My name is Ferdinand
February 10th, 2010 at 1:30 am
I gave my blog a facelift because I decided that although the smiley sun, bunny with propeller hat, and cloudy background accurately represented my tendency towards the ‘retardedly cute,’ I felt that these symbols were incongruous to a lot of my writing. It’s confusing to scroll past convivial illustration only to learn that I think life is shit, man.
For the moment, I say that in jest.
In addition, I’m attempting to create some sort of cohesiveness between my various Internet dwellings. Please note my Tumblr’s color scheme.
I have more stuff (and perhaps, things) to say, but I’m pretty tired and have decided to save my thoughts for tomorrow. Or, I suppose, today, but when it’s like, not 1:30AM.
“I can never have a real conversation with you. You never have ideas, only feelings. That’s not true. There are ideas in feelings.”
Filed under: Web Tags: Not Kelsey
Unhumored
February 3rd, 2010 at 12:58 pm
A black man in a gothy trench coat introduced himself to me a few weeks ago in the dining hall. I wasn’t alone, but I was waiting for my friends to join me, and so I grabbed a spot at one of the longer tables. He told me his name was Fate and pulled a chair closer to where I was sitting. Later, I found out that Fate was a moniker, that his name was really David, and that said moniker was inspired by his reading The Art of War by Sun Tzu. He relayed this information to the guy sitting next to me because I suppose my group of girlfriends didn’t seem to be the type of crowd receptive to this sort of knowledge.
A few days later, I took the bus downtown so I could buy groceries at Trader Joe’s. I chose the shortest check-out line, but soon realized that it was short because the cashier was especially chatty and especially chatty cashiers are not something most people are comfortable with. He asked me what my major was, to which I replied film. He told me that he was a literature major and that all of his fellow lit majors weren’t pursuing writing careers now that they were out of school. He recited a Chinese proverb, something along the lines of the key to achieving something is to start and continue. He said that if a musician was really intent on making music his career, he’d have to be famous after 80 years of ‘keeping on’ regardless of talent.
There are a few ways I could steer these experiences; this retelling of them. I could lament my uncomfortable position in social interactions with strangers, offer an overarching theme of Chinese philosophies, or invalidate my previous distaste of humanity by reflecting on why these little occurrences, albeit ridiculous, force me to reevaluate my perception of the world. Or I could say it’s irrelevant and continue focusing on the here and now.
Filed under: Musings Tags: omg life
Undead undead undead
February 2nd, 2010 at 4:12 pm
Here is what my current psychology professor looks like.
Today she told us that we wouldn’t have much time for sex because the break was coming up. You read that right and interpreted it wrong.
Filed under: Art, College Tags: doodles
Jack Nicholson
February 2nd, 2010 at 9:33 am
I feel like the lyrics to some whiney Placebo song in which Brian Molko is forced to find synonyms for bruised and broken because there are only so many things you can say about self-medicating, depression, and failed relationships. I am stressed over ‘non-events,’ I am unable to assess my effect on anyone, I am shy, I am awkward, I am small. This is not the first time. I should shut up already. Brian Molko should shut up already. I’m going to shut up about myself for a very long time.
I have a two-page psychology paper due today about how young adults generally change their behavior upon their arrival to college.
Even Agent Dale Cooper can be corrupted.
Oh, and I tried to participate in Hourly Comic Day yesterday, but I only made eight. You can view them here. Yesterday was productive. Yesterday involved UHF and Little Big Planet.
Filed under: Musings Tags: omg life, YouTube
who knows if the moon’s
January 29th, 2010 at 12:11 pm
by ee cummings
who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
always
it’s
Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves
Filed under: Writing Tags: ee cummings
I got my head, but my head is unraveling
January 29th, 2010 at 11:53 am
I feel really silly for doing this, but I made a collage of some sort. It’s amusing how I’ll look at things I used to feel comfortable liking, dismiss and insult them, only to return to them again. Such is the fault of my ~identity~. Also, I like squares. (Read more…)
Filed under: Musings Tags: lol, nostalgia
Learned Helplessness
January 27th, 2010 at 12:16 am
I’m sitting in my psychology section–the one that feels like high school without the collared shirts–and I’m revisiting recent experiences, specifically the ants invading my windowsill and my lack of groceries (my stomach likes to remind me). My TA, with her adorable dimples and fashion faux pas, is talking about anxiety orders as part of a “mini lecture” and cautions against self-diagnosing. I try my best to ignore the fact that her outlining symptoms of a panic attack may induce a panic attack. Dizziness. Increased heart rate. Feeling of being choked.
So I think of you: the irrelevant you. Who the fuck are you? Whom am I speaking to? I’m not supposed to talk to you. You, whom I pass judgement on. You, whom I delineate from them for the sole reason of persuading myself that I’m not self-harming, that the choice to speak to you is not one completely under my control. You, you, you. It’s silly though, thoughts of avoiding a panic attack turn into thoughts of you, thoughts of involuntary reactions that fooled me into thinking we’re close. I sneeze.
These narratives have significance after the fact because of the magic of exaggerated elaboration.
