Skepsis

the world

soph — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 23:53:25 +0000

the discourse of this year ha been one of buildings and buildings and buildings. my heart rate is exceptionally high, i believe, and we’re all out of yogurt. i hate days like this, when my parents are at habitat for humanity and i am at home learning about how pyruvate functions in glycolysis. that is a lie. i love learning about this, but i ate too much blue cheese so now i cannot focus. my brain is full paralleled to my stomach; ~~no learning can happen with a full brain~~ no learning can happen with a full stomach. i my mouth has olives in it and i want it to stop. foooood contamination.

i flip through the pages of my textbook. knowing what is new on each page, learning only what i can consume on an empty stomach, and utilizing this knowledge in my own ego. there is nothing substantial in life but the perception of knowledge and a greater understanding. i take notes with my right hand and drink water with my left. i know too much about biology to not do this. i know too much about filling and emptying. some people do not know what a lipid is. i will not go to school tomorrow. my stomach is full. i cannot learn anything more tonight. compulsion is a dangerous outlet.

there are cracks in the door of the house we own

we need new dog leashes so that my hands are not muddy when i jog

falling from the ceiling are moths whose lives once revolved around the false perception of sunlight in our kitchen

it’s funny to think about humanity

phillia

soph — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 23:38:22 +0000

If my body had a tide

I would call him Rene

And beg him to stop this cleansing

flashy fiction

soph — Thu, 06 May 2010 23:42:42 +0000

“You had a wife?”
“No.” He laughed a little and drew in a breath with the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. You could hear the smoke in his voice when he talked. Smiling, he looked at me and then down to the ground.
“I had a slut.”
I liked the way he talked. He would be perfect for a documentary, but sadly my experience was too limited to create film. I checked the tape recorder to make sure there was tape left. Outside the sun was almost down and I was still feeling high from a pipe hours before.
“A slut?” We both laughed. He was on his fifth cigarette and the room irritated my lungs. It didn’t give me a sick feeling, but more of an irritating reminder of how much I’d like a drag. I thought about bumming one off of him, but Sharon would know. Sharon could always tell when I smoked. My eyes would turn pink from the beautiful cloud leaving my nostrils.
“Yeah, she was a whore. I mean she wasn’t like, one of those women who you automatically call a whore ‘cause they’re like tan and busty and shit, but she actually got paid to have sex with men who didn’t even know her.”
I looked at him and, finally understanding the cliché, I “looked through him”. He wasn’t looking at me. His focus was on an empty bottle of Victory IPA on the table.
“I don’t think they even knew her name. Well shit… finished the whole thing.” He picked up the bottle and left a dark semi-circle of condensation on the table. It reminded me of the moon, with the soft wisps of smoke around it. I wanted to remember it forever. He turned the bottle upside-down. A drop of pale beer landed on the table next to the moon ring. I doubt he made a celestial connection with the beer. He didn’t seem to connect anything. Either he did not want to talk about his prostitute wife or his attention span was being eaten away with the booze. Either way he was an idiot.
“Well why did you marry her? Did you know she was a prostitute?” I sounded sincere. Honestly, I did not care. He looked like the kind of man who would marry a whore. His baseball cap was soiled with cigarette burns and I could not even comprehend how one manages to get cigarette burns on their head. His shirt’s name could probably apply to both he and his apparel. A wife beater.
He was taking in another long breath through the cigarette. I loved laid back interviews with smoking and drinking. They always made the most interesting stories, and people exposed themselves more when intoxicated. I loved to take advantage of this and let their creepy antics soak into my skin. It was blackmail as a career.
“Now look here, when I met the woman she was just a sexy girl with a cute face and I fell in love with her. Or somethin’ like that. Don’t really know what love is but she was sure nice. You know what I mean, don’t ya? We all fall in love with the first cute girl that we meet.”
