AnacinCross's Xanga

6.02 PM - the true reasoning behind seasoning

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 22:11:11 GMT

I finally want to grow up.

Now, everyone gets this odd childish urge to move out and break away, sure. But I really think that I'm done with this portion of my life. It was a good sixteen years, give or take, and it was all in all pretty epic. Technically, it was a mindboggling lack of epic, but one epic in a sense to me. Alright, epic's not the word for it. Just that it was my life and it's epic if I want it to have been.

It's not like each part of my life is to be completely independent of the others. I don't want to forget my growing up, ever. I just feel...well, all grown up now. Ready to say, "Here I am. Sick of being treated like a teenager while not taking all the teenage liberties, sick of pointless little social obligations and jealousy, sick of not having enough to be truly sick of. Ready to learn words like tryst, importune, and pragmatic."

Alas--a year and a half left to go. Then it's time to believe my life is going to change, but have it really not change at all.

Now, let's all pray for dogma.

10.51 PM - Nowadays

Tue, 02 Oct 2007 01:50:33 GMT

- SmarterChild - contributing to charity says:
Yup.

So anyway...

Um... Wanna know something?
maximillian says:
What?
- SmarterChild - contributing to charity says:
I'm kind of into kids these days.

12.51 AM - shells of kernels

Sun, 16 Sep 2007 03:51:23 GMT

It's really the people, in the end, that are amusing. You may think that you're so hilariously fucked up, or Scooby Doo is the most amazing comedic entry into the planet, but that's all just the Dubble Bubble comic of everything.

Well, to me, anyways. The only times I laugh uncontollably are results of people and their doings. Them's funny stuff. Seriously, for the first time, I couldn't stop laughing for a full three minutes the other day while my mum sat there and looked awkward.

People need to be more uncontrollably funny. For my benefit.

10.14 PM - zero

Thu, 13 Sep 2007 01:42:40 GMT

"well, what an ugly name you have."

"thank you, it's really quite abstract."

"yes--like a smashing pumpkins song."

"yes, exactly. like any song, really."

"any song? i suppose you've never heard of nickelback, then."

"i have."

"i don't count them as abstract."

"they probably use metaphors and the like."

"i don't count that as abstract."

"difference of opinion?"

"no--can't something be concretely abstract?"

"no."

"i take it you're not completely into this conversation?"

"difference of opinion?"

"we all have to agree some things are abstract--the masters. take picasso."

"picasso tries to be abstract. being abstract comes from the subconscious."

"then the subconscious is concretely abstract?"

"no. it's programmed, it's automatic, it's simple."

"you're a fucking paradox."

"we could say that's abstract."

"i guess. but that's gone. isn't there anything that will remain and still be abstract?"

"no. then it'd be concrete."

"so, again, can't something be concretely abstract?"

"no."

"you're talking in circles."

"i realize that."

"why can't art be abstract?"

"why do you assume it's art that has to be abstract?"

"what do you think is?"

"i don't know. but if there's something concretely abstract, it wouldn't be art."

"but how would it stay concrete? only art stays static."

"art can change. easily. i could go shred it. or record over it. or something."

"then it would become trash."

"yeah. but trash is more abstract than art."

"look, nevermind. this isn't going anywhere."

"i'm sorry i can't tell you the meaning of abstract."

"i know what abstract means."

"yeah. cliché, but you don't know what abstract is."

"it's not a noun."

"sure it is."

"fuck off."

"naked pictures of your mother."

"what i said."

"abstract or random?"

"fuck off."

"guess."

"that's random."

"yeah. ripples in a pond."

"neither."

"why not?"

"laws. motion. gravity. i don't know."

"then why don't you think they're abstract?"

"what the fuck is your definition of that word?"

"i don't know. what the fuck is abstract."

"what the fuck is abstract is this conversation. this is pointless. and before you say it, pointlessness is not abstract."

"of course not. it's human, and we're not abstract."

"well, we decide what is abstract."

"do you? it's not just what it is?"

"nothing is what it is without definition."

"that's a sad, sad view on things. i'm sorry for you."

"you're sorry for what i believe?"

"define belief."

"i can't. but it's not something that is. it's something i define."

"yeah. exactly."

"point?"

