is there life after breakfast?

elige la intensidad preferida

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 01:40:26 GMT

Am I still hungry? Let's see, I just had some soup and a few handfuls of cereal. What would go well with that? Some bread? Fuck it, I'm not going into any of these places. I'll just go to the library and grab something at Bagel&Deli on the way home. Do I know that girl? Did she just call to me from across the street? A tattoo and a cigarette. What the hell are all those kids doing outside the bookstore? Fucking orientation.

Another ginkgo tree. That's nice. Ash borers won't get to those. I dunno, I was already at the library today. What'll those people drinking outside Skipper's think if I walk back the other way? Are they laughing? I'm not lost, you know. Starbucks it is, $3.00 or less. Can't get a dirty chai for that. I hate coffee. Something with espresso? Tall cappuccino it is, whatever it is. Do I want a double shot, no charge? Might be too strong? Whatever. What's all this foam? Now I know. Fucking coffee. Too strong? How should I know? I never liked it in the first place. I think it's eating away at my stomach. I'll just read twenty pages. Why are these people running? Am I in high school again?

Shit, maybe if I go to the library I can mix in some chemicals from that bilingual coffee machine. That stuff's always rich. Gotta walk past Skipper's again. Other side of the street, I guess. A what? A Gotto? G-o-t-o-e. Get it out of my way. Someone could crush it. Why are you smiling? Ginkgo again. Slant walk. Will I mix it with hot chocolate? A double shot. I like to tremble with intense focus. This place should really hire me. I even look up the classification system of the Library of Congress. Assholes. Down the stairs. READ.

Study groups? Suckers. I wonder if it will fit. So much foam. Maybe there will be cups behind the counter of the abandoned café. Vending groans. So reassuring. What's in this thing? Chai tea? A bit redundant. Might be tasty. 70 cents? And I've been paying how much for my dirty chai? INSERT MONEY. SELECT BEVERAGE. SELECT STRENGTH. SELECT COMPLEMENTS. PRESS START. One dollar. Chai. Maximum. No complements? Bastards. Start. Whir. Looks okay. Pour it in. Fucking foam. Stir it down. Add some more. Needs sugar. Two packs, in the raw. Needs some more? Double up. Not too bad. I'll have to do this again. It's so much cheaper. Time to read? Write. Drink, and write.

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 16:56:30 GMT

So I was dreaming that my dad and I were playing a game of scrabble which somehow involved both the computer and physical tiles. About half way through the game I'm doing really well, and I hand him the computer for his turn. He takes forever, and when he finally says it's my turn, he emphasizes how badly he's beating me now. This is because he's taken about ten turns all at once and created a huge block of tiles. "What the fuck?" I wonder aloud. He says that he thought we were playing "bowling Scrabble," where you apparently take a ton of turns at once. A short discussion follows in which I say "fuck" a few more times and he tells my sister and I we might as well start celebrating the new year after he leaves for his exercise class.

Fri, 20 Jul 2007 04:43:50 GMT

when composing an important e-mail, I'm often paranoid that it will by chance be sent prematurely, even more incoherent than it will be in its finality or otherwise embarrassing. accordingly I often omit the address I'm sending it to for some time. once satisfied, I'll throw that in and hit "send." unfortunately, I often forget to change the "from" address from "lust.lard" to "runyanwb." oh man.

Mon, 16 Jul 2007 02:51:32 GMT

som, IU deciuded to wriute an entry] becaiuse thuis kje]yboard ius so deluightfuill]y dy]sfiunctiuonal. uif only] UI had so,methuing to sa]y.

Sun, 15 Jul 2007 08:40:14 GMT

tastykittens

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8m_98p72wkg

and

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nKxPPx4SdY

adorablemangos

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 20:06:00 GMT

so I had this head, and I didn't know what to do with it. just a head. and then it came to me.

but now I have another head, one which is anchored by far more than a body. instead of whiteness it is surrounded by a room and a parking lot and a society. it is defined, scarred not by ink but by a history. it has traveled thousands of miles and—shedding its perpetually decaying surface—has left a particulate trail of omnipresence.

this head is a shifting capsule of pestilence. I could open it. but how?

it is a scolex. I could secure it to the host. but which host?

it is an explosion. I could contain it. but why?

it is an herbicide. I could stunt your development. but when?

