So yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Great post title." I know, I know, I've really outdone myself this time. Anyway, I suppose I just figured I'd go ahead and post something for no readily apparent reason because you all love me so much and miss reading my blog.
*cough* sarcasm *cough*
Holy shit; I'm going to Japan!!! Yeah, any of you who know me already know this, so I'll just recap for the random visitor that my better half and I saved up our monies all summer in order to buy plane tickets and since then we've been saving spending money. Right now, we're just in a state of "ohmyfuckengodweregoingtotokyoholyshiticantbelieveitohmygodohmygodsqeeeeee!!!!!!" as we prepare for our impending trip. I just sort of worry that my parents will be disappointed to see us come back without having gotten secretly married, what with their understanding of our relationship being so... how shall I say it... nonexistent.
So, that's a tiny fragment of the news from my cold, humid, dark, foetid corner of the Internet. The rest is none of your business. Go back to your search for scat porn, which is probably how you came across this anyway.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Ahoy-hoy!
I'm really bored right now, so I think I'll post something in my blog. Let's see here, last post was something deep and personal, so this time it should be random crap. Hmm... random crap... That's it! Crap! Why do they call it taking a shit? It's output, not input. Logically, it should be called giving a shit. Then there's so many people who say they don't give a shit. That's not just anal retentive. That's outright toxic. But at least that expression of apathy isn't as weird as "I don't give a rat's ass." I don't know about you, but I dont WANT a rat's ass. You don't give a rat's ass? Good. Keep the damn thing if you're that unwilling to part with it. Weird fetish if you ask me, but whatever floats your boat. And where's the rest of the rat? What do these hoarders of rat asses do with the rest of the poor innocent rodents that have to die for their bizarre amusement? I take that back; I don't want to know. Probably involves a fingernail clipper, a cigarette lighter, two and a half used condoms, and a webcam. Before you say anything of what you're probably starting to think, no, I don't know any of this from experience. I am making all of this up... I hope. I'm not going to try to find out. You can if you like, but be warned, the Internet is a huge metropolis with lots of unsavory back alleys. Just look at my blog. Reads like the results of a thousand retarded monkeys hammering away at a thousand typewriters that are all missing the letter e... and I don't mean the paper output.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
I Haven't Posted in a While...
...and I'm kinda bored now, so I figured I'd write an update for all three to five of you out there that actually read this. First of all, some clarifications on things I may have said in the past. Yes, I know that my last post, "The Disease" is, biochemically speaking, complete and total bunk. When I wrote it, I was a dumb, sardonic high school senior. It's still kinda funny, though, so I don't fuckin' care.
Now for my update. I could talk about recent events in my life, but the two of my readers that I personally know and trust with my psychological baggage already know. The rest of you, tough shit, not that you really care anyway. I'm not trying to be bitter here, though, and recent events haven't been all bad, but... oh you know what I mean, and if you don't know, you probably don't really care all that much. (This is why I don't update very often, and when I do, it's usually some random crap. I've got to write for my nearest, dearest friends and for total strangers at the same time. Kind of a pain in the ass.)
Anyway, aside from all the weirdness, I'm happier than I've ever been before in my life. Well, perhaps it's better to say that for the first time in my life, I'm actually happy. Those of you who know me know why. As for the rest of you, I'll just tell you that I've found love. It's more complicated than you're thinking, though, and yet also more simple. We're not really anything as complicated and loaded with emotional baggage as a couple; we just love each other very much. It's absolutely wonderful, as though we've found a way to skip the huge societally mandated clusterfuck of mind games, anxiety, and angst that's been built up around love. It's true, it's pure, it's clean, it's free, it's beautiful. Of course, to the outside world, we look like a couple, and as far as my family goes, it's just easier to let them think we are than to explain the real situation. It's really kind of funny. I really feel she's The One, though.
Now for my update. I could talk about recent events in my life, but the two of my readers that I personally know and trust with my psychological baggage already know. The rest of you, tough shit, not that you really care anyway. I'm not trying to be bitter here, though, and recent events haven't been all bad, but... oh you know what I mean, and if you don't know, you probably don't really care all that much. (This is why I don't update very often, and when I do, it's usually some random crap. I've got to write for my nearest, dearest friends and for total strangers at the same time. Kind of a pain in the ass.)
