Strange Loops
The idea of writing my thoughts in an online journal just seems so strange to me these days.
January 13, 2010
July 05, 2008
Off the Grid
Today is the fourth of July. You might be sitting there thinking to yourself "Hey, I can read! And the date on this post definitely says the fifth!!" And I suppose you'd be right. You'd be the better man--I the liar, and you the king. The king of what? Well, most likely the king of your sad, sad little world. That is why, in retrospect, it is actually I who is the better man. I am the one who doesn't care what you think. You sit alone complaining about the inaccuracies of the date given, and I sit alone dining in the splendors of humanity.
So many things have happened since the last time I entered words into this small box. I have become chronically ill. I have been halfway across the country and back (on average), twice! I have increased my merit, and my friends. I have lost some, but gained others. I could list more things, but then you'd probably start to doubt them. And doubt is for the weak. Doubt is for the dogs, the lowest of the low. Okay... I know what you are thinking again: "Doubt is all we have left. If it were not for doubt, where would science be!?" And I guess you are right. However, if you e'er doubt me I will personally look you up in the phone book, find your phone number, call information and get your address. Then I will drive my car at speeds unbeknownst to me all the way to your house, find you or someone you love inside said house, give them a huge birthday bash (on anyday except their birthday), feed them too much cake and have them vomit all over your stuff. Hope that'll teach you a lesson, you asshole.
I am really fucking pissed off right now because of your goddamn accusations and fucking unbelievable lack of common sense. So I will have to bring this entry to a close. I hope you are fucking happy. I didn't get to write about half the things I wanted. Go to hell and don't forget to worship me you filthy fucking peon.
I think I listen to the wrong type of music when I make these posts or something.
Today is the fourth of July. You might be sitting there thinking to yourself "Hey, I can read! And the date on this post definitely says the fifth!!" And I suppose you'd be right. You'd be the better man--I the liar, and you the king. The king of what? Well, most likely the king of your sad, sad little world. That is why, in retrospect, it is actually I who is the better man. I am the one who doesn't care what you think. You sit alone complaining about the inaccuracies of the date given, and I sit alone dining in the splendors of humanity.
So many things have happened since the last time I entered words into this small box. I have become chronically ill. I have been halfway across the country and back (on average), twice! I have increased my merit, and my friends. I have lost some, but gained others. I could list more things, but then you'd probably start to doubt them. And doubt is for the weak. Doubt is for the dogs, the lowest of the low. Okay... I know what you are thinking again: "Doubt is all we have left. If it were not for doubt, where would science be!?" And I guess you are right. However, if you e'er doubt me I will personally look you up in the phone book, find your phone number, call information and get your address. Then I will drive my car at speeds unbeknownst to me all the way to your house, find you or someone you love inside said house, give them a huge birthday bash (on anyday except their birthday), feed them too much cake and have them vomit all over your stuff. Hope that'll teach you a lesson, you asshole.
I am really fucking pissed off right now because of your goddamn accusations and fucking unbelievable lack of common sense. So I will have to bring this entry to a close. I hope you are fucking happy. I didn't get to write about half the things I wanted. Go to hell and don't forget to worship me you filthy fucking peon.
I think I listen to the wrong type of music when I make these posts or something.
April 29, 2008
Without Dreams We Have Nothing
Here is a saved draft. I must have fallen asleep last I attempted an entry for this. All that remains of the post is the automatic save of the title "Without Dreams We Have Nothing." Had I written more? Vaguely I remember the answer being yes. It seems the title struck such truth to me that I decided it was more worthwhile to fall asleep and experience the dreams than to write about whatever I had planned. I do recall attempting to work all the names of the song titles from Ulver's 2007 release "Shadows of the Sun" into the entry. Perhaps such a rule stifled my creativity and I become stuck, deciding it wasn't worth it after all. Song titles such as "All the Love," "Like Music," and "Solitude." It would have probably made for a profound a beautiful post, a scene of those sullen grey languors I am always talking about.
The title itself, I believe, is from one of the lyrics on the album--from the song "Let the Children Go." A song title that brings forth powerful imagery. One one hand, letting the children go is a good thing. Freedom, escape from the injurious slavery of whatever kept them. On the other hand, why were they there in the first place? A Prison of Children... what a vague phrase. A prison made for children, or a prison made of chilren? The first, the most likely; the last, the most outrageous. Every mother's worst nightmare, and every day of their lives. Well, not all mothers--not in today's world. Maybe decades ago in a Catholic household filled to the brim with whining, drooling, shitting children of all ages, shapes, and genders. Truly a prison of children. Truly chilling.
Without dreams we have nothing. A very idealist phrase. A very hopeful phrase, if not a lie. We have many things without dreams. Let me rephrase that a little. With only dreams we have nothing. Try doing instead of dreaming. Try waking instead of sleeping. Try living. Life is simply there. There is nothing more to it than to live it, however you choose. Dreaming will get you nowhere, and is counteractive to the point. Life isn't a gift, don't try to come up with deeper meanings and justifications. None of that matters. Destiny, free will... moot points. You do what you will and you've done what you have. It's as simple as that. Simply do. We have a world, use it.
Here is a saved draft. I must have fallen asleep last I attempted an entry for this. All that remains of the post is the automatic save of the title "Without Dreams We Have Nothing." Had I written more? Vaguely I remember the answer being yes. It seems the title struck such truth to me that I decided it was more worthwhile to fall asleep and experience the dreams than to write about whatever I had planned. I do recall attempting to work all the names of the song titles from Ulver's 2007 release "Shadows of the Sun" into the entry. Perhaps such a rule stifled my creativity and I become stuck, deciding it wasn't worth it after all. Song titles such as "All the Love," "Like Music," and "Solitude." It would have probably made for a profound a beautiful post, a scene of those sullen grey languors I am always talking about.
The title itself, I believe, is from one of the lyrics on the album--from the song "Let the Children Go." A song title that brings forth powerful imagery. One one hand, letting the children go is a good thing. Freedom, escape from the injurious slavery of whatever kept them. On the other hand, why were they there in the first place? A Prison of Children... what a vague phrase. A prison made for children, or a prison made of chilren? The first, the most likely; the last, the most outrageous. Every mother's worst nightmare, and every day of their lives. Well, not all mothers--not in today's world. Maybe decades ago in a Catholic household filled to the brim with whining, drooling, shitting children of all ages, shapes, and genders. Truly a prison of children. Truly chilling.
Without dreams we have nothing. A very idealist phrase. A very hopeful phrase, if not a lie. We have many things without dreams. Let me rephrase that a little. With only dreams we have nothing. Try doing instead of dreaming. Try waking instead of sleeping. Try living. Life is simply there. There is nothing more to it than to live it, however you choose. Dreaming will get you nowhere, and is counteractive to the point. Life isn't a gift, don't try to come up with deeper meanings and justifications. None of that matters. Destiny, free will... moot points. You do what you will and you've done what you have. It's as simple as that. Simply do. We have a world, use it.
February 18, 2008
Take Erasive Action
So lately I've been thinking how I should get back into writing. Like short stories and things... keep up my chops. I used to use this blog here to keep those creative chops alive, but I really just spiraled into passages of intimacy so far abstracted from the reader that most likely only I understood what I was talking about. I never felt comfortable as a writer, and maybe this was the cause of me hiding my words in such flowery prose. Another thought crosses my mind: maybe I simply think too much and the ideas that spring forth are too personal for me to actually feel safe sharing with possibly the whole world. And thus I veiled my thoughts with metaphors and allusions to magicians and vikings. Most likely it was a combination of these two things. No, not a combination of magicians and vikings (there's a thought!), but a combination of insecurities as a writer and my reservations about revealing my ponderings to the user.
But a new year is upon us, and a change is overdue! After all, how can I expect a good discourse when I give nothing away to you to discourse about? There, I've done it a second time, breaking the preposition rule! I read in a book recently that sometimes you just have got to ignore that rule. I used to stick to it like a glove sticks to another glove that someone glued to it with superglue. But then that sentence would read "After all, how can I expect a good discourse when I give nothing away to you about which to discourse?" and then it becomes ugly and obvious. You'd simply stop there and close this page, thinking to yourself: "This guy can go fuck himself. Seriously."
But back to my point about getting back into writing. Short stories always used to be fun. I used to write them all the time back in high school. In college, not so much as I had friends to do things with (<---). I took a few creative writing classes to try to keep in the habit, and I churned out a few stories about zombies. But as of late I've been thinking about it more, and if I want to get serious about it I need to practice.