I paused. I had no idea what he meant.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Yeah, so she and I got hitched after a year of being together and after she started working late nights it got kinda concerning, you know. Her being gone from like 8 in the evening to 3 in the morning.”
I figured he must have been an idiot for some time now if he had not immediately derived from her odd working hours that something was going on. He looked at his fingers and curled them up to fit one in his mouth. I could see grease crusted underneath his nails, and when the finger left his mouth his nails were clean. Wiping the digit off onto his shirt left a brown trail of saliva. I wasn’t even interested in his skewed love life any more. I was more focused on how one manages to become so incredibly vulgar and uncanny. He was eager to tell me about his slut though, so I obliged.
“Yeah, so, what happened?”
“What happened?” He leaned towards me and placed his cigarette in the ash tray. There were no other filters in the tray though. It made me wonder what he had been doing with the butts from earlier.
“I caught her.” He grinned as if he had been hunting a deer and finally made the killing shot. His lips curled even more into a grossly disfigured smile.
“How?”
“Well one night after she left I decided to treat myself, you know. Her being gone all the time.. I didn’t get much after-dark time, if you know what I mean.”
I made a grunting sound of approval. I didn’t know what else to do.
“So after she left I decided to meet an old buddy of mine at the adult club down the way. You know the one. The Treasure something or another? Yeah well I wanted to get some action for the night and you’d never guess who I saw there.”
“Oh jeez…” I mumbled. He wasn’t helping his case.
“That bitch. That’s who I saw at the club. Dancing on another man. Hardly wearing anything at all.”
None of this was any surprise to me, but I looked at the ground swaying my head back and forth, smiling. I had seen him do this before and I wanted to fit in with the Southern reaction to mediocre anecdotes.
“That’s terrible. But what were you doing at the night club anyways? You did have a wife.”
I waited for him to find a way to make the wrong hers and not his.
“What? Boy, I wouldn’t call her much of a wife, being a whore and all.” He picked up the cigarette he had placed in the ash tray, but did not touch it to his lips. Instead he re-lit it and held it for a while. I noticed that he was gazing out of the window.
“It’s real pretty out there.”
It was extraordinarily gorgeous outside. Or maybe it was real pretty, I didn’t know.
“You know the moon don’t get like that too often.” He said softly. Almost as if he did not want me to listen. The cigarette he had been holding was finally lifted to his lips. He paused to inhale from it.
“One of the prettiest things you’ll ever see out there.”
I knew this, but didn’t think much of it. His voice had risen some this time.
“Yeah? Why is that?”
He straightened out in his chair and finally inhaled smoke. His lips made a faint whistle as he exhaled.
“You see that big star up above the moon?”
I looked. The crescent moon looked as if it were smiling down on us. There was one extremely luminous star directly above the crescent moon. It had a blurred white glow around it, I could not tell if my eyes were hazy or if the glow was actually there.
“Yeah, I see it.”
“Well that star’s Jupiter.”
I looked away from the star and at him. Oddly, I did not question how he knew this. He was expressionless yet gave me a sense of truthfulness. I believed him.
“That’s Jupiter? That’s incredible. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Jupiter.”
He still looked out the window and into the stars.
“Eh, you might not ever again.”
He slumped back over in his chair and took a swig of beer. I reached over to the tape recorder and stopped it from capturing the moment. The crescent moon on the table had evaporated a while back.
“Is that your last cigarette?” I hadn’t predicted what to say if his answer was no. He showed his blackened teeth and chuckled. Reaching into his pocked he pulled out a new pack of Camels and placed it on the table. No gesture was made suggesting that I should get one out, but I recognized his unspoken offering. I picked up one cig and held it between my thumb and forefinger. Inhaling for a few seconds, I closed my eyes and felt dizzy as my lungs filled with heavy smoke. Sharon was probably worried about me being out so late, but I figured what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

