Global News - March - June 2008

Clark Photos 2006

Generation Ex. - An eXample of a Degeneration?

by Wendy Clark Hudson 2008

The connotations of the rarely used 24th letter of our English alphabet termed “X,” are often of a sinister and negative suggestive implication, and even vulgar in some circumstances (i.e., “XXX”); this “X” generally tends not to represent any substance of a positive nature.

I am equally as responsible as the rest of you all for these philosophical bones and skeletons I harbor - as our experience relates to the time period in which we were harvested; a generation of infants which some miserable joker/generational researcher coined “Generation X.” Generation Xers (an individual is referred to as an Xer if he or she was were born roughly between 1959 and 1978) are now getting to fully realize their full potential.

Back in the early 90’s, my Xer college friends and I pondered these societal labels and concluded that these categorizations were for the generations who preceded us. We decided that we were not going to follow in those old-fashioned, grotesque and worn-out foot steps. Our plan of attack? Our stance? We took a stand by doing nothing. Yet as the old proverbial ball bounces down the avenue of apathy, we fell for anything. We were very aware of our affectionate apathy. We were dreamers - and not the only ones, as the late comedian Bill Hicks told us. We were just like everyone else, except we were eleven years old when we were informed that we would not have social security when we retired. Our gratitude cannot be contained. Neither can our sarcasm.

Apathy. At one time, this was something we could actually stand for; across those ambiguous Elysian fields we stumbled and shouted to the Baby Boomers, Baby Busters, and whoever would lend us an ear, “We stand for APATHY!” Of course, the laziness we exuded while we were still in the cradle. But now we are grownups and we can blame Generation Y for not coming to our rescue - although we could blame Douglas Coupland (author of “Generation X”, if we could get through that shockingly dull portrait of our fellow scene members…

So, my fellow generation Xers, now that you have looked up the meaning of your life according to Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generation_X, I would like to share with you why you let yourselves get out of touch with your third eye. This is an eXample of therapeutic eXistential eXit. And after all we haven’t been through, maybe it’s time we took some responsibility.

Remember our 80’s punk band, X? Remember the synthetic drug X? We thought it was cool to be an Xer back in our respective universities, but so did the other 50% or more of our good friends who were kicked out or lost their scholarships as a result our BIG philosophic musing, the one that our professors shrugged at: the question we posed - why some mean-ass expert would suggest that we were lazy-X-asses in the first place, and without bothering to make eye contact, he or she would semi-answer, “So prove them wrong, then.” Hm. We didn’t, did we? How didn’t we? Well, to begin with, we sure as hell didn’t “Rock the Vote” because, mostly, MTV stopped broadcasting music videos during the day so we were pissed, of course, as you can see, we got out there and did something about THAT, too. Yes, we sure as hell took care of that last couple of presidential elections so that we would maintain some some rights and not have to envision a country where you can’t even smoke in a goddamn bar, we saw to it that our generation would see marijuana legalized nationwide - at LEAST for medical purposes (remember all those rallies you hollered and swore that you would make a difference, and you educated your parents and friends about the economic benefits of hemp), you also depended on the fact that you would have a job like your parents because you have a Bachelor or Master’s degree, plus creative integrity and abstract reasoning skills - mainly because the Arts were once taught at every public school in our little nation, and we thought that racism and sexism were ridiculous concepts of our parents generation, and we didn’t touch our parents guns, we smoked and drank by the lake and had bonfires and talked about religion and philosophy, and we read and created stuff like Google and now we are bankrupt, our foreclosure rate is almost impressive, we forgot to vote and let our forefathers dictate a Constitution and Bill of Rights which are non-applicable as technology was not yet invented…

We are discouraged and discouraging. I don’t have a job. What’s an X to do?

Is there a mathematical equation like x=y+”bother”?

We could have it much worse, though. That Generation Y is totally out of control.
http://www.geocities.com/ihategenx/GenY.html
–
wendy clark (hudson)
www.tequilamockingbirdmusic.com

Thought Disorder Awareness Campaign - by wc hudson

An abstract concerning the alarming disorder which is wrecking humanity/civilization/economy/aliens.

