B. McGILLICUDDY
WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT I'M SO BOLD!? BECAUSE I AM AN ASS!? BECAUSE I SWING MY DICK AROUND AND SAY 'LOOK AT ME LOOOK AT MEEEEEEE!'?
YOU'VE MISSED THE SIGNS! I AM BLEEDING FROM ALL MY ORIFICES! I AM CRYING TO THE WORLD, 'WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME?' LIKE CAIN, THE GARDENER, I GAVE WHAT I HAD AND GOD SAID 'SHAME!' AND I ASKED HIM WHY, AND HE ANSWERED NOT, AND I MURDERED MY BROTHER OUT OF SPITE AND ANGST, AND CRIED WHILE I WAS AT THE TASK. BUT DOES ANY OF THIS MAKE ME WRONG!? DOES ANY OF THIS JUSTIFY ME!? NO, HUMAN(I'm addressing you here)! IT MAKES ME YOU!
I am not in search of fame or fortune. I was once, a long time ago, when people in the halls of the old church building said, "look at that boy! Awww, God's got so many great things, just waiting for him! He's going to be a star one day!" And I believed them! I believed the hype! The hype coming from a bunch of disgruntled old fools! A bunch of people who turned to God in desperation and would have killed a man for a dollar in their youths! A bunch of Black and Asian and sweet old Mexicana women who watched OPRAH, 'MMM-HMMM GURLFREEEHND' they'd say. I believed THEM.
I was disappointed. I am disappointed. I learned that there are scholars and people with raw, natural talent, and people in pea coats and pipes as well as long and sturdy cigars that they smoke all day, waiting for the money in their bank account to roooooollll over into the next one not caring about God or being a star or anything but themselves! SOMEONE TOLD ME THE WORLD REVOLVED AROUND MY CREATIVITY, WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE?
I had expectations to live up to! I had people to prove right! I had an identity to find! BAAAAHHH! Humbug! I said later in an old and miserly way! I tried loving people like the Bible said God loved me and I wasn't just let down, I was stoned. I was martyred in the schoolyard for my beliefs, revered for my consistency but banished for my non-conformity. And I found myself alone. Then I called out to God and asked him what I should do? Where should I go? And I didn't get an answer, I just looked up and I saw stars.
I saw stars glittering, small and desperate in their tiny, hasty light, massive balls of heat and fire fighting their way billions of years to my eyes. And though I see them, what good does it do them? They are alone. Then i looked to the ground and I saw the concrete, the meshed and muted mold of man's desperate need to carve the Earth into something ugly, and I saw that the concrete didn't ask to be there, that it wasn't commissioned with a guarantee of reimbursement, to sit and let my feet wear it away, to let members of the community deem it unsightly and have workmen chip it to nothing and heap it where everything that doesn't matter and didn't ever matter goes. And I was afraid.
Then i looked up and straight ahead, into the eyes of another human being, and behind those eyes I saw the same plight: to be heard. To be seen. To mean something and know someone thought that they meant EVERYTHING. And I empathized with them. I could ask them what they wanted, and they could tell me. But no. They lie. People cannot not lie, because their thoughts are never fully formed. Their minds are never wholly sure of anything! 'WHAT DO YOU WANT?' says I, 'YOU' they say, and I tell the truth I think that I think and say the same to them, and instantly they run away. I then remember God and call on him in desperation, and he still does not answer. I look into the mirror and I cannot see my self. I look at all I have and I see I no longer want it. And what will become of me? What will they say? Little to nothing is the answer. I know this. Little to nothing is what I'm worth to them, even in all my faculties.
There is only one thing left to do, my mind decides: smile. Smile because no one is watching. Smile because what else is left? Smile because people will see, and will, perplexed, smile with you perhaps. And so for a moment I was emo in my head and cheery in the face and that worked out just fine. Until I saw the icons. The icons do not smile. The icons, stoic, and so unnerving, never let their teeth breach the viewer's line of sight, and I wondered why this was. And I began to scour the Earth, search for the answer: Why do these alone folk, the people, known of late, keep their goddamned mouths shut? And I realized that the answer was in my questioning. I realize how great a mystery to me it was that they should suffer in silence, and so I started being emo in my subconscious, smiling in my head, and apathizing on my face. And someone saw, and was afraid.
So this is me, SHUTTING. THE FUCK. UP.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/31/2009
NEW DEPARTMENT OF EAGLES VIDEO: NO ONE DOES IT LIKE YOU
B. McGILLICUDDY
Had this song on loop last time this happened. Ironic that the video just came out this week.
Even more ironic what the video's about. Sigh. "No one does it like you". WTF D.O.E.? SRSLY WTF?
B. McGILLICUDDY
Had this song on loop last time this happened. Ironic that the video just came out this week.
Even more ironic what the video's about. Sigh. "No one does it like you". WTF D.O.E.? SRSLY WTF?
B. McGILLICUDDY
UNTITLED pt.2
B. McGILLICUDDY
Power strikes silentish. It doesn't need its words, or, it speaks softly rather
And her hold on me is like a hook inside my ribcage, like a hook for every rib
All rope-a-doped and tied tight to her halo, that swings and winds and never stops a-tuggin'
DO NOT WANT, because when she is happy I am 'appy
Like a homeless lil cockney kid who just got tossed an apple "cum gratis"
But lover/hater, pick a side, I'm here to stay, don't keep lyin' 'r tryin' to push me away
'Cause I'm yankin' yer halo, e-s-p today
Left carrot three, left carrot three, left carrot three
I got love four "u" babe, and I need "u" undeniably
I typo less when we're 2gether, and I'm writing a novel 4 u, and we spilled water on my backspace key, so I need to typo less to finish the novel
That is not the only reason I "need" you. I "need" you because I need you. Without you I stop being a person. I hurt people like you try to hurt me. I stop thinking and start manipulating and orchestrating and treating animals like they don't have souls, even though it is humane to do this and inhumane not to. You make me human.
Last time this happened I almost lost myself completely. Thank you Andrew, you found me. I'm losing myself again. I don't want to lose myself. I would rather lose the whole universe than lose myself, and you are an important part of my "self" babe. With or without your apathy. I get it if I'm not conducive to your life. I can love you and leave you with that knowledge in my heart. I can sacrifice myself for you, but I cannot lose myself for nothing. I cannot. I cannot, I cannot, I cannot, I cannot, I cannot. But your'e letting me. You're putting me here. You're leaving me here. I am left. Everyone has sort of left me. It's bad enough that I feel alone all the time. Now I know I am alone and I don't need a reminder. This is too intense for me. Be nice to me, because I will change with you. I will grow, it's inevitable. You won't be apathetic all the time or forever. It hurts more when you pretend you hate me than when you tell me things "honestly". Today was too intense. Today was too intense.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Power strikes silentish. It doesn't need its words, or, it speaks softly rather
And her hold on me is like a hook inside my ribcage, like a hook for every rib
All rope-a-doped and tied tight to her halo, that swings and winds and never stops a-tuggin'
DO NOT WANT, because when she is happy I am 'appy
Like a homeless lil cockney kid who just got tossed an apple "cum gratis"
But lover/hater, pick a side, I'm here to stay, don't keep lyin' 'r tryin' to push me away
'Cause I'm yankin' yer halo, e-s-p today
Left carrot three, left carrot three, left carrot three
I got love four "u" babe, and I need "u" undeniably
I typo less when we're 2gether, and I'm writing a novel 4 u, and we spilled water on my backspace key, so I need to typo less to finish the novel
That is not the only reason I "need" you. I "need" you because I need you. Without you I stop being a person. I hurt people like you try to hurt me. I stop thinking and start manipulating and orchestrating and treating animals like they don't have souls, even though it is humane to do this and inhumane not to. You make me human.
Last time this happened I almost lost myself completely. Thank you Andrew, you found me. I'm losing myself again. I don't want to lose myself. I would rather lose the whole universe than lose myself, and you are an important part of my "self" babe. With or without your apathy. I get it if I'm not conducive to your life. I can love you and leave you with that knowledge in my heart. I can sacrifice myself for you, but I cannot lose myself for nothing. I cannot. I cannot, I cannot, I cannot, I cannot, I cannot. But your'e letting me. You're putting me here. You're leaving me here. I am left. Everyone has sort of left me. It's bad enough that I feel alone all the time. Now I know I am alone and I don't need a reminder. This is too intense for me. Be nice to me, because I will change with you. I will grow, it's inevitable. You won't be apathetic all the time or forever. It hurts more when you pretend you hate me than when you tell me things "honestly". Today was too intense. Today was too intense.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/30/2009
feeling
B. McGILLICUDDY
IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS. IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS. IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS. CHRIST, I KNOW THAT I KNOW THAT I KNOW THAT I KNOW THAT IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL SO FUCKING TERRIBLE.
BUT THAT DOESN'T STOP IT FROM FEELING LIKE THIS.
JSUS CHRST GDMNT!
B. McGILLICUDDY
IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS. IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS. IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS. CHRIST, I KNOW THAT I KNOW THAT I KNOW THAT I KNOW THAT IT WON'T ALWAYS FEEL SO FUCKING TERRIBLE.
BUT THAT DOESN'T STOP IT FROM FEELING LIKE THIS.
JSUS CHRST GDMNT!
B. McGILLICUDDY
WHEN KEEPIN' IT REAL GOES "WRONG" - DAVID KHARI WEBBER CHAPPELLE
B. McGILLICUDDY
"People" have these things, called "emotions". One of them is called "hurt". It makes you sad.
People have a thing called "trust" too. Sometimes it gets "betrayed".
People have things called "other people", and when they are together they are called "friends" sometimes. Sometimes they are called "lovers". Other times they are called "acquaintances". Sometimes they give these "titles" other names to keep hurt from happening because they are afraid that their trust will be betrayed.
I don't know the difference between any of these titles. I don't read my dictionary religiously, so inevitably I get the meanings of words mixed up and people get hurt and are sad because I couldn't tell the difference when it was "important".
Sometimes apologizing helps people feel "better" about how sad they have gotten. Other times there is nothing you can do to fix the problem, especially if the person who got hurt has "trust issues".
I have had to learn that this is true many different times and with different results. It hurts me when I betray peoples' trust. I don't like doing it. It makes me sad.
But sometimes life betrays my trust. Sometimes life hurts me, because of my unrealistic expectations and realizations about how impossible it is to get what it is that you want for the most part. But sometimes the opportunity to "get what you want" comes around despite its seeming impossibility. It is important to be happy when this happens because it is usually the only time when you don't have to force yourself to be happy or use artificial stimulation to make you "think happy thoughts".
I'm sad. And when I am sad I am more likely to hurt people who trust me because I am not interested in their expectations and end up forgetting what it is "I'm supposed to do" when it is "important" to do the "right thing". I don't want to be sad. I don't want to be a bad friend/lover/acquaintance. I want to be perfect all of the time so everyone likes me.
It makes me happy when people like me even though I am not perfect. There is a word called "serendipity" that I think describes when that happens pretty well.
Today, my horoscope said, "You may reveal a bit too much information today, but it's actually good to have it in the open". Honestly, this horoscope has never been right. But if it is today, then I will be happy.
I am a reckless and unbearable person without you,
B. McGILLICUDDY
"People" have these things, called "emotions". One of them is called "hurt". It makes you sad.
People have a thing called "trust" too. Sometimes it gets "betrayed".