play your part

soph — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 01:30:59 +0000

[bitch was paid, that's all i gotta say]. I don’t care if mainstream rap sucks, Girl Talk is a genius. He’s one of those guys who I’ve always wanted to meet, but if I ever actually met him I wouldn’t feel worthy of speaking to him. I’m listening to my “cleaning music”. It’s music that gets me motivated to do things. Even if I’m doing something redundant and “lame”, this music will make me feel like I’m having a party. [but i still got my glock cocked]. I don’t understand a lot of rap-lingo. Soulja Boy, what is a “bape”? And a “glock”? Maybe most people comprehend these nouns [if they are in fact nouns], but I sure don’t. Anyways, it snowed last Friday. I hate snow. These icicles are stabbing away at my spring break. Any work-day or holiday we once had has frozen with the slush and is now melting down my winter boots. [i get money, i i get money]. I was just informed that we are to have another winter storm next weekend. Goodbye, month of June. I suppose the “wintery mix” is consuming you too.

It’s funny, how when you get bad news, you can remember everything about the situation you were in while receiving this news. When Steve Irwin died, I was in my friend’s neighbor’s hot tub with 4 other people. We made fun of good ol’ Steve for being such a moron, and then we mourned the loss of a so-called childhood friend. Michael Jackson’s death hit me pretty hard. I didn’t even like the sick man too much, but Billie Jean has a special place in my heart. A friend of mine called me, as I was standing on the armrest of the sofa in my living room, and said “dude, Michael Jackson is dead.” I froze up. I remember looking in the mirror at myself, and watching my body grow slowly closer to the ground. After steadying myself, I turned on the news, and Michael Jackson had in fact died. Instead of feeling pain, I was filled with a firey excitement. I think I was glowing. Maybe something is wrong with me. [body movin', body movin']. AAAAHHHH! The Beastie Boys again! Amazing performance, once again.. anyways, I remember the exact moment I became aware of tragedies. I think that’s true for most people. Except for 9/11, that didn’t hit me too hard until I saw the video of the two towers aflame. The structures which I had been standing on top of only two months before.

I haven’t read any BM for almost 3 days. I’ve been staying at a buddy’s house, so there was no time in which I could have soaked in anything profound. I did, however, feel it haunting me. I made a commitment to the book, I promised to read it once a day, and I think I lost its trust. The book is looking down on me now, and it let me know. [party on party people, let me hear some noise]. While sitting on my friend’s bed telling my infamous Roy Rogers Joke, my face started to go numb. At first I assumed it was just one of those funny things human bodies tend to do, but as I continued on the painful journey of this joke telling, the book haunted me once again. I hit my thigh, and felt nothing. BM poured into my nerve endings and numbed them with its intellect. My last bookmark reads “I can’t keep track”. I can’t keep track of the dead any more. Dozens of them died in the last chapter. I think Cormac was going to let this one slide, not force me to feel the pains of the lost lives, but after a day of breaking my promise he had to get even. As I tried to remember the name of Roy’s wife, my words were were vaporized along with any feeling in my face. Being desensitized by a book is a pretty awesome experience, though. “oh hell Cormac, why you be so discerning?” -my brain struggling to function. [every day i'm hustlin']

We learned about imaginary numbers in class the other day. I’m too agnostic to comprehend such nonsense.

[give it up to all my haters]