Ah, the discomforts of the last of the true spirits; the lack of triumph surrounding the bus pulling out of the San Francisco Mental-Plex, the sounds of the hysteria fading and the scent of damp dirt and dank cigars feel like sunlight in your ears; you fold your letter you wrote to your mother, the one you didn't send to her because she wouldn't have taken the news of your early release as a good thing, you rip up the yellow legal paper she will never see and you think about eating it, even though it wouldn't taste as good as the garlic chicken and powdered toast you were still digesting from supper that evening, but you decide to go ahead and you slowly chew all sixteen pages of it, you hope you will digest these words and then salvation shall surface.

I stopped before I started to think about it again and I made myself a big bowl of spagetti and tried to locate the remote control so I could watch the new episode of "House" and I didn't find it. So I started to think about it again. I made of list of what could happen if and when I couldn't stop thinking about it. For an instance I recognized that nothing was ever the same and this kept happening over and over and over and over and over and under and over and the thoughts would never actually stop until my brain lost it's energy and I died - though even that was a theory because many religious people would argue that there is life after death, which made me think that, damn! I needed to get some sleep. My eyes were dry and saw the dreary droplets of hope and love and then I thought about steam and vapor, solids, liquids, gas, wash, rinse, repent. My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the bored... I laughed out loud and wondered why I was standing in a shallow pool of mud rather than a deep one, metaphysically corrupt and meta contained in this slingshot I called my sanity. I was not as deprived of intellect as most everyone who got in my narrow passageway to getting through the day, but I couldn't grasp if I was better off or not. Then I decided not to decide.

I stood in that spot, undecided and undeciding until I had to make a decision or something. I blinked hard, I slammed my eyes down and it hurt, and I decided to cry.

Everything I say comes back to taunt me. It doesn't -haunt- me; haunting would be the verb I would use if I intended to say that there was another force behind it; meaning that one cannot haunt oneself but may surely taunt oneself - in word, thought, and deed; everything I say (if even in my own internal monologue - "Internal monologue?! She is crazy!" dialogue taken in context from "Scrubs") is everything I imagine I am, and everything I think is impossible to say, which leads me to actually blame my old college roommate whom I shall call "Justin Tochber" for his own protection - but one night while we were being clever geniuses in his dorm room, two short doors from mine at the notorious Cash Hall at FSU, JT told me of an amazing way he had learned to become so darn smart (and he was just that); he told me that a mentor of his had asked him to try an exercise to increase his awareness and become a master of all that is brilliant - and this I will share with you, reader, but I must warn you that I may:
A. Be unable to explain it enough for you to actually be a student of this meta-mind play
B. Find something cooler to metagrobolize about while I get bored trying to explain it without actually being in human contact with you
C. Taunt myself for thinking that this was something I needed to write about and thus involve other people - shaming and humiliating my self
D. Laugh at you for being stupid enough to try this for several days and forget that you had a choice to ignore this exercise
E. Laugh at you for thinking that this is a stupid exercise
F. Forget what I was going to say here. Damn it.

Here is your mission if you choose to accept it, grasshoppers of the cyber world:
It's simple: close your eyes (or leave them open and blink naturally, I don't really care), then do this with your mind - Think about three separate phenomena at the same time. Then keep doing that all the time, for as long as you can; change ideas if one has run its course, but trade it with another one of equal or better value. Continue doing this while you are conversating, working, studying, driving, flying a helicopter, getting eaten by a shark or a panther, having intimate relations, sleeping, and especially when you are trying not to think about three ideas subsequently.

So I beg the question, does this mean I have thought disorder? Where did I put the receipt and how am I going to find it when I get home? What can I do to get these students I teach to pass the CSAP?

How where do butterflies sleep at night?

Choices are all in your imagination. As Ellis so weirdly wrecked another part of my and many other tender highly intelligent college kids lives when we read past the end of "American Psycho," the words that finally proved that nothing was anything that it seemed except to oneself - This is not an exit.

But seriously, please do not exercise reading that book. If you already have, I would rather not discuss it.

