Communication Breakdown
The old expression that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" can and often is rendered impotent. Case in point, a friend, who I haven't seen or spoken with in over a year has, in so many ways, destroyed, obliterated, exhausted every quality in his personality that once made him such a enigmatic person to be around, converse with, and bond together as a pair. However, traits, previously hinted at, have only been magnified ten-fold over the past year. His acquisition of the very same degree that I recently obtained from another university has become a focal point of emails and, what appears to be, the wedge or final straw that has driven me to a point where, I feel as a person who is free to assert his own choices, opt out of the obligation to spend face-to-face time with this person.
Our communication, something that was declining in efficiency prior to this period, has further deteriorated to a point where emails are answered with the briefest of replies, due to the fact that entire portions of the communications sent were either ignored outright or brushed off with a terse response such as "I'm not into that anymore" thus eliminating any chance of any further comment on the matter. Annoyance on my part due to, what I perceive, perhaps wrongly so, as being intrusive questions regarding my own situation. Prying eyes and incessant questioning are not traits that I regard or suffer gladly. So, I've resorted to the standard "no reply". In other words, I avoid the matters altogether, which, in some ways, fuels it even further. It's really a no win situation. I don't answer, so the questioning continues until nothing is resolved. Hypocrisy, I know.
Today, though, I decided that I would answer the questions with my own brand of harsh response. It may or may not have been the wisest of moves, but the communication has been at a standstill for so long that I presume this won't hurt much. Of course, it might hurt tremendously. I'm at a loss, and we'll see what occurs, but this situation demanded drastic action. Hopefully, something can be salvaged.

My Top Ten Albums of 2003
I figured that since I have the forum I’d post my own top ten albums of 2003.

1. Pearl Jam-Lost Dogs-Most of these songs were recorded before 2003, and consists of collected b-sides and unreleased tracks. These two-discs rival some of their proper albums in terms of song quality.
2. White Stripes-Elephant-I had a hard time choosing Lost Dogs over this incredible album, but my love of Pearl Jam won out. Every song on this album is stellar, and the White Stripes are without a doubt a terrifically talented duo.
3. Radiohead-Hail to the Thief-Any time that two of my favorite bands, Pearl Jam being the other, release albums in the same year, it's hard to determine which one I like more. Radiohead are an incredible band, but this disc, spectacular as it is, isn't Amnesiac.
4. Aphex Twin-26 Mixes for Cash-Another two-disc compilation of previously released material. Aphex Twin, or Richard D. James, puts out a lot of music, some of which is nearly unlistenable, but these tracks are spectacular, especially the radical reworking of David Bowie's "Heroes".
5. Massive Attack-100th Window-This is the first Massive Attack album I got my hands on, and even though it's purportedly not their best (see Blue Lines and Mezzanine), I was really impressed. Haunting stuff.
6. Metallica-St. Anger-A definite return to form for Metallica. I stopped buying their albums after the "Black" album, but St. Anger is the type of album Metallica made before toning things down a bit. Not as good as Master of Puppets, but few albums are.
7. Strokes-Room on Fire-I haven't listened to this enough to know if it's as good as their debut Is this It, but on first impression, it is pretty good.
8. Raveonettes-Chain Gang of Love-One track, "That Great Love Sound," is worth the price of admission. A great album inspired by the bubble-gum fueled tracks of year's past combined with the Jesus and Mary Chain's sonic fuzz.
9. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club-Take Them on Your Own-Rarely am I inspired enough to go out and buy a cd based on one video from MTV, but I saw this band on MTV2, and their single "Stop" just did it for me. I needed to own this album, and it was worth the search.
10. Sonic Youth-Dirty-Deluxe Version-I really would have placed this in the top five, but it is an older album, 1992 to be exact. The album itself isn't Sonic Youth's best (see Daydream Nation or Goo), but the second disc, filled with outtakes and demos includes some of the coolest sounding instrumental tracks from a band devoted to sonic, no pun intended, tracks beyond description.

