Saturday, August 04, 2001

 
Whatever I said yesterday was shit, and you can quote me on that. Weekends are the days that your working friends don't think that they (or You for that matter) have done enough during the week so they manage to conjure up the most heinous brands of labor possible, and automatically draft you into the scheme, which invariably seems to involve handling some form of garbage in some manner or another. Nobody (well, almost nobody) seems to jump up to help me tote my rods or lift my bales-- but I am nonetheless obligated by damnable genetics and right of birth to hop to and lift everyone elses. Whatever happend to reap what you sow?

Friday, August 03, 2001

 
I'm always more mellow on Fridays. I don't really know why, as the weekends to me are just two other days of the week (the S days) but I am nonetheless just more thoroughly chilled. Rants on religion are generally reserved for midweek. It's too early.

Thursday, August 02, 2001

 
Stealing bottlecaps

I've always had something of an individual stand on the issue of faith-- particularly in the commonly used religious sense. I am now, and frankly always have been baffled by the blind faith-- and further still, the absolute, utter willingness to believe just about any old damn thing that cannot be seen with the eye while rejecting virtually every thing that can be held in the hand or otherwise examined through ordinary empirical means. It's not that I have any problem with the notion of God (see, I even capitalized the G) as most of the misled religionites are so quick to assume. I try to remain open to all viewpoints, yet find myself incapable of tolerating proselytizing-- because, I guess, people should be left to do what they will do, and to believe in whichever version of God they see fit.
No one needs to be converted-- conversion is the change from one state or phase to another-- which immediately arises this thought bubble: why does it need to be changed? I make water into ice because I want my drinks to be cold. I have no qualms about tampering with the inanimate. Those who see fit, on the other hand , to tell other perfectly adjusted bpeople that their particular ideology is a one-way ticket to eternal Damnation and that their Thick Black Book is somehow the key to enlightenment and salvation comes across sounding like a big pile.
Einstein said that "God does not play dice with the universe", brilliant as he was, definately not a chaos theorist. I personally don't beleive that God plays anything with the universe. I'm too tied up in the circular logic of all loving/all knowing/all powerful conflicting (massively) with our notions of free will, destiny, 'ol lady Luck, pretty much every human concept or precept ever determined.

And a note on Heaven, kind of directed out to the Christians, who have yet to try to get me to buy their packages: How can anyone genuinely accpet the idea that 70 odd years of pseudo-clean living and reckless faith in the face of blistering realities will net them an ETERNITY in Heaven, at the right side of whoever, forever and ever, ring-a-ding-dong? Just as the notion that believing in a different G-O-D (Gasp!!) or even worse, stealing bottlecaps, will get you a one to the ten hundredth power year sentence in the fiery place that is not Sicily.
So repent now, sinners. Or don't. It doesn't rellay fucking matter either way. The old nut Siddharta had a prettty good idea about how to go about things: Don't too much. Simple enough. And seeing that I managed to remain entirely un-preceher-like up till now, I'll blast off in the closer feeling good that no one actually beleives what I say. After all, I can't say Family Jewels on TV, or even other more nonsensical terms, like Gat, or the ever favorite, gaffle.

I can say "Get up off my ass, bitch." Or stab you in the fucking eye with an oyster fork.

Wednesday, August 01, 2001

 
Just a short note to remember the day-- The 21st century philosopher Jimmy Pop Ali warned appropriately that we should resist the Olsen twins-- I'd like to add that one should at all costs avoid the thing that I call Pacific Bell Internet. I really really really really mean that-- avoiding. At all costs. Before it's too late.

By the slight way, I didn't think that Planet of the Apes was that bad. One must take any summer film with the Keanu Pill-- simply lower your expectations to a respectably bottom-scraping level and enjoy. They already got your money. At least try to leave with your dignity intact.

Bummer abou the server switch on the one hand-- My thoughts are neither well formed nor long lasting enough to weather such a storm. There truly are no remains of the day.

Monday, July 30, 2001

 
I once had a fairly stable idea involved the personification of greater human mental precepts-- you know, the stuff of ballad and cheesey poem, anything akin to "luck be a lady tonight". Why only tonight? Why can't luck be a lady every night? Are there foreseeable circumstances in which luck may be forced to act with prostitutional morals, or just out-and-out screw people over for the sheer joy of it? Perhaps. In my mind, Luck (capital L now) doesn't even have to be a lady at all. Why can't she- er, I me he, be just a regular guy who gets stuck with the blame when stupid people do stupid things for stupid reasons? Perhaps (once again) because that is reserved for Fate, right? Fate is invariably the goat. "Oh, it was fate."
Shit. Such blase passing of (widespread) genuine ignorance deserves a quote. And so it shall have one.

Everyone you meet is a mirror of yourself.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?