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Any one of us could have done this...

Posted 20 March 2004, 6.56 pm by The_Roach

... but Marty Beckerman did.

I've been having computer problems. The damn thing just locks up for no reason I can possibly comprehend. I've replaced the power supply, mucked about with device conflicts, reformatted and reinstalled Win2k and spent a considerable amount of time fearing that it could be a motherboard or CPU problem. Right now, I'm just hoping it's my primary hard drive taking a permanent shit.

This morning, following a nearly seven hour long marathon of The Testimony of Jacob Hollow with some friends, I started up a surface scan of the 20 GB drive hoping that I would find some sort of anomaly that would reinforce this supposition and relieve some of my fears. Three hours later, I haven't found anything wrong with the hard disk. I found something else instead.

Marty Beckerman is twenty years old, a college student originally from Anchorage, Alaska, and the unofficial spokesman for Generation Y. I don't know right now whether I want to kill him or buy his under aged ass a beer.

He's recently published his second book entitled Generation S.L.U.T.. In an attempt to expose and explain the "hook-up" culture that seemingly dominates the youth of today, Beckerman focuses his finely honed research skills and cocksure attitude towards a culture where learning your partner's name is secondary to the instant gratification of sex.

It's chock full of statistics covering everything from the number of hours the average child watches television every week (twenty eight) to the amount of revenue generated by the sales of thong underwear to girls aged thirteen to seventeen ($152 million in 2002), man-on-the-street style quotes ("Usually the reason I let guys fuck me is because I'm tired of sucking their dicks") and portions of journalistic articles from major publications both online and in print. These really only function as buffers intended to separate the main body of work, a collection of six essays/articles and a fictional narrative in six parts. The style works well, giving the reader an opportunity to cleanse their palate before leaping out of the fiction and into the journalism.

Generation S.L.U.T. is supposed to be shocking, that much is obvious. Teenagers dragging each other into closets for quick oral sex, a high school football player cheering that he fucked a college chick to his buddies (who all watched) as he walks away and leaves her unconscious and unaware on a bathroom floor. Yeah, there's little room for doubt. The question I have is, how smart is Marty Beckerman? I know it is intended to startle, but it just doesn't. I'm part of this generation and I've seen it all around me. This is nothing new but simply what is now an accepted... yeah, now you're getting it. While our parents may gasp in horror because of what we're doing, I gasp in horror because it's no big deal.

This is the beauty of Beckerman's book. So long as you aren't the nineteen year old guy who says "if she's too drunk to say 'no'... Well, she's basically saying yes," this book should slap you in the face. If you know that guy, doubly so as the writing makes you realize how far gone we've really become in a slow and subtle fashion.

It's not without it's flaws, of course. Beckerman takes time out to use his soapbox for a rather irrelevant commentary on the Iraq war, pointing out that (statistically speaking) these same foolish kids support it, and it undermines the rest of the work. Even so, his journalistic pieces make for excellent reading as he recounts a botched necking session with a blind date or the experience of hiring a prostitute to be a prom date. The narrative is fairly tight too, even if it moves the characters into seemingly unrealistic frontiers. It's alright, Marty. We know better.

Highly recommended.


Posted 19 March 2004, 4.08 pm by Lilith

Things in my life are about to change. My life is about to change. Hey, it’s changing already, just because I realized a change in direction is needed. Sounds simple, huh?

“Only change is constant” is a much-used cliché, but yes, this change is important, more so than the myriad of other daily changes that make up our life even if we do not do a thing to effect change. This is a change I have caused. It is big and very different and special because it came about not only due to a set of circumstances coming together, as most routine changes tend to be, but because of will applied to inert mass of daily routine. My will. And it made me think about how few changes I have really truly brought into effect myself in the 27 years of my life.

I am not going to argue that metaphysically, every choice I make every second of the day brings about change of one type or another and I am the cause of all those changes around me. I agree with that. The distinction I am trying to make—even though I am not even sure it really exists qualitatively and not just quantitatively—is between those daily choices and changes we make without thinking twice about them, and the big changes that we effect due to wanting to make some sort of a momentous change in our lives or ourselves.

