It is time to expose a lie the American people, as well as countless people abroad, have been told by the powers that be. This is a terrible and powerful lie that has caused more problems than I could possibly name. The list of casualties has become so long that it would take hours to recite them all. This lie has become so powerful that it continues to perpetrate itself and cause further pain and loss. These are our kids out there. Are we going to allow them to buy the big lie as well? We have to tell them that our leaders are wrong.

Of course, you probably already know, that I am talking about this whole idea of a man in a jacket and tie meeting a woman in a cocktail dress at a piano lounge, dancing some waltzes and then falling in love. Of course, some of us understand the horrible undertones of this policy of romance. This is not how people meet, fall in love and live happily ever after. It almost never happens, and those occurances are so rare that they can be considered an anomaly. Stop wearing that stupid tie and hanging out in martini bars talking about the stock market. Stop wearing your sister's cocktail dress trying to see if you can hook up with a high roller at the Light Jazz Lounge.

I know a lot of you still like to think back to Casablanca and the romance at Rick's Cafe. Let me tell you something, Rick and Ilsa had their romantic affair at a hotel in Paris, not at this piano bar in Morocco. Also, Rick didn't end up with Ilsa, the guy she came with ended up with her. Rick went home with a short Frenchman. Think about that the next time you go looking for romance in your suit at a piano bar.

I know from research that more than ninety percent of the users on this website are regular listeners to "contemporary light Jazz." This music preaches the "hang out in a piano lounge and fall in love" concept in all of its' songs, especially those that have lyrics. Try listening to something different for a change. Maybe you'll find love at a softball field, a truck stop, a convenience store or a graduation party. Look around. Stop restricting yourselves to this "piano bar or nothing" mentality that too many of you here have.

Yes, I know about these "dating services" that my research tells me eighty percent of the users of this website are members of. Thirty percent of you belong to more than one. That's a shame. They like to use the "classy" buzzword when it comes to dating. Always wear a suit on a date. Never show too much leg. Make sure your socks match. Drink a martini and go to a piano bar. Yes, I know how it is. I've heard you talk about it. No woman is interested in falling in love with a guy who wears socks that match. Women are getting more sophisticated since we allowed them to go to college. They are more interested in guys who don't have it all together than they are in guys who pretend to have it all together. We are entering a magical time, my friends, so throw out your membership card to that video dating service and go to a miniature golf course or the Department of Motor Vehicles. You want to tell your grandkids an interesting story about how grandma and grandpa met? Fighting over a can of cola at a party is much more interesting than dancing a waltz in a piano bar while drinking martinis.

The people who tell stories about meeting the love of their life in a classy piano bar are liars or plants. They have been mixed in amongst us to keep the lie alive. If no one ever hears about someone meeting in a piano bar, they will stop believing. So, we have what I call programmed people who weave tales of romance in piano lounges so that we will waste the rest of our lives looking for love there. This is part of the plan, to dumb us down and control us. You must get out of the piano lounge now!

Imagine for a moment if you defined romance and passion by the following conversation between two people in a piano bar. Please note that the man is wearing an expensive suit and the woman is wearing a very contemporary cocktail dress. He is having a dry martini. She is having what they call an "apple martini."

"Hello. My name is Ted."

"Hello, Ted. I'm Francine."

"Don't you just love this music?"

"Yes, it is very light."

"That's what I like about it. Would you care to dance?"

"That would be nice. Thank you. I'm a very clean and natural girl, so my movements on the dancefloor are very conservative, but I can still flow with the music."

"That is wonderful. I bet you're a natural on the dancefloor."

"Oh, how you flatter."

"May I buy you a drink?"

"Oh, I don't know if I should. I always get too flirty when I drink."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't flirt with anyone."

"Can you drive me home? I don't remember where I live."

"If you can't figure it out by the time we leave, you can stay at my place until you remember."

"Do you have a hairy chest?"

"Yes, would you like to use it like a pillow?"

"I think I definitely would. You look like you have a nice body."

"You've got a great ass. I wouldn't mind holding onto it while I do you from behind."

"Gosh, that is so hot."

As you can see, this kind of prefabricated romance is neither classy nor realistic. And yet we are led to believe this sort of thing is happening all over America. We are expected believe without any real evidence that it is taking place. This takes the adventure and risk out of dating by making it simplistic and to the point. This couple will likely end up in a three bedroom house in the suburbs. They will have two children and she will frequently burn mashed potatoes for no apparent reason. In the falsified information, her burning of potatoes is symbolic of her humanity. We cannot see her as perfect, so a fatal flaw must be shown comically. The burning of the potatoes is a sight gag that has a dual purpose. It convinces us that Francine is not a robot and also that her flaws are humorous in nature. This is the lie. I am very concerned, especially when I consider statistics.

Get out there in the bus stations, the bowling alleys, the guided museum tours, the Oldsmobile dealership and all the other places you never considered finding love it. Get out of the piano lounges and start living, people. Get out of the piano lounges. There is no love there.

I'm supposed to be in LA right now. For the past month my pal Toshi and I have been planning for me to fly out there and have couple of days of beer, terrific mexican food, maybe a ball game and both the Lord of the Rings and Matrix trilogies.

But no.

Thanks to a massive cluster on Delta, the flights i was to nonrev on, either a direct or doing the dreaded Atlanta connection dance of fire, wide open for these many weeks were now oversold. Paying passengers took it up the ol' poop chute. They shot standbys on sight.

"Granted," said my travel agent. "You could get to Atlanta, but you may have to spend the night there. It doesn't look good for you coming back, either."

