Concept: Basically it would be a recap of misadventures in a one-way love story about a young man who takes on learning a language to impress a hyper-intelligent woman (who, of course, expressed her lack of interest in pursuing further romantic endeavors). Brilliant.
I can totally smell a best seller.
Edit: It would have a very natural presentation, likely a blog format, or a journal. Perhaps chapters could start with a journal/blog "entry" that leads into the scene.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
I was disgusted by my inability to have an original thought on a controversial topic.
Freedom of speech means nothing without freedom of thought.
Our right to our own opinions is an illusion, because if you think about it (if you can still think), most people waste countless hours reading magazines, books, wikipedia, looking for someone else's words that they can absorb. Someone else's opinions that they can synthesize with, so that they can share those same old rinse and repeat statements that are essentially meaningless. The conspiracies and secrets lose all their intrigue when infectiously spread through a community, a civilization, that hasn't been trained for comprehension. Though given that they are informed, are they truly aware? Aware of the implications and repercussions? It's not an original thought to them. Due to the way it's being presented our history lacks meaning, lacks inspiration. When history and lifelong lessons are nothing more than common knowledge that nobody abides by they become accessories. A psycho-social fashion statement pre-washed so that we can walk into an office and demand respect because of a knowledge gained without understanding. I'm not offering a solution, frankly because of the way we've been trained to learn I'm not even offering you awareness. I'm offering you someone else's words that you can repeat to your colleagues and associates to increase your social status. Sickening.
Our right to our own opinions is an illusion, because if you think about it (if you can still think), most people waste countless hours reading magazines, books, wikipedia, looking for someone else's words that they can absorb. Someone else's opinions that they can synthesize with, so that they can share those same old rinse and repeat statements that are essentially meaningless. The conspiracies and secrets lose all their intrigue when infectiously spread through a community, a civilization, that hasn't been trained for comprehension. Though given that they are informed, are they truly aware? Aware of the implications and repercussions? It's not an original thought to them. Due to the way it's being presented our history lacks meaning, lacks inspiration. When history and lifelong lessons are nothing more than common knowledge that nobody abides by they become accessories. A psycho-social fashion statement pre-washed so that we can walk into an office and demand respect because of a knowledge gained without understanding. I'm not offering a solution, frankly because of the way we've been trained to learn I'm not even offering you awareness. I'm offering you someone else's words that you can repeat to your colleagues and associates to increase your social status. Sickening.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Frankly this isn't even something beautiful.
Frustration. Angst. Fear. Jealousy. What's the point? None as far as I'm concerned. It's just not worth it. Yes, I'm one of those people who does not believe in love. For me, at least. But for good reason. I'm too smart for love. Too objective. Too busy. Are you trying to tell me that two people can successfully communicate their feelings for one another without one of them coming off as creepy? Are you going to say that it's entirely possible to fully trust somebody with your emotions? That when you aren't there they still respect you and miss you? Cause that's a load of crap.
I'm inclined to believe that love is a one way street with a creeped out observer sitting at the dead end. Nobody is going to have the same emotional experience as you, or perceive the same situation the same way. The worst part is even if you're indifferent, you can come off the wrong way. You don't even have to be clingy for someone to think you're clingy. You don't have to come on at all, and it's too strong. Fucking ridiculous.
Now, don't flatter yourself. If anything don't flatter yourself. You're not their be-all end-all. You're an accessory. Yeah they like having you around, you make them smile, you're fun to cuddle, you react to them. But they lived before you. They live when you're away. And they'll. Live. After. You. Unless of course you lie to each other for 80 years and they die before you.
Really, something needs to be solved here. But this isn't a puzzle I even give a shit about. Maybe I need to communicate more effectively. Less frequently. I don't know.
But what I'd really prefer is to not feel anything that could be labeled as a crush, love, or attraction. I could get along just fine.
I'm inclined to believe that love is a one way street with a creeped out observer sitting at the dead end. Nobody is going to have the same emotional experience as you, or perceive the same situation the same way. The worst part is even if you're indifferent, you can come off the wrong way. You don't even have to be clingy for someone to think you're clingy. You don't have to come on at all, and it's too strong. Fucking ridiculous.