Sky Starts Falling

soph — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 00:49:28 +0000

my velvet underground

soph — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 13:13:42 +0000

I have decided to set off my day perfectly. I am drinking water, strictly water today. I woke up at 6:30, having a full 4 hours of sleep. This is just dandy, however, for I woke up and immediately fetched some water. That is the best feeling in the world. Having your thirst quenched is highly underrated. Is it even rated at all? I’m rating it now. On a scale of one to ten, thirst-quenching is in between the point at which you realize that you have nothing to procrastinate and the point at which you gain a new understanding of something bio-chemical. Maybe that’s just me. I’m somewhat of a nerd. Anyways, I have a cup of water next to my bed. I also have a sound system hooked up on a small shelf above my head. After quenching my thirst, I allowed Lou Reed to enter my room, where he entered my being. I have been sure for some time now that Lou Reed possesses a superpower. He is magical. Watch out Criss Angel, my boy Lou’s got some tricks on you. The shelf above my head holds everything that means anything to me. Right now it is exuding I’m Set Free by The Velvet Underground. My darling cup of water is also feeling the vibrations of the sweet sound of [insert band member here]. They had so many freaking members in their band. Really only a few interchangeable ones, but I can’t put my finger on who is playing bass in this song. Back to my table, and my water. Next to my water is a box of Runts. You know, the Wonka candy. Those things are so nasty. Looking at them just now made my stomach churn a little bit. I keep them here for sentimental reasons. Around the shelf are several candles, but these candles are only igknghited on special occasions. [did you notice my clever spelling of ignited? IgKNIGHTed, like I'm not only setting it aflame, I'm knighting it. It's a pretty intense ritual]. The candles are only lit when I feel that the time is just right, or when the power goes out [which, because I live in Enka-Candler, happens almost daily]. I have no idea what makes it a good time to light the candles, but when the time is right I will know. I also have an old phone on the shelf. It is the original En-V. It probably weighs about 2 1/2 lbs. It’s my baby, I am emotionally attached to it. I keep my books on this table. Right now, BM [duh] and Said The Shotgun To The Head are at rest there. I have already read Said The Shotgun To The Head, more than once actually. But in between chapters, or even paragraphs, of BM, I need to read something a little bit lighter. Still deep, but lighter. On top of my books is a stack of Napoleon Dynamite post-its. The first one reads “MOTHER NATURE IS A WHORE, said the shotgun to the head. One of my favorite quotes [from you can guess which book]. I think it’s funny when The Velvet Underground sings their bubbly, upbeat tunes. The ones that could be mistaken for showtunes. They were probably shooting up shortly before recording these songs. Silly heroin addicts. Speaking of heroin, I tried to read William S Burrough’s “Naked Lunch” this summer. Didn’t work out so well. It was a great book, but I didn’t finish it either. That’s a bad habit of mine. It was far too depressing and dark for summertime. I instead read Russell Brand‘s autobiography “My Booky-Wook”. That’s a good book too, Russell is a funny guy. An idiot, but still funny. I was somewhat caught off guard when I got into his book, though. I switched from Burrough’s sick narrative of people shooting up to their last breath, as the shell which held their heroin slowly became a rotting carcass containing only a diluted bloodstream and what was left of their frontal lobe, to Brand’s description of heroin as something to be worshiped. He knew how it murdered people, but boy, was it worth it! I guess I’m not really too worried about heroin, though. I don’t plan on introducing my bloodstream to it any time soon. I want my flesh to stay intact for as long as possible. Water is good for your skin, right? Good. Today I’m not doing heroin, I’m doing water.

Chapter 3

soph — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 03:08:59 +0000

Just read Chapter 3. Writing entry in the form that the book is written in. Probably not going to work out as well as it does when McCarthy does. None dead in this chapter.

Okay, I can’t do that. That is really nothing like what the book is written like. I just wrote gimpy sentences. McCarthy writes.. alpha sentences? I have no idea what to call them. His sentences are far superior to anything I’ve ever written. I started reading Blood Meridian [I think I'm going to just start referring to it as BM] expecting to get extremely bored. I tried to read The Crossing [another McCarthy book], but it was soooo boring. It kills me to say that, I know that the book is beautiful and well respected, but I couldn’t finish it. I felt like the same thing was happening over and over again. Boy goes into woods. Someone says something in Spanish that is never explained. Boy goes home. Boy goes into woods. Spanish is spoken. Boy goes home. Boy goes into woods. Boy sets wolf trap in woods. Boy goes home. That’s all I can even remember about the book. Which is pitiful. But BM is entertaining. I’m getting lost in it.

I don’t want my blog to be about books. I want to write about everything.

The other day, on the radio, someone said “Imagine a world without any Hypothetical Situations”. I have no idea what this means, but it made my day. I don’t want to figure out what it means. I think Fleet Foxes are wonderful. So, so wonderful. Watch this: Fleet Foxes – Mykonos. It’s a very pretty song.

