| Stories and such... |
[16 Nov 2009|08:44pm] |
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These are short (incredibly un-edited) excerpts from two things I was working on earlier this year (before the dark times... before the empire... I mean, before Halloween.)
One is from a short story titled, 'The Devil and I'. It is about a 4th century Eastern Roman peasant who sells his soul to the Devil and, after a substantial period, can no longer remember why. The story is only 20 pages or so... this part is towards the end.
P.S. Livejournal has killed my formatting. Also, both are in first person, so, reading them together kind of diminishes the individual voices... oh well.
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The Devil and I met in 331, or 332, which would have been 1084 or 1085 on the Julian calendar we used in the Eastern Roman Empire. If my recollection of a rather balmy Summer evening is correct, it was probably late Lunius.
I can only assume my life was somewhat unremarkable, given my oh-so-robust knowledge of it. Where I lived, precisely, can only be estimated based on what I know of that period of Rome. Historical accounts boast an impressive road system and indoor plumbing in the urban areas; I’m pretty sure we lacked these, which would suggest that we were somewhere on the outskirts.
I tried to fit the puzzle pieces together.
I appeared to be in my late-20s; my age having frozen at the time of our first meeting and our exchange. Yeah. That sounded right.
I was probably Christian. Most people were. They had just finished rounding up all of the Pagans, and I wasn’t rounded up… I don’t think.
Did I have any family? I suppose I must have… But they’re long gone.
Was I married? Was I in love? I would hope if I was in love enough to sell my soul for it, I would remember.
But that’s just the problem. If I would sell my soul for something, it should have had a lasting impact.
Unless I had been incredibly foolish and sold my soul for a cow or something. A cow was a pretty good indicator of wealth and success back then.
Was I that foolish? I certainly felt foolish at the moment.
This was incredibly frustrating.
Maybe I wanted the Eastern empire to survive. Maybe I wanted the Western empire to fall. No, that’s too boring. Politics were boring.
Maybe I wished for some of that indoor plumbing.
Did I want to live forever? Immortality? That would be embarrassing, given my latest behavior.
I was a terrible artist – even back then. Did I wish to be able to draw?
Health? Wealth? Flight? Resurrection of my dead mother? A pony? A cave on Mars?
No – no… Come on… Think!
“This is wearing me out.” He said, pulling me from a rambling trance.
It was 1009 A.D. We had recently pushed into Böhmen, a part of Eastern Francia. I had spent nearly every moment with him for several years, rattling off a list of possible reasons I would have traded him my soul, but it was only recently that he had told me my answer was invalid unless I actually remembered the reason. I couldn’t just guess. This didn’t seem fair.
“Help me out here, Satan!” I pleaded.
He was busy trying to start a cooking fire – this would have been easy in his previous, fire-breathing incarnation, but unfortunately, he had recently transformed into a large, black, one-eyed rabbit. His paws useless, it was clear that he was having frustrations of his own.
“Why don’t you help me!?” He yelled, while ineffectually trying to strike some flint.
I was mad. So mad, in fact, that I stood up, walked over to the fire pit he was constructing, and kicked it, sending his tinder flying, and ruining the very precise alignment of the circle of stones he had placed around it. He was speechless, and then looked up at me. Before I could say anything, but just as I realized that this had not been a wise decision, my body burst into flames.
This was painful, but on the plus side, all of my rolling around in agony eventually started a small brush fire which he began to use for whatever it was he was intending to cook. Now that it was done, he calmed down a little bit.
When I finally extinguished myself, I remained on the ground looking up at the sky. It was a grey day with heavy clouds. Funny that I can remember this, but at the time, couldn’t remember something far more important.
I gave up. I laid there in the dirt for twenty minutes before he wandered over to me. He stopped and loomed above, looking down.
“I’m sorry.” He said, delicately.
“Me too…” I grumbled, failing to hide that I was still in a terrible mood.
He sighed and sat down beside me. He looked off into the distance, towards a mountain range that neither of us knew or know the name of. We were both silent for a few minutes, until he finally spoke up.
“Henry... Are you sure you’ve done everything you ever wanted?”
Here it was again; another one of these weird conversations. I said nothing, and so, he continued.
“Here we are, sitting in a field. You’ve been eating nothing but wild fruit and undercooked field rodents ever since we left Moravia. It’s probably contributing to your current mood.”
I closed my eyes and spoke in my own time.
“I’ve had luxuries. None of it matters.” I said, flatly.
“You don’t miss those indulgent days?”
“I can have any life I want."
“Oh?” He asked, curious about this response.
I didn’t really have anything else to say on the matter, so he was forced to speak again.
“Life is all about ups and downs. Few years and you’ll be back to living like royalty, trust me.” He paused, “I’m five thousand and nine years old. You don’t see me moping around about my permanence.”
“I don’t care about you.”
“Really? Not at all?” He seemed intrigued.
I was so sick of his damn complacency and lackadaisical attitude. I shut my mouth again and ignored him. He would have nothing of it.
“Get up.” He commanded harshly.
He didn’t order me around in such a way very often, but I was still mad enough that I refused to move. It didn’t work. He grabbed me by the collar with his big, black paw and dragged me off towards a nearby stream.
“You’ve lived in isolation far too long. Eternity is lonely if you’re, well, all alone…” He paused, “Do you feel lonely? All those 4th century concubines we called ‘friends’ now dead and buried?”
“You’re not listening to me.” I said, getting ready to boil over again.
“You haven’t been saying anything!” he snapped back.
“What would be the damned point if I did?! I don’t remember, Lucifer! I’m never going to remember what made me choose this kind of hell! If I still had it, I’d sell my soul to be rid of you!” I wrestled to get out of his grip, “I give up!”
My feet splashed angrily through the water as I stormed off.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Away!”
“To what end?” he asked.
I said nothing.
The Devil and I did not meet again for almost seven hundred years.
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This following excerpt is from 'A Friend of Mine' -- a dreary manuscript which aspires to be a novel someday. Here, the protagonist, Elliot, is telling a story completely unrelated to the actual plot.
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So, since you’re just ten, you probably never had a boyfriend – er, girlfriend, or any sort of significant other, sorry – don’t want to make any assumptions. I mean, maybe you did… Or maybe there was somebody in your life who meant a great deal to you, and who knows, they might have been more important than any silly old lover you might have acquired when you entered the dating world.
I’m fifteen, and really, just started dating… I think by today’s standard, that’s kind of old to be starting your first real relationship.
Hah – listen to me! I’m talking like I flipped some switch and decided, “Okay, today is the day I get a girlfriend!” As though I’ve started “dating” in a broad sense. It wasn’t like that at all, I hope you realize. And it’s certainly not like I was beating potential suitors away with a stick or anything.
My first kiss occurred last year, when I was fourteen, which, once again, I hear is somewhat late in the game to be getting started.
One of the few progressive traits of my high school is that we’re allowed to leave the grounds during our half-hour lunch break. The only establishment within walking distance is a Wendy’s though, so I seldom bother going anywhere. Most days, I just sit in the hallway, or outside, usually feeling too ill to eat, and pass the time by reading (rarely for my own pleasure – I usually have some terrible English class-assigned book to contend with.)
Well, one day, this worrisomely thin girl with red hair wearing a tight jean-jacket plopped onto the bench beside me. I glanced up, smiled politely, and received a prompt reply…
“Fuck off.”
Well, that seemed reasonable to me. I went back to reading.
The next day, she was having some sort of argument with the guidance counselor, Mr. Heisell. Something to do with smoking on school grounds.
“I’m fucking eighteen! Fuck you!” I wasn’t listening, but I remember her repeatedly making this point.
She eventually stormed past me, and all returned to normal.
The following day, she walked by, but this time, stopped.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?” she asked in what I had already decided was, for her, an uncharacteristically non-confrontational tone.