Reading could also help. I really really love stories, but I don't read enough. It's such a chore to begin a book. As a creative individual I prefer to create instead of actively absorb into someone else's works. That is not to say that I do not enjoy the latter. I enjoy movies and music immensely, especially those with wonderful stories and emotions. So why would it be any different with books? I have a bookshelf half-full of unread books I'm sure I'd enjoy. Perhaps I view it as research and that makes it less appealing. That's just how my mind works and I am turned off from the fact of it. But I need to learn. I need to improve. I know I am not the best writer and I've only so many years left to prepare. I have stories to tell the world. And if I expect them to listen, I'd better have damn good chops. Or at least an interesting voice.
So lately I've been thinking how I should get back into writing. Like short stories and things... keep up my chops. I used to use this blog here to keep those creative chops alive, but I really just spiraled into passages of intimacy so far abstracted from the reader that most likely only I understood what I was talking about. I never felt comfortable as a writer, and maybe this was the cause of me hiding my words in such flowery prose. Another thought crosses my mind: maybe I simply think too much and the ideas that spring forth are too personal for me to actually feel safe sharing with possibly the whole world. And thus I veiled my thoughts with metaphors and allusions to magicians and vikings. Most likely it was a combination of these two things. No, not a combination of magicians and vikings (there's a thought!), but a combination of insecurities as a writer and my reservations about revealing my ponderings to the user.
But a new year is upon us, and a change is overdue! After all, how can I expect a good discourse when I give nothing away to you to discourse about? There, I've done it a second time, breaking the preposition rule! I read in a book recently that sometimes you just have got to ignore that rule. I used to stick to it like a glove sticks to another glove that someone glued to it with superglue. But then that sentence would read "After all, how can I expect a good discourse when I give nothing away to you about which to discourse?" and then it becomes ugly and obvious. You'd simply stop there and close this page, thinking to yourself: "This guy can go fuck himself. Seriously."
But back to my point about getting back into writing. Short stories always used to be fun. I used to write them all the time back in high school. In college, not so much as I had friends to do things with (<---). I took a few creative writing classes to try to keep in the habit, and I churned out a few stories about zombies. But as of late I've been thinking about it more, and if I want to get serious about it I need to practice.
Reading could also help. I really really love stories, but I don't read enough. It's such a chore to begin a book. As a creative individual I prefer to create instead of actively absorb into someone else's works. That is not to say that I do not enjoy the latter. I enjoy movies and music immensely, especially those with wonderful stories and emotions. So why would it be any different with books? I have a bookshelf half-full of unread books I'm sure I'd enjoy. Perhaps I view it as research and that makes it less appealing. That's just how my mind works and I am turned off from the fact of it. But I need to learn. I need to improve. I know I am not the best writer and I've only so many years left to prepare. I have stories to tell the world. And if I expect them to listen, I'd better have damn good chops. Or at least an interesting voice.
November 28, 2007
The Passion in Silence
The air is still tonight. I hear the sirens down the street beckoning to me to come join them in their merriment. But no, it is late and I must sleep soon. The bed sits there--warm, inviting--like the arms of a mother to her newborn. But soon it will be empty. Soon I will be gone, moved on to a new chapter in my life. What will become of this place? It's just a single room, I'm just a single man, a simple man. It will grow cold, bereft of the warmth it once gave so freely. It will grow tired, stricken of the life it once housed. It will grow silent, every last melody plucked from the air onced breathed. The silence... I can hear it now. Sleeping, still like the air, like I will be in moments. But now I write.
What will become of me? The future holds her slender hand to mine, and I eagerly grab hold. She leads me to new places, new art, and new love. Her flowing hairs, tendrils of opportunity, shimmer in the moonlight. Eyes closed, I run my hand through the strands and breathe deeply. The flavor of life fills my throat and my heart, and my eyes erupt to the stars. Out there... that's where I'm going. That's where I will find my philosophy, my music, my life... and my love. That is where it will begin.
The air is still tonight. I hear the sirens down the street beckoning to me to come join them in their merriment. But no, it is late and I must sleep soon. The bed sits there--warm, inviting--like the arms of a mother to her newborn. But soon it will be empty. Soon I will be gone, moved on to a new chapter in my life. What will become of this place? It's just a single room, I'm just a single man, a simple man. It will grow cold, bereft of the warmth it once gave so freely. It will grow tired, stricken of the life it once housed. It will grow silent, every last melody plucked from the air onced breathed. The silence... I can hear it now. Sleeping, still like the air, like I will be in moments. But now I write.
What will become of me? The future holds her slender hand to mine, and I eagerly grab hold. She leads me to new places, new art, and new love. Her flowing hairs, tendrils of opportunity, shimmer in the moonlight. Eyes closed, I run my hand through the strands and breathe deeply. The flavor of life fills my throat and my heart, and my eyes erupt to the stars. Out there... that's where I'm going. That's where I will find my philosophy, my music, my life... and my love. That is where it will begin.
August 28, 2007
Vīgrīthr's Calling
At the behest of several individuals I have died. No! It was by no mere fault of my own, but rather my own choice. This fleeting August pulled at me with all its claws and eventually my chest was rent. As the blood flowed from my broken body, I lay there in its warm inviting scent and it washed over my eyes as they sank into a world of oblivion, a world of dreams. Or were they dreams, these black & white snapshots of my life... or a previous life? At this current hour, I cannot say. The world flew by me at lighting speeds, yet I did not notice. The sky turned red and churned with waves only fit for an ocean, yet I did not notice. My enemies became my friends and my mind became my body--yet I did not notice.
In these ephemeral moments I recalled my life, or at least what I knew of it. My frail hours spent in eternal toil... and for what? The illusion at last was complete, and I--a vagrant hidden in the aft of the theater--had seen all the magician's devices and slights. And ho! It was a mere parlor trick, something even I could perform at parties... 'twas only meddling with the Gods! Life. Death. Two sides of a die--a die with so many more possibilities! And as I look back now, these revelations seem only incosequential as the darkness and dreams released me and I awoke in a Vita-chamber.
At the behest of several individuals I have died. No! It was by no mere fault of my own, but rather my own choice. This fleeting August pulled at me with all its claws and eventually my chest was rent. As the blood flowed from my broken body, I lay there in its warm inviting scent and it washed over my eyes as they sank into a world of oblivion, a world of dreams. Or were they dreams, these black & white snapshots of my life... or a previous life? At this current hour, I cannot say. The world flew by me at lighting speeds, yet I did not notice. The sky turned red and churned with waves only fit for an ocean, yet I did not notice. My enemies became my friends and my mind became my body--yet I did not notice.
In these ephemeral moments I recalled my life, or at least what I knew of it. My frail hours spent in eternal toil... and for what? The illusion at last was complete, and I--a vagrant hidden in the aft of the theater--had seen all the magician's devices and slights. And ho! It was a mere parlor trick, something even I could perform at parties... 'twas only meddling with the Gods! Life. Death. Two sides of a die--a die with so many more possibilities! And as I look back now, these revelations seem only incosequential as the darkness and dreams released me and I awoke in a Vita-chamber.
May 23, 2007
Peripeteia
I always find it difficult to write in this blog. Perhaps I don't want to simply tell you what I'm doing, where I've been, where I'm going. Perhaps I just want my journal to be a bit more personal, something to set it apart from all the other blogs online. No news, no musings (well maybe some), no ideas, no politics. Naturally, at this time or that I fall victim to such posts--such lengthy posts as they turn out to be. (You can't fault me for it... it was a different time back then!) What CDs have I bought? What jobs have I acquired, lost, completed? Ah, but these are all things you could simply ask me in life, and I assuredly would tell you, albeit I would probably riddle my answers with puns and sarcasm and only a sharp mind could glean the true answer from my words. This journal is more of a peek into my mind at a particular point in time, at least that's how I imagine it. Maybe I'm just delusional.
And I always find it difficult to write in this blog. You might wonder why I am writing in it right now, if I don't have anything in particular to write about. Well, it appears I do, as I am typing this entry and, lo, I am already well into the second paragraph. It's like a pebble in the river, being pulled this way and that until finally it gets caught between two large rocks firmly planted in the riverbed. It struggles to overcome these rocks, it wants to continue its journey down the stream hoping for an ocean, or, if not, at least a lake. So as it struggles, the raging rapids tear against the pebble, eating away at its small figure with their lashing tongues. Eventually, the pebble is free again, though smaller, missing information on all sides. It may now enter that ocean, however. The ocean can devour that pebble until it is lost deep within the watery stomach. Was this really worth it after all?
You can unravel the thread, I'll just give you the needle.
