| (no subject) |
[Jul. 30th, 2004|05:10 pm] |
What do you think of those fuckers who hassle you in the street and ask you to sponsor a child in Kiqueuzbekistan?
"Hi there how are you I'm from some organisation and here's a picture of a dead child to get your emotions going for only one cent a day you can make this dead child not-dead seriously! So how about it can I get you to sign up or should I show you more pictures of dead children?"
"Uh, no thanks."
"Okay well thanks for your time and if you ever change your mind I'll be here all day okay you have a lovely weekend and thanks for listening to me waste your time for fifteen minutes!" |
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| Conclusion |
[Feb. 2nd, 2004|02:02 am] |
Having one journal is causing me enough problems. Trying to force myself to expand my audience when I never write anymore is not worth it. This journal is now closed, no more updates, no more anything. The people here are generally stupider anyway.
Seeya. |
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| Two short concepts and two strange sidenotes |
[Jan. 28th, 2004|01:19 pm] |
Ofijo: my grandma scolded me for eating a burger in her house
Ofijo: turns out "the cow is sacred"
Ofijo: or something like that
Ofijo: she doesn't permit beef, or pork to be eaten.
Ofijo: im white though.. im a fucking westerner
Ofijo: ive nothing to do with her religion
Ick: i'm surprised she's not dead by now, living that lifestyle
Ofijo: hmm
Ofijo: she eats chicken
Ick: wtf
Ofijo: lamb too, i think.
Ick: hypocrite
Ofijo: fish! heaps of fish!
Ofijo: its just beef and pork, i think.
Ofijo: come to think of it ive never seen lamb in her house.
Ick: and her reasoning is religion?
Ofijo: im pretty sure its part of the religion..
Ick: what is she, a Hindu-Jew?
Ofijo: Hinjew Wouldn't this idea be great? Throw standard religions out the window and make your own religion! I mean, the Belief-O-Matic has not pinned one person (that I know has taken it) down to a current religion yet, the least that they can be labelled with is being a Unitarian Universalist (which is basically a religion for the religion-less, since they really abuse the phrase 'diverse beliefs' in its description), so why not just let people make their own religions? I know that that would defy the whole purpose of religion (which is used to control the masses), but I'd still like to be able to try it, and this Hinjew concept is what made me get thinking about it.
Say you don't like the idea of contraception, but you like the idea of Nirvana (no, not the band, you close-minded idiot), you can become a Catholic-Buddhist! What if you like to help the innocent and naive (read: easily brainwashed), but you have the urge to kill people with strong opposing religious beliefs? The Mormon-Protestant faith is for you! What if you don't believe in the existence of God, but you are a masochist (you want to suffer with physical pain for your wrongdoings), and you want womens sole occupation to be to cook your dinner, look after the kids and wear a big fucking veil? Looks like you can make a Muslim-Atheist religion, and be happy forever!* * * Warning: the following part of the entry is nerdy stuff about videogames, you probably won't like reading it.
The other thing I'd like to talk about is the localisations of videogames. The latest trend of videogames being released seem to be on war. 'VIETCONG', 'Wolfenstein: Enemy Territory', these games constantly pit you (the US troops) against <insert anti-American country here>, but the worst of these seems to be the Medal of Honour series. After deciding (after two games and three expansions) that Germans aren't fun to shoot at anymore, they've now changed the focus of the game to kill the Japanese instead. Going from kicking arse in Normandy and shooting at Panzerfausts, to trying to kick arse at Pearl Harbour and shooting at Japanese pilots. What I've always wondered is, how do these games sell in the countries where they're the 'baddies' in the game? I mean, Germans don't want to buy a game where the objective is to kill EVIL NAZI SATANIST FASCIST SCUM REPEATEDLY, GROTESQUELY AND EN MASSE **, do they? I can't imagine the Vietnamese buying a game where the objective is to kill as many of those slanty-eyed gooks as possible. Do they totally change the game to another perspective or something? Note that this would not work on a game that is based on historical battles, watching the Germans storm the beaches of Normandy or playing as a Japanese soldier manning a naval machine gun at Pearl Harbour just wouldn't cut it for me.
I guess I should be thankful that I live in a country that wasn't 'Axis' in WWII, so I get to enjoy lots of unbiased re-enactments of historical battles without fear of losing the war at the end of the game.
In summary, the gaming industry are a bunch of fucking idiots (thanks ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) benedict).* * * I just found the easiet IQ test in the world: clicky* * * This concludes my horribly disjointed journal entry, except for this little sidenote.
**A sidenote: All German games prohibit (or used to prohibit) the killing of humans in a video game, so all humans that you kill are always to be substituted with zombies in the game. Boy, that ruined the Nintendo 64 port of 'Carmageddon' for me, since they just gave us the shitty German zombie version as a joke or something. |
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| What I want from movies |
[Jan. 26th, 2004|10:54 am] |
The following is an excerpt from my submitted (but not posted) review to Assisted Suicide on "The Last Samurai", which I went to see a few days ago."...I don't really consider myself a movie buff, but I know what I like, and when I go to see a movie, I expect to get my moneys worth. If I go to a chick-flick, I want my eyes to be red and my tissues to be moist by the time I leave the cinema. If I go to see an action movie, I want to see blood and fighting, regardless of the historical inaccuracies. I mean sure, Hollywood does sometimes abuse the poetic licence that is given to them when they produce a film (I don't really have any examples handy at the moment), but I go to see a movie, not a documentary (credit goes to Alan of the RvB forums for bringing up this point. I don't even want to see a rockumentary, I go to see a movie, regardless of it being historically accurate or not..." The reason I post this is because of an argument (one of many) that I had with Benedict a few days ago. See, he is a major history fan, and when I told him I went to see it, he proceeded to ask me questions on what was mentioned in the movie, as in the historical roots of it. Now, I have absolutely no idea of the history on which the movie was based on, so I could not answer his questions, and I was a little annoyed at the fact that he assumed that this movie instantly had to be based on historical fact.
Movies are not documentaries. If you want to be enlightened as to history, or to be actually educated (no, "The Matrix" is not an education, it is nothing but childish beginners philosophy), then watch a fucking documentary, read a fucking book. That way, it is ensured that you will learn something. Learning is not meant to be exciting, learning isn't pyrotechnics or blood and gore or over-the-acting. Learning about history is just memorising facts, swallowing and regurgitating theories and basically being a walking encyclopedia.
Really, there's no pleasing some history fans. In a movie set during the Crusades, I bet someone would bitch about the armour, or the way the blades are shaped or whatever. No-one could complain about LotR, because it was set in an entirely different world that didn't obey history. That's why there were massive elephants and an ex-hobbit without a penis in the movie without question. Of course, movies might give you a much better look at what actually happened given their big budgets and all, but that's not their primary aim. The aim of the film industry is to make money, and people don't like to pay for education, especially when what they want is entertainment.
Now, I admit that I do like history (even thogh I never got much chance to pursue it in highschool - I was way too concerned with pursuing a career in Computer Science *sigh*), and this movie really did bring back my interest in history, but it wasn't an education. It raised my interest, but it took my own initiative to want to learn more. I don't go to movies to be educated, I go to see my most primal urges portrayed on the screen, urges like lust and murder. I want to see a guy be decapitated on screen and watch people cringe at the sight, not to hear about how it's physically impossible with that particular sword because the tang is too thing/the sword is too brittle, with a density of 23.3848 grams per cubic centimetre or whatever. Fuck that, LET'S SEE THAT HEAD ROLL!
Now, I'm going to go and watch Star Wars, to get some education on space travel, and basic anatomical biology of Ewoks, seeya. |
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| Why men like lesbians |
[Jan. 18th, 2004|05:31 pm] |
This is my thoughts on why most straight men are more approving of lesbians than of gay men. I was reminded of it after seeing a question at a community, and this is my psychological analysis on the male psyche. I'm also writing this because the other entry I'm working on isn't going anywhere at the moment.
Men liking lesbians isn't about the male dominance of society asserting itself, that's crazy-jealous-bitchy lesbian talk. Not even the good kind of lesbian, either. The lesbians who spread this negative image are the ones who have extremely short spiked hair, wear denim jackets and weigh over 90kg. Men don't want those kinds of lesbians, men don't even think about them. Men want those blonde, big-breasted lesbians who kiss each other with open-mouths and overactive tongues. It's these kinds of lesbians that men like.
The reason they like them is because men are narcissistic creatures. After thousands of years of being the dominant sex in society, they have a very high opinion of themselves, and it still applies today. This means that men quite often believe that no woman (excluding the ugly lesbians described before) is completely homosexual, and that a special man (ie. them) can make these women throw away their black, wooden dildos in exchange for their own flesh and blood penis. Well, it's not really an exchange, more of the girls inviting the man to 'join the party'. But inside the mind of a man, all women love men (gung-ho lesbians excluded), at least subconciously, and this is what makes them so approving of girl-on-girl action, because the guys get the impression that it is just a show to entice the man to join in.
As for why men don't approve of gay men, well, that's the belief that any man who is gay will automatically take in interest in them. It's just the whole narcissistic ego inflating again, and making them think that any gay men is oversexed and would sodomise them the instant they are spotted by them.
So, blame society all you want for changing men into the perverted, sick beings that they are, but know that complaining does nothing to change the fact that you're going to go unnoticed and unheard unless you're attractive, and have your hand on another womans arse while you speak. |
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| These latest entries suck because I'm sick, quit your bitching |
[Jan. 15th, 2004|11:29 am] |
Whatever happened to the romantic film genre? Seriously, every film I see lately that even comes close to a being classified as 'romance' is now a 'romantic comedy', and it's ridiculous. As soon as a movie makes one tiny joke, it's rudely shoved into the romantic comedy genre like a Goth being forced into natural sunlight, they just stand there, wincing and squinting, and wonder if they can turn around and make a run for it. What happened to the typical romance, the kind where a guy does all the serenading and wooing and everything is perfect? Sure, you can name a few recent films where things are done this way, but it's never the sole plot of the movie anymore (I bet someone will name a movie that will prove me wrong).