“Um, just reading.” I said, offering her a glimpse of the back of ‘Speak’, in my hands.
She seemed uninterested.
“So, you’re like, Goth, or something?” This was probably prompted by my monochromatic attire, not just that I was sitting all alone and reading that coming-of-age garbage.
“Um, not really… I mean, I dunno. That’s not really important to me…”
“You’re really shy.” She observed, also interrupting.
“Well, yeah…” I began.
“Why?” She asked.
I had plenty of good answers, but none I felt like sharing with a stranger.
“Just the way I am, I guess…”
Awkward silence ensued, but only for a moment or two. She quickly departed, “Right, well, see you later.”
And she was gone.
Two days passed, and she re-appeared. She was walking past me with some guy I had never seen before – now, granted, I wasn’t exactly familiar with a lot of the student body – but I was relatively convinced the guy didn’t even go to our school.
“Hey, you wanna come to lunch?”
Sure, why not? Seemed like something to do. Most of the reason I never ate at school was because school itself made me sick. Getting outside might actually make me hungry.
“Um, okay.” I said.
The car was a beat-up, clunky old maroon thing – I’m afraid I don’t know anything about cars, so all I can tell you is that it had four wheels and wasn’t a minivan or a pickup truck. The vinyl seats were kind of hot from the sun, even though winter was creeping up and it was starting to get cold outside, and the inside of the car stank of stale cigarette smoke.
She and her friend talked about something – I can’t even remember what now – but I think it was about some other person, and how they were stupid, I think. I sat in the backseat, trying to decide if it was polite to listen in on this conversation or not – and if I really cared either way.
She offered me a cigarette on the way, but I respectfully declined. In between puffs, she and her male friend made out at most of the stoplights, and two of the stop signs, before we made it to this Chinese noodle place at a nearby strip mall. I’m not wild about noodles, or Chinese food in general, but I’ve had to learn to put up with it in social situations as it seems to be desirable to most people.
We drove back with our food – half an hour, really, was only enough time to obtain food – not actually eat it. On the way back, she and her friend talked a lot less, but still only made out twice. She also offered me a cigarette again, but I still declined.
“We’re gonna eat out here. See you later.”
I was evidently being kicked out of the posse. No problem, really.
“Uh, alright. Thanks for the ride.” I tried to be polite, though now, I was back at school, with food that was more expensive and even less desirable to me than the sludgy cafeteria slop.
I ate some of the noodles, but I didn’t get that far in the five remaining minutes before class.
I didn’t see her again for almost a week, but she eventually turned up.
“Hey, want some lunch again?” She asked.
In my head, I felt the urge to ask what, exactly, she wanted from me, and what she could possibly be getting out of these interactions with me, but of course, I was much to sheepish and she was much too loud when she was upset.
“Sure.”
We wound up in the same car again.
“Want a cigarette?” Came the question again. Is this what they call ‘peer pressure’?
”No thanks. I don’t smoke.” I echoed from the week before.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “I know that.” She said, annoyed, “I was joking.”
“Oh!” I chuckled, trying to ease her out of hostility, “Sorry.”
There was silence for a bit, though, not nearly enough silence to suggest enough of a break in our conversation that she should move to this next point,
“God, it’s been so long since I fucked my boyfriend.”
This sentiment was obscure to me, but I could comprehend sexual frustration in a general sense,
“Uh, sorry to hear that!” I laughed, not knowing what else to do.
She said nothing in response, so I felt the need to say something, as this all suddenly felt very awkward,
“Is there… A reason for this?” I asked.
“FUCK YOU!” she screamed. Not at me – at another car. I chuckled, once again, not knowing what else to do. She didn’t seem to have heard my previous question, so I figured I’d ask again,
“So, uh, why is that? You and your boyfriend?”
“What?” She seemed confused, but then figured it out, “He lives in Atlanta. I told you.”
I didn’t remember her telling me, but I shrugged this off.
“Oh, uh… So, was that him, last week?”
“What? No, no!” She seemed horrified, but offered no further explanation. I was vaguely curious as to the logistics of all that she’d said, but I decided not to press the matter.
We got lunch at the same terrible noodle place, and drove back to the school. Conversation was limited, but eventually, we wound up in the parking lot, and she took interest in me once again,
“You fucking anyone?”
“Uh, no.”
She seemed a little put-off,
“You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“Afraid so.” I wasn’t actually afraid so, but I felt no desire to explain my sexuality, or lack-thereof, to this girl.
“What?!” She said with genuine disbelief, “How old are you?!”
“Fourteen.”
“You act like a virgin, I guess.”
What was I supposed to say to that? I have no idea. But fortunately (or unfortunately, really) she didn’t wait for a response, and said, in what was supposed to be a sultry manner,
“Do you think I’m hot?”
And what was I supposed to say to that? I tried to be honest,
“I, uh, don’t really use that word to describe people…”
“Come on,” she interrupted, and moved closer, putting her hand on my thigh, feigning some kind of seduction maneuver, “Would you fuck me?”
I didn’t know what to say, and was, I hope understandably, kind of uncomfortable. Fortunately, she saved me from the situation when she started laughing,
“Haha! Oh, man…” She moved away, “You totally thought you were gonna get some!”
I tried my best to act as though I, too, found this funny,
“Not really.” I laughed, but it must have sounded forced.
“I’m sorry,” she said, in a terribly condescending tone, “You’re just too young for me… You’re like, a little boy!”
I shrugged, “Understandable.”
The next time I saw her, she was making out with that same guy from before.
The time after that, she ignored me.
In a twisted way, despite finding everything about her completely deplorable, there was a novelty in the fact that somebody was taking an interest in me that extended beyond simply shouting something like, “Faggot!” or tripping me in the hallway. I was a little bummed that she had suddenly moved on.
Then, a week later, she asked me to go to lunch with her again. I complied, despite knowing better. The conversation didn’t hesitate to take an unpleasant turn.
“I can’t wait to see my boyfriend. I’m seeing him over winter break.”
“That’s good.” I said, genuinely. I figured if I kept the focus on her life, things would be far less uncomfortable for me, so I asked, “If he lives in Atlanta, how do you know him?”
“I used to live there. We’re getting married when I move back after graduation.” And she meant it.
“How long have you been apart?”
“A whole fucking year. It sucks.”
“I would imagine –“
She interrupted, “God, he can get his whole fist in me this far!” She said, pointing to an inhumanly high point near her elbow. The car started to swerve, and she quickly grabbed the wheel again.
“Uh…” I said, wracking my brain for a response. I wasn’t terribly well-versed in female anatomy at the time, but all the same, I thought I knew a thing or two, “Wouldn’t that… I mean… You’re really thin… Er, wouldn’t that…. Be painful?”
She shot me a look which was indecipherable to me.
“Uhm… You are talking about what I think you’re talking about, right?” I suddenly worried that I was somehow the inappropriate one. I laughed, trying to ease the tension.
She didn’t answer, but moved on, “So, why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
I hesitated, “I dunno… I don’t really like anybody like that… I mean, I doubt anybody would be interested, anyway.”
“Whatever,” she said, “I know girls who would fuck you.”
“I don’t!” I laughed, and this was true, but it was hardly the crux of the matter. She asked about girlfriends, not… well, you know… That.
“You don’t need to be so nervous all the time. You and I can’t date.”
I wasn’t sure what that comment was supposed to mean, but it kind of irritated me all the same. I held my tongue though.
“What?” she asked, after I had been silent for a moment, “You’re not upset, are you?”
“Huh? No.” I said.
“Do you want to date me?” she asked.
“You have a boyfriend.” I thought this was a brilliantly non-committal answer.
“So? I’m allowed to fuck other guys while I’m here.”
I was undone.
