We Are Tricked By Language

I guess this really is just a stream of consciousness...soon to be unconsciousness...

You've been warned.

According to Mr. Friedrich Nietzsche, the truth does not exist. Truth is a matter of perspective. Our society is influenced by falsehoods and illusions. Undefined stigmas that frighten the shit out of us and prevent us from questioning what we think exist. You follow? We are tricked by language, by thought, by words, by metaphors – we have given up our individuality. We imitate.

Truth is prejudice.

[agree or disagree. enter thoughts in comment section, or write me a damn email. does anybody even read this blog? continued below.]

At times I feel like it’s almost a game, attempting to uncover “the truth.” But overall it’s not the truth that is redeeming our past or our memories; it is what we have learned from what we believe to be true. Our memories are ours – whether individual or collective. We chose how to shape them, share them and live them.

Therefore, the only "truths" that exist are our truths. And that is what liberates us -- but, as a society, do we rely on these self-assigned truths too much? I mean, they are, after all, just memories that we have (attempted to) coherently pieced together -- (attempting to) form some type of...something

Memory is often thought to be solely a subjective experience which builds identity and “the self.” We can truly only be aware of our consciousness, which feeds into the philosophical belief of solipsism: “My mind is the only thing that I know exists.” Radically opposing this idea is the theory of the collective consciousness, which asserts the supremacy of shared or collective memory. This claim depends on the thought that memory is shared and hinged on collective cogitation. Because of this, individual memories cease to exist.

So, in short, truth does not exist.

[summary: i need sleep or a stiff drink soon]

As Ms. Didion so eloquently once said, "we tell stories in order to live."

By Zeus, do we ever...

a little incompatibility is the spice of life

I vote for all humankind to be a little more incompatible...in an ionic bonding sorta way.



...it's only raining straight down.
That is why marriage is so much more interesting than divorce,
Because it's the only known example of the happy meeting of
the immovable object and the irresistible force.
So I hope husbands and wives will continue to debate and
combat over everything debatable and combatable,
Because I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life...



and by golly, he was right...candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.

Calculate Your Erotic Capital!

Become the symbol of sex and break the Seven Deadly sins on a daily basis.


Stay tuned. More to come soon...

Symmetry Means Nothing To Me...Neither Does Making Sense.

I'm my own fallacy. My own jumbled-up, distorted mess. A cheap, courteous laugh from an acquaintance who barely understands my wit -- I'm that.

But above all, a paradox.

(WHAT?)

I don't like to tell stories. I attempt, but am usually unsuccessful in communicating the purpose of my anecdote. So, I avoid it. But not all types. I like to tell funny stories. Stories of vulgarity, where I could cuss and be colorful and really avoid any sort of message. Those are the stories I enjoy telling. Other types usually just leave me marble-mouthed, struggling to find a word appropriate enough to describe any other emotion besides "happy" (or salty).

Basically, I just need a better vocabulary. One where I avoid the words "fuck" and "shit" at all costs.

Fuck it.

Do you ever feel that you care so much that you really don't care at all? I'm not sure if that makes a lot of sense, but I've recently discovered I'm somewhat apathetic towards a lot of things. Yes, just things. That's really all they are to me. Now wait a g-damn second. I'm not playing the "woe is me" card. Not in the least. Why would I do that? But more importantly, why would I care? I don't. I'm apathetic. Indifferent. Uninterested. Cool, calm, collective. I couldn't care less.

I guess this is where the paradox comes in. Because I do.

Now, this isn't turning into a story. I could tell one. I'm sure I could tell many...like the one about...

No. I'm not going to try. Because what I really want to do is share a personal, serious one with you. But I won't do that. Not via this blog.

So I'll leave you with this.

Today on the subway, on my way to work, I gave up my seat to an older man. He graciously accepted, sat down, looked up at me, and said "smile."

See, I could've went off, grabbed him by his saggy neck and yelled that it was 8am and I was tired and that I didn't get any sleep the previous nights and I was hungry and upset and the fact that he told me to smile made me even more upset and that I'm working 3+ jobs and haven't really seen any of it pay off yet and I could've cried and made a scene.