There is a saying that I have known for years, and it goes like this: “There are those who make things happen, there are those who watch things happen, and then there are those who wake up in the morning and ask what has happened.” Upon a lot of observation of myself and those around me, it dawned on me (really not an original conclusion at all), that most people fall into the third category. Metaphysically they affect an average amount of change in the world just by living in it, but those changes are really the ripples in the river caused by a floating log, that knows not where it floats or why or even that it does.

I also realized that while I wanted to be in the first category and even imagined I was, I was really in the second. I watched, I realized what was happening, but I didn’t make anything happen. The demands of my parents, the society and the general pressure of the “water” around my log twirled it around and into the acceptable and good social niches—good grades, university, job, good boyfriend… And I realized that none of it had been my decision. These were things I did because you just did them if you were born into my family/social class/environment. They were not my choices at all. I was about to apply for graduate school in USA and get on with the program, and that wasn’t my choice either. It wasn’t what I wanted, it was just the accepted continuation of the laid-out plan.

That was when I first raised my head and looked at my life without the goggles of what everyone knew I was going to do, and asked myself what is it that I want—and the answer was that I really don’t want to be in USA, that I really don’t want to apply to graduate school there (why would I do that if I don’t want to be there?), that I don’t want to get on with the program, and that I want to go somewhere to chase love, a place where I wanted to live, a possibility of being truly happy with myself because I am where I want to be and doing what I want to do—by my own choice, and yes—further education—but not when and where I don’t want to be!

For any of you who ever moved across an ocean or just to another continent, you know what I am talking about. For those of you who have not, just try to imagine the amount of force that needs to be applied to routine life in order to move it that way. It has been two years since I realized that I need to make changes, and these years have been spent in slowly pushing that inertia of routine into a new pathway, one leading to a plane with suitcases instead of a research library somewhere in the American Midwest.

The point is—I have finally arrived at the runway for takeoff, the last steep slope before the trampoline jump into something that is all of my own making as far as the road of life is concerned. There may be dragons, out there—I have no idea, but there usually are—and still I do not care—I would rather have those unknown dragons and deal with them, than rot and stagnate in the morass I was sinking into, before realizing that I was, and choosing to make this change and jump the cataract..

It is true that no one else can make you happy if you are not happy with yourself. However, it is also true that you can make yourself happy if you only figure out what it is you want, and go after it. For me, the hardest part of all this was realizing that I wasn’t doing what I wanted to, and taking off the blind-goggles to see what I really wanted. From there, the path to being one of those who make things happen was only a short step.

Life is a great thing, I think, if you choose to live it instead of floating down like that log in the river, without ever knowing where you are headed, which way, or why.

A insular (poem)

Posted 17 March 2004, 11.29 pm by cauchy3

A insular
Airs of freedom kiss my chins

Green island lack of chauvinism

Life here has free margins

We have journeys to wonderland and wonder women is our aunts

Firefly also has its name to shine

Green hill nod my head

Clean waters raise my feet with all beauties in life

Monkeys play in little auspicious snow for real.