I could fill it with creamed corn, seal the holes. let someone else open it again. someone who likes creamed corn.

I could peel away its many layers, eat them without remorse. they are low in calories.

Mon, 05 Feb 2007 02:05:21 GMT

Prioritize the unnecessary.

Defer reason.

Embrace inchoate absurdity.

Sat, 06 Jan 2007 08:29:46 GMT

I have officially rated over 500 things on Netflix (this includes TV shows). Next stop: 1,000. Although I am convinced I have seen at least 1,000 movies, I doubt they're all worth rating. But eventually... hey, I just thought of five more!

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 05:28:30 GMT

This closely resembles the model of my theological discussions at school:

"David continually quoted C.S. Lewis; Kevin contadicted himself logically in his zeal to defame God; Fat made obscure references to information fired into his head by a beam of pink light; Sherri, who had suffered dreadfully, wheezed out pious mummeries: I switched my position according to who I was talking to at the time. None of us had a grip on the situation, but we did have a lot of free time to waste in this fashion."

From Philip K. Dick's VALIS.

My roles may vary, but Alex is unfailingly Horselover Fat.

Sat, 23 Dec 2006 06:56:43 GMT

There's something about this pile of books. Really three small, close piles here on my bed. Not to be confused with the piles on the floor or the table or the chair or the shelf. Those piles are all well enough. Their compositions widely vary, as do the ages and origins of their contents, with some of which I'm more familiar than others. Some I've read, most I haven't. I know I'll never read them all. Not because of their numbers. No, over the course of my life I hope to read many times the total quantity of books I've stored away here over the years. But I like the story they have to tell, about me. An aggregation of individual and collective interactions. Passing interests and less ephemeral ones. As significant as these reflections may be to me, they are ultimately limited to my own introspection. Cyclical. But not this pile.

Through these books I vicariously participate in a sort of transcendence. Here the roles are reversed and I reflect the book, but not alone. I am merely one indicator in the journey over space and time of these vessels of knowledge and amusement, solace and psychosis, my sole mark a due date. Or, if I am particularly daring, a comment or series of comments throughout their pages. But it is not anonymity that I find grandiose. Rather, I like to see on the inner back cover the entire history of each book, for there to be few enough entries there that I can truly feel a part of it. Through the sixties and the eighties to the twenty-first century. Today. While the other piles around my room are limited to the meanings I assign them, for those in these piles, in each departure from the ordered, sterile guise of a library or depository to a chaotic destination like my bedroom or between my hands, lies infinite possibility. As my eyes move intently over their pages, and as they sit in my room unread, I share the collective experiences of those before me and those to come. MAY 15 2007 is my identity, the only thing these books' future supplicants, and I hope they have them, will ever know of me.

books!

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 21:11:40 GMT

These books I will read or begin to read over break:

VALIS – Philip K. Dick

Dune – Frank Herbert

Islanders; and, The Fisher of Men – Yevgeny Zamyatin

The Dragon: Fifteen Stories – Yevgeny Zamyatin

Zamyatin: A Soviet Heretic – David Richards

The Faith of a Heretic – Walter Kaufmann

I also want to look into the philosophy of Martin Buber (Judaism/Hasidism/Zionism/mysticism/religious ethics) and Edmund Husserl (phenomenology).

Additionally I intend to complete The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals by Michael Pollan.

Last night I watched Borat, amusing, and this morning Waking Life, delightful and thought provoking insanity.

Consume more media!

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 07:36:40 GMT

So, my CC final was apparently unimpressive but inoffensive, leaving me at a basic, solid B.

In KafCon I must have done something right. A B+ and I didn't turn in the prospectus which was 10% of my grade. Even the slightest loss of points would have had to take me down from an A.

NS, wtf? I pwned your worthless exams (1/6 of the grade combined) and the labs which were returned. Why the B+? Ah well.

SS, an A-. Okay, my final must have been decent.

IT, an A-. Yeah, I knew that, thanks to the 76 I got on the only essay we wrote. Hell, if we had written more I may have improved.

