The End of the Beginning: 09.16.2004

9.16.2004

- Nonsense -

Talking nonsense is the sole privilege mankind possesses over the other organisms. It’s by talking nonsense that one gets to the truth! I talk nonsense, therefore I’m human. Not one single truth has ever been arrived at without people first having talked a dozen reams of nonsense, even ten dozen reams of it, and that’s an honourable thing in its own way; well, but we can’t even talk nonsense with our own brains! Talk nonsense to me, by all means, but do it with your own brain, and I shall love you for it. To talk nonsense in one’s own way is almost better than talk a truth that’s someone else’s; in the instance you behave like a human being, while in the second you are merely being a parrot! The truth won’t go away, but life can be knocked on the head and done in. I can think of some examples. Well, and what’s our position now? We’re all of us, every one of us without exception, when it comes to the fields of learning, development, thought, invention, ideals, ambition, liberalism, reason, experience, and every, every, every other field you can think of, in the very lowest preparatory form of the gymnasium! We’ve got accustomed to making do with other people’s intelligence – we’re soaked in it! It’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t what I’m saying true? … Isn’t it?
- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Crime and Punishment

- there, there -

July 8, 2004

The Lost Romantic

I like to sit alone to think why I’m alone. I think of the one who could really make me happy. The one who can make my life complete. I think of a future with her. You know, waking up by her side. She’s wearing pajamas. I’m wearing boxers with a white shirt. The sheets are white. Or maybe blue. She wakes up and we look into each other’s eyes. We smile. I caress her face; she closes her eyes and absorbs the moment. My lips touch her forehead. We look at each other some more. Then I tickle her. She jumps up and lets out a cute little scream. I get up, thinking she might get me next. I’m really ticklish. So now we’re both up. We use our pillows for shields.

We find ourselves in this small and beautiful house. By the beach. The wood is richly decayed, with a hint of blue paint. Our pictures hang on the wall. She walks over to the sliding glass door. I walk towards her and, slowly, wrap my arms around her waist as I rest my chin on her right shoulder. She turns to me slightly. I feel her smile. I absorb the aura that surrounds her. Her scent, her warmth, and her beautiful hair. That smile. I keep thinking how incredibly beautiful she is. Everything about her. All this time she’s still a mystery. Yes. I love her. She’s a part of me.

So we look on. We watch. We listen. I kiss her cheek. Her lips. The waves crash. The birds soar above. Then further, we look on. Beyond the horizon. Where it all started. In a dream.

- The P.T. Complex -

If you’re a minority, then you’re a part of the majority of minorities.

Nipple hair lovely.

If you hate haters, you hate yourself.

If you’re alone, you’re with stupid.

This used to be empty space.

If stress causes acne, then relive stress by wiping a girl’s panties on your face.

I speak my mind and my mind is saying: “I’M TOO SEXY FOR MY OWN GOOD!”

Pink is sexier on me.

I’m in touch with my sexuality.

Who am I?

Who are you?

Messy hair!

Boost your self-esteem everyday by looking at the mirror and telling yourself that you look fine.

If you want to be listened to, tell someone to shut up even when they’re not talking. Then say thanks.

We sleep. We wake. Death has no dominion.

Nostalgia is like a grammar lesson: you find the present tense and the past perfect.

Wrong is wrong is wrong.

Life is a gas. Until someone lights a match.

Don’t eat yellow snow.

A successful relationship is two people with an acceptable list of flaws.

Health nuts are going to die of nothing!

Friends will help you move. Real friends will help you move bodies.

A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.

Drugs have taught an entire generation of kids the metric system.

Always remember you’re unique. Just like everyone else.

Don’t worry, it only seems kinky the first time.

Friday, February 13, 2004

- T.O.G.'s Complex -

Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me, either. Just leave me the hell alone.

Don’t be irreplaceable. If you can’t be replaced, you can’t be promoted.

No one is listening until you fart.

Never test the depth of water with both feet.

It may be your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a bad example.

It’s far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help.

If you think nobody cares if you’re alive, try missing a couple of car payments.

Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize
them, you’re a mile away and you have their shoes.

If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving is not for you.

Don’t squat with your spurs on.

If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.

Good judgment comes from bad experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.

The quickest to double your money is to fold it in half and put in your pocket.

A closed mouth gathers no foot.

There are to theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.

Experience is something you don’t get until after you need it.

- The Raven -

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

The End of the Beginning

9.16.2004

- Nonsense -

- Pablo Espanol & Friends -

- there, there -

- The P.T. Complex -

- T.O.G.'s Complex -

- The Raven -

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