophers
I've finished my philosophy problem set. This is a glad thing, and will soon be celebrated with a sandwich.
I have perfected the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If I had a camera I would document the process and describe it in great detail, but alas. Long story short, for a long time I believed that one had to choose between a hearty sandwich and a neat sandwich, since any sandwich which was neat would be under-filled, while any sufficiently hearty sandwich would be prone to leaking jelly and making messes. The solution, simple yet elegant and inspired, is to spread one slice of bread with jelly and one with peanut butter, and instead of slapping them together to make a sandwich, setting the jelly slice atop the peanut butter slice, with jelly facing upwards. This way there is never pressure on the jelly, which hence doesn't squish out. I've been warned that this method is less favorable if one slices one's sandwich post-construction, but followers of that practice are vile in the eyes of the Sandwich God.
I'm pleased with this discovery on two accounts. First, from a point of strict utility; I won't spill nearly as much jelly everywhere as I have heretofore been accustomed. But more importantly – perhaps much more importantly – I have developed a trademark. A signature style, a novel and recognizable approach to a common situation. It's surprisingly difficult – I had to transcend my notions of Sandwich and allow my mind to expand beyond what was once believed to be the extent of the possible. But a trademark – that's valuable beyond words. Anyone can be creative in an unprecedented situation, but it takes an individual of substance to do something new where routine is the the norm, and the norm is simply routine.
"Devon? You mean the sandwich guy?"
I have perfected the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If I had a camera I would document the process and describe it in great detail, but alas. Long story short, for a long time I believed that one had to choose between a hearty sandwich and a neat sandwich, since any sandwich which was neat would be under-filled, while any sufficiently hearty sandwich would be prone to leaking jelly and making messes. The solution, simple yet elegant and inspired, is to spread one slice of bread with jelly and one with peanut butter, and instead of slapping them together to make a sandwich, setting the jelly slice atop the peanut butter slice, with jelly facing upwards. This way there is never pressure on the jelly, which hence doesn't squish out. I've been warned that this method is less favorable if one slices one's sandwich post-construction, but followers of that practice are vile in the eyes of the Sandwich God.
I'm pleased with this discovery on two accounts. First, from a point of strict utility; I won't spill nearly as much jelly everywhere as I have heretofore been accustomed. But more importantly – perhaps much more importantly – I have developed a trademark. A signature style, a novel and recognizable approach to a common situation. It's surprisingly difficult – I had to transcend my notions of Sandwich and allow my mind to expand beyond what was once believed to be the extent of the possible. But a trademark – that's valuable beyond words. Anyone can be creative in an unprecedented situation, but it takes an individual of substance to do something new where routine is the the norm, and the norm is simply routine.
"Devon? You mean the sandwich guy?"
Monday, December 8, 2008
Where's my damn Carmex at?
I always carry on my person a package of floss, a tub of Carmex (not the tube or the stick, those suck), and a nail clipper. I'm currently keeping an eye out for a suitable container that will make it possible for me to also carry a couple Tums as well.
In part I've built this mini medicine cabinet in my pants because, frankly, dudes have pockets. I could carry a lot more and still be comfortable, and who likes to waste space? But the addition of each specific component was caused by crises. I've been in situations where I need each of these thing and had to take a shot in the dark. Asking people if they, in the off chance, had a set of nail clippers on them (of course they didn't) convinced me that I guess I'd have to be that guy. Now at least I know if some poor schmuck out there decides to take a chance and ask if anyone has nail clippers I've got his back. Also I will never worry about hangnails again.
This is a mundane example of pretty important principle I hold. I believe that the fact that something occurs once means it could possibly happen again, and that this in fact changes the nature of the world. I want to live in a world where you can ask if anybody has a set of nail clippers on them and some dude will be like, "Yeah." By carrying the clippers on me, I become that dude and this becomes that world.