There are a few possible reasons for this:
1. Romance is dead, so the genre no longer exists. There is no longer an idealistic view on love in the world. People are losing faith in the idea of a soulmate, or a true love. This is probably due to pre-marital sex, divorces and marriage annulments being more acceptable in todays society. I could go on and on about debating as to whether even having things like that in todays world is a good or bad thing, but I can't be bothered at the moment.
2. Romance isn't dead, advertisers just know that not many people like romance movies. They know that only single teenager girls watch these kinds of movies, dreaming of an intelligent guy with both looks and personality (HAHAHA), and advertisers decide that they need to expand the audience. They append the 'comedy' tag to it and boom, suddenly it's being bought by pussy-whipped husbands for their overbearing wives as birthday gifts, and a whole new target audience has awakened, even though the movies are basically the same.
3. 'Romantic comedies' are actually funny movies, and are deserving of their label.
...right, and Joel Schumacher makes horror movies. |
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| DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE |
[Jan. 9th, 2004|04:52 pm] |
I think I should go outside more often, interesting shit just seems to happen the second I step out of my door.
Right, normal routine. I wake up at noon (didn't get to sleep until 4am), wander aimlessly into the kitchen. Hm, nobody's home. This is a good start, this only happens once every few months, and it's usually relaxing. I wander back to the computer to check my email and the like, and I've just about finished when I hear a knock at the door. My first instinct is to either pretend that I'm asleep, or to pull some elaborate prank involving a realistic model of a shotgun that I own. I eventually come down from the euphoric giggling, and go to answer the door, weaponless. As I open the door, I notice that the water in our paddling pool is green. But, more on this later. The person is here to deliver some stuff for mum, but it's COD. Great, now I gotta find $53. I mosey up to my room, and realise that I don't have any money in my wallet. I wander back and tell them that I can't pay for it, and they take the package and leave. Hah, mum's going to be pleased.
I decide not to have breakfast for some unknown reason, other than the fact that I rarely have breakfast nowadays. I spy a note on the counter from my mum. She's gone out for a few hours and "can you bring in the trashcans and collect the mail?". I thought for a minute of how I could avoid these menial tasks by agruing semantics, by claming that her question was only asking if I possessed the physical abilities to perform these chores, and not actually telling me to do said chores. Oh yes, bastardry is fun. I then turn to the window, and it's blue. A BLUE SKY! After almost a week of shitty, overcast weather, there is finally a blue sky outside. My mood improves immensely; it seems as though my mood is the direct result of the weather, and I immediately conclude that I will do the chores given to me, just because my mood is so much better.
So, I skulk outside in my Tasmanian Devil slippers (yes, even in summer I wear slippers) to the trashcans to drag them to the back of the house. As I leave the front door, I hear it slam (and lock) shit behind me, thanks to the wind. Luckily in my own foresight (or my laziness), I had previously unlocked the back door, so no broken glass and nasty gash stories today. I drag the bins back, then go back inside. I then decide to empty the green pool, becuase it pissed me off so much to see water that colour in my front yard.
Now, this is no ordinary paddling pool. It's not one of those tiny little things that an adult can't even get their shins wet in, this pool is about 1.5 feet high, 6 feet long and 3 feet wide. Not your average kiddy paddling pool, so emptying the fucker is not going to be the equivalent of just pouring a bucket of water on your lawn. Last time I emptied this thing, it flooded my yard and the yard of the people next door. Nice way to meet the neighbours, it was, when their cat got washed down a storm drain by the torrent of water which undeniably came from my yard (which has one of those 8-foot tall privacy fences all the way around, just so you know). Stupid drainage system. Luckily, this thing is fun to empty, so I take off my slippers and place them by the front door. As I walk away from the front door, yep, you guessed it, the door slams and locks behind me. Now, emptying this pool is not as simple (or as boring) as pulling a plug and watching it drain. This is one of those inflatable bastards, so I have to stand on the inflatable wall, barefoot (with both feet), and allow the chilled water to freeze my toes relentlessly. I watch the water flow under the bottom of the fence towards my neighbours yard, and imagine what it would be like if a toddler on a tricycle were to be caught in these makeshift suburban rapids, which are subsequently turning my lovely front yard into a mud pit. Great.
There's still a little water left in the bottom that won't come out, so I have to lift the pool in order to get the rest of the water out. I don't know if any of you have ever smelt the combination of moisture and dead grass, but it's gut-wrenching. It smells like someone has rubbed shit on your face, seriously. It is one of the most disgusting scents ever, and I have to hold my breath while I try to flip this inflatable monstrosity to get the water out, and at the same time, getting my feet covered in mud. Joy.
It's done, so I grab my slippers and trek through the mud to the backyard, skipping over the large puddles that have been since created since my flooding. I want to put my slippers back on because my feet are cold, but they're covered in mud, so I wash them in the bathroom sink, which is a semi-acrobatic feat for someone as sloth-like as myself. Feeling accomplished, I'm just about to put my slippers on when I realise that I forgot to get the mail while I was in the front yard. Hoorah, more mud-filled adventures! If my letterbox weren't embedded in the huge fence, I'd have gone around the way I left the front yard to get the mail, but instead, I have to walk through the mud pit. I collect the mail, and then hear the door slam behind me AGAIN. *sigh* Some people just don't learn.
Back inside, I wash my feet in the sink again (I think I dislocated my hip that time), and proceed to open my mail, which was more amusing than annoying.
All in all, even though my hair smells like arse and grass (the plastic underlining of the pool fell on my head while I was trying to overturn it), and the telephone company are gonig to kill me, and my front yard is now prime real estate for buxom women to catfight mercilessly in bikinis (it's bad because they never call), the fact that I am home alone and that I can have mini-adventures at my own house has made me happy for the day.
Oh, and it's probably due to the weather, too. |
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| Careers section |
[Jan. 8th, 2004|12:27 pm] |
The time of reckoning has come, I have to seek employment. I no longer have an excuse to sit around on an afternoon. Originally, I blamed it on where we lived (a small town, walking distance to anywhere), and not being able to find any employment that wasn't standardised (ie. wages and whatnot). After we moved into the suburbs of Melbourne, I blamed it on not being within walking distance of any places of employment, and not having a car. Unlike some people at my Catholic high school, I wasn't given a car for my birthday in my final year, nor am I stupid/confident enough to take out a $10,000 loan at the age of 18 (especially since I don't have a job). A job needs a car, but a car needs a job first. Unless I can start whoring myself out to middle-aged women who will come and pick me up, or until I get used to the fact that I'll be walking a long fucking way to get to work (or at least catching a lot of public transport), I'm going to have to shut up and find a job.
Originally, when I decided I should start seeking employment (which was about a year ago, and I haven't been looking very hard), I was very fussy. I wanted a job that I enjoyed, and something that would possible improve on my aptitudes regarding things I wanted to do when I finished university. I applied for jobs as childrens entertainers and for data entry, but never really got anywhere. Then I realised that the people who clean up other peoples shit probably don't like their jobs (unless they have OCD), so who am I to be picky? So now, I've decided to greatly reduce my standards and take almost any job that I can get. While I won't clean up human shit or birth animals, I don't really have any requirements, so why don't I have a job?
I think it's because of a lot of reasons, the first being the fact that I haven't really looked. I really find it hard to be motivated for 'just any old job', especially since I have to condition and re-word my application for every job I apply for. I despise my resume. I have written resumes for other people and they have gotten jobs, but I hate even looking at my own because it's so damn empty. 19 years of my life, and I don't really have one thing to show to any employer that screams "HIRE ME! I'M BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE!". Another reason lies in my fear of rejection. Forget asking a girl out, a job interview is way scarier to me. At least with a girl you can play mind games to make them like you, or you can drug her and kidnap her. You can't do that with a potential employer. Well, not without their permission. Not even my deliberate attempts at showing a bit of thigh during an interview seem to be helping me. I also have poor self-image. The people hiring at cafes and places where they serve food don't want to hire a tall, lanky, pale, freckled white kid who sounds like he's 15 years old, not when that's the person that will be handing you your cafe mocha latter cappucino grande choco at a cafe. Shit, I can't even make toast without setting fire to the cat. I don't think I have anything to offer any employer. I know something about everything, but that's all. I'm not really an expert on anything.
Sometimes I just wish I could just take a test. On the spot, a standardised test to see if I'm worth employing, much like those game show applications I fill out. Then again, my attempts at humour on those applications didn't exactly get me onto the show, so maybe not. Forget having a pretty resume you spent three weeks on and have used a professional publisher to make and you have your own business cards printed on Italian silk and you can look nice and wear a pretty suit to an interview, just tell me to wear jeans and a t-shirt and plunk me in front of an interviewer. I'll take a damn test and have a laid-back chat with the interviewer, if possible. They're too damn formal, and I cave under that kind of thing. Shit, take a sperm sample and analyse that, I won't mind. Tell me to walk on my hands in the interview, I don't give a shit, JUST DON'T ASK MY WHAT MY MOST EMOTIONALLY SIGNIFICANT MOMENT OF MY LIFE IS, because I don't know the answer to that one, unless you want me to go into a spiel about how I was abducted by Cubans and forced to cut cigars until I was 10, at which point I was thrown on leaking life raft headed for Australia where I lived on the streets until I killed an entire family with a biro and am currently squatting in their house and eating their food and using their phone to apply for jobs to clean toilets BECAUSE YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR THAT. Shit, give me an essay to write. I know that not every employer is looking for intelligence (can anyone say 'professional wrestling?') in their candidates, but is has to mean something, right?!
Even more than the people with professional phony lives are the ones who get cushy jobs not on what they know, but who they know. These people annoy me more than anyone else on the face of the planet. I just want to run into an office one day, slap a resume down and scream "HIRE ME BECAUSE I HAVE NO SOCIAL LIFE AND I WILL BE A MINDLESS DRONE AND NEVER COME TO WORK WITH A HANGOVER AND I WILL EVEN WORK FOR YOU ON CHRISTMAS FUCKING DAY, YOU SLAVE-DRVING FUCK". I bet I'd get a job if I did that, too. Pity I don't have the confidence to do it. *sigh* Whatever happened to the days where you were born into your job? The Smiths were blacksmiths, the Bakers were bakers, and the Bush family were all prostitutes? (It makes sense if you think about it, honestly!)