(The author is mildly concerned about you. Please practice safe thinking and encourage others to do the same. The author would also like to make sure you know that this is an exercise in writing random thoughts as a release and as a target for the bullies as well as the "readers" who don't understand abstract thinking and see it as something to shake their fat ugly head at. The author would recommend that some individuals can't enjoy another's love of stream of consiousness and asks that they please not write me any more emails threatening me about making them think to hard thus paralyzing their self-denial of the disorder forementioned. I would like to also aplologize for offending and being offended. Or offensive. Please email me your disordered thoughts so I may have fun. Please use a dictionary when defining definitions.) - Disclaimer: I unclaim all disclaimers.)

Thu

Jul

2009

Ambiguity and Madness

...above and beyond the world and it's webs and nets global cyber spaces and intricate algorithmic....

Warning:
If you don't have to read every sentence once or twice, this story is not meeting the style I am rendering.

No, I never, never put much thought nor gained any peace of mind in the lline whriten Goethe, "Alles nhae werde ferry," or everything near becomes distant. He was speaking of twilight and blindness.
No, I never put much thought into ambiguity because I feared madness.

I removed myself from the situation at hand. I took inventory of the moment. I wondered if the moment took inventory of me.

Tilly Bryce was riding her moped down Williams Street on the sidewalk when I began to get anxious. She was surely supposed to ride on the street, but I heard from her ex-beau, Stev, while we were sipping Starbucks we had found in a tray on the top of an Oldsmobile in the Chevron dealership lot, that Tilly had recently been convicted of her third DUI and was not to operate a moter vehicle until some certain amount of time, but she did not consider many laws to apply to her, especially since her family was wealthier than someone like me had any idea to try to describe - even to myself - so I just nodded my head and told Stev that she was going to go to jail.

Today went well. The events of the day went well in terms of the turnpike to hell was as smooth as could be expect imagined like a perfect trainwreck.

The morning sushine was our timebomb and we revolted as the rays were in demand, regardless of what has happened so much sooner or later.

The revolt, on the other side (so to speak), lasted no time at all, but I was doubtful of the fact that it had no lasting impact. The strays would keep growing older and the mistakes never would see the leaned; we were all colorless and plentiful, and we slept because our eyes were of the sun, you remembered me until the day you died, then I didn't feel your love. That was projection of the impact that was and I knew the combined words were sought by some and were never useful to others.
Authors are writers who finish their works - so I was semi-educated by a few by some influential non-informant this past week and so I packed up my creativity the nself-inflicted a story line - I was an author and had the parts which would take the plot and stamp it as a "piece."

Okay, I said, "I can take a joke." I began to shuffle down the opposite direction of the atrium corridor and I began to focus on a new plot, but I needed a new persona first, then the intangible and it's obscurities would be a natural consequence.

In an effort to prove the power of the meaning of words, I will launch my latest metaphysical awareness campaign: Speaking in one-word sentences. And as I waited for my mom to pick me up from school I was reading an essay written by a Hawaiian clown who used to teach French Revolutionary Architecture but decided to write in order to teach and he wrote well for a clown I suppose - as I waited the notion struck me between the lines that this constant quest to transcend the shallow traditional surface of society and judgment, I was not operating inside the function of my mission to master world domination.

The second time I was administered mouth-to-mouth recsessitation was the second time it wasn't necessary, and was the event that spurred me to embark immediately to see a specialist.

I always thought of myself as the dangerous type - mentally, obviously.

But it's like all the times I thought too much about the aforementioned equations. A house and a home are not going to solve my problems. I don't have any problems, and surely I don't need a house and a home to prove that I need something else to think about.

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Sun

Jan

2009

Inappropriate Facebook messages

Changing the first thing you want to say to the world is never easy; it's not difficult either - if you never try to change anything you want to say anyway, and you never change, do you?

Here is a lesson I have been hoping to learn.

I rehearsed for years before you let me audition. I wrote words for myself until I told you I was writing. I want to start over. Maybe get a new job in a new town; maybe the short side of the stick will be the method I take to find the path and I will be on my way. Maybe everything I don't like and all the wrong I see along the street each day will vanish and anything I say will be the right words and I won't have to rehearse and all of this will be okay.