People have things called "other people", and when they are together they are called "friends" sometimes. Sometimes they are called "lovers". Other times they are called "acquaintances". Sometimes they give these "titles" other names to keep hurt from happening because they are afraid that their trust will be betrayed.
I don't know the difference between any of these titles. I don't read my dictionary religiously, so inevitably I get the meanings of words mixed up and people get hurt and are sad because I couldn't tell the difference when it was "important".
Sometimes apologizing helps people feel "better" about how sad they have gotten. Other times there is nothing you can do to fix the problem, especially if the person who got hurt has "trust issues".
I have had to learn that this is true many different times and with different results. It hurts me when I betray peoples' trust. I don't like doing it. It makes me sad.
But sometimes life betrays my trust. Sometimes life hurts me, because of my unrealistic expectations and realizations about how impossible it is to get what it is that you want for the most part. But sometimes the opportunity to "get what you want" comes around despite its seeming impossibility. It is important to be happy when this happens because it is usually the only time when you don't have to force yourself to be happy or use artificial stimulation to make you "think happy thoughts".
I'm sad. And when I am sad I am more likely to hurt people who trust me because I am not interested in their expectations and end up forgetting what it is "I'm supposed to do" when it is "important" to do the "right thing". I don't want to be sad. I don't want to be a bad friend/lover/acquaintance. I want to be perfect all of the time so everyone likes me.
It makes me happy when people like me even though I am not perfect. There is a word called "serendipity" that I think describes when that happens pretty well.
Today, my horoscope said, "You may reveal a bit too much information today, but it's actually good to have it in the open". Honestly, this horoscope has never been right. But if it is today, then I will be happy.
I am a reckless and unbearable person without you,
B. McGILLICUDDY
TWO (2) CR33PERZ TRY THEIR HARDEST TO SCARE THE ONE 1337 PERSON THEY KNOW AS FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE (i.e. FRANCE)
B. McGILLICUDDY
Floyd: morning
me: hey
posted a new blog
or blogged a new post
Sent at 10:27 AM on Monday
Floyd: LOL
funny
uploading video
me: awesome
Floyd: but
me: can't wait
Floyd: for la frere
its personal
me: oh...rly?
not public?
Floyd: it's like a have fun in france
no
it's too confessional
me: ur very interesting u r
Floyd: why
me: b/c that was the thought i had before i wrote that
no other reason really
Floyd: yeah true
i wanna be included
me: mad hits today
Floyd: yeah?
me: MMAAAAADDD HITS
Floyd: it's all dom
and his la frere chasing
it's okay though
she either is or is not mine
lol
me: pretty sure saturday was just weekend slumpsihy stuff
Floyd: yeah
weekdays when everyone needs to procrastinate
me: yes
Floyd: no one has time on weekends to procrastinate
too busy with their social life
except us
me: but not us
lol
Floyd: we're justl osers sitting at home
i wanted to email her the video
me: writin' blogs and makin' monies
Floyd: but it wouldn't let me
me: that's sad
you did it on fb?
Floyd: no i did it on comp
tried to add it here
oh well
was too personal for fb
now uploading to youtube
gonna get cereal
mom wondering why i haven't ome down from the dungeon
has to leave in an hour an half
me: lol so sad
:'(
just wanted to see it turn
Floyd: yeah i know
:(:(:)
hahahaha
okay
gonna eat
me: rofl
Floyd: :(:)
me: what is that?
that's awesome
it's like frogs having sex or something
bye
Sent at 10:36 AM on Monday
Floyd: haha
my mom made vegetable soup
my teeth are hurting
do i have cavities
how will i share my videos
me: i don't know
didn't know you had a youtube
Floyd: totes
me: can you make youtube vids private?
Floyd: yeah
me: also, i think you should have recorded it as a vid on facebook in a private message to la frere, but maybe that's too much to suggest
Sent at 10:41 AM on Monday
Floyd: i aint gonna do it agian
me: okay. you obvs love her soooo much
anyway
i cann't wait until hro's siriusxmu show today
because
i'm going to clean my house to it
and when i'm done
i will feel complete
:)
yaaaaaaaaaaaaaas
<3 u gchat
omg
<3 U SO MUCH
OMG
Floyd: hahaa
<3
ghey
me: u first
if you come out of the closet
i will
prms
Floyd: is it bad that i like her
i'm not ghey
i like grlz
like la frere
me: yah me 2. but i'm obvs gay b/c i didn't bed her when i had the chance
so duh
Floyd: yeah
you fag
me: bt now you have her
so you come out
Floyd: so glad you didn't
me: and i will 2
Floyd: would be awkward
me: dude, u've never slept with a girl your buddy slept with?
you're not really bohemian
Floyd: but she's been all abstinent
haha
thats a lolocaust
i am bohemian
more so than you
preacher boy
me: it's so awesome going over notes post-post-having the same chick
Floyd: vagina is a holy space
me: it's totes the closest 2 bros can get
Floyd: hahaha
i can imagine
me: 2 each other without "beeing gay 2gether"
Floyd: but better not happenign with la frere
me: yeah i promsd already
so ur gud
life gets so complicated sometimes
glad i'm chosing not to complicate this
Floyd: no doubt
me: b/c i <3 u bro
Floyd: glad too
?
me: what was the punctuation for?
Floyd: why do you love me
Sent at 10:49 AM on Monday
Floyd: i'm ghey
me: b/c u can draw and u understand my vision 4 the future sumtymes
Floyd: i sent you email
basically what i said to la frere
me: and we both have old dogs
Sent at 10:51 AM on Monday
Floyd: yaahhhh
true
read what i wrote
tell me if i'm pushy
gonna shower
Sent at 10:52 AM on Monday
me: okay
u already sent it tho
lolz
Sent at 10:54 AM on Monday
me: u r kewt
i'm channeling la frere right now
and i'm saying "yes, yes, yes"
Sent at 10:56 AM on Monday
me: b/c u r human, and she likes humans, and u r getting vulns 4 her outside of a creeper context, which is safe and endearing, and u r an artist and she likes artists, and u can cook. so u r doing good.
and it is kewt
like how kittens and teddybears and twee love songs are kewt
so she's going "awwww" and "awwww" is good 4 now
but it doesn't keep ppl 2gether unfortunately (i'm projecting now)
Sent at 10:59 AM on Monday
Floyd: HAHAHA
i like how you projected
aww shouldn't keep people together though
you're right
and you are projecting
me: :)))
ghey now
it's so ghey noa
nao*
mao
mrrrrow purrs
Floyd: but srsly
yeah
vulns
realistic vulns
humanity
me: yes
she likes humans
generally
Floyd: i have good relationship with aquarius
and never get bored
yeah
whatever
me: oh
Floyd: you know
what
too much thinking
me: you know what?
Floyd: ?
me: you haven't been reading THE STEPS
THE STEPS
Floyd: HaHAHA
shit
you're so right
but i'll be okay
i'm giving the relationship to her now
ol
me: FUCK
okay
lol
i'm starting to think that ONE STEP is flawed
NEVER GIVE THE RELATIONSHIP TO THE CHICK
might have to write a post about that
lol
j/k
Floyd: HAHAHA
i think i'm on step 8
me: oh and nvm
Floyd: play confident idiot
lol
me: you exactly
good job
rofl
GUESS HOW I FOUND IT!?
Floyd: high five
me: i used the "search"
lol
Floyd: i know
ME TOO
lol
me: it worked
ROFL YAY kinda
Floyd: lol
weather good
why am i asking you
you're faaar
me: not here, not yet
when does she leave?
Floyd: tomorrow
me: oh yeah
Floyd: will ignore her all day
me: it's going to be 65 2day
Floyd: then email her link to vids
hahaha
tonight
me: ur kewt
and kinda sadistic
Floyd: AHAHAH
me: what if she wants to "spend the day with you"?
Floyd: busy
at school
getting high
too bad
me: that's fucked up
Floyd: what aout when i wanna spend the day with her
HUH
HUH
she doesnt care then
:'(
me: thought it was "in her handz nao"
Floyd: it is
but
me: thought u were 'playing the confident idjit"
Floyd: she is in my hands
so this is a fucked up vortex
this is playing
if i talk to ehr
can't do it
when i have the cahnce to talk to her
i will
me: what if she "talks 2 u?"
Floyd: today is school
then i talk bac
me: okay
awesome
ur kewt
i'm ghey
we'll talk
Floyd: gtg eat
me: OOO MAKE A WISH
Floyd: i wsih la frere falls maddly in love and misses me
SHIT
not gonna happen
me: ROFL
2bad
miss u superstition
go eat
Sent at 11:12 AM on Monday
When keepin' it real goes viral,
B. McGILLICUDDY
Floyd: morning
me: hey
posted a new blog
or blogged a new post
Sent at 10:27 AM on Monday
Floyd: LOL
funny
uploading video
me: awesome
Floyd: but
me: can't wait
Floyd: for la frere
its personal
me: oh...rly?
not public?
Floyd: it's like a have fun in france
no
it's too confessional
me: ur very interesting u r
Floyd: why
me: b/c that was the thought i had before i wrote that
no other reason really
Floyd: yeah true
i wanna be included
me: mad hits today
Floyd: yeah?
me: MMAAAAADDD HITS
Floyd: it's all dom
and his la frere chasing
it's okay though
she either is or is not mine
lol
me: pretty sure saturday was just weekend slumpsihy stuff
Floyd: yeah
weekdays when everyone needs to procrastinate
me: yes
Floyd: no one has time on weekends to procrastinate
too busy with their social life
except us
me: but not us
lol
Floyd: we're justl osers sitting at home
i wanted to email her the video
me: writin' blogs and makin' monies
Floyd: but it wouldn't let me
me: that's sad
you did it on fb?
Floyd: no i did it on comp
tried to add it here
oh well
was too personal for fb
now uploading to youtube
gonna get cereal
mom wondering why i haven't ome down from the dungeon
has to leave in an hour an half
me: lol so sad
:'(
just wanted to see it turn
Floyd: yeah i know
:(:(:)
hahahaha
okay
gonna eat
me: rofl
Floyd: :(:)
me: what is that?
that's awesome
it's like frogs having sex or something
bye
Sent at 10:36 AM on Monday
Floyd: haha
my mom made vegetable soup
my teeth are hurting
do i have cavities
how will i share my videos
me: i don't know
didn't know you had a youtube
Floyd: totes
me: can you make youtube vids private?
Floyd: yeah
me: also, i think you should have recorded it as a vid on facebook in a private message to la frere, but maybe that's too much to suggest
Sent at 10:41 AM on Monday
Floyd: i aint gonna do it agian
me: okay. you obvs love her soooo much
anyway
i cann't wait until hro's siriusxmu show today
because
i'm going to clean my house to it
and when i'm done
i will feel complete
:)
yaaaaaaaaaaaaaas
<3 u gchat
omg
<3 U SO MUCH
OMG
Floyd: hahaa
<3
ghey
me: u first
if you come out of the closet
i will
prms
Floyd: is it bad that i like her
i'm not ghey
i like grlz
like la frere
me: yah me 2. but i'm obvs gay b/c i didn't bed her when i had the chance
so duh
Floyd: yeah
you fag
me: bt now you have her
so you come out
Floyd: so glad you didn't
me: and i will 2
Floyd: would be awkward
me: dude, u've never slept with a girl your buddy slept with?
you're not really bohemian
Floyd: but she's been all abstinent
haha
thats a lolocaust
i am bohemian
more so than you
preacher boy
me: it's so awesome going over notes post-post-having the same chick
Floyd: vagina is a holy space
me: it's totes the closest 2 bros can get
Floyd: hahaha
i can imagine
me: 2 each other without "beeing gay 2gether"
Floyd: but better not happenign with la frere
me: yeah i promsd already
so ur gud
life gets so complicated sometimes
glad i'm chosing not to complicate this
Floyd: no doubt
me: b/c i <3 u bro
Floyd: glad too
?
me: what was the punctuation for?