All I'm asking for is a job that's easy for me to do, because then I will work harder for less money. Something I'm confident in, something I can do without worrying about screwing up badly (I did that at previous jobs as a young teenager, I learnt that hamburgers don't go in the deep-fryer). I want a job where I won't complain every day of the fucking week like everyone else, I don't care if it's data entry, at least I won't have to tolerate people in customer service. Just give me a job I can do, and feel proud that I'm doing a good job of it.
...anyone looking to hire a freelance procrastinator? |
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| More dawn ramblings |
[Jan. 6th, 2004|05:07 am] |
I've sat here for over two hours doing nothing. It takes me so long to start writing, and I don't know why. I also discovered that I require full concentration when writing anything. This is the reason I take so long to write anything. Each of these entries takes between one and three hours, depending on the level of distraction. Reviews at a Deadournal journal review community take two hours on average. It just seems as though there is always something else I can be doing. I can be reading peoples journals, or checking my email. Speaking of which, I have to check my university email, haven't done so in over a week. I bet it's clogged with Gamespy shit.
Ugh, only one email from Gamespy, that's not so bad. However, I got two from CCUSA.com. I can't believe they still send me shit when applications are closed. Idiots. Anyway, I think I've found the problem with my total procrastination (hell, even these entries are procrastination incarnate) from procrastinating, and the problem is instant messaging.
Remember when people used to live by email? Well, that was pretty remarkable an acheivement in itself. But some dipshit decided to expand on it and have INSTANTANEOUS ACCESS to someone else on the Internet. No matter what they're doing, you can instantly talk to them by making an annoying window pop up onto their screen and practically demand a response. No need for email anymore (unless you want to send them a really fucking long forward, or a survey or 'FUNNEY PIKTUREZ OMGLOL'), instant messengers are all that are used nowadays, and it's getting worse.
They're making things too simple for people. No, this isn't good, we want to educate people, not make them stupider by making computers as easy as masturbation. Who gives a shit if your company that makes computers can't be bothered expanding the tech support area of your company, if you expand it enough, it will reach a point where tech support will become void and invalid, since people will know most things about computers (at least, the software part), and they'll be able to educate their children on how to use computers. We need smarter people, not smarter computers, otherwise the robots will destory us all when they get really smart, and the idiot humans will be stuck reading the fucking manual and calling AOL Tech Support for help with their killer robot, at which point they'll reach one of those ridiculous auto-machine things that redirct their call 50 times before it gives up and hangs up on them, and they go and protest with a picket sign or something.
Shit, children know how to use computers better than most adults do, so in a few generations, things should be pretty okay. Most people will know how to defrag, save files, use the Internet and install simple Plug 'N' Play hardware without any problems.
Anyway, the reason I'm writing this is because instant messengers hamper what little productivity I have. A few simple tasks that shouldn't take any longer than three hours to finish end up consuming my whole fucking day. I'm actually happy that no-one has messaged me since I started this. I mean, I got one or two emails, but they're easily disposed of, unlike a person who won't stop whining about their bitchy sister or simply someone who just asks a bunch of fucking questions that you don't want to answer and they don't want to read the answers to. I really regret using IM programs sometimes, but I have to admit, it's fairly handy, albeit, an utter waste of time.
Looking for a rare song? A friend has it, and he can transfer it to you, no need to battle with your email account to let you fucking attach the file. Want to flash your boobs on webcam? (Most) IM programs make it easy for you to turn your webcam on. The only problem is that most of it has become eye-candy, where you need buddy lists, chat backgrounds and user icons. I say that if I can't remember who someone is when they message me, I shouldn't be fucking talking to them. I know that I can use IRC if i want simple, but that place is inhabited by all-knowing dorks who are always online, but are never paying attention to their computer. Probably enjoying the simplicity and downloading porn from their friends, I bet. Also, IRC doesn't allow me to flash my boobs on webcam.
As you can tell, I'm just a little bitter. The reason for this is that lately, the number of random IM's I receive daily is increasing. This would be completely fine with me if:
A) they person tells me who they are (or at least, where they found my SN) and what they want.
B) if the person actually had something to say to me.
But nooooo, I have people asking me "What are you doing?" or "How are you?". You don't care, so don't ask. If you want something, spit it out. I prefer honesty to fucking mind games. Ooooh, that's what I hate, people who like to think it's cute to not conform to either (A) or (B) when messaging me. They won't tell me who they are, but they don't exactly want anything. I spend half of my one-time conversations figuring out who someone is, and then I tell them to fuck off and block them. I seriously give them a chance to at least be honest, but some people like to try and play games. Fuck you and your games, I'm busy answering all the other fucking IM's I get from wankers like you.
Oh, and I know some people are thinking "what about me?". My answer is this, if I've messaged you on my own accord, or I've spoken to you more than once without constantly uttering monosyllabilic words, then you're not pissing me off. When you annoy me, I don't pretend that I like you.
Example, some guy I've spoken to once or twice in the past few months messages me:Hobbie: hey
SirMuffinMan29: hi
Hobbie: im jt for me
SirMuffinMan29: why don't you?
Hobbie: I don't know if he is awake, and I don't want to wake him up if he is sleeping
SirMuffinMan29: he's awake
SirMuffinMan29: he's working, dude
Hobbie: k
SirMuffinMan29: wait
SirMuffinMan29: why the fuck don't you want to wake him?
SirMuffinMan29: but you don't care if i do?
SirMuffinMan29: WTF
SirMuffinMan29: you selfish fuck
Hobbie: being polite, and all that crap
Hobbie: yeap
Hobbie: you would get crap, not me
Hobbie: simply looking out for myself and all that jazz
SirMuffinMan29: go the fuck away...you've done nothing but annoy me since the first day you IM'ed me, talking about <name removed> and shit I was pissed off by then, so I blocked him, but then a person I've never contacted pops up:Armitage Dude, are you really pissed off at me?
SirMuffinMan29: i am now
Armitage: You in a bad mood or something?
SirMuffinMan29: no
SirMuffinMan29: that's the most selfish fucking thing i've ever heard of
Armitage: I'm sorry, I was just joking around
SirMuffinMan29: yeah, i fucking bet
Armitage: I was about to IM him myself And then I blocked him and got a warning. I know that I was exaggerating by saying it was extremely selfish, but I hate being asked for stupid favours like that. I honestly don't give a fuck if he's reading this, I just hope he realises that he never has anything to say to me until he has some stupid news to announce or a favour to ask, and that that makes him a selfish fuckhole.
If you want to IM me, IM me because you're bored or because you want to ask or discuss something, but you'd better have something to talk about, and you'd better tell me who the fuck you are, or else you're preparing for a world of abuse. Don't fucking IM me if you want enlightenment, or you're expecting me to be the fucking Dalai Llama of AIM, I'm far from it. I am one of the most boring people to talk to, as I'm usually doing something else while talking to you. Oh man, random IM'ers piss me off to no end. I don't want to remove my contact info from my profile, as I've met some great people thanks to it, but I'm getting tired of people who are simply talking to me to get some amusement for themselves, you won't find it with me.
In summary, instant messaging programs are evil, and they should be destroyed. They are generally a waste of time. Write a fucking email, at least that way you'll (hopefully) take some time to punctuate it and spell-check it. I'm not really one to complain, I don't capitalise my IM's, and I don't use full stops the end of sentences (you guys call them 'periods', I have no idea why you'd name them after the female menstrual cycle, but...whatever floats your boat, I guess). |
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| My purpose |
[Jan. 4th, 2004|12:27 pm] |
This has been written in relevance to my DeadJournal, but has been posted here due to the fact that I haven't posted here in a while.
Why do I write? It's something I ask myself sometimes, and to be honest, I have a very definite idea as to why my journal is the way it is, and why I write about what I write about. The distinct lack of personal entries makes some people wonder why I am the way I am, and that's the reason I'm writing this entry. To explain to select people why I do, and always will, write for an audience and not for myself, regardless of the consequences.
I've been told that writing only for an audience makes me nothing more than a novelty, a sideshow. It's also been evaluates that I'm perceived as one-dimensional in terms of my journal overall. I really think that this is wrong. Each of my entries features a subconccious watermark, a stamp of my humour, my sarcasm, basically my whole Internet personality (more on this later). It's not as though I'm writing an essay that is void of humour, or that I'm writing solely on facts or anything. Most of the things I write are usually on my own whim, I write them because I want to. I'm not saying that every entry has this intention, there are times where I'm practically pressured to write something, just because it has been two or three days since I last wrote something.
I don't even know why people read my entries, most of the time they're just opinionated garbage written in a sleep-deprived state. Even though I never put a great deal of work into my entries (I don't write drafts and re-write, I maybe do four or five quick edits right after I finish posting it), I'm surprised that anyone likes them at all. I don't know what people are trynig to gain from it, it's certainly not enlightment, as I never get the impression that I have ever changed someones mind on a topic. All I know how to do is make people laugh, and even that is becoming a rarity. I can't make everyone laugh, only the majority, and even this is sometimes hard, since some people don't 'get' my sense of humour. I am of the opinion that most of my writing sucks, and that I simply sometimes hit a nerve with people. It's obnoxious and arrogant writing, and yet people lap it up and ask for more. I think the reason that people don't 'get' a lot of what I write is because I'm reading the words to myself as I type, and with the reading comes a voice which has tone, pitch and volume. Maybe I should just have MP3 transcript available with my entries. Though, I would never do it, I hate my microphone voice, and a lot of the tone/pitch/volume levels that I hope to acheive can't even be said in my voice. Plus I come off more whiny than cantankerous, opinionated and angry. Maybe Russell Crowe can do the transcripts for me or something.
Blah, getting off-topic. Why do I write? It's for the audience, it's for the people who read my journal. When I first started this, my journal was fairly average. I wrote daily on my boring life. I don't even know how I got fans back then (no really, I did). Of course, I would occasionally write a lengthy post on something amusing that I did, like go to a gameshow audition or something, or a trip to the museum (this was all before my 'groupies' of a month or so). but all in all, it was more or less the mindless drivel inside my mind. I even went back and deleted/made private all of my unamusing entries. I don't know why I did it, it was probably because I didn't want to see my shitty, boring entries, and because most of them were about university and/or my girlfriend.