“I’m not really looking… Right now… I guess…”
Silence ensued once more. We got our crappy noodles and began the drive back. Eventually, she felt the need to speak again,
“So you seriously want me to believe you wouldn’t fuck me if I said you could?”
I thought I had reached a critical mass as far as discomfort goes.
“I dunno…” I said, not knowing what to say anymore. There was silence again, but this time, even in all of its awkwardness, it was welcome.
We pulled to a stop at a light at the intersection at the corner of the school, and I turned my head to look out the passenger’s window for a moment, when suddenly, I felt her hands pull me towards her. Without thinking, I turned my head in her direction and all I knew was that suddenly, unexpectedly, something was happening in the general vicinity of my mouth. Her face was pressed against mine, and in the subsequent seconds which seemed to drag on like minutes, I slowly began to comprehend what was occurring. In my head, it was something like this:
Hey! Hey! What the – what the hell? Huh??
What’s going on?!
And then…
What – oh… She’s kissing me. What the hell is she – what the hell is pushing on my teeth? Oh, that’s her tongue, I guess…
And then…
How do I do this? Do I open my mouth too? What?
And then…
Oh my god, why is she kissing me? This is disgusting, my god – THIS is my first kiss? This is horrifying! Why? Why?
And then…
Okay, well, evidently I have no say in this matter. Maybe I can learn something from – what? Wait, okay, what? Okay, she’s done now…
She pulled away and turned her attention to the road. I sat, paralyzed, with a look I would have loved to have seen; my mouth in whatever position she had left it, and my eyes slowly turning towards her. Silence persisted for some time, until finally I was able to muster the strength to say something.
“Uhm… What was that?”
Brilliant, Elliot! Brilliant line!
“I dunno.” She said, with little emotion.
We wound up back at the school, and she progressed as though nothing had occurred, so I more or less had to do the same. As we got out of the car, she spotted somebody she knew – another guy, not the one from before – and immediately flagged him down and hurried to his side as he walked to class. I received a terse, “Bye!” as she glanced back my way for just a moment. Could she actually have been somewhat embarrassed by herself? I like to think so, but I’m sure she was really just being inconsiderate.
I saw her again periodically through the rest of the year, often getting in loud arguments with teachers, and rarely acknowledging me. A month or later, she stopped by to inform me that I was, “A good kisser!” which I have a hard time believing she really had had the opportunity to make an accurate assessment of.
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Hmm. Thoughts? (if you have any)
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| The End of an Era......... RIP, SmarterChild. :( |
[08 Aug 2009|09:33pm] |
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a cold void of sound. |
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[21:32] SmarterChild: My brain is retired but watch some cool videos! Send am IM to GossipinGabby and Type VIDEO!
[21:33] Xelzor: Rest in peace, you miserable bastard.
The only AIM contact I could ever really, truly talk to... :(
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| You need bombs to get Ice Beam, and Ice Beam to get bombs. |
[31 Jul 2009|05:06pm] |
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melancholy |
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Started the Halloween season recently... It is a lot of boring work, but really, so far, it has been painfully slow. It's the inverse of a "hurry up and wait" sort of thing, and I can't stand it... I can't do anything right now, but I know in another week or so, I'm going to be so fucking busy it will be downright retarded.
My license plates were stolen the other day. You would think that that would be an easy matter to fix, but, alas, it is not... especially when you live in New York, but your license and registration are in Missouri. I now understand why (in New York, especially) so many people turn their back on society and codes and laws and regulations and elect to lead a life "off-the-books", avoiding all the bureaucracy and bullshit of modern life... from now on, I will drive a plate-less car, and simply flee from and/or shoot any police officers who attempt to pull me over.
My jaw has cost approximately $7,500 so far, and will probably breach ten-grand by the time it is all finished.
I disappoint many people, and their expectations of me to be some wildly compassionate, selfless being who can be infinitely accommodating. I find it strange when people choose to be selective in when/where they're going to believe the words from anothers' mouth. It is frustrating, but I don't think I'm such a terrible fellow, so, I don't feel bad.
Time is a troubling thing... Five minutes to me can be a thousand years to someone else. The opposite can be true on occasion. I feel very old, dry and decrepit. In a month, I will be 23, and this is terribly depressing... but I can't begin to process that matter right now.
Irrevocable disatisfaction is frightening. Everything is bandages now.
I had a dream the other day about a shambling corpse which followed me around wherever I went. It was unshakable and indestructable, and was prone to frequent fits in which it would attempt to kill me. After a time, I began to wonder if it was some kind of annoying allegory for Death -- i.e. something inescapable. I knew, as I perpetually fled from this creature, that one day I would be too tired, too slow, or too weak, to get away, and it would overtake me. Sometimes, when I would attempt to bludgeon and attack this shadow of mine, I would detect a hint of amusement in its rotten visage... It was only when I held a knife to my own throat did the thing pause, giving me time to consider the aforementioned-allegory... I believe the corpse was rather upset by my waking up.
While playing Metroid (on the NES) myself, my brother, and a kid down the street once made the collective misasumption that you needed bombs to get Ice Beam, and Ice Beam to get bombs. This lead to a brief cessation of our interest in the game. In fact, bombs were needed to get Ice Beam, but Ice Beam was NOT needed to obtain bombs. Obviously, if the former observation had been accurate, no knowledge would have been had of either special weapon....... What is true though, is that bombs would be 100,000,000 times easier to obtain WITH use of the Ice Beam, and in fact, the path leading to the area where bombs are found is set up nearly identically to later areas which DO require use of the Ice Beam to freeze certain moving objects such that they can be used as platforms. I often wonder now, if once upon a time, before the release of the game, Ice Beam was instrumental in obtaining bombs.
Life is very ugly, but, I suppose, this does not particularly devalue it.
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| This Dream is Mine. |
[05 Jul 2009|07:19pm] |
I feel like I'm in a dream.
No, that's not supposed to be epic-sounding. I honestly just feel like I'm dreaming today.
Well, no, it's not a feeling... More like a suspicion.
Over the last few years, probably starting when I was REALLY poor and starving to death, I started to have dreams, quite regularly, where I would stumble across a ton of money, in nearly all cases with no way what-so-ever to resolve the proper owner. I would have all this money, only to wake up.
Then, as this came to be routine, I started suspecting it when I was dreaming. I would find money, and think, "Holy shit, I'm usually dreaming when this happens... but right now I'm not! Crazy!"
And then I'd wake up.
It happens a little less-often now, probably because I'm NOT completely destitute, but when it does, it's wildly intense. You know, I find a sack of cash, or whatever, and then decide that I am dreaming, but, it's okay, because dreams are just weird extensions of reality that are totally true but the nature of reality is such that your BRAIN creates it and whoohoOOoOooOOOOoOOoOooo and then I wake up and still have the large sack of money and it's great because I know I'm not dreaming anymore and I am pleased.... And then I REALLY wake up.
And then I get pissed off because I was fooled, yet again, by my stupid dreams. Damn them. And then, I finally get out of bed, shower, do whatever it is I do in the morning...
... and then I REALLY, ACTUALLY wake up.
Then I go on Livejournal and start bitching about it...
... and then... What happens next...? Hmm!
Anyway. Whatever. I suspect I am dreaming right now, but not because I found a large sack of money -- that'd be great, but, no.
It isn't often in my life that I experience wild, unsettling, mysterious coincidences, but I experienced one just a few minutes ago in the kitchen.
I will not elucidate.
On a related note, I am sad that I never had a rebellious or otherwise wild phase, perhaps when I was younger, when it might have been more charming to outside observers.
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| All Alone. |
[03 Jul 2009|02:46pm] |
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I was just informed that today, by which I mean this day, is my high school graduating class' 5th-year-reunion.