I always find it difficult to write in this blog. Perhaps I don't want to simply tell you what I'm doing, where I've been, where I'm going. Perhaps I just want my journal to be a bit more personal, something to set it apart from all the other blogs online. No news, no musings (well maybe some), no ideas, no politics. Naturally, at this time or that I fall victim to such posts--such lengthy posts as they turn out to be. (You can't fault me for it... it was a different time back then!) What CDs have I bought? What jobs have I acquired, lost, completed? Ah, but these are all things you could simply ask me in life, and I assuredly would tell you, albeit I would probably riddle my answers with puns and sarcasm and only a sharp mind could glean the true answer from my words. This journal is more of a peek into my mind at a particular point in time, at least that's how I imagine it. Maybe I'm just delusional.
And I always find it difficult to write in this blog. You might wonder why I am writing in it right now, if I don't have anything in particular to write about. Well, it appears I do, as I am typing this entry and, lo, I am already well into the second paragraph. It's like a pebble in the river, being pulled this way and that until finally it gets caught between two large rocks firmly planted in the riverbed. It struggles to overcome these rocks, it wants to continue its journey down the stream hoping for an ocean, or, if not, at least a lake. So as it struggles, the raging rapids tear against the pebble, eating away at its small figure with their lashing tongues. Eventually, the pebble is free again, though smaller, missing information on all sides. It may now enter that ocean, however. The ocean can devour that pebble until it is lost deep within the watery stomach. Was this really worth it after all?
You can unravel the thread, I'll just give you the needle.
April 22, 2007
Man's Reach Exceeds His Grasp
The page, it sits as I sit--empty with no one to tell me stories for recount. Alone? No, I do not sit here alone, only in person but not in mind. I stare at a hand emerging from a hat, fingers curled into a horrified grasp. The hat, a magician's, lies on bloodied surface. The man inside the hat must be very small, or is it just the magician's lies that are very large? It's hard to say. I am horrified, like the hand, at the future and these moments of ill requitements that I so often seem to find and fear. A loss for words shows through and the tales of days seem trivial. What of philosophy, music, life... love? When these are spoken in true earnest then, maybe, this armor will break and I will fill my mouth with the warm smoke and my belly will become full once again. And yes, these must be spoke, for I am too aporetic in my learnings and lies. These magician's lies which so silently fall on my ears, stealing the blood from my veins so none may return to the heart. The hand, it's terrified fingers curved as if to hold something--something warm, bloodied, like the surface, but yet still beating. Is it my own? Something has indeed grabbed me, but is it vain, fleeting, hopeless drops?
My sentiments echo once more of the moon--repetition is the enemy in parallel, but a friend in feeling. I undulate as the nights pass, once in the clouds and the next in the dark below my bed, sweltering in the villainous weather. It stabs me in the daylight, in front of the world. But then so quickly I rise. And she spoke. It was not what you expected... no! Nor I, but the fires so quickly rose and I bit the petals. Yet what of philosophy, music, life and love? With fervor I wished to fill my mouth and my belly...
...but here I leave you, at the turn.
The page, it sits as I sit--empty with no one to tell me stories for recount. Alone? No, I do not sit here alone, only in person but not in mind. I stare at a hand emerging from a hat, fingers curled into a horrified grasp. The hat, a magician's, lies on bloodied surface. The man inside the hat must be very small, or is it just the magician's lies that are very large? It's hard to say. I am horrified, like the hand, at the future and these moments of ill requitements that I so often seem to find and fear. A loss for words shows through and the tales of days seem trivial. What of philosophy, music, life... love? When these are spoken in true earnest then, maybe, this armor will break and I will fill my mouth with the warm smoke and my belly will become full once again. And yes, these must be spoke, for I am too aporetic in my learnings and lies. These magician's lies which so silently fall on my ears, stealing the blood from my veins so none may return to the heart. The hand, it's terrified fingers curved as if to hold something--something warm, bloodied, like the surface, but yet still beating. Is it my own? Something has indeed grabbed me, but is it vain, fleeting, hopeless drops?
My sentiments echo once more of the moon--repetition is the enemy in parallel, but a friend in feeling. I undulate as the nights pass, once in the clouds and the next in the dark below my bed, sweltering in the villainous weather. It stabs me in the daylight, in front of the world. But then so quickly I rise. And she spoke. It was not what you expected... no! Nor I, but the fires so quickly rose and I bit the petals. Yet what of philosophy, music, life and love? With fervor I wished to fill my mouth and my belly...
...but here I leave you, at the turn.
March 03, 2007
Betwixt the Moon and the Land
Betwixt the moon and the land there exists a swirling, screaming sea. Within these warm waters waits hidden knowledge, knowledge that cannot be uttered aloud. On one hand, I cannot speak. On the other, I cannot see. You've become a ghost. My eidolic one, do not surprise me with subtle gifts and knives that pierce my womb. I only ask for your thoughts, your arms and your words to guide. Were it not for such hopes, I may've ascended to a higher calling, or a writer's falling, a failing of infinite ideas but ultimate poverty. The life I live is not for me, but for hope of a better day. Sometimes, I sit and dwell within these sleepless nights, alone with thoughts of a better way with a sweeter voice and gentle laughter wisping through the soft area between my ears. I think of future moments together at last when writing rules the hours and shares the airs betwixt the moon and the land. I, the moon, and you, the land, my anchor grounding me to freedom and comfort.
For now I stray beyond these thoughts, to worlds of langour and sullen work. These walls of grey and words of ill semantics litter my floor and I feel alone and dulled. How do I get to an ends? A brilliant end, where the universe at twain becomes a whole again, aware of both its halves and better for it. This thought is a realization of parallels and my mind is struck with the themes I have placed upon my own worlds, my own creations. How they mirror my mind and my own dreams! Once thought to be so apart from myself, I realize truths and they are of me. My longings, my crossings, my underwilled and oversought trystical nature. But, oh! The distance is so far and the conversations mute. Yet somehow, in my silence I know everything. I know everything of love and love knows everything of me and my love is the thought of a world entwined lest the silence consumes. And the silence is broke of my love letter betwixt the moon and the land.
Betwixt the moon and the land there exists a swirling, screaming sea. Within these warm waters waits hidden knowledge, knowledge that cannot be uttered aloud. On one hand, I cannot speak. On the other, I cannot see. You've become a ghost. My eidolic one, do not surprise me with subtle gifts and knives that pierce my womb. I only ask for your thoughts, your arms and your words to guide. Were it not for such hopes, I may've ascended to a higher calling, or a writer's falling, a failing of infinite ideas but ultimate poverty. The life I live is not for me, but for hope of a better day. Sometimes, I sit and dwell within these sleepless nights, alone with thoughts of a better way with a sweeter voice and gentle laughter wisping through the soft area between my ears. I think of future moments together at last when writing rules the hours and shares the airs betwixt the moon and the land. I, the moon, and you, the land, my anchor grounding me to freedom and comfort.
For now I stray beyond these thoughts, to worlds of langour and sullen work. These walls of grey and words of ill semantics litter my floor and I feel alone and dulled. How do I get to an ends? A brilliant end, where the universe at twain becomes a whole again, aware of both its halves and better for it. This thought is a realization of parallels and my mind is struck with the themes I have placed upon my own worlds, my own creations. How they mirror my mind and my own dreams! Once thought to be so apart from myself, I realize truths and they are of me. My longings, my crossings, my underwilled and oversought trystical nature. But, oh! The distance is so far and the conversations mute. Yet somehow, in my silence I know everything. I know everything of love and love knows everything of me and my love is the thought of a world entwined lest the silence consumes. And the silence is broke of my love letter betwixt the moon and the land.
February 04, 2007
The Aquinas Protocol
And thus we have marked the centipost of this illustrious and widely acclaimed journal. What will I do to celebrate and justly honor such a bodacious accomplishment? I will, with mirth and great jubilance (of course), recount to you just how much my life sucks balls.