But I didn't. Nobody would.

So I smiled and pretended it didn't bother me.

And now I'm writing about it, over 15 hours later.


gah.


At least I'm employed.

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Join The Michael Sandy Foundation and Care to end Hate. The Michael Sandy Foundation is officially a 501(c)3 non-profit.

ANDY ROONEY YOU'RE A FUCKING IDIOT

I'm fuming. Here's why:

This is what Andy Rooney said on "60 Minutes" a few weeks back:

I don't think being a minority makes you a victim of anything except numbers. The only things I can think of that are truly discriminatory are things like the United Negro College Fund, Jet Magazine, Black Entertainment Television, and Miss Black America. Try to have things like the United Caucasian College Fund, Cloud Magazine, White Entertainment Television, or Miss White America; and see what happens ... Jesse Jackson will be knocking d own your door.

Guns do not make you a killer. I think killing makes you a killer. You can kill someone with a baseball bat or a car, but no one is trying to ban you from driving to the ball game.

I believe they are called the Boy Scouts for a reason; that is why there are no girls allowed. Girls belong in the Girl Scouts!

ARE YOU LISTENING MARTHA BURKE? I think that if you feel homosexuality is wrong, it is not a phobia, it is an opinion.

I have the right "NOT" to be tolerant of others because they are different, weird, or tick me off. When 70% of the people who get arrested are black, in cities where 70% of the population is black, that is not racial profiling; it is the Law of Probability.

I believe that if you are selling me a milkshake, a pack of cigarettes, a newspaper or a hotel room, you must do it in English! As a matter of fact, if you want to be an American citizen, you should have to speak English!

My father and grandfather didn't die in vain so you can leave the countries you were born in to c ome over and disrespect ours.

I think the police should have every right to shoot you if you threaten them after they tell you to stop. If you can't understand the word "freeze" or "stop" in English, see the above lines.

I don't think just because you were not born in this country, you are qualified for any special loan programs, government sponsored bank loans or tax breaks, etc., so you can open a hotel, coffee shop, trinket store, or any other business.

We did not go to the aid of certain foreign countries and risk our lives in wars to defend their freedoms, so that decades later they could come over here and tell us our constituti on is a living document; and open to their interpretations.

I don't hate the rich I don't pity the poor.

I know pro wrestling is fake, but so are movies and television. That doesn't stop you from watching them.

I think Bill Gates has every right to keep every penny he made and continue to make more. If it ticks you off, go and invent the next operating system that's better, and put your name on the building.

It doesn't take a whole village to raise a child right, but it does take a parent to stand up to the kid; and smack their little behinds when necessary, and say "NO!"

I think tattoos and piercing are fine if you want them, but please don't pretend they are a political statement. And, please, stay home until that new lip ring heals. I don't want to look at your ugly infected mouth as you serve me French fries!

I am sick of "Political Correctness." I know a lot of black people, and not a single one of them was born in Africa; so how can they be "African-Americans"? Besides, Africa is a continent. I don't go around saying I am a European-American because my great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather was from Europe. I am proud to be from America and nowhere else.

And if you don't like my point of view, tough ... I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE FLAG, OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, AND TO THE REPUBLIC, FOR WHICH IT STANDS, ONE NATION UNDER GOD, INDIVISIBLE, WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL! AMEN!

I was asked to send this on if I agree or delete if I don't. It is said that 86% of Americans believe in God. Therefore I have a very hard time understanding why there is such a problem in having "In God We Trust" on our money and having "God" in the Pledge of Allegiance. Why don't we just tell the 14% to Shut Up, lay down and BE QUIET!!!

Ignorance. Stupidity. Racism. Homophobia. Sexism. Fanatical assholes. Yep, still alive and well.

But...this is funny...

A New Blog Is Born. And It's A Pasty One.

Yes, folks, it's true. The moment you've been waiting for has arrived. It's time for some White Guy Jokes. Chapter H, Big J, ChinoMono, Red Dastard, and yours truly have channeled the routine and humdrum life of your typical white guy and have documented it in a blog for the world to see.


