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
Not everyone is born with original sin, but we all have at least one rock band that we’re dying to market. Most music makes money; so, what is the best way to profit from your band’s compositions? The average household spends more of its income on music albums than on contraceptives. And when I say albums, I mean digital files rather than physical merchandise; for the way that fans buy music has altered drastically since the time of vinyl records: nowadays, before listening to it, people stor
I wonder what it’s like to experience day-to-day life as a rattlesnake or a scorpion or poisonous spider. These creatures seem scary, from my human standpoint; but I bet that if I could see the world through their eyes, I’d find existence generally unremarkable. For, even the vilest organisms put their pants on one appendage at a time. And when you sting someone with your tail, I bet you feel virtue depart. Here’s a passage from St. Mark’s gospel (chapter 5): …a certain
In the realm of writing, since my bias is for obscurity, I often worry that I’m too severely neglecting clarity; but let me give a pep talk to my fancy: perhaps those who have eyes to see and ears to hear will love a good book whether its text is masterfully controlled OR merrily puzzling—maybe all that matters is that an author’s writing amuses the author herself; for, if it pleases the source, then it will please the mirror-selves of the happy few.
If I were to get a job as a cashier at a vehicle rental place, I think I would have better odds of meeting some of the minor celebrities that I admire, such as motivational preachers and French house DJs, because people in those professions are required to go on frequent U.S. tours (I know nothing about French house music, by the way: it’s just a coincidence that I admire one of the people who could be labeled as part of that scene—in truth, I know him better as a film dire
After typing a lengthy comment into the now-defunct social network Fiendster, I grew sad, because I assumed that no one would read it; so I copied my words and pasted them here below. Now I am happy.
“Old” vs. “New” Testament
Regarding the statement: “I don’t know why people still believe the Old Testament to be relevant, since it has been replaced by the New Testament.” Let me just give my two cents, for what it’s worth; because I’m opinionated to the point of madness about th
One time I saw a mother pushing a perambulator down the street—she was strolling, which maybe is why North Americans sometimes call perambulators “strollers.” But recently I’ve been seeing a lot of mothers running with perambulators. And often they have a dog or three panting alongside of them on leashes.
When you own multiple children and pets, you take up more space on the sidewalk; because you’re not just one single human walking thru the neighborhood: you’re a miniature parade fea
Is Emily Dickinson happy, sitting at the right hand of God? I mean, she wrote for the future: is she pleased with the way we’ve received her? Come to think of it, what I just said was a guess: I don’t know who she wrote for—maybe she wrote for her father or a secret lover or one of the neighborhood bobolinks. I assumed that, since she never published her poetry but still preserved it (she didn’t destroy it by fire or throw it out with the trash—I call that preserving it), she must have writte
Today I awoke thinking about the idea of teaching. I’ve always felt out of place in the world of careers, so I frequently contemplate (which is to say, daydream about) professional possibilities. I know that I would make a good teacher; but I also wonder if my aversion to human-wrangling might render me a better fit for the position of personal tutor. (I recoil from the thought of disciplining a full mob of students.) Also, once I start mulling over the idea more thoroughly
It’s my habit to wake hours before sunrise & write till I’m famished. I usually do this alone; but today my sweetheart awoke at the exact same time and decided to join me—she is sitting on the sofa opposite mine. I feel like a fisherman whose secret fishing spot has been discovered by noisy teenagers.
But I’ll try to record my morning thoughts anyway… after I share this blue flower:
The world sometimes gives you reasons to be happy; and sometimes it seems that you can
While I was waiting for my colleague to join me at a B-movie diner last night, here is what I overheard a little girl saying to her mother:
If you purchase a book with your own money, you’ll take care of it and be good to it because you own it; but if it’s a library book, you’ll treat it bad because it was free: you didn’t have to work for it.
Now, I don’t know if everything that this little girl asserted is trustworthy; but here’s what it made me want to preach unto my diary th
Overhearing a conversation about the personality of Jesus made me want to offer some misleading statements of my own…
Anything that we say about the identity or beliefs of Jesus will depend upon which author’s Jesus we are talking about; and whatever we assert will be either a fresh invention of our own or a personal interpretation of a literary character (for Jesus is a literary character). Each opinion about Jesus tends to reveal more about the individual who is asse
Here is the scientific proof that God is gay: He is never seen with a woman. Even when it came time for God to beget offspring, He couldn’t bring himself to spend the night with a female—instead, He had to pass a jar of His divine sperm to a gloved angel, who was instructed to go down and impregnate Mary the same way that the farm worker from Louis Malle’s 1985 documentary God’s Country explains how he artificially inseminates cows. Then, when God’s son was born, the lad pr
I’ve mentioned a few of this entry’s subjects in former diary entries, but I want to stress that this present entry is neither a rerun, a repeat, a rehash, nor a redo: it is totally original—fresh from the oven, hot off the press—it just happens to revisit favorite topics, such as squirrels, maple seeds, and the movies of Robert Downey, Sr.
