Ghastly apparition balances checkbook. 

Clones cosset capricious child 

Change your pants

Change the world everybody says. Ok, alright alright. Get of my back zeitgeist. Well change the world, okay how?
For the better, yinz jag off.
Better for who?
For the world.
The Human race, animals, or the environment?
Whichevs.
Which humans, which animals, what part of the environment?
Feh.
Through the formation and disemination of ideas or through actions?
Actions.
Why actions?
Actions are faster than ideas.
But don't ideas precede actions?
Buh.
What about me?
If you change the world, everybody will like you lots.
What if I change it for the worse?
Ruh?
I mean what seems great right now (like hybridizing the human genome with plant DNA to solve world hunger by ushering in a new era of human photosynthesis) might turn out to be bad in the long run (when everyone's DNA starts sloughing out of its nuclear casing like scrambled eggs on an oily plate).
Peh.
Spindle twice.
What?
Nuh... Why can't I just be? Why can't I just live a non-remarkable life as a part of the pervading system?
Then you'll never realise your full potential. You will be, in a sense, a failure.
That's not fair. I didn't sign up to be born and achieve great things. I was put forth into this world without my consent.
If you don't like it then go die.
No.
Why?
It's scary.
Then achieve something.
No.
Why?
Lazy.
Change that. There'll be plenty of time to lie in one place when you're dead. Now you must go out and achieve.
I don't like you very much.

-finis-

The loss of Hunter S. Thompson

I read on the internet (that reliable source) this morning that Hunter S. Thompson shot himself in the head last night. That is terrible. Thompson was one of my favorite authors. Admittedly, his work was introduced to me through the 1998 film Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas but I read the novel version and his autobiography as well. It saddens me that an artist who I consider very relevant and special finds his life wretched enough to end it prematurely. People will ask, what great books could he have written if only he'd stayed with us? No one lives forever, we all know this, but I wish that the people who I like would stick around at least until I'm dead. Silly, no?

In other news, I saw Denison University's production of Hamlet last night. The play was used as a vehicle to explore gender issues and their place in society. I felt it a shame, because the concept and the slightly asian theatre-influenced staging conventions drew focus from the performances and the gravity of the story. Hamlet is a dense enough play with its numerous injections of Shakespeare's own opinions on life and socieity. It does not need more overt politicising to make it relevant, because human nature never ceases to be relevant. On the other hand, the gender swapping concept provided a great opportunity for the women of Denison's Theatre Department to play roles that have been traditionally occupied by men. I particularly liked that facially expressive creature from the eighties. Not the boglin.

My body is really achy. I don't know if it's because I'm giving up coffee or if I'm getting sick or if I'm worn down from final rehearsals for Two Planks and a Passion. But whatever the case, I'm going to go read in bed now. Bluuuargh.

I hope that HST and Alfred Jarry are tooling around heaven in a red convertable.

M

Give me the strength to flash weld my arm to the chassis

Neef,

Do you ever feel like somebody is an incurable liar? You have no empirical evidence to prove this hunch, but it lingers and informs all of your interaction with this person. Sometimes I feel that way about a colleague of mine. Never you mind which, that would spoil the fun of secrets. Although, dear reader, if you know about this blog then you are probably not the culprit. Is this suspicion merely fear and paranioa or is there perhaps an intuition ingrained in people to detect the chronically dishonest?

honk honk rock salt. can't repair the battery because of the zapping makes hurt now'd forever.

how to get money from doing the easy? easy. just do the easy best. invest in mutual funds afterward.

write your work you goon ok i'll do it. My ambition is to someday be able to laugh and vomit at the same time.

The Everclear song "Amphetamine" reminds me of being young and awkward and the months wasted on terrible company. Witches.

To progress! *clink!*

I've come to kill the king of Qin. 

You're terminal and I'm telling everybody

Here's some micro-essays that I jotted down today:

The media feeds today’s youth culture the dream of freedom. Defiance and liberation are proffered wholesale to young people in music, film, television, and in print. And yeeeeeeeet, when they grow up and receive their Bachelor’s, suddenly these post-teens are sloughed into a system in which one must set a good example, be professional, accrue credentials, and set to work with drive, determination, and perhaps most importantly, direction. This gear shift is difficult for those youngsters who believed the illusion that the media was creating. All of a sudden, life is not a celebration, life is a measurement of time from now until death, the landmarks of which are set by socially inherited milestones such as: professional achievement, engagement, child bearing, deaths of one’s parents, divorce, child departure, and retirement. Don’t misinterpret, I do not think that the current model for life in America is necessarily a bad one. In terms of standard of living and potential for enjoyment, our system is superior to many previous modes of living. Like the Feudal system. My point is that lies in the form of fantasy are being disseminated to today’s children. And these lies are assumed to be facts. I argue that America should aim to resemble Japan’s or China’s system of youth indoctrination. One in which young people are instilled with a sense of work ethic and obligation to fulfill a role in society. It is an unromantic existence, perhaps too harsh for the spirits of many, but it is a more real system. One that will not lead to the quarter-life-crisis phenomenon that many young adults experience.



“I’ll be damned if I’m going to listen to you anymore!”

And then Joseph swung his backpack and bitch-slapped Dr. Mendelssohn across the face with over two hundred and seventy five dollars worth of books. The Theatre 875 classroom leapt to their feet in applause, and if they had confetti or rice to throw at that moment it most certainly would have powdered the air. Joseph adjusted his waistband and took a slight bow of gratitude before exiting.

“That was great.”
“Yeah.”

From the depths of Dr. Mendelssohn’s ear, a serpentine dribble of red escaped into his notes. To-do lists neatly separated by decorative paper clips sucked up their creator’s fluids and clung together as if troubled by his passing. Denise Brook, that chic costume designer from Tuscarawas County, tugged at the herringbone tweed of the senseless professor’s collar.

“Hey, I think Joseph killed him.”
The class performed a symphony of drooping of smiles accompanied by the widening of eyes and furrowing of brows. Alexandre, who always rode his bicycle to class, vomited slightly into the back of his mouth. He would maintain this secret until 11pm that same night when he would tell a woman in a noisy bar the smelliest joke of her life.