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Jul. 29th, 2015

Intro! (Please Read)

I have a semi-blind date on Saturday. How nervously strange. How apprehensively interesting. It's the first date I've allowed myself to go on in, what, over two years.

I also stopped blogging for about a year, well besides throughput, for reasons some of you know, some of you don't, and some of you could give a rat's ass about. Someday I may divulge the details of this. Today is not the day. I am going to start blogging again.

Let me begin with a statement and a disclaimer.

Statement: GO THE FUCK AWAY YOU ARE UNWANTED HERE! This goes for everyone. This means you. (Double that if you are severely impoverished in the humor department, or, conversely hyperactive in the dense, unaccountable sensitivity, "take yourself to seriously", other-blind, and prone to misunderstanding departments.) And. Let me repeat for emphasis. GO THE FUCK AWAY YOU ARE UNWANTED HERE!!!

Disclaimer: Now that the above statement is, well, stated, anyone that is here is here by their own choice. This blog may contain subjects that are offensive, emotionally raw, vile, blatantly and deviantly sexual, stinky, gross, taboo, painfully honest, ugly, racist, sexist, any "ist" you can think of , regarding lizards, snakes & witches, cringy to your parents & swoony to your sisters, and  the color of poop. Then again it may not. If you are offended, confused, outraged, bamboozled, ticked by pink, stung by cupid's arrow, or  feel in anyway wronged by any content posted here that also is your own choice. You choose to be here, take it up with yourself. You can (it is recommended that you do) go away. If you choose to stay I hope you have fun. Enjoy!

Ill be putting the above as a intro to my blog.

Now, as to the reason I'm going to start blogging again. Mainly, I'm back in school and am writing papers. I'm going to post the papers here because I want feedback. I'm have no interest in your opinion of the content. I am mainly concerned on whether or not it is clear and/or grammatically correct. On these issues I am all ears.

Also. Sometimes I have a creative spark and want to post some bs.

Have a good one. Wish me well on my date,

Oct. 22nd, 2010

Chat In My Blog?

Oct. 13th, 2008

LinkedIn Account for Professional Networking


Oct. 3rd, 2008

Yey! It's my birthday...

Yey! It's my birthday and fuck Jott notes.

Powered by jott.com

Aug. 22nd, 2008

So this is my test blog...

So this is my test blog from my mobile phone to Live Journal, using the Jott account.

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[What Would Jim Do?] A post using IMified.

IMified is a great little app that allows one to do multiple things
directly from your IM. Such as add to online calendars, post directly
to your blog, and update ToDo lists at RememberTheMilk. It is highly
modifiable and I recommend it too all.

Aug. 10th, 2008

Second Paper (Creative Writing about a place) Feedback Welcome!

Green is used to notate what I might want to delete because of irrelvance. Red for editorial notes to myself.

Sunlight permeates the air filling it with the smell of late autumn bombasity. Glowing from the inside out it spreads its flavor in a grandiloquent style unconcerned with social conventions, or for that matter privacy and boundaries. Using its powers of diffusion and reflection it, at least partially, penetrates the sneakiest of nooks, corners, holes, niches, lizard and spider retreats, and (we can’t forget) crannies with its soft and rusty incandescence.

Shadow is a, by nature, a dark and dastardly cynic. Boo is his (or her, she hasn’t made up her mind yet) applause. (S)He is known to sneak up on those deep in a state of contemplative mediation and piss all over them yelling, “That’s right. Boo it up. Boo it up!” Do you remember those heaven guarding angels depicted in Christian mythology? The ones with six wings, hideously grotesque forms, and wielding flaming swords? Yeah?  Shadow considers the contemptuous and finds their antics amusing and childish.

Shadow holds Sunlight as his arch-nemesis.