Srini fails. How do you get an A- in a class that consists of eating, watching movies, listening to rants, and discussion? I probably should have hung out with him more, but I have difficulty imposing myself upon others, even (especially?) when they adore imposition.

Thanks to my post-secondary adventures, I had a cushion of three A's and a B+, leaving me at a reasonably safe GPA (though I hate to have to moniter the thing). Although I have been partially raped, I ultimately asked for it. Then again, this isn't so terrible for a first semester. And for some reason I think 18 hours won't be a problem... when whether I can even recieve a grade for SPN 311 (what should be a relatively easy class) is in question.

...

Mon, 27 Nov 2006 02:15:56 GMT

I found this in my closet at school. It has been in a plasic bag underneath a paper bag underneath a suitcase for months.

So that's where all those mysterious closet flies were coming from!

Any ideas about what this may once have been?

food fun... sort of

Sun, 26 Nov 2006 23:56:31 GMT

Begin with one disgusting can of lentils and rice.

Dump part of its contents in a bowl and throw the rest away.

Heat and taste.

Add some curry powder and cumin. Taste.

Add some cajun seasoning. Taste.

Add some mango chutney. Taste.

Add some ketchup. Taste.

Add some cheese. Heat.

End with a peculiar tasting bowl of various things that, combined, are not necessarily disgusting.

Eat on heavily salted tortilla chips.

Sun, 26 Nov 2006 05:48:05 GMT

So, yeah. How about those mangos.

Laura thought I should share...

     The mango. My fruit of choice. Intertwined with South Asian culture. National fruit of India and Pakistan. Fruit of the gods in the Hindu Vedas. Refreshing. Healing. Erotic.
     Also tied to Hispano-America, and indeed that’s where mine come from—Mexico, Chile, maybe Ecuador—they all taste the same to me. Sprayed with pesticides and crated, mangos—ripening in a cloud of ethanol—find their way by truck to the produce section of my local supermarket.
     Some time ago, at the inception of my fascination with mangos, my interests were by no means limited to the consumption of fruit. Additionally, I was becoming increasingly involved with botanical matters. As a project in my spare time between classes, I had taken on the task of restoring the greenhouse adjacent to my father’s high school biology classroom to functional condition. While initially I thought this would simply be a matter of cleaning up, I would later discover that this greenhouse could be an inhospitable and even cruel place.
     When I began, the greenhouse contained no more than ten plants, all succulent or at least tropical. Their conditions varied, and reflected the years endured in this volatile environment. Daily I spent half an hour in the greenhouse, if not caring for the plants, then running my fingers along their forms, appreciating their complexity, or enjoying the sharp contrast between the temperature of the greenhouse and that within the school on the other side of the door.
     As time passed I began to pursue botanical experimentation. Propagation was my primary goal, and I explored the various methods by which this could be achieved. Though my methods were crude, I was often successful. After trying with the plants in the greenhouse, I moved on to sugarcane. Before long my attention gravitated toward what lay at the center of that sweet orange flesh I had been devouring all along: a seed!
     Prying open the seed shell of mango after mango, I found their contents to be of varying quality. Many were mottled, rough in places, discolored. On rare occasion a seed would be in perfect condition: smooth, white, with a developing radicle at the bottom. Those seeds which looked viable I wrapped in a moist paper towel, placed in a zip-lock bag, and left for several days or a week in the warmth of the sun, where most began to germinate. Some would begin to rot in the bag and others once placed in soil. A select few lasted further into germination, but only one would ever penetrate the soil’s surface.
     Almost daily I would dig the seeds out of the small clay pots which contained them to observed their developmental progression. What I derived from this ritual, in addition to the satisfaction of mediating life, was a kind of fetishism. The physical appearance of the seeds was highly suggestive of some sort of hermaphroditic sexual duality. Fascination became obsession.
     I developed for these plants a genuine affection and lovingly attended to them, providing constant moisture to shield them from the dry heat which pervaded the greenhouse. One morning, I discovered that overnight one seed had completed its germination, thrusting a three inch stalk, complete with seven tiny leaves, through the substrate which by now contained a considerable network of roots. I was delighted, ecstatic. This emotional state I had not experienced recently. The following morning I opened the greenhouse door, excited to be greeted again by my delicate, green companion.
     In its place I found a dry, black structure emerging from the soil, That of my plant which had been exposed to direct sunlight had burned alive. I was devastated. Denying what was all too obvious, I placed the plant beneath a table, out of the sun. Desperately I hoped a new stem would arise. But after several days, when the cotyledons began to decay in the soil, I had to accept the unbearable reality. My mango tree was dead.

