Day: January 14, 2001

  • A spin off Wildheart's Realm:


    Damn it--I missed The Games. Guess I was spending too much time in Xangaland. Curse Xanga...more heartbreak...more horror...this obsession with journaling. Better to be a man and of football possessed than a mole who is Xanga-obsessed. Wait--I can redeem myself and again become whole: Salvation is the SuperBowl!

  • Upon Celeste's advice: bleh...bleh...bleh. The spice is so blue on the planet of Dune!


  • There are so many *blahs* around Xanga, I feel left out without some of my own…


    Damn I’m bored…nothing to write about…blah, blah, blah…so glad the weekend is ending…yeah *weak end* : there’s so much truth in homophones…my thoughts are so poor that adding the metal of a bullet to my brain would increase its chemical valuation…blah, holly green castigating me as guilty of intellectual frustration spasms…blah...just hollow slutty thoughts such as:


    death as a participation in life: Lindburgh contemplating crashing into the sea as immersement in the life of the sea. Joseph Conrad proclaiming: "..to the destructive element submit."


    finding the genuine endpoint of life within oneself as the measure of individuation, a la Jung. but also consider: a premature determination of the endpoint of life as oneself as a form of modern social pathology. This prematurity consisting of cutting the social ties prior to a sanifying initiation into a growingly complexifying society. This society, to its discredit, has increasingly blurred the distinction between freedom and adriftness; and now increasingly casts out (hence, makes outcasts of) those who, due to lack of supporting mechanisms (nurturing neighborhoods, initiating structures, individuating opportunities), waddle adrift in their search for democracy's promise of freedom.


    consider Americans’ obsession with "dirt", i.e., the profane intimate lowdown on people's faults, frailties, and pathological proclivities as a measure inversely proportional to Americans’ genuine appreciation of the land as sacred, i.e., "dirt" as the source and return to life. Signifying the obsession: the willingness to contract with Oprah Winfrey et. al., masters and mistresses of sensationalism, billions of dollars for years of dirt digging.


    Nature as love's absorption. Nature as the organic charcoal filter to assorted social and mental delusions. Potential and seeming synchronicity as a strictly personal truth (unshareable) unless the touch, the expression, and the relationship is unambiguously established.


    this thought: act like the world owes you something and it will abandon you forthwith; act like you have something to give the world and it will quite likely embrace you like an only child.


    the current cultural expression of American femininity as a sham; the current cultural expression of American masculinity as a concomitant sham--co-conspirators in shamdom. the meaning of fashionable: sham-I-am.


    blah…blah…blah….


  • I seethe with thoughts-but are they mine? An encompassing madness seems to fill me with a clash of voices strange to me. I often ponder: could this deluge be the disembodying degraded spewings of recent corpses’ rotting brains? A collective psychic dribble not yet expunged-fleeting, without fixed reference, and of no use to life? As this psychic wave of a world passing washes over me, I wonder can I ride the surf?

  • Life as a super-sleuth:


    I think bianca has become ylvas. Resoning: ylvas is one of the strangest birds in the Blog, and bianca is quite the chicken for having flown the coop.

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