Bad Vibes, Awful Regret, and the Doctrine of Avoidance
I'm amazed every year at this time that the pendulum of emotions can swing from one extreme to the other with little or no prior notice. Joyous emotion can easily decompose into depression at the drop of a hat, and I'm not sure why that is, or why it only happens at this time of year and not so much at others. I realize the holidays mean a lot to people, and, perhaps, the reason for the double-barreled threat of a cataclysmic mood swing along with the fact that the holidays at this time of year are so crammed together in a span of a little over a month that it's unavoidable that there's going to be some sort of ultimate satisfaction or dissatisfaction, but rarely a mid-level point of contentment.
I have bad vibes during this time of year, and it seems that everything takes on an added emotional charge between Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year‘s Day. The notion that humans and animals suffering during this time of year is so repugnant to me that I'm at a loss on how to properly deal with my emotions. I realize that I operate with a certain amount of hypocrisy regarding this issue because at various points on the calendar I’m much more susceptible to wild mood swings that totally pervade my life than others, and I can go about my life in blissful ignorance regarding the suffering of others. I must confess that I am, for the most part, capable of concealing these types of swings. Make no mistake, I’m not implying that I’m on the verge of any sort of breakdown, but what occurs can only be described as isolated incidents of mood swings. Panic attacks, if that’s what they are, seem to proliferate mostly during times of minimum activity. In moments when I flood my mind with all manner of life’s intangibles, I feel at the very lowest ebb of being. My breathing increases dramatically, but it only lasts for less than a minute. For the most part it can be attributed to the usual suspects: financial stability, work, schoolwork, etc. But, and I’m not trying to be overly dramatic, I feel the worst when I just stop and think about life in general. What kinds of joy do I receive from life? What’s going to happen to me in the future? What’s going to happen to me when all my friends leave? It’s basically your standard questioning of existence in this world, this situation, this town, this university, and this community....
At this point, these types of episodes are so common to life that they’ve attained a sort played out characteristic. They’re too common, and no one, even myself, takes them seriously, but they are real. So, without the comfort derived from believing in some sort of higher power, I feel that they have to be dealt with in a manner that’s most likely to resolve the situation. I take little or no comfort in the idea that there’s some sort of greater purpose for each and every occurrence. I do, and here’s where the hypocrisy enters, feel that I have the ability to rationalize the situation to the point that I’m able to maintain complacency with the idea that “everything’s going to be okay”.
Which brings me to the “doctrine of avoidance”. I by no means believe that I’m the originator of a new term, but I’ve been really intrigued by the idea that avoiding an issue in a roundabout manner serves as a way of confronting it head on. I don’t believe this doctrine is truly effective, and I think it does more harm than good in the long run. Obviously, though, I’m a big believer in the ability to avoid the necessity to confront an issue, as the previous paragraphs make abundantly clear. Arguments made are not truly acknowledged in their entirety, and it leads to a dialogue that accomplishes little in terms of presenting a coherent position on an issue. Why individuals subscribe to the “doctrine of avoidance” is beyond me, but I suspect there are definite reasons why they do so, and they do so as a way to avoid any sort of criticism, whether just or not, that might put into perspective the absurdity of the issue being discussed, dissected, or debated. I subscribe to the “doctrine of avoidance” out of a sheer inability to confront issues head on. I know things occur, as I’m sure we all do, that are beyond my control, so I profess an aggressive form of denial that avoids the issues that I’m confronted with. In fact, one can go so far as to argue that I’m already adhering to the doctrine by clearly stating that the issues are “beyond my control,” some of which obviously are not by any stretch of the imagination beyond my control.
This “doctrine of avoidance” seems to be proliferating in this country, and it can be seen operating from the efforts of the current administration to the lowliest of writers here on Blogger. What I don’t like about this doctrine is that it tries mightily to prop up other arguments that avoid the issues that are being raised in an effort to coerce the other side into shifting the argument to best adhere to the strengths of the party being attacked. In other words, the doctrine is adhered to by “cowards” who avoid the fight by skewing the tone to fit their purposes. It’s usually a circular line of logic that never truly addresses the issues at hand, and its proponents often resort to cheap shots that are nowhere near addressing the crux of the points of criticism that might just sting too much to be acknowledged outright.
I realize that this line of logic is rather cumbersome, and it’s rather faulty at points, but that’s where I can’t help but feel that I’m right to some extent about this issue. It can be seen in all manner of forms, and it’s nothing but frustrating to be a part of the argument that eventually deteriorates because one of the members adheres to the doctrine. Comments that are taken out of context that are then used to prop up one’s own stance are seen as a manner of rationalizing one’s own position and validating one’s own way of seeing the world. When the “doctrine of avoidance” becomes one of the dominant voices within discourse, there’s little or no chance that anything can be resolved with arguing the finer points of an issue. So, I’d like to think that there’s a chance that the discourse can evolve into a manner of debate that is adequate for both sides of the issue, but I have a strong suspicion that it won’t ever reach the form that I’d most like for it to. Why? Because as the “doctrine of avoidance” suggests, it’s easier for the parties involved to avoid the issues with little or no consequences and carry on without any sort of regard to whether or not the issues have been resolved. The “doctrine of avoidance” is here, and I believe more and more people are subscribing to it daily.

Reliving an Argument
After planning an angry rebuttal to a response regarding the previous battle waged on this page and on my partner's site that I had not previously read, I decided to scour the internet for some other opinions on the matter. Once I read the following, I decided that nothing more needed to be said on my part regarding the issue of pointless blogs and the piss-poor, self-indulgent diatribes that proliferate on them. I think the author(s) pretty much summarize everything up nicely. I think I fall into the category of the "Self-Important Moron".
Why I Hate Personal Weblogs

A Flawed 500

I find myself conflicted each and every year when it comes to the annual year's end compilations by various periodicals of the "best of" for music, movies, books, etc. However, even before this listing was compiled and released, I was confronted with the decision by Rolling Stone to release their listing of the 500 greatest albums of all time. Now, I enjoy this type of listing because one it's inherently interesting to me to see the best albums, many of which I enjoy and many I've never heard or even desire to listen to, listed together and two because I can use it as a guide to acquire albums by artists I've never been exposed to.
What really irks me, though, is the lack of creativity by the writers of these types of lists and the inevitable backlash that others, including myself, have in regards to this list. It seems to me that there's a marked interest in portraying and sustaining the myth that Rolling Stone came out at a time, the 60s and 70s, when a tremendous amount of influential music was being recorded and released and was on the cutting edge of culture, criticism, and, most of all, hip music. But this type of cause seems to me to lead to a conflict of interests when it comes to assembling a listing of the greatest albums of all time. For example, there are no records recorded in the last twenty years in the top ten. Most, understandably, are from the giants of rock (i.e. the Beatles, Dylan, Rolling Stones) and that's an understandable, maybe necessary conceit. What I don't like about this type of conceit is the fact that it's inevitable and without any real sort of thought and imagination. Perhaps, and I realize this borders on heresy, the Beatles haven't released the most important album, in this case Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, of all time, let alone four of the top ten albums. Granted, without the Beatles there wouldn't be what we traditionally call rock n' roll music to listen to, or at the very least it would be radically different in sound, but maybe not. Also, it's important to concede the fact that without the Beatles, Stones, Dylan, etc. there wouldn't be nearly a fraction of the bands that I feel are not represented accurately on this listing.
I don't expect the writers to go out on a limb and produce a list that's so radical that it includes such recent albums as the White Stripes' Elephant in the top ten, regardless of how good the record it, and it is good. What I would like to see, though, is a list that truly reflects what records someone should have in their collection that they can listen to repeatedly and provide the listener with a broad array of styles, genres, etc. that don't border on the repetitive. In other words, I don't want four of the only ten albums that I should own be from one group, especially when one of the albums, the White Album, isn't all that spectacular. Sure, the Beatles are necessary to include in the list, but I don't think it's necessary to include four of their albums in the top ten. They're a good band, perhaps the greatest ever, but I don't want five, which includes the double-disc White Album, of their discs occupying my top ten.
This leads me to my overall critique of the magazine. What I believe is occurring is that the staff of writers and those who voted on the list itself are living in a delusional state that forces them to assume that there can't possibly be a better group of records than those released in the aforementioned time period. In other words, they're slaves to a system that consecrates things as sacred and beyond reproach. If I can only keep ten albums, four of them aren't going to be Beatles discs because, well, they're the Beatles and they're the greatest band of all time and they deserve to be the main components of any record collection. This is ridiculous. I want and need other types of music in my list. I love rap, techno, punk, alternative, metal, trip-hop, alt-country, country..., and a list with four albums by a pop-rock, because that's what the Beatles were first and foremost, doesn't give me the ability to have that broad representation of genres.