Better example. It was raining one day in high school, and the food court was about a hundred wet, rainy yards away from where all the kids were huddled under some overhangs. I had an umbrella, and a couple girls who I'd never seen before asked me if they could borrow it to go get some food. Against the advice of my friends I lent them the umbrella, because imagine: a world where you could ask a stranger to borrow his umbrella and he would be only too happy to help you out. And by the same token, a world where you could lend a stranger your umbrella and have it returned as a matter of course. They brought it back, naturally.
This is not a revolutionary philosophy to hold. In fact, I'm positive that I co-opted this concept essentially verbatim from some Buddhist or Hindu or New Age practice that I just can't remember at the moment. Ultimately this is just an activation of Gandhi's exhortion to "Be the change you want to see in the world," only with umbrellas and nail clippers instead of justice I guess.
But the justice thing holds! Who's never been in a situation where they need some justice but left theirs at home? Ung, I've got a lot of thoughts in my head right now that are more sophisticated and less trite than the ones I've shared in this post I promise, they're just not resolving into sentences. They have to do with mindfulness and right action and personal efficacy and stuff and it's all really good but you've gotta take my word for it, okay? Awesome, thanks.
In part I've built this mini medicine cabinet in my pants because, frankly, dudes have pockets. I could carry a lot more and still be comfortable, and who likes to waste space? But the addition of each specific component was caused by crises. I've been in situations where I need each of these thing and had to take a shot in the dark. Asking people if they, in the off chance, had a set of nail clippers on them (of course they didn't) convinced me that I guess I'd have to be that guy. Now at least I know if some poor schmuck out there decides to take a chance and ask if anyone has nail clippers I've got his back. Also I will never worry about hangnails again.
This is a mundane example of pretty important principle I hold. I believe that the fact that something occurs once means it could possibly happen again, and that this in fact changes the nature of the world. I want to live in a world where you can ask if anybody has a set of nail clippers on them and some dude will be like, "Yeah." By carrying the clippers on me, I become that dude and this becomes that world.
Better example. It was raining one day in high school, and the food court was about a hundred wet, rainy yards away from where all the kids were huddled under some overhangs. I had an umbrella, and a couple girls who I'd never seen before asked me if they could borrow it to go get some food. Against the advice of my friends I lent them the umbrella, because imagine: a world where you could ask a stranger to borrow his umbrella and he would be only too happy to help you out. And by the same token, a world where you could lend a stranger your umbrella and have it returned as a matter of course. They brought it back, naturally.
This is not a revolutionary philosophy to hold. In fact, I'm positive that I co-opted this concept essentially verbatim from some Buddhist or Hindu or New Age practice that I just can't remember at the moment. Ultimately this is just an activation of Gandhi's exhortion to "Be the change you want to see in the world," only with umbrellas and nail clippers instead of justice I guess.
But the justice thing holds! Who's never been in a situation where they need some justice but left theirs at home? Ung, I've got a lot of thoughts in my head right now that are more sophisticated and less trite than the ones I've shared in this post I promise, they're just not resolving into sentences. They have to do with mindfulness and right action and personal efficacy and stuff and it's all really good but you've gotta take my word for it, okay? Awesome, thanks.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Deeply troubling
Reyanne thinks someone should explain this whole "Twilight" thing to her. Ready, GO! 11:38pm
- 3 Comments
Vanessa Johnson at 11:43pm November 18
Devon Ian Peterson at 2:15am November 19
Michelle Duncan at 4:08pm November 20
- 3 Comments
Vanessa Johnson at 11:43pm November 18
agreed.
Devon Ian Peterson at 2:15am November 19
It's an immaturely-composed girl book that creates deep sympathy with the characters despite the poor writing and contrived narrative. It's also pretty regressive in terms of women's empowerment, which is the worst bit, because its major fanbase is young girls who are being socialized into idealizing a female character who actually begs to give up her life to be with a man (literally; she has to become a vampire) and is otherwise flat, shallow, and uninteresting.