Anyway, aside from all the weirdness, I'm happier than I've ever been before in my life. Well, perhaps it's better to say that for the first time in my life, I'm actually happy. Those of you who know me know why. As for the rest of you, I'll just tell you that I've found love. It's more complicated than you're thinking, though, and yet also more simple. We're not really anything as complicated and loaded with emotional baggage as a couple; we just love each other very much. It's absolutely wonderful, as though we've found a way to skip the huge societally mandated clusterfuck of mind games, anxiety, and angst that's been built up around love. It's true, it's pure, it's clean, it's free, it's beautiful. Of course, to the outside world, we look like a couple, and as far as my family goes, it's just easier to let them think we are than to explain the real situation. It's really kind of funny. I really feel she's The One, though.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
The Disease
I am thoroughly convinced that someday a scientist will spoil the fun of poets across the ages by proving that romantic love is an infectious disease. Think about it. You’ve been in love before. You know what it feels like. It feels like an illness. I am certain that it will be found to be a highly contagious virus acting on the nervous system. Its effects seem primarily to be severe impairment of judgement, apparent loss of concentration*, extreme heightening of the senses, and, in many cases, cardiac pain.
It only happens to a patient who happens to be in a state of total emotional nonbeing. The virus enters the body, probably through the nose and the olfactory bulb, and works its way through the entire nervous system. The incubation period is totally unlike the unaffected state in every way: Instead of feeling nothing, the patient actually feels everything all at once. This strange, unsettling time, unlike most pathogenic incubation periods, which last a specific amount of time, lasts until some association is made by the patient’s subconscious mind between some form of incredibly deep psychological security and a person.**
After this happens and the associated synaptic chemicals are released, the antigens produced by the virus begin the Smiting. The antigens actually inhibit the uptake of the very endorphins that initiated the process. Due to the psychological association that ended the incubation period, the levels of the endorphins are increased every time the patient thinks of the beloved. During this first stage of love, the patient is totally carefree and has the capacity to feel happy despite even the most profound motivations for despair. This is just with normal occupation of the patient’s thoughts. When they are occupied with the beloved, the patient is in a state of total euphoria, as if it were something tangible that one could wrap around oneself like a cocoon. Like a narcotic intoxication, it is a wonderful feeling, and the patient wants to feel nothing else. The patient’s psychological “happy place” becomes no specific place other than at the side of the beloved.
Thusly Smitten, the patient feels at all times the driving obsessive compulsion to think of the beloved more and more frequently until the beloved occupies every waking (and probably sleeping) second of the patient’s thoughts. This is the beginning of the second stage, the Addiction. Feeling absolutely euphoric all the time is finally recognized as abnormal by the nervous and immune systems, and the brain-mind complex realizes that the fantasy is insufficient and must be made real. The euphoria is replaced by a thirsty, insatiable, heart-shattering, pull-your-hair-out, cry-yourself-to-sleep longing, an unfathomable longing simply to be with the beloved. The patient only feels complete when the beloved is within sight, though the euphoria is still felt at these times. At all other times, though, the patient wishes against all possibility to feel anything so happy as severe mind-crushing depression. The Addiction is just like any normal addiction, only sufficiently stronger as to merit capitalization.
After the Addiction sets in, the virus’s work is essentially done*, and anything following is largely under the jurisdictions of the mind of the patient and the mind of the beloved. The outcome everyone hopes for is the “happily ever after” [expletive deleted], but this hardly ever happens. The far more common ending is for the Addiction to deteriorate into emotional self-destruction. The patient’s actions become increasingly irrational as the desperation of the Addiction spirals deeper into the Abyss. (You know what Abyss I’m talking about.) At the end of it all, the patient reaches the stage of acting like a complete abject fool and feeling nothing but depression all the time. The depression is forceful enough to render the patient completely apathetic. Part of the patient dies when love fails. The course of the disease is run, and the patient deals in his/her normal way with ordinary depression. There is a period of grieving followed by return to the ground state of emotional nonbeing.