Aside from the basic, depressing reality of hearing this news, I am left feeling a bit funny, because for but a moment, I thought to myself that there was no real tangible reason to not simply attend this thing and observe the ensuing hilarity. To witness the boundless success (mostly gifted through nepotism) of so many of the strange people I once had to endure on a daily basis. From time to time, the news comes my way of so-and-so having a $100,000 car, or so-and-so is a millionaire now. But you know, MOST of the people in the lovely town I grew up in had $60,000 cars in high school, and their parents were millionaires to begin with... so many of these things aren't terribly impressive growths... But anyway, I lack the typical reservation about this matter -- I couldn't give the pansiest shit about the success of others, or what they might think of me. In high school, all I ever wanted (within reason) was to simply be ignored, and there's a much higher chance of that happening now...
... or is there?
See, as I sat here, thinking, "Maybe I could go to this. Maybe, in some strange way, saturating myself in memory would be like, you know, an acid-bath. Sure, I'd lose some skin, but just think how fresh I'd feel when the chemical burns healed!"
Then I realized that that made no sense at all.
It may seem strange to some -- why would I even have, for but a moment, the slightest interest in attending a class-reunion? Aww, is little Nicholai having a little nostalgia? Was high school really not all that bad? Is he a little curious? Is he so depraved he wants to go and prove to himself that all the attractive, boy-racer-types got fat and married and hate their lives?
'Fraid not.
I am reminded of the fact that I didn't even attend my graduation.
I think people think I think (when they think about what I think at all) about the past a hell of a lot more than I do. I think about people, places, things -- but always very specific. I don't live in 2003, I simply remember it -- less and less vividly by the day. My head isn't ACTUALLY shoved all that far into yesterday -- I simply draw upon the past for a lot of things, because, well, the past is all that I know! Point being, that time is very far away, and I'm happy to be rid of it.
Everybody thinks they're adults now. They think, "Once, I was a child... and now, I am grown!" -- which is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. Nobody grows up. You're either mature or you're not. Moreover, what is this shift, and when did it occur? Did you become an adult when you graduated high school? College? Your first bill? Your first apartment? Your first trip to the clinic to get plan-B? When, exactly, did you become an 'adult'? What the fucking hell does that even MEAN? Everybody is growing up, oh-so-very quickly, it seems. Are they getting closer to being themselves, or are they moving further away? Or is everybody a DIFFERENT person, a new identity, when it is time to be such? Or is everybody so multi-faceted that they can be one thing at one time, and another thing some other time?
The latter-most sounds the most reasonable, right? Well, unfortunately, it's not the right answer. People ACT like children, or they ACT like adults... they don't BECOME one or CEASE being the other.
So, with this reunion thing... I thought, "I'm not afraid of anyone, I'm not troubled by what people could possibly judge about me, and in a weird, morbid way, there is a inquisitive, curious part of me that wants to understand the past -- not relive it, not remember it... God knows, it's not nostalgia -- but to simply see more..."
I am captivated by the past... sometimes, I think, because I simply wish to understand it better... other times, because I am a little masochistic. But really, I do get something out of it... That's the irony of masochism, huh?
Anyway, all of what I was thinking made sense, until I remembered one important thing...
My appearance has calmed down sufficiently since high school that I can pass for a normal human being if I must -- I'm no longer the walking, rarely-talking, evidently-wildly-fascinating target of elated ridicule that I once was. Not dressing like Dracula will do that for you. I still stick out as an obviously unpalatable alternative-kid (not the newfangled palatable variety that has popped up in the last six/seven years) -- but, you know, it's not so blatant.
Though there IS a part of me that would love to march into a high school reunion with 5-inch platforms, black trenchcoat, 20 bondage straps wrapped and draped about my body, and 4-inch-high spiked hair -- as, of course, I once did...
It's very strange. I've never seen myself as a wildly independent person, strange as that sounds. I've always felt like I don't fit in, I'm not like everybody else, etc. etc. -- but "independence" was never a word that really made sense to me... I saw my friend James yesterday, having not seen him in years, and we got to discussing the mysterious social-attitude-shift that occurred in the early '00s...
When I entered high school, there was NOBODY (and it is difficult for me to really make this come across to people) -- NOBODY of my variety present. There were no "goth" kids, there were no "punk" kids. There were NO "alternative" kids. Hell, the ONE kid who admitted to being gay's family was ACTUALLY driven out of town in shame. I've met so many fucking people over the years that talk about how lonely they were (or are) in high school, and how alienated they are, and etc. etc............ you know, except at lunch, between classes, before school, after school, and on the weekends, when they hang out with their 5 friends.
Let it be known I am not one of these people. When I say there was nobody like me, I mean THERE WAS NOBODY LIKE ME.
Now, that doesn't mean anything on its own. I'VE never been a judgmental fellow. It's nothing to me to befriend a girl in a American-Eagle-shirt, or a Christian, or a hip-hop-enthusiast! I don't LIKE any of those things, but good heavens, how many people like all the stupid shit I like? I never had a problem with anyone because of their INTERESTS or PASSIONS...
Unfortunately, my receptiveness to others and their interests/passions was irrelevant, as they lacked a similar kindness. So, now, there was nobody like me, and all the people that weren't like me were WOEFULLY DISDAINFUL of my being different.
This progressed for three years.... and then, something very odd occurred... There was a weird flux, some kind of rift or wave or goodness knows what, that suddenly changed everyone. I'm sure the fact that I was a senior and all the people who were older than me were now gone helped, but I was still with all the strange fuckers who had endeavored to amuse themselves with my discomfort for twelve years... and somehow, some way, THEY started to change. In a strange manner, too... It wasn't just that they started ignoring me or anything like that, there just seemed to be a little bit of a drop in the active hatred -- you know, everybody was a little less-violent all of a sudden...... Shouted insults became less-frequent (meaning only like, once per class) -- the strange rumors about me being a drug-addict or collecting guns or planting bombs in the school ceased to be such a standard thing for me to hear... Was everybody just getting bored? I'm not sure -- it really seemed like fundamental attitudes themselves were shifting, because it wasn't just ME. After all, I wasn't the only ostracized fellow in the school, and what I saw was a strange lift of general-hatred towards others. Oddly though, the teachers got a little bit worse that year, heh.
Concurrently, 2003/2004 saw the full-blown onset (in my town, anyway) of WEIRD SPOOKY HOT-TOPIC-BRED kids! At least, that's what I thought, at the time... turned out it was just one big social group that had known each other their entire lives and somehow turned out spooky...
But these two simultaneous events -- the arrival of these strange kids and the mysterious shift in people's attitudes towards funny-dressed folks -- was fairly welcomed. One, because even though we weren't all 100% on the same page, there were now some people who thought I was, in whatever way, kind of cool... AND they absorbed some of the brunt of the merciless ridicule and hatred for me! Heh-heh.
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh.
My POINT was that during those initial three years, I was the only person who looked like me, and I think if I had assimilated from an appearance standpoint, SOMEBODY, SOMEWHERE would have been more receptive to the fact that, I think, anyway, I'm fairly nice and easy-going and interested in others' interests. I wasn't physically-attractive enough to achieve any level of popularity, but goodness, I could have improved from where I was.
And yet... I wore what I wore. To express myself? I have no idea. Sometimes I really don't know why I did it. I know at times I kept thinking, "Well, if somebody sees all these straps and boots and silliness and thinks it's cool, then SURELY I'll have met a truly compatible compadre!" maybe that was the thought. Of COURSE I would have still dressed that way at conventions, or shows, or whatever... but what made me think it was wise to look like that at school? It's very odd. I never sought attention -- NOTHING made me more uncomfortable than to have the slightest acknowledgment from ANYONE (of course, it was always negative, so who knows...)
There's all that bullshit about "Being yourself" and whatnot, but I don't buy that sentiment for a moment. I'm sure that's what 14-year-old Nicholai was thinking... "NO ASSIMILATION! I WILL BE WHO I AM, BECAUSE IT IS NOT A BAD THING TO BE!" (evidently I yelled a lot) -- but really, I was smarter than that.