Ineludible stressors? I’m not even sure if i was looking for stasis anymore. After all, stagnation is what I escaped and refused to continue.
Maybe I’m being cryptic because it’s easier to allude to things that probably aren’t there rather than risk unfounded assertions.
It’s late, and I should sleep. I dreamt of comfortable exposure and Laura Harring last night. I jumped into imperfect maps of the United States and I talked to characters with shadows across their faces. I walked through a familiar ally with barn like entrances. It fell apart when I was confronted with a version of myself that I tried to push away, but I guess I should be thankful that I have an opportunity to tackle that in an artificial arena.
Filed under: Musings Tags: dreams, omg life, why am I posting this crap?
Give me your lies
January 25th, 2010 at 2:36 pm
I’m retreating to last year and I’m bringing yesterday’s friends with me. I’m celebrating this nonsense, I’m saying things without immediately gauging the other’s reactions.
Act like an asshole and you’ve swept them all away!
That pointlessness? That ever increasing feeling of being small, of being inconsequential, of not having any thing to say that’s mildly interesting, I’ll still have time to wallow in it after everything is said and done.
Filed under: Musings Tags: omg life
Hit Me
January 22nd, 2010 at 9:58 am
Everything is so pointless pointless pointless. The mundane details of my Friday night will be ones I will soon forget, I’m sure. Especially since I jot things down in my journal only when something particularly dramatic happens–although I feel like I’m constantly reassessing people, writing down my ‘final judgments’ of them, only to cross out and edit the next day. I could make an effort to be more objective but I feel that I’d be losing that ever so important experience of persuading oneself.
And I can’t fucking finish that book because it reminds me of you, Troy. Kiki’s perfect ears. You often told me I had nice ears but I think it’s only because they were small. I never thought much about ears, only that they looked obscene, that they looked like parts that should be covered. I imagined the unveiling of one’s ears to be an exceptionally intimate act. Kyle MacLachlan’s severed ear. “I used to know a kid who lived there, he had the biggest tongue in the world.” Now my ears are always visible, they are not hidden under locks of mermaid hair (“perpetually underwater?”). I could correlate this with my present state of vulnerability, but I’ll save you the bullshit. Maybe I’ll power through those last pages.
I think about last year and about how happy I remember myself being. College was giving me the opportunity to reestablish myself as someone I was completely comfortable with. I am again given this opportunity, faced with the option to bring new experiences into being… that is, if I allow it. I should allow it. Those insecurities, that nagging tendency to find conflict in everything I involve myself in, those fucking people, I can ignore them just as I can ignore impending anxiety attacks. I reject the the notion that it is perfectly healthy to mull over everything that is bothering oneself. I was never a fan of advice from women’s magazines anyway.
Filed under: Musings Tags: omg life
Come Out Tonight
January 21st, 2010 at 2:45 pm
by Steven J. Bernstein
Forecast in chrome and plastic. Tyrants breathing alloy of slavery, planet hunger, versions of Jackie O. Sherry, Sherry baby, won’t you come out tonight? And the stars whisper like old blood at the edges of the body of night. She stood with one hand on the phone for four hours, poised as though only a few seconds had passed. I watched her through the crack between the shade and the sill. She waited for a forecast in human trembling, together with other important women. Come, come, come out tonight. The world suffers for her: The clock hurries like a terrified animal, then stops, dribbling saliva. She has eaten chicken pie and bubblegum. For a month the Luftwaffe lived on raisins. Same with the French, after the war. Jackie O. received fresh oranges from John Kennedy. Silly girl. She cannot put down the telephone receiver. She is waiting to receive my body of work. She wants to take it in her ear. A mottled flush builds under her cheeks. She eats Xmas candy while she waits. The telephone rings and rings. I am not at home. I am with Jackie O. We are eating oranges from the President. We are alone on the roof of a Park Avenue penthouse. Picture of Marilyn Monroe in my back pocket molded by heat and sweat to the shape of my buttocks. You are gripping the phone smiling, eating candy, crying. I am with the important women, now. I am secretly an important man. Hang up the phone. I can’t dance with you, anymore. Go to your freezer and get a popsicle. Go to your TV. Turn on your TV. You will see me and Jackie O. She will be taking it in her ear, the body of my work. In the Planetarium. You will receive a forecast. I will always be more important than you. You will never be important enough. You will never be on the whip-hand of slavery, never be the one to wield hunger against humanity. Heaven will never be an extension of your body. Your body will always belong to someone else. The picture of Marilyn Monroe flutters across the roof, steaming, shaped like me. Shaped like my ass. The sky is filled with oranges during the war. We eat them. The president is alone in a room. He is unimportant. As we eat his oranges the sky grows blacker. The moon ripens and turns red. It rots and is swallowed by the darkness. You are still by the phone. It is ringing and ringing, dead. Sherry, Sherry baby, won’t you come out tonight. It is completely dark. The earth freezes. You put down the receiver and go to the window. Come, come, come out tonight.
Filed under: Writing Tags: Steven J. Bernstein
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