Floyd: why do you love me
Sent at 10:49 AM on Monday
Floyd: i'm ghey
me: b/c u can draw and u understand my vision 4 the future sumtymes
Floyd: i sent you email
basically what i said to la frere
me: and we both have old dogs
Sent at 10:51 AM on Monday
Floyd: yaahhhh
true
read what i wrote
tell me if i'm pushy
gonna shower
Sent at 10:52 AM on Monday
me: okay
u already sent it tho
lolz
Sent at 10:54 AM on Monday
me: u r kewt
i'm channeling la frere right now
and i'm saying "yes, yes, yes"
Sent at 10:56 AM on Monday
me: b/c u r human, and she likes humans, and u r getting vulns 4 her outside of a creeper context, which is safe and endearing, and u r an artist and she likes artists, and u can cook. so u r doing good.
and it is kewt
like how kittens and teddybears and twee love songs are kewt
so she's going "awwww" and "awwww" is good 4 now
but it doesn't keep ppl 2gether unfortunately (i'm projecting now)
Sent at 10:59 AM on Monday
Floyd: HAHAHA
i like how you projected
aww shouldn't keep people together though
you're right
and you are projecting
me: :)))
ghey now
it's so ghey noa
nao*
mao
mrrrrow purrs
Floyd: but srsly
yeah
vulns
realistic vulns
humanity
me: yes
she likes humans
generally
Floyd: i have good relationship with aquarius
and never get bored
yeah
whatever
me: oh
Floyd: you know
what
too much thinking
me: you know what?
Floyd: ?
me: you haven't been reading THE STEPS
THE STEPS
Floyd: HaHAHA
shit
you're so right
but i'll be okay
i'm giving the relationship to her now
ol
me: FUCK
okay
lol
i'm starting to think that ONE STEP is flawed
NEVER GIVE THE RELATIONSHIP TO THE CHICK
might have to write a post about that
lol
j/k
Floyd: HAHAHA
i think i'm on step 8
me: oh and nvm
Floyd: play confident idiot
lol
me: you exactly
good job
rofl
GUESS HOW I FOUND IT!?
Floyd: high five
me: i used the "search"
lol
Floyd: i know
ME TOO
lol
me: it worked
ROFL YAY kinda
Floyd: lol
weather good
why am i asking you
you're faaar
me: not here, not yet
when does she leave?
Floyd: tomorrow
me: oh yeah
Floyd: will ignore her all day
me: it's going to be 65 2day
Floyd: then email her link to vids
hahaha
tonight
me: ur kewt
and kinda sadistic
Floyd: AHAHAH
me: what if she wants to "spend the day with you"?
Floyd: busy
at school
getting high
too bad
me: that's fucked up
Floyd: what aout when i wanna spend the day with her
HUH
HUH
she doesnt care then
:'(
me: thought it was "in her handz nao"
Floyd: it is
but
me: thought u were 'playing the confident idjit"
Floyd: she is in my hands
so this is a fucked up vortex
this is playing
if i talk to ehr
can't do it
when i have the cahnce to talk to her
i will
me: what if she "talks 2 u?"
Floyd: today is school
then i talk bac
me: okay
awesome
ur kewt
i'm ghey
we'll talk
Floyd: gtg eat
me: OOO MAKE A WISH
Floyd: i wsih la frere falls maddly in love and misses me
SHIT
not gonna happen
me: ROFL
2bad
miss u superstition
go eat
Sent at 11:12 AM on Monday
When keepin' it real goes viral,
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'M BLOGGING ABOUT A BLOG WORTH BLOGGING ABOUT BECAUSE IT IS RELEVANT TO MY LIFE RIGHT NAO
B. McGILLICUDDY
On Valentines Day I made a list of people who "got" Valentines day. The #3 person on this list was Carles. I was right. He also "gets" love.
We may have beaten him to the punch topic-wise, but damn Carles. Goddamn.
This post is mostly dedicated to my girlfriend, even though she wants to be my ex-girlfriend, because she likes Mariah Carey and she will always be my baby. This post is also, but somewhat less dedicated to La Frere, for the first of the aforementioned reasons. This post is not dedicated to Floyd, because I know that this statement will hurt his feelings because he likes being "included". Oracular Spectacular probs doesn't care too much, but she gets a shoutout. This post is also dedicated to the Arstist formerly known as The Anonymouses because I think he has an unhealthy obsession with La Frere and will be glad to have a more rounded understanding of her music tastes.
What do you think about love everyone? What is your opinion on our opinions/internal drama/romance/apathy toward our supposed subject matter/lack of coherence/narcissism?
Keep being romantic everybody. Just do it, because the world is sad enough without a bunch of post-post-ironic/sardonic anti-social/emotionally frustrated pessimists.
B. McGILLICUDDY
On Valentines Day I made a list of people who "got" Valentines day. The #3 person on this list was Carles. I was right. He also "gets" love.
We may have beaten him to the punch topic-wise, but damn Carles. Goddamn.
This post is mostly dedicated to my girlfriend, even though she wants to be my ex-girlfriend, because she likes Mariah Carey and she will always be my baby. This post is also, but somewhat less dedicated to La Frere, for the first of the aforementioned reasons. This post is not dedicated to Floyd, because I know that this statement will hurt his feelings because he likes being "included". Oracular Spectacular probs doesn't care too much, but she gets a shoutout. This post is also dedicated to the Arstist formerly known as The Anonymouses because I think he has an unhealthy obsession with La Frere and will be glad to have a more rounded understanding of her music tastes.
What do you think about love everyone? What is your opinion on our opinions/internal drama/romance/apathy toward our supposed subject matter/lack of coherence/narcissism?
Keep being romantic everybody. Just do it, because the world is sad enough without a bunch of post-post-ironic/sardonic anti-social/emotionally frustrated pessimists.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/29/2009
I THINK I CAN PRETEND TO BE HAPPY FOR A MINUTE
B. McGILLICUDDY
It is warm outside. It's pretty sexy I'd say. But then again, what do I know about sex? I'm a VIRGIN. Right, Virginity Thief?
I'm smiling while I write this. But it's not one of those cheery, giggly, pip-uppity smiles. It's a 'fake it til you make it' smile, a 'hang in there kitty' smile. B/c it's the warmest day of Spring so far, and I'm eating my emotions via Pizza Hut's wonderful stuffed-crust pizza!
Need to find a way to get laid today. Maybe I'll get a job and make some money (not kidding), buy a car and pick up some chicks at the local mall (for those of you who've never seen me, yes, I am the sexiest man alive and can perform such feats with ease). Maybe I'll marry my high school sweetheart via Catholic Justice of the Peace (slim/fat chance). Maybe I'll woo my way back into my GF's good graces! (All in a day's work) Today is so full of potential!!!
I think I'm going to go take a nap to wait out this hangover. THEN shit's going to get DONE.
De La Cruise,
B. McGILLICUDDY
It is warm outside. It's pretty sexy I'd say. But then again, what do I know about sex? I'm a VIRGIN. Right, Virginity Thief?
I'm smiling while I write this. But it's not one of those cheery, giggly, pip-uppity smiles. It's a 'fake it til you make it' smile, a 'hang in there kitty' smile. B/c it's the warmest day of Spring so far, and I'm eating my emotions via Pizza Hut's wonderful stuffed-crust pizza!
Need to find a way to get laid today. Maybe I'll get a job and make some money (not kidding), buy a car and pick up some chicks at the local mall (for those of you who've never seen me, yes, I am the sexiest man alive and can perform such feats with ease). Maybe I'll marry my high school sweetheart via Catholic Justice of the Peace (slim/fat chance). Maybe I'll woo my way back into my GF's good graces! (All in a day's work) Today is so full of potential!!!
I think I'm going to go take a nap to wait out this hangover. THEN shit's going to get DONE.
De La Cruise,
B. McGILLICUDDY
MOVIE REVIEW: GOOD PENIS
B. McGILLICUDDY
This movie is about a cute dude (Jason Ritter) and a kinda-not-so-hot girl (Marianna Palka) who like watching porn together. The guy seems to really like the girl, but the girl seems to not really like the guy. Every scene in this movie is kinda short and it gives off a very pervasive feeling of "indieness", especially since I've never heard of the chick who directed it (Marianna Palka), and the only actor I recognized was the guy with the beard from Knocked Up/Superbad (Martin Starr), which are also, but not-as-much-so "indie". The plot does not drag. The humor is very dark. There is a lot of mention of sex and a lot of tension of it too, but there is no "good dick" exposing that I can remember. This movie is really about coming to terms with the fact that people are attracted to each other for the 'right reasons' sometimes, and that it's not a 'bad thing" to fall in love/deal with your fear of "being hurt" when the "right person' comes along. Also, Tom Arnold is in this film at the end, and I was surprise/not surprised at how well he acted/what roll he played.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
This movie is about a cute dude (Jason Ritter) and a kinda-not-so-hot girl (Marianna Palka) who like watching porn together. The guy seems to really like the girl, but the girl seems to not really like the guy. Every scene in this movie is kinda short and it gives off a very pervasive feeling of "indieness", especially since I've never heard of the chick who directed it (Marianna Palka), and the only actor I recognized was the guy with the beard from Knocked Up/Superbad (Martin Starr), which are also, but not-as-much-so "indie". The plot does not drag. The humor is very dark. There is a lot of mention of sex and a lot of tension of it too, but there is no "good dick" exposing that I can remember. This movie is really about coming to terms with the fact that people are attracted to each other for the 'right reasons' sometimes, and that it's not a 'bad thing" to fall in love/deal with your fear of "being hurt" when the "right person' comes along. Also, Tom Arnold is in this film at the end, and I was surprise/not surprised at how well he acted/what roll he played.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
MOVIE REVIEW: TWILIGHT EPISODE IV: VAMPIRES IN SEATTLE
B. McGILLICUDDY
At first I thought this movie was going to be gay. Then I watched some of it, and I noticed that the cinematography was irrefutably visually appealing/zany/did not accent the action scenes very well. The story isn't very believable, but that's okay, because vampires are 'cool'. Then I noticed that Kristen Stewart is pretty hot, so I kept watching. Then I realized that they spent a lot of time not explaining anything, and then suddenly spent a lot of time explaining everything, which was a huge bummer. I'd rather either a) not have known or b) been shown, not told. But my expectations were too high I guess. And then, for some reason they decided that Kristen Stewart should do a voice-over for part of the movie, which was a bit off-putting. The action scenes, which should have been good, were just confusing. Then I realized that all the plot devices and uses of slow-motion photography were all really weak. But luckily, Kristen Stewart (and the rest of the cast, generally) stayed hot for the whole movie, so I finished it.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
At first I thought this movie was going to be gay. Then I watched some of it, and I noticed that the cinematography was irrefutably visually appealing/zany/did not accent the action scenes very well. The story isn't very believable, but that's okay, because vampires are 'cool'. Then I noticed that Kristen Stewart is pretty hot, so I kept watching. Then I realized that they spent a lot of time not explaining anything, and then suddenly spent a lot of time explaining everything, which was a huge bummer. I'd rather either a) not have known or b) been shown, not told. But my expectations were too high I guess. And then, for some reason they decided that Kristen Stewart should do a voice-over for part of the movie, which was a bit off-putting. The action scenes, which should have been good, were just confusing. Then I realized that all the plot devices and uses of slow-motion photography were all really weak. But luckily, Kristen Stewart (and the rest of the cast, generally) stayed hot for the whole movie, so I finished it.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/28/2009
UNTITLED pt.1
B. McGILLICUDDY
You, Not So Sublime, you say, yet precious to my eye
And ear and everything, and yes, the tips of all these nimble limbs are you,
I can see you, deep, there, in my mind.