"Oh, that's just Great!"
I couldn't help but notice that now BLOGGER is offering the option of recording audio blogs. Oh, for the love of all that's holy, make it stop! Isn't it bad enough that these blogs exist in print form? Now they want to let these noodleheads read them aloud. I'm at loss for words as to how much I'm disappointed in this development. Wait, if you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of the collective intelligence of the country wheezing out completely.

I or We?
Over the past few months, I’ve noticed a trend in the way people speak. It’s a trend that, albeit harmless to some extent, is rather aggravating to me on many levels. Also, I’m well aware of the fact that I of all people should not be such a stickler for the way people speak. Lord knows my speech is riddled with all types of ungrammatical phrases, guffaws, “you knows,” and various other onerous tics that seem to proliferate our speaking patterns and serve as a means to betray our true capabilities when it comes to properly formed, grammatically correct speech. This trend, though, is different in nature, in that it is not, technically, ungrammatical in nature, but it serves a purpose, however subtle, to empower the speaker in ways not traditionally served by the spoken language. Simply put, what I’ve encountered, on a seemingly daily basis, is conversation littered with phrases that exclude the other person from situations that were attended by both parties or, in some instances, serve to ignore an obvious fact that is blatantly known by all. Pronoun usage, or lack thereof, is what I’m writing about.
How can someone speak in such a manner that obviously excludes the other person from the situation? It’s simple, actually. All these speakers do is refer to themselves: I, me, my, mine. It’s subtle in nature, but it obviously exists. How can someone be excluded from a situation they were a part of or will be a part of in the future? Strangely enough, it happens. Speakers, or at least the ones I’ve noticed, repeatedly refer to situations where “I, me, my or mine” becomes the pronoun of choice rather than the more appropriate “we or our.” Why does this happen and do the speakers realize they’re doing this constantly?
For example, I live in an apartment with a roommate, and I’ve lived here for ten plus months. Whenever speaking in public, though, it’s not “our” apartment, which it should be, but “my” apartment. Do I not exist? Don’t I live here? Don’t I pay half the rent, utilities, etc.? I do, so shouldn’t it be “our” apartment? Apparently not. Perhaps I’m not involved in situations where I could suffer the same consequences, hear the same things, obtain the same information, or what have you. It’s constantly referred to in the singular form, never plural. It’s a strange phenomenon because I don’t think it’s incredibly hard to utter these words. Others or can’t or won’t adjust their speech patterns for unknown reasons. I’m at a loss, but I do know that it’s “their” problem and not “mine.” A case where I’ll gladly allow them to have all the credit.

An Arrow Finds Its Mark

You Are Not He

Eagerly awaiting the response to a column is surely one of the main perks for writers who specialize in editorials and other forms of outwardly, blatant criticism. In this case, I've been waiting for the response to my last column that lambasted the blog form itself and, more specifically, my partner on my other venue See You Next Week. In that column, I strongly condemned this very type of forum because it panders to an audience that's rarely interested in a form of discourse that rises above that of the most flaccid and "narcissisistic" in nature. In fact, it seems to thrive on the notion that everyday, common occurrences are so mindblowingly interesting to readers that it's oftentimes necessary to chronicle these events on a repetitive, daily basis. Putting that aside, for now, let's address the response posted by Benedict on his site Heir to the Hornbook entitled "A Critical Primer for Critiquing the Critics".

At first glance, it seems as if Benedict is right on about most of my criticisms, but upon further review, it's abundantly clear that he's missing the point with regards to this type of forum and the more common forms of expression that seem to proliferate on them. One point, and this might help explain some of this, is that Benedict reads a lot of stuff that I'd never even consider opening up, pursuing, or even skimming over the first few pages of. There's a lot of stuff to read out there, and I'm of the opinion that it's important to concentrate on those forums that provide the best, most concise information in a way that not condescending in nature but, at the same time, not overly pretentious as well. Writing, in other words, is important enough for me to place a higher value upon that which I consume than most other aspects in my life. For instance, I don't read the local paper here in town, or even the campus news. Why? Because it's a waste of time. These papers are poorly written, hastily assembled mishmashes of detritus. Benedict, though, seems to find some sort of enjoyment out of pursuing, sometimes even reading entirely, the columns that appear in such low-brow forums as the campus news or the local event paper. It's just a waste of time.

Benedict's first claim: "He is also motivated by an eagerness get past a literary dry spell."

True, I've written on many occasions about my inability to fill this forum with words. I've had a rough time coming up with columns that are both interesting to me to write and that I think will be interesting for anyone who might stumble upon this site to read, but within the problem lies a pointed observation about me as a writer. I won't force myself to write. I just won't. It's not a helpful or even remotely therapeutic venture to write about, well, stuff. Journaling, a pointless exercise in my view, is fine for people who want to generate ideas for a novel, or something much grander than a blog, but I refuse to use this or any other venue as a way to just write for the sake of writing. It's stilted, boring, and without any real redeeming value. Benedict, on the other hand, likes to write, journal, free-write, etc. Because of this perceived need to post on a semi-regular basis, it seems to lead Benedict to write about subjects, while interesting in his own mind, are rather tame in nature. I feel, personally, that his writing is forced, at times, and he would be better off by not writing on such a regular basis. His writing is consistently good, but it's the content that suffers. Don't force the writing. It only makes it that more intolerable.

He goes on to mention that I "upbraid" him for his "callousness and narcissism." This is hardly the case. I don't feel that he writes because he's proclaiming, "Look, I'm really interesting. Read my blog and see how interesting my life is." No, far from it. I feel, though, that the style of writing is, essentially, forcing upon the reader a desired effect. The effect is something really good, published writers strive for and do naturally. It can't be done in a blog on a daily basis. Why? Because not everyone is a good writer. Writing is just like comedy. There's this perceived notion that anyone can tell a story that's interesting and it's the same notion that deludes people into feeling that they can tell a joke. Everyone can't be a comedian, just like everyone can't be a writer. There are only a few people that can write like a David Sedaris, and there are even fewer people who can tell a joke like a Jerry Seinfeld.