The audience, I don't know what to think of them. Most of them (I think) are silent readers, people who check my journal out every so often to see if I've written anything new. I think a lot of them reared their heads in my anti-America entry, bastards. They're usually not demanding, they just read. Sometimes I wish everyone were like that, thatw ay, I could write when I felt like it. And things would probably be that way if it weren't for competition. Yes, I admit, I like competition, and Receptacle is my friendly competition. I know that we have different writing styles, and we talk about entirely different things, but he motivates me to write for people. It's not as though I'm jealous, I don't care to write about anything in an impersonal manner like he does, and I like my personality to be imprinted onto what I write. That's probably why his work gets plagairised so much, and mine doesn't, his entries lack personality. Or maybe it's because he's a more structured writer than I am (I admit, he is). Or maybe it's just because my writing can't be stolen by Americans and applied because they don't understand half of the words that I use.
The audience that comments are a different matter. They rarely inspire me, excepting a few rants. See, I lack the ability to construct a rational argument. I simply cannot defend myself in an intellectual argument. I know it's because I write psuedo-intellectual bullshit most of the time. The only things that people enjoy (I usually gauge by the number of comments) enjoy are the heated rants that I take to heart. The entries that take the least amount of time to write are always the ones that people enjoy, and I don't get it. Maybe they just like my novelty value of being a raging Australia pinhead, so the rants are envisioned as a guy standing in the middle of the desert, wearing a cork hat, ranting and raving to no-one in particular. Or maybe it's the comedy value. It's something that bugs me a lot, I can't stop thinking about it. Of course, it was absolutely no surprise that the anti-America entry got the biggest response. Now I have to do better than that. I compete against myself, to write a better entry, to be praised for ir.
That is why I write, for praise. I want to be recognised for something that I don't take very seriously, something that I believe I am not very good at. All my life, I try to do the things that I enjoy, and I suck at them. My writing is apparently good, and it's a great ego boost when I see that so many people read and appreciate it. I'm really an attention-whore in disguise, except that I have better weapons at my disposal.
Right, Internet persona. This is not me you're reading about, let's get that clear. I live through my writing, and you'll be lucky to even catch a glimpse of the real me in my journal. If I'm pissed off and it goes onto my journal, the tone is ten times more pissed off than I actually am. Heck, most of the time, I'm just a little annoyed, and it passes 10 minutes later. Maybe it's just an exaggeration of who I really am, I don't know. In real life, I'm quiet, but not by choice. I live and interact with people who have almost no brains, and would not even think about discussing anything I write. Heck, I don't even like discussing what I write about with anyone other than friends. I have a complex that makes me want to argue only with weaker opponents. I don't want a battle, I want to win. I hate challenges because I hate the potential of losing.
I met my Internet personality once, and I immediately hated him. He was exactly like me in every way. Arrogant and rude, it was like looking into a mirror, and I was arguing with him over something mundane and stupid like personal worth or something. At first, I was jealous of him, this guy was everything that I wanted to be. Now, I despise him, I don't ever want to meet him again. Maybe it's the equality thing, in that I don't want a match with him, but I don't think so. I argued with him for a long time, and didn't back down. I wanted to argue. If I ever met my Internet persona in real life, I'd probably want to kill him. I sometimes forget how a lot of the things I say can really hurt some people, but I like my Internet personality because it gets me noticed. As I said, I desire attention, though I don't think I am as deserving as I am sometimes led to believe.
According to my hitcounter, my entry page gets an average of 55 unique hits per day, and I don't know if I'm good enough to keep them interested. I have an audience, they must be appeased at any cost, and the worst part of this is that I have to keep doing it. I can never stop writing for the masses. novelty or not. I have to keep writing, for both my sake and theirs. I need the attention, and they want my entries. Inspiration is hard to come by, but I have to keep tapping the reserve in my brain.
Because if there's anything worse than being a DeadJournal superstar (for lack of a better word), it's being a burnt-out has-been. |
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| Off on a tangent |
[Jan. 3rd, 2004|07:10 am] |
It's 4:45am, and I can't sleep. I hate it when this happens, I rarely have trouble sleeping. I mean, I tried for a whole 45 minutes to get to sleep. If I'm not asleep and fantasizing about AIM camwhores within 15 minutes of lying down to sleep, then something is wrong. Ha, I can all of you insomniacs (which seem to be synonymous with Internet usage somehow) scoffing right now: "I've only had one hour of sleep in the past 6 months, and it takes me four hours to get to sleep and blah blah blah...". I don't care, I love my sleep, and I usually get lots of it. I hate not knowing why I can't sleep. I mean, I can come up with a few half-arsed reasons, such as the light on my alarm clock being too bright, or having had to much caffiene tonight. I can even blame it on something stupid by saying that some idiot (probably my niece) has left crumbs in my bed somehow, but the truth is, I seriously don't know why I have trouble sleeping sometimes, and it annoys me.
Heh, that reminds me of one of my rare dreams that I had recently in which I defeated a Dance Dance Revolution arcade game and won $5000. I don't know why, since I despise that game a whole lot, but meh. This was later followed by a few idiots from highschool mocking me for not having a girlfriend. This would seem normal, except that we were at a football oval, just standing around. Hey, when I dream, I go all out. Fuck flying or saving the world, I dream about arcade games and crazy Chinese dudes accusing me of counterfeiting money.
And speaking of football, Australian Rules Football seems like it's purposefully going out of its way to be really fucked-up. Using an elliptical ball, and playing on an oval field, trying to hit the ball between not two, but FOUR posts. Man, what a messed-up sport. Why can't it just be a straightforward game, like soccer or something? BECAUSE WE'RE DIFFERENT, THAT'S WHY! I dunno, maybe it was just a way to confuse the British convicts by inventing a game that's confusing as hell to play. And they changed the rules every week, just to keep them on their toes. And they made it more entertaining because they kept the convicts (players) in leg shackles for laughs. And then they released wild pigs on the field at halftime. And then they impaled the losers on the goalposts at the end of the game. But that's not important, it's a game with a rich history, and we should treasure it and its weirdness. Hey, at least we don't play that game where smelly old Italian men throw picket signs into the air to try and intercept a ball. No, honestly, it's a real game!
And that's why I can't sleep.
Oh yeah, this is also the reason why I probably can't sleep. I hate it when ideas for entries pop into my head when I'm trying to sleep. Believe it or not, I actually work to write interesting, coherent entries (which are subsequently superseded by hastily-written entries bitching about something that people take offence to, yet somehow agree with me on), I actually strive to write well, unlike some of the shit that can be observed on DeadJournal, which basically constitues of the persons daily bowel movements. So yeah, I had an entry idea, and I'll start it in a minute, right after I quickly mention something really important.
http://opalcat.livejournal.com/
I REALLY have to bring this person to your attention. This person is the epitome of journals gone horribly wrong. This woman has turned her journal into a career, and she is my current source this week to keep me bitter and cantankerous. Just looking at her journal makes me sick. T-shirts, artwork, a forum, fucking WEBCAMS. Does this woman not have anything to do with her life? Her LiveJournal is just an extension of her site, a sick and twisted way to gain attention. I mean, it's even THEMED the same way.
Fuck, even her userinfo makes me sick. All of her 'accomplishments' and journals (she even has a journal for her fucking PETS!) and communities and even a disclaimer! "If you are easily angered by strong opinions, you probably won't want to read my journal." HA HA HA HA, her latest entry is about her son counting. WHOA, some pretty fucking strong opinions there. Shit...I think the CIA are gonna be after her for her controversial thoughts. Not that it would be hard to find her, she basically runs her fucking business there. I'm just so tempted to start something against her, just for fun, but there's something holding me back. Oh well, I'll get around to it. I despise that woman. I really don't want to go into details, she is just wrong and inhuman in so many places that it angers me. Just see for yourself.
Anyway, the real reason that I'm writing this entry is to talk about my paranoia. See, I own my computer, and it lives in my room. I have a fascination with computers, and all the things that they can do. Even though I don't know anything about what goes on inside them, I am still fascinated nonetheless. This has made me very protective of my computer, and I really don't like people using it when I'm not around. Heck, I have to keep a watchful eye even when someone else is using it. No, it's not because of the large amounts of...independent...porn that I keep stored in a folder named "Nature Photos", it's because I'm paranoid. I'm worried they're going to break the computer, or disorganise it, or download shit I don't know about, and then complain when they don't know where it went. Heh, a lot of you probably don't understand what I'm talking about, but I just hate people messing with my computer.
Example. I'm (as usual) sitting at the computer, and my cousin comes in. He sits behind me and to the left on my bed, and watches me multitask between reading, IM's, emails and shitty PS work. He stares blankly for a few minutes, while I try to ignore him, despite my annoyance (there is a reason for not wanting him to see anything that I do on the computer, but I won't go into it). And then it comes:
"Let me use your computer." My back stiffens, my pupils dilate, and my automatic reflex is to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone. But then my subconscious lets me know that I am smelling like an ape with leprosy, and that I can barely see my monitor beyond all the soft-drink cans, food wrappers, crockery and an almost-overflowing colostomy bag and I think to myself, maybe I should get away from the computer for a while...you know, so mum can clean all this shit of my desk. I'm kidding of course, I occasionally do leave my chair to pee (I'm thankful to whoever had the foresight (read: sick, disgusting fetish) to create adult nappies THAT ACTUALLY WORK).
So anyway, I ask "Why?" in my questionable nature as to WHY THE FUCK YOU WOULD HAVE THE NERVE TO DEMAND THAT YOU USE MY PERSONAL PROPERTY, FUCKHOLE. Keep in mind that my cousin is probably one of the most computer-illiterate people I know. I can't leave the computer for ten seconds without him typing something crude, pointless and horribly spelt into the first IM window he sees. He plays the good old 'hunt-and-peck' when he types WITH ONE FUCKING HAND (the other arm is draped over the back of the chair, probably to keep up appearances, or show off his hairy armpits or something), and actually thinks that the Internet is actually good for useful information. HA! I have slowly drawn him from this mindset by introducing him to diverse free porn community. I try to appease the angry god that is my big, burly cousin by saying that I'll find him some porn to watch. This obviously alerts him to the fact that he can't beat me up...yet. I open a P2P program (stealing is wrong, children), type in one of 50 random keywords that will guarantee a plethora of porn (I'll do the list later), and download a few small-ish videos.