James Chance.

soph — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 01:36:52 +0000

James Chance is a BMF. He pretty much IS The Contortions. He is also Teenage Jesus & The Jerks, James White and the Blacks, The Flaming Demonics, James Chance & the Sardonic Symphonics, and James Chance and Terminal City. I love him. My father introduced me to The Contortions before I could even walk. Trying to break down his compositions to something comprehensible just doesn’t happen. I have been lost in a song many, many times. Listening to The Contortions is the closest I can get to the emotions I was exposed to while watching in awe as Mike D screamed “Sabotage” into a microphone only 9 feet away from me. -speaking of which, The Beastie Boys had the most outstanding performance I will ever be graced with again-. Do you know that feeling? As Jimi would say, Are You Experienced? When the bass is so loud, you can’t just not hear yourself think, you have no thoughts at all. Your consciousness is somewhere bouncing back and fourth from the vibrations of a man’s fender bass to the snare echoing through the room, hall, stadium, universe. Wherever you happen to be. Watching people play bass is one of the most thrilling things to watch. I’m mesmerized by the snap and swivel of fingers across the strings. It’s so aggressive yet so rhythmic and graceful. I used to watch the animated music video to “Feel Good Inc” by Gorillaz over and over again, just to see his bony digits snap across the frets. Music is so exhilarating. Next week I plan on seeing of Montreal for the second time. I saw them last year when I was less familiar with them, so I didn’t have as much fun as I could have. They started off the concert by punching a head of cabbage into the crowd of loyal listeners. Those who download every single EP and album they have ever recorded. Those who knew each of them by name. I stood near the back, awkwardly swaying back and fourth to each song. All around me college-aged hipsters flung beads of sweat around their heads and shook violently in time to the bass drum. I wanted to have their tunes fill my head, and know exactly what was coming next in each song, but I stood in awe and almost-bliss. Now, when I see them again, I want to have the full experience. I want to dress up like the other fans. I want to color on my face and put feathers in my hair and yell along to every single song. I will make this an awesome experience. Don’t get me wrong, the first time I watched their show, I was impressed. It was wonderful. I just want to be less awkward about it this time. I’m gonna get jiggy with it.

So.. there’s my schpiel about the affect of music on my being.

man

soph — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 00:53:35 +0000

“I can’t sleep. There is a woman stuck between my eyelids. I would tell her to get out if I could. But there is a woman stuck in my throat.” – Eduardo Galeano.

Last night I read about Saul Williams’ epic kiss. His kiss that gave him a new understanding of life. He describes it as a transcendental metamorphosis. Does this happen to everyone? People say that they have a “first kiss feeling”. I never had a first kiss feeling. A first kiss, yes. But what gives you this wonderful feeling? I hated my first kiss.

Anyways, Saul Williams is great. I’m happy he had a life-changing embrace.

Elliott Smith

soph — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 23:31:39 +0000

PS: [pre-script] The man I mentioned in my first post, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, was so short due to years of inbreeding. Just thought I would indulge any readers with that little tidbit of information, it sure put a smile on my face.

Back to Elliott Smith:

I love Elliott Smith. I go through phases where, for weeks at a time, I only listen to Elliott Smith.

“Between The Bars” is probably my favorite song of His [once again, a Godly His]. You know he killed himself, right? Stabbed himself, repeatedly. I really have nothing else to say about Elliott. Well, that’s a lie, I could write endlessly about my fondness for him. I’m still mourning his death. I won’t say anything else though. If you aren’t familiar with him, you should be. He’s a beautiful songwriter.

Oh, and check this out. [in the words of Coheed's New Trick- You think THAT'S amazing, check THIS out]… This is a clip from The Royal Tenenbaums, with Elliott Smith playing in the background. The Royal Tenenbaums is a Wes Anderson movie. Wes Anderson is another one of my heroes.

and I just found this, it’s “related” to the above video. Kermit the Frog is making fun of the scene from the Tenenbaums. Hahaha. I don’t know why I think it’s so funny.