Passions have true heart for unit price

Babies are molded by their mother for love

Cooking smoke drives away sorrows of people that are nice

Children have beautiful toes that won all of mercies of goddess all over

Its fortress need heroes to strong its hold

Happy and free are belong to even the eclipse of the bright moon

Celestial with some little bugs that balance true evils like earth poles

Brave people dress in yellow hoods

Neighbor store dreadful heads for jackets

We swear not to waste a shot

Justices from our dome need some actions

Our right hearts excite our bloods to hot

Moneys should make in peaceful purpose when they are heaped

Literary of people are in crucifixions

Words from candles flames result to burn in our earths

Leaden mountains suppress our freedom with fix

Lantern has glimmers that should not be flatten

Every nice people lit flames in candles on silver stands

Flatters and servant s manner please go off and scat

Rosaries are broken in the sounds of tantara

If you slit my throats then I could have no breath

Armours are only shields of nice peoples

Heavy stormy wind s eyes are not source of realm

Chrysanthemums will continue to burgeon in our April

Temperaments and resentments are dress of shrouds

Apparat live in well off life with gentries

My wishes are wraths and nemesis to go around

Poor people hum the drools for foods treats

by cheung shun sang=cauchy3=laplace181

A arm

Posted 17 March 2004, 11.26 pm by cauchy3

A arm
Redbuds or redbugs are some patriots. The prototypes of a country and the tokens of moneys are as beautiful as redbuds but never as so bad as redbugs. Patriots are all tokenism that spend people s moneys in banks to get some mean to bribe for French political kisses but French persona love curry powders.
The powders of curry soak with the powders of curry. The surfaces of ground are too dry for red wines. Central cores of very pretty gifts are nuts which expose all their lovable powers on heaven.
Peoples have ranks or roles of their own. May be there are the sign in desk which take the roles of all awards to our redbuds but not redbugs. Marshal matches on streets for orders and patriots apply for open rewards.
May be I argue with all my girls and sisters with all incentive motives? I just love the chance of send-off for them to be friends of Indian or Tailand commanders. Could you tell me that is there any silly Billy in Indian or Indian or in Tailand.
Patriots are you dare to stand up before rebels and sign in the desk as redbuds but not redbugs. The sanctions to good patriots should not restrict to boomers or leaders who show all adnexs of many kinds.
What are the most pertinent speeches should be for t5hose Chinese officers by deputations? Endothermic to all heats of patriotism are heat sinks to pas reference to all patriots but with neglects to many of them.
Dear Tun-kin-wah, you should not fix your sticking mind to the one who wear formal robes or those who negligee. If some female cadres are large in minds but narrow in pants, do you and your bosses do not make them groan but listen to their voices.
Sign in your desk now, Mr. Tun and set up many prizes to patriots. Why not ask them to tell your bosses what have they had done or plan for you? I never see all the documents of Jun-Ting-Yue but you should have the political right hearts to study them and tell us all about these packages.
The packages for all communists are unique systems of China and Hong Kong. All communists are the followers of Apollo that is the sun. The rejects of the large minds Cue-Ge-Youn could be some disconfirmed arguments.
The lack of compassions to many such peoples and the doomed fate of many patriots are two bright spots on one stage. The red Curtain are some dark covers which are full of narrow minds. The hoists on the stages seem to be valuable but quite void.
Peoples who live from hand to mouth need chances to win promotions and get rich. However under the definitions of mass psychology all leaders need high principals and very good characters. The very good hearts are for open-airs and also private airs. What a formidable hero love is pleasures of many kinds. What an angel loves is pleasures of all kinds involve with those ones that will cut off their wings.
If it is not for the constant of our universe then it is for the damage of viruses that come at all angles will be our doomed fates.
Finally we bit our hands by our mouths because there is some genocide. Today the tanks are on your services but on the other days they are the tools inside the others dreams. Every body has some dreams that deny
Freak- God.
U.S.A president bush entail to woo the loves and supports from U.S.A Christians. Abortions of child vs abortions of powers! Anti- Homosexualities are some other redeemed -tickets to sell to all Christains in the days of atonements.
However may be the beliefs of some Christians are the spirits of Irenaeeis but not the chastity belts of the dysfunctions. I remember his suggestions for the general polls to elect Hong Kong executive chief and all the members of registered council.
He has the decent speaks to save Hong Kong peoples freedom by many buckets of waters. The heats are hot but waters are from buckets. The images freedom is not only for president bush. To wind up bush may be a loveable santa-clause who sends out parcels to some countries.
Chan-Shiu-Beam is working with diligent schedules. Who you trust? I do not believe in God but I believe in one ancient very great chancellor Show-Cheun. He knows all tactics to combine the six kings from six states to against one tyrant.
Endorsements on an agreement to go to Nasqa or agreements to go to wars are not the decisions of God. White tigers should be ready. Jump before you leap but you have to crunch on the grasses of your home land without give up to bend your ways

by cheung shun sang=cauchy3=laplace181

Titles are for the reader to determine

Posted 16 March 2004, 4.47 am by cris

Darkness abides in the depth of the soul.
Entangled in a web of deceit and lies.
Complexity too strong to tame.
Emotions raging deep inside.
Passion thriving with the pain.
Tears of sorrow, guilt and shame.
In this chaos, this turmoil, this sin.
One’s absolution comes from within.
Now that we have let deception in.