"When we suffer ourselves to endlessly critique the critics, we resemble those portraits of mirrors reflecting infinite mirrors. As a result, we endlessly reflect an increasingly weak simulacrum of the original content, without creating any content of our own. "

Now, this is the paragraph with the most venom, the biggest sting. Taking a loss at creating original content is a welcome trade-off when it comes to critiquing a form that, although in its infant stages, seems to have lost all hope of gaining some sort of vague rules by which it operate by. Much like free-verse poetry, which precludes any sort of structure for the sake of chaos, the blog forum is now governed by no supreme ruler. There are no rules here. People write in a manner that flaunts all convention, and, for the most part, limit their content to the banal in nature. There are really only two extremes in which blog writing falls into: the outrageous and the banal. Now, this goes back to my previous point about forcing the writing. Blog writers, in some vague attempt at originality, seem to thrive on these posts. In other words, the blogs grow, force their content and page length to grow, and fail, at an alarming rate, to add anything of real substance. The "dear diary" format that blogs have adopted signals a change in the way in which private matters are now seen as having the importance of a national headline. Diaries were a form of closed, private expression, and it seems that the blog format has given creative, or lack thereof, license for the masses to post writings that were once kept under lock and key for all to see. Why? It's a question of self-evaluation, and it seems to me that it indicates a disturbing trend in that people who wouldn’t previously have shared any of their private moments with anyone other than the occasional imaginary friend, are now equipped with the semi-delusional notion that their inner-most thoughts and opinions are of real worth to others. What makes it worse is the notion that these writers actually operate under the guise that they're good at it, when it fact they aren't.

The final point: Mob struggles with the question of why we write, constantly asking “What’s the point of all this?”
My pithy answer: “When the only resources you put into it are your time, enjoyment, and few stray electrons, there doesn’t have to be one.”

I don't question the reason why or what's the point of all this. I think I know why people write these self-centered diatribes. Benedict's notion that the amount of effort is minimum with regards to the final output, which I won't disagree with, and, again, that's not the issue. It's not a matter of expending energy. It's a matter of self stylized importance. Attaching grandiose value to near valueless observations or meandering ruminations is a clear indication that this type of format is encouraging people to emulate others in a poor, oftentimes, unreadable style. The amount of effort isn't in question. The inconsistent blather that results from it is.

Finally, I wasn't aware that I didn't possess "minutiae" in my vocabulary. Having been informed by a footnote that the term was "given" to me by Benedict is quite interesting. What this little snide remark says about Benedict, I'll leave for you to surmise, but I promise you that I wasn't "given" a term, which is rather common in nature. As for Benedict's defintion of "hornbook," perhaps you might want to look at a dictionary. Your definition, Benedict, seems awful similar to that of a diary, but a glance at the dictionary states something quite different. Perhaps the usage has changed. Perhaps, but I doubt it.

Blood on the Bus: A Prelude to a War of Words
I could be wrong in my instincts, but I highly doubt it in this instance. Benedict Monk, in a rather thoughtless and inane attempt at humorous writing, posted the following on his blog, Heir to the Hornbook(a namesake whose qualities I'll leave for another time and place), as a part of an entry entitled "To be this tired, I'd have to be blitzed," the following passage: Needless to say, I know my audience. You want me to talk about the blood that pooled at the front of the bus a few days ago? I won't. I don't pander to your violent tendencies, except to say that it's one of the few times passengers efficiently loaded via the back door.
The incident in question refers to a late night encounter with the vaunted 54C in which those desiring to board were greeted not with an open door and the prospect of entering the warm confines but with a rather disturbing scene, blood on the bus floor.

Now, anyone not totally desensitized to all the grim realities of life here in the big city, might think this is odd, disturbing, curious, gross, etc. Benedict, however, feels differently. Blood stains on a bus floor are, apparently from the passage above, beneath his talent for comment and word play. Pandering to the tendencies of the masses is beneath Benedict. What seems to be the more interesting topic in which the passage appears? Sleeping on the floor and trying to finish a paper for class. How pointless. It is truly a sad state of affairs and a real comment on the state of writing today when a truly bizarre event such as pools of blood on the floor of a bus fails to generate interest in the writer's perspective and takes second place to such mundane, trivial, boring events such as finishing a paper for class and succumbing to exhaustion.
Benedict's skills as a writer are not in question here. In fact, I like his writing a lot, and I think his writing flows in a natural manner that conveys to the reader the facts necessary and in a tone that's poetic in nature and rhythmic in it's patterns. In other words, he's a good writer. However, and as anyone who deigns it necessary to follow these pages, I have a problem with frivolity. I find most of the subjects that Benedict writes about to be less than interesting in prose form. Mundane, daily events are not interesting. They just aren't, but a plethora of people, Benedict included, find some sort of inspiration from these quasi-freakish occurrences that happen each and every day to most of the public at large. The thing is, though, no one, not even the most talented writer in the world, can make these events seem more than the sum of their parts.
My theory about this is that I believe that there are incidents that are more suited to being spoken aloud in the course of a natural conversation and aren't worthy of mentioning in a prose piece. Reading takes time, and I can't think of a larger waste of time than when I'm reading something and realize at some point, most often too late to stop, that the effort it takes to read this print isn't compensated by the rewards garnered after finishing the piece. I don't glean much from reading about the daily minutiae of life. Life's too short waste precious moments wading through writing that's borderline pretentious and without any redeeming value. I just don't care.

A Bitter Taste
Usually, I try to be current with my digressions on whatever topic strikes me as being worthy of venting about, but today I've noticed that I've become more and more disgusted about the behavior of the patrons at my favorite coffeeshop. The thing is, though, this happened Monday night, and it has just festered inside of me for quite some time. I wasn't really intending on addressing the situation, but I couldn't help but notice that my cohort on my other site took the humorous route by placing a picture that mocks the situation for the absurdity that it truly is and will continue to be if it happens again. The situation occurred as follows. The two of us entered the coffeeshop, which happens to have just expanded to the storefront next door. Eager to sit in the new digs, we went over to the other side and perched on what we've come to learn as being the most desired table in the joint. Much like this one:
Well, shortly after that, one of the regulars, a near mythical creature in our eyes known as "White Hair," entered the establishment, turned promptly to his left to enter the expansion, and stopped suddenly with a bewildered look in his eyes. What could have occurred to cause such confusion in someone who, albeit old, is perceived as being "cooler than the other side of the pillow?" Well, it just so happens that the two of us were at his table, and, I was sitting in his chair.
Now, I know you're asking yourself, "Why is this such a big deal? Surely there are plenty of chairs in this place for him sit in and still maintain his air of coolness, right?" Apparently not. He appeared, if I may be so dramatic, to be a knight without his sword, a painter (Ironically, "White Hair's" one known craft is painting) without his brush, and totally without any ideas on how rectify this situation. Discombobulated, confused, angry, and all the other emotions that greet someone when they feel out of place and without a real purpose, seemed to have flooded over "White Hair" like a tidal wave. Lost in his thoughts, he finally settled on a chair that was equally comfortable as his regular thrown, if not moreso.
What troubles me about this situation is not the look of utter confusion on this man's face or even the somewhat unsubtle hint that we shouldn't be sitting there. What troubles me is the entire clique vibe that permeates the entire establishment much like the cigarette smoke that cloudens the air. This lifestyle that's so dependent on seeming to be independent is rather hypocritical in nature. The more they strive to be the outcasts who are accepting of people's flaws and kinks, the more they seem to tighten the circle to include only themselves and the desire to repel outsiders. It's a vibe that betrays everything they stand for, and it's a rather sad assessment on life on the fringe here in Pittsburgh. The entire notion of a coffeeshop that caters to the fringes is that you should be able, as a straight-laced un-hipster, to enter the premises and be able to enjoy the surroundings without the implied threat that you're sitting in someone's seat. This isn't the case in this place, and it's rather sad. I thought they were different. Alas, they aren't, and they're more often as petty if not moreso than the rest of us.