Michelle Duncan at 4:08pm November 20
okay no....Reyanne listen to me!!! Twlight is amazing! I've only read the first book so far but i am about half way through the second book...its a love story and i think you should give reading it a try. i was skeptical about it at first but once i started reading it i couldn't put it down!! so get the book...Ready, GO!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
You do just fine
Ugh, god, I'm stuck on a song again. It's really too good. There are so many great moments in it – particularly at the end of the verses. "I'm the homerun king 'fore his muscles grew," "so what's the use in even tryin'?" and "I say you were born up in the sky." Okay so only one of those is at the end of a verse but they're just delightful.
I had lunch today with a bunch of Arabs. A Tunisian, an Egyptian, two Syrians, and a Sudanese. Dunno man, I don't wanna get all T.E. Lawrence up in here but it was chill. I think it's time I got myself over there. I'ma just up and go one day. Save my money, work out an arrangement with some friends' family, and be like, "Alright guys, I'm off to Syria, catch you in a couple weeks." Oh man. That's incredibly tempting. Don't even give mom a chance to worry. Hah, even better, I could just go and then when they call I'd be like, "Can I call you back? I'm in Damascus right now."
It's kinda like, y'know? Like, my parents have never really worried about me and I've never done anything really stupid. I figure I get one free. One free chance to just go and be gone and then come back like, "Ta-da!"
Ugh, I've found flights from San Francisco to Damascus for $700-$800 round-trip. And that's without looking or talking to anyone who would know better. I'm threating it. Next winter maybe. People gonna turn around and suddenly I'm eating lamb and learning Syrian dialect from the cab driver. Or something.
I had lunch today with a bunch of Arabs. A Tunisian, an Egyptian, two Syrians, and a Sudanese. Dunno man, I don't wanna get all T.E. Lawrence up in here but it was chill. I think it's time I got myself over there. I'ma just up and go one day. Save my money, work out an arrangement with some friends' family, and be like, "Alright guys, I'm off to Syria, catch you in a couple weeks." Oh man. That's incredibly tempting. Don't even give mom a chance to worry. Hah, even better, I could just go and then when they call I'd be like, "Can I call you back? I'm in Damascus right now."
It's kinda like, y'know? Like, my parents have never really worried about me and I've never done anything really stupid. I figure I get one free. One free chance to just go and be gone and then come back like, "Ta-da!"
Ugh, I've found flights from San Francisco to Damascus for $700-$800 round-trip. And that's without looking or talking to anyone who would know better. I'm threating it. Next winter maybe. People gonna turn around and suddenly I'm eating lamb and learning Syrian dialect from the cab driver. Or something.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Slip
Weather's been weird. Hot wind like a Santa Ana blowing in from where the houses are burning down south, turns the Bay inside-out, no one knows how to dress. Went bhangra dancing tonight with DPE after spending yesterday moping around my apartment and not eating.
I eventually did eat though.
Money came in today – paycheck six days late, but it's probably for the best – those were six days it wasn't being spent. To celebrate I bought Old Crow's most recent studio album and I'm glad I have headphones cause otherwise Charlie would probably get pretty annoyed with me.
Guess I'll head to bed after this song – arms around a pillow instead of a girl, listening to the city murmur outside rather than her breath in the room. Damn.
I eventually did eat though.
Money came in today – paycheck six days late, but it's probably for the best – those were six days it wasn't being spent. To celebrate I bought Old Crow's most recent studio album and I'm glad I have headphones cause otherwise Charlie would probably get pretty annoyed with me.
Guess I'll head to bed after this song – arms around a pillow instead of a girl, listening to the city murmur outside rather than her breath in the room. Damn.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Poetitudes cont.
So what makes a poem "good?" Well, first it's important to understand what a poem is. Poetry does not communicate. Poetry does not transmit ideas or feelings about the world. Poetry is the very stuff of reality itself. Suggesting that poetry communicates feelings or ideas or experiences is like suggesting that I communicate Devon.
