This morning it was raining. The gutter that is supposed to drain the water away from our lousy apartment was congested with leaves. We had to get out the ladder and climb it and unclog the downspout.
Apes sometimes eat fruit. Apes sometimes eat meat. By meat I mean flesh that has been torn from a monkey. And sometimes apes eat the roots of plants. That is what I learned from a book that I am reading.
I love computers and I will be happy when they become the
Part of me always wants to stop updating this diary because it is pointless, but part of me continues to update because it is pointless. When I got back from my morning bike ride, I tried to decide if I should read or write to myself. I realized that I have nothing to say, so I am writing.
Besides observing crows and squirrels at parks, all that I have been doing is reading books. Right now I am wearing an all-white shirt that buttons up and has a collar, and my pants are off-white or
Yesterday was a lovely day. When I woke up, my allergies were so bad that I thought the day was ruined. I took an antihistamine pill, and it did nothing. I could not stop sneezing. I used up an entire box of tissues.
But when I said that yesterday was a lovely day, I was not being ironic. What happened is that I decided to go on a long bike ride, to spite my allergies. I refused to let my allergies hold me down. I stuffed all of my pockets with tissues, took my bike out of the garage,
I keep returning to this same idea: nothing counts but selling. If you do not sell the self then the self will go nowhere. You must sell your children, you must sell your time. And people are unhappy because selling is depressing: those who manage to sell feel empty for doing so, and those who fail to sell (or who refuse to participate) remain stagnant.
The repetition of advertising. The inability to discern between high quality and low quality because one is too busy watching ads rep
[EDIT on 12 October 2015]
I have changed my mind: now I am reactivating my Twitter account. I made a mistake when I deactivated it a couple days ago. What happened is that I was dining with some old friends on Friday night, and a couple of them said that they never visit any places online except they bookmark my @BryanRay444 Twitter account just to keep up with my blog. This maddened me, so I stood bolt upright at the table and burst into tears and said: Why not jus
To make up for yesterday’s short entry, today I wrote a long entry. It’s as coherent as the contents of a grab bag.
Is this world of ours the best that God can create; or did God not even attempt to create it well? Either way, this “Creator God” frightens me. I was relieved to discover that he doesn’t actually exist.
They say “Locks are for honest people.” Property should be made so secure that even its possessor cannot access it: for instance, a home security s
The wooden gate that leads to our courtyard came off of its hinges again today, so I had to waste my free time repairing it, so I didn’t have time to write an actual entry, so I wrote a non-actual entry instead, which is exactly 140 characters in length and can be found directly below the following painting.
To a moon-sized, synthetic eyeball suspended in space, humans look small. But, to the microscopic relatives of spiders, humans look big. So if you are a human, a
I’m worried that I’ve finally run out of things to say here: I think that the first paragraph below contains stuff I’ve already written about. Anyway, I’ll share this entry as it is; then I’ll do some soul searching.
A couple years ago, we had mice in our garage. I placed a large, orange bucket near a place that was easy to access, and I sprinkled a little birdseed in the bottom of the bucket: this attracted the mice (apparently birdseed could just as well be called
Here is a picture of pie turned on its side.
Let time pass. Just let time pass without exacerbating the situation. That’s what I end up chanting to myself most days. Not that I’m faced with any difficult circumstance; our civilization is just infuriating in general. But I hate to complain, and I also hate to accept evil. When I say evil, I mean ugliness. And when I say ugliness, I don’t mean the kind that is judged in beauty pageants; I mean economic unfairness
I have nothing to say about the present entry, but I wanted to write a sentence of introduction anyway, because I thought that the post would look better with some italicized words at the top.
Whenever I must deliver a speech to accept a lifetime achievement award, I get nervous. While walking out to the crystal podium, I feel dread with every step I take, thinking that I might trip. That’s why I sometimes attempt to outsmart my fear by performing a big obvious stumb
Complexity is undesirable. Cleverness is to be eliminated. Simplicity is scary because it might expose embarrassing elements that would have remained obscured amid a thornier presentation. Honesty is hard because it’s unnatural (civility is a lie; even more so is poetry, my first love, which helps me endure civility).
Being personal would be easy, if my aversion to the commonplace did not make it impossible; moreover, if Nietzsche’s observation is as accurate as I think it is, then an
Today I recorded myself reading the Apostle Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians. Why did I do this? Because I’m an antichristian. But wouldn’t that be a reason not to read Saint Paul? On the contrary, an antichristian is defined as a person who reads the Christian Bible. But if that’s an antichristian, then what’s a Christian? A Christian is one who believes that the letters of Saint Paul are divinely inspired. One cannot read Paul’s letters and also believe that they are divine. Christi
I’m shocked that so many humans enjoy the act of physical intimacy. When I walk down the street, I see angry faces, dull faces, somewhat contented faces, and sleepy faces. None of these specimens strike me as prone to express euphoria during a conjugal spat.