Taken from A Tasty Pint:

"With the recent success of white guy jokes, the Pint has given birth to its first child: WhiteGuyJokes.com It will be home for all of the intentionally awful white guy jokes. Some may be more racy than others, but the Pint does not judge, nor does it claim responsibility for the content of it's first child."


But the fun won't stop here, (white) guys. There are more goodies to come. Video? Audio? Nice pressed suits? The "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" painting hanging above your home-bar in the basement, where your father keeps his 25 year old scotch? You'll have to wait and see...until then, take a gander.

Astoria Livin' Tuesday

That's really all I need to say...

And this is how we (I) at While We Were Dreaming celebrate...by posting some music and stuff. C'mon, what else did you expect?




[classic]




[i know...i can't really stand them...but this is kinda awesome...kinda]




[new cursive]



[why the hell not]



[dancing...againz]



[thx, em]



[well, ecstasy]



[obviously]



[if you don't think this is one of the catchiest tunes, you have problems]

stupid 'sters, but GAH!

science v. democracy v. the doodles in my 3 subject notebook

it's 3am. i'm not sleeping. really no surprise here. except that i should be because i have to wake up in t-minus...5 hours to catch a bus...to the city...for an interview...and the rest of my life.

so, like the loser that i am, i'll shmloggy blog instead (i'm not the only one...)

warning: the following text may be delirious nonsense.

restoring simplicity one complication at a time...

social echelons built by powerful white men...alright, you already know where this is going. ranting ranting ranting. but it's the truth. i did learn one thing in college, and that was to hate men. i'm kidding. I'M KIDDING. but i did learn that the family is the natural state of nature, and within that institution there is the authority -- the male. fuck you, rousseau. clear cut prejudices were voices through these political theories, and through these disparages, individuality was lost. BUT I WANT TO BE AN INDIVIDUAL. too bad. i'm a subordinate specie (well...i was). gah. shouldn't this be where good ol' darwanist ideals come into play. imma kill and fight and whore my way to the top. screw the legality of whatever. but i can't. because the "able individual" is based on privileged articulation. and today i only made $45 at work that went to the rent i gotta pay my parents. i'm anything but able (minded?)

alright. i just re-read what i wrote and it makes absolutely no sense. but i'm not gonna delete because i (personally) feel that it'll be funny to read after i decide to get some sleep.

until then...i'm gonna continue to write nonsensical bullpoopie.

[if the world doesn't explode in 2012, here's what i believe is gonna happen]

my dystopia...maybe

it's 2190, and the world's energy source runs solely on human shit. the more dung you surrender to the government, the more solution x (a legal drug that is superior to cash money) you receive. a form of currency as well as comfort, solution x can buy food and laxative, which -- of course -- means more green flow. the more waste you produce, the more you are rewarded.

being a visitor, you probably know little about my world now called planet dredge. my name is individual #543. i will describe to you my world:

in the year 2169, plant dredge's energy was depleted. after five years of inertia, professor 69 discovered a source of energy that would power our entire society -- human feces. soon after, planet dredge was back up and running, but the population got greedy and wanted something in return for their energy enhancers. that is when solution x was developed. the small blue pill soon became more valuable than money, gold, silver and any other type of currency.

last night i was kidnapped by the drug lords. though i'm not one to boast, many of my peers claim that my defections serve as a better energy source. it is not because of a superior diet, but entirely because of my genetic makeup. because of this, the government reward me with higher doses of solution x. the higher the dose, the more valuable it is. i currently have over 6,000 pills of solution x -- all of which the drug lords want for their own use. they are currently holding me as their slave, feeding me laxatives to make me produce more excrement to give to the government for pills in return.

this is my story. a story based of lies, deception and scandal. a story where there is no good or evil, funny or sad, but just the cold hard facts. a story where the main characters sometimes die and the villains sometimes get away with murder. my story. my world. my shit.



oh my god. i'm going insane. goodnight. maybe.

since i'm already dancing...

[wo]man in the mirror

The Faint...sometimes I laugh at their dancy-cheese fest tunes. And sometimes I dance to them.