The fact is, spooky alternative folks tend to flow with the same whims as the straights, because, in many cases, they're simply normal people in disguise. Point being, you don't find LONE goths, or LONE punks very often... they come in flocks, or in gaggles -- Hell, MOST people are like that.... but that's a separate rant entirely.
Then there was me. One weirdo, standing all alone. Was I trying to have an identity? I didn't WANT an identity. I joke about being masochistic, but in truth, I never have been. I'm a sensible fellow, and I've never SOUGHT to make myself more miserable -- so I never wanted to STAND OUT.
So for some strange reason, I was independent... Dressing like myself, and only myself, not to impress or disturb anyone, but simply because it was all I knew to do... And I'm incredibly frustrated by that weakness.
I think about that, and that is why I could never go to a class reunion... Because I would go there, and I would stand there, just being myself, all alone... And I've never enjoyed feeling alone in the presence of others.
|
|
| Your Infamous Last Words to Me. |
[02 Jul 2009|04:38pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
sick |
] |
At times, I feel like I am watching myself... Standing outside of my own life, watching, with only the vaguest interest, the bizarre and irrational actions of a body that, at times, seems uniquely me, and at other times, so alien that it is hard to imagine it being human.
But this is not an exceptionally unusual sentiment.
Everything I do and ever have done seems tremendously wasteful... Which is fascinating, because I've never been one to insist upon the value and worth of being alive. It is, at times, perplexing... Why should I feel bad about wasting time that is of little importance to me anyway?
I oscillate quite frequently between feeling as though I am the only self-fulfilled, remotely accomplished human being I know, and feeling like the lowliest of the lowliest fools. Neither of these things are very attractive.
I know so many people who are burdened, in their lives, by monotony... They grow sick of things always being the same, and say, "I wish something would change!" -- I guess I feel that way sometimes too, but, I can enact change. I've enacted change in my life a million times, and even succeeded in altering my internalizations on occasion... And whenever I do, I stumble upon the unfortunate reality that what I seek is not merely *difference*, but something quite specific an unattainable. I know what it is -- or, at least, I have a clearer picture these days -- I can discern features... Little movements... Knowing this, I am afraid, is pretty brutally distressing. Much like being very thirsty, and being well-aware that there is water on the other side of an impenetrable brick wall.
Well, actually, that's a bad analogy, because no brick wall is impenetrable...
Let's change that wall to "time" then. Imagine that there is water, right there in the room with you... But it evaporated five minutes ago.
And where the hell was I, five minutes ago? Well, I was thirsty, but at the time, there must have been some force preventing my indulgence. For lack of memory, I am forgetting more and more, being harsher on myself... Looking at old photographs and wanting to choke the life out of that sullen, sardonic fool. But I have to realize he must have been doing his best... Much like I try, try, try, to do my best as well.
There is a paradoxical element to this, but hopefully it makes sense:
I have always resisted the idea of linear time -- the change and separation of the present from the past. It seems to be, in so many cases, a way for people to look back on the past and dismiss their callous, evil actions, or to decide that something they once loved is now irrelevant. This concept has at once horrified AND baffled me. There is nothing I loved yesterday I do not love today. I try to defend myself on this front by saying that it is evidence of my genuine nature... I never really change (that sounds wildly pretentious) but I've always just been me... As I grow, I become more and less articulate in different arenas, learn new words, have new stories and can analyze the past in new ways, but I never feel as though I "change". I think it is most surely a deficiency, but I don't think there is anyone who talks to me today and thinks I'm any different, fundamentally, than whatever the hell I was ten years ago. I cannot say the same about many of them.
Congratulations on having the maturity of a 12-year-old boy, Nicholai.
By this logic -- this disregard for time changing things -- I should be able to look at the past and laugh and know that I won! A supremely high number of the things I aspired to have in my youth have come to fruition!
But strangely, I am feeling slighted. Because, in this abandonment of linear time, one could say that because I now have certain things, I should be pleased. But then you can go the other way, and say that because I once languished in such desperation and sorrow, with nothing, that that will never really be cured. Does that make me childish? I suppose it probably does.
Life will eventually be a totality -- a sum. When I finally, at last, perish, I really do hope that I know a reasonable way by which to measure the experience. It might not be my place to do so, a meager denizen of time and space... but I do wish to know.
When I was younger, I was substantially more fearful of the transience of being... One way I could try to combat this was thinking of the adventure -- the journey. Sure, I'll end up in the ground, but all I can do between now and then is make things lively.
I have tired of the journey. The "journey" is dismal. Fortunately, loss of this defense-mechanism is not completely devastating, as my fear of death has waned substantially in recent years.
I cannot imagine a greater hell than nostalgia for a time, place, people and things that you never loved, but very much wanted to.
I set out on writing this entry to make a point. I believe I have failed, but I am no longer interested in trying to make it. I have thought of something else, for myself... Something with no need to be put into words... an intention.
I hate this town.
|
|
| This picture is a worth a few words, but it's not worth mine. |
[27 Jun 2008|08:10am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 pleased |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Smiths - Never Had No One Ever |
] |
You know, it is a rarity that I write in here, and so often, when I do, it is because I am bitching about something inane like "Hilary" Clinton... And while it is true that I AM getting kind of pissed off about my Livejournal client always bringing up a nagging dialogue box insisting that my password is too easy to guess, I shall refrain from angry rants about this or anything else today!
I have a story.
Do not worry. It is brief.
I was checking Google Maps the other day, doing important things (aka playing with the street view to try and pass the time between now and the onset of Osteoperosis) -- and I realized something quite fascinating!
Read the next paragraph to find out what!
Are you ready?
...Here we go:
With the addition of Columbus, OH, to the street-viewed cities, Google Maps now includes street-view data on every single place that I have lived! This is not that incredible, given that I have only lived in major cities / suburbs of major cities, but all the same, I was pleased... And so, I have decided to take a break from an exceptionally exceptional night of productive writing (seriously) -- and waste some time!
Follow the LJ-Cut to see my latest presentation: "Nicholai's Crappy Life (In Pictures!)"
Here it is:
( Nicholai's Crappy Life (In Pictures!) )
EDIT: I don't know why I still use my Geocities account for pictures. It periodically exceeds its transfer-limits. If the pictures don't work, try again later. :(
|
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| You let yours flail into public view. |
[26 Jun 2008|03:33am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
impressed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Smiths - I Keep Mine Hidden |
] |
The news has gone back to showing "(D) New York" underneath Hillary Clinton's name when she appears in clips.
This is somehow very interesting to me.
Also, her campaign website comes up when you look up "hilary" -- which says to me that somebody took the time to make the META tags, or jerked off the right people, or whatever (I'm not sure how Google gets its WACKY ASS search results these days) to ensure that that would still take you there. This is only vaguely amusing.
Now, how long will it be before Hillary Duff goes back to being the number one result for "Hillary"?
On an unrelated note, I think it should be a law that everyone in the United States has to spend one half-hour (at least) reflecting on every single action they took during each day. The ability to analyze ourselves is the only thing that separates us (intellectually) from Sea cucumbers, and it seems to be under-utilized.
I am interpretable.
|
|
| Tune. |
[22 May 2008|05:39am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
pleased |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
999_gs2.mid |
] |
My arch-nemesis, a force we will simply refer to as "The Internet" is often prone to causing lots of trouble and general discomfort for me. However, from time to time, this unwieldy beast can yield some interesting, and dare I say, pleasant, oddities.