 This gender confused denizen of The Black, who Sunlight, to his gloomy dismay, comprehends its part in creating, might consider this same scent mentioned above -- the one which Sunlight, with a pompous pride, slings about in copious amounts -- more of an arrogant stink like the fumes of gasoline at one of those wham-bam-you’re-in-a-rush-well-we’ve-got-you-covered-stop-and-go-up-late-shop-till-you-drop-making-up-with-plastic-and-flash-for-what-it-lacks-in-personality-and-character-“convenience”-marts, but, unfortunately, without the intoxicating side-effects.  What can we do? Its daddy is the sun. And, to be fair, without light what would, what could, we know?

Not everyone harbored such ill thoughts about Sun’s prodigal offspring.  The long slender grass that grew in the shrubby meadow on the edge of the boy’s woodsy playground was uprightly infatuated in its unabashed belief in its own fantastical, “Center of the stage? Heh. I make the stage,” brand of awesomeness. He felt that, well, without light what would, what could, we know? It does kinda provide the illumination that brings everything else into being (even poor Shadow). Good gosh.

Vicariously, and with the humility and innocence of a teen girl that is developing intimate notions towards her priest, it allows itself to timidly feel some of its glory. Oh, thank this light, blissfully drunk on its very own being, thanks for allowing me to feel in ways that I only thought possible in after-school specials produced by Mr. Rogers. He thought Mr. Rogers was only second to the sun in purity.

In turn, The Light, as it called itself in short, not one to eschew praise, infused the stalks of over baked grass with a light hearted solidity. The grass’s attitude was similar to the how one of Norman Rockwell’s glossy police officers would feel after giving a boy -- teetering on that awkward and sometimes astonished “oh, well that’s new,” edge of puberty -- directions to a local ice cream stand. This was good because the grass needed this type of hardy flexibility to handle the boy. The need stemmed from accommodating the boy’s vitality which inevitably led to ruff-housing with his pet and ever-changing structural recombinations of the tunnel system being masterminded in the bowels of the meadow.

The boy was only peripherally aware (as humans are of most things) even in the openness of his prepubesence of the personalities that stirred around him and made up his atmosphere. To him this was his world. He owned it and did with it what he pleased.

As the boys designs grew in complexity, if not haphazardly and dependent on need, like additions to an impoverished, but loving, Catholic family of rabbit’s boroughs, so did the physical layout of the tunnel & chamber system that he was burrowing through this good hearted grass. The tunnels themselves weren’t made so much of the new grass that still, in its naivety, sometimes entertained hopes of immortality (or at least a death fit for stories); forever striving upwards toward the sky trying, like Icarus, to leave its dark earthen roots behind.  (Why youths sadly spit on their elders, we may never know.) The system was constructed of the old grass that, being left untended and uncared for in a fallow environment for years, had collapsed under the weight of its younger counterpart’s dreams, and in doing so developed a sense of reality and limitation. This, with a certain sense of loving fortitude, led to blameless understandings, pitchy humor, and thoughtful considerations in its worldview.  Thank The Light for worn old grass.

An aside before we continue. With such clues as: “rabbits boroughs”; dogs and their well known digging habits, and the sheer fact that almost all tunnels we encounter are subterranean, it may be easy to draw the conclusion that the boy’s tunnels also lay underground. This conclusion would be false. And I’m not talking false in the fuzzy politically correct relativistic “it’s kinda right, it’s kinda wrong” sort of way in which we loose our ability to distinguish to such a degree that any sort of evaluation becomes all but impossible, or at least meaningless. I’m talking about false as in straight up dead wrong. Of course I take full accountability for this misunderstanding. So let me clarify.

Given the “university studies” atmosphere that is so prevalent at this school the following exercise should be piece of cake.  First let’s back up. Imagine a medium sized meadow in the “Indian summer” days of autumn. Hell, let’s put a sagging chicken-wire fence -- spotted and dotted hear and there with dollops of rust -- around it on one side and have a young woods give it a big warm hug on the other. Now let’s lightly sprinkle in a few burgeoning trees and over-achieving shrubs. Then notice the sunlight shining through the forest and carefully laying the tree’s shadows across the grass gently swaying in the breeze. Lastly, for good measure, let’s wind a small creek through one side of it. Aw. It’s so sweet and beautiful isn’t it?  Romantic even.