My little spell on you that I cast was just a fraction of the world and a decimal point farther than the grammatical issues you all are facing every single day. Don't be shy; I have the resources and won't think at all about explaining the correct way - for sure I will ask you something about a problem I can't solve someday.

I have to be grateful for those who have destroyed me as much as I am grateful for those who have mended me.

* Random quote from Denver Joe "Drink up and be somebody!"

Fri

Dec

2008

The Present

The present is intense these past few weeks. I have always desired to be a cool soul - a live-in-the-now present day prophet, but occasionally I am aware of the opposite of the absence of the intensity that surrounds me.

The absurdity needed to stop, for the sake of the astute. I yielded to the connections.

"These sequences are not chronologically driven," I said to you, and I could honestly open a release.

No, I had never, ever put much thought or estimated the possible peace of mind I may well have speculated by studying the Goethe's quote, " Alles nahe werde fern," which in tangled interpretation may mean, "everything near becomes distant." He was speaking of twilight and blindness.

Yes, I attest that I recognized myself slipping wayward and the momentum of the rolling of the velocity at which I was sliding downward, I knew that I was in trouble, I was concerned that I recognized that I knew this.

Sadly, many - MOST people will never experience in a weekend, or a lifetime what I mst endure in an evening, or maybe a weekend. Oddly obvious as confusing and after a thought or three, dismissed like you blankly seize the tension; you choke it down and recall that just yesterday you had no regrets, no mercy, and you were okay alllllll along.

But! YOU! You were the quickest, slickest, sly sperm that your daddy happened in the right place at the right time - or else you would not be here. There must me something good about you because you were the best before you were even born. Some days I regret being the winner from the wiener; some days I wonder what drove me to exist. Some days you are caught in-between the others; you are in-between that mental randomness... like Robert Smith of The Cure made some of see so clearly.

I looked around and all I saw were mediocre choices of words.

But then Joy started to practice the piano according to the lesson I gave her, and the hard and cold heart I had been beating up (my own heart, that is) began to melt.
__________

The morning sunshine was our timebomb and we revolted as the rays were in demand, regardless of what had happened so much sooner.

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Sat

Nov

2008

Mel's House

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Thu

Oct

2008

For those about to rock...

This isn't a test. This is it. Good luck, losers; good luck, winners. The gun will fire - then you haul ass to the finish line. If you finish first, you are the fastest. If you finish second - well, take a wild guess.

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Fri

Oct

2008

Following?

Riddles, Puzzles, and Grammar

The next clue is Politics.

Choose one word out of the following; use this word in every sentence you say in at least one conversation today (or tomorrow), then gauge whether you believe that words may make people suspicious.

Perhaps the specifics of words aren't always the general meanings you wish to obfuscate, but your heart has not been as lucky as usual, and your refuge has not been a deception - as much as, say, a paradise.

Here are your choices:

meandering
contraband
asshole
lobotomy
self-sufficient
opium
elastic
tumbleweed
nonchalant
essence
composure

Remember, no one but you can prevent events.

My advice is to advise everyone to take the scientific approach to all problems, then speak of all solutions as "theories."

Here are some random guidelines:

be sure to speak using bullet points
always pronounce silent letters - why waste them?
don't ever change the subject - transitional conversation is vital to human communication
make up words when you can't think of one you want to say
if someone uses the word "smile," interrupt them and demand that they use the word "grin" - tell them how offensive the" s-word" is and then stare at their bellybutton area
look at your watch every time someone makes eye-contact with you
don't be fooled by yourself
don't fool around by yourself
don't let them tell you anything - be sure to tell them you don't believe anything you hear
smile and stare at someone's forehead when they are speaking to you
encourage people to be responsible for their words and behaviour
challenge people to sentence diagramming when you feel intimidated
clap your hands when you speak
clap your hands when ever someone blinks
wash, rinse, repeat
only sigh when it isn't funny
sigh between bites of food when you are eating breakfast
sigh before you say anything (although this will lead to your own personal hell)
pronounce "sigh" as it was intended to be said: sss-eye-gah-hah
wash your hair one strand at a time
don't major in English unless you can sacrifice your soul to your mind

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Thu

Jul

2008

Rusty Clark 1993-2008 RIP

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Tue

Jul

2008

Mad?