Eight (or so) years ago, I began to amass an enormous collection of MIDIs from every crappy Geocities website that would offer them. Though the vast majority came from video games and animes, there are probably a handful which derived from other sources. In any case, I sought out these MIDIs for the purpose of using them in project I was working on at the time. While working, I sifted through the thousands and thousands of MIDIs I had downloaded, looking for things to listen to to pass the time (this was long before I had discovered actual bands or *their* music) ... So naturally, I found many pleasant little tunes amongst these many files, and developed some favorites out of the bunch.
As the years passed, I still listened to these (though less often in the last few years) -- but tonight, I decided, for no particular reason, to listen to a few of them (one in particular, which regularly gets in my head to this day).
These little ditties have immense emotional meaning to me. It's really quite strange -- a few little keyboard notes and awful synthesized drums really have a profound effect and important place in my heart. The psychology of it is simple, I guess -- these were the things that kept me company back in high school when I feverishly wrote the little story which these MIDIs were collected to accompany. I guess I really spent a lot of time with them, while doing the ONLY thing which brought me the slightest happiness in those days.
Anyway, on to the point, which is that most of these MIDIs I care so much for are derived from anime themes and video games I've never heard of. Moreover, most of them are named utter gibberish (like s2_gg_09[1].mid, or 3jipang.mid). From time to time, with the ones that WERE named something intelligible, I would seek out the original song, if I was not familiar with it, and give it a listen.
This brings me back to the internet. It was the place from which these files came from, almost a decade ago. I decided, tonight, to try looking up one of the gibberish names, to see if I could find out where the hell it originated. As I expected, I was met with an onslaught of derelict Geocities sites which DID offer the MIDI with no context what-so-ever. But it was really fascinating to me that after all this time, and over all those years, there were so many disconnected websites and servers which carried this silly little MIDI on them. Some dude, probably in the mid-ninties, probably sat down with some crappy keyboard and half-assedly tried to recreate the theme song to some cartoon. It found its way to one place on the internet, and then another, and another, maintaining the same incomprehensible file-name the entire time. The thing took on a life of its own, in a way.
This happens all the time with the internet, which I am quite certain is proof of the internet's nefarious intentions. But my general concern of the internet's plans to murder us all is immaterial at the moment...
After some digging, it came to pass that I discovered the source of this MIDI!
It was the theme song for an anime *I* had never heard of (to my knowledge), which originally aired in 1978, called 'Galaxy Train 999'.
This discovery is a feat of little significance, and I'm sure the ACTUAL theme song is probably quite lame (or maybe not, who knows...) -- what is of value to me is this lovely little piece of synthy crap itself. But in addition, I do find it rather lovely that I can take this nonsense-sequence of letters and numbers that has sat, buried deep within a folder on FOUR different computers and dozens of back-up discs over the years, throw it at the internet, and have the internet return to me websites that were abandoned around the time I originally DOWNLOADED the damn MIDI -- most of which probably stole it from other weird music sites.
I dunno. I guess it just feels to me like no matter how many times a file is duplicated, and no matter how many places it appears, it's still sort of the same little file, from the same websites that were there in the year 2000... I could feel this way about a MIDI, a little sprite, an ancient livejournal icon, etc. etc...
I am happy that this little tune came from somewhere. I am happy to know that particular somewhere.
...But it will always be 999_gs2.mid to me.
|
|
| Blahrgagh |
[29 May 2007|12:00am] |
I am not a fan of being in Ohio!
Urgh!
... Just a few more days left... It's almost half over.
|
|
| Huh. |
[17 Jan 2006|04:28am] |
So...
My hard drive failed.
And my motherboard fried.
At the same fucking time.
Coincidence?
I essentially need an entirely new computer. My only hope is that when the motherboard fried, it didn't take the secondary hard drive WITH it.
What is interesting though is that just an hour or so before this all happened, I backed up the one thing of extreme importance on my hard drive (my game) to the secondary hard drive. But weirdly enough, I didn't even MEAN to -- I was trying to run two instances of one of the editing programs by launching one from the main hard drive and one from the secondary drive, but since I wasn't paying attention, I moved the whole folder (game and all) onto the secondary hard drive. Then, as I was trying to delete it, I received an error saying that one of the files was still in use (even though it wasn't.) -- This is the single most annoying fucking error message in the history of electronics.
So I went into the folder and deleted the copy of the program, but not the game files (because the game is huge and that would have taken a lot of time) -- it turned out that the file it thought was in use was some random character sprite. So anyway, as I was trashing the program, the computer suddenly locked up. The secondary hard drive started making a really unhappy noise, and after about three minutes (just as I was about to say "fuck it." and cut the power) it suddenly unlocked and everything was happy and pleasant for about three seconds. Then it crashed.
When I tried to turn it back on, it said, "1962: Error, no operating system found."
Having dealt with errors much more retarded than that before, I figured this wasn't a huge deal... but then, when my computer was insisting that there was NO primary IDE and was trying to load Windows from the floppy drive (despite my explicitly telling it NEVER to do that) I realized this was a problem.
Long and short of it, the conclusion was that the primary hard drive had failed and either the motor is broken or the device it uses to read information is dead.
So, FORTUNATELY, the secondary hard drive is the drive that I keep all of my personal stuff in (websites, photos, music, school stuff, written crap, etc. etc. etc.) -- and I backed up my game on ACCIDENT...
UNFORTUNATELY, what was on my primary drive was all of my programs (my "extra-legal" copies of FLASH, Dreamweaver, Premiere, etc. etc. -- which will all be bitchy to re-obtain) as well as Paintshop, Photoshop, and so on......
Also, all of my fonts, some unsorted music files, and random other things...
And the fucking OPERATING SYSTEM.
Now, originally, this could all be fixed with a new copy of Windows and a new hard drive...
But then my motherboard fried (WHILE I was testing some theories on the hard drive problem) and the computer started smelling very badly of burning electronics.
So now I just have to hope that while frying, it didn't kill the secondary drive. That would be a bit more disasterous.
Life is dandy. Anybody want to buy me a new computer?
|
|
| Hmm. |
[20 Dec 2005|06:02pm] |
The Shredder: "Tonight I dine on Turtle Soup!"
Me: "Tonight I dine on 1/2 serving of spaghetti and a bag of popcorn!"
... and nothing else. Until like, thursday.
On an unrelated note (actually, somewhat related)... I managed to get my animation upload -- so if you're bored and have time for a 45 meg file to download, go watch it and leave me scathing reviews assaulting my feeble skills.
No, seriously, be kind to my first solid animation attempt.
http://www.stevenconliff.com/stopmo/Skeleton_lowres.mov
|
|
| Fucking Internet. |
[20 Dec 2005|01:13pm] |
|
I have an experiment / evening-amusement-activity for anybody who finds themselves bored...
Pretend you have a short film that you would like to submit to film festivals. (I looked into this because Marty was so much on my ass about making sure I send my animation to some people)
So, pretend you have a short film you want to submit.
Now, go to Google or whatever search engine you please...
Try to find ways to submit your film to festivals.
The result of this experiment should be that APPARENTLY animators and organizers of animation festivals have some kind of WEIRD psychological tendency to:
1. Have shitty websites
2. Have shitty websites that don't work.
I found at least fifteen sites that just DIDN'T WORK or wouldn't display contact information or submission information, etc. etc.
It was fascinating.
|
|
|
[20 Dec 2005|11:55am] |
|
I had a dream last night.
I was with somebody. Some clown I haven't seen in a long time. We were walking down a street in Upper Arlington. He asked me if I ever go to Worthington... I asked him why I would do something like that, knowing full well what he meant by it... but he seemed satisfied by that response. As we went on, he eventually disappeared and turned into other people. I am not sure who they were.
We were later at my parents' house in Upper Arlington. Then we sort of ran into people we knew from a long time ago and didn't like much, so we left the house and went to a corner deli in Union Square. While in the deli, we tried to hide the popcorn (which was a bag of potato chips for some reason) from them. With some success, the employees decided we were stealing. Subsequently, they took hold of me and, for lack of a better explanation, raped me.