Now comes the awkwardness, he actually tries to make conversation while we wait for the porn to download. My cousin, who knows nothing about what I'm interested in, who likes cars, and frequently tells me that I'm a loser for not being sociable enough, tries to make conversation. In the meantime, I have about 5 things that I'm currently doing, so I just throw in a few 'uh-huh's, 'yeah's and the occasional 'man, that's bullshit's while he talks away.
Hoorah, the porn is finished! I hand him my headphones, so as not to fill the whole house with sounds of whores moaning and gruff guys saying "Oh yeah, you like the cock". Porn plays, and I'm occupy myself with a few IM wnidows in the meantime, because I don't like watching porn with other guys. Don't get me wrong, I like porn, but as much of a bonding technique it can be for males, I'm not going to participate in something that would have Freud racking his brain for a new sexually-related theory as to why I want to sleep with my mother. Porn finishes, and I'm happy that my cousin will leave me alone. I perform my traditional 'get the fuck out of my room' routine by looking over my should at him disinterestedly, and I think that it's going to work, but nooooooo. He wants to actually use the computer for who knows what purpose. So, I do my routine of closing and logging out of any account/program of mine that has a username and password attached to it. Instant messengers, DeadJournal, my bank account, everything. Shit, I even close Winamp because they like to fuck with my playlist.
There, everything's closed, I'm back at my desktop (that is very organised, and isn't cluttered with a fuckload of shitty icons). Rising out oy my chair no longer paranoid about my privacy, and ready to go and take a shower, pleased that any clumsy attempts by him to invade my privacy are totally pointless. As I walk out of the room, triumphant, I hear my cousin behind me, staring at the black desktop:"Um, what do I do now?"
[EDIT] And now I have to go and do tech support for my uncle and his shitty Pentium 2. Heh, I'll probably blow it up because I haven't slept, and because he's too absent-minded to keep the disks to any software he buys. I'm taking a book with me, maybe I can bludgeon them to death with it when they keep asking "What are you doing?", followed by my uber-technical response, followed by "What does that mean?" [/EDIT] |
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| You mean it's TUESDAY over there?! |
[Dec. 30th, 2003|11:36 pm] |
Honestly, you Americans have no idea how annoying you are. You simply cannot grasp any concept that is not your own. I don't get it, and it annoys me to no end. I don't understand why you people cannot stop exclaming at even the smallest thing just because it's different.
Firstly, timezones. You guys simply can't get it into your head that I live 15 hours ahead of you. YES, IT IS TOMORROW HERE. I'm sure you people understand the concept of timezones, but you just keep saying "wow" at my place in the future. It's not that special. I'm not going to remark "that is soooo yesterday" with a smirk on my face at every oppourtunity just because of the time difference. Yes, I sleep while you go to school. Yes, I'm sitting in the dark while you're eating breakfast. Who cares?
The only good thing about the time difference was that I was spared 10 hours of ridiculous fucking panic after the two planes crashed into the World Trade Centre (I refuse to refer to it solely by a date, BECAUSE IT WAS THE 12TH OF SEPTEMBER HERE WHEN IT HAPPENED, AHAHAHA!). I was asleep, so I didn't hear about it until I got to school. The last peaceful 10 hours of my life, really. Now, I live my life in fear as the war against terror rages on. Oh yes, you heard me. A war against terror. It's not even a tangible concept. Terror can't be defeated, it's a fucking word. What're you gonna do, have a public book-burning? Shit, don't target a word just because you want to be politically correct, just name a scapegoat like a terrorist or weapons of something. Oh wait, you ended up doing that anyway. Wow, discrediting the dictionary for nothing. *TV announcer voice* "Next week on 'The Americans', George Bush wages a war on fear!" *cut to a few guys dressed in army fatigues kicking the shit out of a guy who is in a costume that's shaped like the word 'fear'.
I amuse myself so much sometimes, it's scary.
Yeah, it's not what I described, but I suck at drawing, and I'm even worse at drawing people kicking the shit out of people in novelty word costumes. And I didn't draw that flag either.
Oh, another thing is the metric system. Why is it that unless you've done a science subject in school, you guys have no fucking clue what the metric system is? I never studied the Imperical (or is it Emperical) measurement system once, and I still know things about it, thanks to you guys. Every time I have to answer a question regarding the length og my weight or height or the length of my penis, I have to open a conversion program which I downloaded so I can answer these dumb questions and convert it for you. Same goes for temperature, and I just can't comprehend where you get the idea that it's confusing. It's certainly better than having 6 gallons to a mile and five feet to a league or whatever the fuck you guys use (yes, I was kidding, so don't correct me on how gallons and miles measure different things). Shit, the only things that are measured in pounds/ounces here are illegal narcotics. I haven't even bothered to figure out why, meh.
And another thing, the language. You can't seem to get over the words we use for some things. Here, let me give you a quick guide. I know American terms because I've been forced to adjust. Format: American word/Australian equivalentsoda = soft drink
diaper = nappy
pacifier = dummy
candy = lolly
flip-flops = thongs
thong = g-string
fucking = rooting
rooting = barracking That's all I can think of at the moment, any other Australians that read this thing, feel free to throw in a few things that I forgot.
And last of all, the accent problem. Yes, I have an accent, BUT SO DO YOU. Yes, everyone else I talk to has the same accent that I do, and no, it's not hard to understand. I can't tell what a Wisconsin accent or a Rhode Island accent is. All I know are Southern and New York accents, and that's it. Probably because they're stereotyped on TV so much.
Fucking whatever, I'm sick of this. I just wish you lot would stop acting like everything revolves around you. I've been trying to adjust to it for far too long, and now I've had enough. You're stupid, stupid people. Yes, even you, the person reading this very sentence (unless you're not American). You're stupid too, so why the fuck should I have to adjust to your accent, your measuring system and your language? Fuck you, you should adjust for the rest of the world, not the other way around.
Also, I actually wasn't pissed off while writing this, I just threw in that tone for fun, and I needed to get out a lot of things. I'd provide more of an argument, but I have to go and catch my kangaroo, he escaped from my 50-acre backyard. Oh well, I'll just grab my boomerang and akubra hat and be on my way to track him down.
Oh, AND IT'S FUCKING SUMMER HERE, SO STOP ASKING ME. |
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| Routine |
[Dec. 29th, 2003|06:32 pm] |
Disclaimer: Kudos to anyone who can make any sense of this damn post, it doesn't even make sense to me in retrospect.
I went outside today and played totem tennis by myself for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of *backhand* *forehand* *backhand* *forehand*. If I'd thrown in a few exclamations of "Shut yer mouth, bitch!", I'd almost be mistaken for a redneck. But as I was standing there, hitting this ball in circles with all my might, I was trying to rationalise the activity down to what it accomplished. Sure, it's supposed to be fun, but I didn't see it that way. The best I could manage was that it improved hand eye co-ordination, which I suppose is true. Even something as mindless as hitting a ball has a purpose that I can value.
Is no activity purely fun anymore? Does everything have to be driven by a purpose or a result? I sleep because I need to recover my energy, I have (or rather, had) sex to express affection or love, I do physical activities to improve my physique. I can't think of anything that people can just enjoy without it being driven by an ulterior motive. Watching TV is almost close, but that can either be explained as you're not enjoying it, and are watching it because you're too lazy to do anything else, or you're watching it for the positive effect that it will have on your brain (i.e.. you learn something). Why do actions always come with this purpose, this drive to do things (or not do things) ? I believe the answer lies in routine.
Routine makes things no longer fun. Your brain tells you that you're doing this activity for these reasons. Sure, you may get some enjoyment from them, but you're not doing it for that reason. That's just a side-effect of doing this particular activity from which you gain so much. There is no longer one thing that can be done that is purely for fun. I know that some people will try to argue that they do such-and-such purely for fun, but I bet that you can think of another positive aspect that you gain from doing it. Playing videogames is escapism and conquest. Dressing nice is so that you will receive compliments and stares, or so that you will avoid stares, sleazy compliments and insults. You dress for society, you work for the economy and you exist for the government. You life no longer has an individual purpose, you live for other people. Not including masturbation, but that too can be explained in terms of not wanting sexual tensions clouding your mind when socially interacting with others. Of course, I may be wrong in thinking that if an activity can be explained in terms that make it a less personal motive that is means that it is an entirely impersonal activity, but I'm going to explain it anyway because I'm bored.
At the moment, I'm a pretty inactive person. I eat, I shower, I wander aimlessly around the house, I use my computer and I sleep. All in all, I'm not a very exciting person. But is this a bad thing? Well, from the achievement perspective, yes. I don't have a job and I'm not really doing much of anything. But in the more general sense, is it a bad thing? I'm not sure. Think about it, we are no longer hedonistic beings. We are no longer allowed to be purely hedonistic, there are way too many things that we have to worry about. Money, our appearance, social relationships (including our own family members); these sorts of things are things that can no longer be ignored, and this is particularly true of people my age and above. We've learnt that money makes the world go around, and that we need it, or else we'll never be happy.
Humans largely live by routine. We wake up at this hour, do certain things, then go to sleep. These things are done often, which makes it routine. Whether this be your job, hobby or school, you cannot deny that you don't have a routine. My routine involves the computer. Even though I don't really accomplish anything on it, it is nonetheless part of my routine. Humans simply cannot exist anymore without routine. Our lives need direction, something we can fall back on when our selfish pursuits fail.
I am, of course, referring to recreational activities. Alcohol, drugs, holidays, anything that will either numb the aching in your brain that tells you that you live by routine, or something that disproves that you can do what you want and that you don't live by a routine. It's funny how these things often become routine, isn't it? You perform a routine activity, such as drinking alcohol, to try and rebel against the 'lather, rinse, repeat' cycle that is your life. These responses soon become your natural reflex against this lifestyle. You don't like your 9-to-5 job? Have a drink after work. At the end of the year, take a holiday. Maybe celebrate a few Easter and Christmases on the way. There really seems to be no way to escape this routine.
