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Ah...the random insanity of it...

Posted 8 May 2003, 2.07 am by Strawberry

Well, here I sit, stumbling across this site again, as I look through all my various bookmarks, avoiding papers to write, tests to study, and things to pack. Why I do this? I don't know. Maybe it's because I lack motivation. It's not that my content of my classes aren't interesting. Some of them are damn interesting, with lots I can get into. It's just...well...everything seems so blah lately. The Spring-time blahs :P not quite, because I've had the "blahs" all this year. Part of it is probably separation anxiety from the friends I made before I transferred here. Part of it is probably the lack of direction I feel in my life now. 2 years ago, it was so easy, I wanted to be an architect. Last year wasn't even that bad, even though I decided architecture wasn't for me at that point in my life. I had friends, I had things to go to, I had a LIFE. I tried this year, really I did, to keep the "life" alive, but with no friends to have it with, it came to an all out flop.
So what do I plan now? Nothing concrete. Go home, work at a fast food joint, try to get to Iowa to see a friend of mine's younger sister graduate, see my younger brother graduate, and possibly run away mid-June to my friend's. Yeah, that sound like a plan to me. Possibly go to Louisiana in September, too. And move either there or Minnesota in January. Hope this works. Yeah...don't even know why I submitted this. Darn random insanity.

Growing Up

Posted 4 May 2003, 3.16 pm by The Green Mamba

First of all, dare I say that adulthood is highly overrated … with that in mind let us explore the shades of gray separating boys from men

In my mind there is only one thing that separates a boy from a man (or a child for an adult), aside from physical changes, and that is Responsibility.

It is a process mental and spiritual growth wherein you eventually reach a stage where you accept responsibility for you actions. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of adulthood is the loss of innocence. The moment you become aware of the consequences of your actions, you have to accept responsibility for the results. Failure to accept responsibility for any consequences you were aware of taints your soul and torments your spirit. This is more commonly referred to as the development of a conscience, which ultimately governs your every action.

I have seen people develop a conscience from as little as 11 and 12, but I have also seen others still struggling with adolescence in their late twenties. Age is of no consequence in the transition from child to adult.

Another unfortunate side effect of a conscience is what I refer to as, your sense of What If …

What if I loose control of my car and die?
What if the branch can't hold my weight?
What if I fail and loose everything?
The list goes on and differs per individual

Children have no fear, because they have no sense of "What if". They will climb the highest tree, jump of the roof, and tease the dog, etc. without any regard for the consequences of their actions. Neither do they have a conscience or will they accept responsibility for their actions. They will lay the blame on anything and anybody other than themselves (mostly inanimate objects) and will even go as far as to attempt the same foolishness again and again.

I believe that the ideal situation would be to reach a stage where you can accept the consequences for your actions, but before and during any act, you relinquish your sense of "What if". These people are normally the ones who succeed in life. They are willing to take risks, but when things go wrong they are mature enough to accept responsibility.

In all things I always strive to be childlike, but not childish ... Accept responsibility, but not back down out of fear for the consequences.

Unfortunately, I always fail. I over analyze things and live with a constant sense of What if. Instead of guiding me my conscience tends to holds me back. Maybe someday, instead of What If, I will stare death straight in the eyes and say “What the Fuck”

The best day?

Posted 2 May 2003, 2.30 am by Jake

I smacked the glass in frustration. Shit. Ten minutes left, and I was going to be late to one of the biggest events in my life. I was going to get married, a feat which had yet to be accomplished by my four brothers who still lived at home, thirty-five years old, jaded with life and women and still under the protective wing of Mommy Dearest. My sister had been married. Too many times, to be honest. Poor woman was twenty-five, had been married four times and had three kids to raise. She had all she could handle. So it was within my best interests when I met this sweet chick at the office, took her out a few times, and realized that I had to have her, a ring on her finger and her kissing me when I came home in the evening. I had to wake up to that face, I had to hold her hand when she bore my children. Even if it was while she was screaming in agonizing pain and jerking my goddamned arm out of the socket as a doctor yelled “PUSH!!! PUSH!!!!”

