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Saturday, 17 November 2007
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6.02 PM - the true reasoning behind seasoning
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.
Monday, 01 October 2007
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10.51 PM - Nowadays
- 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.
Sunday, 16 September 2007
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12.51 AM - shells of kernels
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.
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
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10.14 PM - zero
"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."
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
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8.19 - eckeltricity
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.
AnacinCross
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- Name: Maximillian
- Birthday: 1/3/1992
- Gender: Male
- Member Since: 1/28/2007
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