I stepped out of the Mad Libs factory and into oncoming ___________ (plural nouns).

My ________ (insulting insult with italics) cell phone ______________ (past tense verb) and my new _____________________ (adjective) began to _______________________ (verb) and _________________ (boy's name) didn't care which _____________________ (Proper Noun) the road took because we had a lot of _____________________ (type of beer) and even more ______________________ (another type of substance). We pulled the car over because _____________ (first name of a Tequila Mockingbird member) was vomiting like a __________________ (type of personality disorder.

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RIP Cricket on the Hill

I had broadcast my theory on my weekly podcast last night for the last time - this was the last episode on what I was certain my friends, as scarcely as they knew what I was trying to promote nor did they bother to feign any interest or feedback at all, they were friends of mine because I was able to tolerate them and we snacked on the same types of carbs and were able to ignore our apathy and our personal beliefs and we never thought much about who we were.

I certainly was able to fool them, like all the others and brothers and their mothers - for I was an imposter. It hurt some ways to be an imposter, and it hurt to know that they were so ragile and of average IQ that they didn't intellectualize a goddamn insight they didn't have - it hurt AND yet gave me time to be my own best friend and I minded my mind happily. But I knew where to research and I had resources.

http://www.dialogical.net/psychology/index.html

http://wclarkhudson.wordpress.com/page/5/

(Photo of Buck E. Banzai)

The snap of the postcard exiting my fingertips made you jump a little. I saw it and I laughed at you, but I wasn't courteous.

I suppose you would have ripped that postcard into shreds if it hadn't been me. But something just clicks whenever you rip an image of yourself to shreds. That's a for sure warning sign of a red flag.

It's all passive sentences, passive aggression, and passive-attention disorders. There is no end and there is no way out. You are not the subject of the sentence.

Riddles, Puzzles, and Grammar

The next clue is Politics.

Choose one word out of the following; use this word in every sentence you say in at all conversation today (or tomorrow), then gauge whether you believe that words may make people suspicious and fragile and shameful.

Here are your choices:

meandering
contraband
asshole
lobotomy
self-sufficient
opium
elastic
tumbleweed
nonchalant
essence
composure

Remember, no one but you can prevent events.

My advice is to advise everyone to take the scientific approach to all problems, then speak of all solutions as "theories."

Here are some random guidelines:

be sure to speak using bullet points
always pronounce silent letters - why waste them?
don't ever change the subject - transitional conversation is vital to human communication
make up words when you can't think of one you want to say
if someone uses the word "smile," interrupt them and demand that they use the word "grin" - tell them how offensive the" s-word" is and then stare at their bellybutton area
look at your watch every time someone makes eye-contact with you
don't be fooled by yourself
don't fool around by yourself
don't let them tell you anything - be sure to tell them you don't believe anything you hear
smile and stare at someone's forehead when they are speaking to you
encourage people to be responsible for their words and behaviour
challenge people to sentence diagramming when you feel intimidated
clap your hands when you speak
clap your hands when ever someone blinks
wash, rinse, repeat
only sigh when it isn't funny
sigh between bites of food when you are eating breakfast
sigh before you say anything (although this will lead to your own personal hell)
pronounce "sigh" as it was intended to be said: sss-eye-gah-hah
wash your hair one strand at a time
don't major in English unless you can sacrifice your soul to your mind

I don’t remember anything. If for some instant, I thought I had treaded upon a memory, I would clutch it so deeply I would lose it quickly. The glimpse of truth would spit itself right out of my head and leave without a trace. I woke up like a lost kitten every day and my body would convulse with stereotypical horror, and I would try to get up only to crash on the floor day after day.

It smells like something is on fire around my house today.

Colorado music documentary premiere news

Posted 01/25/2008 at 12:00 PM by eshiveley

Yesterday I heard from the director of a film festival in Connecticut who wants to premiere "everyone but you" (a documentary I just finished).

