| la placeholder du grand macabre |
[08 Jan 2009|08:33pm] |
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Le Moribond - Jacques Brel |
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I am busy skinning a goat in my front yard. Its blood is everywhere, the grass is coated in a thin film of red, which makes it look blue in the glare of the 4 or 5 floodlights that I have surrounding my skinning-pen. I am not a very good butcher, and I will admit this freely. The thing here is that I need a new coat, something grungy and hand-made. This would usually be something for the thrift store to provide me with, but these places have turned into the places of greed-heads and bastards and very possibly shysters. Your one dollar shirt now costs five, and that is absolutely unacceptable. So here, I can make curry goat and new coat for only about $4 in gas, which was used for the farm raid obviously. I'm also drunk because I hear that butchers are big drinkers. Keep your pants on ladies, something about the beach will find you soon.
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| I. Hip-Hop Interlude. |
[08 Jan 2009|01:55pm] |
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Brought to you by DJ Fancypants. Just watch this. |
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| http://isobamapresidentyet.com/ |
[08 Jan 2009|03:15am] |
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[07 Jan 2009|05:23pm] |
![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) corbis only beyond this point.
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| corbis |
[07 Jan 2009|04:23pm] |
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i see you there with the rose in your teeth. one more thin gypsy thief.
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| corbis |
[07 Jan 2009|03:05pm] |
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Do I have to put something funny and witty here?
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| i'm addicted, corbis. |
[07 Jan 2009|12:57pm] |
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all of the boys and all of the girls are begging to if you seek amy.
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| hungry, corbis? |
[07 Jan 2009|11:24am] |
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mood |
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aim: chris noisewater |
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[05 Jan 2009|08:01pm] |
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Sugar! Oh, honey, honey! You are my cannndy girl! And you got meee wanting you!
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| corbis |
[05 Jan 2009|02:23pm] |
SPAM/ANON/CONFESSIONS/LOVE NOTES
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| back back back it up, corbis. |
[03 Jan 2009|01:12pm] |
"It's the devil's sidewalk. It's the devil's door. I've tried to avoid it." Said the captain of the shore. |
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| Corbis only. |
[03 Jan 2009|02:35pm] |
House of Leaves: Then no matter where you are, in a crowded restaurant or on some desolate street or even in the comforts of your own home, you'll watch yourself dismantle every assurance you've ever lived by. You'll stand aside as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of your carefully conceived denials, whether deliberate or unconscious. And then for better or worse you'll turn, unable to resist, though try to resist you still will, fighting with everything you've got not to face the thing you most dread, what is now, what will be, what has always come before, the creature you truly are, the creature we all are, buried in the nameless black of a name.
And then the nightmares will begin.
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| fragments d'un discours amoureux. |
[01 Jan 2009|04:37pm] |
Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep-drawn breath is sweet. Its beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all his life in the grey, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless an pale. And then - the glory - so that cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man’s importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men.I don’t know how it will be in the years to come. There are monstrous changes taking place in the world, forces shaping a future whose face we do not know. Some of these forces seem evil to us, perhaps not in themselves but because their tendency is to eliminate other things we hold good. It is true that two men can lift a bigger stone than one man, and bread from a huge factory is cheaper and more uniform. When our food and clothing and housing all are born in the complication of mass production, mass method is bound to get into our thinking and to eliminate all other thinking. In our time mass or collective production has entered our economics, our politics, and even our religion, so that some nations have substituted the idea collective for the idea God. This in my time is the danger. There is great tension in the world, tension toward a breaking point, and men are unhappy and confused. At such a time it seems natural and good to me to ask these questions. What do I believe in? What must I fight for and what must I fight against? Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man. And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on the preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerblows of conditiong, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken. And this I believe: that the free exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. That is what I am and what I am about. I can understand what a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed we are lost.
-- John Steinbeck
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[30 Dec 2008|03:53pm] |
What do you believe in?
Six months ago I made this post. And I thought New Years would be a good time to try it again. Examine the question as deeply or comically as you wish. Go anonymous or stay logged in. And if you're really daring, find your answer from last time and copy and paste it before writing your new answer here. Change is a beautiful thing, my darling friends page abusers. Let us embrace both it and each other.
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| (aim -- stingaprajna) |
[29 Dec 2008|04:54am] |
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Put your cocks away, I haven't got any sex tips for you.
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