This is one of those times...

Nature and the Stanky Leg

I'm going to clean this up a bit.

But first...


I'm no "go-green" freak, and I've shared with many people my (completely obvious and justifiable) opinion on "sustainability," but today, nature made me cry. And it felt great.

I'm choosing to not explain my blubbery breakdown because my words will not elucidate (similar to my attempt to vitalize my writing with that word) the absolute beauty that I saw this morning [and I'm sure a lot of you are already aware of my whole "words murder thoughts" spiel.]

So I'll leave it at this: It's amazing how the sun can, so simply, ignite beauty and life and magic to...everything. Anything. Even a garbage-infested street in Chinatown at 6:41 am.

The sanctity of nature. The one thing that binds humanity. The one thing that provides eternal rhythm and compassion and elegance, and our only responsibility is to embrace it. Instead, we run from it.

Typical.

I may have lied a few paragraphs up. Only your own words murder your thoughts. That's why I let other people's words do the thinking for me...like these words:

"All things in this creation exist within you, and all things in you exist in creation; there is no border between you and the closest things, and there is no distance between you and the farthest things, and all things, from the lowest to the loftiest, from the smallest to the greatest, are within you as equal things. In one atom are found all the elements of the earth; in one motion of the mind are found the motions of all the laws of existence; in one drop of water are found the secrets of all the endless oceans; in one aspect of you are found all the aspects of existence." KG

Oh, integral ecology. How you complete me...

With all that said, I feel that it's appropriate to now take the "let's post something completely irrelevant and silly to end Jackie's attempt at faux-adoration for something she disrepects on a daily basis" route.

So, ladies and worms, I present to you...The Stanky Leg[g] (a dance I did not perfect at a posh club in NYC last night...after taking a limo there...and drinkin' free dranks...and watching my friend get her ass slapped by random Asian dudes...and previously, the night before, attempting to poll dance...and, well, that's a completly different story...)

You know what really grinds my gears?

When people try to be witty right after someone dies (in this case, Patrick Swayze).


"Well, now he can make a Ghost 2"

or

"Now he really is a GHOST"

or

"I bet he's gonna be dirty dancing with Jesus now!"


Alright you fucktards, it's been said about 4 billion times already. And none of it is funny. It's really not. At all. I hope you all get cat AIDS.

With that said, I leave you with this...ahem...




Also, shut up about Kanye. Did his dickhole-ness really suprise you that much? If you're that retarded baby with spina bifida I was bloggin' about earlier, then maybe it did...


Listen, jeez, I'm sorry. I had a rough day. My car broke down. I only made $20 in tips at work because the only people that decided to eat at a Jewish deli were senior citizens and foreigners who don't tip. So, please, cut me some slack. I'll post something about bunny wabbits and equal opportunity tomorrow.

Cudi, MGMT, Ratatat? So help me Zeus...

I still haven't decided how I feel about this one...I mean, Cudi is cool. MGMT has been getting on my nerves for quite some time now...as for Ratatat? Lex is where it's at.

Well, I'm no expert. So, all 1.5 people that may or may not follow this blog (the 1 being me), you tell me what you think...[share your thoughts on the album art as well. I personally think it's pretty dope...kinda.]

New Norah

Yep. She's still alive, apparently. The song is...eh, but she's looking pretty fly, so I figured I'd post it. Also, I've never heard a more lamer crowd in my life. I'm assuming most of the people in the audience are senior citizens or dead. Maybe she was performing in St. Augustine? Or maybe all of her songs just put people to sleep. ToAtZ kidding. She has a pretty gnarly voice.

Alright...enough about me...

Loud and delicious

HEALTH - DIE SLOW

Rapper's Delight? But Rapper's Aren't White. Right?

Listen, I'll be completely honest...I know marbles about rapping and freestyling, but I do know a thing or two about making sense...sometimes.

My only question is WWBD (What Would Biggie Do?)

He'd shot a motherfucker, that's what he'd do...

OK, you caught me. I'm fuckin' nerdy. But so is Asher Roth. And I'm not the one rapping.


