Ritual - News

The News - March 2008

I had broadcast my theory on my weekly pocast last night for the last time - this was the last episode on what I was certain my friends, as scarcely as they knew what I was trying to promote nor did they bother to feign any interest or feedback at all, they were friends of mine because I was able to tolerate them and we snacked on the same types of carbs and were able to ignore our apathy and our personal beliefs and we never thought much about who we were.

I certainly was able to fool them, like all the others and brothers and their mothers - for I was an imposter. It hurt some ways to be an imposter, and it hurt to know that they were so ragile and of average IQ that they didn't intellectualize a goddamn insight they didn't have - it hurt AND yet gave me time to be my own best friend and I minded my mind happily.

Thought Disorder Awareness Campaign - led by Dr. Wendy Clark Hudson

"Thought Disorder" Awareness Campaign! (Be a part of the solution, not the other part!)

An abstract concerning the alarming disorder which is wrecking humanity/civilization/economy/aliens.

Ah, the discomforts of the last of the true spirits; the lack of triumph surrounding the bus pulling out of the San Francisco Mental-Plex, the sounds of the hysteria fading and the scent of damp dirt and dank cigars feel like sunlight in your ears; you fold your letter you wrote to your mother, the one you didn't send to her because she wouldn't have taken the news of your early release as a good thing, you rip up the yellow legal paper she will never see and you think about eating it, even though it wouldn't taste as good as the garlic chicken and powdered toast you were still digesting from supper that evening, but you decide to go ahead and you slowly chew all sixteen pages of it, you hope you will digest these words and then salvation shall surface.

I stopped before I started to think about it again and I made myself a big bowl of spagetti and tried to locate the remote control so I could watch the new episode of "House" and I didn't find it. So I started to think about it again. I made of list of what could happen if and when I couldn't stop thinking about it. For an instance I recognized that nothing was ever the same and this kept happening over and over and over and over and over and under and over and the thoughts would never actually stop until my brain lost it's energy and I died - though even that was a theory because many religious people would argue that there is life after death, which made me think that, damn! I needed to get some sleep. My eyes were dry and saw the dreary droplets of hope and love and then I thought about steam and vapor, solids, liquids, gas, wash, rinse, repent. My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the bored... I laughed out loud and wondered why I was standing in a shallow pool of mud rather than a deep one, metaphysically corrupt and meta contained in this slingshot I called my sanity. I was not as deprived of intellect as most everyone who got in my narrow passageway to getting through the day, but I couldn't grasp if I was better off or not. Then I decided not to decide.

I stood in that spot, undecided and undeciding until I had to make a decision or something. I blinked hard, I slammed my eyes down and it hurt, and I decided to cry.

Everything I say comes back to taunt me. It doesn't -haunt- me; haunting would be the verb I would use if I intended to say that there was another force behind it; meaning that one cannot haunt oneself but may surely taunt oneself - in word, thought, and deed; everything I say (if even in my own internal monologue - "Internal monologue?! She is crazy!" dialogue taken in context from "Scrubs") is everything I imagine I am, and everything I think is impossible to say, which leads me to actually blame my old college roommate whom I shall call "Justin Tochber" for his own protection - but one night while we were being clever geniuses in his dorm room, two short doors from mine at the notorious Cash Hall at FSU, JT told me of an amazing way he had learned to become so darn smart (and he was just that); he told me that a mentor of his had asked him to try an exercise to increase his awareness and become a master of all that is brilliant - and this I will share with you, reader, but I must warn you that I may:
A. Be unable to explain it enough for you to actually be a student of this meta-mind play
B. Find something cooler to metagrobolize about while I get bored trying to explain it without actually being in human contact with you
C. Taunt myself for thinking that this was something I needed to write about and thus involve other people - shaming and humiliating my self
D. Laugh at you for being stupid enough to try this for several days and forget that you had a choice to ignore this exercise
E. Laugh at you for thinking that this is a stupid exercise
F. Forget what I was going to say here. Damn it.

Here is your mission if you choose to accept it, grasshoppers of the cyber world:
It's simple: close your eyes (or leave them open and blink naturally, I don't really care), then do this with your mind - Think about three separate phenomena at the same time. Then keep doing that all the time, for as long as you can; change ideas if one has run its course, but trade it with another one of equal or better value. Continue doing this while you are conversating, working, studying, driving, flying a helicopter, getting eaten by a shark or a panther, having intimate relations, sleeping, and especially when you are trying not to think about three ideas subsequently.

So I beg the question, does this mean I have thought disorder? Where did I put the receipt and how am I going to find it when I get home? What can I do to get these students I teach to pass the CSAP?

How where do butterflies sleep at night?

Choices are all in your imagination. As Ellis so weirdly wrecked another part of my and many other tender highly intelligent college kids lives when we read both past as well as the end of "American Psycho," the words that finally proved that nothing was anything that it seemed except to oneself - This is not an exit.

But seriously, please do not exercise reading that book. If you already have, I would rather not discuss it.

(The author is mildly concerned about you. Please practice safe thinking and encourage others to do the same. The author would also like to make sure you know that this is an exercise in writing random thoughts as a release and as a target for the bullies and the readers who don't understand abstract thinking and see it as something to shake their fat ugly head at. The author would recommend that some individuals can't enjoy another's love of stream of consiousness and asks that they pleas

<< New Heading >>

RIP Cricket on the Hill

Riddles, Puzzles, and Grammar

The next clue is Politics.

