think 'boob job'

supernormal sign stimuli: an artificially exaggerated agent which triggers biologically innate neurochemical releasing mechanisms more effectively than would a naturally intended agent.



blabbity schmabbity. i just wrote the longest explanation of why i think this is a fascinating phenomena and why it's presence in nature completely destroys the only justification i could ever come up with for the existence of human beings and their behavior, and then the whole thing disappeared when i tried to put a picture of a little blue fish in it. i guess i'll put the fish in anyway and let you, dear reader, try to fill in the gaps. i will also go cry for a while and try to build up the courage to dust myself off and re-write later. (not going to happen)

litost & schmaltz: a (non)crucifixion

i recently received an e-mail from someone who said that as a form of self-validation he sometimes tries to convince other people to live life the way he does, even though he isn't sure that the way he lives has ever actually made him happy. maybe he was trying to warn me that he's a bit of an asshole, but, being the cancer that i am, what i saw was a sad and confused person who was experiencing a bit of litost*. this, of course, induced a wave of empathy and the empathy got me thinking about what it means to be happy (corny, i know) in hopes that some graspable explanation might make his doubt go away. this is what i came up with, it's nothing profound but right now (and i'm not exactly sure why) i feel like handing it over to posterity... sometimes you just have to go with these feeeeeeelings:
'when i think back i can remember times when i've been happy, but as i lived those same times i never realized how happy i was.  maybe all you can do is try out as many different scenarios as possible then go back to examine each and hope you didn't burn the bridge to the one that turns out to have made you happiest.   or maybe maturity is being able to define that golden scenario and recreate it for yourself.   or maybe happiness is for the ignorant and the naive.   or maybe it's just something your brain fabricates and then coats memories with so that everyone doesn't jump into traffic.   who knows?'  
(ugh, god. am i a schmaltzy dork or what? no wonder dudes are totally freaked out by me, i'm a 25 year old middle schooler.) so on top of those ponderings i am also reminded of a dream i recently had. in the dream i was on top of a platform which stood on stilts very very high up in the air and sort of wobbled and swayed. it was frightening. then on the platform appeared, a small disjointed landscape with buildings and people and trees all scattered around like building blocks. they were there to serve as a place to live. there, i would be able to find refuge from my fear because i'd be too small to fully realize that, in the grander scheme, i was in a frightening place. have i written about holding your palm up to your fave and then trying to read the lines on it? i probably have. it would be like that. then a voice in my head said that i could build that landscape into anything that i wanted it to be as long as i had the wisdom to decide what i wanted. basically, i had the ability to make it as perfectly matched to myself as i wanted, but if i didn't know myself well enough or if was was too scared to choose, then it would sit in shambles and i'd be left with no place to find comfort. what i'm trying to extract from this dream is a little hard to say and i'm afraid i'm not saying it very elegantly, but this is the best i can do right now. my attention span is short more often than not (there's a circumstantially funny statement for you) and i keep running into brick walls when i try to think of where i was going with any of this or what i should say next. i suppose i don't have to go anywhere with any of it. it's not like everything i ever do has to have some great lesson attached to it. nothing i ever said or did before ever had any lesson attached to it, no reason to start now. why not enjoy doing things that involve a little bit of myself and not feel like i'm disappointing the world? the world really doesn't expect much and if it doesn't get what little it expects it simply loses interest and moves on, that's the only punishment for bad self expression. like, did you ever hear that song "a singer must die" by leonard cohen? well it's really nothing like that at all. yyyyyeah.


*litost is supposedly a czech word which has no equivalent in any other language. it is defined by milan kundera as "a state of torment caused by a sudden insight into one's own miserable self." really that's all i know of the word, but i like it. if someone happens to be reading this, to you i say don't bother attempting to google 'litost' because you are only going to get a bunch of other lame ass self indulgent blogs talking about the same shit from the same book i read.

boargies

i want to talk about my teeth. i think that my... fangs? what are fangs called? incisors? well, both my upper and lower fangs feel like they are growing sharper. does this happen to humans? am i going to need to get some chew sticks before i look like a wild boar? they're rubbing on my lips and causing me to make funny faces (at least i think they're funny, i can't really see them) am i turning feral? am i a she-wolf? wtf? is this punishment for the very few bad things i've ever done? or better yet am i being rewarded for all the good things i've done with a nice set of pouty lips? i'd like that. really any kind of change would be nice. boarface, poutmouth, whatever. some new jeans. a change of scenery. waking up to discover i'm living a bohemian lifestyle. same as it ever was. i think i could be a gypsy if i was in good company. this idea appeals to me. i have an old accordion somewhere, i can take it around and play it... except i can't play it well because it's way too heavy. but i think people might pay to see the boar girl pout and play a shoddy death dirge on an accordion that's half as big as she is. OR i've been meaning to learn to play the saw. i could do that too. it doesn't really look that hard. maybe i'll take a nice strong lover and he can play the heavy accordion and i can sing and play the saw. we'll do it out of the back of our caravan (dodge) and we'll steal food from orchards, hustle people for cash and fuck under the stars. yes. i like this. breaking out of the middle class shell is a good thing. a girl's got to live a little. i read this thing about an asian philosophy of the genesis of the world, it was saying that before there was the universe there was darkness (foul and evil) and there was light (pure and good) and they were two separate things, but the violent powers of the darkness overwhelmed the light and a cosmic battle ensued. the universe is that battle. speckles of light in the darkness, a compound of wisdom and violence wherein each is vehemently fighting for victory. (perhaps this tension is what life springs from?) since man is a part of this universe he too is by nature a battle ground and can not truly be alive unless he roots himself in the struggle and is at times both good and evil. (okay, most of what i just wrote is plagiarism except the last part which is a total self serving misinterpretation. i am using this Zoraster principal to justify being a shitty person sometimes, despite the fact that i am well aware of how off base my version is. and guess what. suckas can't stop me. just know that i know this.) see, so if i don't do impulsive bad things sometimes i am ignoring the naturally dark half of the universe and consequently destroying the force of life by throwing off the balance. NAY i am insulting the very power that created me and placed me here to join the game, the shadow play between light and dark. gypsy life it is! i'm going to go start packing.