Provoking Someone's Eye Out

Provoke: Transient Verb. to stir action or feeling. to provide the needed stimulus for. to induce. Verb. to call forth emotions, feelings, and responses.


It is all about this. This moment. Right here. This. One. Moment. This Little. Moment. Wanting in. This moment. See it. Hear it. Smell it. Taste it. Feel this moment. Feel something. Feel anything. Where. Have the moments gone. No one has. This moment. Anymore. No one feels. This moment. Something. Anything. Anymore.

We have. All stopped feeling. Something. Anything. We wake. Get dressed. Work. Go home. Do something. Do something else. Sleep. Repeat. Repeat again. Repeat fifty thousand times. And it is. Shallow. Empty.

We. Get high. Fuck our best friend's spouse. Watch mind numbing television. Have mind numbing conversation. About. Nothing. Drink too much. Cheap beer. Drink too little. Expensive beer. Wax. Wane. Pretentiously. We are so progressive. Here. In this moment. Waxing. Waning. About the state of the union. We. Walk past four men. Sleeping on the street. Holes in their shoes. Hands in our pockets. Head down. Forget. Everything.

We are so progressive. In this city. We are. So. Progressive.

Home. Sleep. Repeat. Repeat again. Repeat fifty thousand times.

And really. What I'm talking about. These moments. Not his moments. Or her moments. Not someone over there's moments. Your moments. Each and every one of your moments. You think. Not think. You are immune. To such moments. Not immune. Better than these moments. Not better. More evolved than these moments. De-evolving. I have seen them. The moments. Your moments. Each one.

And when I do I want to. Do something. Like. Yank out your eyeball. With some. Super Tarantino style kung fu action. In a moment. Fingers ready. Pluck. Gone. All kinds of eyeball missing glop. Hanging out of the. Socket. Drop it in the dirt. Spit. Stomp. Up. Down. Hating every second that you can. See out of the eye. That remains. So it. Must. Not. Remain.

Repeat. Repeat again. Repeat fifty thousand times.

Lick the cornea. Put the eye. In a blender. Set it on. Frappe.

No one really gets to use the frappe setting anymore.

Toss in. Vanilla Silk soymilk. Maybe some raspberries. Tobasco. Strychnine. Strap you down with. Twine. Stolen from the Ikea parking lot. Duct tape. Eyelids open. You. Instinctively. Blink. No reason. Anymore. Feed you the eyeball-vanilla-Silk-soymilk-raspberry-tabasco-strychnine concoction.

Delicious.


** Credit and thanks to B SHARP for providing the title of this post. Thanks B. Oh wait. I already said that. Nevermind then.

Paranoia Settles into the Brain

So. Uh. Okay.

Here is a bit of information for you all. Lately I have been checking out the domain names of those who have been checking me out. I have noticed a fair amount of repeat customers. This makes me happy. But today. Today. This morning. Moments ago. I noticed a domain name that did not make me happy. In fact. It made me a bit. Well. Concerned. Worried if you will. Freaked out kinda.

Someone. Some traffic. Originating from a United States Army domain name. Checked out my blog.

Now I'm not really the paranoid conspiracy theory type. Okay. Well. I sort of am. But I don't believe that anyone would really have any interest in little ol' me. I'm pretty boring actually. But this. Sort of uh. Got me concerned. And I'm sure it's probably just someone goofing off at work on the Federal dime. But. Uh. Well.

I'm wondering if I should be. Well. Worried.

My So-Called Sexy Ass Friends and the New Plague

I have some sexy friends. Really. I do. My friends are shitdamnmotherfucking sexy as hell. And you realize what this means don't you. It means that I should be fucking each and every one of my friends.

No. That is not what it means. Silly rabbit. It means that this is the second post in a row where I am saying nice shit about people. I must be sick. Those of you who know. Know that I am sick. Quite sick indeed. And have figured out this sickness thing. It is none other than bronchio-whooping-pneumonia. Horrible. Isn't it.

So I have bronchio-whooping-pneumonia. And it is not contagious. But it isn't pleasant. The last time I publically discussed my sickness I informed you that I had been coughing up my internal organs. Because I couldn't cough up anything else. Not to get graphic. But this is about to get REAL FUCKING GRAPHIC. So those of you with a weak stomach might want to stop reading now. Skip to the end or something when my tangent will wrap back around and I will be saying nice things about people again.

Still with me. Good.

So I have had this insane dry cough. And chances are. If you have seen me within the last two weeks I have either coughed on you or over you or under you or in your general direction or possibly even kept you awake most of the night with my dry hacking cough.

