tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86712682233107710072024-03-14T00:23:54.032-07:00Busy BacksonEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-13988411080296943582010-09-26T09:22:00.000-07:002010-09-26T09:52:33.843-07:00Douglas Coupland's Generation X and Tao Lin's Richard YatesI often think the world is beautiful on the microlevel and horrifying on the macrolevel. There are so many moments of fleeting affection, of ironic connection. Sometimes we can love a recent acquaintance for reasons that seem deep and unchangeable, overlapping paths or esoteric coincidences, or even for reasons as miniscule as subconscious cognition of enchanting momentary facial expressions. But when I think about the future, I am overwhelmed and horrified. This macrohorror is the reason we all search for something to believe in. In comparing the novels Generation X by Douglas Coupland, and Richard Yates by Tao Lin, the fissure between beauty in fleeting moments versus macrohorror is explored differently in regards to each novel’s respective generation. While Coupland finds that society is to blame for macrohorror, Lin concludes individual perception is the root of macrohorror. In rooting macrohorror in these two distinct ways, generational differences (between Generation X and our generation [not sure the name of it]) unquestionably forge the way. <br /><br />For Coupland, the beauty I find in the world through these moments of fleeting beauty or nostalgic gratification are, holistically incongruous with macrohorror and to believe in said coincidences would not only be recalcitrant, mundane and defeatist; but also lackadaisical and existentially perfunctory. In the 90s, much like the generations prior, it seems there was a contradictory longing to find universal pulchritude in gestalt solipsism. Douglas Coupland’s Generation X portrays the evolution of this contradiction perfectly. One character in particular, Dag, is the paradigm of 90s counterculture. His marketing job becomes increasingly emetic by virtue of a capitalist mentality instilled by the baby boomer’s generation. Dag’s epiphany comes when he realizes that, contrary to the philosophy of the baby boomers: shopping is not the same as creating (“We had compulsions that made us confuse shopping with creativity…” [Coupland 8]). And so ensues Dag’s intuitive desire for a coherent life beyond the accumulation of material things. He epitomizes this revolutionary generational longing for coherency throughout one’s life by pejoratively stating, “ My life had become a series of scary events that simply weren’t stringing together for an interesting book” (Coupland 31). Thus, the characters surrounding Dag long for a life disconnected from professional careers that perpetuate capitalist growth. They live on the fringes of society—in the landscape of the Western desert—working “mcjobs” to subsist and most importantly to leave, “…our lives behind us…to tell stories and to make our own lives worthwhile tales in the process” (Coupland 8). The novel is comprised of first and second hand stories of bricrolage from failure, trauma, and wayward pilgrimage. Even when the most sincere stories are consummated, Andy—Coupland’s antihero states that these “…small moments…” of “…intense flaring beauty…will be utterly forgotten, dissolved by time like a super-8 film left out in the rain, without sound, and quickly replaced by thousands of silently growing trees” (Coupland 147). It was clear to me that Generation X’s characters found human connection ultimately inimical in a journey towards self discovery and gestalt solipsism. Thus, the novel’s visions synthesize either naturalistically or apocalyptically. <br /><br />Andy feels deterministic longing to live with within the haikus of daffodils and narcissi; in secret sunlight with the “…breathlessness of oleanders and the cooing of doves” (Coupland 129). It is here he states, “I feel so happy I could die” (Coupland 130). In contrast, it seems that apocalypse, namely nuclear apocalypse is the ultimate revelation of macrohorror. One character, Claire, in a heady revelation concerning the upwards construction of modern architecture, wonders how New York—with its towering contradictions of gravity—doesn’t simply collapse upon itself. Furthermore, what I found to be imperious and perhaps metaphorically extemporaneous visions of nuclear destruction seem to overshadow the ultimate conclusions on the division between the proles and the bourgeois. <br /><br />Of course, having been written in the comparatively (and decreasingly) halcyon 90s, one must wonder if Coupland was prescient to the depression that ensued from the destruction that was 9/11. Now, what is our post 9/11 generation (having seen Generation X’s ultimate macrhorror come into fruition) left with? The mantra of anti-consumerism pioneered in Generation X has become all but ubiquitous for our generation, in a complimentary way. Andy, like individuals from every generation coming to fruition, needs to find something true, for his definition of self. He finds truth in nature. Andy’s quietus contentment in this truth seems to me to be what may