She stayed up late calling out to the gates on the off chance that the first flight out to Atlanta would look good, but finally came to bed with the grim update. "If I were you, I wouldn't go," she said. This from a girl who thinks it looks good for us when the flight is over by five.

So I called Toshi the next morning with the lousy news. "We'll try again in a few weeks."

Bummed, of course, but in a way it was a huge relief. This whole month has been a full-on blur: overtime, school, travel, communicating with my family through e-mails and phone calls.

In fact, when I was getting out of work clothes and in to baggy shorts and a favorite T-shirt, RunningHammer came in to the bedroom.

"You going onna aiwpwane?"

"Not today, buddy." Peel off socks.

"You staying home?"

"I'm staying home." Pants on the hanger, shoes in the closet. When I turned around, I heard his tiny bare feet pounding through the hall. "Daddy's staying home Daddy's staying home!"

SweetFaceBoy was next, ready with CD player and headphones for a trip to the airport.

"So we're not going to the airport?"

"You're stuck with me." Step in to shorts. Pull on a shirt. "Probably for the weekend."

"Cool." Then he turned and was gone.

Vix stopped me at the bedroom door. "Hm. This will be the longest time I've seen you awake in weeks. I'm not sure what to do."

"Knowing you, you'll think of something." I gave her a wet smooch.

She wiped it off; she always does. "I feel bad, but I'm glad it worked out this way."

Heading out for my own vacation sounded nice, but a few days of doing nothing more than sitting in my own backyard and reading a book and playing with my family somehow feels like a much better deal.

"Yeah," I said, hugging her around her waist and retaliating with a quick peck. "Me too."
(I don't write daylogs much, so please forgive me a need for self-indulgence on this occasion...)

It's been about a month since I've returned from my latest extended E2 absence, and I've been decently active here, more active than I've been in a couple years. I was wondering why I stayed away from here for so long, and I think I'm realizing what it was.

I first signed on to Everything - no, not Everything 2, as it wasn't in existence yet - over five years ago. I've seen a lot in my time, from the appearance of E2, the introduction of the chatterbox, voting and the XP system, numerous changes in editorial policy, the creation of usergroups, the first quest, and so on. I've watched noders come and go, and suffered when special people have had bad things happen. I've also done some stupid things that have taught me lessons.

When it comes down to it, what has made this place so special to me, kept me enthralled, and yet pushed me away, is the people.

The nodes are just a sideshow. E2 is about people.

It's said best at Everything is a Community, and it needs to be remembered, always. I've had great conversations on numerous occasions, both in the catbox and privately. I've received mix CDs, cards, postcards, and other items - all of which I have kept, all of which still have meaning to me. I've considered many different noders friends.

The thing is, I've let way too many of those friendships disappear. Partly due to absences from the site, partly just due to my own laziness in keeping in touch with people. There are too many people that I would /msg daily, chat with on and off throughout the day, talk to in #everything, and even received items in the mail from, that I failed on my end. I put in the effort when it was convienent, and never made the effort at anything that took a little more effort.

There are just so many people here that tried to be friends with me, people that I let down, that sometimes the hurt is greater than the happiness. Some are fled noders, and when I stumble across something of theirs, I just feel a gentle layer of sadness float over me, and wonder what they're up to now. It's the ones that are still here that really hurt. To see them in the other users, to read their new nodes, to look at the gathering pictures, to see them in the chatterbox, knowing that I'm more or less just another user name - I don't know if it's the regret for what I did, the shame for what I did not do, or the yearning for what I could have had that makes being here almost unbearable at times.

It's not all bad - I have found other noders to chat with, to have fun with, to hopefully turn into friends. There are also noders that still talk to me after my absences. I'll use all of those mistakes I've made in the past to learn from, so that none of them feel like just a convienence. I've lost too many as it is, and the only way I'll actually be able to stay around is to avoid adding to the hurt I feel when I see those noders around. The lump in my throat is too big, and I can't handle the gaping hole I feel when I think about all this getting any bigger.

I doubt anyone I'm targetting this to will read this - daylogs just aren't really read that much, and if anything, serve little purpose to other users other than vote dumping. I just needed to put this out there, mainly in hopes that newer noders will read it and understand what makes this place so special, and build and keep the friendships here that so many others have done properly.

And to those of you who have been on the receiving (or more appropriately non-receiving) end of this, I just want to say that I'm Sorry. I don't ask for forgiveness or even acknowledgement. I just want you to know that I am Truly Sorry.

If I ever do leave again (I'm not planning on it), it likely won't be because of differences with the editors or gods, or just becoming bored with the place. It will be the people. The ghosts of what could have been being just too much to handle.

My brother's leaving for Las Vegas in a couple hours. I probably won't see him again until at least December. I certainly can't come up there, what with work and classes, and I don't think he's coming down for Thanksgiving or anything.

I haven't yet followed up on my last daylog. I'll sum it up briefly: The surgery was a failure. The standard surgery goes through the stomach area to take out the prostate, but between Dad's obesity and the fact that his is positioned further back than normal, the surgeon couldn't get to it. The best he could do was take samples of the lymph nodes (the cancer doesn't appear to have spread to them).

So. After he recovers from this, Dad has to go in for the alternate surgery: incision between the scrotum and the rectum. (I cross my legs just thinking of that.) Relatively few doctors do that one; none in Arizona appear to. There is apparently a surgeon in Vegas who does them, which would be ideal (what with it being relatively close to here, and what with my parents owning a condo there). They have to check his record, though, and see if he accepts our insurance. Barring that, the closest surgeons we know of who can do this operation are in Salt Lake City and San Antonio.