But guess what. I have good news. My cough isn't...uh...dry anymore. Actually. It is pretty fucking wet. And when I say wet. I could only be referring to one thing.

Phlegm.

Yes. Phlegm.

Even the spelling of the word looks awful. And it sounds awful. Go on. Say it. Say it out loud. Phlegm. Ew. And when I say phlegm people. I mean some of the thickest and stringiest and nastiest shit flying out of my throat. In fact. A mere five minutes ago. I was leaning over the sink in my kitchen. Choking on my own freakin' phlegm.

DISCLAIMER: I originally wrote most of this post last night. So when I wrote it, it was indeed a mere five minutes ago. I am currently sitting in my office at my place of employment and I have not forcibly expelled any phlegm yet today. But the day isn't over yet. So. Let me continue.

And when I finally forcibly expelled it (meaning phlegm) out of my body. It was like giving birth.

Okay. I don't know if it was really like giving birth. Giving birth is probably worse. When I was in high school. Instead of taking auto shop like I wanted. My guidance counselor made me take a course entitled "Child Development" oh yes. Child freakin' development. I remember two things from this course.

First. We had to carry around a freakin' egg for a freakin' week. I guess this was Westhill High School's ghetto ass low budget way of teaching us what it might be like to have a child at the tender age of fifteen. Shit. There were grrrls in my class who were already pregnant. Guess this lesson came a bit on the late side for them. Anyway. My mother -- bless her sweet little immigrant heart -- thought this was the most ludicris idea she ever heard and promptly put my egg in the refrigerator. Where it freakin' belonged.

The second thing I recall from this class was the video from hell. The video of an actual womyn giving actual birth.

This video was all up close and personal. And when I say close up I mean that either the camera had some massive zoom action going on or the person shooting the video was seriously all up on that shit. That video was the only birth control I ever needed. It was by far worse than some of the crime scene photographs that I have since seen. So. I really have no desire. None whatsoever. To ever give birth. And seeing that I don't really have any desire to ever give birth. Let us just call this projectile phlegm action the closest thing I will get to ever in a million billion years to actually giving birth.

My lungs are filled with something nasty. It's like something out of a bad horror movie. And I normally wouldn't share this with you all but damn. I have to tell someone. And here you are. Just sort of right here/there/wherever you are. So you get to hear it.

Let me say that I just don't feel so cute right about now. And I think I'm normally kind of cute. Sort of sometimes cute at least. But now. No cute action. And a great many of you have put up with my non-cuteness as of late. Thanks for that by the way. I owe you some serious cuteness when this is all over.

Or at least some head.

Which brings me back to the reason I began this post in the first place. And that was a damn fine segue by the way. My sexy ass friends. How is it possible that I know so many sexy people. Am I just lucky. I must be. Do I just attract sexy people into my life. Quite possible. Do I maybe have a strange and unusual view as to what is in fact sexy. Pretty damn sure.

So I know some sexy people. In my group of friends and extended friends and such we've got all kinds of sexy. Sexy smiles. Sexy vocal action. Sense of humor sexy. Sexy attitudes. Sexy brainy individuals. Especially those of you who don't even know how sexy and brainy you are one little bit. Insane sexy communication. Dorky sexy. Geeky sexy. Nerdy sexy. And how about talent sexy. All sorts of talent. Artistic drawin' talent sexy. Paintin' talent sexy. Writin' talent sexy. Photographin' talent sexy. Music makin' talent sexy. Sexy folk near and far. Sexy in ways you don't even know.

Yeah. I probably should just fuck all of you. Sexy ass bitches.

This Post Sponsored by the Letter U

The end of two thousand and five is approaching. Two thousand and five. And it is mind blowing if you think about it. Well. Uh. Not really. But that sounded quite enthusiastic didn't it.

I recall when I was in my early teens having a conversation with my high school friend Liggy. We were talking about the future and we were somewhat distraught because we felt that we would be "too old" to fully celebrate the milennium when it in fact arrived. Somehow the thought of being twenty seven years of age was akin to having one foot in the grave and the other in a nursing home. I suppose this is a normal and natural process for the fifteen year old mind. And I am reminded of this every time a young person feels the need to call me ma'am.

Ma'am. Oh bloody hell. Only one person on this planet is actually permitted to refer to me as ma'am without experiencing some very well practiced excessive eye rolling or an over abundance of sarcastic tongue lashing. Only one. So do not attempt this at home thinking that you are that one because the odds are against you. You are most likely not that one.

But I digress.

