Sitenews Minimize
  • 30/12/18
    Fun fact - AKPCEP has a Google Page Speed score of 100/100
  • 26/12/18
    You wonder how any of this worked in the first place.
  • 13/03/09
    Still here! Please visit the forums and join in the discussions. If you have any questions or comments please contact Alexander.
Link Button Minimize
link to

Use this to link

Valid XHTML 1.0
Valid CSS

Artifice Versus Individuality

Posted 24 September 2002, 5.07 pm by Shaggy

I have Tolstoy in mind. In all rights, I should be tackling the 600+ pages that I have left to read for tomorrow (I think my teacher is teasing us slightly with that ridiculous deadline... I still have Doestoyevsky's The Idiot and Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being), but a thought has occured to me.

The structuralists suggest that, in the meaning of a work of art, the artist himself injects a large percentage of the meaning, and what the reader receives as ambiguity is holes in the flagging of the text (for it is literature that I wish to speak of, though I'm sure the theory works equally well to describe my favourite painter, Salvidor Dali). This makes much sense, since a writer can inscribe a certain amount of meaning to a text.

However, it leads me down a dangerous path. How much of what we are, what we perceive and what we feel, is really ours? Is our lives, perhaps, something that we have been told to feel, passed down from generation to generation in the words of Homer, Vergil, Dickens, right up to Stephen King and Anne Rice?

Probably not, but still, it begs the question: who sheds those tears we shed when we read? Is it the writer, who bleeds his breath unto the piece, giving it autonomy through his tears and pain, or is it the reader, creating this entity inside his or her self that says, "yes!"?

One could also ask the immortal question, "well, so what?" Does the origins of our emotion really matter? That is to say, we can get emotions in the form of a pill, so does it really matter if we can be led down an emotional pathway?

To me, it does. Somewhere inside of us is an entity that lasts an eternity, and with this immortal being, all we have is what transcends the flesh, what is eternal in itself. Humanity once thought emotion was transcendental, but then science came along and told us just how wrong we were.

Thanks Prozac, Valium, et cetera.

Yet, still, I would like to believe that some emotions transcend life and death. I am unaware of a "love" pill (perhaps lust, but not love) that would force you to feel the emotion of love. There are pills that can muddy this emotion. Certain drugs remain highly volatile, and are the cause of many downward spirals in the users, but still, it remains true (at least, to my knowledge) that there are no drugs that can mimic love.

So with that, I read Anna Karenina, being led by the hand and possessing the character Levin, who is both a product of his love and a sufferer for it.

Not that I suffer for my love, but I have.

I wonder what character I will relate to in The Idiot.

College 101

Posted 24 September 2002, 6.06 am by Acheron

Maybe this is just another example of Hollywood and the media grossly misrepresenting a culture and an era. As they say, history is in the eye of the director.


There is still something strangely unsettling about university life: apathy. This is supposed to be the breeding grounds of change, where tie-dyed peaceniks, stoned on Marx, do something or anything to bring about some nebulous change. We don't even have that. A lot more thought goes into the fall fashion line-up than whether Bush will bomb Iraq. Hell, we spend more time arguing about brands of beer than we do about all political, social, or economic issues - combined. We're not even any better in our classes.

The "smart" students are too busy copying notes and playing the sycophant to think or raise pertinent issues. Get into Law/Business/Med. school.

The smart students are too busy hiding in the back of the classroom - or arguing over some irrelevent detail of punk culture. Go home and feed your escapist addictions.

The rest, of course, are just parts of the system. A giant hydra of CampusCrew and new outfits from Winners adorned with hoop earrings, platforms, and shell necklaces. Why fight something that tastes so damn good? My parents fought too hard in that office for the past 20 years, 9-5mon-fri, for me to fuck it up by not spending. I will not let the GDP take a dive to suit the commiepinkotreehugger desires of you scrubs.

Have they had us since day one, or has the complacency of today's youth been a hard-won battle? All of our ideals and sentiments: anti-war, anti-NAFTA/NATO/WTO/USA, and, with PC's saturation, anti-anti and anti-anti-anti. Anything. It's all so...


I can picture those goddamn executives, dug into the bottom line, wearing army hats and perpetual frowns. I can picture those goddamn politicians, stomping plants animals people like so many flaming bags of shit. I know it's wrong. I know that the youth know it's wrong.

So why don't we give a shit? Is this what happens when Boomer parents get so fucking concerned about the RRSPs that they teach their kids to worship money? "Shhh, don't talk about Kyoto, that $5 in your wallet has eyes, don't it?"

Maybe it was the sex. I mean, maybe all that revolution shit in the 60s was really just about horny college kids out for lovin. "The man" fought it and got burned. But now? The man sells it. Ours is an environment fueled by beer, pot, and latex, and their sales pitch doesn't deny it.