transcend the technological whirlwinds and developing macrohorror that have swept up our generation. <br /><br />With social networks and ubiquitous correspondence rampant, our memories are compartmentalized digitally forever. Perhaps a bit superficial; but does the “super 8 film left out in the rain” that represented Generation X’s fleeting memories still stand as a legitimate metaphor for our own generation’s perception of memory preservation, or does our addiction to social networking (where pictures are uploaded regularly and visited frequently) salvage our ability to keep these fleeting memories as pristine sentimental artifacts? Granted this interconnectedness is an optimistic means of collecting and preserving moments of universal pulchritude—however distorted the photographic and textual representations may transfer into personal perception—can we now transcend the existential contradiction that stood Generation X’s way towards gestalt solipsism? Here, the road may fork to two different opinions. <br />One can believe that these digital artifacts and their ubiquitous accessibility may create an even greater divide between human beings longing for a coherent catalyst against the loneliness resulting from societal whirlwinds and macrohorror. The ease of communication and social pioneering has undoubtedly created a dangerous ennui. A stagnation where, in the abundance and ease of interconnectedness, one begins to feel over privileged and unmotivated to make any choice; for in the future; the same options of networking and communication will be available. The end result of this boredom will translate into a vacuity of meaning in interpersonal relationships. Or, one can believe that these connections forged with said interconnectedness are indispensible to our generation’s ability to connect with others swept up in the same whirlwinds of uncertainty, macrohorror, and skepticism. <br /><br />This interconnectedness relating to macrohorror is abundant in Tao Lin’s 2010 novel, Richard Yates. The novel is comprised largely of text messages, phone calls, and gmail chat conversations. Compared to Coupland’s Generation X, Lin’s writing is different in two ways. First, the argot that Coupland uses to express the cultural and personal gap between those who are optimistic about society (consumers) and those who are pessimistic (anti-consumerists) is simplified enormously. Second, and most importantly, Lin differentiates our generation’s strife from that of Generation X in one crucial way. In Richard Yates, it is clear that the root of macrohorror is not rooted in society itself, but in the individual. In a conversation about personal relationships between Haley Joel Osmend, one of the novel’s two protagonists and Haley Joel Osmend’s literary friend Julia, Haley Joel Osmend states, “’A fucked person enters an unfucked situation, and the situation immediately becomes fucked. It’s the person that’s fucked,’ Said Haley Joel Osment…’Situations can’t be fucked because they’re situations,’ Said Julia” (Lin 76). This distinction between the responsibility of society vs. the responsibility of individuals broadens in the following declaration, “’All the old Nobel Prize winners were depressed existentialists. Now they are all sociologists or something As American gained more power.’’ Nobody wants to discuss how lonely life is….everyone is more interested in toothpaste’” (Lin 76). The characters in Lin’s novel are lonely, often stating their desires to kill themselves. However—unlike Andy in Generation X—they find solace; not in the truth of nature; but in the truth of text messages, phone calls, and gmail chat. The novel’s two protagonists, Haley Joel Osmend and Dakota Fanning are constantly updating each other about what the other is up to. This relationship, largely to the blame of the older and more persuasive Haley Joel Osmend becomes unhealthy, especially for Dakota Fanning. However, a furtiveness in the interconnectedness of their relationship seems to persist and causes bafflement to Haley Joel Osmend. At the climax of the furtiveness of the relationship Dakota Fanning states, <br /><br />“’Sometimes if I stare for too long I think about loneliness and I think about what is going to happen if I annoy you and you leave me and about how lonely and afraid of everything I used to be and I just get nervous and cry I guess…Before when I was lonely it was sort of a calm loneliness. Like I would just say ‘oh well.’ And lie in bed. And just be alone. But now when I think about being lonely it’s very depressing and I can’t relax.’” (Lin 104).<br /><br />Characters of Generation X, like Dag, can simply escape from relationships for days if they become lonely or furtive, with little more than a random call from a pay phone in the desert. However, the ubiquitous interconnectedness of Haley Joel Osmend and Dakota Fanning’s relationship causes Dakota Fanning’s furtiveness and loneliness to become that much more affective and distressing to her emotional and physical state. It is only when the furtiveness of Dakota Fanning’s communications has been revealed to the clearly upper handed Haley Joel Osmend that words like, “lonely” and “depressed” disappear from, or, are negated in, the novel.