I see you stepping through a shaded hollow walking,
Toward me with the whitest shine back-lighting,
The darkest image of, does not undo the you in you,
And your shadow keeps me company in this bright, all-shimmers world
What I can see, is simple mystery to thee and all
Yet I see it, I can see it, so my something says it must be there
What does this do of me? What does this make to you?
Is it intense? So intensely overbearing and so painful to the feel?
Because I sense it, but my sensing does not help its happening
Nor does it prove it false, and it cannot, and it will not prove your figments in the fog
We are pangs of wisdom to ourselves, and how our selves they shy away.
But what can we become? What can we believe if someone does not say it?
I believe in this so wretched thing, this romau
The very word sends me to shutters as it buries you in drink
But so insane are we! So insane that we cannot find fault in each other for the feeling
For the movement! For the juts and simple gifts we swear, in lies, we can resist!
I can only hear because you speak, and I can only laugh because you move
And this I cannot chance another beaten bosom on.
This I cannot chance another broken soul upon,
That you should find such fault in circumstance, perfect circumstance
As to justify my breaking. As to help me make me who I need to be.
It is not ordered by your steps! So do not trouble yourself by it!
Do not work your heart into a lying frenzy over what our souls can take!
Because the world is nothing but a spoon that stops a constant stream
And as we sip from it, we see ourselves upsided-down and fear
And all the while the stream keeps pouring and pouring and we are mesmerized away
But this is different from the world. This is different from the metaphor
This is this. And I will stay.
B. McGILLICUDDY
You, Not So Sublime, you say, yet precious to my eye
And ear and everything, and yes, the tips of all these nimble limbs are you,
I can see you, deep, there, in my mind.
I see you stepping through a shaded hollow walking,
Toward me with the whitest shine back-lighting,
The darkest image of, does not undo the you in you,
And your shadow keeps me company in this bright, all-shimmers world
What I can see, is simple mystery to thee and all
Yet I see it, I can see it, so my something says it must be there
What does this do of me? What does this make to you?
Is it intense? So intensely overbearing and so painful to the feel?
Because I sense it, but my sensing does not help its happening
Nor does it prove it false, and it cannot, and it will not prove your figments in the fog
We are pangs of wisdom to ourselves, and how our selves they shy away.
But what can we become? What can we believe if someone does not say it?
I believe in this so wretched thing, this romau
The very word sends me to shutters as it buries you in drink
But so insane are we! So insane that we cannot find fault in each other for the feeling
For the movement! For the juts and simple gifts we swear, in lies, we can resist!
I can only hear because you speak, and I can only laugh because you move
And this I cannot chance another beaten bosom on.
This I cannot chance another broken soul upon,
That you should find such fault in circumstance, perfect circumstance
As to justify my breaking. As to help me make me who I need to be.
It is not ordered by your steps! So do not trouble yourself by it!
Do not work your heart into a lying frenzy over what our souls can take!
Because the world is nothing but a spoon that stops a constant stream
And as we sip from it, we see ourselves upsided-down and fear
And all the while the stream keeps pouring and pouring and we are mesmerized away
But this is different from the world. This is different from the metaphor
This is this. And I will stay.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/27/2009
I'M REALLY PRETTY VERY MUCH A USELESS HUMAN BEING
B. McGILLICUDDY
I don't like myself anymore. Earlier today I thought I was the shit. Right now, I'm pretty convinced that my social credibility and people's general expectations of me dropped to nearly zero once I started getting serious about this blog. I'm kinda suffering pre-post traumatic shock in anticipation of my girlfriend trying to convince me to break up with her at some point tomorrow. But I'm not going to do it. Because as useless as I feel now, I'd just feel worse without her. I'm writing a novel about her. Well, not specifically about her, it's based partly on our relationship, but it's set 1,000 years in the future and I keep telling people it's the perfect literary cross between Apocalypse Now/Heart of Darkness, 2001 A Space Odyssey, and Pokemon the original videogame, but with a love story. And of course it being set 1,000 years in the future makes it even cooler/gnarlier, and there's no way I'll ever finish it if we split up, and besides her, it's the only thing on the whole fucking planet that I care about right now, so that's a negatory on the splitty-uppy. And besides that I love her, and I mean I'm in love with her, and it pisses me off because girls can be ridiculous about love sometimes. Especially when they're unsure about things, and I don't want her to be unsure. I just don't. Because I'm sure, so she should be too. I'm shaking now a little. I'm out of cigarettes and money and I can't write my novel because I can't focus. I don't like feeling this weak, but sometimes you can't help it. I hope everything works out okay.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I don't like myself anymore. Earlier today I thought I was the shit. Right now, I'm pretty convinced that my social credibility and people's general expectations of me dropped to nearly zero once I started getting serious about this blog. I'm kinda suffering pre-post traumatic shock in anticipation of my girlfriend trying to convince me to break up with her at some point tomorrow. But I'm not going to do it. Because as useless as I feel now, I'd just feel worse without her. I'm writing a novel about her. Well, not specifically about her, it's based partly on our relationship, but it's set 1,000 years in the future and I keep telling people it's the perfect literary cross between Apocalypse Now/Heart of Darkness, 2001 A Space Odyssey, and Pokemon the original videogame, but with a love story. And of course it being set 1,000 years in the future makes it even cooler/gnarlier, and there's no way I'll ever finish it if we split up, and besides her, it's the only thing on the whole fucking planet that I care about right now, so that's a negatory on the splitty-uppy. And besides that I love her, and I mean I'm in love with her, and it pisses me off because girls can be ridiculous about love sometimes. Especially when they're unsure about things, and I don't want her to be unsure. I just don't. Because I'm sure, so she should be too. I'm shaking now a little. I'm out of cigarettes and money and I can't write my novel because I can't focus. I don't like feeling this weak, but sometimes you can't help it. I hope everything works out okay.
B. McGILLICUDDY
MOVIE REVIEW: THE BIG LEBOWSKI
B. McGILLICUDDY
All the previous times I watch this film I was pretty drunk/high/unconscious, so watching it this time was pretty cool. "The Dude" is a slacker who bowls with his buddies, a Viet Nam vet with bipolar disorder and a guy who tends to miss the point a lot during conversation. The Dude is mistaken for another dude who's not very dude-like and is actually a residentially-endowed Korean War vet/spinal injury victim who happens to have The Dude's same given name, thus he is the Big Lebowski while I think it's fair to presume that the little Lebowski is on the way. The Dude plays P.I. in a absurdist's Noir universe set in Los Angeles where he has to solve a few scattered but (of course) connected mysteries. And (of course OF COURSE) what's a good Noir film without a few knock-out induced acid dreams?
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
All the previous times I watch this film I was pretty drunk/high/unconscious, so watching it this time was pretty cool. "The Dude" is a slacker who bowls with his buddies, a Viet Nam vet with bipolar disorder and a guy who tends to miss the point a lot during conversation. The Dude is mistaken for another dude who's not very dude-like and is actually a residentially-endowed Korean War vet/spinal injury victim who happens to have The Dude's same given name, thus he is the Big Lebowski while I think it's fair to presume that the little Lebowski is on the way. The Dude plays P.I. in a absurdist's Noir universe set in Los Angeles where he has to solve a few scattered but (of course) connected mysteries. And (of course OF COURSE) what's a good Noir film without a few knock-out induced acid dreams?
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
MOVIE REVIEW: 4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS AND 2 DAYS
B. McGILLICUDDY
I had a friend in Junior High who was from Romania. He was born at about the time this "period piece" was set. I thought that the 1980's were pretty bad in New York and Washington D.C. But if I compare the mental image of crack and AIDS running rampant with the actual visual projection of this film's depiction of Romania, I'm going to have to say it's a close call which one's more difficult to take lightly. The movie's about a girl. She's in college. She has a roommate and a boyfriend and a contact. And it gets pretty smutty/painful to watch from there on out. But it kept me riveted. And I didn't turn away when they showed the ____________ corpse. So, if you want to kind of lose all respect for European people, if you haven't already, but gain a lot of respect for European filmmaking, I definitely recommend this movie.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
I had a friend in Junior High who was from Romania. He was born at about the time this "period piece" was set. I thought that the 1980's were pretty bad in New York and Washington D.C. But if I compare the mental image of crack and AIDS running rampant with the actual visual projection of this film's depiction of Romania, I'm going to have to say it's a close call which one's more difficult to take lightly. The movie's about a girl. She's in college. She has a roommate and a boyfriend and a contact. And it gets pretty smutty/painful to watch from there on out. But it kept me riveted. And I didn't turn away when they showed the ____________ corpse. So, if you want to kind of lose all respect for European people, if you haven't already, but gain a lot of respect for European filmmaking, I definitely recommend this movie.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
MOVIE REVIEW: VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA
B. McGILLICUDDY
This movie was okay. It struck me as a little cyclical. I kind of had an idea of where it was going the whole time. I know I'm "Post-Oscar" late on this one, but I just finished watching it finally. I think Woody Allen may be autistic. I just checked Wikipedia, he's definitely autistic. This film was about romau in some sense, but then in others it was about cultural norms and social expectations, and on a whole other level it was about every actor in the film except for Penelope Cruz channeling Woody Allen. Did she get an Oscar for this film? I missed it apparently. I didn't like Vicky. I mean, I did, but I didn't. And I did like Cristina, I mean, not really, but she's def got some DSLs. I once thought I might honeymoon in Barcelona. I just changed my mind. Kinda don't want to be an artist anymore.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
This movie was okay. It struck me as a little cyclical. I kind of had an idea of where it was going the whole time. I know I'm "Post-Oscar" late on this one, but I just finished watching it finally. I think Woody Allen may be autistic. I just checked Wikipedia, he's definitely autistic. This film was about romau in some sense, but then in others it was about cultural norms and social expectations, and on a whole other level it was about every actor in the film except for Penelope Cruz channeling Woody Allen. Did she get an Oscar for this film? I missed it apparently. I didn't like Vicky. I mean, I did, but I didn't. And I did like Cristina, I mean, not really, but she's def got some DSLs. I once thought I might honeymoon in Barcelona. I just changed my mind. Kinda don't want to be an artist anymore.
* *1/2 out of * * * * *
B. McGILLICUDDY
THE McGILLICUDDY CHRONICLES: VIRGINITY THIEVES
B. McGILLICUDDY
QUIT FUCKING WITH MY APOCALYPSE.
I really wanted to be a good Christian boy! I wanted to see Revelation COME TRUE! Why did you feed me marijuana!? Why did you give me a cigarette on my 18th birthday!? Why did you get me drunk and take all your clothes of!? I don't understand!