What do I do for a day? Assuming my day begins at the toll of midnight, just as all days have started since time immemorial (well, at least since they had clocks lol) then my day occurs in the following manner. As the bell tolls, I am still finishing my homework, most likely due the following day. As 2 o'clock rolls around the assignment is finished, I turn it in and I begin to unwind. Let's say this happens for an hour and then I leave the new floorpile. Scratch that, reverse it. I sleep for a few hours, namely five, and then I awake for animation class. However, first I may shower and eat a bowl of cereal. After an hour of that I go back to sleep, completely forgetting to go the animation class for which I awoke! What droll irony! Around one o'clock I awaken once again to the sound of that goddamn fucking alarm clock fucking beeping noise and I want to freakin' shoot it in the fucking eye. But, alas! It has no eye for shooting! So instead I get up and eat some type of food for lunch. Like, you know, frozen pizza or some shit. Here, I may also take a shower because showering is one of the few joys I have left in life. Then it's off to this weird thing where I throw a ball down a lane and hit pins. Just kidding! Actually, I go bowling about this time. After bowling (or sometimes it's a meeting about privacy and security on the internet), I go to a class where I am privy to hear grand tales about magicians turning their cars into their driveways or very comfortable chairs. Then I think about that alarm clock and how I am sorry I wanted to kill it. Following this wild thought, I return to my abode and relax for an hour or two before I cook myself dinner. After I cook dinner, I eat it! "What does this wonderful gentlemen of good taste and stature cook and eat for his dinner?" you might ask! The answers lie ahead, gravid with their gentle sumptuosities. Imagine, if you will, scrumptious mountains of rice drenched in cheeses beyond thought alongside grilled fowl seasoned in tomtatos, basils, peppers, and savory lemon juices. Or, on a better night, roasted venison tickled with marinades of onions and peppers, garlics and gravies paired with roasted, toasted, mashed and smashed potatoes infused with garlics, butters, and more. And with each dish, a wonderful helping of even more garlic. Because I have gotta stay healthy somehow :) . After dinner and a wash of the plates, my good comrade Dave and I head to the links. Then I calculate my age, because by this time of day I have forgotten what it is! After all of this, it is time to sit down and begin my daily homework. The clock says seven and my mind says heaven. Because I just love doing homework. And then I do it until 2 o'clock the next day, but oh! I have overstepped my day by two hours so rewind your mind and we will end as the clock strikes midnight once again.
And with slight variation you have just spent a day with the great, the late, Adam Fiske. Not because I am dead, but because I am so late to class right now my professor's gonna kill me. Shit. Until next time, keep remembering that I am NOT an alien and send me attractive, intelligent women who have great personalities in the mail. Yes that's right, their personalities MUST be in the mail.
And thus we have marked the centipost of this illustrious and widely acclaimed journal. What will I do to celebrate and justly honor such a bodacious accomplishment? I will, with mirth and great jubilance (of course), recount to you just how much my life sucks balls.
What do I do for a day? Assuming my day begins at the toll of midnight, just as all days have started since time immemorial (well, at least since they had clocks lol) then my day occurs in the following manner. As the bell tolls, I am still finishing my homework, most likely due the following day. As 2 o'clock rolls around the assignment is finished, I turn it in and I begin to unwind. Let's say this happens for an hour and then I leave the new floorpile. Scratch that, reverse it. I sleep for a few hours, namely five, and then I awake for animation class. However, first I may shower and eat a bowl of cereal. After an hour of that I go back to sleep, completely forgetting to go the animation class for which I awoke! What droll irony! Around one o'clock I awaken once again to the sound of that goddamn fucking alarm clock fucking beeping noise and I want to freakin' shoot it in the fucking eye. But, alas! It has no eye for shooting! So instead I get up and eat some type of food for lunch. Like, you know, frozen pizza or some shit. Here, I may also take a shower because showering is one of the few joys I have left in life. Then it's off to this weird thing where I throw a ball down a lane and hit pins. Just kidding! Actually, I go bowling about this time. After bowling (or sometimes it's a meeting about privacy and security on the internet), I go to a class where I am privy to hear grand tales about magicians turning their cars into their driveways or very comfortable chairs. Then I think about that alarm clock and how I am sorry I wanted to kill it. Following this wild thought, I return to my abode and relax for an hour or two before I cook myself dinner. After I cook dinner, I eat it! "What does this wonderful gentlemen of good taste and stature cook and eat for his dinner?" you might ask! The answers lie ahead, gravid with their gentle sumptuosities. Imagine, if you will, scrumptious mountains of rice drenched in cheeses beyond thought alongside grilled fowl seasoned in tomtatos, basils, peppers, and savory lemon juices. Or, on a better night, roasted venison tickled with marinades of onions and peppers, garlics and gravies paired with roasted, toasted, mashed and smashed potatoes infused with garlics, butters, and more. And with each dish, a wonderful helping of even more garlic. Because I have gotta stay healthy somehow :) . After dinner and a wash of the plates, my good comrade Dave and I head to the links. Then I calculate my age, because by this time of day I have forgotten what it is! After all of this, it is time to sit down and begin my daily homework. The clock says seven and my mind says heaven. Because I just love doing homework. And then I do it until 2 o'clock the next day, but oh! I have overstepped my day by two hours so rewind your mind and we will end as the clock strikes midnight once again.
And with slight variation you have just spent a day with the great, the late, Adam Fiske. Not because I am dead, but because I am so late to class right now my professor's gonna kill me. Shit. Until next time, keep remembering that I am NOT an alien and send me attractive, intelligent women who have great personalities in the mail. Yes that's right, their personalities MUST be in the mail.
December 23, 2006
RYANCHRISTMAS.EXE
I am hip. I got you all christmas presents. If I forgot you, suck it, Christmas is for people from Texas.
Tim Connor
Ryan Kennedy
Dave Marsh
Josh Sawyer
Brian Robson
Becky Anderson
Ryan Faillace
Chris Giant San Francisco (and the rest of the Populaticons)
Justin LaRoche
John Forbes
Brendan
But seriously, I decided to get internet presents for people I know in real life and real life presents for people I only know over the internet. So all you internet people: the package is in the mail. Also, if you are a real-life person and I didn't include you, be sure to make a big to-do about it. I won't do anything, but you can at least watch all those stupid videos up there.
I am hip. I got you all christmas presents. If I forgot you, suck it, Christmas is for people from Texas.
Tim Connor
Ryan Kennedy
Dave Marsh
Josh Sawyer
Brian Robson
Becky Anderson
Ryan Faillace
Chris Giant San Francisco (and the rest of the Populaticons)
Justin LaRoche
John Forbes
Brendan
But seriously, I decided to get internet presents for people I know in real life and real life presents for people I only know over the internet. So all you internet people: the package is in the mail. Also, if you are a real-life person and I didn't include you, be sure to make a big to-do about it. I won't do anything, but you can at least watch all those stupid videos up there.
December 17, 2006
Accolades to All
Congratulations from the deepest corners of my hearts. You've all done very well to land such an honor as the person of the year. I am truly and utterly blown away by the dedication and care you have demonstrated in your painstakingly original and bold work. Have you changed the world? I believe you have, and I couldn't be more proud of you. And don't be so humble! Be proud of yourself, give yourself a standing ovation, shout to the heavens the name of this angel, this wonderful animal, this destroyer of worlds! You are Harry Fucking Potter!
But in retrospect, maybe I should have done more. Doesn't your victory merely showcase my inability to rise above you all? You all beat me, destroyed me, took my efforts, my goals and shat on them and then rubbed the putrid things in my face. My face! O, what abjection, what sorrowful pity! This is not only lowest hour, but my coldest, darkest, most terrifyingly hopeless hour. I fucking hate you all.
But enough of my squalid wallowing. It is a time for celebration, for I have recently become the smartest man on the face of this round globe we call mother planet Earth. Following my smartening I spiraled into an unbridled rage wherein I begat several smaller versions of myself. Together we will create a small government with such brilliant ideas and simple means for world-wide peace the world will become united under our cotton fist. Then we as a planet will be able to focus on other things like exploring the universe and also our feelings. Please remember this when you are voting in the next election. Spread the word and stay healthy.
Yours truly,
Scrumptious
Congratulations from the deepest corners of my hearts. You've all done very well to land such an honor as the person of the year. I am truly and utterly blown away by the dedication and care you have demonstrated in your painstakingly original and bold work. Have you changed the world? I believe you have, and I couldn't be more proud of you. And don't be so humble! Be proud of yourself, give yourself a standing ovation, shout to the heavens the name of this angel, this wonderful animal, this destroyer of worlds! You are Harry Fucking Potter!
But in retrospect, maybe I should have done more. Doesn't your victory merely showcase my inability to rise above you all? You all beat me, destroyed me, took my efforts, my goals and shat on them and then rubbed the putrid things in my face. My face! O, what abjection, what sorrowful pity! This is not only lowest hour, but my coldest, darkest, most terrifyingly hopeless hour. I fucking hate you all.
But enough of my squalid wallowing. It is a time for celebration, for I have recently become the smartest man on the face of this round globe we call mother planet Earth. Following my smartening I spiraled into an unbridled rage wherein I begat several smaller versions of myself. Together we will create a small government with such brilliant ideas and simple means for world-wide peace the world will become united under our cotton fist. Then we as a planet will be able to focus on other things like exploring the universe and also our feelings. Please remember this when you are voting in the next election. Spread the word and stay healthy.
Yours truly,
Scrumptious
October 16, 2006
The Yggdrasil
What a terrible job it has. Imagine the difficulties of holding together not one, not two, but three worlds! I can hardly keep myself together these days. Talk about responsibility! O but I do what I can. Currently, I sit in my room in my house at home in Rhode Island. I type and listen to music. Although not usually at the same time, at least when what I type needs to have any merit. Take this instance. Take it and admire it and realize there is no music playing as I type this entry. I would tend to focus too much on the lyrics and verily they would creep into my words. And we wouldn't want a plagiarist on our collective conscience. Fuck you, I'm getting IN our collective conscience!