Are you still with me? Do you have the above pictured in your mind? Great! Now rid yourself of all that flowery superfluous crap. Kick the extraneous flora to the curb, give the vain chicken-wire fence the heave-ho, wrangle up the babbling brook and send it on its way, and zoom in on the grass: the (unwanted?) star of this description. In certain types of wildernesses untouched by man for a good length of time a neat thing happens. Grass grows long and tall and then when the season is over it falls and the next year new grass grows up through this. After years of this a loose stratification of organic matter forms with the new material at the top and the oldest at the bottom. It was out of these interwoven layers of dead and dying grass -- using the newer upright and still vertical sprouts to help provide a support system -- that the boy gave his ideas physical manifestations in the form of his tunnels. And form them he did.

The boy made a wrestling room for the stumpy tailed blue and grey peppered mutt of a dog who followed him around like he was second in command. Given the amount of help the nameless, well, other than dog, animal put in it; little, and most of the time only when he was being looked at directly. Shuffling around skittish dirt particles and lofty dust motes like a guilty child would his vegetables under a seemingly hostile, and truly caring, mothers gaze. The dog looking up with an expression at the boy that either read “don’t you get it I’m spelling out the secrets of the everything in a universal hieroglyphic only misunderstood by the most dense”, or, shrugging doggie shoulders, “come on someone’s got to take care of the interior decorating.” In these faux (prostrations?) he acted more like a micromanaging foreman whose idea of work was pointing out that a carpenter’s nails didn’t enter the wood exact right angle.

He made the Tron labyrinth that he navigated joyfully after tying a hyper colored jump-rope to the tail of Dog. (He had to be good for something other than frustratingly ambiguous looks.) In their navigation of this pseudo electronic maze both of them unsuspectingly gave rides to hitchhiking chiggers trying to make their way home to loved ones. This went until exploding red mountainous of itchiness revealed the whereabouts of these mini trombiculidae stow-a-ways caused them to stop in there tracks. Now a new game was afoot, the dream of glorious of Tron victories fading in lieu of more immediate concerns, scratching competitions. No free rides on those ships.

He made a secret compartment off of a lesser taken side tunnel. He used it to hide his treasure consisting of pictures of women.

(Need to enter information about why I am deleting certain content for this class. Or I need to just combine these two paragraphs together.)

Women snipped out a collection of Cosmopolitan magazines he found in a shoebox, emblazoned on a fading white background with a difficult to decipher pattern of bright primary colored uniformly quarter inch dots that half stepped from one row to another much like bricks in a wall. Multiple visual puzzles intricately tangled within each other; a source of constant amusement. The box found in his half-sister’s, the one that ran away when he was too young to have anything but fragments of memories of her, closet.   He knew it was wrong to have them. The whispered tones and sideways glances that characterized people speaking about the things thus pictured assured him that they were either sacred, forbidden, or both. This is the reason why they had to be hidden so carefully. He wasn’t sure whys of the reasoning. It was hidden by adults almost as carefully as he hid the pictures. Dog sure didn’t make a big deal about them.

Perhaps most importantly were the tunnels that led away from home base and into the other areas of his domain; the rusted sculpture training grounds, the lookout tower; the gully leading to hill of kings, and, of course, heaven.

First Paper (The Joker in The Dark Knight) Feedback Welcome!

There is a certain point in which morality transcends feeling. There is a certain point in which it transcends pragmatism. At this point it becomes a duty to an ethical imperative: a system of goals that’s ultimate end is goodness. I am not going to venture into what this goodness is or whether it is interpersonal or intrapersonal. I will say that that to judge the morality of a person is essentially to judge whether or not they are living up to that ultimate end and that contradiction of this end is where evil lies.