Choose one word out of the following; use this word in every sentence you say in at all conversation today (or tomorrow), then gauge whether you believe that words may make people suspicious and fragile and shameful.

Perhaps the specifics of words aren't always the general meanings you wish to obfuscate, but your heart has not been as lucky as usual, and your refuge has not been a deception - as much as, say, a paradise.

Here are your choices:

meandering
contraband
asshole
lobotomy
self-sufficient
opium
elastic
tumbleweed
nonchalant
essence
composure

Remember, no one but you can prevent events.

My advice is to advise everyone to take the scientific approach to all problems, then speak of all solutions as "theories."

Here are some random guidelines:

be sure to speak using bullet points
always pronounce silent letters - why waste them?
don't ever change the subject - transitional conversation is vital to human communication
make up words when you can't think of one you want to say
if someone uses the word "smile," interrupt them and demand that they use the word "grin" - tell them how offensive the" s-word" is and then stare at their bellybutton area
look at your watch every time someone makes eye-contact with you
don't be fooled by yourself
don't fool around by yourself
don't let them tell you anything - be sure to tell them you don't believe anything you hear
smile and stare at someone's forehead when they are speaking to you
encourage people to be responsible for their words and behaviour
challenge people to sentence diagramming when you feel intimidated
clap your hands when you speak
clap your hands when ever someone blinks
wash, rinse, repeat
only sigh when it isn't funny
sigh between bites of food when you are eating breakfast
sigh before you say anything (although this will lead to your own personal hell)
pronounce "sigh" as it was intended to be said: sss-eye-gah-hah
wash your hair one strand at a time
don't major in English unless you can sacrifice your soul to your mind

I don’t remember anything. If for some instant, I thought I had treaded upon a memory, I would clutch it so deeply I would lose it quickly. The glimpse of truth would spit itself right out of my head and leave without a trace. I woke up like a lost kitten every day and my body would convulse with stereotypical horror, and I would try to get up only to crash on the floor day after day.

Dada

Time Capsules and Other Bad Drugs

I knew how long the ride would be because I saw it all on the TV

The shots were weak the wine was strong

The car was slow and the ride was long

The car was slow and I didn't know

How the weeks went by so long and slow

How the time made week days ebb and flow

And nothing came

And nothing go

The days were long the wine was weak

The week was slow the days were wine

I saw it all on the TV and I knew how boring I might be

But I knew wasn't only me

The shots, the ride, the fragility.

How long, how long the ride would be.

It smells like something is on fire around my house today.

Colorado music documentary premiere news

Posted 01/25/2008 at 12:00 PM by eshiveley

Yesterday I heard from the director of a film festival in Connecticut who wants to premiere "everyone but you" (a documentary I just finished).

The movie has been submitted cold to two festivals, and the directors of both festivals have called to give a tentative acceptance (nothing's definite for a week or two).

I'm incredibly happy because if you're an unknown, first-time filmmaker and you get a two-hour documentary into any prominent festival, that's a REAL good deal. So I've been learning anyway.

The following bands ended up in the movie (either their music or an appearance):

Tequila Mockingbird, Victoria Woodworth, Halden Wofford & the Hi-Beams, Andy Ard, Double Down, Nora Heffernan, DeVotchKa, Mannequin Makeout, Jerry Popiel, Black Greg, Robert Eldridge, Hit & Run Bluegrass

Anyhoo, I'm just excited and needed to share. Thanks.

Explode

Before I received that phone call from the circus, I had already been informed, seconds earlier, that I was exceptionally talented (or in Burke’s meta-terminology, “overly-advantaged” at speed-writing. More over, constructing clear and concise sentences, paragraphs, stories, free from grammatical or mechanical spelling, meaning, context or any type of structure or content errors and was virtually revision unnecessary after writing one draft of any piece of writing- from the technical to the sestina to the AP style.

“What a contradiction,” I began but was abruptly silenced.

“I wasn’t even thinking about the implications of my absent responses to Nick’s email; I fumled though a few words but I just couldn’t muster the fuel to bower them.

What is your excuse?

Tact: (noun) a keen sense of what to do or say, to keep good relations with others.

And I lost nothing today.

Static Elasticity

"You are the next person I shall paralyze awkward," Jaio suggested in a tone of a lunatic, one of my Nirvana of Love. I like to stare at her hair while she's watching the tele, or while she talks about all different noblity.

I lost everything today, I say to the dial tone, and my eyes fogged over as did my sunglasses, today is humid and the sun only is slightly risen, apparently a senility covers the wake of the damp and sirens blare and dogs bark. A billion planes were floundering all together, but all I can think about is myself. Anyway, I think about what I am not as ironic as it isn't.

Reading and writing and arithematics.

Skeptism and faith.

Variation and deviation.

Lesson and legions.

Truth and subjectivity.

So taking matters into my own intentions, I scooped up a tattered mess of written deliberations and I let myself go.

I want to go home. With that, I proudly and nervously walk toward the first open door.

The trap door is never open, anyway.

About |