As of late, I have been schooled. Thrice-wise this summer and fall, though it only may feel like twice. Sometimes projects sit on the backburner of my mind until the final moments and then I just die a little inside, close the doors, open the windows, pull up a chair, and type-type-type until I am done. Sadly, this leads to nothing less than one-hundred percent A+ quality work. Except when they grade you every third of the way. I only do work in the last third. I think you can see where I am going with this so I'll stop now before I start to bore holes through your eyes.
Sometimes, in my adventures (and, dear reader, they are under the northern lights), sometimes I stumble across something that turns my soul into dust and my metal into rust. If you catch my meaning you'll see I'm talking about they sweet indie-folk elements of the Decemberists. I can't express how much their newest album "The Crane Wife" is brilliant. You would wonder how a guy like me would even like a girl like her. It is simple chemistry, really. Take two people, sit them in a room for two hours, make them each two lunches, give them each two albums to choose from, and they will clearly pick The Crane Wife. Why? I'll tell you. Because both of these people are me. I just blew my load on your mind.
When I settle down in my late twenties to early thirties I will have a wife, a house, and a strong urge to quit my job and tell the world amazing stories. Once I realize that is a strategy that will get me nowhere in life, I will keep my job, make massive amounts of money, and then quit my job to tell all the world amazing stories while I live in my amazing house with my amazing wife. Later I will become even richer.
So, now that you know of my life's work and plans and my planned life, I will bid you as honorable a farewell as I can and leave you to talk about me at your tea parties and family outings. sofuckoff
What a terrible job it has. Imagine the difficulties of holding together not one, not two, but three worlds! I can hardly keep myself together these days. Talk about responsibility! O but I do what I can. Currently, I sit in my room in my house at home in Rhode Island. I type and listen to music. Although not usually at the same time, at least when what I type needs to have any merit. Take this instance. Take it and admire it and realize there is no music playing as I type this entry. I would tend to focus too much on the lyrics and verily they would creep into my words. And we wouldn't want a plagiarist on our collective conscience. Fuck you, I'm getting IN our collective conscience!
As of late, I have been schooled. Thrice-wise this summer and fall, though it only may feel like twice. Sometimes projects sit on the backburner of my mind until the final moments and then I just die a little inside, close the doors, open the windows, pull up a chair, and type-type-type until I am done. Sadly, this leads to nothing less than one-hundred percent A+ quality work. Except when they grade you every third of the way. I only do work in the last third. I think you can see where I am going with this so I'll stop now before I start to bore holes through your eyes.
Sometimes, in my adventures (and, dear reader, they are under the northern lights), sometimes I stumble across something that turns my soul into dust and my metal into rust. If you catch my meaning you'll see I'm talking about they sweet indie-folk elements of the Decemberists. I can't express how much their newest album "The Crane Wife" is brilliant. You would wonder how a guy like me would even like a girl like her. It is simple chemistry, really. Take two people, sit them in a room for two hours, make them each two lunches, give them each two albums to choose from, and they will clearly pick The Crane Wife. Why? I'll tell you. Because both of these people are me. I just blew my load on your mind.
When I settle down in my late twenties to early thirties I will have a wife, a house, and a strong urge to quit my job and tell the world amazing stories. Once I realize that is a strategy that will get me nowhere in life, I will keep my job, make massive amounts of money, and then quit my job to tell all the world amazing stories while I live in my amazing house with my amazing wife. Later I will become even richer.
So, now that you know of my life's work and plans and my planned life, I will bid you as honorable a farewell as I can and leave you to talk about me at your tea parties and family outings. sofuckoff
September 25, 2006
Look Around You
I always tell myself I am going to start updating this thing more often. Maybe it's because I think that if I do that people will start reading it again, and all I really am looking for in life is a little approval from my peers. I just want to be liked. However, that's not the case and I probably won't start updating this more often. I never have any time to do anything anymore on account of school and learning how to program robots to act like humans and then fool humans into thinking they're robots except they're actually humans but only when talking through a robot, as it were. I know what you're thinking. Robots are retarded. That's true. It's not even some silly stereotype, it's actually 100% candyass true. But I digress.
On the topic of digression, I tend to digress more often than one should. Oh sure, at first it seems nothing more than a harmless little side effect of said speech, but speech isn't really all that said, and in fact I never even mentioned speech before now so how did it become said in the first place? C'mon people, you've got too keep up with me here. I am on the verge of a breakthrough. Something big, something huge, something probably too grand for the whole world to know. But for now it's just you, oh loyal readers of mine blog, just you that knows my ultimate proposal, my ultimate dream, my ultimate sacrifice. This is my final sacrifice, my last goodbye to luxury, my requiem. This is my time.
Time runs in cycles. Even better, it drowns in these cycles, in these circles. Circles of uniform infiniteness unfolding into themselves, unto themselves, out of nothing into nowhere. Time is death and death is the antithesis of time as far as the mind can see. Time is the antithesis of life. Time's up. Playtime's over. Nice car, think I'll take it. I am so high right now.
So, losers, how have you all been? I haven't heard from you in a while. Why don't you leave a comment on myspace? Don't really I don't have a myspace. I only have a state space. Sometimes I spend hours at night searching it. State space searches are a great way to kill time when you're bored or putting off homework that's due in a few minutes. Sometimes I even do a breadth-first search if I am feeling really really bored. But that is hardly ever, considering the manners of crazy shit that are usually going down in this freakin' apartment. Sometimes I just have to shut my door, shut my mouth, open my eyes, put on The Cure and cry silently into the night, into the bleak darkness that is my mind, my heart, my soul, my pillow. I am so lonely right now.
Call me and we'll talk. Also tell other people to call me. Spread the word and I'll be famous in minutes, or spictrins. Four thousand million billispictrins.
I always tell myself I am going to start updating this thing more often. Maybe it's because I think that if I do that people will start reading it again, and all I really am looking for in life is a little approval from my peers. I just want to be liked. However, that's not the case and I probably won't start updating this more often. I never have any time to do anything anymore on account of school and learning how to program robots to act like humans and then fool humans into thinking they're robots except they're actually humans but only when talking through a robot, as it were. I know what you're thinking. Robots are retarded. That's true. It's not even some silly stereotype, it's actually 100% candyass true. But I digress.
On the topic of digression, I tend to digress more often than one should. Oh sure, at first it seems nothing more than a harmless little side effect of said speech, but speech isn't really all that said, and in fact I never even mentioned speech before now so how did it become said in the first place? C'mon people, you've got too keep up with me here. I am on the verge of a breakthrough. Something big, something huge, something probably too grand for the whole world to know. But for now it's just you, oh loyal readers of mine blog, just you that knows my ultimate proposal, my ultimate dream, my ultimate sacrifice. This is my final sacrifice, my last goodbye to luxury, my requiem. This is my time.
Time runs in cycles. Even better, it drowns in these cycles, in these circles. Circles of uniform infiniteness unfolding into themselves, unto themselves, out of nothing into nowhere. Time is death and death is the antithesis of time as far as the mind can see. Time is the antithesis of life. Time's up. Playtime's over. Nice car, think I'll take it. I am so high right now.
So, losers, how have you all been? I haven't heard from you in a while. Why don't you leave a comment on myspace? Don't really I don't have a myspace. I only have a state space. Sometimes I spend hours at night searching it. State space searches are a great way to kill time when you're bored or putting off homework that's due in a few minutes. Sometimes I even do a breadth-first search if I am feeling really really bored. But that is hardly ever, considering the manners of crazy shit that are usually going down in this freakin' apartment. Sometimes I just have to shut my door, shut my mouth, open my eyes, put on The Cure and cry silently into the night, into the bleak darkness that is my mind, my heart, my soul, my pillow. I am so lonely right now.
Call me and we'll talk. Also tell other people to call me. Spread the word and I'll be famous in minutes, or spictrins. Four thousand million billispictrins.
August 18, 2006
The Wolverstone Complication
It's over. Officially. "What is over?" you would be prone to ask. And I would answer: "My life." Of course I would be lying (dear God, I hope!) and then you'd simply tilt your head and look at me as if you were a dog and I just said the word "food." Next, you'd start wagging your tail and getting all excited; you'd probably start to run around and bark and drool because you'd think you're getting some food.
But you're not.
You're getting really annoyiing. And Armageddon slightly off-topic. The topic at hand is the summer and I have had enough of it! Where does it get off?!? Srsly. Sometimes I just want to take the goddamn summer-of-a-bitch by the neck and squeeze until all the sun just drops out of the sky and its freakin' fall alreay.