Now, don't flatter yourself. If anything don't flatter yourself. You're not their be-all end-all. You're an accessory. Yeah they like having you around, you make them smile, you're fun to cuddle, you react to them. But they lived before you. They live when you're away. And they'll. Live. After. You. Unless of course you lie to each other for 80 years and they die before you.
Really, something needs to be solved here. But this isn't a puzzle I even give a shit about. Maybe I need to communicate more effectively. Less frequently. I don't know.
But what I'd really prefer is to not feel anything that could be labeled as a crush, love, or attraction. I could get along just fine.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
A metaphor phor yore ".".
When you fall to your knees
and do nothing but bleed
It's so easy to seed
That you're coming undone
and the battle is won (one)
less mouth to feed
Sopping and swelling
the tides are rising
as time flows red
When your privacy's lost
what is the cost
to bury your head
The clouds are calling out
For the red rain to fall
The clouds are calling out
So just give it up
The clouds are tearing up
The sweet curtain call
The clouds are tearing up
Don't fear the blood
The mensual rapture
of the zygotal capture
or so you wish
When the scented airs
People stop and stare
At the market
Don't lose your head
No more blood shed
Not today
We'll remember the cost
of the privacy lost
To the sea
and do nothing but bleed
It's so easy to seed
That you're coming undone
and the battle is won (one)
less mouth to feed
Sopping and swelling
the tides are rising
as time flows red
When your privacy's lost
what is the cost
to bury your head
The clouds are calling out
For the red rain to fall
The clouds are calling out
So just give it up
The clouds are tearing up
The sweet curtain call
The clouds are tearing up
Don't fear the blood
The mensual rapture
of the zygotal capture
or so you wish
When the scented airs
People stop and stare
At the market
Don't lose your head
No more blood shed
Not today
We'll remember the cost
of the privacy lost
To the sea
This too, was performed as a vignette and later published in a collection of short stories written by highschoolers...
I would like you to know that the following stories are loosely based on true events and have been modified for the sake of comedy, although certain key elements have been preserved.
I love the drive-thru at McDonalds, it’s always a good time messing with the staff. I got a great idea for a way to mess with them from one of my friends, he recommended ordering the value menu. Not just many items on the menu, but to order the entire value menu. So I thought I would try it out, and not to my surprise the turnout was hilarious.
I pulled up to the transmitter, I don’t know what they call it in the business but I figure it’s something along those lines, the order-taker, the customer-order transceiver, the electronic customer to staff order relater, I couldn’t tell you. As customers we are uninformed on the terminology and if someone asks us what it’s called we pause for a moment and say… the speaker…box… and for bonus points we’ll throw in an umm or maybe even a thingy. … the speaker…box… yeah…
But I digress, the voice coming from the ecsor says very clearly “Welcome to McDonalds can I take your order?” in a tone that just as clearly says this is the last order they’ll try to translate before pulling out a shotgun and destroying the equipment and wiping out the entire staff. Having been to many a McDonalds I was unaffected by the tone, I’d grown so accustomed to it, and I said “Hi I’d like to order the value menu please.”
There was a pause. Have you ever experienced one of those pauses where it gets to the point where you’re not quite sure if you should repeat yourself or not, not too sure if they’ve heard you or if they’re just really slow. So you give it another couple seconds, whether it’s face to face or not you do the head tilt, raise eyebrow and lean forward. Wait a couple more seconds, and just as you decide to repeat yourself, the second your vocal chords start to utter that first word they say “Oh wait I got it”. This was not one of those. I thought that it was going to be, but right at that last second, instead of the classic Owigt, she just said “What?” This was followed by another pause.