<br /><br />Thus, the loneliness and macrohorror experienced in Coupland’s Generation X is societally rooted, while the loneliness and macrohorror of Lin’s Richard Yates are individually and interpersonally rooted. Regardless, both novels seem to reach the same existential conclusion in the fight against macrohorror. In the search for gestalt solipsism, truth—whether it be a quietus fulfillment in nature or the consummation of happy communication in a personal relationship—is the only universal pulchritude.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-12531931663172381692010-01-24T23:17:00.000-08:002010-01-24T23:24:19.977-08:00john mayer is the antichrist and his music is the c drone of a depressed mother's piano.I saw the movie antichrist with willem defoe and charlotte gainsburg. <br />I told you what happened in the movie. <br />I sent a link to the trailer. <br />afterwards, you said, “I don’t like that. that is fucked.”<br />you used to like fucked things. <br />a long time ago, you played me the song if winter ends on the phone. it was fucked. <br />then a while later, you asked me, “do you like john mayer?” <br />I said, he is on twitter. <br />I said john mayer is a douche bag. <br />you asked me if I ever read war and peace. <br />you wrote your senior thesis on tolstoy. <br />I said no ive never read war and peace<br />I said I am reading self help by lorrie moore. the mother is depressed when the father is around. the dad hates the way the mom sings so he tells her to straighten her back and sing with her rib cage more. the mom sits on the piano bench all day long and plays a c drone on the piano. the mom loves singing. when the dad is not around, the mom sings. <br />I said, the mom is me. you are the dad. <br />you said that means you are charlotte gainsburg and I am willem defoe. <br />I said john mayer is the antichrist and his music is a c drone from a piano of a depressed mother. <br />you said, you are war. I am peace. <br />I said, I don’t know what that means. <br />I said I don’t know what anything means. <br />you said, it is sad that we can only compare things to other things and have no original thoughts. <br />I said, I am sure you read that somewhere. <br />you said you did.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-71365075134429222192010-01-20T21:58:00.000-08:002010-01-20T22:13:31.590-08:00<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/03/16/lifetimes/del-r-mao.html">A Don Delillo novel reviewed by Lorrie Moore. When I saw this, I nearly 'creamed my jeans'. </a><br /><br />Basically, Moore says Mao II isn't Delillo's best (See: White Noise and Libra). Mao II is, however an "<a href="http://nymag.com/arts/books/features/31522/">exploration of the relationship between writers and terrorists</a>". Delillo argues, through characters like Karen--who is equally fascinated with reclusive writer Bill Gray as she is with reports of acts of terror (and who was also once some kind of cult)--that terrorists and novelists, in particular, occupy the same cultural space. However, where the novelist has failed, the terrorist has succeeded, effectively and symbolically taking the writer hostage. Furthermore, Moore argues that Delillo's inspiration for this sort of "writer taken hostage" scenario was Salman Rushdie.<br /><br />From reading Mao II, I have formulated a sort of double faceted theory on Delillo's success. The two reasons Delillo is successful are:<br /><br />1. His 'mystic American object-to-subject exploration'.<br />Delillo has this way of speaking to the reader. He will take an object, and explore it with descriptive language until the object takes on a mystic presence in both the character and the reader's cultural consciousness. Buildings, baseballs, pills, typewriters, etc etc...move through the thought process in autistically obsessive ways until one is convinced of the object's cultural weight.<br /><br />2. Delillo is unafraid to talk about anything. He writes about everything, as Moore has mentioned in her review of Mao II. He is unafraid of taking on crazy perspectives. Child math prodigies, rock stars, terrorists, hostages, 9/11 terrorists, graffiti artists, people in one of the twin towers during 9/11, someone seeing people in Russia with Nuclear deformations, etc...<br /><br />All in all, Moore made the poignant remark that Delillo's writing is, unlike her own, somewhat void of emotional weight, however, it is the cultural exploration that sort of causes the reader to drift through his novels with such attachment.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-61246004773918460112010-01-15T10:39:00.000-08:002010-01-15T10:41:06.302-08:00Don Delillo<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4ZFf6NYTkrM&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4ZFf6NYTkrM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />does anyone else pick up some weird speech patterns in this? Sort of like Delillo has a speech impedimentEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-79196962114958178912010-01-05T21:36:00.001-08:002010-01-05T21:58:08.258-08:00revolutionary nerd steroids article<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.splicetoday.com/vault/posts/0000/0717/adderall_large.