What did I do this summer? Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zothing. Nip. Zado. Nacho. But of course, I could be lying. Tell you what. I'm going to have a contest right here in my blog, just like the good ol' days. Whoever can spot the most sentences wherein I tell a lie will win the contest. And just what is the prize? A brand new car! A lifetime supply of chocolate! A lifetime supply of cars! A brand new life! Etc and so forth. So keep your eyes peeled for those lies and deceits because this journal entry COULD BE abounding with them.
I was going to title this entry "My Summer in Review" and review all the stuff I mentioned in my last entry (you know -- CDs, movies, video games, concerts, fashion, bicycles) but I don't think I will actually do that. You know why? Because I don't like to live in the past!
So... um... now I don't seem to have anything to talk about seeing as my plans to review the summer are out the window. Well, don't be surprised if I disappear off the face of the earth next week. All my best friends are doing it, and my bestest friends have been doing it for years (it seems!). So until next time, do something cool involving me and have a generically awesome thing!
It's over. Officially. "What is over?" you would be prone to ask. And I would answer: "My life." Of course I would be lying (dear God, I hope!) and then you'd simply tilt your head and look at me as if you were a dog and I just said the word "food." Next, you'd start wagging your tail and getting all excited; you'd probably start to run around and bark and drool because you'd think you're getting some food.
But you're not.
You're getting really annoyiing. And Armageddon slightly off-topic. The topic at hand is the summer and I have had enough of it! Where does it get off?!? Srsly. Sometimes I just want to take the goddamn summer-of-a-bitch by the neck and squeeze until all the sun just drops out of the sky and its freakin' fall alreay.
What did I do this summer? Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zothing. Nip. Zado. Nacho. But of course, I could be lying. Tell you what. I'm going to have a contest right here in my blog, just like the good ol' days. Whoever can spot the most sentences wherein I tell a lie will win the contest. And just what is the prize? A brand new car! A lifetime supply of chocolate! A lifetime supply of cars! A brand new life! Etc and so forth. So keep your eyes peeled for those lies and deceits because this journal entry COULD BE abounding with them.
I was going to title this entry "My Summer in Review" and review all the stuff I mentioned in my last entry (you know -- CDs, movies, video games, concerts, fashion, bicycles) but I don't think I will actually do that. You know why? Because I don't like to live in the past!
So... um... now I don't seem to have anything to talk about seeing as my plans to review the summer are out the window. Well, don't be surprised if I disappear off the face of the earth next week. All my best friends are doing it, and my bestest friends have been doing it for years (it seems!). So until next time, do something cool involving me and have a generically awesome thing!
April 26, 2006
March 05, 2006
The Time Engine Paradox
Lude's dead.
My vision turns cloudy as I sit here, shivering, alone in my room. It fills with smoke, I don't know why. Maybe I'm dying. No. Shake that thought from my head. Maybe I've been lying here too long, so long in fact that the luminance from my computer screen is teasing my eyes into phasing out the rest of the room. Maybe I'm just tired.
It's been several long weeks since last I fed this journal any tails. Swallowtails, preferebly. I've been living near the top of the hill called Worcester for the last seven weeks. I do this four times a year. I enjoy the scenery, the wonderful snowfalls that drape the land in whites and blues; I learn the ways of the software engineer, the electrical engineer, the chemist, the physcologist, the mathemortician, and most of all the friend. Yes, my friends are like me: the chemist, the software engineer, the mathemortician, the electrical engineer. I'm rambling. Maybe I'm just tired.
I got a fortune cookie today. It said "You will make a name for yourself." That's probably the most accurate fortune cookie I've ever gotten. The amount of names I've made for myself I couldn't even count on one hand. Unless of course it means I'm going to be famous. If that's the case, then the fates had better be reading this. Speaking of fates, the best bands in the world as of late appear to be Elvenking and Dragonland. I know what you are thinking and you can just stop right there. No, I am not a dragon nor an elf, but that's the glory of music! Anyone, anywhere, at any time can enjoy music if they only have ears, a way to get music, and deep pockets. It's that simple. Or maybe I'm just tired.
Have you read the Golden Compass? Have you read the Subtle Knife? Have you read the Amber Spyglass? In a perfect world, I would only have to ask the first of those three questions, following which I would be able to correctly assume the answers to the second and third question were the same. Sadly, this is not a perfect world and I am not a perfect person (argue it if you want, but I can present a formal proof if needed). However, let's not get off track. Those three aforementioned books comprise the best fantasy trilogy of recent years, "His Dark Materials." Yes, I would even dare to say it's definitely better than those Harry Potter books, and I must say that I have never read them, nor do I plan on it. Well, if you answered "no" to "Have you read the Golden Compass?" then I recommend you go to your nearest library or bookstore, get it and read it. Of course, it will only follow that you will then read the following two, because the first just leaves you wanting more, and they only get better. Or maybe I'm just tired.
I must say, after reading above said books, my affinity for writing has once again been sparked. These affectuous sparks pale in comparison to... yeah, I'm tired. Please respond with your nominations for the 2005 - 2006 annual Adam Fiske is Awesome Awards. Thank you and may you rest in peace.
Lude's dead.
My vision turns cloudy as I sit here, shivering, alone in my room. It fills with smoke, I don't know why. Maybe I'm dying. No. Shake that thought from my head. Maybe I've been lying here too long, so long in fact that the luminance from my computer screen is teasing my eyes into phasing out the rest of the room. Maybe I'm just tired.
It's been several long weeks since last I fed this journal any tails. Swallowtails, preferebly. I've been living near the top of the hill called Worcester for the last seven weeks. I do this four times a year. I enjoy the scenery, the wonderful snowfalls that drape the land in whites and blues; I learn the ways of the software engineer, the electrical engineer, the chemist, the physcologist, the mathemortician, and most of all the friend. Yes, my friends are like me: the chemist, the software engineer, the mathemortician, the electrical engineer. I'm rambling. Maybe I'm just tired.
I got a fortune cookie today. It said "You will make a name for yourself." That's probably the most accurate fortune cookie I've ever gotten. The amount of names I've made for myself I couldn't even count on one hand. Unless of course it means I'm going to be famous. If that's the case, then the fates had better be reading this. Speaking of fates, the best bands in the world as of late appear to be Elvenking and Dragonland. I know what you are thinking and you can just stop right there. No, I am not a dragon nor an elf, but that's the glory of music! Anyone, anywhere, at any time can enjoy music if they only have ears, a way to get music, and deep pockets. It's that simple. Or maybe I'm just tired.
Have you read the Golden Compass? Have you read the Subtle Knife? Have you read the Amber Spyglass? In a perfect world, I would only have to ask the first of those three questions, following which I would be able to correctly assume the answers to the second and third question were the same. Sadly, this is not a perfect world and I am not a perfect person (argue it if you want, but I can present a formal proof if needed). However, let's not get off track. Those three aforementioned books comprise the best fantasy trilogy of recent years, "His Dark Materials." Yes, I would even dare to say it's definitely better than those Harry Potter books, and I must say that I have never read them, nor do I plan on it. Well, if you answered "no" to "Have you read the Golden Compass?" then I recommend you go to your nearest library or bookstore, get it and read it. Of course, it will only follow that you will then read the following two, because the first just leaves you wanting more, and they only get better. Or maybe I'm just tired.
I must say, after reading above said books, my affinity for writing has once again been sparked. These affectuous sparks pale in comparison to... yeah, I'm tired. Please respond with your nominations for the 2005 - 2006 annual Adam Fiske is Awesome Awards. Thank you and may you rest in peace.
December 31, 2005
Deus Ex Machina
It's my 21st birthday. Right. Fucking. Now. I know what you are thinking. Why aren't you out getting drunk, reveling in high spirits, painting the town red, etc and so on? Well, it's simple really. It's 12:40 in the morning and it's only been my birthday for 40 minutes. Coupled with the fact that I don't drink, have no car, no friends, and no magical powers I am at a standstill. What I really should be doing is finishing this book. It's really a pretty neat book and I am really enjoying it. Of course, I was enjoying it more when I was reading it, but hey, computers are computers are distractions from almost everything in existence these days. But in all honesty, I promised someone I would have the book read by something like this weekend. I don't know if that will happen because I am rather lax in finishing the book (i.e. there are still roughly 300 pages left), but I will give it my all and my all ain't just a stick in the mud.
So a lot has happened in the two or three months since the last time I wrote a majestic entry in this electronic book, this holy of holies, this internet webamajig. Let's see... where to begin. Well, first of all, I had a lot more schooling since. In fact, I had another seven weeks, two classes, and one third of an IQP's worth of schooling. I learned a lot and now I am a changed man. The brilliance of it all was all in my head. That's not to say I imagined the whole thing, but rather that I am a rather brilliant human being. Truth be told, I am one of only two people I know who's clean-shaven bald head actually makes one wince and squint due to the immense amount of brilliantage shining forth. Why do you think I had to grow my hair so long? Nay, 'tis not simply my wit's desire, but it was a desideratum, a necessary evil if you will (and I know you will).