Lonely Thong
On Saturday morning, as I was walking to work, I saw a thong on the sidewalk in front of a local bar/nightspot here on campus. An urge to kick it swept over me, but it quickly passed. A simple, black thong on the sidewalk. It makes me wonder whether or not there was a girl waking up at the very moment wondering where her underwear, even that miniscule amount, went.

Stop
It's hard to shake certain beliefs. The types of beliefs I'm referring to have little or nothing to do with the prejudices that might mark someone in a specifically terrible light. These include the inevitable rascisms, sexisms, and any other type of -ism that's associated with negative waves and dogmas. What I'm referring to, though, are those beliefs that might label what has been, in recent years, a negative term, an intellectual or elitist. Now, I must confess the fact that being labeled an elitist is now considered something along the lines of being labeled a fascist makes little sense to me. Along the same lines, I'm also confused as to how liberal became associated with such negativity. Why is being labeled a liberal so bad? It makes no sense. I know, it's all about the conservatives trying to make liberals out to be the most uncaring, unpatriotic, selfish lot to come down the pike, but they aren't. It's a myth perpetuated by the conservative dominated media machine. Well, no shit. Everyone knows this, or do they? It's amazing how myths such as these become fixtures in society and are almost impossible to change without some sort of mass coercion on the part of the ruling bodies themselves.
Anyway, back to the notion of elitist. I have a problem with banality. The banality that seems to be the cause and context for many of the blogs that have sprung up in the last few years, which, probably, includes this very forum as one of its members. I have to confess that I find the idea of reading about the most mundane events in people's lives to be nauseating and without any real redeeming value. Sure, I think it's great that the masses are becoming more creative and I use that term very, very loosely, but I feel strongly that there are just certain people out there that have little to say, so they shouldn't force themselves to write meandering diatribes (much like this one) that chronicle the daily minutiae of their lives. Face it, there's just not a whole lot going on in life that makes it so interesting on a regular basis, not to mention the blogs that are published daily. What are people writing about? Nothing. It's all boring shit that no one, except for the writer themselves, finds interesting.
I know, it's hypocritical to be utilizing the very forum I'm criticizing to write this utterly disgusting diatribe lambasting the notion of writing by the masses. However, I feel strongly that there's a fine line between writing that should be done and writing that should never be attempted. I'm not suggesting that we leave it all to the professionals; that's fascist. What I am suggesting, though, is that people should stop kidding themselves into thinking that their most private moments are interesting, their little euphemisms are witty, their daily logs of their lives are even remotely close to resembling fodder for the masses. In other words, if you're thinking of starting a blog, and you're first post has something to do with how interesting work, life, whatever that happened to you today is worth writing about, don't. Spare us the agony and stop deluding yourself.

In Retrospect
I feel ashamed at my recent actions towards someone. I feel as if, yes, I have de-evolved into some petty person who holds a grudge even when there isn't a reason to do so. In fact, I'd go so far as to assert that I've become that which I've tried so hard not to: a jealous fiend who can't let go of the past. The situation, as it occurred today, in what would most likely have been a repeat of an incident that happened yesterday, was simple enough, if not innocent and totally within the realm of how decent, civilized people conduct themselves. The girl I referred to in a previous post, probably the last post that had anything meaningful to say if you could call it that, was walking out of a backroom of the library as I was walking towards the restroom. In some sort of animalistic grunt, we both said "Hey" to one another. Big deal, I had to piss, she was walking with a purpose, and there really wasn't any room for discussion. Still, it felt terrible. How had things changed so drastically so quickly?
It struck me earlier that what has occurred is a return to the way things were before. Before the conversations. Before the dates (if that's what they really were, now I have my doubts). Before the downward spiral that engulfed the final few conversations and attempts at conversations. It all fell apart so fast. Now, what I'm left with, even in the face of trying desperately to be the civil one, the diplomatic male who operates in a fashion totally opposite of how most do. Now, I'm back to square one where I get this totally disgusted look from this girl. This totally pissed off look. This look of utter hatred, if I may be so melodramatic.
So what do I do, trying to be the more mature one? Well, I walked right by her today in the very same library without even looking in her direction. She was at the desk talking to her ex-roommate, and I was checking out a book. I knew she was there. She knew I was there. I made eye contact, somewhat, earlier. So, why did I just walk by her without saying a word? I really can't say. I just know that I feel terrible about it. In retrospect, it feels worse than if I'd called her some terrible profanity. Or does it? I don't know. What I do know is that I feel as if I've sunk to a lower level. A level that people like her exist at. Miserable people who will never be happy and are incapable of having any sort of remorse, feelings, or common decency. I wish nothing but the worst for her. In my rage, I say I hate her. Yes, that word that you're told never to say about anyone. Yeah, I hate her with all my being. If I only hate one person, it's her. But, I don't hate her, not in the sense that is conveyed by the previous thoughts. No, I'm better than that. I don't hate her. No, I wish her the best. Sure, go ahead, and try to find someone else. Best of luck to you, babe. You're going to need it.