I was standing at the bank, waiting for a check to be cashed. The damn thing wouldn’t go through. Agitated, I paced the floor, waiting for the mousy-looking teller to give me my fucking gas money so that I could get out of there and face my destiny, face the person that I would know for the rest of my life. My family, her family, and numerous friends were awaiting me, and here I was, soon to be late. To my own wedding, nonetheless. I looked over my shoulder as a tall man with a mustache came strolling in the door. He looked pretty important, with the suit and the briefcase and the guys flanking him on each side. I paid him no mind and got back to the task at hand, which happened to be bitching at the inept teller-woman, calling her every name under the sun, cursing, and pointing at my tuxedo. Suddenly, shit started to happen.

A grizzled-looking old man staggered in the door and began waving a pistol around. Great. The best day of my life, and now I’m going to get shot by some two-bit drunk crazed on hatred and scorn. Perfect. People started yelling, women screamed, people hit the floor like a drunken prom date at the midnight hour. And I stood there, bewildered, thinking, “Is this shit really happening to me?” And yes, it was, as plain as it could be. The man yelled at a teller nearby to empty the safe and to get him $5000 from the vault as well, or he’d go on a shooting spree to rival that of the local high school last winter, when some rich kid snapped and started blasting students and teachers left and right. Death count? 20. The cops gunned the kid down, amazed at the fact that a young upstanding citizen had the gall to snap and shoot up the goddamned schoolyard like it was one of his father’s selling sessions on Wall Street. Hell, he had a reason for it. With a greedy family like that, I’d have slaughtered my folks. If it weren’t for the chance that the hired help would have caught me. Enough about me, though, and back to the situation that unfolded before me. Well, above me, actually. I was curled up in a whimpering heap underneath a large oak desk that probably belonged to the bank manager. As long as it kept the hollow-points away, I didn’t care.

Cue more action. The guy gets the money and starts yelling hysterically. He’s waving the gun around, and fires off a couple of shots. I think that the guy next to me pissed himself. He didn’t have long to piss, though, as a noise that sounded close to that of cannon fire resonated through the lobby. I watched as a man fell, wailing in pain, clutching his thigh. The old bastard was drunk. Maybe I could sneak out the….forget that. Wailing sirens broke my thoughts of escape. The cops. Thank God. I heard some yelling, and the man began to rant excitedly. He fired off another shot, randomly. And all I wanted was my money and to be standing at the altar next to pretty little Courtney, the love of my life. Fuck. I checked the time, and I was already five minutes late. Chances are, everyone’s pissed off. I’m fucked. Suddenly shots ring out, a volley of gunfire twinged with the shattering of glass, and I see the man fall. Huh. I rolled out from under the desk, and began to crawl my way to the door. I passed several people who were curled up in the fetal position, wailing about their families and their dogs and their life insurance and all the other trivial bullshit that didn’t matter anymore to me. I headed for the door. I had a wedding to get to. Mine. As I wormed my way past the old man, I snatched a bundle of bills from his cold hand. He wasn’t gonna miss it, and neither was the bank. I needed gas money, and at this point I could have given a fuck less. I shoved it into my jacket pocket and shuffled to the door, on hands and knees. “Sweet Courtney, here I come. I hope my in-laws don’t hate me for all this.”

Dante's Inferno Test

Posted 2 May 2003, 1.49 am by marilee

Which Level of Hell do you belong in?

Possibly Impossible

Posted 26 April 2003, 9.08 pm by The Green Mamba

Let us explore the relevancy of CAN and CAN'T ...

How many times in one day do you not here a sentence beginning with, "I can't" or even better, "But, I can't ...
I tell you not a day goes by without me hearing it at least once ...

Strange, isn't it how we can weave words around things that do not exist at all, for truly there is no such a thing.
CAN'T only bears relevancy in any sentence if it used in conjunction with YET. Example ... I can't fly ... Bullshit, you can't ... Correction ... I can't fly, yet.

Now there are much more extreme circumstances to which the irrelevance of can't can be applied, just as the phrase, I can't is used in a more casual manner by the average Joe or Jane. More than often this phrase is used by
the individual to express his or her unwillingness to even make an attempt at accomplishing something. Instead of pausing, thinking and then saying, Fuck you, I won't do it, all we ever get to a challenging request like,
"Can you hold your breath for 5 hours?" is, "NO, I CAN'T" ...