So who gives a shit about the environment, the world, the person sitting next to you? Have a Pepsi, it'll keep your note-taking legible until we get to the bar tonight.

Meet you there, beer in hand.

What do you know about dope?

Posted 23 September 2002, 6.36 pm by Craig

Visit Site.

How long can you hold the button?

Posted 23 September 2002, 6.33 pm by Craig

Visit Site.

More bullshit poetry. Woo.

Posted 23 September 2002, 1.11 am by Jake

here I am
waiting for my life
you’ve bought your freedom
as I’ve toiled for mine
you were just too good to stay behind
and as I sit now, thinking
of the way things could have been and
how they should be
while you’re living your life
one fast moment to the next
one slow lover to the next
one restless day to the next
and you are dying
think of me
ah, god, remember the times?
when we ran like children in the summer sun
oblivious to the big, frightening world outside
and now that we’re all grown and older
we ignore that which we lived upon
and work the rest of our jaded days
for nothing,
ah, sweet nothing
it's all we need
to be complete
it's nothing


Posted 22 September 2002, 7.17 pm by Berly

YES. The net offeres EVERYTHING! This service will set up a "chance meeting" with you and the object of your, get you started on that stalking career.

Coincidence Design

Prefer to obtain your stalkers via on-line profiles you create yourself? Been to Makeoutclub and have too many restraining orders against you? Why not start anew?

Lipstick and Cigarettes - or LnC for those in the know

Waste time! Have fun!

Posted 21 September 2002, 11.53 am by Alexander

Cheeky young grinder Booger was kind enough to send me this link, which is full of really quite classy flash games:

Aside from some heavy sponsorship by candy firms, it's all in all good fun. I was quite insulted by his inference that I actually HAVE spare time though. He will pay. Oh yes.

The reports of my Death were highly falsified

Posted 19 September 2002, 7.31 pm by Shaggy

First off, I guess I should make a formal apology for disappearing into a great, grand void. I apologize. That said, here's my post:

I realize I'm hiding. In fact, shaking like some weakling under the foot of a giant. Perhaps I am, under the foot of some giant that is.

Somehow, a thick melancholy spreads over me like a blanket. In my younger days, I used to float toward this blanket for warmth, for comfort. It was my escape, something that was my personal charicature. For whatever reason I flocked to it, I have become broken by it.

It haunts me.

Difficulties are spreading over my life. I am faced by the growing fact that the internet has begun spreading a different type of pornography: that of death. Out of fear and curiosity, I typed in "snuff" in a search field of a file-sharing program, and to my horror received 10 hits. A wave of pain and horror flew over me, and I thought I would crumble under the weight of my own skin. My heart lept into my throat and I started to shake. I knew that there was such a monstrous thing on the internet, my friends had previously told me. But I somehow refused to believe that murder was still being filmed, as if the populace wanted to get as close to it as they could while still remaining alive under its knife.

Something turns in me. Instead of a fear, a disgust is born. My teeth clench, my eyes turn to slits, and I bring my head up to the sky. I am a man, I have two hands, two feet and a mind. As long as I live, I will fight this thing called "murder."

I love life so much that it hurts when even someone I do not know is thrown away. I know september 11th is already over-emphasized, but it was the first monstrosity that occured in my new maturity. It was not only an insult to the families, it was an insult to me personally. Every murder is the Devil, making fun of me. Proving that I am insignificant.

Well, no more. I hold my head up high, and am prepared for anything that evil wants to throw at me.

Do not underestimate the power that I have. I am young, and my words will be heard. I am the biggest danger to those who would harm: I am a stubborn writer who will except nothing but to live in a world where I can live; I am a human being; and I am still in love.

The Devil has taunted me many times before. He has tried to discourage me through the hands and fists of others. I will not rest, I will not sleep. I will not turn my back away from those I know and love, I will face the Devil.

I believe in something better.

It is sad, but I would rather the whore of pornography. At least the whore is representative of pleasure and lust, not anger, violence and hatred. She is unavoidable, as we are bombarded by the whore when we open most magazines, when we turn on most television programs. However, the whore of blood can be avoided.

I turn my back on the whore of blood, and stare the murderer in the eyes. He has been in my dreams.

I spit in his face.

Archives: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Submissions Minimize

0 Articles awaiting authorisation

Users Online Minimize

Members: 2 Guests: 299

Art Collection Minimize
Click for larger image

They were done for an exhibition a couple of years ago . They asked for something to so with the summer. They are mixed media and oil paint on metal advertising boards - for ice cream.

Chat Minimize


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 ?


If you wish to help AKPCEP grow, please use PayPal.
RSS Newsfeed:
Articles posted are copyright the respective authors and may not express the views of All other content ©Alexander King 2001-2019. ver 4.0
This page was built in 0.0231 seconds