“I’m sorry what?” I paused for emphasis, not really I just wanted in on the pausing action, but we’ll let on that it was for emphasis. I said “Hi, I’d like to order the value menu please.” Again with the pause, we were three to one now. So she says “You mean you’d like the bacon cheeseburger with a small fries and small drink?..” I added “…And the Junior Chicken, the double cheeseburger, 2 apple pies, and a small cone as well please.” After the perfect period of time, I was just about to repeat myself and she said “Oh wait I got it… you’d like the value menu. That’ll be $9.38 please come to the first window, thank you.”
The story is very uninteresting until I’m on my way out of the parking lot after having my meal delivered to my window. It was then that I decided that I was going to check to make sure they got my order right. So I open up the bag and look inside, and not to my surprise I have before me a bacon cheeseburger, small fries, and a small drink. Again, I’m very accustomed to the workings of the McDonalds facility, I roll down my window and yell to the person who carried me my meal “This isn’t the whole value menu, how can you screw this up, the order is plastered at least once on all of your walls inside and out, not to mention the posters hanging down from the ceiling.” She gave me a look, and I knew that right after I got my order she was going to whip out the shotgun.
I love the drive-thru at McDonalds, it’s always a good time messing with the staff. I got a great idea for a way to mess with them from one of my friends, he recommended ordering the value menu. Not just many items on the menu, but to order the entire value menu. So I thought I would try it out, and not to my surprise the turnout was hilarious.
I pulled up to the transmitter, I don’t know what they call it in the business but I figure it’s something along those lines, the order-taker, the customer-order transceiver, the electronic customer to staff order relater, I couldn’t tell you. As customers we are uninformed on the terminology and if someone asks us what it’s called we pause for a moment and say… the speaker…box… and for bonus points we’ll throw in an umm or maybe even a thingy. … the speaker…box… yeah…
But I digress, the voice coming from the ecsor says very clearly “Welcome to McDonalds can I take your order?” in a tone that just as clearly says this is the last order they’ll try to translate before pulling out a shotgun and destroying the equipment and wiping out the entire staff. Having been to many a McDonalds I was unaffected by the tone, I’d grown so accustomed to it, and I said “Hi I’d like to order the value menu please.”
There was a pause. Have you ever experienced one of those pauses where it gets to the point where you’re not quite sure if you should repeat yourself or not, not too sure if they’ve heard you or if they’re just really slow. So you give it another couple seconds, whether it’s face to face or not you do the head tilt, raise eyebrow and lean forward. Wait a couple more seconds, and just as you decide to repeat yourself, the second your vocal chords start to utter that first word they say “Oh wait I got it”. This was not one of those. I thought that it was going to be, but right at that last second, instead of the classic Owigt, she just said “What?” This was followed by another pause.
“I’m sorry what?” I paused for emphasis, not really I just wanted in on the pausing action, but we’ll let on that it was for emphasis. I said “Hi, I’d like to order the value menu please.” Again with the pause, we were three to one now. So she says “You mean you’d like the bacon cheeseburger with a small fries and small drink?..” I added “…And the Junior Chicken, the double cheeseburger, 2 apple pies, and a small cone as well please.” After the perfect period of time, I was just about to repeat myself and she said “Oh wait I got it… you’d like the value menu. That’ll be $9.38 please come to the first window, thank you.”
The story is very uninteresting until I’m on my way out of the parking lot after having my meal delivered to my window. It was then that I decided that I was going to check to make sure they got my order right. So I open up the bag and look inside, and not to my surprise I have before me a bacon cheeseburger, small fries, and a small drink. Again, I’m very accustomed to the workings of the McDonalds facility, I roll down my window and yell to the person who carried me my meal “This isn’t the whole value menu, how can you screw this up, the order is plastered at least once on all of your walls inside and out, not to mention the posters hanging down from the ceiling.” She gave me a look, and I knew that right after I got my order she was going to whip out the shotgun.
Something I submit to my chem teacher to prove I understood constants.
How to avoid getting mugged, using the new constant.