How does understanding this affect a poet and the process of writing? First, it (hopefully) releases the poem from the obligation of "telling" and allows it to "be." Therefore, the poet is freed from the preconceptions of what the poem is about or what it is for, and they can exercise their artistic skill in many more various directions.
Secondly, it is instructive about how to craft a poem. Poetry doesn't transmit ideas or feelings. If there are to be feelings or ideas aroused in the reader, the poem cannot serve as a device to pass them from the poet to the reader. The poem must create these feelings and ideas inside the reader, organically. There are a number of ways to do this, but the simplest, often the most effective, and also (I contend) the most fun, is through imagery.
A poem should explode in your mind when you read it. It should burst with colors and sounds and temperature and heartache. This turns the reader from someone reading about an experience to someone living it. Remember – there is no meaningful distinction between reality and poetry. How can it do this? It's important to avoid what I call "grey words" or "blank words." These are words and phrases that fail to light up the mind. They're only words, things like "confused" or "feeling whole" or "good music." These are telling words – they come from the poet, telling the reader about something, but giving them nothing to hold on to.
Images serve as hooks for the mind, making it pause and linger over a passage to savor it and see it. I know when I read a piece with a lot of blank words my eyes sort of slide down the poem and when I pause I realize I can't remember anything about it. It ends up being a real effort to read – and you don't want people to have to really try just to read your stuff. Maybe to analyze it, pick it apart, but they should be able to read it and feel it in their mind with relative ease.
"Put in more images." Almost every time someone asks me to read their stuff this is my advice. "Dump your ideas and put in images." Don't describe your feeling – search around in your mind or heart or wherever poetry comes from and find something that is your feeling. Something that will make you have that feeling every time you read it. Most of the time a poem can't be great on just images alone. But if it's chock full of them – good ones, of course – it can't possibly be terrible.
There are times to scale back and do other things, but whenever someone starts to feel dissatisfied with their work, or that they feel like it's not ringing true, or what have you, the first thing they should do is think, "Where do I have ideas without images? Why? Can I change that?" When they edit they need to be ready for their poem to change – the point is not for your ideas to be communicated, the point is for the poem to approach perfection.
There's plenty more I could talk about re: writing poetry and crafting poems, but that starts to get more particular and less accessible (sometimes). I'll probably end up writing more about it, but this is the big stuff.
How does understanding this affect a poet and the process of writing? First, it (hopefully) releases the poem from the obligation of "telling" and allows it to "be." Therefore, the poet is freed from the preconceptions of what the poem is about or what it is for, and they can exercise their artistic skill in many more various directions.
Secondly, it is instructive about how to craft a poem. Poetry doesn't transmit ideas or feelings. If there are to be feelings or ideas aroused in the reader, the poem cannot serve as a device to pass them from the poet to the reader. The poem must create these feelings and ideas inside the reader, organically. There are a number of ways to do this, but the simplest, often the most effective, and also (I contend) the most fun, is through imagery.
A poem should explode in your mind when you read it. It should burst with colors and sounds and temperature and heartache. This turns the reader from someone reading about an experience to someone living it. Remember – there is no meaningful distinction between reality and poetry. How can it do this? It's important to avoid what I call "grey words" or "blank words." These are words and phrases that fail to light up the mind. They're only words, things like "confused" or "feeling whole" or "good music." These are telling words – they come from the poet, telling the reader about something, but giving them nothing to hold on to.
Images serve as hooks for the mind, making it pause and linger over a passage to savor it and see it. I know when I read a piece with a lot of blank words my eyes sort of slide down the poem and when I pause I realize I can't remember anything about it. It ends up being a real effort to read – and you don't want people to have to really try just to read your stuff. Maybe to analyze it, pick it apart, but they should be able to read it and feel it in their mind with relative ease.
"Put in more images." Almost every time someone asks me to read their stuff this is my advice. "Dump your ideas and put in images." Don't describe your feeling – search around in your mind or heart or wherever poetry comes from and find something that is your feeling. Something that will make you have that feeling every time you read it. Most of the time a poem can't be great on just images alone. But if it's chock full of them – good ones, of course – it can't possibly be terrible.