I think, no I'M POSITIVE a retarded baby with spina bifida can freestyle better than Asher Douche.

CAUTION: This next one will make you want to lick a hooker's snatch.



YOUNG!

All the way from where, asshole? The land where rappers write rhymes the night before on their blackberry, then "freestyle" on Hot 97? Or that TV show on The N where you play a paraplegic high school basketball player? (It's called Degrassi, people. And yes, I watch it, along with iCarly and Wizards of Waverly Place).

Blackberry freestyling aside, this song is my shit. Bananas.



With all that said, I have nothing else to say except...well...titties.

and

since I'm "hatin'," I guess I should freestyle myself. Somebody provide my some "tight-ass" beats "yo," and I will "blow the roof off dis motherfucker. Young"

To be posted soon...

EDIT: A [insert word] Unrequited Love

I'm starting to realize writing is more harmful than therapeutic for me.

::how i've spent the majority of this rainy friday night::

curled up on my bed, attempting to channel some sort of inner...Plath...or Didion...or Hemingway...or, at the very least, Nicholas Sparks. Instead, I haven't even managed to achieve the talent and (dare I say) sheer brillance of this --->

For now, I'll let the beast defeate me.

Until another angsty episode...

What will they think of next?!

Milk-flavored beer...

amazingly awesome or absolutely fowl?

You be the judge...

You may die, or want to die, after watching this.

Sunset Rubdown - Mending of the Gown

Comedy at its finest? Perhaps.

"A white guy checks the date on a milk carton."

-courtesy of "Chapter H"

It ain't a squirrel...it's your child.

You've heard about parents running over their 3-year old child while pulling out of the driveway (because apparently people don't look in their rear view mirror while driving anymore. Or children just enjoy laying behind vehicles), but this is a new one...I think.

Is this wrong to laugh about? Because I'm laughing...pretty hard, actually.

each one's a treat...

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Listen to music.

Mindless Drone

Three posts in less than 10 minutes.

Is this allowed?

I'm stuck behind a computer screen for eternity.

I think it's time I start to appreciate the stars a little more. And the moon. And even this ungodly heat that I like to complain about so often.

That's how a majority of my time is spent...complaining.

It ain't right, fella.

And neither is my lack of creativity lately. You know when you have so many ideas floating around in your head, and you don’t know where to start? Fuck me sideways, that’s my problem! I'm searching for creativity and satire and humor and whatever in all the wrong places. I want something original, but ORIGINALITY doesn't exist.
Let's think...
How about I write a witty attack on the government? No, screw that. How about I write a witty attack on those who attack the government through their "witty" writings? That's never been done before! Genius. Or how about pop culture and entertainment? There is so much wild and crazy stuff going on right now in the world of the rich 'n' famous!!! Or even better, how about I try (“try” being the KEY word) writing a farcical discourse on me not knowing what to write about, when in reality, it IS what I’m writing about, and try to be all slapstick and gelastic and use other words that probably don’t make sense in this sentence, and add a few “fucks” here and there for the dramatic effect? Fuck, I’m going with the latter!

Or maybe I'll just continue to complain...because that's easier and takes less effort.


isn't poetry
somewhat cliché?
comprised of feelings
sometimes empty
but always shared
some sort of way

how embarrassed we
should all be
when we convince ourselves
that we're original

this is just recycled
thought
i'm a contradiction

fuck.

Monkey Wrench

So...I'll give you a taste of something light. Actually, something quite fattening. And delicious. And cheesy.
Hey...I'm a tart at heart.

Bon appetit...

Oh, the Sweet Sorrows of Cheesecake

A woman’s journey of self-discovery through dessert.

Because you don't live near a bakery doesn't mean you have to go without cheesecake.
-Hedy Lamarr

Do you remember when you lost your virginity? C’mon, think back and relive that horrible and awkward experience. Alright, now add a piece of cheesecake to the lovemaking. I don’t care what you do with it – eat it, smear it, roll around in it – just add it to the intercourse and tell me how much better the sex got.

Thought so.