I was supposed to go up in a flash of light! I was supposed to ride with Elijah on them glittery chariots o' fire way up past the Mt. Olympus, and Kilimanjaro, and the Rockies and Himalayas where all them OTHER GODS were chillin' and DIED and go be Jesus' wife 4EVR! LOOK WHAT YOU DID!
Why did you dilute my protestantism beautiful Catholic girl!? Why did you destroy my deism anarchical potfiend!? Why did you steal my self-loathing virginity thief!? I'm so goddamned happy! Why and when the fuck did this happen!?
And now I'm here. At the big shift. Between "child" and "freeter" and maybe "man". The universe isn't asking anything of me anymore, and I'm FINE with that. I just want to know why everybody else is still so addicted to "important" shit, and why I need money to keep being happy. And why my apathy is so widely acknowledged but so seldom questioned.
THE END ISN'T NEAR. THE END IS EITHER HERE OR NOT HERE, and right now I'm sitting at a computer typing. What about my apocalypse? Where's my redemption? WHERE'S MY MONEY BIATCH!?
B. McGILLICUDDY
QUIT FUCKING WITH MY APOCALYPSE.
I really wanted to be a good Christian boy! I wanted to see Revelation COME TRUE! Why did you feed me marijuana!? Why did you give me a cigarette on my 18th birthday!? Why did you get me drunk and take all your clothes of!? I don't understand!
I was supposed to go up in a flash of light! I was supposed to ride with Elijah on them glittery chariots o' fire way up past the Mt. Olympus, and Kilimanjaro, and the Rockies and Himalayas where all them OTHER GODS were chillin' and DIED and go be Jesus' wife 4EVR! LOOK WHAT YOU DID!
Why did you dilute my protestantism beautiful Catholic girl!? Why did you destroy my deism anarchical potfiend!? Why did you steal my self-loathing virginity thief!? I'm so goddamned happy! Why and when the fuck did this happen!?
And now I'm here. At the big shift. Between "child" and "freeter" and maybe "man". The universe isn't asking anything of me anymore, and I'm FINE with that. I just want to know why everybody else is still so addicted to "important" shit, and why I need money to keep being happy. And why my apathy is so widely acknowledged but so seldom questioned.
THE END ISN'T NEAR. THE END IS EITHER HERE OR NOT HERE, and right now I'm sitting at a computer typing. What about my apocalypse? Where's my redemption? WHERE'S MY MONEY BIATCH!?
B. McGILLICUDDY
'POLITICS' PART TWO
B. McGILLICUDDY
So...people are telling me Obama turned out to be evil. WHOOPS.
B. McGILLICUDDY
So...people are telling me Obama turned out to be evil. WHOOPS.
B. McGILLICUDDY
DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR
B. McGILLICUDDY
It's a joke. No, I'm not kidding, IT IS A JOKE. A cacophonous mumble uttered under our breath for the sake of a nervous laugh. Are you laughing yet? Are you entertained? Because we're decidedly not. The reason being that we're not only the tellers, we happen to also be the punchline.
Love is a wimpy little thing. It makes you cry. It makes you lie to yourself about the trivial minutia in your life and convinces you that these little things are actually important. Look at you, sighing and grumbling and trying to muster some resolve, while all the while you are just one of seven billion semi-self-aware specks in a potentially infinite universe potentially infinitely connected to an infinite number of other universes.
What makes you think you're important? That you're worth anything else's time?
Your brain does. And you know what your brain is? Potentially one of the most complex naturally-occurring constructs in the universe, and it happened by accident. Can you believe that? Unless you believe in God, it is an accident, and if you do believe in God, that's just more spectacular in my opinion: that your brain has the ability to imagine and possibly personify the universe as a purposeful and absolute thing.
Your brain has the ability to convince itself that, despite everything else in nature's instinct to perpetuate its existence as long as possible, at any costs, that it's a worthwhile endeavor to cast all security asunder and all sanity to the wind in the pursuit of another weak and impatient human being. Are you laughing yet?
The joke's not over.
B. McGILLICUDDY
It's a joke. No, I'm not kidding, IT IS A JOKE. A cacophonous mumble uttered under our breath for the sake of a nervous laugh. Are you laughing yet? Are you entertained? Because we're decidedly not. The reason being that we're not only the tellers, we happen to also be the punchline.
Love is a wimpy little thing. It makes you cry. It makes you lie to yourself about the trivial minutia in your life and convinces you that these little things are actually important. Look at you, sighing and grumbling and trying to muster some resolve, while all the while you are just one of seven billion semi-self-aware specks in a potentially infinite universe potentially infinitely connected to an infinite number of other universes.
What makes you think you're important? That you're worth anything else's time?
Your brain does. And you know what your brain is? Potentially one of the most complex naturally-occurring constructs in the universe, and it happened by accident. Can you believe that? Unless you believe in God, it is an accident, and if you do believe in God, that's just more spectacular in my opinion: that your brain has the ability to imagine and possibly personify the universe as a purposeful and absolute thing.
Your brain has the ability to convince itself that, despite everything else in nature's instinct to perpetuate its existence as long as possible, at any costs, that it's a worthwhile endeavor to cast all security asunder and all sanity to the wind in the pursuit of another weak and impatient human being. Are you laughing yet?
The joke's not over.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/26/2009
MICROQUIRK UPDATE 03/26/2009
B. McGILLICUDDY
This is a Gucci ad for formal microquirk attire that no one will ever wear, ever, because no one is cool enough to go out in public in it. Except me.
This is a microquirk picture of the planet Jupiter, which is actually post-macroquirk in its aesthetic, but the image of it isn't.
This is a photograph of the constellation "Chameleon". Chameleons are naturally microquirk.
B. McGILLICUDDY
This is a Gucci ad for formal microquirk attire that no one will ever wear, ever, because no one is cool enough to go out in public in it. Except me.
This is a microquirk picture of the planet Jupiter, which is actually post-macroquirk in its aesthetic, but the image of it isn't.
This is a photograph of the constellation "Chameleon". Chameleons are naturally microquirk.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Do My Tits Look Big in This
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
No, I am not cold. Yes, my nipples may be hard, but they are NOT yearning for your attention. Can I help it that I must walk around with breasts the size of *Christmas hams on my chest?? My eyes are not located there, and I would prefer you didn't stare. Every time somebody stares at my breasts instead of my face, I imagine them Jim Careying (yeah, I just made up my own term...) them like in Liar Liar (please tell me you know that movie. it's hilarious!), and trust me, someone the age of your grandfather even considering my chest as a playground is SO not the business.
Everybody has them... even men... some more so than others. and they are quite disgusting on the non-female half of our uhhh.... population.
Boobs can be lots of fun if you know how to... play with them. (HAHAH!!! pun intended!!!!ROFLOLLMMFAOOWLWOW)
Ladies, you should know how to make these amazing assets work for you. without appearing wholly slutty.
Low-cut shirts, when worn at the appropriate times can yield drinks (alcoholic, of course!), a great meal, or even dinner if you play it right.
When worn at inappropriate times, you will just be seen as a whore who is yearning for male attention... and maybe you are... but an interview isn't the best time for these darling assets to be... used to your advantage.
I fear losing weight, for if I do I may look like Pam Anderson, so I choose to steer clear of anything that may expose me to the torrid weather that is mankind.
I would like to know why men are so obsessed with breasts, so I interviewed a great friend of mine & fellow poet, and self-proclaimed tit-man, Pages (he's AMAZING!! yeah, I write poetry...whatever).
Jada: Why not the **Booty?
Pages: The **Butt is just cushion; it's not the juicy goodness in the middle. The larger the boobs the better.
J: Is there a bad size?
P: Well too much of anything is a bad thing. But when they're tiny, I always wanna offer them some miracle grow.
J: You're ***African, aren't butts, like, super-important.
P: In Africa, the women have everything.
(And there I run out of questions, but he leaves me with the following words:
In my country we have a saying when we see women with large breasts:
Tu as du monde au balcon
light translation: You have alot of people in your balcony)
I haven't found a reason why people love boobs, but I was able to make loads of men surrounding in the cafe that I am in quite uncomfortable. Which is so much more... fulfilling...
(pun, yet again, intended.)
No, there wasn't a point in the post, but was there a point in you reading it??
:D
Not Gonna Fly Your Plane into These Twin Towers,
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
*Not my personal opinion, but, hey, I can't really argue with someone I spend just about every moment with.
**as we can tell, I idolize the behind...
***he's from Cameroon
No, I am not cold. Yes, my nipples may be hard, but they are NOT yearning for your attention. Can I help it that I must walk around with breasts the size of *Christmas hams on my chest?? My eyes are not located there, and I would prefer you didn't stare. Every time somebody stares at my breasts instead of my face, I imagine them Jim Careying (yeah, I just made up my own term...) them like in Liar Liar (please tell me you know that movie. it's hilarious!), and trust me, someone the age of your grandfather even considering my chest as a playground is SO not the business.
Everybody has them... even men... some more so than others. and they are quite disgusting on the non-female half of our uhhh.... population.
Boobs can be lots of fun if you know how to... play with them. (HAHAH!!! pun intended!!!!ROFLOLLMMFAOOWLWOW)
Ladies, you should know how to make these amazing assets work for you. without appearing wholly slutty.
Low-cut shirts, when worn at the appropriate times can yield drinks (alcoholic, of course!), a great meal, or even dinner if you play it right.
When worn at inappropriate times, you will just be seen as a whore who is yearning for male attention... and maybe you are... but an interview isn't the best time for these darling assets to be... used to your advantage.
I fear losing weight, for if I do I may look like Pam Anderson, so I choose to steer clear of anything that may expose me to the torrid weather that is mankind.
I would like to know why men are so obsessed with breasts, so I interviewed a great friend of mine & fellow poet, and self-proclaimed tit-man, Pages (he's AMAZING!! yeah, I write poetry...whatever).
Jada: Why not the **Booty?
Pages: The **Butt is just cushion; it's not the juicy goodness in the middle. The larger the boobs the better.
J: Is there a bad size?
P: Well too much of anything is a bad thing. But when they're tiny, I always wanna offer them some miracle grow.
J: You're ***African, aren't butts, like, super-important.
P: In Africa, the women have everything.
(And there I run out of questions, but he leaves me with the following words:
In my country we have a saying when we see women with large breasts:
Tu as du monde au balcon
light translation: You have alot of people in your balcony)
I haven't found a reason why people love boobs, but I was able to make loads of men surrounding in the cafe that I am in quite uncomfortable. Which is so much more... fulfilling...
(pun, yet again, intended.)
No, there wasn't a point in the post, but was there a point in you reading it??
:D
Not Gonna Fly Your Plane into These Twin Towers,
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
*Not my personal opinion, but, hey, I can't really argue with someone I spend just about every moment with.