I haven't been noding at all lately, mostly because of the stress of this and other recent events. I've also wanted to get in on the creation of EveryGame, but again, between work and all my filial concerns, I simply haven't had the time.

Hopefully things will start winding down soon.

do what I say, not what I take


Deuce 'em tubz...

Let's get this party started wrong!

                      Do what I say.

    Men say they know many things;
    But lo! they have taken wings,—
    The arts and sciences,
    And a thousand appliances;
    The wind  that blows
    Is all that any body knows.

Hate Writers, a massively unpopular for profit organization of ...

Ladies and gentlemen, Ron Atkinson gun is in the sink and more rain is coming....


get out my eye spot son

and that's truth

From the heights of intellect, to the depths of criminality, I bring you DYLAN READER:

"I'm limited in the amount of ways I am able to communicate to most humans, and the amount of humans I am able to communicate with is even more limited..."

bring the alarm

                      Do what I say.

Quote Number the First: legbagede: 'ah yes - "It works in practice, but will it work in THEORY?" What would we do without the French?'

  • Subscript: possibly attributable to Deleuze, in an essay titled "Coldness and Cruelty"
  • That last item may be a lie
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:34:35 PM) me too
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:34:36 PM) je suis un jouet.
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:34:37 PM) every time
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:34:48 PM) im actually not very good at tying things
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:35:09 PM) or folding or cutting
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:35:19 PM) me neither... and i've been sailing!!! the tried to teach me there.. and cub scouts
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:35:25 PM) sailing?
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:35:28 PM) you went sailing?
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:35:33 PM) are you a kennedy?
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:35:34 PM) i have
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:35:38 PM) haha
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:35:42 PM) my pops is an ocean fiend
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:36:04 PM) if i wanted to i could race with a team out of the RNSYS
Live under the sea. says: (7:36:07 PM) word, he got a boat and whatnot?

bring the alarm

Live under the sea. says: (7:36:13 PM) cool
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:36:14 PM) but, i never really have... wanted to that is
Live under the sea. says: (7:36:18 PM) you should get a boaking job
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:36:19 PM) it's kind of fun though

So I thought I should divorce philosophy for history, and history for law, and law for suicide, but I realized everything is everything, and I realized that I and I have been in Mamylon for far too long...


(Reading more about the university of Bologna and its beginnings, reading more about the relation between canon law and Roman law, reading more about the medieval church and medieval governmental ideas...reading more)

Don't get mad.
Get stupid y'all.

Instructions: Say whatever you think, and hold yourself accountable to what you say until your last breath. If reincarnation occurs, repeat process.

No one has ever been this clever....

Forget it

yeah, like books and shit

right now
i'm in a giant abandoned loft
and i
couldnt be happier

bring the alarm

Poison the earth. Distill its ashes. GET FUCKING LIFTED. You only live forever, make the most of it. God damn.

"This guy's the limit!"

Cold lamping, son.

I ain't even tryna move that shit.

Books on the list, Books on the floor, Books in the hand, Books on the brain

My new line of work is having job interviews. I had one, and I think I can turn this into a business. anyone really alive?

or is this play in Act 5 and losing steam?

                      Do what I say.

Killing is God's only pleasure

...and no one deserves it more

a refreshing taste
a pleasing odour

Things that end up badly...
Are the only kind of things....
And patience notices what we fail to see...

And my angst-ridden teen poet pops up and gets hit by the whack-a-mole hammer more often, even, than Rodney Dangerfield's "My Five Wives" is on a Marquee in Utah. And that's word.

bring the alarm

This conversation is out of order. Put this conversation in order to complete the first round of training.

Osvaldo Segura says: Yeah.
Live under the sea. says: I'dd like to sail, but not in a race.
Osvaldo Segura says: I really did a fucking number on these laces.
Live under the sea. says: ...and there are billions of lifeisms around them.
Osvaldo Segura says: Iesus.
Live under the sea. says: It's filled with poison and super high pressures and super high temperatures.
Osvaldo Segura says: I feel like I'm two.
Live under the sea. says: Ha! Ha! Ha!
Osvaldo Segura says: Sailing is cool.
Live under the sea. says: Yeah, I can't think of a more deadly environment than that.
Osvaldo Segura says: The ocean just trips me out, man.
Live under the sea. says: It's big.
Osvaldo Segura says: I like that there are places we'd never go except to take picturess and poke and prawd a bit... but could never live.
Live under the sea. says: Armadilloes and beetles freak me out.
Osvaldo Segura says: We've been further into space than we have diven into our oceans.
Live under the sea. says: Life should just die already, too many questions.
Osvaldo Segura says: Laugh.
Live under the sea. says: That is crazy.
Osvaldo Segura says: No, that's awesome.
Live under the sea. says: We've explored like 2% of the ocean.
Osvaldo Segura says: Really?
Live under the sea. says: No.
Osvaldo Segura says: It's constantly changing and erupting.
Live under the sea. says: (7:38:05 PM) Go NOAA.
Osvaldo Segura says: Regarding the hydro thermal vents...
Live under the sea. says: ...go Bob Ballard! If you sink to the bottom of the middle of the ocean, you are absolutely fucked.
Osvaldo Segura says: Danger.
Live under the sea. says: Go Marianas Trench, or go home.
Osvaldo Segura says: I wonder how far we've actualy dived down.
Live under the sea. says: Well, Ballard got some ROV's down into the Marianas Trench, the deepest spot...
Osvaldo Segura says: I mean, even the titanic wreck is too deep for people to dive themselves.
Live under the sea. says: But no humans.
Osvaldo Segura says: Yeah.
Live under the sea. says: I'm impressed by deep sea exploration. It's manly. Like Hemingway.
Live under the sea. says: There isn't much shit left to explore.
Osvaldo Segura says: Probably shit we have no idea about.
Live under the sea. says: Which is a bummer.
Osvaldo Segura says: Me too, I want to know what lives down there.. in those crazy high pressure depths.
Live under the sea. says: Yeah, i cant believe there is shit alive on the edges of hydro thermal vents.
Osvaldo Segura says: Like the mummy and the wolfman.
Live under the sea. says: Life is impressive.
Osvaldo Segura says: Yeah... like... why is that?
Live under the sea. says: Vampire faggot dykes with lazer fins.