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 420px; height: 488px;" src="http://www.splicetoday.com/vault/posts/0000/0717/adderall_large.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.splicetoday.com/pop-culture/nerd-steroids">Just read this article.</a> Also read this book called No Logo. In loo of reading <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Logo">No Logo </a>(and HRO), this article seems like it is trying to reflect a personal brand on the author. Kind of like the person writing the article doesn't actually believe in "nerd steroids" on a moral level, like Nancy Reagan or Jesus. Feel like this person is trying to keep their writing accessible to teenagers who are "on the fence" with using "nerd steroids" and need a push towards the "nerd steroids will make you schizo/bipolar" argument. feel like this is either very creative shitty nonfiction (the author probs had way more problems) or shitty fiction. <br /><br />"Although Adderall is supposed to take around half an hour to take full effect, it seemed like almost instantly I had abandoned the pile of books on my desk and was plucking the strings of my Chinese instrument, realizing that music was the only really wonderful thing, and that all the essay crap I had cared so much about was a waste of time...I decided to drop out of school. It made me feel so relieved. I looked forward to travelling, reading books I love, and obtaining a real education free of stress, useless evaluations, and exhausting all-nighters stuck at my desk."<br /><br />"6: 25 am<br />Grouping words into categories. This is better than sex."<br /><br />"I am planning to work on dealing with my stress in healthy ways, rather than look for a job to support my drug dependency. I figure that if I do not learn how to cope with pressure I will burn out eventually."<br /><br />from these quotes, it seems like the author is:<br />A. not street smart<br />B. book smart<br />C. probs a budding communist<br /><br />I am glad i read this article. <a href="http://www.splicetoday.com/">The site the article is from</a> looks friendly to an alternative audience but still relevant from a pop culture stand point. Out of Baltimore. never been there. They have posted a story called " <a href="http://www.skyhunter.com/marcs/GentleSeduction.html">The Gentle Seduction </a>" by Mark Stiegler. It was the second thing i clicked on after "music" where i saw desaparacidos and cass mccombs recommended by the staff. the gentle seduction begins with the line, <br />"He worked with computers; she worked with trees, and the flowers that took hold on the sides of the Mountain." <br />i am excited to read it. it was published in 1989.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-20592385725681481002010-01-03T11:49:00.000-08:002010-01-03T11:52:35.734-08:00Couple ThingsMade a new song. Think it might be my <a href="http://rxgrendal.tumblr.com">"best mash-up yet"</a>.<br /><br />Also, does anyone ever wonder what people write when it says, "{yourscreenname} is typing..." in gmail chat? <br /><br />i feel their head might explode in this period of time.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-91543727182449980222009-12-28T09:07:00.000-08:002009-12-28T09:10:49.109-08:00I made a joke that only I laughed at. <br />the joke was hilarious to me.<br />the joke made so much sense to me.<br />it was funny to me so i laughed as everyone watched me collapse in laughter<br />they gave me looks like, "thats not funny at all. you're stupid."<br />i kept laughing and thought, "life is a joke that only you laugh at."<br />and directing the statement in the 2nd person, i thought, "how fucking sad".Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-38065677597225106362009-12-27T21:43:00.000-08:002009-12-27T21:46:09.719-08:00New SongishMade a new song out of these songs, it might be "not bad" or "interesting"<br /><br />Osaka Loop Line - Discovery<br />What Up Man - Cool Kids<br />Distant Love - Burial<br />White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes<br /><a href="http://rxgrendal.tumblr.com"><br />check it out</a>Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-56998018491783946052009-11-20T07:48:00.000-08:002009-11-20T07:51:08.821-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhck2XkRiuJ5be9qXD9v4c4ivaaZxe4GWvvVzK7IgI7J1LGv87IipULlYoV4TaikfFC16VLgFfu5MMZTeXkITHsH2R2LatLkEhBdk5yTvWxXO_hukZZ9w2slVjUk8UAofV-noCsnX7Qppo/s1600/84-8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhck2XkRiuJ5be9qXD9v4c4ivaaZxe4GWvvVzK7IgI7J1LGv87IipULlYoV4TaikfFC16VLgFfu5MMZTeXkITHsH2R2LatLkEhBdk5yTvWxXO_hukZZ9w2slVjUk8UAofV-noCsnX7Qppo/s320/84-8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406213896768818338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LLgD5EfNsw9ns5-DXef2XmTu54kUrQwYc8k2yMI8zc4CcUasYh7B4MmQ2VouKfff7vuXD47ygLKzGT5hfvwcKQ3belHtd3_kDvFupBdshkx_4cBL7vWtdvVYkj8BCQ53NyGqUuIVpt8/s1600/84-7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0LLgD5EfNsw9