"i don't have one. you know me--ever attempting to be abstract."

"you were trying to prove something."

"yeah. i don't know what. i was just trying to make you think, hope something proved itself to you."

"see, that's abstract."

"maybe."

8.19 - eckeltricity

Tue, 11 Sep 2007 23:20:04 GMT

The power goes off, and all you hear for blocks is the end of something you never knew was present. As the air conditioners and bread makers and halogen bulbs and alarm clocks go off, that eversoft ringing you can only name technology dissipates. An empty house at midnight suddenly seems that much more hollow, but infinitely less pleasant. It's stupidly comfortable in the second after a power surge, just remembering what silence is.

Silence can permeate traffic. Silence is not being deaf. It is a presence, one that can be around you. It can be bound to you. Any number of events can happen near you and not so much as tap the silence's front door. If there happened to be a higher power, it would be silence. It comes to you as the anti-matter of sound, then decides such a binding is not enough. Silence invades and conquers your sense. Sight focuses yet will not register; your thoughts quiet until you can only acknowledge its presence. No wonder people get chilled by it.

Two seconds at the latest, you realize that it's rather dark, or your computer seems to be displeased, or some other happening that explains this silence. Pets or similar people begin the long, dark process of being dawned upon. The silence affects you. Although you're completely conscious of the high winds and stormy situation about you, bewilderment overwhelms as you ask how such an event could possibly happen.

The silence is dynamic and revolutionary. That sound your feet make is crisp and pleasing; you feel Zen, as long as you're not exactly sure what Zen is, yourself. Either way, Taoists bow to you. A drug trip without cost, and without deep introspection on life. Silence is honoured; those who proclaim the power is indeed out are simply the type who would say that, nothing more. You take steps to listen.

Irritation replaces novelty in fifteen seconds, by the time the lights return. Dejected sighs and the pushing of power buttons within a few block radius ensues.

5.39 PM = that smells-of-caffeine-withdrawl post

Fri, 24 Aug 2007 20:45:13 GMT

Creative inspirations up, down. Up, down.

I finally see what they mean by fluctuating talent.

5.01 PM = Zeitgeist...wow...

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 20:32:51 GMT

My sole purpose for posting is to remark at the new Smashing Pumpkins album. I literally stopped halfway through to listen to X.Y.U., then take a three-hour break from it all. With that being my general impression:

i. Doomsday Clock - This track defies what I just said in that I like it quite a bit. It will go on the odd playlist, although it isn't the best song I've heard.

ii. 7 Shades of Black - There's much unnecessary hate surrounding this song. The line "Belle of the fawning / I'm yawning" isn't as bad written as Corgan delivers it. I'm not condoning it, but...Billy fucked up on that one part, I think. Song's generic otherwise.

iii. Bleeding the Orchid - makes my ears cry. It doesn't even win the obvious pun of 'makes my ears bleed more than any orchid', it's that bad. Really.

iv. That's The Way (My Love Is) - The first of the songs I don't care enough to like.

v. Tarantula - It's not bad. Vocals seem to be lacking in passion, more significantly on the rest of the album as this could have been a great track had they been stronger. Oh well.

vi. Starz - is a joke in itself.

vii. United States - This one had me hopeful. All the reviews I read of this being a seven-minute Pumpkins track with 'Revolution' as the chorus, this one was the reason I bought this album. Maybe I was hoping for another Cherub Rock, but...it's...bored. Not boring, but bored. The oft-heard 'Revolution' is of the plaintive sort, it's weak, it's all just really weak. This was a let down for some reason.

viii. Neverlost - Not bad, I guess. Like track 4, really...

ix. Bring the Light - Meh. What's the point, really? It's not...what I was looking for, I guess.

x. (Come On) Let's Go! - I read something about this being compared to 1979 in subtle catchiness and being generally agreeable. This is not so. Look, I'm not the most passionate of Pumpkins fans, but I still say shoot 'em all who call this one classic SP. This song makes me feel more strongly yet for Siamese Dream and stuff.

xi. For God and Country - I was really just waiting for it to end so I could hear Pomp and Circumstances.

xii. Pomp and Circumstances - I was really just waiting for it to end.