**as we can tell, I idolize the behind...
***he's from Cameroon
THE SIREN AND THE GREAK POTE
B. McGILLICUDDY
Simone, the siren, longed to be a simple, normal nymph. Not to say she didn't like herself, but normal nymphs seemed to have it so damn good. But honestly, the standards for being a goddamned "normal nymph" were just so absolutely contrived. THEY got assigned a tree or a stream or a cloud, instead of a siren's rock, but they had to stand still and look pretty ALL DAY LONG. On occasion they'd play an unfair game of impossible-to-fuckin-get with a mortal, but they weren't allowed to get caught by them, and it was "unfair" on account of their transformative capabilities: one minute you're chasing a hot, half-naked, giggling broad, and the next moment, you're running crotch-first into a goddamned rosebush. But the real downside was that normal nymphs had to take shit from (and pity fuck) any gods or demigods who happened to stroll through their forest, walk on their water, or hover aimlessly (hornily) through the sky. And the reason why it was always pity-fucking, was that all the gods and demigods, and please don't ask me how I know this, all had one-inch dicks. And I don't mean one-inch dicks, I mean ONE-INCH DICKS.
So Simone decided NOT to be a normal nymph. But there's a price that goes with that. And it's called "a curse". The fates came up from Hades and afflicted all not-normal nymphs with a curse, and Simone's happened to be that she could charm the pants off of any goddamned person she liked, but only if they could see her words. "Curse says you! Gift says I", BUT NO. You see, how does a siren, traditionally meant to woo a wanderer to his death against that rock she's graced with governance over, supposed to get a decent catch if she can't fucking sing!? "Oh" says you, "no shit" says I. But the fates aren't that mean. They gave her a 3G accessible laptop and a bucket of neon yellow paint.
THANK JOVE FOR THE INTERNET.
Ulysses, a chill-ass greak pote, replied to her ad on ψψψ.comehithersweetprince.κομ and started wandering the seas in search of a silent rock with neon paint on it. He went everywhere and every goddamned rock had a siren on it, singin' their songs and mesmerizin' and perplexin' the fuck out of him, but not the way that REALLY fucked him up, not the way he NEEDED. So he just kept on sailin' and kept on writin' his greak pomes. Finally, off in the distance, he saw a rock that emitted no sounds. A silent rock! And as he got closer he noticed that written ont he side of the rock, in neon yellow paint, it said "Yo, Ulysses, What up?" And he was smitten. And not like smitten-smitten. I mean like, he was smitten.
He saw Simone there, atop her rock, on her MacBook Pro, sitting, silently tapping away at her keyboard with a gloomy look on her nymphy face. So he crashed his boat into the rock, composed himself, checked for broken bones, looked for a few of the teeth he lost, held tight to the scroll he had brought with him and started strutting over to her. "Yo Ulysses, What up?" She said, recognizing him from his avatar.
"Not much." He replied.
"You don't got a boat anymore. You notice that?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"What's that scroll for?"
"So I can write greak pomes about you."
"Fo'reals!?"
"Yeah."
"That's fuckin' tight, yo."
"You're beautiful."
"Shit! You know everybody says that!? But I kinda like it most when you say it? Shit! That's awesome! Uhhh...Wanna take some pictures in PhotoBooth!?"
"Hell yes!"
"Hold on, lemme get naked first."
THE END.
Actually, the story gets a little more complicated than this, and includes some real emotions and tough lovin' and a little pain on both sides, but I think mentioning such things might end up taking away from it, so...
THE END AGAIN.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Simone, the siren, longed to be a simple, normal nymph. Not to say she didn't like herself, but normal nymphs seemed to have it so damn good. But honestly, the standards for being a goddamned "normal nymph" were just so absolutely contrived. THEY got assigned a tree or a stream or a cloud, instead of a siren's rock, but they had to stand still and look pretty ALL DAY LONG. On occasion they'd play an unfair game of impossible-to-fuckin-get with a mortal, but they weren't allowed to get caught by them, and it was "unfair" on account of their transformative capabilities: one minute you're chasing a hot, half-naked, giggling broad, and the next moment, you're running crotch-first into a goddamned rosebush. But the real downside was that normal nymphs had to take shit from (and pity fuck) any gods or demigods who happened to stroll through their forest, walk on their water, or hover aimlessly (hornily) through the sky. And the reason why it was always pity-fucking, was that all the gods and demigods, and please don't ask me how I know this, all had one-inch dicks. And I don't mean one-inch dicks, I mean ONE-INCH DICKS.
So Simone decided NOT to be a normal nymph. But there's a price that goes with that. And it's called "a curse". The fates came up from Hades and afflicted all not-normal nymphs with a curse, and Simone's happened to be that she could charm the pants off of any goddamned person she liked, but only if they could see her words. "Curse says you! Gift says I", BUT NO. You see, how does a siren, traditionally meant to woo a wanderer to his death against that rock she's graced with governance over, supposed to get a decent catch if she can't fucking sing!? "Oh" says you, "no shit" says I. But the fates aren't that mean. They gave her a 3G accessible laptop and a bucket of neon yellow paint.
THANK JOVE FOR THE INTERNET.
Ulysses, a chill-ass greak pote, replied to her ad on ψψψ.comehithersweetprince.κομ and started wandering the seas in search of a silent rock with neon paint on it. He went everywhere and every goddamned rock had a siren on it, singin' their songs and mesmerizin' and perplexin' the fuck out of him, but not the way that REALLY fucked him up, not the way he NEEDED. So he just kept on sailin' and kept on writin' his greak pomes. Finally, off in the distance, he saw a rock that emitted no sounds. A silent rock! And as he got closer he noticed that written ont he side of the rock, in neon yellow paint, it said "Yo, Ulysses, What up?" And he was smitten. And not like smitten-smitten. I mean like, he was smitten.
He saw Simone there, atop her rock, on her MacBook Pro, sitting, silently tapping away at her keyboard with a gloomy look on her nymphy face. So he crashed his boat into the rock, composed himself, checked for broken bones, looked for a few of the teeth he lost, held tight to the scroll he had brought with him and started strutting over to her. "Yo Ulysses, What up?" She said, recognizing him from his avatar.
"Not much." He replied.
"You don't got a boat anymore. You notice that?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"What's that scroll for?"
"So I can write greak pomes about you."
"Fo'reals!?"
"Yeah."
"That's fuckin' tight, yo."
"You're beautiful."
"Shit! You know everybody says that!? But I kinda like it most when you say it? Shit! That's awesome! Uhhh...Wanna take some pictures in PhotoBooth!?"
"Hell yes!"
"Hold on, lemme get naked first."
THE END.
Actually, the story gets a little more complicated than this, and includes some real emotions and tough lovin' and a little pain on both sides, but I think mentioning such things might end up taking away from it, so...
THE END AGAIN.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/25/2009
'POLITICS' PART ONE
B. McGILLICUDDY
I don't "get" it. And I don't understand why other people pretend to.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I don't "get" it. And I don't understand why other people pretend to.
B. McGILLICUDDY
FLOYD IS A COKEWHORE
B. McGILLICUDDY
You know your collective is falling to shit when the members resort to personal attacks via the media they use to communicate to the public. This is me getting that out of the way while we still genuinely hate each other and don't depend on one another financially.
Floyd, you are pretentious, you are Canadian, you are a (just above) mediocre photographer, it took me a half-hour to beat the videogame you made in Flash, and since I'm assuming it was made to be beaten in 3min or less, I'm going to have to call you a bad videogame maker too.
But your writing is pretty fucking fantastic.
Not to put you out there or on the spot or anything, but do you kinda have a thing for La Frere? You know she's really a dude right? And I mean like a fat dude with male-patterned baldness and back hair and a couple of illegitimate kids, yo. So um, that makes you a queer.
Guess that explains why you like Ginsberg so much. Everybody knows Kerouac was a more authentic Beat. Only queers dig Ginsberg man, most of us Kerouacans just pretend to out of pity and kind of b/c he was important to the movement or w/e.
And obvi your film taste is shit, because I obviously said that Adventureland was going to be a bad movie, and everybody knows that I'm the filmmaker (as opposed to the "film student") in the collective, so I would know best. So how 'bout you rein in that ego there buddy? LEAVE THE ART TO THE PROFESSIONALS.
B. McGILLICUDDY
You know your collective is falling to shit when the members resort to personal attacks via the media they use to communicate to the public. This is me getting that out of the way while we still genuinely hate each other and don't depend on one another financially.
Floyd, you are pretentious, you are Canadian, you are a (just above) mediocre photographer, it took me a half-hour to beat the videogame you made in Flash, and since I'm assuming it was made to be beaten in 3min or less, I'm going to have to call you a bad videogame maker too.
But your writing is pretty fucking fantastic.
Not to put you out there or on the spot or anything, but do you kinda have a thing for La Frere? You know she's really a dude right? And I mean like a fat dude with male-patterned baldness and back hair and a couple of illegitimate kids, yo. So um, that makes you a queer.
Guess that explains why you like Ginsberg so much. Everybody knows Kerouac was a more authentic Beat. Only queers dig Ginsberg man, most of us Kerouacans just pretend to out of pity and kind of b/c he was important to the movement or w/e.
And obvi your film taste is shit, because I obviously said that Adventureland was going to be a bad movie, and everybody knows that I'm the filmmaker (as opposed to the "film student") in the collective, so I would know best. So how 'bout you rein in that ego there buddy? LEAVE THE ART TO THE PROFESSIONALS.
B. McGILLICUDDY
MORNING SERIAL 1.4
B. McGILLICUDDY
1.4
Janell pulled the cookies out of the oven, steam rising from their soft, creamy centers. "Oh man, these are going to be awesome," she said.
"What are?" Nicole asked, looking absent-mindedly up from a text message.
"These peanut butter cookies."
"Oh..." she went back to her phone, but then did a double-take, "Wait, what?"
"The cookies I just finished baking. They're going to be delish. Alex's gonna love them." She said, putting her fists to her shoulders in resolved satisfaction.
"What kind of cookies are they?"
"Peanut butter."
"Janell," Nicole said, a look of nearly mortifying concern on her face, "Alex is deathly allergic to peanuts."
Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door.
"Fuck."
B. McGILLICUDDY
1.4
Janell pulled the cookies out of the oven, steam rising from their soft, creamy centers. "Oh man, these are going to be awesome," she said.
"What are?" Nicole asked, looking absent-mindedly up from a text message.
"These peanut butter cookies."
"Oh..." she went back to her phone, but then did a double-take, "Wait, what?"
"The cookies I just finished baking. They're going to be delish. Alex's gonna love them." She said, putting her fists to her shoulders in resolved satisfaction.
"What kind of cookies are they?"
"Peanut butter."
"Janell," Nicole said, a look of nearly mortifying concern on her face, "Alex is deathly allergic to peanuts."
Suddenly, there was a knock on the front door.
"Fuck."
B. McGILLICUDDY
WHY I DESPISE TWEE AMERICANA
B. McGILLICUDDY
BECAUSE THE BRITISH DO IT BETTER.
Yes, I know, MY NAME is twee Americana, but imagine it's a coo emitting from a classy English hooker with a motherly timbre to her voice (circa 1840's Liverpool), and you'll get what I hear in my head when I say it. It's more effeminate and endearing than overly or inaccessibly novel/"cute". LIKE THIS SHIT.
CLICK ME.
As much as I like listening to it, and as "cute" as it is, there is something off-putting and non-experiential about it. I don't know whether to laugh or feel bad for the guy or see this as a commentary on contemporary gender roles vs. the ones we create on the fly in our relationships vs. I don't fucking know what to think about this music/video is basically what I'm trying to say! And it's easy to just say "it's good music!" put the single on repeat and just "go with it". But then, there's THIS SHIT.
NO, CLICK ME!
Nobody does twee/rips off America like the British. This is just Wes Anderson rip off after Wes Anderson rip off, and yet...I don't know, there's something British and non-rip-offish about it. And I actually believe that the lead singer, despite his infantile appearance, might actually know a thing or two about what it's like to have "your heart broken by a bitch".