Endeavors that condescend
Never ending spiral of decline.
Towards its inner demise.
Reprieve one hopes to find.
Only to meet reprise.
Propelled into the depths of time.
Yearning for the entropy to end.



Posted 11 March 2004, 8.37 pm by Arguile

I've come to notice that there are very few intangible things in life that follow the definitions that we as a society have pinned to them. They are emotions and concepts that we have all experienced at some point but have no way to really explain so that others who haven't yet experienced them can have the foreknowledge that we lacked.

Things like life. How would you define life? Could you define it so accurately that no matter who you told it to, they would be able to know that what was going on was part of the larger scheme of the definition of life? I know that I sure as hell couldn't. I could try to explain that you're always looking for something better, and when you find it you're always looking for something that seems more comfortable. I could try to explain that youth is about wasted chances and exploited dreams and that adulthood is mostly about redundancy and familiarity. I could try to put that all into one coherent sentence and pass it on to Webster, but someone else would have something more to add, and the sentence would increase exponentially as each person took the reins. So, perhaps it can be explained, but it cannot be defined.

Any of you who have ever read my writings here or anywhere else know that I'm almost always going to have some bullshit quasi-philosophical question at the end of my essay. The original essay ended with the above paragraph, but just because Roach and Spooks despise me already, I figure that I should follow my standard pattern and add this: How, precisely would you define your existance here? Could you sum up your life thus far and your life to come in just a meager sentence or two? And if you could, would that seem a bit depressing?


Posted 7 March 2004, 2.54 pm by Alexander

I've never once bought an umbrella, but I've always had one. Somehow I manage to find them, or borrow them, or get given them as gifts or as promotional items. Often I have multiple umbrellas, of varying shapes and sizes, secreted about my house. They're useful to have, especially when you live in England as I do.

Today I got wet on the way to work. I've lost all my umbrellas. Every one. Not at once you understand. One by one they get loaned or given away, they break or get pinched from public transport. As I sat down at my desk with my wet trousers clinging to my legs, I reflected upon this state of affairs.

Yes, I am currently without umbrellas. If I see it's raining outside, I have to face the prospect of getting wet. The most interesting thing, though, is that for me to have owned those umbrellas in the first place, someone else would have had to go without. Someone lost the umbrella for me to find it. Someone had to trudge in the rain in order to give me one as a gift. So really, my loss is someone else's gain - except in the case of the broken umbrellas. I see those as a natural ending of the cycle - this finite cycle of lost, found, lost, found.

How many umbrellas are there in the world? How many get sold? How long before the cycle comes back round to me and I find another one, abandoned in a bus shelter, loaned from a friend, left in the hatstand at work?

I guess I'll just play it by ear and get wet in the meantime, but I'm not worried. Nobody in this world goes without an umbrella for very long.

The Devil and the Artist

Posted 28 February 2004, 1.12 am by Guest

It was on a cool winter day
when the wind shifted blue and swift,
that I met a man who said he knew my name
shivering cold in a bus stop kiosk.

This man, in tattered suit and tie
pressed his hand to my shoulder,
and pleaded I show him the place that I live,
as he shook like the revelation.

In a moment of weakness, I took his hand
and led him to the small place I stayed at,
with it's dingy curtains, my little home,
my little ray of sun in which to rest.

He moved, not rude, to the room
where stood there a half done woman
smooth bare flesh, icy limbs, stoney breast
the beginning of a hand at the end of a wrist.

He slinked like a spider to a couch and sat
and said nothing. I tried to tell what it was
that made me let him in, but instead
I went
to work

And talked of this great shining world inside me
threatening to burst from under my skin
if I should let it stand like water
If I did not let it free

and he talked

Of the silence inside him
his blackened inside from freezing snow
of his scraping hollow fingerbones
of the hunger of his slowly starving heart

and I cut the stone of her flesh and listened

as he told me of things no one could know
of the cutting fall and the urn of his belly
like a sieve filling up and leaking
shaking and spraying
all who stood near.

So we did not eat, and, when the sun went down
I gave in a place on the couch
where I knew he would not be
in the morning.

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This is a little photomanipulation thingy, I whipped up during my study for a Psychology Exam. Just felt like doing something else than reading, so I came up with this.

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Props to Green Mamba for bringing the weirdness


80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!


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