Oddness
Just as a way to reiterate an observation made by my teammate on my other blogger endeavor {Shrine}, I noticed last night that the ads at the top of the page were in reference to some rather odd materials. In this case, one of the ads was a link to a book which had as its subject defecation, or, in the words of the title, "poop." Here's the link to this oddity: {Shit} I'm at a loss, though, as to how to feel about this rather strange linkage. What on our site had anything to do with shit? I don't recall seeing anything that even remotely could be loosely tied to feces. My site, though, does have a rant on the increasing amount of garbage, including shit, that has been making its daily presence known in my town. Some mysteries, I guess, are never meant to be solved.

War
I don't know what is going on in our fair city as of late, but I have to say that I'm on the verge of violence at nearly every passing minute. I've had encounter after encounter with disagreeable people, or, in more blunt terms, total assholes in the last few days. If it's not radical joggers on the bike trail refusing to give any sort of concessions regarding the gravel path, it's being harassed by drunks while waiting for the bus. The latter episode might just be a standout in a long string of encounters with the detritus of the city. This drunken mongrel first mumbled some incoherent babble at me, which I could loosely translate into a request for a cigarette, which I didn't have, of course, because smoking is inherently disgusting. The next request was, "Do you have an extra dime?" Now, this baffled me for two reasons. First, being asked for a specific amount of money, in this case ten cents, is a rarity in these types of encounters. For the most part, it's ill-defined sums as in spare change, or, if they're really bold, they'll ask for a dollar, which is about as specific as it gets. The second reason I was taken aback by this request is that it's such a small sum, one dime. What the hell could you do with one dime? Not much, as far as I know. So, after I rebuffed him here, he proceeded to ask for an extra dollar, which must be a mythical beast as rare as bigfoot. Again, I told him I didn't have anything, but this apparently didn't sink through the mushy layers of his alcoholic haze filled brain because he had to repeat the question again as if the answer might change. What really set me off, though, was that after telling him that I didn't have anything to give him, he repeatedly told me that he was "just talking," to which I replied, "I know, but now leave me alone." This is when he moved towards me, and in an effort to get away from him I stepped around him and told him that if he didn't leave me alone, I'd call the police, who were, fortunately, just right across the street. Now, I've rarely felt such rage at someone, but after having had this and other types of situations plague me in the last few weeks, I feel as if I've reached a breaking point. I'm using this forum to declare war on these individuals. I'm through being nice and complacent to the whims of the deranged and alcohol fueled derelicts and dirtbags. Preemptive measures will now be used in order to avoid any such encounters in the future. To quote a famous phrase, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore."

Dirty
As much as I like living here in Pittsburgh, I can't help but feel that this is one of the dirtiest cities I've ever seen. Trash, weeds, dilapidated buildings, etc. seem to fill my field of vision on a daily basis. Piles of shit are everywhere, and it makes me wonder where they come from. Now, I realize that there are probably numerous people who walk their pets at all hours of the day that allow them to let loose their bowels on any piece of sidewalk they please, but it seems to me that there's an inordinate amount of shit on the streets here at any given moment. Garbage seems to litter every inch of land in this city, especially on the trendy South Side. It makes one wonder how people can be so callous and have such little regard for the appearance of the neighborhoods they live in. Don't get me wrong, I'm by no means a radical tree hugger, but I get sickened by the appearance of trash and rotten smells that permeate in this supposedly progressive city.

The Loss of a Voice
Now that I have this gaping wound in my life with little or no traumatic events to speak of, I'm conflicted about what to actually write about on this blog. Anything that I might want to write about doesn't seem all that interesting and, for the most part, I feel like I'd be repeating previous posts, a trend I'd like to avoid at all costs. So, what I'm left with is a dilemma that must face every writer at some point: what happens when you have nothing to say? I know, in some way I'm already contradicting myself by essentially rewriting a previous post about writer's block, which was the post previous to the last long one, but this is different in many regards. In that previous post, I chose to focus on my personal disappointment in the direction of fiction being written today. I got way off topic and turned that post into a literary critique. This post, however, will be somewhat more directly focused on my own inability to generate interesting topics for writing about on this site. In many ways, I think I've exhausted my ability to write about topics that interest me. I'm not saying that I can't write period, or that I've lost the ability to write in a coherent manner. It's just that I'm noticing more and more that the topics that interest me neither lend themselves to this kind of forum nor do they make interesting writing in general. I would go so far as to say that I've lost my "voice." Now, if I told the professor who hooked me on creative writing that I was on the verge of losing my "voice," he'd hit the proverbial roof. However, I was looking through some of my older writings, poetry for the most part, and it seemed to me that I've fallen into a repetitive pattern of words, themes, etc. I'm certainly not clamoring for more tragedy in my life, or any of the major life-altering events that might produce words and inspiration for them. However, I feel strongly that there are definite points that define an artist's career as over. There are definite high points and low points, and when the low points seem to outnumber the highs, perhaps it's time to turn in the final product. There's nothing sadder than seeing an artist trying, in vain, to reclaim past glories with lackluster efforts that only prolong the long fall from grace. I think there are many novelists and a good portion of musicians that are guilty of this very practice, and it serves as nothing more than tarnish on what was once a respectable career in letters, art, or music. With luck, I haven't reached that point yet, but I'm not one that feels the need to prolong something that should have ended a long time ago. Going out on a high note should be the one thing that we strive for in life.