Yes, school was fun. And now it is winter break. The three weeks where I sit at home planning to do all sorts of things but not doing anything but nothing. Part of the reason is no car, as stated earlier. Part of the reason is no friends, as stated earlier. Part of the reason is no magical powers, as stated earlier. And part of the reason is no motivation, as stated earlier. However, a few neat things did happen so far on this break of breaks, this holy of holies, this--well, let's not start that again. One week ago tomorrow was Christmas. That's right, Christmas. Although for me it seemed to last three days. Three days of complete eternity. And yes, I did get some things. Things I will not mention here, but instead I will mention them over here: a lap top, some sticky notes, a tooth brush, a sticky top, some tooth notes, a lap brush, a tooth top, some lap notes, and a sticky brush. Mind you, these are all things I will use and that is why this was a very good Christmas.
In keeping with my pattern of starting paragraphs with short two or three letter words, I begin this paragraph accordingly. Anybody out there in the technological community looking to hire employees? Because hey, here's my resume. I wrote it up today, and I must say, I haven't stopped admiring it since. It's really one of the best resumes I have ever seen on my webspace, and that's including the one Severus Snape sneakily stored there several seasons ago. Speaking skillfully of my webspace, I also recently updated my public_html/index, dare I say yesterday. If you would like to check that out, point your browser to http://users.wpi.edu/~adamfisk/. You'll instantly notice that the color scheme matches my new eye-pleasing scheme here, and therefore it is simply superior to its predecessor.
And I suppose that brings us to the end of this plethoric entry. I would like to apologize to the book which I should be reading and all involved. I'll see you guys next year. Until then, please don't forget what I look like (some good ways to do this are to constantly pine over pictures of me, or simply draw my face wherever you are, whenever you have the chance) and Godspeed.
It's my 21st birthday. Right. Fucking. Now. I know what you are thinking. Why aren't you out getting drunk, reveling in high spirits, painting the town red, etc and so on? Well, it's simple really. It's 12:40 in the morning and it's only been my birthday for 40 minutes. Coupled with the fact that I don't drink, have no car, no friends, and no magical powers I am at a standstill. What I really should be doing is finishing this book. It's really a pretty neat book and I am really enjoying it. Of course, I was enjoying it more when I was reading it, but hey, computers are computers are distractions from almost everything in existence these days. But in all honesty, I promised someone I would have the book read by something like this weekend. I don't know if that will happen because I am rather lax in finishing the book (i.e. there are still roughly 300 pages left), but I will give it my all and my all ain't just a stick in the mud.
So a lot has happened in the two or three months since the last time I wrote a majestic entry in this electronic book, this holy of holies, this internet webamajig. Let's see... where to begin. Well, first of all, I had a lot more schooling since. In fact, I had another seven weeks, two classes, and one third of an IQP's worth of schooling. I learned a lot and now I am a changed man. The brilliance of it all was all in my head. That's not to say I imagined the whole thing, but rather that I am a rather brilliant human being. Truth be told, I am one of only two people I know who's clean-shaven bald head actually makes one wince and squint due to the immense amount of brilliantage shining forth. Why do you think I had to grow my hair so long? Nay, 'tis not simply my wit's desire, but it was a desideratum, a necessary evil if you will (and I know you will).
Yes, school was fun. And now it is winter break. The three weeks where I sit at home planning to do all sorts of things but not doing anything but nothing. Part of the reason is no car, as stated earlier. Part of the reason is no friends, as stated earlier. Part of the reason is no magical powers, as stated earlier. And part of the reason is no motivation, as stated earlier. However, a few neat things did happen so far on this break of breaks, this holy of holies, this--well, let's not start that again. One week ago tomorrow was Christmas. That's right, Christmas. Although for me it seemed to last three days. Three days of complete eternity. And yes, I did get some things. Things I will not mention here, but instead I will mention them over here: a lap top, some sticky notes, a tooth brush, a sticky top, some tooth notes, a lap brush, a tooth top, some lap notes, and a sticky brush. Mind you, these are all things I will use and that is why this was a very good Christmas.
In keeping with my pattern of starting paragraphs with short two or three letter words, I begin this paragraph accordingly. Anybody out there in the technological community looking to hire employees? Because hey, here's my resume. I wrote it up today, and I must say, I haven't stopped admiring it since. It's really one of the best resumes I have ever seen on my webspace, and that's including the one Severus Snape sneakily stored there several seasons ago. Speaking skillfully of my webspace, I also recently updated my public_html/index, dare I say yesterday. If you would like to check that out, point your browser to http://users.wpi.edu/~adamfisk/. You'll instantly notice that the color scheme matches my new eye-pleasing scheme here, and therefore it is simply superior to its predecessor.
And I suppose that brings us to the end of this plethoric entry. I would like to apologize to the book which I should be reading and all involved. I'll see you guys next year. Until then, please don't forget what I look like (some good ways to do this are to constantly pine over pictures of me, or simply draw my face wherever you are, whenever you have the chance) and Godspeed.
October 13, 2005
Oh, and Ted...
(Elenium - For Me)
"This time for Hosui!" These were the words Brian shouted as he pounded the last bit of ignorance into my feeble and weathered skull of a brain. Brain. Brian. Coincedence? I think so, probably. I mean, sure, sometimes I call the kid Brain, but that is usually a type-o or something when I am talking to him on AIM or whatever. I don't think I've actually said his name outloud anyway, let alone outloud incorrectly. Well, I am sure I have said "brain" out loud, but never referring to the kid. What I mean to say is "Brian, you are a great kid, don't change for anything or anyone no matter what anyone tells you. You're the beast."
(Mnemic - Jack Vegas)
So, yeah. I am done with school. Or as they say here "I am done with A Term." Who knows why they say that. Anywho, I just finished up my 9th year here at WPI and soon I'll be in my 10th. Years here only last like 7 weeks, though, so don't go thinking that I have been going here forever or anything. I think altogether, I will be here for 16 years, and if I go for my masters it will be 20 years. So, yeah, but this year is over. And boy, WHAT A YEAR! The things I did, the people I met, the places I visited! All I can say is "WOW." Seriously, there is no better word to describe it. I mean, I am still just getting over the amazing rollercoaster ride that was this year, and I will try and relate the things I did, but I can't guarentee that it will be correct or anything.
(Kiuas - The Discipline of Steel)
Well, I wrote a screenplay. It's done and awesome. You may probably remember past posts about it. It's called Deadtime and it stars The Rock. Characters include Dimitri Malone, Bravo Johnson, Elliot Eldritch, Montana Jackson, Eddie Johnson, Alysin Knight, Zackariah Knight, and everyone's favorite Ted Logan's brother Deacon Logan. Story elements include time travel, merciless slaughter, zombies, insanity, infinite power, one-liners, mind control, and everyone's favorite Ted Logan's brother Deacon Logan. Click on the following link to get it! Deadtime! The file has some extra sufficiency stuff in it; the screenplay itself starts on page 6.
(Kiuas - The Discipline of Steel [sorry it's like 12 minutes long])
Another thing that you might be expecting me to write about here in this log is maybe movies I've seen or new bands/CDs I've listened to. Well then, looks like you were wrong! I mean right, actually. What a type-o! Movies I watched this year at school and enjoyed include the following: Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, The Rundown, Primer, xXx, and Batman Begins. Movies that were okay include: The Transporter, The Transporter 2, Are You Being Served? The Movie, Face/Off, and The Machinist. Movies I did not enjoy include: HG Wells' War of the Worlds, Hide and Creep, and probably others I blocked out of my mind. I am sure I haven't listed all the movies I saw, but you'll have to just fucking deal with that you motherfucking little bitches.
(Eldritch - This Everlasting Mind Disease)
You know what's kind of neat? When I pick up one of the soda cans on my desk that is presumably empty but it's actually full of soda. Or even better... CHOCOLATE!! That just happened right now. I am pretty freakin' delighted about that.
(Edguy - Superheroes)
I totally forgot to talk about bands or CDs or what-have-yous or what-have-you-nots that I have recently purchased/listened to/gotten into. Cool new bands that I am reallly liking are Elenium, Amoral, Manitou, Eldritch, Mnemic, The Crown, Imperanon, Kamelot, Scar Symmetry, and Savage Circus. The rest of the bands I listen to aren't new to me as of this year. Some CDs I've got from NOT these new bands are Edguy - Superheroes, Kiuas - The Discipline of Steel, Kiuas - Winter in June, Kiuas - Born Under the Northen Lights. Yeah, that's about it, I don't really like feeling like going into detail on this stuff. In fact...
