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
I wonder if it’s true that events from infancy play the largest part in determining one’s personality. I would define my personality as anxious. For as long as I can remember, fear has ruled my life; although I’ve been warned not to give in to it. I understand that everyone feels anxious at certain times, but excessive anxiety is diagnosed as a disorder only when it disrupts the normal course of…
In truth, I can’t recall the phrasing that is supposed to define an an
Although I tried to compose something original for today’s entry, I feel that it ended up as a rehash of topics that I’ve written about before. Please forgive this.
I would appreciate it if a respected critic were to write an article in praise of my literary output. I could then cite this article at events, whenever anyone asks who I am and what I do. Such-and-such publication (I would reply) has referred to me as “our age’s most valuable writer.”
But I think
The image that I tried to position directly below is a photograph of a disc that I rented from the library. I checked out a full season of a TV series, which consisted of a set of eight DVDs: I watched the first couple, but then the third disc began to skip; so I got angry and pressed the “eject” button on my DVD player and took the disc and whipped it across the room. The disc then broke.
Each individual human is like a fingerprint or a snowflake: no two are alike;
Today I woke feeling great. I asked myself: Why do I love the world so much right now? And I answered: Because so many things are possible. It makes me happy to think that there might be aliens living somewhere out there in space—even unfriendly aliens: it’s not their fault how God made them; and even if we can never meet destruction at their hands, simply to know that they exist is enough.
My favorite planet has always been Jupiter. When I was a child, I had a pict
Realizing that it had been a while since I posted a selfie here on this blog, I pressed the shutter-release button on my webcam hastily and then noticed that the picture was flawed because of that blur on my left (your right) so I kept the result.
Some people have made a fortune by playing the stock market. I wonder how those people feel when they wake up before the sun has risen, and the morning air is cold and dark and unwelcoming. When a person makes a fortune fro
The aspect that attracts me to a painting of a half-opened door is that no one will ever be able to find what is lurking in its shadows. An actual half-opened door can be investigated: the contents of its obscurity can be discovered, published in journals, and thus made public—but the world inside of a painting preserves its enigmas.
What if there were some objective way to determine a person’s level of attractiveness? By asking this, I’m stumbling into the territor
I planned on posting this entry yesterday, but then when I read over what I had written, I thought that it was bad, so I threw the entry in the trash, but then I awoke today and used my long-reach grabber to retrieve the entry from the waste bin, and, when I read it over again, I decided that, indeed, the entry is bad. So here it is:
I awoke today with a thought. I will tell what that thought was, but first I want to talk about my nightmare.
Events are less f
What can I do for you, whoever you are? I can’t drive a boat. I can’t repair shoes. I can’t watch your pet this weekend. All I’m good for is a certain type of conversation. And everything will be easier between us if you share my taste.
I was going to fill this entry with other examples of talents that I lack; but now I am changing my mind, because I hate that idea. But I like to imagine that I am getting paid by the word, so I’ll keep what I typed; for the above paragraph will earn m