Misperceptions
It's always interesting to be aware of both sides of a story pertaining to an important, if sometimes mundane event, in the lives of two people. For the most part, the parties involved seem to be able to isolate their perceptions to their own mind and their immediate circle of confidants. However, when one or both sides in the struggle become increasingly familiar with one or the others social circles and the perceptions of that person within that circle, there can be times when one will become aware of facts, ideas, or mistaken realities that radically alter that party's final analysis.
Case in point, after becoming embroiled with a member of the opposite sex, there came a point when it was definitely necessary to do a reassessment of the entire scenario. The reason for this reassessment stemmed from the seeming inability for us to have adequate, open lines of conversation. Statements in the course of our conversations seemed to become stilted and stale. Communication seemed to be difficult and without any real redeeming value. The forced nature of the conversations seemed to be sapping all the ambition for us to remain on a steady course. Finally, after having sought the advice from multiple fronts in this regard, I decided the only way to really resolve the situation was to have a face to face exchange of our own assessments of the situation.
However, it's most important to divulge that, at this stage, I became aware of the idea that this person wasn't as accepted into the social circle she claimed to be an integral part of. In fact, it became increasingly difficult to separate the truth from the reality of her perceptions of her own situation. To be blunt, blatant animosities towards her were most evident in the analysis that I was receiving from a prominent member of this clique. Her own self-awareness to this reality seems to be skewed in a direction that points to an obvious self-gratifying assessment. The reality, though, is much more harsh. Becoming aware of this type of thinking may be dangerous to providing one with any sorts of reassurances as to the positive outcome that could possibly result from ignoring such revelations.
The time came, then, for a real reassessment of the situation. What exactly was going on here? Why was the communication becoming more and more difficult to sustain? What transpired over the course of several weeks, some of which were days apart from one another? Is it possible that I was misreading everything and not seeing that there was something definitely wrong with the proceedings? Had I said or done something to cross a boundary? All these questions and many more were racing through my mind in a last ditch attempt to rescue, revitalize, recharge what was, in my opinion, a promising situation. Most of this, though, went right out the window when I uttered the words, "I think we need to go somewhere and talk" in response to her inquiry about where we were going on this occasion. This, in the end, may have been the smartest move I made in the course of the entire affair. Heading off what would have most likely been an evening that would have transpired like any other and would have definitely led me to believe that I was still in the driver's seat and in good graces, proved to be the best move I've made. The fact that she had a definite agenda became obvious when she launched into, what seemed like, a prepared speech, but, in retrospect, looks like it was more and more full of holes and lapses in logical progression. To summarize, it was a cop-out of an idea that we, as two people in the fledgling stages, weren't compatible with one another. Having said her piece, I proceeded to launch into what must have seemed like a positively ideal appraisal of the situation and its future prospects. I'd like to think that this sort of reaction won me some points in the overall scheme of things. I'm still waiting for that analysis.
What has led me to reevaluate the entire saga, though, was the revelation this very day that this girl, the girl I thought I was making many inroads with and was able to maintain a mutual friendship with, reported the very saga detailed above to her confidants as a total roll reversal. In other words, I was the one who broke up with her, not the other way around, which is obviously what happened. This leads me to wonder and posit these final questions: Was I in a relationship that I wasn't aware I was in? How is her version of reality being distorted, or is she seeing something there that I wasn't? How can I have misread such a scenario, or did I even?

Writer's Block
I've been struggling, for what seems like a millennium, to come up with some sort of new post for this site, and I've hit nothing but dead ends. I don't like the idea of forcing myself to write a post, and this most certainly seems to qualify for being forced in every sense of the word. However, it does put me in mind of another sort of critical writer's dilemma that I've seen plague some of the many writers whose work I really admire. Writers such as Douglas Coupland, whose novels from Generation X to Microserfs, seem to be on a crash course for failure and lackluster accomplishments. Recent works from the burnouts seem very forced and lacking in the creativity department. Plots that start off strong seem to easily fizzle out without any real rhyme or reason other than the fact that the plot twists that are added seem forced and out of place. Instead of staying the course, novelists who write about the disaffected youths of yesteryear, today, and tomorrow seem to be out of ideas that adequately portray the angst and disillusionment of life today. Random plot points creep into the narratives and throw off, sometimes wildly, what could otherwise be considered a solid work of fiction. What's going on with novelists these days? It seems to me that the old school writers, like Roth and Updike, are the only ones capable of producing affecting works that will stand the test of time and remain on the reading lists of future generations. It's a sad notion to think that the youthful writers of today are burning out so fast and so early on in their careers, but sometimes it's probably best to fade away than to burn out.

Negative Waves
Is it possible for a citywide affliction to have descended upon the citizens? Everyone seems to be in a bad mood, and it's infecting everyone.

Spent
I've hit the wall. I can't write any more. I'm done writing my lame assignments. I can't think straight, and I'm getting upset at having to come up with words. Stick a fork in me.

The Addiction
I am forced to admit that I have an addiction. No, it's not life threatening in the nature of drugs or drink, but it is a rather unhealthy, mental exercise in what, more often than not, results in a net gain of zero intellectually. I have a problem with checking out books from the library that I have absolutely no ability to complete. It seems like every time I wander into a decent library, I end up checking out something that catches my eye. Yesterday, for instance, I was in the public library determined to find one book, Christopher Hitchens' Letters to a Young Contrarian and ended up walking out with that tome and five cds. Well, this was just the beginning of the night's obsession. After reviewing the listing of the books attributed to Hitchens, I found one entitled Left Hooks, Right Crosses: A Decade of Political Writing, which I just had to check out. So, in a round about way, I was able to scour the shelves for this very book way after midnight. To my dismay, I couldn’t find the book where it was supposed to be, so I felt somewhat incomplete. This morning, though, I had the resolve and the determination to find this book by any means necessary. Wandering back over to the public library, I was able to quickly locate the above mentioned book, but, of course, I had to check out something else as well. This book, Haynes Johnson's The Best of Times, seemed like a necessary addition to my reading materials. So, in addition to schoolwork, most of which, other than a course in judicial process (10 Books, yikes!), requires very lite reading, I'm in the midst of reading Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, Noam Chomksy and Edward S. Herman's Manufacturing Consent, a book of essays devoted to John Ashcroft's plight to rob us of civil liberties, and I'm sure several others. What's the deal? Is there a cure? Why can't I stop?

The Confusion Effect
It occurred to me today that there are certain aspects to obtaining an education that seem so without purpose or possess any redeeming value that they border on the absurd. I never wanted to be a part of that group. The group of people who pride themselves on constantly finding fault with the nature of particular classes, and who, seemingly, never are able to be enrolled in a class that will fulfill their desires. These mindless drones are unable, or are it incapable, of finding the class that achieves the perfect balance between assignments and discussions. They are, in essence, incapable of finding solace in the learning experience.
Well, all of that seems to have gone out the window with the revelation that the latest assignment that I need to complete is one of the most challenging exercises I've ever been confronted with. It's hard, detailed, and nothing to be trifled with. In fact, it's a pretty damned good assignment. However, that doesn't alleviate the feeling of impending dread that I get when I think about it, or is it the feeling of utter disgust that I'm going to be forced to complete what seems like a fruitless exercise in futility? Either way, I'm forced to reevaluate my entire mindset when it comes to thinking about those aforementioned group of unsatisfied malcontents. Why must we struggle with an assignment that seems fraught with those ideals designed by the Nazis in order to inflict regimented figures who obey without question? It's a nightmarish scenario that requires one to really sit back and evaluate one's place in the grand scheme of things. Are we ever really going to be asked such detailed questions? Perhaps. Is it likely? No, it's not. Again, to return to a previous post, it seems that we are adding too much value to a profession that is rather simplistic in nature. Where are all these confused patrons who are really trying to ask for something completely different from what they vocalize? They don't exist. The library isn't, never has been, or never will be as dramatic an institution that is portrayed on a daily basis in this program. It's a delusional idea that permeates the entire faculty, with one notable exception, and has, for the most part, successfully infected the entire student body as well.