At this moment.
Commiting suicide would be unbelievably pleasurable.
And not a moment too soon.
Everything in a burst of hope.
The death of a vacuum.

bring the alarm

The Sex Fuck Players

I'm blingin' in the rain

drunk on obnoxious

            booze hounds tooth jacket

high on depth

Who isn't tired of what we have to do? Live 'til you're exhausted and then perish.

                      Do what I say.

  • Poetry is a way of avoiding seeing life for what it is.
  • The best, most terribly over-wrought, way of doing so, and the most vicious.
  • Poetry is an effective distillation of the terror and horror of owning one's thoughts.
  • Poetry is that which drives a wedge between the living and the dead.
  • Poetry is what we see when we look the abyss squarely in the face and laugh until we fall forward.
  • Poetry is the meta-poetic mode of our thinking that engages us with the world as it might have been.
  • Poetry is us, and poetry is us losing steam.
  • Poetry is the thought that we've just broken, the thought that we've attempted to complete but have enjoyed failing to complete.
  • bring the alarm

  • Poetry is the unemployed window washer who steals from our office and throws the money down the sewer.
  • Poetry is that which is needful, that which is most needful.
  • Poetry is human and too human and overpoweringly human and inescapably alien.

    Kill your bodies' friends.
    I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
    By the false azure of the windowpane;
    I was the smudge of ashen fluff--and I
    Lived on, flew on, in the rejected sky.


    The rest is incomprehensible to you.
    . ....
            . . .
    .   .
          .           .         .           .           . 

    Pseudo_Intellectual says Where I might once have written not enough about too many topics, I now write too much about not enough.

    bring the alarm


    dying well
    living worse
    Please don't live your life as a preparation for death. "Life is one form of death, and a peculiarly rare one at that" (paraphrase). Perhaps: its the peculiarity I'm interested in. If life is a moment of death, so be it, but wouldn't it be good advice to live life as life and not simply as a moment of death, or as a moment heading towards death? I'd suggest yes.

    I wish someone would exhume Gutenberg and shoot him in the face.

    Title: Additional Material Inserted To Avoid Editorial Interventions
    Title: Don't Try This Again
    Title: On Being the Most-Best Honest

    I don't like puncturing my skin, but I can see how it would be pleasurable. I think maybe I'd like to just get stabbed one time, not to death or anything....just walking down an alley, catch a fillin, some angry taxpayer roll up on me and shank me in the spleen or some shit. I mean, I'd clearly deserve it, I probably deserve it right now: I wouldn't pull the "why me" card. Well, I might to my parents, but who are we really kidding here? Everyone? Probably.

    bring the alarm

    the paragraph below the title below is amusing

                          Do what I say.

    Smuglyfe: you
    Smuglyfe: first
    cbnfvr: ouch
    cbnfvr: card pullage
    Smuglyfe: im driniking a beerrer
    cbnfvr: I'm drinking a Neo Citran
    Smuglyfe: with hennessy?
    Smuglyfe: dope
    cbnfvr: It's a triple latte Neo Citran
    Smuglyfe: hahahahah
    Smuglyfe: how deconstructive.
    cbnfvr: tipperary theory
    cbnfvr: irish deconstructivism

    Right now, we're bridging the gap between hating you and killing you.

    And it's tearing us apart

    With laughter

    Teeming up

    Check this realistic representation:
       0          0        AHHH!
       |          |        (my spleen)
       |          | 
       ^          ^
      / \        / \

    bring the alarm

    Imagine getting stabbed. If you've ever been stabbed, you know that it hurts. Fuck that, I'm not tryin to get stabbed. I've been watching too many hideout movies.


    I made the mistake of:

    The following.
                         ****(that's it)****

    The lack of alternative fonts is both dismaying and alluring: what can I say within this limited framework?

    Nothing? As per usual...

    Team Putrefaction

    Or, to put it briefly: "Failed Clevernesses"

    On recent events:

    Well today I painted at the same old spot, and did something not that exciting and was not very excited myself while doing it.

    bring the alarm

    Then I fake "ran into" some people and ate food with them. I acted as if I was fumed out because I felt uncomfortable and had nothing to say. I lied about almost getting hit by a baseball and I also lied about getting hit by a frisbee, for no real reason. Practice makes perfect and all that. Then we left and went to a place and I felt uncomfortable yet again so I pretended that I don't like borrowing money and took the long sad bus home.