An innocent cannot be evil or good. An innocent is one who is ignorant. An innocent is pure. A child is innocent because it is pure when it shits, laughs, cries, and eats there is no conflict or dilemma. The fruit of knowledge of good and evil has yet to have been bitten. It is unaware of the consequences of its actions and unaware of how these consequences fit into any ethical framework. To willfully avoid knowledge in order to remain ignorant and unconflicted is a form of evil. (Perhaps one of the worst) Most people lie somewhere between childhood and adulthood. They lie somewhere between ignorance and knowledge.

Wisdom is on the opposite end of innocence. It is the complete lack of naivety. Not only has the fruit been bitten into it has been devoured to the core seeds and all. Every aspect of darkness and light lie completely within and the wise are fully aware. In wisdom pureness returns. When the wise make a choice they suffer no illusions about its goodness or evilness. It is in this state of wisdom that heroes and monsters are forged. Both of them are wise. A hero unquestionably does what is right even when the difficulty of what may be faced would cause a wise commoner to crumble. A monster unquestionably does what is wrong. A monster that does evil out of ignorance, confusion, weakness, or a conflicted ethical system is not evil. A monster knows what evil is and does it because, as Alfred (batman’s butler & moral compass) says, he wants to watch the world burn.

If this kind of nobility and vileness exist anywhere in nature is up for question. Humans tend to fluctuate between weakness & strength and good & evil. The main difference in humans is the wise know when they have done wrong and the innocent create messes with no regard. Some of the most dangerous kinds of humans are the innocents who mistakenly think they are wise and the willfully ignorant. These righteous types of beings will go around causing deep troubles in the name of what they think is a justified goodness. Danger Will Robinson, danger. What is not up for question is that fully personified good and evil, when done well, makes for an interesting story.

I think The Dark Knight would have been more aptly name The Joker’s Night. Batman provides a counterpoint to his story. And I think this point is often unworthy of Joker’s diabolical purity. While the Joker embodies his dark swirling chaotic madness fully I think Batman sometimes falls short of his ethical code in order to fit the framework of a Hollywood action film. I also sometimes think the plot is forced in the same manner to create a story in which the hero wins and good is upheld. The Joker should have won this battle hands down.

The Joker’s motivation for committing the terrible atrocities he does is as vague as it is complex. He gives hints that something terrible has happened to him in his past that has given him his organizing principles; although these hints are themselves chaotic and random. In one instance he states that when he was young his father turned on him during a psychotic episode of spouse abuse, stuck a knife inside his mouth, and while laughing said, “why so serious?”, cut his cheeks open from the corner of his mouth on both sides creating the scars that now serve as a macabre smile. In another instance he says the scarified smile was self-inflicted in order to make a wife with similar scars feel less self-conscious. She subsequently left him, leading to both his dark sense of humor and thoughts on the superficiality & frailty of goodness. I think that the Joker doesn’t even know his own past and makes it up as he goes along to fit the situation. When speaking to Harvey/Two-Face in the hospital he says, “Do I really look like a guy with a plan?...I just do things…I’m not a schemer. I try to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really are.”

The Joker has two main purposes. One is personal and one is social. The social one is to point out the absurdity of the world’s order and goodness by proving it is nothing but a thin façade only designed to serve pragmatism. He wants to show that when push comes to shove that everyday folk will drop these airs and sink into a self-serving tooth-and-nail-dog-eat-dog version of chaos and anarchy. When discussing the difference between him & Batman, compared everyone else he says, “You see, their morals, their code, is a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble…I’ll show you when the chips are down these ‘civilized’ people; they’ll eat each other.”His personal purpose is to have a blast fulfilling his social one.

He never loses his personal integrity and partially succeeds in proving his social point. After Harvey Dent rechristens himself as Two-Face The Joker is able emotionally manipulate this former stalwart of social goodness over to the side chaos. He drags him down to the level of a vengeful psychopath that, having lost faith, leaves all justice up to chance flipping a coin to decide who lives and dies. As mentioned The Joker never loses his sense of fun, even when facing death he continues manically laughing: thinking his existence & pain is just as absurd and pointless as everything else. Batman, during his interrogation, smashes The Joker’s head against a stainless steel table, the joker quips, “Never start with the head. The victim gets all fuzzy.” It is only when Batman saves him from his upcoming demise do you get to see a flicker of disappointment.