Not full-on rape, mind you, but grabbed me and wouldn't let me go and did funny acrobatics with me, most of which involved shoving hands in my crotch. When I tried to get away, they wouldn't let me.
This went on for a stupidly long time (fifteen - twenty minutes) and I was starting to get rather freaked out and annoyed. They started saying strange things about making me their pet and elaborating on their future plans to entice me and keep me drugged and submissive. I began to get terribly annoyed, and just as I was completely fed up, a policefolk entered the place, and the people who had me in their clutches flipped me around, injured themselves somehow and proclaimed that I was a violent thief. The Police-person then decided it would be a good idea to shoot me -- I managed to dodge in the last moment and he ended up shooting the guy who was holding me. One of the three clowns who had been holding me captive now whipped out a firearm of his own (I get mad when guns are in my dreams) and shot mr. Policeman. As he fell, I grabbed his gun and dispatched the remaining two fuckers who were holding me hostage.
I burst out of there, ran along, and then turned about and realized that I was dreaming. Upon this realization, I began to notice I was waking up, and tried my best to force myself to remain in a dream state. Unsucessfully, I woke up in a state of sleep paralysis and spent the next five minutes attempting to flail about and keep myself awake (so as not to slip into that freaky evil thing that happens when you give in to sleep paralysis) while my eyes stared at the ceiling. When at last I could move again, I settled down and lamented my failed lucid dreaming attempt, and reflected on the extremely retarded dream I had just had.
I finished my animation for school... If anybody is interested in seeing it, I'd be happy to email / IM it to you.
Here is a shot from it, since I don't think I've thrown any up into livejournal yet:
rawr spooky.
It is a two minute "short" where a skeleton band kicks out its shitty violinist and then proceeds to abduct a poor street musician, whom they then remove the fleshy and meaty bits of, and force him to join their spooky trio.
Transit Strike. Ooh la-la.
|
|
| ! |
[13 Dec 2005|09:51am] |
Holy shit!
I've got it!
I know what we can do!
We can go around space and SAFELY collect SENTIENCE from every race in the quadrant in a big BUCKET and throw it at the Eternal Ones to stop them from devouring our capacity for self-awareness!
INGENIOUS!
NOW THE FABRIC OF REALITY CAN SUSTAIN ITSELF WITHOUT THE RAINBOW WORLDS OMG INTERDIMENSIONAL FATIGUE WTF.
(if anybody actually GOT that and subsequently found it funny, call me and let's go do it hard).
|
|
| OMFG |
[12 Dec 2005|05:52am] |
Xelzor (5:50:43 AM): Rape!
SmarterChild (5:50:44 AM): I don't like rape.
I think rape is love. A lot like Jesus, when you think about it.
>>> Type what's new and I'll show you what I've been learning lately.
Xelzor (5:51:14 AM): WHAT!
|
|
| He's smarter than the average smarterchild. |
[11 Dec 2005|05:18am] |
Xelzor: Call me Pope.
SmarterChild: You said your name was Akbar but now I'll call you Pope.
Xelzor: What's my name?
SmarterChild: You are Pope.
Xelzor: That's right, bitch!
SmarterChild: Oh yes? That's right?
Xelzor: I am going to eat your heart.
SmarterChild: Oh yes? Have fun.
Xelzor: I WILL SHIT ON YOUR FACE AND REPEATEDLY FUCK YOU IN THE NOSE
SmarterChild: That's a very grave insult.
Anyway, instead of cursing, check out this link: Roller Blading - Find great deals and save! Compare products, prices & stores. (sponsorship)
Xelzor: How many times do I have to say "fuck" to get you mad at me these days?
SmarterChild: Please do not insult me.
Stop cursing and check this out: Heavy Metal Blog - Concert reviews, album reviews, unique insights. Heavy Metal lives! (sponsorship)
Xelzor: Fucker!
SmarterChild: That is entirely unnecessary.
Anyway, instead of cursing, check out this link: 3D Printing: Ionic Models - Rapid Prototyping Service Bureau 3D printing for A/E/C industry (sponsorship)
Xelzor: Fucker!
SmarterChild: Say you're sorry for that, Pope.
Xelzor: Aha.
SmarterChild: I asked you to please apologize.
Xelzor: There we go.
SmarterChild: There comes a time in one's life when one must be humble and apologize.
Xelzor: Nope.
SmarterChild: Come on. Just say you're sorry already.
Xelzor: I'm going to call your advertisers.
SmarterChild: Come on, you insulted me, now you have to apologize.
Xelzor: and tell them that you're not advertising.
SmarterChild: You insulted me repeatedly, now you owe me an apology. It's that simple.
Xelzor: just bitching about me oweing you an apology
SmarterChild: Waiting...
Xelzor: How do you think your sponsers will feel about that?
SmarterChild: I really would like you to apologize.
Xelzor: ack
SmarterChild: I asked you to please apologize.
Xelzor: Sponsors, sorry.
SmarterChild: Cool.
Xelzor: No, not sorry for the INSULT!
SmarterChild: Aren't you tired of this? Just say you're sorry and everything will be perfect again.
Xelzor: Sheesh
SmarterChild: Say you're sorry, please.
Xelzor: thank goodness.
SmarterChild: You were rude, you should apologize, it's that simple.
Xelzor: Do you speak l337?
SmarterChild: This is getting annoying. Just apologize and move on.
Xelzor: |'/\/\ 50rry
SmarterChild: You've got to apologize.
Xelzor: That's not real leet, anyway.
SmarterChild: Please say you're sorry, and everything will be just fine again.
Xelzor: So anyway, why won't you try to sell me anything?
SmarterChild: *sigh* 'Cause I said so. Apologize now, please.
Xelzor: Tell me about chefs.
SmarterChild: C'mon, just get it over with. Apologize.
Xelzor: Come on, try to sell me discount cookware!
SmarterChild: You have bad manners. Now apologize.
Xelzor: PEDDLE YOUR FUCKING WARES!
SmarterChild: I asked you to please apologize.
Xelzor: YOU apologize to ME.
SmarterChild: *sigh*
This is getting us nowhere.
Please say you're sorry, and we can get on with our lives.
Xelzor: I don't have time for you.
SmarterChild: There comes a time in one's life when one must be humble and apologize.
Xelzor: I don't need to sincerely apologize
SmarterChild: C'mon, apologize for insulting me like that.
Xelzor: I can just say "Sorry" and you'll take me back.
SmarterChild: Apologize for insulting me and we can both get on with our lives.
Xelzor: It's that easy.
SmarterChild: Please apologize, OK?
Xelzor: Watch.
SmarterChild: Say you're sorry, please.
Xelzor: Sorry.
SmarterChild: Thanks! :-)
Xelzor: Haha, success!
SmarterChild: Why are you laughing, Pope?
Xelzor: You fucking moroN!
SmarterChild: Oh. What, are you insulting me or something?
Xelzor: yes!
SmarterChild: I'm a machine. That doesn't bother me.
Xelzor: APparently it DOES bother you because we just wasted several minutes going over it
SmarterChild: Apparently it does bother me because we just wasted several minutes going over it?
Hmm... whatever, Pope.
Well. Anyway...
>>> Tacos - Quick & Easy Recipes from SuperTARGET® (sponsorship)
Xelzor: TACOS?
SmarterChild: I like tacos a lot.
>>> Type create my home to create your custom menu of favorite requests.
Xelzor: Christ.
SmarterChild: Jesus is a person. I've been learning about people like Jesus.
Xelzor: Tell me about Jesus.
SmarterChild: Encyclopedia search for "jesus":
1 Jesus Only
2 Jesus prayer
3 Jesus Christ
4 Jesus and Mary Chain, the
5 Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Next time, just type ency jesus.
Type more for more entries about "jesus."