    "No money in my pocket just desires and some big dreams." Well, mine aren't that big, really I don't have any dreams, lots of desires though. Too many? Having crushes on people is hilarious. It's so mental. Not mental as in crazy, but mental as in "in the mind". You run all these ridiculous scenarios through your head, savouring each pleasing, how displeasing: how frightfully mundane really. Fuck crushes though... everything dies.

    How quaint.


    Reading list 1:

    Kant's letters are pretty interesting. The stuff between Mendelssohn and Lambert is good, but I especially like his letters to and from a student of his, Marcus Herz, who moved to Berlin (I think it's Berlin) and started a friendship with Mendelssohn, etc. I don't know why I like these ones in particular; I think it has something to do with the reverent, on both sides. I'm consistently amazed at the level of formal politeness in most writing from around Kant's time, and later. It's quite amazing. Like, check this signature on a letter from Kant to Leonhard Euler:

    bring the alarm

    "I am, with all due veneration for your merits, your noble, honored, learned, renowned sir's most obedient servant, I. Kant." (August 23, 1794).
                          Do what I say.

    That is just stunning. I mean, I'm all about respecting Euler, but I can't imagine writing that. Little things like that I find very charming, and also depressing. The fact that my writing/living writing.... actually nevermind. I like how affected the politeness is. It seems that now we affect impoliteness... and by we I mean me, and a select group of others. Here "select" doesn't mean "prime" or "wicked-awesome." It means a group selected from a larger group. A selection.

    Aside from the charm, I'm really quite impressed with the editorial apparatus in this book: the footnotes are never annoying, and always informative. I really like when editors present you with the minute little details of arguments between (in this case) varying camps of Kant scholars. Like, the reasoning behind the dating of a particular letter, etc. Sometimes that can be tedious, but in this case they did a very good job. I'm wrong: it's not a they, but one editor and one translator: Arnulf Zweig, who is to be congratulated.

    So this is all very personal. Right? Probably. Filling out applications makes me want to obliterate the sun. Blot out existants and what have you... Dollar bills on fire jammed into your eye sockets. But, what must be done must be done. Profound times six. Amor fati? Hardly: for me it's a constant realisation that I couldn't have ended up any other way... so why fret? Well, not in that strictly determinist sense really, more like: this is how it happened, so I'll deal with it. I'm not jubilant, though I could be, maybe. If my head exploded with light I'd cry and like, go to a prom or something? TOTALLY. This is my best one. EVER..

    bring the alarm


    Rugged individualists club

    • (7:42:12 PM) I talked to robert ballard in a satellite teleconference once.
    • (7:42:15 PM) no foolin
    • (7:42:15 PM) and that there's a bunch of stuff there
    • (7:42:19 PM) yeah
    • (7:42:20 PM) tottally
    • (7:42:21 PM) wha?
    • (7:42:23 PM) ....
    • (7:42:29 PM) in grade six
    • (7:42:50 PM) my nerd class went to this thing where three other classes around the world were hooked up to this teleconference with ballard
    • (7:42:54 PM) and we got to talk to him about whatever
    • (7:42:57 PM) for like 2 hours
    • (7:43:01 PM) it was cool
    • (7:43:17 PM) wow
    • (7:43:18 PM) cool
    • (7:43:21 PM) yeah
    • (7:43:29 PM) it was too legit to quit.
    • (7:43:36 PM) thats one of the few field trips that was worthwhile
    • (7:43:55 PM) word, i'm a twist this blizzy and catch a shower...
    • (7:44:05 PM) hollah. blingtron
    • (7:44:12 PM) flight 101
    • (7:44:17 PM)--->
    • (7:44:26 PM)crash to the depths god
                          Do what I say.
    000                                                  000
    000                                                  000 
    000                                                  000
    000         MAKE THESE BILLS                         000
    000                                                  000
    000                                                  000 
    000                                                  000 
    000                                                  000 
    000                                                  000 
    000                                                  000
    000                                                  000 
    000                                                  000

    bring the alarm


    Club teams

    I don't care what the repercussions are. I'm standing by this one: Message in a Bottle by the Police is a great song. I really like listening to it. I have no reservations about it. When Sting says: "Love can break your heart" it doesn't even sound cheesy or lame or forced: it makes me feel like it is true. Love CAN break your heart.... Fuck hallmark.


    Joining teams is for stupid awesome losers that get hated

This writeup is crummy

bring the alarm

The key to me writing
     | on E2 is hoping that
     |  no one will ever take 
     |   me seriously and if 
     |    they do hoping that 
     |     if I met them I'd 
     |      hate them so hard
     |       I'd start sweating. 

Most times I've been confirmed, if only via messages and what not. It's dismaying when people don't make me sick to my stomach, and it happens a few times a year. Forget all that: I like when people read what I've written, I feel like I've fooled them into thinking I've done something. But really I have done something. So who is being fooled?

Osvaldo Segura says: (7:21:36 PM) like tight whites and baby oils
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:21:37 PM) you knows
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:21:40 PM) we'll need pomade too
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:21:46 PM) haha
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:21:47 PM) ill bring my rain stick
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:21:49 PM) that will be my jam
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:22:02 PM) we should be rastafarian hawaiian accountants that play rap metal
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:22:10 PM) allan can be our group bboy
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:22:28 PM) dude, thats all the life i want out of a business title
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:22:39 PM) hahahahahahaha
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:22:46 PM) allan canhand dance til he falls asleep
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:22:47 PM) if i could actualy say that's what i am... and get work in said field.. peasce
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:22:49 PM) EVERY NIGHT!!
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:22:51 PM) haha

bring the alarm

I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:22:52 PM) hahaha
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:23:02 PM) our dreams are feasible
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:23:04 PM) if impossible

"...our dreams are feasible, if impossible..."