While reading The Bostonians by Henry James, I got distracted by a chippy-chippy sound… —Wait, hold on.
The image of myself that I project upon the silver screen of my imagination varies a great deal from what I actually am. The truth about what I am is something only other people can tell me; and, since I’m unwilling to accept the truth, I don’t speak to others.
But I am fearing the wrong thing. I fear that people will see me as inferior, when I should be fearing that they’ll see me as superior; for I want to be liked, and it’s precisely because everyone desires to feel superior that i
Below, I completed one of those questionnaires that was floating around on the social networks a few years ago. Although instructed otherwise, I preferred to answer each question from my heart, because I believe in the progressive spirit of humanity.
What do you say when someone asks if you are OK?
I just finished reading a movie review.
How would you describe yourself?
Ornery, grouchy, moody, difficult, stubborn.
What do you look for
I wish that people’s lives were less trying and that people in general were better-off socioeconomically, because I think that the hard conditions of life cause us to want easy art: the kind of art that plays the background and demands little or no attention.
I’m not saying that by making life itself more comfortable for people, they would all automatically begin seeking out difficult pleasures in art; but, if times weren’t so consistently tough, I believe that a great n
Hasn’t our world suffered enough changes of season already? Why doesn’t the weather just pick a temperature and stick with it? And do we really still need precipitation? Nature has been in a slump for far too long.
We should destroy all things: exterminate every type of life, including humankind—this way, the only thing left will be God. All of creation falls short of the LORD’s expectation; so, if the world is annihilated, everything will at last be perfect.
I was riding home on my bike. Up ahead in the distance, I saw an enormous hawk grasping something rodent-like in its talons and trying to fly. The bird’s wingspan seemed almost equal to the width of the road; it was flapping and flapping, yet it could not get more than a couple feet off the ground. Finally it dropped its cargo and soared up over the adjacent rooftops. As soon as the hawk was out of sight, a gang of crows in the nearby tree started cawing wildly. The object
Let us say that my friends and I are watching some comedy films. Why don’t I ever laugh along when my friends laugh, and why don’t my friends ever laugh along when I laugh? Because tastes differ. My friends like broad comedy; whereas I prefer a type of blithe gloom.
I should explain what I mean by that last term above, but I’d rather preach a sermon about the bane of youth. Remind me to write a diary entry explaining my comedy preferences, in the far future.
According to the dictionary that I keep in my shirt pocket, eaves are “the part of a roof that meets or overhangs the walls of a structure.” I researched this word in order to inform you that a wasp is building an addition onto one of the eaves of my apartment.
Since I hate using poison on unwanted creatures, I prayed unto my sweetheart, saying: “Please send me a garden-variety spray bottle.” And lo, my prayer was answered: for my sweetheart returned from the m
Right now there is a team of trimmers trimming the trees outside my window: they’re using the exact same wood chipper from the Coen brothers’ movie Fargo, and it’s louder than World War 6 (which, as you’ll recall, was the loudest war yet)—so I can’t do anything but wait till they finish; and I have a spare hour, so I’m going to let myself type until my fingers break…
Don’t think that “Magic Marriage” will result from flipping “Wonder Woman” upside-down.
I can clic
Dear diary, here is an entry that consists of a few other entries that I formerly aborted. My reason for aborting them is that I did not like them very much. I mean, they displeased me when I viewed them as individuals; but, once I combined them all into a single post, I hated them roughly five percent less than before: and this was enough to convince the studio executives to…
Ah, nevermind—I was going to try to come up with a fib about how the executives ended up giving my project t
When I see a stranger, I think: “I’d like to get to know this person.” Then I put on my special goggles that have the power to see through clothing. I feel that I know the stranger better when I view the stranger undressed, but in actuality I still know nothing about this person. Why does anyone equate nakedness with knowledge?
It’s a type of knowledge—the sight of the stranger’s nude body is a fact among many. Although the shape of a person’s body can be manipulated to a
My memory is my identity: the reason I identify myself as Bryan Ray is that I awoke with Bryan Ray’s memories. And memory is like the text of a play: my consciousness, my self in the present, is informed that its body—which I am to call my body—did such-and-such in the past: and I am expected to continue behaving along the same lines. Possessing a memory is like being assigned a role to act. Every day, I am handed the same role. It makes me mad.
What is my “self”—what am “I”—befo