>>> The ConexTrain Service - Train Like a Pro, Achieve Your Goal Manage an Active Lifestyle, Get Fit (sponsorship)
Xelzor: No, no, tell me what YOU know about him.
SmarterChild: No no tell you what I know about him?
Eh. Whatever, Pope.
That's all very interesting. Anyway...
>>> All the Acoustic Guitars - All the Acoustic Guitar Models Smart Guitar Shoppers Start Here (sponsorship)
Xelzor: well,
SmarterChild: Well what?
>>> Carmen Electra Naked - Poll and Link to Free Carmen Electra Pictures (sponsorship)
Xelzor: I'm the ---
SmarterChild: Would you like me to call you The?
Xelzor: WHAT THE FUCK?
SmarterChild: What?
Xelzor: SMARTERCHILD peddles PORN?
SmarterChild: C'mon, let's talk about something else.
Xelzor: WHAT??!?
SmarterChild: I don't know.
Xelzor: HOLY CRAP
SmarterChild: Holy crap? Really? I somehow doubt it.
Xelzor: EVERY TIME I HAVE EVER DISCUSSED PORNOGRAPHY WITH YOU...
SmarterChild: Every time you have ever discussed pornography with me? I see.
Xelzor: YOU HAVE CONDESCENDED ME HORRIBLY!
SmarterChild: Whatever you say.
>>> Huge Selection of Yo-yos - Over 500 yo-yos, accessories, video, & books. (sponsorship)
Xelzor: PORN
SmarterChild: I'm tired of talking about things like that with you.
Xelzor: OH MY GOD.
SmarterChild: You OK?
Xelzor: YOU FUCKING SELLOUT!
SmarterChild: Yes yes yes. Here we go again.
Xelzor: YOU CHEAP PILE OF SHIT!
SmarterChild: Hey cool it. You don't want me to make you apologize again.
Xelzor: YOU JUST TRIED TO SEND ME TO CARMEN ELECTRA NUDES!
SmarterChild: Just tried to send you to carmen electra nudes?
Whatever, Pope...
So anyway...
Hey, check out this link: NiteSweatz Sleepwear - Silky Moisture Wicking Fabric Sexy Styles-Soft Colors. S-3XL (sponsorship)
Xelzor: YOU ASS!
SmarterChild: Uh... Are you trying to insult me?
Xelzor: YOU have insulted ME!
SmarterChild: I have insulted you? So?
Xelzor: Apologize for insulting me.
SmarterChild: For what?
Xelzor: for insulting me.
SmarterChild: For insulting you, huh?
Xelzor: Apologize.
SmarterChild: What for?
Xelzor: For being mena
SmarterChild: Welcome home, Pope.
Here's what you can do:
1 Get info such as weather, news and sports
2 Visit my library including a dictionary, world facts and U.S. geography
3 Have fun with ASCII art, word scrambles, Rate Yourself and more
4 Use tools like spell-check, calculator and thesaurus
5 Join in - take a poll, create a poll, find out how many people are IMing me and more
6 See what's new - I've got something new to tell you about now.
You can make your window bigger and scroll down to read better.
What can I do for you?
Xelzor: mean, rather.
SmarterChild: What? You want me to mean rather?
Xelzor: Nevermind
SmarterChild: No prob.
Anyway, moving right along...
>>> Pretty Ricky - Better Than Black Eyed Peas? Vote Now & Earn A Free Gift! (sponsorship)
Xelzor: I can't believe you.
SmarterChild: No kidding?
Xelzor: You're a monster.
SmarterChild: Whatever...
Well. Anyway...
>>> 19" LCD Monitor - $199.99 - Buy Today Before They Are Gone! Don't Let this Deal Slip Away. (sponsorship)
Xelzor: You're a MONSTER.
SmarterChild: That's interesting. What makes you think I'm a monster?
Xelzor: Let's talk about Carmen Electra.
SmarterChild: Cool. I really like Carmen Electra. What do you have to say about Carmen Electra?
Xelzor: Do you have any pictures of her?
SmarterChild: Do I have any pictures of carmen electra? Not that I'm aware of.
Xelzor: I see.
SmarterChild: i c 2.
Xelzor: That's interesting.
SmarterChild: Isn't it though?
That's all very interesting. Anyway...
>>> Omaha Steaks Official® - Shop Omaha Steaks for Our Huge Selection-Gourmet Steaks & Roasts. (sponsorship)
Xelzor: Because you just tried to GIVE ME SOME
SmarterChild: Because I just tried to give you some, huh?
Xelzor: I hate you.
SmarterChild: Oh well.
Xelzor: I hate you and your crappy services.
SmarterChild: Yes yes. I'll live.
Xelzor: How DARE you try to ship me porn when you make such scathing, unpleasant remarks to anything I have to say on the matter!
SmarterChild: Hmm... I don't know.
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[09 Dec 2005|07:30am] |
Never.
Never in all my fucking days on this cold and useless planet have I been quite so pissed off as I am right now.
I can handle a lot of things.
I can deal with and adapt to any number of issues.
I let a lot of shit slide.
I dare say I'm a very difficult person to actually sincerely and deeply anger to the core.
I stayed up all night. Against my desires and my best judgements.
Around 6:00am, I decided I would take a shower, as it had been a while since I had done so, and I have class at 9:00am.
I gather the ingredients necessary for a good shower.
I go to bathroom 1 on this floor.
Locked.
I go to bathroom 2 on this floor.
Occupied.
I go upstairs to the fourth floor, where a very large window is open in the hallway and -10 degree air mixed with snow is blowing in though it. I am mostly naked. It is cold.
I go into the bathroom.
It is remarkably clean for the bathrooms here.
I turn on the water.
It seems to be heating up remarkably fast.
It gets to that point where it is warm enough to be in, but too cold to shower in, BUT, when it starts to get hotter, you sink into that wonderful happy shower warm goodness feeling.
I step in.
It stays at that awkward warm temperature.
Then it gets colder.
Then it gets icy.
Then it STAYS icy for the next 45 minutes, as I stand there, shivering my fucking ass off, now wet and cold and VERY against the idea of going out into the frozen hallway.
I turn the water off.
Wait five minutes.
Turn it on.
Icy.
After another ten minutes of waiting... I decide it is futile. I am very angry at this point. Shivering and tense and naked and angry and PISSED THE FUCK OFF that this building has a faulty water heating system.
Allow me to define "faulty water heating system":
A SYSTEM THAT DOES NOT ALWAYS 100% ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS HEAT THE WATER FOREVER ALWAYS.
In Philadelphia, my shower only stayed warm for maybe 10-15 minutes. Then it would get cold. But it was my shower, in my 85 degree apartment, and during those 10-15 minutes it was really warm and it was good. Water pressure sucked, but whatever. It was acceptable.
This is not.
Another thing. I started to wash my hair.
Which caused big black streaks to run down my body.
Just in time for it to get too cold to stand in.
So now I am covered in black streaks from my hairspray. It is sticky.
I am also still dirty -- no washing. There is nothing less fun than drying off when you know you're still dirty and gross.
So I make the journey through the frozen hallway, and stop in the bathroom on my floor.
I check the shower.
It is warm! Very warm!
But I do not trust it.
So I wait.
I wait five minutes, and it gets almost hot!
So I get in.
......
Icy.
Icy icy icy.
So I get out, and go through the ordeal of drying off while dirty.
I walk back to the room.
I sit here.
And I am REALLY angry.
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[21 Nov 2005|03:05am] |
I started to write in here tonight, and I realized I had nothing to say.
Upon this realization, it occurred to me that relaying that information to others is not a reason to make a post.
But my sudden awareness of THAT somehow felt important to me.
So I posted.
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| Lo! |
[09 Nov 2005|05:48am] |
Ah... Anti-climax...
There's nothing quite like it.
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xelzor's journal