(Edguy - Spooks in the Attic)
...this journal entry is coming to a clothes! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Well, until next time, listen to The Incinerator, don't smoke, tell people how awesome I am, and send me presents!
(Elenium - For Me)
"This time for Hosui!" These were the words Brian shouted as he pounded the last bit of ignorance into my feeble and weathered skull of a brain. Brain. Brian. Coincedence? I think so, probably. I mean, sure, sometimes I call the kid Brain, but that is usually a type-o or something when I am talking to him on AIM or whatever. I don't think I've actually said his name outloud anyway, let alone outloud incorrectly. Well, I am sure I have said "brain" out loud, but never referring to the kid. What I mean to say is "Brian, you are a great kid, don't change for anything or anyone no matter what anyone tells you. You're the beast."
(Mnemic - Jack Vegas)
So, yeah. I am done with school. Or as they say here "I am done with A Term." Who knows why they say that. Anywho, I just finished up my 9th year here at WPI and soon I'll be in my 10th. Years here only last like 7 weeks, though, so don't go thinking that I have been going here forever or anything. I think altogether, I will be here for 16 years, and if I go for my masters it will be 20 years. So, yeah, but this year is over. And boy, WHAT A YEAR! The things I did, the people I met, the places I visited! All I can say is "WOW." Seriously, there is no better word to describe it. I mean, I am still just getting over the amazing rollercoaster ride that was this year, and I will try and relate the things I did, but I can't guarentee that it will be correct or anything.
(Kiuas - The Discipline of Steel)
Well, I wrote a screenplay. It's done and awesome. You may probably remember past posts about it. It's called Deadtime and it stars The Rock. Characters include Dimitri Malone, Bravo Johnson, Elliot Eldritch, Montana Jackson, Eddie Johnson, Alysin Knight, Zackariah Knight, and everyone's favorite Ted Logan's brother Deacon Logan. Story elements include time travel, merciless slaughter, zombies, insanity, infinite power, one-liners, mind control, and everyone's favorite Ted Logan's brother Deacon Logan. Click on the following link to get it! Deadtime! The file has some extra sufficiency stuff in it; the screenplay itself starts on page 6.
(Kiuas - The Discipline of Steel [sorry it's like 12 minutes long])
Another thing that you might be expecting me to write about here in this log is maybe movies I've seen or new bands/CDs I've listened to. Well then, looks like you were wrong! I mean right, actually. What a type-o! Movies I watched this year at school and enjoyed include the following: Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, The Rundown, Primer, xXx, and Batman Begins. Movies that were okay include: The Transporter, The Transporter 2, Are You Being Served? The Movie, Face/Off, and The Machinist. Movies I did not enjoy include: HG Wells' War of the Worlds, Hide and Creep, and probably others I blocked out of my mind. I am sure I haven't listed all the movies I saw, but you'll have to just fucking deal with that you motherfucking little bitches.
(Eldritch - This Everlasting Mind Disease)
You know what's kind of neat? When I pick up one of the soda cans on my desk that is presumably empty but it's actually full of soda. Or even better... CHOCOLATE!! That just happened right now. I am pretty freakin' delighted about that.
(Edguy - Superheroes)
I totally forgot to talk about bands or CDs or what-have-yous or what-have-you-nots that I have recently purchased/listened to/gotten into. Cool new bands that I am reallly liking are Elenium, Amoral, Manitou, Eldritch, Mnemic, The Crown, Imperanon, Kamelot, Scar Symmetry, and Savage Circus. The rest of the bands I listen to aren't new to me as of this year. Some CDs I've got from NOT these new bands are Edguy - Superheroes, Kiuas - The Discipline of Steel, Kiuas - Winter in June, Kiuas - Born Under the Northen Lights. Yeah, that's about it, I don't really like feeling like going into detail on this stuff. In fact...
(Edguy - Spooks in the Attic)
...this journal entry is coming to a clothes! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Well, until next time, listen to The Incinerator, don't smoke, tell people how awesome I am, and send me presents!
July 10, 2005
The Birth of a Hero
(Edguy - Out of Control)
I hope you guys got a good look at the last post in my blog because it has now and forevermore been removed from the internet. Forevermore? Who am I, Blind Guardian? Hansi Kursch? Speaking of whom, he is singing on this Edguy song right now.
Anyway, for the past few weeks my life has been in complete shambles. I can't sleep, I don't eat, I never shower; everything is just terrible. It all started when my parents were killed in that terrible accident. Oh god, I can't even talk about it. Just hold me.
(Garth Brooks - Friends in Low Places)
On a happier note, I have been working a lot these days and I've been pocketing quite the tidy wad of cash. I've made nearly three million dollars so far this summer, and things can only get beter from here. Especially considering the state of my affairs (as mentioned in the previous paragraphle).
My little album I've been writing has been coming along great. I've finished all but one track on the album, making for a total of 37 minutes of extreme hard-hitting heavy melodic poser metal. I mean power metal, not poser metal. Don't ever call me that again or you'll find yourself en route to the horse-pital. So be sure to ask me about this album, Empyrean, next time you see me and I will probably ignore you or skirt the question entirely.
(Danny Elfman - Augustus Gloop)
I've gotten to the movies TWICE so far this summer. Scratch that, THRICE. But I've only seen two movies. Star Wars and War of the Worlds. Basically, I only see movies with the word "war" in the title these days. It's some psychological problem I have developed within the last few weeks. I went to a couple of different doctors and they can't really pinpoint the problem, but they assume it has something to do with my failure to reconcile with my parents before their untimely death. Oh god, here I go again. This is just too difficult to write about.
(Evergrey - The Great Deceiver)
One of these days, though, I will have to let all my feelings out. Perhaps I will veil them in the dialogue and actions in my upcoming movie that I will be writing at school as soon as I get back. I still don't have a name for it but it involves the following things: zombies, time travel, shotguns, katanas, guitars, love, betrayal, Bravo Johnson and Dimitri Malone. So you'll have to be sure to check that out when it's finished. If you have any suggestions for names for this movie (be it only from the thin body of information I have provided you), be sure to post these suggestion in your feedback or metion them to me in other places. Just as with my album, however, I will most likely ignore you or skirt the issue. It's just too difficult for me to talk about these things with people.
(Thunderstone - Another Time)
There will be no goodbyes this time.
(Edguy - Out of Control)
I hope you guys got a good look at the last post in my blog because it has now and forevermore been removed from the internet. Forevermore? Who am I, Blind Guardian? Hansi Kursch? Speaking of whom, he is singing on this Edguy song right now.
Anyway, for the past few weeks my life has been in complete shambles. I can't sleep, I don't eat, I never shower; everything is just terrible. It all started when my parents were killed in that terrible accident. Oh god, I can't even talk about it. Just hold me.
(Garth Brooks - Friends in Low Places)
On a happier note, I have been working a lot these days and I've been pocketing quite the tidy wad of cash. I've made nearly three million dollars so far this summer, and things can only get beter from here. Especially considering the state of my affairs (as mentioned in the previous paragraphle).
My little album I've been writing has been coming along great. I've finished all but one track on the album, making for a total of 37 minutes of extreme hard-hitting heavy melodic poser metal. I mean power metal, not poser metal. Don't ever call me that again or you'll find yourself en route to the horse-pital. So be sure to ask me about this album, Empyrean, next time you see me and I will probably ignore you or skirt the question entirely.
(Danny Elfman - Augustus Gloop)
I've gotten to the movies TWICE so far this summer. Scratch that, THRICE. But I've only seen two movies. Star Wars and War of the Worlds. Basically, I only see movies with the word "war" in the title these days. It's some psychological problem I have developed within the last few weeks. I went to a couple of different doctors and they can't really pinpoint the problem, but they assume it has something to do with my failure to reconcile with my parents before their untimely death. Oh god, here I go again. This is just too difficult to write about.
(Evergrey - The Great Deceiver)
One of these days, though, I will have to let all my feelings out. Perhaps I will veil them in the dialogue and actions in my upcoming movie that I will be writing at school as soon as I get back. I still don't have a name for it but it involves the following things: zombies, time travel, shotguns, katanas, guitars, love, betrayal, Bravo Johnson and Dimitri Malone. So you'll have to be sure to check that out when it's finished. If you have any suggestions for names for this movie (be it only from the thin body of information I have provided you), be sure to post these suggestion in your feedback or metion them to me in other places. Just as with my album, however, I will most likely ignore you or skirt the issue. It's just too difficult for me to talk about these things with people.
(Thunderstone - Another Time)
There will be no goodbyes this time.
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