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This morning I dreamt it was Friday, the 17th of July instead of Saturday the 25th. I believe my life has been altering the contents of my dreams lately. Which, as you know, is quite unfortunate.
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every day for a year, I would become violently dizzy after eating. Within fifteen minutes after having finished a meal, it would be necessary to lie on the floor with my feet elevated.

I enjoy the sensation of being dizzy--it's disorienting, warm, mildly alarming and oddly comforting. i miss my inexplicable maladies.

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yesterday, I was elated to discover Thomas Pynchon has a penchant for popular culture. words can't describe how great it is that a notoriously reclusive author has been known to spend his evenings watching The Brady Bunch.

yesterday is the antithesis of today. it would have been preferable to go to the dentist, have him drill a tiny hole into my molar and promptly fill it in than experience 'today.' today is a torturously ordinary day and shaped like a small box.

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Originally from R.:

The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me!

my choice. for you. this offer does have some restrictions and limitations:

- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make!
- what I create will be just for you.
- it'll be done this year. no guarantees when, it will be a total surprise!
- you have no clue what it's going to be. it may be poetry. I may draw or paint something. I may bake you something and mail it to you. maybe a beanie. who knows? not you, that's for sure!
- I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.

the catch? oh, the catch is that you have to repost this, and repost right away. we can all make stuff and make someone's day a little bit brighter!

actually, I won't bake anything or make a beanie. It would most likely be a zine, mini-comic, print, or a field recording mix.

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how does one convey different emotions cross-culturally? There are those who learn how to say 'I love you' in numerous languages, but I need to be able to express confusion non-verbally anywhere. at first, it seems practical; in reality it is not. after all, how would an expression of confusion improve communication flows?


while I was biking to work I saw a man biking ahead of me. I overtook him thinking 'there is no way he can catch up to me' with every sinew in my legs. and so it was.

Current Mood:
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i am not one to put insects into jars of toxic gases for the sake of a collection. mostly because i am not a collector.

but i have always appreciated the aesthetics of a properly made insect collection. a perfect balance between object and white space. delicately pinned, yet in precise rows. of nature and removed from nature.

which is superior: to briefly see a rare scarab alive or to see many scarabs dead and 'preserved' in a collection?

i have thought of starting an insect collection comprised solely of what i find around the house and garden. cicadas, moths, spiders, flies, ants, cockroaches.

i do not remove any spiderwebs as i consider them to be a form of site-specific art. an inadvertent collection.
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I've been having an existential crisis for the past three weeks now. let's see how long i can avoid thinking about it...
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recently my life has been characterized by thinking 1) 'I look like shit today,' 2) 'I feel like shit' or the ever popular number 3)'life is shitty.' that's a pretty objective look at things.

life cycles: write from 9 or 10 pm until 5 am. sleep 5 am to 10 am. class, work, or other activities 12-4 pm. write 4-9 pm with an hour or two dinner break.

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when I first heard it I thought it was a corny, yet hilarious joke.

so I decided to use as an opening to a speech I had to give in my honors english class in high school: "you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs."

I was shocked when no one laughed.

I still think it is the most hilarious joke ever, but now I know the joke's really on me. also, I think it encapsulates my sense of humor quite nicely.

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For years unwashed dishware has piled up in our sink. Are dirty dishes an example of the tragedy of the commons? What are the implications of certain surfactant chemicals for dishware in a post-clean world? Are dishes really 'dirty' or are my conceptions of 'dish,' 'dirt,' 'ditty,' and 'Chairman Mao' a part of the dramaturgical constructs of my fractured self, in a strictly Durkheimian sense? I try to answer these and other questions daily.

Surfactants are cool. They break down the resistant chain of water molecules that form a skin on the surface of water, called water tension. This allows lipids and other 'dirty' substances that otherwise would ignore it to mix in with water and be carried away. (Surface + act + rodent = Surfactant.) Good news for me, and the plates, provided they want to be 'clean,'* bad news for aquatic life downstream, whose molecules will suddenly want to bond with water!

If we establish that dirty dishes are indeed a by-product of the tragedy of the commons, in conjunction with the liberal media, it becomes clear that our nation's natural resources, from Yellowstone to the Everglades, must be privatized.

Postmodernism really isn't what you think, folks. Postmodernism is a man sitting on his front porch, a jug of moonshine in one hand, a banjee in t'other, and a shotgun resting on his knees. Postmodernism is a steaming plate of your mama's . . . hand rolled sushi with wasabi and pickled ginger.

In conclusion, our sink is a land of contrasts.

*And they do, as I certainly know what plates want. By 'knowing' the plate, I establish it as such, it only exists in relationship to me, as the Other, or if you will--what I eat off of.
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