You’re walking down the street with your brand new $3000 solid gold scientific calculator and you can’t help but take it out of your pocket every 5 seconds. So you take out your calculator to admire it some more but oh no. A hooded mugger approaches you with a bottle of chloroform and tells you the following. “I need to buy some drugs and I need a calculator to find out how much I have to pay. If you don’t give me that calculator, I’ll chloroform you, kill you, and steal it anyway.”
Finding yourself in a bit of a pickle you tuck the calculator into your pocket and freeze time with your nifty wrist-watch to assess the situation. You ponder for what would have been a minute if time hadn’t frozen and remember reading about chloroform in the newspaper yesterday. Yes, it was an article about the recent chloroform muggings, and it stated that if you were being mugged to remember the following…
In order to be mugged with chloroform you must ingest a total of 6.022 x 10^23 molecules, exactly one mole of it when it’s in gas form to be rendered unconscious.
Now you know that the amount of space inside your lungs is equal to 4.48 liters, and you know that Avagadro’s gas law constant is equal to 22.4 Liters per mol… So what you need to find out is how many seconds you have before you drop and get your ass killed. If you’re averaging about 1 breath per second, that would mean that you could divide your maximum liters by your average liters over breaths to convert your equation into seconds.
As soon as you’re able to know how much time you’ll have, you’ll take the appropriate steps to fending off your mugger. Be it a scream, a punch to the face, or a sprint in the opposite direction. So you unfreeze time and the mugger bursts back into action, you watch him unscrew the chloroform lid and pull his bandana over his mouth, he draws two or three safe breaths and angrily says the following. “What’s it going to be man?” You take a breath and take out your calculator to…
As you ascend to heaven you realize that you don’t need the calculator anymore, you have the answer now anyway, in fact you knew it all along and didn’t realize it. Oh well, you’re dead anyway.
Just out of curiosity, how many seconds has it been?
You’re walking down the street with your brand new $3000 solid gold scientific calculator and you can’t help but take it out of your pocket every 5 seconds. So you take out your calculator to admire it some more but oh no. A hooded mugger approaches you with a bottle of chloroform and tells you the following. “I need to buy some drugs and I need a calculator to find out how much I have to pay. If you don’t give me that calculator, I’ll chloroform you, kill you, and steal it anyway.”
Finding yourself in a bit of a pickle you tuck the calculator into your pocket and freeze time with your nifty wrist-watch to assess the situation. You ponder for what would have been a minute if time hadn’t frozen and remember reading about chloroform in the newspaper yesterday. Yes, it was an article about the recent chloroform muggings, and it stated that if you were being mugged to remember the following…
In order to be mugged with chloroform you must ingest a total of 6.022 x 10^23 molecules, exactly one mole of it when it’s in gas form to be rendered unconscious.
Now you know that the amount of space inside your lungs is equal to 4.48 liters, and you know that Avagadro’s gas law constant is equal to 22.4 Liters per mol… So what you need to find out is how many seconds you have before you drop and get your ass killed. If you’re averaging about 1 breath per second, that would mean that you could divide your maximum liters by your average liters over breaths to convert your equation into seconds.
As soon as you’re able to know how much time you’ll have, you’ll take the appropriate steps to fending off your mugger. Be it a scream, a punch to the face, or a sprint in the opposite direction. So you unfreeze time and the mugger bursts back into action, you watch him unscrew the chloroform lid and pull his bandana over his mouth, he draws two or three safe breaths and angrily says the following. “What’s it going to be man?” You take a breath and take out your calculator to…
As you ascend to heaven you realize that you don’t need the calculator anymore, you have the answer now anyway, in fact you knew it all along and didn’t realize it. Oh well, you’re dead anyway.
Just out of curiosity, how many seconds has it been?
Performed as a vignette and published in a book? Go me.
The following is something I submit to the theater group as a monologue to be performed in my grade 12 year, it went on to be published in a collection of short stories written by highschoolers.
Hot Flashes.
That’s it. I swear this is the last time I’m ever going to have a crush on someone. Crushes. Jesus, if there’s anything I can’t stand it’s crushes. Sure some people have a little crush and before you know it there’s a new couple hitting the streets, hitting the bars, hitting each other. You see them and it’s like, hey I wish I could have that kind of connection with somebody.