The movie has been submitted cold to two festivals, and the directors of both festivals have called to give a tentative acceptance (nothing's definite for a week or two).

I'm incredibly happy because if you're an unknown, first-time filmmaker and you get a two-hour documentary into any prominent festival, that's a REAL good deal. So I've been learning anyway.

The following bands ended up in the movie (either their music or an appearance):

Tequila Mockingbird, Victoria Woodworth, Halden Wofford & the Hi-Beams, Andy Ard, Double Down, Nora Heffernan, DeVotchKa, Mannequin Makeout, Jerry Popiel, Black Greg, Robert Eldridge, Hit & Run Bluegrass

Anyhoo, I'm just excited and needed to share. Thanks.

Dada

Time Capsules (and Other Bad Drugs)

I knew how long the ride would be

because I saw it all on the TV

The shots were weak the wine was strong

The car was slow and the ride was long

The car was slow and I didn't know

How the weeks went by so long and 'lo

How the time made weekdays ebb and flow

And nothing came-

And nothing go.

The days were long the wine was weak

The week was slow the days were wine

I saw it all on the TV and I knew how boring I might be

But I knew wasn't only me

The shots, the ride, the fragility.

How long, how long the ride would be.

Explode

Before I received that phone call from the circus, I had already been informed, seconds earlier, that I was exceptionally talented (or in Burke’s meta-terminology, “overly-advantaged” at speed-writing. More over, constructing clear and concise sentences, paragraphs, stories, free from grammatical or mechanical spelling, meaning, context or any type of structure or content errors and was virtually revision unnecessary after writing one draft of any piece of writing- from the technical to the sestina to the AP style.

“What a contradiction,” I began but was abruptly silenced.

“I wasn’t even thinking about the implications of my absent responses to Nick’s email; I fumbled though a few words but I just couldn’t muster the fuel to bower them.

What is your excuse?

Tact: (noun) a keen sense of what to do or say, to keep good relations with others.

And I lost nothing today.

After reading John Dewey.....

I notice a mahogany scent, pleasant and pleasing, and I remind myself to assert my energy forth behind the shades of the autumn semi-sunlight. The evening falls and twilight breaks even, dealing me that ambiguous forgetfulness of my inadvertent existence; how often the blur of fantasy and judgment of my own character ultimately punctures all possibilities.

If we are to maintain hope in the wake of our individual personal and philosophic crises, perhaps we must consider the fortresses of conscious choice that we build to protect ourselves from hopelessness may need to be surrendered. Every belief holds a mystery and devotion, but deliverance from faith is simplicity and creative surrender.

Hope and desire are self-preserving energies which protect us; we long for something to heal us in the darkness of our self-deprecation and the burdens of hopelessness. We defend our small territory of sanity and we trust that our steadfast faith will conquer all. But the spiritual straight-jacket of this quest for absolute hope dangerously distances us from the dimension of personal creativity. We cannot shove hope down other's throats, we can, however, realize unique freedom of love and creativity, and we can find a balance and act with our heart as much as we can move with our mind.

Posted by Wendy Clark at

http://wendy-clark.blogspot.com/2007/11/after-reading-john-dewey.html

Thursday, November 01, 2007

9:45 AM

Static Elasticity

"You are the next person I shall paralyze awkward," Jaio suggested in a tone of a lunatic, one of my Nirvana of Love. I like to stare at her hair while she's watching the tele, or while she talks about all different noblity.

I lost everything today, I say to the dial tone, and my eyes fogged over as did my sunglasses, today is humid and the sun only is slightly risen, apparently a senility covers the wake of the damp and sirens blare and dogs bark. A billion planes were floundering all together, but all I can think about is myself. Anyway, I think about what I am not as ironic as it isn't.

"Why do you ask so many rhetorical questions?"

The drive home from anyplace you go is going to be an unnerving string of fragmented images, sounds, smells, etcetera, but all you can do is drive, you have to get to your next destination; we all have to get somewhere, eh?

The object of the game is to outwit everyone else, or maybe to out-think them, surpass them in the good looks or "I know how to dress" or something or other, after all, you HAVE to be good at something, don't you? Or will you fall through the cracks?

