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Monthly Archives: January 2017


A Room Temperature, Gray, Lumpy Mush

Everything has to be something else. Actually, everyone has to be something you don’t expect. When everyone can be anything, nothing and no one becomes interesting. Novelty walks by and it’s a sore—tamp down on that bump of discoloration until it’s flat. It isn’t so bad that some men are smarter than most women, it’s also not so bad that some men are stupider than most women, because intelligence is value-neutral. You read that right, but read it again. Or, to reword it: high intelligence is preferable in some situations, in others, it’s not. A shipwrecked string theorist can’t do much if he doesn’t know how to hunt and create fire, and knowing the ins and outs of string theory aren’t going to help. All of it goes deeper than that but I don’t have the time right now. Have a penis? Chop that alien protuberance off and get co-dependent: get into the habit of being responsible for the happiness of everyone around you. Have a vagina? Cement over that disgusting wound and set your clenched jaw against complete strangers for the approval of a harridan gender studies professor. Reality can only be tolerable as a flat, inoffensive, unlined paper, upon which no one may strike a mark.

Links of Possible Relevance, Part 19

Stop Saying “Whilst”

“Stop Crying” subreddit – That link doesn’t go anywhere because the subreddit doesn’t exist. Someone needs to start it, though, kind of like the “I Am Very Smart” or “Le Wrong Generation” subreddits, to highlight all the people who comment on Facebook images or Youtube videos of overtly sentimental subject matter with tears in their eyes (“damn those onion-cutting ninjas!” etc.). It’s getting out of hand.

LOL – LOL

Red Deer man punches cougar at Tim Hortons to save dog – I thought cougars would be more into Bob Evans.

SpecFaith: The Need for Diversity in Christian Fiction – No. God, please no. God doesn’t need diversity in anything any more than He needs a peanut butter sandwich or a stovepipe replacement. Evangelical Christians are like conservative Republicans—they hop on cultural trends 5-10 years too late, when everyone else has moved on to the next progressive cause.

Oh No, a Shortage of Dead People – Some folks are too retarded to figure out the negative, unseen, unintended effects of their favorite public policies, but the moment the private sector does something, there’s a sudden burst of insight!

The world is getting more frighteningly stupid by the day. – Yes it is, Jill. It is.

Megadeth’s “Hangar 18” – Ending on a positive note! One of my favorite songs from one of my favorite albums…and it still holds up today, 25+ years later. This seems to be the remastered version, and thankfully they didn’t quiet down Dave Mustaine’s and Marty Friedman’s solo dueling. Hey, speaking of solos, as far as metal it doesn’t get any better than these solos. Keep in mind this was pre-Protools, make-everything-sounds-the-same era. You can feel them beating the crap out of those strings raw to get them to sound the way they want: lots of string scraping and accidental pinch harmonics. As one user commented: “Best solo battle ever, best solos ever, best solo tone ever.”

I Don’t Know What This Is, Part 7

It was a decent dystopia—it really wasn’t one…I was just the only person to know the context and the coming flood. I met a friend, I think from high school, in the multilevel city. He was pushing a small food cart. He opened the lid and tried to pass off the floating heads as meatballs, which I guess they were to most folks. Again, I was the only one to notice things around here.

Later on, the meat-heads became entire meat-people, and started chasing me all around the crowded city, like Arnold in any of his movies. We had a shootout in a convenience store. Bullets and potato chips everywhere, women scuttling away from the line of fire. One of the meat-people died, probably. When meat is already dead it’s hard to tell.

I arrived at some other building, ground level. The skyline was visible, and we could tell the waters were rushing in because the sky on the horizon made it obvious: black and roiling. Why the sky has to change is beyond me—whoever designed this apocalypse didn’t put a lot of effort into it. I blame Arnold movies.

We all died. I don’t remember where the last save point was.

I Don’t Know What This Is, Part 6

There was an Hispanic lady at the Chinese takeout place. I don’t know how I knew that. I tried my rudimentary Spanish on her, and she responded back with salsa-flavored friendliness. She knew I made an effort. I almost jumped the counter to tell the cooks my order because I thought that was customary. Someone held me back. There were two hands on my arm and it felt like a grip from different people. Maybe they can self-multiply on necessity.

The next day or month we were in a waffle house. The hostess was friends with us somehow but she didn’t give us any special treatment. She didn’t give any customers treatment. No one had food but we were all okay with it. When we left, still hungry, we found out she leaked gold or diamonds out of her various bodily holes—all of them. We didn’t think it worth the trouble turning around to become independently wealthy. She was black and she didn’t like white people. That’s not saying much because she hated everyone in the restaurant the same.

Two Battle Songs

Ran across these two songs, and I found them enjoyable. They are both from the game NieR, which I am told is one of the better action RPGs from the previous gen of consoles (Playstation 3, Xbox 360). The game features a levitating, talking book that follows the PC around. That’s already a good premise.

Contrast the voices in the two videos: In “Song of the Ancients,” the women sing almost as mezzo-sopranos, while in “Emil Karma,” the boy is pretty much soprano. Emil in the game is voiced by Julie Ann Taylor, but I don’t know if she sings the song or if it’s an actual boy. To my knowledge, these songs play during battle scenes in the game.

At first I thought it odd to have a battle song sung by females, but then I remembered in an Old Testament class I took in college, that women would trail behind the Hebrew armies as they marched, to clap and sing encouraging songs*. They also did that after returning home from battle. There were probably similar phenomena in other pre-modern cultures.

Having some girls cheer you is a favored thing to guys, anyway, but maybe it was a bigger deal to them since there’s no telling what would happen on the battlefield. The nation of Israel could live on even after one of the sperm donors men got run through with a rusty Canaanite spear, but once the women are gone, that’s pretty much it. Imagine that—being praised for something you were supposed to do anyways, even when you failed at it (cue that Aaron Copland symphony). I can only speak for guys, but unless you’re a millionaire genius Navy Seal or there’s social media points involved, praise for performing a cultural mandate is hard to come by**.

* I remember this very specifically because the teacher mentioned a “sedan” was involved, and I (first) thought it was weird that they had Honda Civics back then.
** Sorry, MGTOW losers: men were always expected to perform proactively, way before feminism was an itch in Mary Wollstonecraft’s crumpety crotch.
*** Bonus unreferenced footnote: this post is not me complaining about “society” cheating me out of anything. No one owes me a damn thing.

“This sentence has meaning.”

Rock and pop aren’t as self-referential to the extent hip-hop, blues, or country are—though rock and pop are a few tiny notches more than classical I attribute rock’s statistics to AC/DC’s songs about…rockin’, in the non-euphemistic sense.

Rock takes itself too seriously. You have to take classical seriously because it took a long time and lots of money to enter into it, and to even listen to it…this is all pre-Industrial Rev and modern recording. I guess some of that carries over to this day.

So imagine how odd it is for a pop rock band vocalist to sing about what the song is doing as he’s singing it. The meta- semiotics being smuggled in there is a goldmine. A goldmine of something.

Ivoryline – And The Truth Will End This lyrics.

Bonus: clean-cut rock bands (it’s a siding scale, generationally) should also use semi-gory figurative phrasing to up the cognitive dissonance. “I won’t stop ’til I turn your insides out”? Graphic!

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