Sex, like relationships, always seems to be lacking. But once you add a piece of dessert in the mix – BOOM – you got yourself a damn masterpiece. Amazing, ain’t it? I mean, let’s be honest, cheesecake is a dessert unlike any other – a dessert that comes in so many different flavors and styles, to compare it to anything else would not fully justify the wonders of such perfection. I myself didn’t understand the power of the pastry until first taste. And man, did it taste good.

Allow me to relive this magical experience. Reader discretion is advised:

It started at The Cheesecake Factory in Cambridge, Mass. I was around fifteen and my naïveté about my surroundings, and the world as a whole was holding me back, preventing me from experiencing “adult things,” or at least that’s what my parents called them. I had no idea what rite of passage awaited me behind the giant oak doors to the restaurant. Sweating with anticipation, I turned the enormous bronze doorknob, only to be met with an aroma I’ve never experienced before. I started to panic. What were these feelings? In front of me sat the handsome suitors. There I was, a cheesecake virgin being seduced by the wooers of all Don Juan’s. It was the key lime that made me break.

It only took me a mere 30 minutes to make me “give it up.” And let me tell you, it was a sloppy one. We were both a little awkward, mostly me. I didn’t know how to start and where to end. I was loud, too. People stared, and I’m sure they knew I was a first-timer. I didn’t care. I loved every minute of it. Really. I became a woman that day.

Yes, a simple “coming of age” story, but simplicity doesn’t mean unoriginality. Still, shortly after my adventure to The Cheesecake Factory, the cheese and I grew distant. Why, you ask? It made me fat. It made me hate myself. My thighs started to resemble cottage cheese. It was an addiction I had to break. So I stopped calling. My visits became less and less frequent. I guess you can say we started to fight. I didn’t exactly “cheat” on the cheesecake, but soon I developed an attraction for carrot cake (those grated carrots did a number on me). All in all, we developed a sort of love-hate relationship. When it was there, staring at me in the face, tempting me to eat and enjoy, I hated it. I wanted nothing to do with the cheese’s provoking seduction and heartless taste that stained my lips and soul and made me want more of it when I knew, deep inside, my urge had to be controlled.

This pattern of self-pity and regret continued until we became acquainted again. I’ll never forget it. It was the first time I came back to The Cheesecake Factory since my confection affinity, and there it was, sprawled out on the dessert tray like some oversexed slut. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to avoid the tart hussy at first, but it made its presence known. We made eye contact. I smiled. And then I broke. We did it right there on the counter.

Soon I accepted the fact that I couldn’t live without cheesecake. With the distance put between us, I craved it more and more. These feelings are still present to this day. Am I weird? Maybe. But that’s beside the point. Cheesecake will always have a special place in my heart, over relationships and sex. I’m just hoping my future spouse won’t get jealous.

An introduction to nothing

I intended for this to be a place to share my work, thoughts, and other pointless what-have-yous.
Will I actually do that? Shit if I know...

Wait, who am I kidding...typically that is what a "blogspot" is for, correct?

Well, fuck me in the eye and call me Shirley Temple...

It's actually kind of humorous. I wouldn't consider myself to be too ostentatious (but wait, me pretending to deny my flashiness makes me...flashy?), but -- on occasion -- I enjoy constructive criticism about the work I produce...or praise. Mostly praise.

But who doesn't?

Anyway, previous to this "blogspot" or whatever the proper term is (note: me pretending not to be "up" on the net lingo), I kept a journal, where I wrote down [most] of my thoughts and attempted to draw silly things like Mickey Mouse in a one piece bathing suit or Charlie Brown doing lines of coke off of Felix the Cat's ear.

[Another note: I surprisingly made up the latter-half of that previous statement. I can't draw for marbles.]

I guess what I'm trying to say is...well...I don't know what I'm trying to say. Usually "blogspots" (note: see blog of unnecessary quotes) don't need introductions. I like introductions. I like knowing what I'm getting into before I'm in it. I like feeling safe, though I rarely do (finally getting inside my head? Not quite yet...)

So that's why I'm providing you, the reader who is still astonishingly reading this, with an intro to whatever is to come.

I wish you well, faithful friend.