Social scientific inquiry into liberation theory, scientific socialism and critical theory perspectives on contemporary culture.
Saturday, February 22, 2003
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
*Nacirema Cross Stars*
I'm tired of being the one to take the blame all the time
Balanced on a wire and falling from the vibration you made
I'm not crazy
But sometimes I'm driven by that river to make*out in the back of a Buick
If I am the antithesis of sanity
You are the antithesis of helpful
The way I once thought things were has been shot down by a spirit sniper on the ground
I'm a brick in a hall of mirrors
The illusions are changing
Colors fading from crimson and purple to yellow and tawny
The shell is hell tonite
The perceptions of sensible objects has somehow shifted to a more skewed kind of futurism
If I am the antithesis of American
You are the antithesis of content
Star spelled backwards is rats
White hair and grey beards
Welcome to the olympics of academia
Hope you brought yr pencils
Nothing in the world matters more than homework
Homework means the world to me
Sorry if I sound cynical
If I'm the antithesis of anything
Everything is nothing
And you are the antithesis of material
Not even metaphysical
Maybe somewhat subconscious
(Definately 'sub' something)
We walk around like robots
We pay attention like it's a toll
We thank only half-sincerely in electronic voices
But if we are the antithesis of human
Love is the antithesis of us
I am the black bloc
You are the paracite
I am the bone marrow of a dead animal being ate out by decomposers
You are the concrete chopping block with paint replacing blood
I am the war helmet lost by a cadaver still walking, searching
You are the rose inbetween thorns
We are all just walking corpses
Because as soon as yr born
You start dying
And everywhere in chains
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
A lyrical strem of consciousness (that means lyrics but not to any one song)
'if there's one thing i know it's how to make something out of nothing
when i play the fool the part comes alive so that it's no longer meaningless lines conjuring vague symbolic convergance
a soul on ice
a trophy display
lenin's tomb
his corpse rotting away
black lights and sleepless nights
it looks like things are getting better
i think the problem is getting worse
she said yr out of here
so i left
what else could i do
there's a factory in north lansing where the workers look out in desparate longing to escape the heat inside before the pinkerton returns
i'm nothing if not what you want
i'm everything beautiful
i'm nothing if not apathy
i'm everything dispossesed
i refuse to slip quietly into obscurity
i won't quiet down or fade away'
'if there's one thing i know it's how to make something out of nothing
when i play the fool the part comes alive so that it's no longer meaningless lines conjuring vague symbolic convergance
a soul on ice
a trophy display
lenin's tomb
his corpse rotting away
black lights and sleepless nights
it looks like things are getting better
i think the problem is getting worse
she said yr out of here
so i left
what else could i do
there's a factory in north lansing where the workers look out in desparate longing to escape the heat inside before the pinkerton returns
i'm nothing if not what you want
i'm everything beautiful
i'm nothing if not apathy
i'm everything dispossesed
i refuse to slip quietly into obscurity
i won't quiet down or fade away'
Friday, February 14, 2003
I've been coming home for lunch lately which has a few advantages. I don't have to pay for lunch at the union and I can relax in the cool, quiet atmosphere of the place where I spend most of my time. However, it also takes gas for me to drive from school to home and then back to school which pollutes the environment and supports terrorism. Hmmm, seems like alot of life is a bitter-sweet paradox these days.
Monday, February 10, 2003
Speaking of movies, I heard that Brittney Spears walked out on one at Sundance because she "didn't understand it". Haha! Why do people like that even bother to go to Sundance if they don't want to make themselves look stupid? Oh, and another movie related note... David Gordon Green (director of George Washington - one of my favorite movies of all time) has a new movie out called All The Real Girls. Not sure if it's gonna be playing near here any time soon, but I sure hope so.
"The rain people are people made of rain and when they cry they wash themselves away."
- James Caan in Rain People (a good movie)
- James Caan in Rain People (a good movie)
Thursday, February 06, 2003
I wish Death Cab For Cutie would come to a town near me. I was rocking out to a song by them that Nick put on a mixtape that he left in my car.