There are times to scale back and do other things, but whenever someone starts to feel dissatisfied with their work, or that they feel like it's not ringing true, or what have you, the first thing they should do is think, "Where do I have ideas without images? Why? Can I change that?" When they edit they need to be ready for their poem to change – the point is not for your ideas to be communicated, the point is for the poem to approach perfection.
There's plenty more I could talk about re: writing poetry and crafting poems, but that starts to get more particular and less accessible (sometimes). I'll probably end up writing more about it, but this is the big stuff.
On the Overcast Nights
On the overcast nights—
orange fog above the Bay,
sodium glow from streets
bent under the clouds
like a broken compass rose;
on the overcast nights—
when street people toss
and turn on their concrete or grass,
murmuring half-dreams
in the ruddy twilight;
on the overcast nights I
stare out on the cities
staining the sky with their
electrical fire, and I wonder
at the darkness that I
managed to clutch
with you, when we sat beneath our own
chemical glimmer,
and the yellowish mist
was burning.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Old Crow Interlude
Old Crow at the Fillmore. Willy Watson's hair is all long. Ketch Secor is a madman. It was an amazing show. Impossible to overstate how rad it was. They're so intense and energetic and fun on stage. Stuff came out in their songs that hadn't come out before. Very cool.
Very, very cool.
edit:
This was a dumb post because it was late at night and I was equally excited and exhausted. I explained it much better to Patrick just now.
Very, very cool.
edit:
This was a dumb post because it was late at night and I was equally excited and exhausted. I explained it much better to Patrick just now.
[15:36] tyedyedtruth: So dude.
[15:36] tyedyedtruth: I saw Old Crow at the Fillmore, right?
[15:36] tyedyedtruth: Holy shit dude.
[15:37] SquidgeeMoot: Good time?
[15:37] tyedyedtruth: It was an unspeakably good show.
[15:38] tyedyedtruth: Ketch Secor, the fiddler, had a layer of dust built up under the bridge of his fiddle.
[15:38] tyedyedtruth: Which is what had become of his rosin.
[15:38] tyedyedtruth: o_O
[15:39] SquidgeeMoot: ....
[15:39] SquidgeeMoot: Wh-shit.
[15:39] SquidgeeMoot: Shit.
[15:39] SquidgeeMoot: Wow.
[15:39] tyedyedtruth: It was totally insane.
[15:39] tyedyedtruth: They were all totally drenched in sweat.
[15:39] tyedyedtruth: I mean, especially Ketch and Willie.
[15:40] tyedyedtruth: Cause they do most of the singing and also a better part of the gallivanting on stage.
[15:40] tyedyedtruth: But there was this insane feedback loop of energy from the crowd and the band.
[15:41] tyedyedtruth: I mean, okay.
[15:41] tyedyedtruth: I've read in several places that their early and continued success has been in large part fueled by the extensive tour schedule and excellent live shows.
[15:41] tyedyedtruth: But I had no idea.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Poetitudes
I recently had a brief but invigorating chat with my friend Sarah about poetry, which she's only just begun writing. Like most new poets, she writes when she overflows, spilling her Self all over the page. She asked me to read her stuff, and in the course of an elliptical conversation punctuated by a anecdote or two I described to her what I thought about poetry and how to "improve" it. Being both as qualified and unqualified as any other journeyman wordsmith, I've decided to share.
As I said, new poets are often exhilarated at the writing of poetry, of both releasing emotions and thoughts that are pent-up inside, and also at the prospect that what's been written might be read, communicated, and understood. This exhilaration in the act of expression is that "feeling" that people get. New poets – in a generalization that I should know better than to be making – are often less concerned with the poem itself than what it accomplishes, within themselves and in communication with others.
This is okay! Catharsis is a critical aspect of creation. However, most want to "improve" their work, and this is where my anecdote comes in.