The more you stay, the farther you go away any love looks you in the eyes and you don't wait for the words you want to hear so much these days; you're friends find misery and become a bore, of course, you ponder if this boredom is really just a manifestation of your own loneliness.

Ah, looking back, we had dreams, big huge quivering coolness in our attitudes; smarter, luckier, more destined for greatness than all those random bodies rolling over the earth, heads down, miserable because they were blending in with the entire puzzle, those pieces of people.

"Deal me in," I say before I think about the consequences.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

From a post of lj past.....

Check it out: I am convinced that my cat doesn’t eat a lot because he is - as always - trying to exactly like me; trying to emulate me as if I was some sort of role model: he constantly follows me around, gazing at hallucinatory miscalculations - those which consist of rules which regard an insignificant emblem of his feline perceptivity, but back to his behavior - what the hell? I ascertain nothing. Among other many other perplexing and rebellious behaviors, he will not, under any circumstances, eat his “little tiny-expensive-so-he-will-live-damnit!” food unless his beloved Me is in the room. Right now, as I address you, he sits aloft my computer monitor, pretending that he is absolutely aloof to my presence… But I am catching on to his deceptive little feline games! He is unaware that I am aware of him following me everyplace that I wander, faithfully and consistently. He takes his own little precise kitty time, catches up to me, plunks down within millimeters of me, and pretends like he isn’t cosmically tandem - like I’m not his GOD. Ummm… just joking. Anyone from Cleveland? Affirmative, Maw, I know I ain’t god. I received that memo YEARS ago. But hey - I’m al’ight. I’m existing splendidly, thanks for asking! I realize that I subsist only of my own integrity and conduct. I am whatever I think I am. I accept the consequences of my own actions. I believe in the laws of cause and effect (insert any joke here). I decide to confront my own contradictions and demonstrate interpretation of my truth. I will not tell you to go to hell or anywhere else, but I will continue to harvest you in tactful consideration of my every influence, though I may choose to disobey you from time to time. Kosher?

Listen very carefully, this is my only demand: Nothing. Would you give me that for once?! I demand absolutely nothing from you and I expect you to carry through with that.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

I would enjoy listening to a good story about my first encounter with JJ. I ran into her with a slightly charming eye contact thing I had been working on, and then she certainly fell in love with me.
"Everyone is in love with you," she dared to tell me a few times with out a trace of sarcasm or other means of most dignified deception for any reason whatsoever, so I began to believe her after seven or eight years, and a few days later, I asked her if she could back that up.
She hasn't spoken about it since, and I am beginning to get suspiciously bored with the concept altogether. So I forgave myself after she beat me at ice hockey and psychological meanderings. We are pretty ridiciously luck, we say to ourselves.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

"But that is beside the point,"

"What ever it is that you have to tell me, you better have something to say."
I nodded. "A silent world would be an ideal utopia for you Ms. _______."
"I really," she paused at tried to look dramatic, clenched her jaw and tapped her shoe on the ground twice, then scuffed, "yes, I think that I rather loathe your frequent and flawed - so called - 'obscurity.'"

I imagined my day at work would be completely obscure and meaningless to perhaps those who were not aware of my heroic, pathetic intentions to be wonderful, which was therefore equated with obscurity.

Clearly, I was losing my mind.

Or was my mind losing me?

Moral of the tale: Whenever you can't figure out what you were going to say, what the question was, if you really want to be wonderful, you will eventually turn out to be a motorcycle.

And my advice, one of the most impressive habits of we obscure heroes, is to just end every paragraph you speak, is to say this simple phrase "...but that's beside the point." You can do this till you get bored - nobody catches on unless they, too, are as obscure as you.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

As it unfolds, the edges are as eroded as the last time I surveyed my perceived happiness, and you were always there for me.

You know who you are.

Thank you for knowing.

Global News - March - June 2008

Generation Ex. - An eXample of a Degeneration?

Thought Disorder Awareness Campaign - by wc hudson

Here are your choices:

Here are your choices:

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Static Elasticity

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

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