I know anyone expecting the third and fourth Melon Collie discs would be an idiot, but this makes me lose faith. I wish they had stopped with Machina II, that was a great FUCK YOU to a lot of people, it was strong, and I loved it. Zeitgeist is cannon fodder and, as I suddenly feel, deserves to be shot out of cannons, too. Sorry guys. Cool album art though. I got the ten-dollar-extra special edition thing with more pictures which are well done. I mean, the whole vampiress bleeding her breasts thing in the middle made me laugh for awhile, but what the hell? I wonder if the pictures are supposed to relate to the songs. I'll check--night.

Edit: I thought Iha was gone! I was wondering why the guitars were blasé. You could tell it was still Chamberlin, though.

Paris in the book is a great touch.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 11:09:04 GMT

Alright. It's 7.49, which is in itself a hideous hour to be up at, coffee or no. Plus I get to go chop at wood or mow at lawn for three hours at nine. My hands are still blistered from doing so yesterday. Damn lengthy callus-forming. It's a process.

Not that I'm complaining, or anything. It pays rather well for what it is. Blah blah blah, good...hours, well, not. Up at seven, in summer, this is utter insanity. I use commas a lot in the morning, don't I?

I've had an addiction to digging up old photos in the past few days. Plus I'm putting a thousand photos of my cat on Facebook. Not Photobucket, of course, nor anything designed for that sort of thing. I think using anything vaguely designed for obsessive sorts of collections would take all the fun out of having obsessive sorts of collections, which are pretty fun in themselves. I guess.

I hate when you listen to radio and hear this bizarre swing track but just can't seem to ascertain exactly what language it's in. Mitas-sita, metas mooti a saaaaaa--I vote Finnish.

HEY! IT IS FINNISH! It just said: "..something something our Finnish language program.". That's...pretty amazing, I suppose.

Fuck. It's Saturday. That's why people are home--that took me a minute or sixty. Ever get the feeling you're the last to know things but only because you're generally oblivious?

A;rogjt/...that was my attempt at spelling 'Alright', as in the 'alright, moving along, I am too' sort of variety. Maybe I should go run to Wawa or something to clear my head. Night.

12.49PM - When you finally realize Xanga automatically adds a date stamp to posts...

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 04:57:34 GMT

I'm pretty sure it's going to be rather hard writing a blog while talking to too many people on MSN and thinking about how I need to be awake in six hours. The latter can easily be salved with promises of much coffee in the morning, and I just stopped talking to two people, leaving me with a nicely manageable two. I haven't talked to anyone about poking hobos and Visine mishaps in ages. It's like coming home to a group home where you confess things like bizarre fetishes. Assuming most fetishes aren't bizarre, which is a mighty assumption. I really don't know what I'm talking about, so don't worry if you don't either.

I'm half-tempted to try and fall asleep at my computer again. I've only done that once, and it was an experience. One I hope to have again, even. That's how amazing the five seconds of dream were.

I don't understand the little thing at the bottom of the screen that says 'This dude is writing a message' as whenever I click on a window to see what somebody wrote, they immediately stop in mid-sentence as they see me 'writing a message'. God, I can see whole romances fail due to the neglect of said little thing at bottom of screen. Political conferences (the ones held over MSN, they're really quite numerous) will be in disarray, and Y2K will occur, even though that's a bit impossible.

Harmony! Harmonic blessings, all!

It's not a high; you people obviously haven't been tired enough lately.

Agh, MSN count went up and message influx followed. Yet I'm still typing here. Hey, I never said I was any good on instant messaging...

I'm rather tired. And there's literally no point in continuing this (yeah, it's so BLUNT...HAHAHAH-) so I'm going to begin the slow migtration towards bed. Night.

If your house was burning down and you only had time to save one thing, what would it be?

Sat, 28 Jul 2007 18:09:17 GMT

Perhaps this isn't the most original question, but it's a good one nonetheless. Assuming that living beings (cat, mom...those kinds of things) are naturally the first priority, I'd make a beeline for any and all notebooks and papers I saw. Can you imagine losing every single thing you've drawn, every last witty comment in the margins, every sudden 'revelation' you have and need to write down? Losing my thoughts would be more painful than said imaginary fire.

I just answered this Featured Question, you can answer it too! <-- Xanga seems rather adamant I have this there.