I edited the poem by eliminating the bit that was written during the "inspiration," when I had that "feeling." This isn't to say that the inspiration was unimportant – it served to sort of find the poem and crack it open for me. I certainly released a lot of good feelings doing it, but the poem itself, if it wanted to be good, had to grow beyond that.
More later.
As I said, new poets are often exhilarated at the writing of poetry, of both releasing emotions and thoughts that are pent-up inside, and also at the prospect that what's been written might be read, communicated, and understood. This exhilaration in the act of expression is that "feeling" that people get. New poets – in a generalization that I should know better than to be making – are often less concerned with the poem itself than what it accomplishes, within themselves and in communication with others.
This is okay! Catharsis is a critical aspect of creation. However, most want to "improve" their work, and this is where my anecdote comes in.
One night, junior year of high school, I found myself up late at night, on the computer, listening to Ella Fitzgerald, and very much in the throes of that "feeling." I wrote with the swing of the music and the gyrations of my heart, and then went to bed. I had written about two stanzas, and finished the poem with two more the next day or so. I ended up putting it in the next fM. Magazine because I needed a piece, but I wasn't totally satisfied with it.
A few months later I needed something to submit to the Young Writers' Conference, and thought that that poem had some promise if I cleaned it up. So I sat down with it, thought about it, and fixed it up nicely – by removing the first two stanzas (saving one line and two or three images) and writing something entirely different. It would be difficult to overstate how much it improved.
I edited the poem by eliminating the bit that was written during the "inspiration," when I had that "feeling." This isn't to say that the inspiration was unimportant – it served to sort of find the poem and crack it open for me. I certainly released a lot of good feelings doing it, but the poem itself, if it wanted to be good, had to grow beyond that.
More later.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Yawn
It's exceedingly difficult to update a blog when your work schedule is 9 pm - 2 am. These are prime blogging hours. Blime hogging prours. Hime progging blours.
سأكتب أكثر غدا إن شاء الله
Man Arabic's so damn pretty.
سأكتب أكثر غدا إن شاء الله
Man Arabic's so damn pretty.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Librarians
I somehow today found myself reading articles on Wired.com about child porn and pornography in general. This reminded me of something very important:
Librarians are awesome. Librarians are Great Americans. The librarian cliché of kindly, moderate, reasonable older women (a trope that is probably exceedingly annoying) is mixed with an implacable dedication to the right to privacy and the right to access information. Librarians are activists that people pay attention to. Librarian resistance to the PATRIOT Act is well-documented, often witty, and steadfast.
One of the articles I read dealt with a law that would require libraries to install porn-blocking software on their computers to receive federal funding. Part of the evidence was a black binder filled with printed color images from sites that could be potentially be accessed from libraries without the software. Part of the librarian's argument rested on the fact that books and magazines about sex were standard parts of their library collections anyway. To quote the article:
Enough said.
Librarians are awesome. Librarians are Great Americans. The librarian cliché of kindly, moderate, reasonable older women (a trope that is probably exceedingly annoying) is mixed with an implacable dedication to the right to privacy and the right to access information. Librarians are activists that people pay attention to. Librarian resistance to the PATRIOT Act is well-documented, often witty, and steadfast.
One of the articles I read dealt with a law that would require libraries to install porn-blocking software on their computers to receive federal funding. Part of the evidence was a black binder filled with printed color images from sites that could be potentially be accessed from libraries without the software. Part of the librarian's argument rested on the fact that books and magazines about sex were standard parts of their library collections anyway. To quote the article:
When the Justice Department's Zick showed her the black smut-binder and asked if those items would be included in the library's collection, Morgan replied that some of the images were "similar" to items already owned by Fort Vancouver.
Zick wondered: "What are they similar to?"
Replied Morgan, with no sign of a blush: "Different ways of having sex. The hot teen pussy one. We have books on lesbian sex that might be similar... We do have books that show sex acts similar to that."
Enough said.
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