The only people who do seem to live without routine are the ones deemed insane or mentally handicapped. The ones whose subconsciouses regularly spill out into the real world. They don't live by routine, they have no reason to. They don't understand the purpose of maintaining a healthy social relationship. Sure, it can be mimicked, and some people (such as serial killers) recreate the things in their own lives that the world deems as important because they know that it seems to be a prerequisite to being a normal member of society.
Ted Bundy, for example, was a law student. He defended himself in court during his prosecution. He once escaped from police custody, and lived quietly away in another city. He would never have been caught had his unnatural desire to kill and maim not compelled him to kill again. He could act like a normal member of society. He knows that he'll need to buy milk from the shop on his way home, or that going to parties will give a sociable impression. It's not like I can picture Ted Bundy breakdancing at a local nightclub in a vinyl suit, but you get the idea. People are conditioned to function in a conformed manner, and yet their minds are not bound by routine in the manner that normal functioning humans think about it.
I don't know if we're better with routine. I mean, I have a routine, and I'm far from productive. Some people might be better off with a routine. Traditional white-collar workers live on a routine, and they're usually miserable. 9-to-5, 5 days a week, 320 days of the year (don't quote me on that), and they're just doing work that is just brain work. Your brain doesn't get tired, it doesn't refuse to work, it's laziness. Why do I see so many people who work on farms that are infinitely happier than businessmen? They do physical, back-breaking labour every day of their lives. They live on a lot less routine. They live by the weather, which isn't very defined and clear-cut. They don't know if their tractor is going to break down, or if they'll have a pest problem. Their problems can be a lot worse at time, and yet, they're generally happier people. Is it simply because they're down-to earth-people?
I have a feeling that routine is killing the inner child in all of us. The child that tells us that it would be fun to run outside in the rain and jump in puddles, the child that tells us that junk food tastes so good. The child that defies routine, the one that wants us to have happy memories, instead of ones of us simply working to better ourselves for other people. It's a terrible predicament, we trade off efficiency and purpose for randomness and the possibility that something really bad can happen to us which would mess up our lives to no end. Is it really worth it? Is order and conformity more satisfying than chaos and freedom? If we live solely for freedom, doesn't that become our lives purpose, thus becoming a contradiction?
I don't know, and I don't think I ever will. Unfortunately, I think I'm going to have to work towards getting order in my life, because I apparently can't be happy in a world without money, a job or friends.
Life is such a crock. |
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| MSN Antics |
[Dec. 22nd, 2003|05:32 pm] |
I hate people who only talk about themselves. People who like to rant on and on about themselves and their pointless lives, then ask for my thoughts on their situation.
Catches me totally offguard. Y'know, because I'm not listening to what they say, I'm just provoking them to say more by asking them questions. The only question I get asked is "How are you?", and I can tell they're not interested in the answer. I suppose it keeps the conversation going, but it gets pretty annoying pretty fast.
Example, an MSN conversation that has currently gone for 30 minutes with some girl with rich parents has the tally at
My word count: 94
Her word count: 649
I hate people like this.
Oh, great, and now this:X: and all i want to do is sleep
Ick: maybe you should
X: i need to do this
Ick: okay
Ick: i'll leave you to it then
X: no keep me entertained..i can do heaps of things at once
X: u are keeping me awake
Ick: how can i keep you entertained?
X: conversing with u keeps me awake
X: that is entertainment enough at the moment I didn't know 'conversing' meant being ear-bashed by an egotistical, self-absorbed, daddy's girl.
I think I'll block her soon. |
|
|
| Reflections on my writing |
[Dec. 20th, 2003|12:36 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | comatose | ] |
| [ | music |
| | System of a Down - Pictures | ] |
This is a story I wrote two-and-a-half years ago, during my second-last year of highschool. It was one of those forced assessment-type things, where I would be forced to write a story based on a page of 'inspirations' which were given on the day of the assessment. As I was handed the page of inspirations, void of ideas for a fictional story, I looked at it. Boy, these inspirations sucked. A few passages from "Macbeth" and "Montana 1948" (the books we were reading that semester), a picture of a few people clinging to a chain-link fence, a few old advertisements of cars and holidays. I had no idea what I was going to write about, until I caught a small picture of a spiderweb, with the Keats quote juxtaposed underneath, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Its loveliness increases." and another quote to its right, "The shimmer and incandescance, the spider weaves its sublime geometry".
I've always sucked at poetry and cute-looking phrases that were supposed to be interpreted as deep and meaningful, so seeing these quotes didn't really inspire me. Still without any ideas, I simply focused on the spiderweb and commenced writing. I didn't stop writing until I was finished, and never once checked what I had written. This is what I wrote (unedited, so excuse the poor grammar):Statement of Intention (Required for each piece to show the grading teacher your purpose/direction)
"I wrote this piece for anyone who wants to read it. It is telling us that no matter how big you are, the tiny decisions in your life can sometimes end it. The final question is one of fate, and while I don't believe in it personally, it still makes me wonder sometimes. It is a story of how something beautiful (nature) can be destroyed by something meaningless and simple (running away from our problems). The purpose of this piece is to merely tell a story."
In the darkness of the night, the spider delicately makes its way across the sticky web of its trap. This trap is necessary for survival, a means of hunting for the spider. It checks the web one last time, ensuring that it is complete, before moving aside and waiting for the inevitable. Its eight eyes observing in all directions, even until the beast tears the web apart, destroying the spiders entire days work in a split second.
I just kept on running, quickly brushing the spider off of my face. I had no time to think that the spider could be biting my face, trying to kill me. Right now, I had better things to worry about. I tried to run quickly, my legs not moving out of habit as I jumped logs, dodged trees abd avoided heavy brush. My mind was racing, wondering what I was going to do if I ever escaped. In the distance, I could hear dogs. I was unsure of how long I would live now, today, tomorrow, or thirty years from now. Would I be torn apart by police dogs? Would I break my ankle in a hole and be eaten alive by vicious ants? Would I die in my sleep, surrounded by my loving family and friends? Of course, I knew that the last thought was out of the question, considering the trouble I was in.
My name is Thomas Ryan Johnson. I am on the run from the law because of what I believe. I believe that I have a responsibility to protect my family at whatever cost. One night, a young man broke into our house, demanding money and drugs. Brandishing my pistol, I kindly asked the man to leave. He pulled out a knife and threatened to kill my daughter, whom he had taken hostage of during the confusion. I shot at the man, and killed him. Now I am running because the police will find out that I am a fugitive, who moved to Australia about 5 years ago, from the US, and I have so far been undetected. But I think that all that is about to change.
Back in the US, I always thought of myself as a fairly fit man, but there is nothing more intense than running through the NSW bush in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but pyjamas and a jacket I had thrown on. The only thing worse than that is being shot, which happened shortly after that thought. The searing pain burned into my leg. The loud BANG echoed in my ears. I fell forward onto my knees, my legs finally having an excuse to stop. I collapsed in despair, on a cold, muddy, dark patch of ground that would be my last vision as a free man.
I had been running for an hour. My legs were paralysed, my face now numb from the chilling night air that had stung my face like shreads of ice. As the police officers torches illuminated the area around me, I reached down towards my leg to feel where I had been shot.
But there was no bullet wound.
At that second, my brain registered that a spider was standing centimetres from my face, staring at me silently. I understood that I had destroyed this spiders web, and he had gotten his revenge. I felt my heart begin to seize as the poison began to affect the rest of my body. As I slipped into unconciousness and finally death, I asked myself this final question:
If I had avoided that spider, would I have escaped? I had originally chosen the option to post two short pieces, since I thought the story would not be enough to reach the word limit. As I predicted, the story didn't even meet the word count required for it to be a free-standing piece; it was short by almost 200 words. This would be the reason why I also jotted up a quick poem as my second piece (even though I suck at poetry), based on the refugees holding the chain-link fence. Boy, that poem sucked. It was free verse, and full of horrible cliches. Funnily enough, they totally disregarded my poetry, saying that the story was long enough to grade on.
Onto the story, it is easily one of the worst things I have ever written. As I was typing it, I noticed so many bad things about it. It lacked a lot of description, it sported many cliches, and the story was really shitty. So many plotholes, parts of the story weren't even described, like why the guy was a fugitive from the US in the first place, or how it is that a spider can have a gender, let alone stare at someone. Also, I realised that guy hadn't made a concious decision to run through the web, to be killed by the spider, so it wasn't a real decision affecting the outcome.
At the time, I thought the beginning and end were very poetic. Now, they just look shitty and boring. I could make that piece ten times better if I wanted too, but I don't think I should bother trying to save it. Also, I thought my disbelief in fate was kinda cute, since my opinions have changed since then.
When I first submitted it, I thought it was extremely rushed, especially due to the pathetic storyline (yes, I knew it sucked, even back then, but I don't work well with forced assessment). I'd be lucky to get anything higher than 70% for it. I used to rely on the use of big words and long, run-on sentences to confuse the person marking it, so they'd give me a better score. Also, having bad handwriting often leaves them with no choice but to give you the benefit of the doubt when it comes to grammar and punctuation.
I got 90% for that piece. A+. Teachers comment: "You begin and end with the spider web - stunning! A very compelling piece."
I don't understand the education system sometimes. |
|
|
| Christmas |
[Dec. 17th, 2003|08:16 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  hot | ] |
| [ | music |
| | John Lennon - "Working Class Hero" | ] |
Disclaimer: I know i have a Christmas avatar, so don't bother pointing it out.
Even though it's already been mentioned/discussed/argued by other DeadJournal users, I'm going to talk about it anyway.
I don't like Christmas anymore, it has lost anything about it that could possibly be fun or cheery. When I was a kid, Christmas was nothing but fun. You got presents, you unwrapped them, you played with them for the day, then you threw them into the bottom of your closet, never to be seen again. It would be a day where you'd see all your relatives, and you'd play cricket in the backyard and have a massive barbeque. You'd eat until you were full, then flop onto the couch and watch a movie. Christmas was ultimately the best day of the year.