Oh! Before I forget, there's a show on Saturday that yall should go to. It's the first Rochester Anti-Racist Action show (yes, I realize that that spells RaRa! Please don't run around shouting it like a cheerleader) and it's at 9pm at Rocket Coffee (on Monroe Ave. near Krudco, Abundance Co-op and Atomic Eggplant if yall don't know). It's a benefit for Food Not Bombs I believe since ARA isn't having benefits for itself yet I guess.
Oh! Before I forget, there's a show on Saturday that yall should go to. It's the first Rochester Anti-Racist Action show (yes, I realize that that spells RaRa! Please don't run around shouting it like a cheerleader) and it's at 9pm at Rocket Coffee (on Monroe Ave. near Krudco, Abundance Co-op and Atomic Eggplant if yall don't know). It's a benefit for Food Not Bombs I believe since ARA isn't having benefits for itself yet I guess.
Wednesday, February 05, 2003
it's really cold, but i'm still sweating
here's a poem i wrote last night
I had a dream that you were asleep next to me
And when I reached over to touch you you were gone
It wasn't a dream so much as a nightmare
Complete with gouls and goblins and ghosts
The irradiated vermin that crawl around under yr skin at night
And then force you to ask existential questions
Anyone who has never questioned the existance of everything has never questioned anything
Because you can't start in the middle of the labrynth and find yr way out in both directions
You can follow the herd by starting at the starting line
Of you can question everything by starting at the finish line
But you can't lock yrself away and throw away the key
You can't bury yrself in books and mud and then shatter the lenses of yr eyes
You can hide away in the forest of paradox
But the search party of reason will eventually drag you out
I had a dream that one day my children would be judged by their character and not their race, gender or class
That's a dream deferred
I inflated the plastic cloud past critical mass
It burst in a whirlwind of fanciful colors and sounds
But somehow the brilliance of the whole schene just left me empty
I wrote you a neurotic messsage and sent it from this computer to yrs
I typed without capitalization or punctuation
I said things that I was embarassed to say out loud
The computer stripped the romance away
And left just lines of passionless text
I almost regretted sending it
And I wondered...
Have we become little more than cyborgs?
Are we still divine beings or do we simply exist to use and maintain the machines that enslave us?
I wrote this poem on my weblog
I don't feel too good about it though
The computer needs us
We don't need the computer
These robots are in love with us!
These robots are killing us!
here's a poem i wrote last night
*LEVELSOFSOCIOCULTURALINTEGRATION (LEVEL50F50C1OCULTURAL1NTEGRAT10N)*
I had a dream that you were asleep next to me
And when I reached over to touch you you were gone
It wasn't a dream so much as a nightmare
Complete with gouls and goblins and ghosts
The irradiated vermin that crawl around under yr skin at night
And then force you to ask existential questions
Anyone who has never questioned the existance of everything has never questioned anything
Because you can't start in the middle of the labrynth and find yr way out in both directions
You can follow the herd by starting at the starting line
Of you can question everything by starting at the finish line
But you can't lock yrself away and throw away the key
You can't bury yrself in books and mud and then shatter the lenses of yr eyes
You can hide away in the forest of paradox
But the search party of reason will eventually drag you out
I had a dream that one day my children would be judged by their character and not their race, gender or class
That's a dream deferred
I inflated the plastic cloud past critical mass
It burst in a whirlwind of fanciful colors and sounds
But somehow the brilliance of the whole schene just left me empty
I wrote you a neurotic messsage and sent it from this computer to yrs
I typed without capitalization or punctuation
I said things that I was embarassed to say out loud
The computer stripped the romance away
And left just lines of passionless text
I almost regretted sending it
And I wondered...
Have we become little more than cyborgs?
Are we still divine beings or do we simply exist to use and maintain the machines that enslave us?
I wrote this poem on my weblog
I don't feel too good about it though
The computer needs us
We don't need the computer
These robots are in love with us!
These robots are killing us!