ns5-DXef2XmTu54kUrQwYc8k2yMI8zc4CcUasYh7B4MmQ2VouKfff7vuXD47ygLKzGT5hfvwcKQ3belHtd3_kDvFupBdshkx_4cBL7vWtdvVYkj8BCQ53NyGqUuIVpt8/s320/84-7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406213891623174242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSLqidy8onHnfxRyoz-CfamX7_vyxPIRq74BZ3Ny0Ub3VLnpQtOzfh9grNPuG94_bQ8X2IL9IcUpVg32tPOYWqXXJNJJICTuvAzej5hAzii_2rT-LrhoxM9DBzdgwTDrtN_Pg8RQe9y8/s1600/84-6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSLqidy8onHnfxRyoz-CfamX7_vyxPIRq74BZ3Ny0Ub3VLnpQtOzfh9grNPuG94_bQ8X2IL9IcUpVg32tPOYWqXXJNJJICTuvAzej5hAzii_2rT-LrhoxM9DBzdgwTDrtN_Pg8RQe9y8/s320/84-6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406213887829449186" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZAI5c6nlFyZKkQwViQnPm923gB5eWsg4oZPux1KqG6iTPgeBbPI5q_fxUh2AMJKVufeTinKDuC0rX9MST3Ny2aIzD0D2ifAypMtmu66DthmuEj5nWS3f8lgC55gNqSi4fCn7mjRVn_c/s1600/84-2-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZAI5c6nlFyZKkQwViQnPm923gB5eWsg4oZPux1KqG6iTPgeBbPI5q_fxUh2AMJKVufeTinKDuC0rX9MST3Ny2aIzD0D2ifAypMtmu66DthmuEj5nWS3f8lgC55gNqSi4fCn7mjRVn_c/s320/84-2-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406213889816616210" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXeoj2Ur6zb1hDeMOc77WhIpI3zkQA77hKF860-mOhCQERjiIDZX-3wiXf3AzVkf_o6nqJU7iyMGJxLiFZx5W_nMtNQJmiJYWJfVGa7rLhNkoUzmlfaP6-QohCby3A0NAiG0czwzNnRYM/s1600/ZERO27.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXeoj2Ur6zb1hDeMOc77WhIpI3zkQA77hKF860-mOhCQERjiIDZX-3wiXf3AzVkf_o6nqJU7iyMGJxLiFZx5W_nMtNQJmiJYWJfVGa7rLhNkoUzmlfaP6-QohCby3A0NAiG0czwzNnRYM/s320/ZERO27.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406213883594735714" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvn2b9mRXS-apPEzcqEa6HnCi6Ls1AD1RUA4G1-eUQ6AYZ6DnA-prFkB9WBgl4a92nBDnQepTigjGX4-1zZ82VYLCNjZQ59F5OSaKGB-cPEabxmG6aKCg2hZWYKaiWYZfBVZFR30xkjs/s1600/ZERO1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvn2b9mRXS-apPEzcqEa6HnCi6Ls1AD1RUA4G1-eUQ6AYZ6DnA-prFkB9WBgl4a92nBDnQepTigjGX4-1zZ82VYLCNjZQ59F5OSaKGB-cPEabxmG6aKCg2hZWYKaiWYZfBVZFR30xkjs/s320/ZERO1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406213485064548866" /></a>Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-75536274057198312312009-10-19T07:59:00.000-07:002009-10-19T08:04:35.267-07:00In the train station, Jarrett reads a story about a thrifty Giraffe in Eastern Europe. He was not only a Shaman, but he also owned a country store. One day, a Crocodile businessman visited the Giraffe Shaman’s country store before a long journey into Asia Minor. The crocodile businessman wished to acquire supplies and rations for his trip, but the Giraffe Shaman’s country store was empty. The Giraffe Shaman said that he had no supplies but that he too, would be embarking on a long journey in a few days and that he could meet the Crocodile Businessman with food and rations before he went hungry. The Crocodile Businessman skeptically left on his journey, keeping a vague faith in the Giraffe Shaman. However, after a few days, it seemed that the Giraffe Shaman had not moved a hoof from behind the counter of his country store. Then, a Laodicean Ox with all of the necessary supplies arrived from Asia Minor. The Ox said, “I felt your thoughts, great Giraffe Shaman, and I set off to your village. On my journey, I ran into a villager from your town who was fresh out of rations.” Thus, the shaman’s journey was not physical at all, but mental, as he arranged for the paths of the supply cart of the Laodicean Ox and the Crocodile Businessman to intersect so conveniently on the same path. Thus, the lesson of thoughts sent from one individual to another, across space and time is learned.<br /><br />There’s a couple across from him, both dressed in business casual clothing. They seem to share the nervous confidence of a budding romance with their laughter and intentionally deep expressions. This makes him nauseous. He imagines in two or three months, they’ll be in the intoxicated guile of a dying relationship, with the man trying to kiss the woman only to be turned away by the confidence of her physical beauty. This makes him feel better. He sees an older woman who begins to cry and he thinks, this is the depression and desperation of dying physical beauty; of rejection. She is alone. I am alone too, he thinks. Jarrett hates when his thoughts turn towards relationships, because they are so transparent, like looking through a one sided mirror at a car crash in slow motion. He hates how it’s a game of vulnerability. He hates how exhausting it is to not be able to stop thinking about one person. He doesn’t want to be “emo” but also doesn’t want to become so cynical. He began looking at horoscopes, and at one time, Jarrett actually thought he could record in a journal his theories on all of his favorite emo love songs, indicating both partners in the love song as belonging to a specific zodiac sign.