Which brings me to the CAN (No, not the soft fleshy mound, that usually comes in plural) part of things ... If I refer to my own question above, you will see that I in my ignorance was provoking an irrelevant response in the first place. CAN YOU HOLD ... Instead I should have rather asked ... Will you or Try to ... And maybe I would have received the desired response ...

We should really think more about how we ask questions and in the same breath (5 hours if you want to) formulate our responses to questions such as CAN YOU in a manner which does not rule out any and all current and
future possibilities ... After all, the laws of nature are not carved in stone and like all laws exist as crossable boundaries ... The trick in avoiding such things are the same ... If you manage to avoid getting caught by either the laws of man or the laws of nature, there is no proof that you have overstepped your boundaries. A thief does not say, I can't steal that, simply because he is afraid of being caught. No, if you tell him that he can't, he will simply make an attempt at proving you wrong and in most cases will succeed ... Now I am not a supporter of thieves, but I
am simply trying to prove a point, by using an example of how, if the laws of man can be broken, so too can the laws of nature.

The only thing that prevents us from breaking these laws are our own pre-programmed disposition that the laws of nature can't be broken ... Which strange enough brings me back to my original argument ... CAN'T DOES NOT EXIST ... IF IT IS THINKABLE, IT IS ATTAINABLE ... IF IT IS ATTAINABLE, IT IS INEVITABLE. The sooner we realize that the sooner we can start exploring beyond the boundaries of our own imagination.


Posted 25 April 2003, 8.10 am by ostensibletruth

I'm in college, but I'm only sixteen, so I live with my mother. Although I am trying to get a job and move out. She has left for five days to Pheonix for vacation. My mother is very unrestrictive. She let's me stay at home alone and she lets me have people over and she pretty much just lets me do whatever I want, as long as I do some chores. My father puts absolutely no responsibility on me and gives me no freedom.

Tommorow I plan to have my girlfriend, Sarah, over. My mother is okay with this. My father called and told me he tells me to come over tommorow for the weekend to his house. (Or, actually, I should say my grandparents house. My father lives with his parents.) I explained that I had plans and what I was doing. He asked if Sarah's parents knew she was coming. They're Mormons, so of course they do not. He then asks for their phone number in order to prevent her from coming over. I tell him that my mother was okay with this and he tells me that he'll call my mother before calling her parents and if she's not okay with it he calls her parents and I must come over to his house tommorow. That should work out for me since my mom's okay with it.

My father takes control of my life. He says, "Tommorow you will come over to my house after school because I want you to." "Sarah will not come over tommorow because I don't want her to." The results of doing this? Next time I'm in a similar situation I will lie to him. I won't tell him what I'm doing and I'll make up some excuse for staying here. He doesn't actually keep me from doing anything, he just makes me have to do it behind his back.

My mother let's me control my life. This isn't to say that she doesn't care, she just knows the way to care effectively. Her method is to tell me what she thinks about my decisions and explain to me why she thinks I should or shouldn't do something. This enables me to be honest with her. It's not necassary for me to lie about what I'm doing in order to do it, so I don't. That's a good reason to do this obviously, but a lot of people would say it doesn't prevent me from doing these things. They are wrong.

Consider this example: For a few months after my first girlfriend dumped me I started drinking. I didn't do it often or very heavily, but it was, obviously, enough to worry my mother. She explained to me why I shouldn't be drinking, that it would only make things worse, etc. I don't need to go into the details. She could have locked up all the alcohol and kept me from drinking. But I probably would have just gone drinking with some idiots from school (high school at the time) and that could have been more harmful than just ignoring it altogether. But when it was explained to me and I was given good reasons, plus it showed, to me, that she cared more than if she had just locked it away. And I stopped drinking. That's the big part, it worked.

Fact or Fiction

Posted 24 April 2003, 7.43 pm by The Green Mamba

Consider this for a moment … everything we have been taught to date is based on assumptions, made from observations, expanded into theories and published as scientific facts. Our entire so called understanding of the Universe is based purely on what we perceive as a logical explanation for something we are in fact completely clueless about.

PROBLEM … Who’s logic?