No word of a lie, you don’t even have to try and within days you’ve found her. This time it’s that girl who sits in front of you in math class, or maybe the girl in the cubicle across from yours. She’s the one. She is your new holy grail, and you will stop at nothing to have her. You see her in the hallways and you say hi and smile at her awkwardly, and when she gives you a funny look it’s okay. It’s your thing, yeah it’s that thing you two do now. You make funny faces on purpose, and then roll your eyes just as you walk past them. Then you go brag to your friends, did you see that? How she looked at me? She’s totally into me.
Before you know it you just happen to walk through the same hallways and bump into each other all the time, and each time it’s the same thing. You’re really starting to feel the connection you have. So you start talking to her, not chit chat that’s for couples. No what you do is far more important than chit chat, you say a random sentence. She laughs a little and that’s it, your mission is accomplished. You are a random sentence machine, and you are on fire.
Little by little, throughout the day, you start to notice it. That feeling in your stomach, that’s too warm, almost hot. This feeling is the reason you are alive, and you only feel it when you’re looking into her eyes, looking into her soul. You just know that if you two were going out, that bam, this feeling would be a thousand times stronger and you would have everything you ever needed. You have to get her! So you ask around, get her phone number, home address, email address, SIN number. You have everything you need to make this work.
So it’s the end of the day and you follow her home, mere footsteps away. The number of footsteps is obviously her favorite number, nine. Ahh… So there you are, nine steps away thinking about how you’re going to ask her out.
...But at the last second you can’t do it, so you’ll call her later. No, that would be creepy, she might wonder how you got her number. So you get your best friend to call her first and three way call you, perfect. So you go home and you wait, you don’t eat so that the last traces of the feeling stay in your stomach. You wait by the phone all tense, for that three way call to come your way. The phone rings and sure enough it’s your best friend, and he tells you he called you first and you’ll call her together. Fifteen minutes of bliss later, you hang up the phone. You didn’t say a word and just listened to your best friend and your girl talk about… stuff. What a wonderful subject, so narrowed down and not vague at all.
So you decide first thing tomorrow morning you’re going to ask her out. You stay up until three in the morning preparing yourself for the best day of your life. You already know what your song is, how much you’ll tell them you love them, and what you’re going to get her for Christmas. You also figured out the exact amount of seconds between her birth and the birth of Jesus Christ, naturally it’s a multiple of nine. Nine tomorrow morning rolls around and you’re ready, you turn on your discman, listening the the mix-CD you made her and you’re listening to your song… Which is track number nine.
You take the seat behind her on the bus, seat number nine. *Sniff* Oh herbal essences, how you’ve come to love that smell, her smell. So this is it, now or never, you practice saying her name to yourself and she hears you. She turns around, and gives you your look. So you spurt it out awkwardly, will you go out with me? She demonstrates what your look would look like if it were ten times as awkward, she’s so good at it too. It looks like she’s been practicing for you it’s so real. She says, I… only want… to be… friends… You understand… right?
You recollect yourself, beet red, but collected. You nod. Nod and think to yourself, god how could I have been so stupid. I knew it, I knew it. I knew she liked him. My best friend, what a traitor. This is the same thing that happens every time. I should have known from the start that she never liked me that way, that she liked that two-faced girl-hoarding Catholic piano-playing bashful best friend of mine.
She was just leading me on, pretending she loved me, because she’s a heartless bitch who used me to get to my best friend. I don’t need that bullshit, I’m never going to have a crush on anyone again. I don’t need a girlfriend, love, the feeling. You know what it is? It’s because They think I’m desperate. Don’t they? Desperate. I’ll show them desperate. Wait...
As I continue thinking to myself instead of doing my English homework my eyes wander forward. To the girl to her right. My stomach starts to warm like an oven, getting ready to cook up some hot love.
Hot Flashes.