The Detrimental Effect of Positive Thinking
As a requirement, I'm forced to submit the whims of the university system and
take a class in management. This all too noble profession seems intent on
placing a structure upon a system that increasingly functions well without one.
In other words, if a system is working well, then it must be due to some
overwhelmingly successful management structure adopted by the powers-that-be and
instilled upon the workers in an attempt to maintain some sort of working order.
Theories of this nature are all fine and good, and, for the most part, say a lot
about how the structure of business is run in our society. However, it should
come as no surprise that as we seem to be on the verge of breaking out of, or
sinking deeper into, a nationwide recession that society at large is incredibly
pessimistic about the future of the workplace and has little or no time to
contemplate the need for instill some sort of working structure onto the
businesses themselves. What matters most now are jobs and the ability to make
money. Worker satisfaction, although always important, seems to be of little
significance when it comes to a job market that is so depleted as to seem
totally anorexic in nature.
Seemingly, another requirement of the university system is that the majority of
those admitted are self deluded so much so as to be nearly incapable of
realizing that the world functions in a way that might, just might, not conform
to their rose-tinted views on what works and what doesn't. Everyone, or at
least 9 out of every 10, seems to believe that everything in the world is just
a-okay. The economy is great, people are great, and the world itself is just
great!!!! Life is so grand and dandy that it couldn't possibly throw any
obstacles in their way. Wake up, people! We are living in pretty dire straits
right now. The only reason that it doesn't seem to affect the isolated college
world is that's what colleges are for, insulation from reality. The real world
doesn't infringe upon the closed-mindedness of the university setting. Nothing
can penetrate its thick skin.
So, as I'm on the verge of tears in this dreary, regimented, government mandated
hazing, I'm forced to interact with these bright-eyed optimists about the need
to impose a perfect management scheme on the vaunted public institution, the
library. Now, in this writer's opinion, the library, or at least what I've been
able to observe with my own eyes, is one of the least efficiently run
institutions on the face of the earth. What could possibly lead me to this
derogatory statement? Well, let's just take a look at my own personal
observations on the matter. Libraries employ far too many people for the amount
of actual work that can be done, needs to be done, or could possibly be done.
Employees with the vacant stare of the mentally defective are hardly necessary
nor inspirational to the average patron or wannabe library worker. Materials
are purchased with the desire to provide the patrons with the most well-rounded
selection available. Well, sure, those are good intentions that any educational
institution should aspire to provide, but is it necessary to provide
everything? Hardly, no one in this torturous monstrosity seems to have
ever heard of the quite apply entitled "just in case" model of library
philosophy nor have they ever heard how terribly wrong this really is. It goes
like this, the library will buy just about anything, and the same can be said
for the notion of actually getting rid of materials, under the guise of having
it "just in case" patron X will waltz through the doors into the hallowed halls
and swoop down on the materials like the like eager beaver learner that we all
know is as fictitious as the legendary Bigfoot or g-spot. This goes without
saying that there are many, many things wrong with the library and how it's
operated and run. If it were a business, it surely would have succumbed to
government educed bankruptcy and went belly-up long ago. But it hasn't. This
speaks volumes towards the resiliency of the library and the actual value it
might provide. However, this touches on the notion as to why the
library is this way to begin with. Well, my dear reader, it has a little to do
with the notion that libraries provide a free service. They don't
charge money, so they must not require money, right? Surely, this bone-headed
notion is reserved for the deranged and those without any real idea as to how
reality works, the latter group seems to make up most of my classes.
So, after vocalizing my displeasure at the current state of the library, how was
I received? I was told I was making "generalizations." What's worse, sweeping
"generalizations" that are bounded in reality, or rose-tinted optimism that
borders on the insane?

The Impending Rise of Intellectualism in All Fields
It's becoming readily apparent that the need to lend a certain sense of intellectual legitimacy to one's field is above all a major concern for those involved. Areas of study such as library science, that previously had no means of expressing any sort of academic necessity, are being flooded with tracts on the psychological ramifications of the reference interview and the need to think of one's self as an "information architect," an absurd term that, in some vulgar sense, reeks of desperation. Is it inherent for fields that previously seemed little more than "trades" in the sense that they trained a student on how to actually perform in the field with a modicum of success without the worries of sending away the customers in some sort of psychological fugue to adopt a sort of intellectual dissection of the field in order to provide the masses with a means to understand the inner workings as being complex, in-depth, and above all necessary? To me, this reflects on the desperation of the field that isn't, in the public view, a necessary cog in the workings of society at large. It's impressive to see academia churn out materials that strive to provide those interested in the subject an arena to expand upon the theories and dilemmas that are, more often than not, commonplace in nature and relatively meaningless to anyone other than those involved in the process itself.
It also presents another dilemma for those proponents of theory in general. What constitutes the necessary means for entry into academia? Is there some sort of criteria that must be involved before any particular field can become open to interpretation and analysis? Literary theory proponents, of whom I include myself, seem to believe that it's possible to deconstruct any material in any number of ways. On the one hand, this offers those in the field an opportunity to look at works in ways that aren't, traditionally, associated with the standard interpretation. On the other hand, this also opens up a plethora of questions relating to the legitimacy of certain fields adopting the same sort of interpretive paradigm. Ultimately, the absurdity involved in such an effort far outweighs its legitimate right to be proclaimed as necessary and useful. In the end, though, what has to happen is that the entropic forces will eventually shift, forcing out the dominant way of thinking into a different sphere. Until then, it's rather hopeless when looking at the state of academic discourse.

Essentially, I've decided to enter the arena of the blog because it's seen as a therapeutic tool for venting the random ideas, thoughts, complaints, daily minutiae of life in a forum that's accessible to the world at large. This is purely experimental in nature, and by no means an attempt to write anything that's even remotely considered noteworthy. It is, simply put, a means to an end, something that will allow my thoughts to be posted. If it's enjoyable, so be it. I make no promises and pay no respects.