There is absolutely no proof that the logic scientists apply to the translation of data gathered within the confines of our perception is at all relevant to whatever subject they are attempting to understand. Take for instance religion. Hundreds if not thousands of different religious organizations read the same scriptures from the same book, but each one has their own views. If you join one of these groups it’s purely because their spokesperson tends to be more convincing than the other one down the street.
Science is exactly the same. We tend to believe whoever has the ability to convince us that their interpretation of the events they have been observing is right compared to someone else who has a completely different view, but struggles to communicate it correctly.
I recently read an article on Black Holes. It starts of by blatantly admitting that there is to date no proof that black holes really exist, but then, just a few lines further they start rambling on as if everything is tried, tested and vacuum packed for freshness.
The rest of the article is very cleverly written as well, with just enough “we believe” and “just as would have been expected” to cover their asses if anybody should ever decide to question their theories. The whole article rests on what would happen if light were to enter the event horizon surrounding a black hole. This is pretty radical, in that they go as far as to say that by definition only a black hole can possess an event horizon. Says who? Shit, they’re even afraid to call it a black hole outright, instead referring to something called “black hole candidates” and then they have the balls to say what may or may not have an event horizon.
Anyway that theory already out the window lets look at the facts. This guy randomly studied about six hundred miles of printouts from a chart recorder that came off the Hubble telescope and found somewhere in the millions of dots and whatever, 0.2 seconds during which, according to him, light actually fell over the event horizon into the black hole … Not only that, but he also refers to how the light stretches before it disappears due to the distortion of space-time by the black hole’s intense gravity. Fuck yeah, lets break out the Champaign … This is conclusive proof that anybody can be a scientist as long as he can combine enough unproven theories in one paragraph. Seriously, everything he used to prove his initial theory was just more theories. Consider for a moment that if any of these theories are proven wrong, then his whole argument goes to shit.
The whole problem is that nobody actually bothers anymore to spend his or her times disproving what we have been told are the facts. We simply accept other people’s word because, at face value, they sound like they know what they are talking about, but in reality they know just as little as we do.

ATM Illiterates

Posted 22 April 2003, 8.43 pm by The Green Mamba

End of the month, 9AM on a Saturday morning…
Everybody’s excited because we all just got paid and were standing in the queue at the local Automatic Teller Machine, ready to raid our newly filled up accounts.
It’s already getting hot and the guy behind you is standing so fucking close, you can almost smell his breath. You move a little forward, hoping he’s stay where he is … No luck.
Finally, you reach the front of the queue, now more relieved that you’re almost out of there than excited over the idea of finally having some money in your wallet again … The fucking moron behind you still doesn’t have any regard for your personal space, but you know you only have to tolerate it for a few more minutes … Then lightning strikes …
The fucking piece of shit excuse for a modern member of the human race who busy at the ATM in front of you gets lost. He tries to stick his piece of shit plastic card from some obscure bank you’ve never even heard of before into the fucking slot, upside down and he can’t figure out why the hell it doesn’t want to go in. Looks at the card … looks at the machine … looks at the card … tries again … looks at the card … and the fucking asshole behind you is still breathing in your neck.
Finally, dickhead at the ATM figures out that the only problem with his fucking card is his stupidity and finally gets things going.
Now comes the really tricky part … entering your PIN. Despite the fact that the keypad is almost exactly the same as any push button telephone this idiot takes another flipping minute just to punch in the code. This could be due to the fact that he’d apparently forgotten his friggin glasses and has to virtually press his face against either the keypad or the screen just to see what the fuck he’s doing or supposed to do. Aside from this he is having further difficulty in understanding that the keys are touch sensitive, using maximum force all the way.
This goes on for about ten minutes, and he eventually has his fucking money. Please note that these dumb fucks normally draw the minimum amount and will attempt the same procedure in the same painful fucking slow motion manner the following day …
He then spends another two minutes in front of the ATM counting the money, folding the slip and tucking it neatly in his wallet, before he finally waddles of to buy a box of matches at the nearest tuck shop.
At last you get away from the neck breathing freak behind you and approach the ATM with newfound vigor … armed with your trusty piece of plastic, you aim for the slot … You try to insert your card, but for some mysterious reason the fucking thing won’t go down … You check the card … Try again … no luck … glance at the screen and then lightning strikes … OFFLINE.

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Doggybag/baggy_dog is an artist living and working in Barga, Italy. Click here to read about this piece in his own words.

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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!

Yo ! Does this work ?


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