I'm not here to write a dissertation on why I thought Napoleon Dynamite was an entertaining/piece of shit movie, but then again, neither of these videos was a good example of microquirk either, so I guess I'm just being angry that American filmmakers/musicians can't pull off an "aesthetic" that appeals to me, while still being kinda "honest" with what love is about.
A DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON NEW ZEALANDERS! UGH!
The thing is, I use to have a thing for twee. Twee and I used to go to the playground and ride those springy elephant rockers and talk about our experiences with "take your kid to work day" and how my dad is cooler than twee's dad, but then twee discovered alcohol and sex and social suicide. Then I met the Swedes.
HEY, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND CLICK ME.
And they make me happy for now. But they're still not microquirk.
B. McGILLICUDDY
P.S.
OMG I'M A DISGRUNTLED AND JEALOUS FILMMAKER/MUSICIAN AND JUST REALIZED THAT THAT'S THE REASON "I DESPISE TWEE AMERICANA". Guess I should make a music video for "Piece This Together".
P.P.S.
In case you aren't "getting" this post, the pics above are album covers and when you click them, music videos play via youtube. Sigh...
BECAUSE THE BRITISH DO IT BETTER.
Yes, I know, MY NAME is twee Americana, but imagine it's a coo emitting from a classy English hooker with a motherly timbre to her voice (circa 1840's Liverpool), and you'll get what I hear in my head when I say it. It's more effeminate and endearing than overly or inaccessibly novel/"cute". LIKE THIS SHIT.
CLICK ME.
As much as I like listening to it, and as "cute" as it is, there is something off-putting and non-experiential about it. I don't know whether to laugh or feel bad for the guy or see this as a commentary on contemporary gender roles vs. the ones we create on the fly in our relationships vs. I don't fucking know what to think about this music/video is basically what I'm trying to say! And it's easy to just say "it's good music!" put the single on repeat and just "go with it". But then, there's THIS SHIT.
NO, CLICK ME!
Nobody does twee/rips off America like the British. This is just Wes Anderson rip off after Wes Anderson rip off, and yet...I don't know, there's something British and non-rip-offish about it. And I actually believe that the lead singer, despite his infantile appearance, might actually know a thing or two about what it's like to have "your heart broken by a bitch".
I'm not here to write a dissertation on why I thought Napoleon Dynamite was an entertaining/piece of shit movie, but then again, neither of these videos was a good example of microquirk either, so I guess I'm just being angry that American filmmakers/musicians can't pull off an "aesthetic" that appeals to me, while still being kinda "honest" with what love is about.
A DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON NEW ZEALANDERS! UGH!
The thing is, I use to have a thing for twee. Twee and I used to go to the playground and ride those springy elephant rockers and talk about our experiences with "take your kid to work day" and how my dad is cooler than twee's dad, but then twee discovered alcohol and sex and social suicide. Then I met the Swedes.
HEY, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND CLICK ME.
And they make me happy for now. But they're still not microquirk.
B. McGILLICUDDY
P.S.
OMG I'M A DISGRUNTLED AND JEALOUS FILMMAKER/MUSICIAN AND JUST REALIZED THAT THAT'S THE REASON "I DESPISE TWEE AMERICANA". Guess I should make a music video for "Piece This Together".
P.P.S.
In case you aren't "getting" this post, the pics above are album covers and when you click them, music videos play via youtube. Sigh...
VAGINA
B. McGILLICUDDY
Remember your Church days? Remember when oh, once/twice-a-week, you found yourself sitting in Sunday school? Or sat in the sanctuary, hearing and actually comprehending most of the words the preacher preached (be he baptist deacon or the pope himself) and yet, out of a sort of latent precursor to the insomnia-like daze you would soon find glowing solace in on your now frequent, lonely nights of agnostic adulthood, you sat in service/mass/chapel, and the words entered your ears, and whether by choice, or by simple lack of commercial interruption, it was damn near impossible to retain a single verse. Mom and Dad would ask me sometimes, what did you learn from the sermon/Sunday school today? Jonah, I would reply, because in all honestly, that was all I could remember, well...I shouldn't say in ALL honesty.
Adam and Ever were naked. Somehow Cain, one of the four known people on earth, killed his brother, was banned from his parents' presence and was still able to "beget" a whole slew of kids. Adam begat Seth begat Enosh begat begat begat begat begat. Abraham was old as fuck when he knocked up Sarah. I remembered those things.
DAMNIT!!! My child mind would ponder, WHY ARE ALL THESE THINGS SO SHOCKING? WHAT THE FUCK IS A 'BEGAT'? CAN'T OLD PEOPLE HAVE BABIES TOO? WHAT THE FUCK AM I MISSING HERE AND WHY DOES EVERYONE LAUGH WHEN THE PREACHER RAISES HIS EYEBROWS AND SAYS "YA-NA-WA-A-MEEN?"
Then I found it. And it was good.
The problem with all that build up, and believe me, there was at least a solid decade of it that I can actually recall, is that the mystery of it began to outweigh the reality of it, and that can fuck a fuck-up up. The thrill of the "sinful" connotation takes the real risks and hidden pleasures that have been alluded to, but haven't been addressed, and allow the the imagination to fill the void of "what could be" between those legs, beneath that skirt, behind those tight, tight jeans. When really all it is a fatty pouch covered in prickly/scraggly hair that gets kinda gooey and has the ability to SUCK YOUR SOUL OUT THROUGH YOUR COCK!
I wish someone would have told me that when I was five. Then when I was IN MY FUCKING LATE TEENS I wouldn't have been so stunned when I discovered internet porn and realized women wanted to FUCK ME. It would have made my life a little easier if someone had told me chicks aren't precious vessels of God's glory and wonder, but are in fact, made of chemicals, and probably have an abusive/absent/retarded father, and that if they like you enough will scratch the protection and let you make HUGE FUCKING MISTAKES all over/inside of them, FOR FREE.
On a side note, you know the clit? The what? The clit. The what? The CLIT. OH! THE CLIT! Yeah. FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ANYTHING EVER. They should have clit-flavored candy. Well, lemme qualify that, as to not confused the inexperienced.
1:52am Buttercup:
i'm trying to describe what vagina tastes like
can you help at all?
1:53am Philosopher:
perhaps
it's a subtle taste
unless it's not clean
then stay away
1:53am Buttercup
yes
OMG
DON'T REMIND ME
1:54am Philosopher
ya know actually a little bit like really good tuna, the sashimi sushi kind, not cooked when it gets all fishy
with some lemon maybe
just a hint
1:54am Buttercup
yeah
maybe some mushroom
1:54am Philosopher
yeah
YEAH
but fresh ones
lightly sauteed
1:54am Buttercup
thanks?
didn't think it would be that simple
lol
1:55am Philosopher
dude i think about stuff like this waaay too much
1:55am Buttercup
rofl, that's awesome
that's why i like you dude
there need to be more people pondering the important questions in life
"how would i describe the taste of a quality vagina?"
1:55am Philosopher
fuck yes
1:55am Buttercup
VERY IMPORTANT
1:55am Philosopher
it's of the utmost importance
too many guys think going down is gross
and then they condition some girls to feel uncomfortable about it
and it's just wrong
IT'S WRONG
1:56am Buttercup
that's right
it is wrong.
Anyway, you get the idea. And the clit's the lemony part. I kinda/don't really like to think/pretend actual intercourse should be reserved exclusively as an exercise in intimacy nowadays, as opposed to a recreational or score-based endeavor, and that's because my hands work a lot faster than any vagina I've ever come in contact with. It's only if I want "discourse between our bodies" that sex becomes the language. Because we argue all the fucking time anyway, why can't I argue with my cock? My cock is extremely convincing. At least more convincing than my arguments, for the most part.
The thing is that I don't get(understand) it, and I don't want to get(understand) it, and I don't need to get(understand) it, it's just nice to know it's a mystery in spite of the absurdity of the false mystery it was all built up to be. And I don't have any fetishes besides well-lubricated sugarwalls, attached to vocal, responsive, proud owners of a pair of squishy-tits. So viva la vagina. Oh, and the "female orgasm"? Myth.
I actually like the way "vagina" sounds. And I guess that goes for the onomatopoeia, "squish" too, depending on the context.
B. McGILLICUDDY
P.S.
Today, after having sex all morning, my GF came all over my black slacks just before my parents pulled up to her apartment building to pick us up to got to church. FML.
Remember your Church days? Remember when oh, once/twice-a-week, you found yourself sitting in Sunday school? Or sat in the sanctuary, hearing and actually comprehending most of the words the preacher preached (be he baptist deacon or the pope himself) and yet, out of a sort of latent precursor to the insomnia-like daze you would soon find glowing solace in on your now frequent, lonely nights of agnostic adulthood, you sat in service/mass/chapel, and the words entered your ears, and whether by choice, or by simple lack of commercial interruption, it was damn near impossible to retain a single verse. Mom and Dad would ask me sometimes, what did you learn from the sermon/Sunday school today? Jonah, I would reply, because in all honestly, that was all I could remember, well...I shouldn't say in ALL honesty.
Adam and Ever were naked. Somehow Cain, one of the four known people on earth, killed his brother, was banned from his parents' presence and was still able to "beget" a whole slew of kids. Adam begat Seth begat Enosh begat begat begat begat begat. Abraham was old as fuck when he knocked up Sarah. I remembered those things.
DAMNIT!!! My child mind would ponder, WHY ARE ALL THESE THINGS SO SHOCKING? WHAT THE FUCK IS A 'BEGAT'? CAN'T OLD PEOPLE HAVE BABIES TOO? WHAT THE FUCK AM I MISSING HERE AND WHY DOES EVERYONE LAUGH WHEN THE PREACHER RAISES HIS EYEBROWS AND SAYS "YA-NA-WA-A-MEEN?"
Then I found it. And it was good.
The problem with all that build up, and believe me, there was at least a solid decade of it that I can actually recall, is that the mystery of it began to outweigh the reality of it, and that can fuck a fuck-up up. The thrill of the "sinful" connotation takes the real risks and hidden pleasures that have been alluded to, but haven't been addressed, and allow the the imagination to fill the void of "what could be" between those legs, beneath that skirt, behind those tight, tight jeans. When really all it is a fatty pouch covered in prickly/scraggly hair that gets kinda gooey and has the ability to SUCK YOUR SOUL OUT THROUGH YOUR COCK!
I wish someone would have told me that when I was five. Then when I was IN MY FUCKING LATE TEENS I wouldn't have been so stunned when I discovered internet porn and realized women wanted to FUCK ME. It would have made my life a little easier if someone had told me chicks aren't precious vessels of God's glory and wonder, but are in fact, made of chemicals, and probably have an abusive/absent/retarded father, and that if they like you enough will scratch the protection and let you make HUGE FUCKING MISTAKES all over/inside of them, FOR FREE.
On a side note, you know the clit? The what? The clit. The what? The CLIT. OH! THE CLIT! Yeah. FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ANYTHING EVER. They should have clit-flavored candy. Well, lemme qualify that, as to not confused the inexperienced.
1:52am Buttercup:
i'm trying to describe what vagina tastes like
can you help at all?