So. Two thousand and six. It will be here soon. Contemplation often ensues during this end of old and beginning of new year sort of thing. I am not certain as to whether or not I am feeling particularly contemplative. Eh. Who am I kidding. I am always at least somewhat contemplative. At any rate. Somehow the collective "we" feel that if one is to be contemplative or enact significant or non-significant change a new year is an appropriate time to begin such contemplative enactment action.

It is as if we somehow we feel as though we get a fresh start when the calendar flips. The slate is wiped clean. We can begin again. There is a second or third or fifth or fiftith chance. And somehow we can be reborn if we so choose.

But if you ask me. And I know you have not. But knowing me you all are fully aware of the fact that you do not have to ask in order for me to throw my opinion into the mix. So. If you ask me. Ahem. Uh. Shit. I no longer recall where I was going with this idea.

Oh yes. If you ask me. It all seems like a great deal of pressure. This pre new year contemplative enactment action of significant or non-significant change. And with too much pressure things tend to explode or implode or just get sort of soggy.

Soggy. Now is that any way to resolve or enact anything significant or non-significant. I think not. So no pressure cooker action. I will attempt to avoid the soggy exploding implosion. At least in this moment. I cannot promise that it will last. It must be that Gemini thing. Whatever that means.

Anyway. I am not going to make a list of things that I resolve to resolve in the coming year. No. I will not. I refuse to make a list that outlines enactment action of significant or non-significant change. It is tempting. I know I could do it. But I will not. Out of protest. For uh. Something.

Maybe I will talk about you. That would be nice. You. Yes. You. Now that seems like a rather good idea indeed. I will talk about you instead of talking about me. And I will say something nice. I will. Stop laughing. I will say something nice. I will. In fact. Say. Something. Nice.

So here is the nice shit. And I mean it. But do not ask me to go through it all again. I have an image to uphold here people. Uh. Here we go.

Let me say that I am honored to have met and to know some of the most amazing individuals on this planet. Seriously. I am not trying to kiss your collective asses. If anything. You all should be kissing my ass. Collectively and individually. But I mean it. I know some kick ass fucking fantastic human beans. My life has been and continues to be enriched by all of you. Including those of you that I know will never ever read a single word of my ramblings.

You are all beautiful. And talented. Each in your own right. This is true. All of you. Yes. I said all of you. Each and every one of you has in some way had an impact on my existence on this planet this year. Many of you in ways you could not possibly know. Or ways that I could not possibly have imagined. And perhaps "we" should inform each other more often of the wonderful ways in which each individual enriches our life. I am not certain if anyone does this enough. If I had to guess I would probably say that I do not. Unless I am drunk. And that really doesn't count. Because you are usually drunk too. And we don't remember these things then. And life is short. Too short not to say what you mean when you mean it. But I suppose we are all guilty of not doing so for a variety of reasons. But I digress.

We were talking about you. Well. I was talking about you. Many of you. And I mean you. But also you. The you that doesn't know that I am referring to you. Because maybe we have only had a few interactions. Maybe we don't know each other very well. Or maybe we know each other very well. Either way. I am talking about you. The many of you. Because in short you rock. But I am not brief. I am verbose. So I will continue. You are also wise. Compassionate. Encouraging. Inspiring. Loving. Gentle. Passionate. Humble. Brilliant. Geeky as hell. Hysterically funny.

I am an observer. And I have observed you all. In a variety of places and spaces and settings. And I have seen more than you probably know. For some of you more than I wanted to see. But I digress. Seriously. In the little details. I have seen everything. And I am duly impressed. And this doesn't mean that you are perfect. You are all georgously flawed. I am not flawed in any way of course. But we are not talking about me. We are talking about you. Yes. You.

So. Some of you drive me crazy. And others I wish would drive me a bit more crazy. But that might be getting a bit too personal. And since this is not about me I will refrain.

I guess what I am getting at is you are all wonderful for a whole host of different reasons. And I do most certainly hope that you all can see your wonderfulness. You are beautiful. Really.

Well. I do believe that is enough sappy ass shit for one post. Pardon me while I take my leave to go vomit now. Blech. Yuck. Gross.

I mean. Whatever. You didn't really buy all that shit did you. I most certainly hope not. I was just kidding. Sucker.

Possession Inflection Interjection

I have been thinking about language. Again. Language. And more specifically. The ways in which the use of language influences thought. And even more specifically. The ways in which we use language indicating possession.

Now I am speaking of possession. But not of the demonic variety. Forget about Linda Blair for a moment. Although I wonder if I might be able to use this as an interesting analogy. I may return to this idea later. But not now. And just so we are all on the same page. Let me be more specific. To possess is to have some degree of control over the object of said possession.