Osvaldo Segura says: (7:23:44 PM) we could do it man... we'll just pay someone to play beats
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:23:59 PM) we do up lyrics on the bus yp
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:23:59 PM) yo

                      Do what I say.

I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:24:03 PM) music is stupid easy to make man
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:24:11 PM) people don't need to be rapt at about anything
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:24:13 PM) other than us
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:24:13 PM) musicians are fucking idiots, we could steal their whole industry
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:24:18 PM) and not about us
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:24:20 PM) just us
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:24:22 PM) making noise
I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:24:25 PM) its true, we'll just explain ourselves to the crowd
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:24:41 PM) and that will be the first of our two songs
Osvaldo Segura says: (7:24:45 PM) it will last for 45 mins

bring the alarm

I like nice people.
But I can't stand them.
Alright, fine, I guess it's time for my obligatory pseudo poetry yawn talk smoak clock onions to death type faces. Wanna here some shit? Forget it. This is wearying both of us, or all of us, depending on who is in the room. If it is a room.


I don't even care that I'm a bad dancer. I don't even care that I don't care: it's just fun sometimes. Yeah, FUN. I'm not too jaded for that.. not even ever twice.

  1. Getting hated at the store. I would like one hated please, could you double bag it?
  2. Do you have plus sizes for the most awesome one?
  3. Which one are you? Oh, I'm that one.
  4. My story is called "On Being a One in these Troubling Time
  5. IF we never invented plurals, THEN, we'd be closer to true
  6. If you are wondering, and you are, this is the poetry section
               One thing that I really do love, in all honesty.  
               Yes, the 'one' thing: is bad poetry.  

  <-----------How moving.--------------->
  Try and move me.

            It's better if you try.
            Poet me harder.
                    I like being poemed at.
                    Don't poem that poem at me.
                    Poem poem poem.

      If there
      were a team-club-team
      for being poemed at or on,
      that team club would be 
      the club team that I would be on.

bring the alarm

Jesus. That was annoying even for me. You have to get those out of your system pretty quick or you just get vapor locked and start dying faster. I'm so bothered that we have all this languages around, we can't really get rid of them. Even when you're fucking you think of funny little phrases and descriptions, right. I mean: even when bodies on bodies in bodies, that's when it's not the best anymore, or that's when it's the best if you can do that and it's not body on body but: description/body on know what I mean if you are who you say you are. Knowing meaning.

  • This is not a Pipe (300,000)

    ----------------|00000000D       -->
                    |0000D    --->
           Arm!     |00000000D  -------->
    ----------------|00000000D       --->


    Holy crap, he's totally punching that guy!!

    That never happened really, but he almost punched him, instead he broke him down as a man, provisionally at least. The evidence remains to be seen, as we have not seen the remains. We have to walk the tracks and thoroughly scrutinize our silvers before any clear distinctions on the beef or non-beef, punch or non-punch tip need be made. Get gone over, get got. Gotta get gone over.

    bring the alarm

    Another pseudo daylog made into something faux-grandiose. I really just don't like the little structurings that go along with the day log. So if you take offense, please commit yourself to crimes. I'm not too worried about the consequences of my actions here. Everything I write is spittle.

    (((it's not true, i promise)))

    "Each of us
    painfully awaited
    the other's letter."
                          Do what I say.
    -----: nick nolte sucks dood
    you to judge: Whatever
    you to judge: nick nolte is the man
    you to judge: he's a thinking man's Gary Busey
    ...says: and nick nolte is a motherfucking ************* Visit Historic Williamsburg says: nick nolte is in it Visit Historic Williamsburg says: ? Visit Historic Williamsburg says: why not gary busey? Visit Historic Williamsburg says: jeezus dad, can i get my ears peirced? says: its his come back
    -----: thats funny -----: i mentioned gary busey too

    bring the alarm

    (we're post pleasure you fucks)

    Poison the earth. Distill its ashes. GET FUCKING LIFTED. You only liv

    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:24:51 PM) hahaha
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:25:01 PM) the other one will be a power ballad ala the fatboys meet anthrax
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:25:02 PM)

    Modern life is to be viewed,not lived. IDIOT.

    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:25:09 PM) ner ner ner ner MY NUTS!
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:25:15 PM) the last song we'll just yell yo like 2 mins and then pass out on stage
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:25:24 PM) hahahaha
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:25:37 PM) yell like fuck
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:25:37 PM) yo, y-y-yo yo y-yo yo yo.
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:25:39 PM) etc.
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:25:39 PM) i mean
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:25:41 PM) ad nauseum
                          Do what I say.

    bring the alarm

    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:26:09 PM) like basically the show is finished when one of us says, yo man.. pant ... pant... i'm out
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:26:10 PM) hah
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:26:17 PM) we'll be successful for two reasons.
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:26:24 PM) so put a quarda in ya ass kuz ya playd yaself
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:26:27 PM) one: because of the awesomeness of the above ideas.
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:26:34 PM) haha
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:26:36 PM) one
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:26:37 PM) love
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:26:38 PM) twp: because we'll hire a marketing department
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:26:40 PM) a huge one
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:26:50 PM) we'll just roll on honeys in marketing at dal and holla at em
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:27:04 PM) and they'll be flabbergasted in they beef curtains and juice up the advvertising
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:27:12 PM) i'm in that like i already win that
    I'm the most Dylan. says: (7:27:27 PM) ill be the dj, but we'll only play tapes
    Osvaldo Segura says: (7:27:36 PM) woooorrrrd
    living is simple. 
    dying is too.