Monday, February 03, 2003
more spontaneous poetry...
i told dr. greenstein i'm already an existentialist
i told him he's got me figured wrong
i told him i'm sick of trying to prove the reality of my beliefs
i told him i'm content to believe in my existance and deny the orthodoxy of reality
i didn't tell him how tired i am
how i've been up countless nights imagining that i'm someone else or that i'm on the moon mining cheese
i've been through rivers of tears and blood or else rivers made of sand as a prop in my television mirage
i can't say if anything's real
there's nothing i really know
i told caitlin that i love her
i don't know if she believes me
but i create my own reality so who's to stop me from loving whomever i want
and i do want to love her
so i make my self sick with doubt and longing
i breathe heavy like an ox ready to strike
i swim in my own in-ground pool filled with self-pity
maybe i'll drown in there some day
but for now it works to plunge me deeper and deeper into hopelessness
the fountain of youth tainted by urine
i told dr. greenstein i'm already an existentialist
i told him he's got me figured wrong
i told him i'm sick of trying to prove the reality of my beliefs
i told him i'm content to believe in my existance and deny the orthodoxy of reality
i didn't tell him how tired i am
how i've been up countless nights imagining that i'm someone else or that i'm on the moon mining cheese
i've been through rivers of tears and blood or else rivers made of sand as a prop in my television mirage
i can't say if anything's real
there's nothing i really know
i told caitlin that i love her
i don't know if she believes me
but i create my own reality so who's to stop me from loving whomever i want
and i do want to love her
so i make my self sick with doubt and longing
i breathe heavy like an ox ready to strike
i swim in my own in-ground pool filled with self-pity
maybe i'll drown in there some day
but for now it works to plunge me deeper and deeper into hopelessness
the fountain of youth tainted by urine
I guess Laura Bush backed out of the symposium on "Poetry and the American Voice" because she was afraid they'd read anti-war poetry. http://www.webactive.com/pacifica/demnow/dn20030130.html
someone sent this to me. I guess it's been circulating around the internet.
If You're Happy And You Know It Bomb Iraq (by John Robbins)
If you cannot find Osama, bomb Iraq.
If the markets are a drama, bomb Iraq.
If the terrorists are Saudi,
And your alibi is shoddy,
And your tastes remain quite gaudy,
Bomb Iraq.
If you never were elected, bomb Iraq.
If your mood is quite dejected, bomb Iraq.
If you think that SUVs,
Are the best thing since sliced cheese,
And your father you must please,
Bomb Iraq.
If the globe is quickly warming, bomb Iraq.
If the poor will soon be storming, bomb Iraq.
We assert that might makes right,
Burning oil is a delight,
For the empire we will fight,
Bomb Iraq.
If we have no allies with us, bomb Iraq.
If we think that someone's dissed us, bomb Iraq.
So to hell with the inspections,
Let's look tough for the elections,
Close your mind and take directions,
Bomb Iraq.
If corporate fraud is growin', bomb Iraq.
If your ties to it are showin', bomb Iraq.
If your politics are sleazy,
And hiding that ain¹t easy,
And your manhood¹s getting queasy,
Bomb Iraq.
Fall in line and follow orders, bomb Iraq.
For our might now knows no borders, bomb Iraq.
Disagree? We¹ll call it treason,
It's the make war not love season,
Even if we have no reason,
Bomb Iraq.
If You're Happy And You Know It Bomb Iraq (by John Robbins)
If you cannot find Osama, bomb Iraq.
If the markets are a drama, bomb Iraq.
If the terrorists are Saudi,
And your alibi is shoddy,
And your tastes remain quite gaudy,
Bomb Iraq.
If you never were elected, bomb Iraq.
If your mood is quite dejected, bomb Iraq.
If you think that SUVs,
Are the best thing since sliced cheese,
And your father you must please,
Bomb Iraq.
If the globe is quickly warming, bomb Iraq.
If the poor will soon be storming, bomb Iraq.
We assert that might makes right,
Burning oil is a delight,
For the empire we will fight,
Bomb Iraq.
If we have no allies with us, bomb Iraq.
If we think that someone's dissed us, bomb Iraq.
So to hell with the inspections,
Let's look tough for the elections,
Close your mind and take directions,
Bomb Iraq.
If corporate fraud is growin', bomb Iraq.
If your ties to it are showin', bomb Iraq.
If your politics are sleazy,
And hiding that ain¹t easy,
And your manhood¹s getting queasy,
Bomb Iraq.
Fall in line and follow orders, bomb Iraq.
For our might now knows no borders, bomb Iraq.
Disagree? We¹ll call it treason,
It's the make war not love season,
Even if we have no reason,
Bomb Iraq.