So. Here. I have been thinking about one word in particular as of late. One word denoting possession.

My.

Yes. My. And there are many ways in which one can use the word my. So let me break it down further.

My. My is an adjective. It is used as the possessive form of I. It is used to modify a noun. So my essentially denotes possession of the noun it modifies. Now with this little refresher in mind it can be said that there are many times in which one might want to denote possession of a noun in the first person in such a manner. Hence. The use of my. For example. I may want to speak of something that I purchased. In such a case I would use the possessive my as the modifier. And to provide further example I will list several nouns that could potentially be modified by said my modifier.

Book. Shoe. Pen. Keys. Bed. Spoon. Camera. Notebook. Gum. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Lover.

WHAT.

Wait. Something has gone terribly wrong. Did I say...yes. Yes. I did.

This is what has been puzzling me as of late. And let me back up for a moment. I understand that we live in a society with capitalism as a framework. And everything is built upon this frame. Everything always has been and likely always will be based on ownership and control and more specifically, the ownership and control of property. In some way. Shape. Form.

It could be argued that property ownership has been the central focus of all existence. And I am not speaking of all cultures and all times. I am not smart enough to do such things. I am not a historian. Nor am I an anthropologist. I can only speak of this place. And this general time period. So with that said. I have disclaimed. Let me continue.

Property. Control. Ownership. And what does this mean. What does this mean for our relationships and the ways in which we view those individuals with whom we share relationship.

It would seem to mean that in some way or shape or form we view people as some form of property. Not a new concept. In our society people were long viewed as property. Another example of the ways in which language and notions of property meld. Rule of Thumb. The original Rule of Thumb stated that a man could beat his wife with a switch. Provided it was not wider than the width of his thumb. Women were deemed the property of a man. Father. Uncle. Husband. And this was acceptable. And my point here is not to determine the rights and/or wrongs of the past. I am merely stating a fact about the past. Without value judgment in this moment. Perhaps I will value judge in a different moment.

But if you examine the ways in which we use language. You can see. Many people utilize the Rule of Thumb phrase. Without meaning to reference to original meaning. And perhaps when I said the people were long viewed as property. I meant. That although we would like to think that things have changed. They. Really. Haven't. Not much.

I would argue that our notion of people and property is much more ingrained than we might realize. And I will offer a second disclaimer. I am not a linguist. Someone who has studied linguistics might agree or disagree or both. Recall these are merely my thoughts. Therefore. Let us continue. Return for a moment to the aforementioned list. My boyfriend. My girlfriend. My lover. My. My. My. My person with significant descriptor attached.

And I don’t believe that people consciously think of possessive qualities when they speak. Or when they are my-ing. I don’t believe that this is intentional. But language is pervasive. And I do believe that it influences the way in which we think and therefore, the way in which we define relationships. And therefore, the way we live our relationships. Furthermore. I believe this has the potential to be psychologically damaging to said relationships.

Psychologically damaging. And perhaps this is where we can return to the Linda Blair analogy. I will argue that we have all either witnessed or experienced relationships in which one person in said relationship has their head spinning around. They are projectile vomiting the likes of which we may never have seen. It may very well be Academy Award winning. Confusion. Misunderstanding. Jealousy. Anger. Heartache. More jealousy. Dishonesty. More confusion. And perhaps if we viewed everyone as an independent individual. A sharing of intimacy on part of each individual. Not a possession. No control. Not ownership. Perhaps then. The confusion and misunderstanding and jealously and anger and heartache and more jealousy and dishonesty and more confusion and such would not exist. For our baseline view of the individual. Our baseline view of the relationship. And perhaps most important, our baseline view of ourselves would be different.

I believe this would be freeing. And our relationships would be richer and deeper.

But now we are back to language. You may be wondering how to describe a relationship with another individual without using the possessive. And I don’t have the answer. You may be wondering how I describe such relationships. I will tell you that I struggle with the use of the possessive. I am certainly guilty of utilizing it in a variety of circumstances. I want this to change. And this requires a great deal of re-training.

I believe we need significant modification to language. One that permits us to describe relationships without gaining possession or asserting subliminal control over people in such a manner. I believe we need to take everything that we think we know and turn it upside down. Shake the dirty secrets out of deep pockets. Allow them to fall to the floor. Sort through the lint. And you all know about my love affair with language. My fetish with words. I do not suggest we stop communicating in a verbal manner. This is not the answer. This is not my answer. I do suggest one moment of thought. One. Single. Tiny. Moment.

And perhaps. Just maybe. We will find the answers. Together.