Now, I feel as though I prefer New Years Eve to Christmas. At least with New Years, you don't have to worry about other people. In fact, that kind of day is specifically made so you can get drunk and make a fool out of yourself. Christmas is nothing but stupid 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours' wishes. You buy presents for people who will buy you presents. Why do you buy people presents? So you can get one in return. It's not an entirely selfless act, buying someone a present. Simply put, if I have trouble thinking of what to buy someone for Christmas, I don't want to buy them something. It's a stupid formality. I can buy for my family and a few of my closer relatives, but how am I supposed to know what my 4-year old cousin's niece's brothers daughter wants? A Barbie? It's so stupid. I can easily buy presents for people I know (not that I necessarily like them).
As you can tell, I'm a little bitter. The reason for this is because I assumed that no-one but my immediate family was buying me any Christmas presents. I mean, I'm 19 now, I don't need presents. I have progressed from that stage as a child where I was the present receiver and not the giver. Now, I have to reciprocate anything given to me with a gift of my own to them. How is this fun? And it doesn't help when I don't know what the hell the person likes, or what they would possibly want. As you can tell, I've just found out (through very subtle comments during a conversation) that I am being bought presents for Christmas. Joy, you know what this means. In order to not appear to be a callous arsehole by my already bitchy relatives, I have to now buy them presents. Since I don't want to upset anyone (ie. be called a cheap bastard, or someone who buys shitty gifts), I just get gift vouchers. The only real way that someone can complain then is if the store sucks, and if you go to a big enough store, then that's usually not an issue unless they're a fickle moron.
So, I dragged my arse to the shopping centre to find some presents. Subsequently, I ended up buying almost $200 worth of crap for myself, and spending almost $100 on Christmas presents. Sometimes I just go spend-crazy. Meh, anyway, I then realised had to buy gifts for even more people than I first thought. Ugh, so I have to go back sometime this week to finish up the gift-buying.
See, this is why I hate Christmas, it's not fun anymore. You buy gifts not as a gesture of liking someone, it has now become an obligation. I know that there aren't many other ways to do it, since humans will always bitch about the person that didn't buy them a present at Christmas. But do we really need Christmas? I mean, I can buy a gift any time of the year for someone, and won't even have to pay the insane Christmas markup. It's not as though humans should just act nice at a particular time of year, that's what Christmas encourages. You be nice for a day and things will be okay.
I never really liked this idea, ever since I was told to write an essay on the statement "The Catholic Church does a lot to prevent suffering in todays world.", and to agree or disagree with it. Everyone else in my Religious Education class agreed with the statement, and spouted many of the nice things that the church has done, particularly in reference to 9/11 in their essays. I, on the other hand, wrote a lengthy spiel about how the Catholic Church is nothing but a multinational company living under tax exempt benefits, and how they behave just like any conglomerate corporation would in a time of crisis, such as 9/11, donating money and whatnot. I also blamed them for the spread of AIDS in Africa in the same essay.
Like any good anti-Catholicist, I got a C for my essay, with the comment "Not enough research". I interpreted it as her basically telling me that I was a filthy liar, but I had good essay structure. By the way, everyone else in hat class got A's.
Back on topic, maybe it's just because I'm no longer a child who tries to hang onto this no-obligations mindset, but I don't think Christmas has any real purpose anymore. People don't buy others gifts for the right reasons. I don't think it's commercialism gone awry unlike some people. I mean, we have to get our presents from somewhere, right? Otherwise people would just be getting painted rocks and vegetables for Christmas is there were no commercial market.
Christmas is a sham. I don't care why it was made, whether it was because of the birth of some guy who leeched off the Roman government for 30 years (come on, the guy never had a full-time job or anything, he just mooched from cripples and lepers and shit), or whether it was made as an excuse to not pay attention to your work in that period before New Years Eve, it doesn't really have a point. People don't need to designate a day where they be nice to others, nor do they need to prove their friendship/love by buying them a present.
Or maybe i just don't like spending my money on other people. |
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|
| eBay |
[Dec. 14th, 2003|09:36 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | lonely | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Evanescence - "Hello" | ] |
I've discovered that eBay owns my soul. I recently got an account there, and began bidding on things. Things I didn't need and probably didn't want. Regardless, I bid. I never thought of buying a set of knives until eBay. Never before did I look at a spindle of 50 CD's and seriously consider buying them, just because they were cheap. How the hell do they do this? I consider myself a practical person, usually avoiding most creature comforts (excepting electronic equipment, bite me), but eBay has this uncanny ability to make anything look like a bargain. Even though you see a few gag items every now and then, the world's biggest online auction website has this knack for making you want things you don't need.
When I first signed up a few months ago, I went bid-crazy. I was bidding on anything and everything. Books, CD's, knives, almost anything you can think of. Luckily I didn't win anything; I usually realised that I didn't want them as soon as I was outbid. Not in the case of these knives I saw. In the picture and description, they looked about to be about 15 centimetres long and were of Oriental descent. You know, with the red tassels and sculpted sheathes and whatnot. My idea of their size was, of course, being approximated by the item (a lighter) that was placed next to the knives to give an idea of their size. When I saw the picture, I knew I had to buy them. They were a set of 4, and they were simply astounding. The seller was called 'Chinese Department Store', and they were obviously big players in the eBay business of selling things. I immediately made a bid, and made sure it would intimidate any new bidders. I simply had to have these knives, they looked perfect.
The auction went for 4 days, I think. I would check on my item every few hours, and would bid when neccessary. The price climbed. 5...10....15 dollars. Last day, and I won the item at $19.50, not including the $15 of shipping . So cheap, I thought, these things are going to be awesome. I won the item, and transferred the funds over to the seller. Not having any prior experience in buying anything online, I assumed that my item would now be on its way. Besides, these guys were big, and had a lot of positive feedback, why would they not send it?
I guess I was just a little apprehensive, because my package finally arrived a few weeks later. I'd just gotten home from a day at university, and my mum said that there was a package here for me. Excitedly, I rushed out to the kitchen, and my mother hands me a tiny box in the shape of a cube. It was probably of side length 9 centimetres or something. Okay, I thought, reflecting back to basic trigonometry, if they put the knives in diagonally, corner-to-corner, they should be about the same length as they looked in the picture.
I examined the box, it had my name and address written on it as though by someone who had no comprehension of what the letters meant, just like if I were to be given a passage of Japanese to copy down onto a package. I don't know what any of it means, but I can copy it, regardless. Anyway, it was about this time that I started to be worried. I open the box, and I see that it has been 'packaged' with a page of a Chinese newspaper. On second thought, I probably should have kept the page for sentimental value. Tossing the paper aside, I turn the box upside-down, and these tiny items fall into the palm of my hand. I mean, they fit in my handspan, and I have pretty small hands. These knives are about half the size I imagined they would be. Okay, I thought, they're pretty fucking small. Hopefully, the blades are good.
I take the blades out of the sheath, and the blades are fucked. I don't know much about weaponry, but these blades were shit. They weighed about as much as a wet piece of paper does. They look like they were crafted from the rusted scrap metal of an abandoned refridgerator. They're thin, dull, and aren't even shiny! It was right at that moment that I thought, shit, I got ripped off. It was about then that I realised that there was one of those little keyring attach things on the end of the handle of each knife. Wow, I really got ripped off.
I really should have kept the paper, I should have tried to get as much value out of all the objects that they sent me. I could have used that paper to increase my understanding of the language. I could have used that box to forge a fake passport and plane ticket. I could have used all of these items together to fly to China and stab those fuckers in the face with their shitty, dull knives. But then I realised that in my anger, I had dropped the knives (blade down) right onto my foot, which I didn't even feel. I look down, and the knives are on the ground. My foot barely knew that it had been hit by these objects. No imprint, no blood, nothing. It was then that I realised I could never kill someone. not with these shitty knives, anyway.
Not to mention the time I almost won a shitty graphics card by accident. Luckily I was advised by Sheps that the card was possibly the worst graphics card that I could ever buy. Stupid me, not knowing anything about computer hardware. Luckily, there was an even bigger sucker than I who decided to outbid me an hour before the auction was over. *phew*
After vowing never to buy anything from there again after that incident a few months ago, I have succumbed to the economist bitch that is eBay.com, and I feel ashamed. I'm ashamed that the knives, which I talked about excessively while I was waiting for them to arrive, now sit in a tiny corner of my closet. Instead, I am now bidding on more worthwhile things, like games for my Gamecube. No more knives or none of that gibberish.
I just won the game I mentioned. This is the defining moment as to why I'm a sucker. This game is probably my most despised genre, and yet I bought it. Why? Simply because it was cheap. By the way, the genre is that of the Roleplaying Game (RPG). I'm probably going to be harassed by a heap of FF fanboys/fangirls now...
*sigh* Someone take eBay from me, I have no control, my soul really is doomed. Luckily I don't believe in the concept of the soul, huh? |
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|
| Naivety |
[Dec. 11th, 2003|05:53 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  tired | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Lux Aeterna - Requiem For A Dream | ] |
I've been doing a lot of babysitting lately. My niece is 18 months old, and she requires constant attention. She's always happy, and finds joy in the tiniest things. Something simple like picking up rocks from the ground, or running into my room and climbing onto my bed and jumping up and down on it seem to make her so happy. It's a perfect example of Sigmund Freud's concept of the id, which is said to be the dominant factor in a childs life (read a little on the id, ego and superego concept if you have no idea what I'm talking about). Once children have their needs met, which are always so basic, they're generally happy. If they're fed, clothed, clean and warm, there's generally no complaint from them (unless they're sick or whatever).
I've been thinking, when does this ideal happiness disappear? Can it be pinpointed to a certain experience in a persons life, or does the mind change from one state to the next around a certain age, or is it something else? Personally, I find it hard to discern. It seems like a gradual process. In other words, children act the same, but for different reasons. At least, until their superego kicks in. For example, a child might want a lolly in a supermarket. Now, if the child is young, it's simply the id's selfish desire for sugar. But as the child gets older, this might be an exercise in power, or they want it because the advertisement said it was delicious and that you must have it. I'm not saying children understand the concept of consumerism, but you get the idea. Instead of wanting it solely for their own reasons, it turns into a combination of factors. Though it's a more selfless want, does that make it more acceptable?