This is the process of the disease. This is the melancholy process that Corporate America exploits every February, making a killing on stupid greeting cards, morbid flowers standing in some strange limbo between normal life and death, overpriced jewelry, and a mixture of paraffin, sucrose, and tile grout that they somehow manage to pass off as chocolate.
The real pestilence afflicting us is not the viral infection of love, but the cultural tumor that exploits it.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
__________________________
* Apparent because the patient is concentrating, but only upon his/her beloved.
** This could possibly imply that all people inherently start out bisexual, but this is of no import to this essay.
It only happens to a patient who happens to be in a state of total emotional nonbeing. The virus enters the body, probably through the nose and the olfactory bulb, and works its way through the entire nervous system. The incubation period is totally unlike the unaffected state in every way: Instead of feeling nothing, the patient actually feels everything all at once. This strange, unsettling time, unlike most pathogenic incubation periods, which last a specific amount of time, lasts until some association is made by the patient’s subconscious mind between some form of incredibly deep psychological security and a person.**
After this happens and the associated synaptic chemicals are released, the antigens produced by the virus begin the Smiting. The antigens actually inhibit the uptake of the very endorphins that initiated the process. Due to the psychological association that ended the incubation period, the levels of the endorphins are increased every time the patient thinks of the beloved. During this first stage of love, the patient is totally carefree and has the capacity to feel happy despite even the most profound motivations for despair. This is just with normal occupation of the patient’s thoughts. When they are occupied with the beloved, the patient is in a state of total euphoria, as if it were something tangible that one could wrap around oneself like a cocoon. Like a narcotic intoxication, it is a wonderful feeling, and the patient wants to feel nothing else. The patient’s psychological “happy place” becomes no specific place other than at the side of the beloved.
Thusly Smitten, the patient feels at all times the driving obsessive compulsion to think of the beloved more and more frequently until the beloved occupies every waking (and probably sleeping) second of the patient’s thoughts. This is the beginning of the second stage, the Addiction. Feeling absolutely euphoric all the time is finally recognized as abnormal by the nervous and immune systems, and the brain-mind complex realizes that the fantasy is insufficient and must be made real. The euphoria is replaced by a thirsty, insatiable, heart-shattering, pull-your-hair-out, cry-yourself-to-sleep longing, an unfathomable longing simply to be with the beloved. The patient only feels complete when the beloved is within sight, though the euphoria is still felt at these times. At all other times, though, the patient wishes against all possibility to feel anything so happy as severe mind-crushing depression. The Addiction is just like any normal addiction, only sufficiently stronger as to merit capitalization.
After the Addiction sets in, the virus’s work is essentially done*, and anything following is largely under the jurisdictions of the mind of the patient and the mind of the beloved. The outcome everyone hopes for is the “happily ever after” [expletive deleted], but this hardly ever happens. The far more common ending is for the Addiction to deteriorate into emotional self-destruction. The patient’s actions become increasingly irrational as the desperation of the Addiction spirals deeper into the Abyss. (You know what Abyss I’m talking about.) At the end of it all, the patient reaches the stage of acting like a complete abject fool and feeling nothing but depression all the time. The depression is forceful enough to render the patient completely apathetic. Part of the patient dies when love fails. The course of the disease is run, and the patient deals in his/her normal way with ordinary depression. There is a period of grieving followed by return to the ground state of emotional nonbeing.
This is the process of the disease. This is the melancholy process that Corporate America exploits every February, making a killing on stupid greeting cards, morbid flowers standing in some strange limbo between normal life and death, overpriced jewelry, and a mixture of paraffin, sucrose, and tile grout that they somehow manage to pass off as chocolate.
The real pestilence afflicting us is not the viral infection of love, but the cultural tumor that exploits it.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
__________________________
* Apparent because the patient is concentrating, but only upon his/her beloved.
** This could possibly imply that all people inherently start out bisexual, but this is of no import to this essay.
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