Wed, 22 Nov 2006 05:03:43 GMT

Thank you fresh burst tylenol sinus, for the minty goo that is dripping down my throat.

Way to make it MORE noticable.

xiuwu sings opera

Fri, 17 Nov 2006 17:22:24 GMT

Unfortunately this is only the last fifteen seconds of the aria from a revolutionary communist opera that Xiuwu performed in lecture. But can you really complain?

http://youtube.com/watch?v=64B52BnyekY

Awaken Your Jewish Identity

Wed, 15 Nov 2006 23:38:21 GMT

The latest society craze is to escape the melting pot and embrace your cultural heritage - so stop opting out and discover how Jewish roots can help you build a whole new FASHIONABLE PERSONALITY. (emphasis mine)

Sun, 12 Nov 2006 20:24:51 GMT

This evening I will venture into the home of my Kafka professor.

This is what he had to say when he e-mailed us directions to his house:

"When you see the rocket Asher and I constructed, I think you will intuitively understand why I alluded it to illustrate how we might think of writing less as a transparent medium for Meaning that originates spontaneously in one's soul, and more, instead, as an awkward, precarious, and really quite strange negotiation with exterior materials."

I love this man.

Wed, 25 Oct 2006 18:10:17 GMT

lord_of_lard's Halloween party:

alto_2_amy gets drunk, strips naked, and somehow emerges dressed as an invalid.
androgynous_ken gets drunk, strips naked, and somehow emerges without a face.
bxtr dressed as Dick Cheney.
ditchinzimbabwe dressed as something neurotic, but what, specifically, you can't tell.
haloeight dressed as Jennifer Lopez.
holding_hands dressed as a capital.
kyrakitty dressed as a disturbing self-made character called "Skipper Toadpants".
mei_yanohi dressed as a pimp.
midara_mind dressed as the Viscount of Angerville.
piratequeenursa dressed as a bottle of calvados.
skip_the_great forgot to take his hormones!
slickidiot dressed as Howard Blanning.
supernightmaren dressed as Chester Cheetah.
yeah_itsme dressed as absurdity itself.

Throw your own party at the Hallomeme!
Created with phpNonsense

Sat, 23 Sep 2006 18:04:46 GMT

In referring to my friend's girlfreind as "what's her face," unable to recall her name, I wondered where/how the phrase originated (etymologist that I am). So, upon searching the phrase, the first result was whatsherface.com. This took me directly to everythinggirls.com, which I found supremely amusing and slightly disturbing. Eventually realizing that What's Her Face had been a Mattel doll, I was even more amused at the horribleness of the situation.

I totally lack gregariousness, emotionality, and altruism

Fri, 08 Sep 2006 14:08:20 GMT

Fairly accurate, no?

My Personality


Neuroticism	45
Extraversion	6
Openness To Experience	72
Agreeableness	8
Conscientiousness	50

Test Yourself Compare Yourself View Full Report

Bebo, MySpace Codes and MySpace Layouts by Pulseware Survey Software

Look! The printer is flowing backwards!

Mon, 28 Aug 2006 00:42:52 GMT

I remember my excitement when I first discovered that printers could print things out in the correct order. And now, after years of expecting just that, my printer is revolting! It demands that I collate my own documents.

Confound you, cursed printer!

Wed, 23 Aug 2006 12:57:29 GMT

Shouldn't "CAMPUS CRUSADE 4 CHRIST" be written in blood rather than sidewalk chalk? Just a thought.

Thu, 17 Aug 2006 14:33:44 GMT

WHY did nobody tell me that trees and various other things have tons of texture from a distance? I mean, I don't need glasses. I'm considering saving them for days when I want the world to suddenly be several times more magical/beautiful. I don't like them for near vision though, takes too long to focus.