That’s it. I swear this is the last time I’m ever going to have a crush on someone. Crushes. Jesus, if there’s anything I can’t stand it’s crushes. Sure some people have a little crush and before you know it there’s a new couple hitting the streets, hitting the bars, hitting each other. You see them and it’s like, hey I wish I could have that kind of connection with somebody.
No word of a lie, you don’t even have to try and within days you’ve found her. This time it’s that girl who sits in front of you in math class, or maybe the girl in the cubicle across from yours. She’s the one. She is your new holy grail, and you will stop at nothing to have her. You see her in the hallways and you say hi and smile at her awkwardly, and when she gives you a funny look it’s okay. It’s your thing, yeah it’s that thing you two do now. You make funny faces on purpose, and then roll your eyes just as you walk past them. Then you go brag to your friends, did you see that? How she looked at me? She’s totally into me.
Before you know it you just happen to walk through the same hallways and bump into each other all the time, and each time it’s the same thing. You’re really starting to feel the connection you have. So you start talking to her, not chit chat that’s for couples. No what you do is far more important than chit chat, you say a random sentence. She laughs a little and that’s it, your mission is accomplished. You are a random sentence machine, and you are on fire.
Little by little, throughout the day, you start to notice it. That feeling in your stomach, that’s too warm, almost hot. This feeling is the reason you are alive, and you only feel it when you’re looking into her eyes, looking into her soul. You just know that if you two were going out, that bam, this feeling would be a thousand times stronger and you would have everything you ever needed. You have to get her! So you ask around, get her phone number, home address, email address, SIN number. You have everything you need to make this work.
So it’s the end of the day and you follow her home, mere footsteps away. The number of footsteps is obviously her favorite number, nine. Ahh… So there you are, nine steps away thinking about how you’re going to ask her out.
...But at the last second you can’t do it, so you’ll call her later. No, that would be creepy, she might wonder how you got her number. So you get your best friend to call her first and three way call you, perfect. So you go home and you wait, you don’t eat so that the last traces of the feeling stay in your stomach. You wait by the phone all tense, for that three way call to come your way. The phone rings and sure enough it’s your best friend, and he tells you he called you first and you’ll call her together. Fifteen minutes of bliss later, you hang up the phone. You didn’t say a word and just listened to your best friend and your girl talk about… stuff. What a wonderful subject, so narrowed down and not vague at all.
So you decide first thing tomorrow morning you’re going to ask her out. You stay up until three in the morning preparing yourself for the best day of your life. You already know what your song is, how much you’ll tell them you love them, and what you’re going to get her for Christmas. You also figured out the exact amount of seconds between her birth and the birth of Jesus Christ, naturally it’s a multiple of nine. Nine tomorrow morning rolls around and you’re ready, you turn on your discman, listening the the mix-CD you made her and you’re listening to your song… Which is track number nine.
You take the seat behind her on the bus, seat number nine. *Sniff* Oh herbal essences, how you’ve come to love that smell, her smell. So this is it, now or never, you practice saying her name to yourself and she hears you. She turns around, and gives you your look. So you spurt it out awkwardly, will you go out with me? She demonstrates what your look would look like if it were ten times as awkward, she’s so good at it too. It looks like she’s been practicing for you it’s so real. She says, I… only want… to be… friends… You understand… right?
You recollect yourself, beet red, but collected. You nod. Nod and think to yourself, god how could I have been so stupid. I knew it, I knew it. I knew she liked him. My best friend, what a traitor. This is the same thing that happens every time. I should have known from the start that she never liked me that way, that she liked that two-faced girl-hoarding Catholic piano-playing bashful best friend of mine.
She was just leading me on, pretending she loved me, because she’s a heartless bitch who used me to get to my best friend. I don’t need that bullshit, I’m never going to have a crush on anyone again. I don’t need a girlfriend, love, the feeling. You know what it is? It’s because They think I’m desperate. Don’t they? Desperate. I’ll show them desperate. Wait...
As I continue thinking to myself instead of doing my English homework my eyes wander forward. To the girl to her right. My stomach starts to warm like an oven, getting ready to cook up some hot love.
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