Personally, I think schooling has a major influence on this development of indirect selfishness. Going from having everything provided for you by your parents, it suddenly turns into a competition. Some children's mothers make them better lunches, or you might not be as good at sport as someone else, or you have a different group of friends. It seems to me that pure selfishness (which most people always think is so wrong) has turned into something much worse. No longer are you naive and innocent. You see that you're different, and that having your simple needs met is no longer sufficient. You have to have the best toys, or have to be a part of the latest fad, or you have to have nice clothes. Even at a very young age, we are told that we are not judged by the person we are, but simply by what we own and posess, and it doesn't stop there.
As you get older, you realise that money is the source of all these things. Money is what will get you all the stuff you want. It may not be entirely true, especially in the case of friends, but children learn to recognise the importance of money, regardless. This is when normal, happy children become more demanding, more selfish, because they now have a desire deeper than any natural urge; they need it for acceptance, they need it to be normal."Money is the root of all evil."
"Money may not buy you happiness, but it certainly lets you choose your own form of misery." But then again, maybe it's not money. Maybe it's the realisation of death. Children learn at about the same time as they understand money that you are mortal, that your time on the planet is limited. Suddenly, you're not so carefree anymore. You want things because you may never have them, or because you want to use it to get something that you want even more, and so on. All of a sudden, every action needs a purpose. No longer are you amused by walking through your backyard, picking up handfuls of stones and dropping them again. You'd prefer to weed your garden, or sit on the porch and drink beer. Even seemingly unpurposeful things like going on a holiday are, in fact, designed with a purpose. You went on holiday because you felt you needed it, or you were getting away from something, or you wanted to go somewhere. Everything in your life now needs a purpose, because you're going to die someday. When you're a young child, you don't think about death. There is no death, no time. There is only existence.
That point also brings up an interesting topic. Religion, what purpose does that serve? If following a faith will make you immortal by going to an afterlife or whatever, does that automatically make you revert back to your childhood state? Of course not, you still have to think about things like money and your children. God's not going to make sure your pantry is always stocked and that you always have petrol in your car, he's offering something that your human mind has no comprehension of and you're expected to believe it. But then again, people don't convert to religion for purely selfless reasons, do they? In fact, it's anything but selfless. If God hadn't tacked eternal life onto his already preposterous deal, nobody would buy it. Essentially, people 'buy' a religion. Someone offers you something, and you take it because you think you're getting a good deal. Think about the 'deal' that is God's offer:
If you live out a good life, following God's rules, and claim that he owns your body, soul, mind and your peener, he'll give you what? A promise that he'll give you a new house in a totally different plane of existence when you die? HA! I'd rather buy those plots of land on the moon, thanks.
Something is corrupting the children of the world, and I have no idea what it is. Is their corruption a good thing? No. Is there something worse than being instinctively selfish? Yes, and it's basically any intentionally selfish action. Humans always act in a selfish manner, there is no such thing as a selfless action. People only do things when they feel that they will gain something from it. I can offer examples, but I'm too lazy right now. Just think about why people do the things they do.
For example, I just bought some ice creams from the van that comes past our house once a week. I bought them solely on a whim, but my motivation was to buy them to be nice to people, so that they'd think I was nicer, and also because I like ice cream and so does my niece. I gave her one, then took an ice cream for myself. Seeing the transformation in this child who, ten minutes ago, was running around, crying and screaming, was simply amazing. As she devoured the ice cream, she was talkative and happy, as though simply having it to eat had infintely improved her day. It didn't make me any happier though, and I'm trying to understand why. I ate my ice cream a lot quicker than she did, and I was a lot cleaner about it, maybe that has something to do with the change; you lose the ability to be truly carefree. You don't worry about getting sticky from eating ice cream or that you'll look silly with chocolate dribbling down your chin.
Maybe this is just one of those things that people complain about, but can never actually change. Even if I could change, even if I could go back to the same state of mind I had as a child, I'm not sure if I would want to. I enjoy my cynicism too much to let it go in a second.
Shit, I just remembered that my niece has a mild lactose intolerance, and I've been feeding her cheese and milk all afternoon. *sigh* She's going to have stomach-aches all night. Looks like the amount of time babysitting takes up is going to double. Yay! I bet you all think I have Munchausen's Syndrome now, don't you? |
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|
| Amateur Philosophy |
[Dec. 9th, 2003|10:24 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | restless | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Mike Garrigan - Automatic | ] |
Taken from the my comments in the Philosophy thread at the Red VS Blue forums.
I'm not claiming to be correct, I'd just like to put my opinions down here before some bastardised mod deletes the thread. I'm only posting this because I find it so damn interesting to read.
"So, why did the chicken cross the road?
It doesn't matter why, because free will doesn't exist. Every moment in you life is the product of every other moment in your life before that. There is no choice, things happen, and you can't affect or change them because you have not experienced two different things happening at the exact same time in your life. Things happen in one way only. If this is true, how can free will exist? Everything is predetermined. The chicken crossed the road because it was its destiny, and nothing more."
"Choice implies that there be multiple outcomes to one situation, depending on your choice.
Since we believe in this concept of time, there really is only one result of the situation, which is what you do. In that case, how do you know that what resulted wasn't the only way things could have turned out.
Example. You could stand at the edge of a cliff, ready to commit suicide. Say that you jump, the resulting outcome is that you will either die, or you won't. But only one of these things will happen. You don't know what will happen, it just happens. The only thing that matters it the outcome, the choice you had doesn't mean anything.
Everything that lead to you standing at the face of that cliff is the result of singular outcome after outcome. You're not there because of choice, you're there because of the what happened prior to you being there. There is no choice in the past, so why should there be choice in the future? Time is a straight line, there is no branching. What makes you believe that you can 'branch off'?"
"Agreeing that time is a straight line, Does that line exist on a path, and we are merely traveling on it? Or Is time paving the path as the present moves forward?"
"I don't really like to think that we're travelling on a path, because that implies that I believe in fate, which I don't. It's too romanticised a concept. Things just happen, and just because you're set in your ways doesn't mean that you're on a 'path'.
I supppose I like to think that it is being paved, since we can't see what is ahead of us. In that context, I agree with it. Even though it is a little contradictory to my theory." |
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|
| Love is an illusion |
[Dec. 6th, 2003|01:33 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | morose | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Coheed and Cambria - Delirium Trigger | ] |
Disclaimer: This is pure rant. I have no idea what I'm saying. I originally had a point, but it is now lost among the nonsensical rambling, so don't accuse me of being a heartless, soulless bastard. I already know and I don't care.</color>
I always think of subject material at the weirdest times. For the past two days, I've been thinking of something to write, and guess when it comes to me? When I'm lying on my bed, not wanting to move. I have no idea why I have so much trouble thinking of things to write lately, probably because of a lack of inspiration; I usually draw all subject material straight from my head.
I've come to the conclusion that love is not real, not even as an intangible concept. It is nothing but an illusion, imprinted onto our minds by society. We don't need love to survive on this planet. Think about it, back in Neanderthal times (not a provation for an evolution/creationism argument, sorry), people didn't need love to procreate, people didn't have love. There may have been some form of love back then, but it's nowhere near the same these days.
Another issue is the lack of a description. Love is not something that you can describe, or even feel correctly. You can't point to a part of your body and say 'this is where the love is'. You can do that with other emotions. If you're embarrassed, you can feel it by the heat in your face. If you're angry, you can feel it in your stomach. Emotions are identified by their physical characteristics, it's as simple as that, and yet, love is something that seems to be a combination of all of these, and also none of them. How the hell can it be described? Everyone's definiton is always so intangible, relating to a 'spiritual connection' or an understanding of another person. Fuck that, it's two people who shared some of the same interests and who made good conversation once or twice in the beginning, or the guy made the girl laugh once, and she thought he was everything she wanted. 'Love' can be pinpointed to an exact moment in the state of the courting process. It's where one person changed their mind and thought "Yes, 'd like to have sex with that person and have their babies.". There is no such thing as love, it's nothing but a commercial concept now.
Every day, you see advertisements. If you wear this deodorant, women will love you. If you use this skin cleanser, men will love you. Have these advertisements commercialised love to the extent where it no longer means anything? I think the word is dead, just like the word 'hate'. I think the words 'despise' and 'loathe' are more fitting than 'hating' someone. I've seen that word so many times, It has lost all meaning. Do any of you have any words that just don't bother you anymore?
Sorry, back on topic (if there even was one). The concept of love doesn't exist. You have an attraction to someone. Usually it exists for your own selfish desires. The person may be great in bed, they may be a good provider or they may make lots of money. Surely no-one in this world develops an attraction for someone because they pity them, or they don't see anything special about them. Sure, someone else might, maybe because the first person had different needs/desires. Each person has different things in what they want in an ideal partner. And what does it come down to? You procreate and exist with said person. That's all it comes down to.
Something I just wrote on a forum when someone said that they were in love, it seems that I can rant better impromptu, when I have to sum up my argument in a few minutes:"It doesn't exist, it's just a fabricated state of mind. People think they are in love because they have been told what love is, and that they must be in love at sometime in their lives, or else they'll never be happy in life. You don't need love to be happy, especially since it doesn't exist.
Sure, you can be happy with someone, enjoy their company, like fucking them, but when does that become love? Simple answer, it doesn't. It has just been labelled love so that marketers can bottle it and make people want it. They make people believe that they sell it. Yes, this deoderant is bottled love, if you wear it, you will find love and be happy forever.
Love is just something we use to describe the people who make you happy." Because I'm so proud of my summary there, I'll end this rant now.
In short, love is a label. It's not an emotion, it's something used to describe things that have been around forever. No, love doesn't exist, but the descriptive symptoms of it do. It has been romanticised into one word, and that sickens me to no end. Over-simplification will be what sends our society into entropy and chaos.
By the way, I'm single. Can you tell? |
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