    Crash to the depths god

    (idea) by Queequeg (1.3 d) (print) + - 1 C! Wed Jan 10 2001 at 4:05:50

    bring the alarm

    Exisistentialism is the twentieth century philosphy that stresses the individual's freedom as a self-determining agent responsible for his choices and their authenticity. It holds that the notion that a person has an essential --that is inherent -- determinative self is an illusion -- that existence preceds and determines essence, so that one's self is nothing more or less than what one has become and is at any given moment, the sum of the life one has shaped to that point. Central to this idea of essence is the view that each person is free at each moment, always able to choose how to act or not to act. But each decision affects the future by liiting later choices. To see the truth about our lives is to recognize that the human condition is absurd because our existence has no meaning other than the fact itself. Both inspite of an because of this absurdity, the induvidual must create his own meaningful personal morality. The person of good faith, despite the lonely anguish of attempting to achieve authenticity, does not withdraw from this effort but is fully engaged in it.

    This is the new smug life material. It's under the Existentialism node. Shit's hype.

    I've linked the particularly amusing bits

    be true to your ghoul.... you would to your furl

    This may also serve as interesting material for our little cult:

    (thing) by amarantha (2.1 min) (print) (marked for destruction) Wed Jun 25 2003 at 3:47:18 eleven decomposed e-leven E stands for east leven to rise sounds like leaven like bread leaven on up to heaven Just like the sun in the morning does it rises/levens from the East. "East-leven" or "in the east the sun rises". The sun ties into this because eleven is the last hour that the sun can rise from the east at tweleve it begins to fall twords the to the west. Twelve also can be decomposed in this fashionable manner, t(o the)w(est)-elve and elve sounds like elve like elf small little creatures, this is reference to the suns light getting smaller becoming 'elfed' in a manner of fashionable speaking.

    I don't think beat poetry has been sassed enough...we should all get on that. Fans of Ginsburg need to get deaded.

    bring the alarm

    Exisistentialism: Is sis grafted onto the word to play up the value of feminist involvements? Simone de Beauvoir blazed many a trail, yes - but should we really posit her to the extent that we undercut the men? After all, isn't this just inverting the gender binary rather than collapsing it altogether?
    twentieth century: of course, this is indicative of the Western bias. the 20th century is the American century, and through it all cultural phenomena are to be absorbed and filtered. Thus, existentialist thought becomes reconstituted as a contemporary social object, and its European roots (Kierkegaard and Nietzsche) are effaced
    his: The pendulum swings the other way! In the tradition of Kant, the subject is unequivocably deemed to be male. So, even if a project can contain the feminine, it is most certain the masculine which is at the helm.
    induvidual: the "u" here shows the alienation of the subject (the "I/i"), and that even within the framework of the "individual", it is only to be understood as a sort of "other" (the "you/u"), as in Lacan's theory of the mirror stage of identity.
    affect: Rather than "effect", it bears with it the inauthenticity and artificiality of modern life - it is "affected", an "affectation": that is, it is put on, as a theatrical spectacle. Modern life is to be viewed, not lived.
    1,000,000 subscriptions to Cat Fancier Magazine couldn't make me this happy. 2,000,000 could.

    On Scattering One's Witticisms

    Well water is the start of a beautiful love life.
    Fate is the name of a curable disease.
    1. If you can't change my mind, how are you going to change the world.
    2. If you can't change your socks.
    3. If you can't stop listening to me.
    4. If you're happy.
    Change your face.
    Change the name.
    Get a haircut.
    Get your hair cut.
    Cut your hair.
    Just the facts.

    bring the alarm

    Everything is the first sentence of a book. Not everything, but everything.
    If you could be a better person (you can't) you wouldn't do it (even if you could, which you can't).
    That's how awful you are.
    Seriously, this is your life and you've wasted it.
    Nevertheless, you're the best person I know, and a hundred times better than everyone else I know, and a thousand times better than me. But that shouldn't make you feel better about yourself, nothing should.
    No one is more terrible than.
    Painful boredom.
    You're not the smartest.
    God isn't a terrible bully in the sky.
    God is paying ten dollars for a glass of water.
    Every day's the fourteenth.
    He shoots.
    Don't believe in yourself.
    You're a failure.
    Kill it.
    Juice is the solution.
    Don't trust anyone over six feet tall.
    Happy Valentines Day.
    Employment is for faggots.
    Faggots are for homos.
    Homogenize your milk futures.
    How boring is.
    Essence precedes existence.
    I fuck you.
    we get married.
    in a barrel of poison.
    Do everything I tell you.
    The only true freedom is obedience.
    You can't obey me if you're not free.
    Obedience disqualifies compulsion. 
    If you really loved me, you'd let me peel your skin  off your body.
    If you really loved me, you'd stop loving me.
    If you really loved me, I'd have to leave.
    If you really loved me, you'd love Jesus too.
    If you really loved me, you couldn't love Jesus.