Nevertheless, every age, new faces appear; and, believe it or not, they are the result of successful acts of coitus. (Unless they were manufactured by Science Itself, up in its mountain lab.)
This entry is named after a phrase from its opening paragraph.
I open the fridge and see a brand new bottle of lemon sweet tea. It has a plastic seal covering its body, so I remove that. Then I twist off its cap, and there’s another plastic seal covering its neck; so I remove that too. At last I am sipping & typing: lemon sweet tea & claptrap.
After breaking the seven seals of my breakfast beverage, it was hard not to muse on the Pre-safe Era; I mean
Even the healthiest body knows how to expire: it could decide to die whenever it wants. Its cells have entered an agreement to animate this character; but, if certain terms and conditions are not met, the employees will walk. So maybe having a stroke is like having a strike. I heard that U.S. President Ronald Reagan terminated more than 11,000 fetuses—oops, not fetuses; I meant to say federal air traffic controllers—when they did not to show up for work. A body can be in conflict with ot
You wake up, you feel something’s wrong. You fly to the crime scene, you rescue the cat from the tree. But once you’ve saved one cat, you need to save another. You’ve got to remain relevant.
Human births occur every second of the day: these infants will grow up and become the new work force of Antarctica, and they will never know that you were once famous for making things right.
So our galaxy’s president enacts a block of legislation that solves all problems; but, within a ce
I’m stumped by the question: “Is pain good or bad for us?” At first I say it’s bad, because it hurts. But, on second thought, I admit, pain is only doing its job—it’s just trying to help us stay alive longer, when it mails us a letter that says: Stop touching the white hot burner!
But, really, after all these centuries of development culminating in our species, is pain still working? I say that pain is antiquated—it needs to be revamped and modernized; pain still assumes we’re all amo
I apologize to myself for posting so much religious drivel lately. Being of the Devil’s party, I hate religion & would rather consign it to oblivion. But I’m also paid in happiness to commit wrongdoings; so I’ve copied into my public diary the following spiel that I blabbed on the antisocial network (from back in the days before I killed my account). All praise Feindster.
From an online comment:
As I said before, I’ve long been infatuated with the King James Bible. After m
Here is a street map with all of its words removed:
There’s a concept called the Freudian slip, “an unintentional error that is regarded as revealing subconscious feelings,” according to the dictionary that I consulted one second ago. I’ve noticed that I tend to say the word company when I really mean country. And then there’s that other “c”-word: corporation. All of these concepts—companies, countries, and corporations—are held to be individual humans; thus they m
Even though this blog is a private diary and no one is able to access it but I myself (the real me, behind the mask of the computer screen, behind all the fame and accolades—the one who sings “Silent Night” to himself in the shower), I worry about its content and its style: my current fear—and this is based only on a vague memory of recent entries—is that I’m sinking into a comfort zone with regard to topics (they’re repetitive and predictable) and . . .
Instead of talk
If there’s no Christian God who created us, then we’re all alone in the world, and life is meaningless. That’s what I’ve heard people say.
To discover that God is not an external being but an imagination; to learn that the entire history of spirituality—everything from helpful to harmful—was invented by the human mind: I find this uplifting.
When you feel “the force of God,” when you feel “God speaking through you,” when you glow with “the knowledge that God
I don’t know why I always feel that I have to reach toward the lens like a zombie whenever I take a self-shot.
“What’s your career?” To me, that means: “What’s your pigeonhole?” I’m always a little dissatisfied when events are predictable. It would be far more interesting, if, when the neighboring city-state’s army invades my farm, instead of committing atrocities, they all begin performing magic tricks.
I almost ended the above thought by saying: I wouldn’t e
In this entry, I will list some memories from my long walk yesterday. I went to a place down south; by which I do not mean the land of Dixie, but only a few blocks away from my apartment: I found a nice park with winding paths and no noisy children.
First I saw a snake beneath a table. It was a permanent fixture fused to a block of concrete—the table, I mean. The snake was unmoving, so I assumed he was dead (although when I returned from my long walk, the snake was gone; so either som
I’m unhappy when I’m not the center of attention, and I’m unhappy when I am the center of attention. I’m only truly happy when I’m alone and daydreaming that everyone loves me.
What I just wrote already demands revision. Now I want to say that I’m happy much of the time; and rather than needing to be the center of attention, I am content to serve as part of a team—I want most to know that I’m doing a decent job on my share of the work.
But the notion of equa
I don’t have a strong opinion about prostitution: I can’t think of a reason that anybody who wants to be one should deny themselves the pleasure of becoming a prostitute; nevertheless I myself would never visit a bordello, because I assume that prostitutes are more or less forced to make sweet love to people—I hate the thought of anyone performing a job only to honor a contract: I think that all creatures should enjoy whatever it is that they choose to do, and every deed should be the result