Most monsters nowadays aren’t really monsters. This is what makes The Joker so divine. He is evil incarnate. There is no clear ulterior motivation guiding his actions. He has no illusion of goodness. He is not misunderstood. He takes his chaos and madness pure: straight-up-no-chaser. I think this is best illustrated in the scene where he shocks the mobsters by burning his half of a giant stack of money telling them, “All you care about is money. This town deserves a better class of criminal. I’m going to give it to them…It’s not about money. It’s about sending a message. Everything burns.”

This is what makes Batman’s fumbling at heroism and the film-makers illogical constraints the only disappointments of this movie. Like I said in earlier: The Joker should have won.

As a Hero, or even an antihero, batman is not a worthy adversary. He has an ethical code, one rule implied that he won’t kill, that (in a bit of self-aware irony) even The Joker points out is convoluted and contradictory. He won’t kill The Joker, but he allows five others to die setting up a trap to catch him in the car chase scene (not to mention all that die because he won’t reveal his identity), but then later he kills Two-Face in order to save lieutenant Gordan’s son. Also, when both of the ships ridiculously choose not to blow each other one up, and Batman, through a combination of brute force and luck, keeps the joker from blowing them both up I rolled my eyes. I think this type of forced adherence to a cliché story structure makes the film less interesting and coherent.

If you want good to prevail over evil either don’t make such a perfect bad guy or make a good guy who is just as perfect to take him on.

Oh God, why must you be so silly?

I think God is suggesting that it is time to find a hole for my pole. A good ole' fuzzy & squishy ball n' chain. Someone to domesticate the wild oats sowing beast that rumbles inside of my jelly filled heart.

It first started when I returned to school. The praise & acknowledgment resulting in a comfort boosting awareness of the other (aka (and ironically enough) diminishing my self-centered loathing and pity)and leaving me a cocky asshole. This as a matter of course draws attention.

And at first I couldn't tell if I was just noticing attention that was already there or new attention was being generated. I, enjoying the warmness of it, let it be and continued my studies. That's what I'm there for. Not for some doe eyed, perky breasted, eighteen yr old temptress.

This is when I think God decided to be a jerk. He started sending emails my way. The "Woo", "Your interesting", "OMG you have big feet!" type. I'm like, fine! So, I went out of my first date in over two years. It was disastrous. I was a nervous wreck. In order to calm my nerves I had a few beers. This made me into a bumbling idiot. Everything seemed forced and artificial. I finally told the poor girl that I'm not really sure if I'm interested in dating anyone at this time and I only went out on this date because God keeps pushing me. She said, that's fine, because she thought I was ugly, stupid, and had no direction. LOL. Of course she was much more tactful than this.

So I looked up @ the heavens thumbed my nose @ God. See, you tricky bastard, now leave me alone.

Apparently this wasn't good enough for God. Now he's taken it to the physical level. Having women chase me around in the park blocks for making snarky comments. Pinching my arm at Saturday Market while I'm in a headphoned out bliss. And calling my name on the street inviting me to watch a garage bands at a friend's house. And the emails. Oh the emails. They wont quit coming.

Now I don't trust this God character. I'm pretty sure he hates me. And I think he's an asshole. Every time I think life is starting to work out he throws me a curve ball laughing "ha ha, he he, ho ho, you think you're so special. Deal with this shit." Never-the-less it looks like I'm going on another date. Barf.


Ps. If you think the emotional level of this post is on par with a fifteen year old girls diary entry. It's because it is. Once again. Die. :)

Aug. 8th, 2008

Anagram fun

Penis Vagina=
Naive Gap Sin

Zachary Cyrus Moser=
A Crazy Sorcery Mush=
A Harems Cozy Scurry


Post your own!



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