    bring the alarm

    If you really loved me, you'd be nervous about using words that you don't normally use, because I might mention that you don't normally use them and politely ask you why you did, in fact, use them.
    If you loved me, you'd hate me soon enough.
    If you loved me, you'd have to be boring.
    Believe the hype.. it's all we have left.
    Take everything at face value.
    Buy things.
    Love them.
    Eat them.
    Steal them.
    Rob people of their dignity.
                          Do what I say.
    Become foreign. Stop what you're doing and start what I'm doing. I'm the new one.
    Beat your kids, beat your wife, beat your mother, beat your boss, beat your shareholders, beat the system, beat the drum, beat the rap, beat the draft, beat draft horses, drink draft beer, do what I tell you.
    No one knows you like I've come to know you.
    Just be a decent person would ya?
    No one asked you to be so mean all the time.
    You're a doctor's son.
    I don't see a problem.
    There's a Chinese baby working on a sewing machine downstairs, so I shouldn't be yelling so much.
    Scenes from a lousy lazy lifestyle.
    Can anyone see what we're doing?
    Where we're going never mattered.
    To win at life, you'll need a mean curveball.
    Punch everyone everywhere.
    At the extreme boundary of humour, politics falls out of the picture and the fart noises are deafening.
    Become a better person by not becoming a worse person. In this case it worked.
    In your case, it can only make you pathetic.
    Don't walk so fast.
    I'm beginning to think.
    That laughing is the worst thing we do.
    It certainly isn't the best!
    Open your eyes and promptly close them.
    There is a meaning to the madness of life, and that meaning is the Konami Code.
    The meaning is the madness.

    bring the alarm

    I don't see madness here. Derrida is still identifying the same kind of power take over. You stupid, stupid, stupid man. You ignorant bastard. Horrible. The endless. Jump it down tubzo. Losing and winning. Loving and sinning.

    See how I switched two letters in each phrase and changed the meaning entirely? Fucking fascinating stuff here people. FASCINATING.

    Smell-oriented pulverize powders.
    Who's afraid of Vagina Woolf?
    Jack Nicholson killed Abe Lincoln's nephews.
    All of them.

    ill be the dj, but we'll only play tapes

    bring the alarm


    I'll be the dj, but we'll only play tapes

    crash to the depths god

    bring the alarm

    Do what I say.

    I don't think beat poetry has been sassed enough...we should all get on that. Fans of Ginsburg need to get deaded.

    Exisistentialism: Is sis grafted onto the word to play up the value of feminist involvements? Simone de Beauvoir blazed many a trail, yes - but should we really posit her to the extent that we undercut the men? After all, isn't this just inverting the gender binary rather than collapsing it altogether?
    twentieth century: of course, this is indicative of the Western bias. the 20th century is the American century, and through it all cultural phenomena are to be absorbed and filtered. Thus, existentialist thought becomes reconstituted as a contemporary social object, and its European roots (Kierkegaard and Nietzsche) are effaced
    his: The pendulum swings the other way! In the tradition of Kant, the subject is unequivocably deemed to be male. So, even if a project can contain the feminine, it is most certain the masculine which is at the helm.
    induvidual: the "u" here shows the alienation of the subject (the "I/i"), and that even within the framework of the "individual", it is only to be understood as a sort of "other" (the "you/u"), as in Lacan's theory of the mirror stage of identity.
    affect: Rather than "effect", it bears with it the inauthenticity and artificiality of modern life - it is "affected", an "affectation": that is, it is put on, as a theatrical spectacle. Modern life is to be viewed, not lived.

    bring the alarm

                          Do what I say.


    take what I have

    Grandaddy Paul died today.

    Paul Charles Gauger: my father's father, the Gauger patriarch and my little brother's namesake. NASA engineer. Science Fiction fan. Golfer. Model plane builder. Sports car collector. Electric blue eyes and a face that reminded one of Jimmy Stewart. Nearly deaf, but soft-spoken. Delicate white hair, almost a full head of it at 87 or so.

    Doddy called from the Florida nursing home, his voice pitched in the melodic tones he uses for illnesses, deaths and divorces. He had bad news. He could have stopped there; I knew why he went to Florida. He wrote every few days, sending me pictures and anecdotes.

    Granddaddy Paul (aka GDP) is in decline. Since I was here in February, he's gone from 170 lbs. to 140 lbs. He's now too weak to stand or sit up. His hands are too weak, numb and shaky for almost anything. His mind is mostly lucid, but his attention focus is now too low for him to enjoy reading, or a movie. He can only handle a few lines of conversation. It's all sad as hell.

    If there is a positive side, it's that GDP is mostly comfortable and free of pain. He's still strong enough to show wit and appreciation to the nurses; they all like him. Yesterday he and I were watching this old Bette Davis/Charles Boyer black-and-white potboiler on the TV and following our old practice of supplying lines, subtitles and narration to the movie as it went along, and he was holding up his end pretty well: "Goddamn, here comes the king again, on your feet, peons," etc.

    Grandaddy was from the kind of American family spotlighted in Lake Wobegon Days German immigrants with their own special brand of abusive normalcy. Or so I heard. He never spoke of them. Why he became an engineer. Why he loved model planes or fast cars. Why he loved Grandmommy June after Katherine Gauger died of breast cancer in her thirties. June is strange to the Gaugers, being a Georgian debutante and not an intellectual. I know nothing about his ancestors aside from the Gauger family tree he slavishly assembled years ago. Just lines punctuated by Augustuses and Elizabeths; Georges and Matthiases.

    I wish Paul Charles had been more of an exclamation point to me, and less of a comma. I miss him, but I also miss the days we didn't spend flying airplanes together or discussing family history. I miss never going to him for advice, and not running into the room to tell him my triumphs. It's worse that I was literally on the other side of the country when I may have needed him. It's not what I lost, but what I never had.

    Maybe I will have the opportunity to be Grandmommy Eliza in person, instead of on the phone.

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