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-74945012100509569622009-09-29T21:50:00.001-07:002009-09-29T22:36:50.944-07:00recurring dream(?) <br />in a shopping mall with movie theaters <br />bad movies playing always (involving dinosaurs or a non-alec baldwin), <br />many floors, escalators. <br />there was also a house, <br />big, <br />suburban,<br />scary,<br />with many secret passage ways. <br />there were also bowls passed <br />between myself and rachel hall and david kelly <br />before class and to my surprise, they taught awesomeEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-85376664513319589292009-09-25T09:13:00.000-07:002009-09-25T09:23:11.092-07:00http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/jul/29/get-up-kids-emohad some very lucid dreams last night. <br />omniscient but not objective. <br />people reacted to my face<br />when i got close they made funny expressions<br /><br />some things that didn't actually happen happened<br />kanye west's 808s and heartbreaks existed without autotune<br />and the rest of his work existed without samples<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/jul/29/get-up-kids-emo">the get up kids apologize for inventing emo</a>Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-67965994070787786392009-09-22T17:27:00.000-07:002009-09-22T17:32:27.740-07:00had a dream last night:<br /><br />we got a new stove in the kitchen, it was pretty nice<br />found a secret room in my room<br />there were lots of electronic devices in it<br />like an ipod deck, an xbox 360, a ps2, two + tvs, a computer.<br />attached to the secret room was a room completely enclosed by glass.<br />the windows were pretty to look out of and the floor was hardwood.<br />i dreamt that two friends tried to smash the windows<br />i was afraid the windows would break<br />once they did break, i felt a weird relief<br />then i went to class in the dreamEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-72873246195513037992009-09-17T20:00:00.000-07:002009-09-18T09:46:31.222-07:00i felt severely depressed for 7.1 hours<br />then elliot smith's complete discography came to an end<br />and i felt the same way as i did after requiem for a dream or mulholland drive<br />or on most friday afternoons<br />with an acute sense of vacuity and existential detachmentEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-91838792256289541992009-09-16T15:50:00.001-07:002009-09-16T19:33:05.593-07:00a few minutes before class i made a peanut butter sandwich<br />in class, i sat behind an attractive girl<br />i was very self conscious because<br />i smelled like peanut butter<br />i looked at my hands<br />but couldn't find the peanut butter<br />i think perhaps its stuck to my ass or back<br />did i sit on a giant glob of peanut butter <br />thats now on my ass or back?<br />i wish a dog would come lick the peanut butter from my back<br />a german shepard in long sloppy laps<br />against my shirt or pants<br />because then the dog <br />would make funny efforts to eat the peanut butter<br />from the roof of its mouth and i'd have no more peanut butter on my back.<br />but i also hope that the attractive girl in front of me likes german shepards and peanut butter.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-54818899866278734522009-09-16T10:46:00.000-07:002009-09-16T21:00:26.153-07:00for my (cynical) friends(s)CANCER [June 21–July 22] These days, your gods can kick the butts of everyone else's gods. Likewise, your lawyers and agents and sidekicks can most likely outwit and out-wrestle everyone else's. But note that if you try to work alone, you will not be able to kick other people's butts, let alone the butts of their gods, lawyers, agents, and sidekicks. The skills of your allies will be indispensable. The way I see it, your test in the coming days will be to overcome any tendency you might have to indulge in pathological levels of self-sufficiency as you cultivate a greater capacity to ask for and receive help.<br /><br />everything is a game<br />the instructions are<br />to walk away, to sit down (or kneel), <br />or to stand up <br /><br />keep friends (and rivals) close<br />but please: keep enemies away <br /><br />and still the old lesson <br />not to love (and trust) anyone completely <br />because <br />when it ends <br />its without mercyEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-53566924050845307592009-09-15T22:20:00.000-07:002009-09-16T10:45:04.529-07:00the people in the room next to me<br />have way more sex than me<br />i wonder if they will read this<br />if they do read this i wonder if they will care<br />if they do care i wonder if they will be flattered or offended<br />if they are offended i wonder if they will do anything that will end with me taking this post down<br />if they are flattered i wonder if they will ask me to blog more about them having way more sex than me.Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-68321967952291626872009-08-10T09:18:00.000-07:002009-08-10T14:32:50.378-07:00the best night ever<object width="430" height="275" id="delve_playerf41db15d64b449eaa0064d5529d83f23334260o" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"><param name="movie" value="http://assets.delvenetworks.com/player/loader.swf"/><param name="wmode" value="window"/><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><param name="flashvars" value="mediaId=6fd82a52ba5540c78f635f2517667f26&channelId=c8350a63b59f403dab6c89ad27b4b2d7&playerForm=88a26316a62d4655a806dda0da4e95ca&autoplayNextClip=true"/><embed src="http://assets.delvenetworks.com/player/loader.swf" name="delve_playerf41db15d64b449eaa0064d5529d83f23334260e" wmode="window" width="430" height="275" allowScriptAccess="always" allowFullScreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.adobe.com/go/getflashplayer" flashvars="mediaId=6fd82a52ba5540c78f635f2517667f26&channelId=c8350a63b59f403dab6c89ad27b4b2d7&playerForm=88a26316a62d4655a806dda0da4e95ca&autoplayNextClip=true"></embed></object><br /><br />as soon as i got off work that night<br />i went and met up with two of my friends<br />i still had my backpack with me<br />(i always feel weird going to the bar with my backpack still on but sometimes you just gotta do it)<br />us three, chasing a massive high<br />chasing another cheap shot<br />chasing after women<br />chasing after another cigarette<br />we went to this bar<br />it was dark, down a side street<br />it started raining right after we walked in<br />and there she was.<br />sitting at the bar<br />reading the village voice<br />eating a slice of chocolate cake<br /><br />i asked her if she is who i think she is.<br />she said, "yes!"<br />then i told her that i had a crush on her<br />(thoughts racing of how i idolized her, envied her, wanted to marry her, etc, etc....)<br />and she turned away from me<br />looked to my friends<br />swiveled on the stool and asked us,<br />"hey you guys look like you smoke c-notes"<br />she looked down at the newspaper, pointing at a graphic of a greenback.<br />she winked.<br /><br />she was staying in a hotel in jersey for the night<br />we took the path back with her<br />she invited me in pulled me by the hand and left my friends in the hallway<br />and we proceeded<br />to touch and wrestle and smoke and sniff (and fuck)<br />then she packed her things and left town<br />she walked out the door into a beat up maroon van <br />i watched her from the hotel window in a total thoughtless daze <br /><br />i met up with my friends at some diner nearby<br />they asked how my night was <br />i responded, <br />"awesome"<br />then they asked where the drugs were at.<br />(in my euphoric daze i must have left my backpack at the hotel.)<br /><br />by this time the sun was coming up<br />rippling across the waterfront<br />crashing against the immense windows of the hotel<br />when i arrived, a large man was waiting in the lobby. <br />(think: ted stevens from cursive or pete from the fifth wheel by bret easton ellis)<br />i asked if i could have my backpack back.<br />he pointed to it. <br />"what this? you want this?"<br />i stuttered, "well you di...didn't go through it did you?"<br />he proceeded to explain, "in fact i did. <br />i did go through it. <br />and among other things <br />i found two ounces of marijuana."<br /><br />i didnt even run, i walked.<br />i walked out calmly<br />exiting through the revolving doors.<br />i didn't look back <br />because i knew he was following me.<br /><br />when i rounded the corner<br />there he was<br />he punched me in the face<br />i didn't go down but lost sight for a moment<br />wavering on my feet almost falling in the puddle i was standing in<br />(oh god, she was so beautiful i loved the way she smiled at me from over her shoulder as she left oh god i would leave all of my family and all of my friends for her)<br />then he punched me again <br />right in the face. <br />two shots right in a row.<br />(is there something in that hedonism so thickly veiled are all these chemicals just a mechanism to keep us from animalism or maybe they bring us closer to it regardless its a choice its a choice to live with a bleeding stomach and a fried brain flailing wildly for love and companionship. some rastafarian sang that smoking ganja brings you closer to god...i'm unsure)<br />"why would you do that?!?!?" i asked him. <br />we ride in his car to the station<br />i saw a bum taking notes on a paper plate<br />in the front seat he was shuffling through my ipod<br />"great selections man, you must be a rocker, nice, the bosss"<br />(to be honest, i've hated bruce springsteen ever since he lived past 35)<br />but i agreed with him and he put on the song, "she's the one"<br />(the lamest song on the record)<br />and i looked out the window <br />(thinking: maybe ganja does bring you closer to god.)Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-18953126130982792822009-07-26T11:10:00.000-07:002009-07-26T21:24:31.047-07:00An Ocean of Skeletons in Ostendthe ropes tied tight<br />suspend us<br />above a death hungry audience<br />in an opera house<br />on a stage<br />above the street<br />above a marketplace<br /><br />we become a bright chandelier<br />helpless but to glow<br /><br />in this state<br />the only action we see<br />is falling<br />and that is enoughEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-91349120120092559512009-07-21T07:58:00.000-07:002009-07-26T19:00:16.603-07:00bill evans<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/a2LFVWBmoiw&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/a2LFVWBmoiw&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />lock my keys in the apt<br />leave my phone at the beach<br />sleep on the snowy roof<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">dream myself onto a school bus <br />heading to an amusement park<br />i have my phone in the dream<br />i receive many calls in succession<br />your message reads, "call your momz k bye"<br />another reads, "check your email"<br /><br />the email from mom states that i have been spending too much on "lunch money"<br /><br />meet with my mother at a starbucks<br />they only offer one different drink<br />because i complain<br />they do not decorate my plate<br />with french fries and salad<br />like they do my mothers.<br />she offers me her food still<br />and tells me i have spent more on "cafeteria lunch"<br />than she and my father have spent on food this month<br />combined<br /><br />i am in a high school class room<br />its near christmas break, a different feeling about the air from the rest of the year<br />in health class i watch from a projection screen:<br />footage of trey anastasio playing the guitar in a santa hat.<br />i am in the front row<br />i begin to cry at the rambling despair seamlessly pouring from his instrument.<br />you tap me on the shoulder <br />i turn around<br />embarrassed that others may see me in this state<br />you whisper in my ear, smiling coyly,<br />"that's you in 20 years"</span><br /><br />in the morning <br />when my landlord finds the door to the roof wide open<br />he walks out<br />and kicks me in the side of the stomach<br />i ask if he has the keys<br />he says no<br />i collect myself and walk to the trainEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-4294179207277116332009-07-17T09:09:00.000-07:002009-07-17T14:18:24.620-07:00little bugsthe smell of food<br />or urine<br />the sun makes me sweat<br />the train is filled with people<br />they too<br />make me sweat<br />when i wake up its too hot to sleep<br />last night a terrible bug flew about my head<br />i stayed awake until i felt it land on my neck<br />before it could put its stinger in me<br />and leave its saliva in my skin<br />i squashed it<br />once before i squashed one<br />during the day time, <br />while the sun was still out<br />and it was full of blood<br />my blood.<br />(all red with the oxycodone i snorted before grand papap's birthday party)<br />i go to the kitchen window to smoke a cigarette<br />beforelong i realize i have begun to shout at passerbys<br />on the sidewalk<br />one old robot lady with terrible pigeon eyes<br />glares at me from the park across the street<br />her eyes say something to me<br />in the pigeon eyed language of an old robot lady<br />i am screaming, <br />"they're spawning!"<br />and she is watching me <br />from across the street in the park <br />and through her wrinkles her pigeon eyes are speaking <br />in the language of an old robot lady <br />of the lives of all the little bugs who happen across my blood<br />who are soaring high up in the skyEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-9352274921592124432009-07-14T22:48:00.000-07:002009-07-15T11:19:31.507-07:00benderslove is disarming a bomb<br />the explosion a bourgeoisie rose <br />blooms worse than addiction to war<br />a bomb in a body unstitches surefire means to wound a friend<br />devotion is subconscious<br />i am awake<br />i am not there<br />cutting wires spawns intuitive attraction<br />it dissipates in a white washed infirmary unless<br />artifacts are kept under the bed<br />unless the triggers are stored as reminders<br />in a curious crate<br />to swallow pride is picking up yr prescriptions<br />in silence<br />juice boxes are boyhood comraderieEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-88449850742313028732009-07-14T10:17:00.000-07:002009-07-14T10:25:19.074-07:00new formatgonna try a new format for these posts.<br /><br />morning for me:<br /><br />wake up at 8:30 am<br />unsure if its really my alarm clock<br />go back to sleep for another hour<br />scared because i have no socks on<br />finally rouse at 9:40<br />call boss (no answer)<br />think of smoking a roach, but don't (still regret)<br />frantic cig search<br />go to store buy more cigs<br />ride subway with murakami's subconscious overflowing into a mental apocalyptic adventure<br />sleepyhead (or swing tree) and dark was the night<br />wholesale vendors smoking cig<br /><br />"hard enough getting into this world, why would i want to be born again?" - fucked upEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-67422511099528395502009-07-03T13:58:00.001-07:002009-07-03T13:58:45.685-07:00all my old friends aren't so friendlyEthanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671268223310771007.post-26688233068077456412009-07-03T13:04:00.000-07:002009-07-03T13:05:27.683-07:00I don't say i love you cause the way i feel is greaterThe Roots - Water<br />Death Cab for Cutie - Summer Skin<br /><br /><a href="http://rxgrendal.tumblr.com">check it</a>Ethanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02353391975512817484noreply@blogger.com0