What's your musical horoscope? (Put your player on shuffle and write down the first 10 songs that come up.)
Inspired by Stephanie.
- Drama - Yossha Makashitoki
- deep forest - strange days
- Arrogant Worms - History Is Made By Stupid People
- 311 - Brodels
- Fields Of The Nephilim - Laura II
- The Freak Accident - Chinese Phrasebook
- Frank Black - Places Named After Numbers
- Coldplay - Everything's not lost
- elipsis.one - iapetus
- Dir en grey - Kasumi (Album Mix)
What's your favorite blend or brand of coffee or tea?
Being a coffee monkey, I have to first admit that my snobbery only extends to being able to tell the difference in flavors and roasts. I'll still happily go to IHOP and get a pot there as long as cream and sugar is on the table!
That said, I'll just pick from what we have at Java Werks right now: Magnolia French is my favorite dark because it comes off very bold, but finishes very clean.
For tea, I'd say Yerba Matte right now. It's a green tea tisane type, and very authentic tasting.
It is supposed to keep the formatting and all that jazz.
So!
I use the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile as my test subject.
Because who doesn't love the weinermobile??
Who taught you how to ride a bike?
My dad is the one that took me out.
I hate learning new things in front of people. Paralyzed with the knowledge that someone will see me screw something up. So I kept falling off the bike.
When he finally went back home in disgust (or just flat gave up?) I got on the bike and rode it home. No witnesses. So I didn't make a mistake.
I'm bad at blogging. I admit it. Even worse at blogging when I try to do structure in my content. (Like this blog with the links to things. I'd been hoping to add pictures, and eventually audio (and in fact downloaded Audacity to try to start doing some audio stuff) but this blog keeps falling by the wayside. It's become habit in fact to come here and blog about how I'm not blogging.
Can we pretend that's meta-content, and that I'm actually doing something terribly meaningful and artistic here?
My keyboard is really really dirty, also. In case you were wondering.
Anyway, I have stuff to do, so here's another non-entry.
Windows, Mac, Linux - What's your preference and why?
Submitted by ramblingsbymark.
Linux is fun and open source, but its not compatable with everything I need to do. Sure GIMP is available, but damnit I want to use Photoshop and Illustrator without running a hack to get it up.
Mac has great packaging and customer service, but still there are limitations with what it runs. I can run all the Mac software and then some on my PC.
Windows is what I'm used to, but each version is more bloated and buggy than the last. At least it runs everything I wish to run on my machine though...
Then I had to remember my login.
Then I had to have my password emailed to me.
And now I'm posting this picture. Because...
I have been told in the past that I have the ability to climb into (your) head and take up residence. That I know what buttons of (yours) to push, and that I can do so with remarkable skill, even tending to hit them in the right order. If sex was a game of Simon, I'd perpetually have high score.
Sounds arrogant huh?
I could tell you how I do it. It's no great secret, except the secret of observation. I watch you, I listen to you, I say things and see which ones make your eyes light up, and which ones make you clench your hands in secret fists. I save those for later. But it's not such a challenge, no one is as complicated as they think they are when it comes to sex.
And that includes me.
My buttons are not so far below the surface, and yet they seem miles away from you. The things I want are too complicated, too hard, too much, for...you. And so I sit, and simmer, knowing I gave the best of what I could to you, to have it held just out of reach. I can't have what I want, and I can't make myself want what I have.
How long will I have to linger in your head, before I can let go?
I'm a writer. An escribitionist if you will. To keep notebooks like Kafka, or Fitzgerald even. To extract the essential natures of things and people into my fiction. To write something resembling a memoir of our time. To dwell in the minutia of life and find a way to make it entertain and inform.
And yet, as a fictionalist, I am coming into conflict with that ideal. In a story which is not even true, I find myself shying away from finding an audience. I find myself closing in, to hide something I am scrawling. Whenever it gets too close, when I come to the edge of the transgressive, I find myself tearing off the pages with the perversity, and tossing them into the intellectual furnace. I watch with a sense of sorrow and distress as they burn away, the ink on the mental paper sometimes lingering faintly in the ash.
But the self-censor keeps working overtime, and so some of my best works remain private. Not for display here, unless the family friendly requirements of the site somehow change. They have no curio cabinet into which to fit, no backlit shadowbox to show them off. It is enough to make me pine wistfully.
I wonder if I have the courage, the fortitude, the endurance to be a Lovecraft or a Wilde. A Nin, or a Miller. Or if to even ask myself that is to indulge in acts of ego. Would my writing about an underage fictional character having sex be art? Or just an act of refusal to let go of something I didn't have control of when it happened?
The stories that I have in my head are sometimes stories I worry about sharing. But I think there's a place between the place I'm afraid of going, and the place where you (the reader) are entirely comfortable. I want, as a writer, to make you squirm in your seat a little. To make you wonder what things are in your heart, what things you would do in an entirely consequence free world.