1:53am Philosopher:
perhaps
it's a subtle taste
unless it's not clean
then stay away
1:53am Buttercup
yes
OMG
DON'T REMIND ME
1:54am Philosopher
ya know actually a little bit like really good tuna, the sashimi sushi kind, not cooked when it gets all fishy
with some lemon maybe
just a hint
1:54am Buttercup
yeah
maybe some mushroom
1:54am Philosopher
yeah
YEAH
but fresh ones
lightly sauteed
1:54am Buttercup
thanks?
didn't think it would be that simple
lol
1:55am Philosopher
dude i think about stuff like this waaay too much
1:55am Buttercup
rofl, that's awesome
that's why i like you dude
there need to be more people pondering the important questions in life
"how would i describe the taste of a quality vagina?"
1:55am Philosopher
fuck yes
1:55am Buttercup
VERY IMPORTANT
1:55am Philosopher
it's of the utmost importance
too many guys think going down is gross
and then they condition some girls to feel uncomfortable about it
and it's just wrong
IT'S WRONG
1:56am Buttercup
that's right
it is wrong.
Anyway, you get the idea. And the clit's the lemony part. I kinda/don't really like to think/pretend actual intercourse should be reserved exclusively as an exercise in intimacy nowadays, as opposed to a recreational or score-based endeavor, and that's because my hands work a lot faster than any vagina I've ever come in contact with. It's only if I want "discourse between our bodies" that sex becomes the language. Because we argue all the fucking time anyway, why can't I argue with my cock? My cock is extremely convincing. At least more convincing than my arguments, for the most part.
The thing is that I don't get(understand) it, and I don't want to get(understand) it, and I don't need to get(understand) it, it's just nice to know it's a mystery in spite of the absurdity of the false mystery it was all built up to be. And I don't have any fetishes besides well-lubricated sugarwalls, attached to vocal, responsive, proud owners of a pair of squishy-tits. So viva la vagina. Oh, and the "female orgasm"? Myth.
I actually like the way "vagina" sounds. And I guess that goes for the onomatopoeia, "squish" too, depending on the context.
B. McGILLICUDDY
P.S.
Today, after having sex all morning, my GF came all over my black slacks just before my parents pulled up to her apartment building to pick us up to got to church. FML.
3/24/2009
Fuck You if You Can't Open My Door
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
There's no reason that guys have stopped doing the things that once made us all fall in love with them... Well... Except for the fact that they're friggin idiots. Which, I guess, is reason enough.
Everybody nowadays is looking for love, but nobody wants to work for it. We're a uber-fucking-lazy bunch. It's our forefather(/mother)'s faults. They made that shit look too damn easy, and didn't show us how hard it truly is.
Kay, enough of the bitchin' & blaming, my point is:
Look, I know I'm a great fucking catch, and so do you. But if you want to get the fish, you gotta damn use bait. I don't know what's up with you soft bastards... I guess it's the whole "buying the cow when you can get the milk for free" deal.
So this is a call-to-arms for the ladies, quit giving shit up if the dude isn't doing shit for you. Fuck this whole independent ladies scheme. Fine, you can do for yourself, more power to ya, but so should he. Not saying that guys should be the sole provider... but c'mon girls... we gotta do better than this.
I see people walking around all the time. The guy has on a nice little jacket, and the girl, in effort to look glamorous just for him with her cute little halter dress and is shivering with her arms across her chest in that "I'm cute but cold as shit" pose. (ladies, you all know how we do.) She's probably made at least one comment about being freezing. And the asshole has probably said, "yeah, me too." (and I know, guys, you're wondering why she didn't wear a jacket. and OF COURSE she knew it was going to be cold, but she wanted to look just amazing for you. Plus you guys are totes able to wear 10x more clothes than we are at ANY given time. That is, unless she's going dykey-style...) Not once does he offer up his jacket to her, but he does expect her to offer up her ...hmmm... how do you say... vagina* for the date they've had... because... he wants to be warm too.
NO feminism, but aren't we past the friggin age where they do nothing but reap all the benefits? If you want a guy for long term, I think it would be best to maybe kick him for the lack of chivalry then again... I don't have a boyfriend. So maybe my hopes are too high?? Nope.
I don't want a guy who can't do for me, and, yes, I do plan on doing for him, too, but you gotta woo me if ya want me.
*G-O-D i hate the words for the female genitalia
SBF searching for a SM
who doesn't mind being a real M,
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
Everybody nowadays is looking for love, but nobody wants to work for it. We're a uber-fucking-lazy bunch. It's our forefather(/mother)'s faults. They made that shit look too damn easy, and didn't show us how hard it truly is.
Kay, enough of the bitchin' & blaming, my point is:
Look, I know I'm a great fucking catch, and so do you. But if you want to get the fish, you gotta damn use bait. I don't know what's up with you soft bastards... I guess it's the whole "buying the cow when you can get the milk for free" deal.
So this is a call-to-arms for the ladies, quit giving shit up if the dude isn't doing shit for you. Fuck this whole independent ladies scheme. Fine, you can do for yourself, more power to ya, but so should he. Not saying that guys should be the sole provider... but c'mon girls... we gotta do better than this.
I see people walking around all the time. The guy has on a nice little jacket, and the girl, in effort to look glamorous just for him with her cute little halter dress and is shivering with her arms across her chest in that "I'm cute but cold as shit" pose. (ladies, you all know how we do.) She's probably made at least one comment about being freezing. And the asshole has probably said, "yeah, me too." (and I know, guys, you're wondering why she didn't wear a jacket. and OF COURSE she knew it was going to be cold, but she wanted to look just amazing for you. Plus you guys are totes able to wear 10x more clothes than we are at ANY given time. That is, unless she's going dykey-style...) Not once does he offer up his jacket to her, but he does expect her to offer up her ...hmmm... how do you say... vagina* for the date they've had... because... he wants to be warm too.
NO feminism, but aren't we past the friggin age where they do nothing but reap all the benefits? If you want a guy for long term, I think it would be best to maybe kick him for the lack of chivalry then again... I don't have a boyfriend. So maybe my hopes are too high?? Nope.
I don't want a guy who can't do for me, and, yes, I do plan on doing for him, too, but you gotta woo me if ya want me.
*G-O-D i hate the words for the female genitalia
SBF searching for a SM
who doesn't mind being a real M,
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
MEGALO
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'm a pseudo-romantic, megalomaniacal, uberdisestablismentarianist. There are three inherent problems with this fact, corresponding with each big useless word, listed above.
ON BEING PSEUDO-ROMANTIC
Chivalry's dead y'all. Can't bring Lancelot back from that big place in the sky that all fictional douchebags go to, so why try? But I was taught to "respect women" and to "open the door for ladies" and that "if she says 'no' three times, then she means it", and old habits die hard. Especially if you like them.*
ON BEING MEGALOMANIACAL
That's when your ego's all blown out of proportion and you think people think you're the shit when they definitely don't. I got kanYe West syndrome y'all.
ON BEING AN UBERDISESTABLISHMENTARIANIST
This concerns separation of church and state, and also happens to be a made up word to show the intensity of my stance on the issue, and if you've seen the movie "There Will Be Blood", you know, at least metaphorically, what the inherent problem is.
I basically made this post because I think the prefix "megalo" is the shit.
B. McGILLICUDDY
*See previous post, "HOT SMOKING MISS" for best example.
I'm a pseudo-romantic, megalomaniacal, uberdisestablismentarianist. There are three inherent problems with this fact, corresponding with each big useless word, listed above.
ON BEING PSEUDO-ROMANTIC
Chivalry's dead y'all. Can't bring Lancelot back from that big place in the sky that all fictional douchebags go to, so why try? But I was taught to "respect women" and to "open the door for ladies" and that "if she says 'no' three times, then she means it", and old habits die hard. Especially if you like them.*
ON BEING MEGALOMANIACAL
That's when your ego's all blown out of proportion and you think people think you're the shit when they definitely don't. I got kanYe West syndrome y'all.
ON BEING AN UBERDISESTABLISHMENTARIANIST
This concerns separation of church and state, and also happens to be a made up word to show the intensity of my stance on the issue, and if you've seen the movie "There Will Be Blood", you know, at least metaphorically, what the inherent problem is.
I basically made this post because I think the prefix "megalo" is the shit.
B. McGILLICUDDY
*See previous post, "HOT SMOKING MISS" for best example.
MORNING SERIAL 1.1-3
B. McGILLICUDDY
1.1
Eloise took a gander at the situation. The daisy sat, nimbly between her fingers, three petals remaining, "Fuck, he doesn't love me." But who is to judge whether the universe will correlate this happenstance of pagan ritual and the actual chance of attraction between the two strangers? Only I can say.
1.2
Sam paced the floor wondering if it would be a boy or a girl. Back and forth and back again his soles wore away, one microscopic layer of rubber at a time. The bell rang. The door flew open, he counted them, one, two, three, four, aaaaaand...the town hermaphrodite walked out of the classroom. He looked back at his horoscope. "There's no way am I asking Francis to prom. Must've been a typo." He threw the paper in the garbage just as Lacy Freidberg walked out. "Hi, Sam!" she said, fumbling her books a bit.
"Oh, hi Lacy." He replied, noticing how the flowers played around her boobs in that summer dress. "Hey Lacy, do you have a date for prom?"
"Actually yes, or no, I don't. In fact I was wondering if you would tell your brother Matt I was wondering..."
"Oh, yeah, sure...I'll let him know."
"Also, I was just talking to Francis, and well, his cousin Amy, who goes to school across town, just missed her prom because there was a death in the family. I think he was going to ask..." Just then Francis chimed in.
"Naw, forget it, I just got a text from Amy, she's going to Bakersfield's prom with this guy, Hannibal." Should have talked to the fifth person out about the dance when you had the chance dumbass, Sam thought to himself.
"You got a date yet, Francis?"
"No."
"Mind wearing a dress?"
"...No."
"Then let's do this thing."
1.3
After the dance Erin took Ahmed back to her car and the wind played all through his dreads. I never should have cut my hair this short, she thought to herself, then I'm sure he would have liked me.
"What are you thinking?" He asked her, hoping the answer was somewhere along the lines of "we should make out in my car", but of course...
"Oh, nothing." She slipped the key into the door and auto-unlocked the rest. Ahmed sat in the passenger seat. Nervously, Erin started the car and began the long, silent drive. He's being so quiet, she thought, I stepped on his feet all night and danced with other guys and should have said no to Tommy when he asked to have the slow-dance. Jesus! I've been the worst date in the world, and here we are after what should have been a great night, the most awkward couple ever, and we're not even a couple. Why did I pressure him into this? I'm such a bitch!
"Um, Erin," said Ahmed.
"Yeah?" she perked up.
"Where are we?"
"Oh my god! This is my house! Ha ha, I'm such an idiot I should have driven you..."
"No, actually, I forgot my keys, so...if it's alright with your parents..."
"They're actually...haha!" she found the resolve in spite of the awkwardness to get it out, knowing he didn't like her, "They're out of town for the weekend."
Ahmed smiled, SCORE!
B. McGILLICUDDY
1.1
Eloise took a gander at the situation. The daisy sat, nimbly between her fingers, three petals remaining, "Fuck, he doesn't love me." But who is to judge whether the universe will correlate this happenstance of pagan ritual and the actual chance of attraction between the two strangers? Only I can say.
1.2
Sam paced the floor wondering if it would be a boy or a girl. Back and forth and back again his soles wore away, one microscopic layer of rubber at a time. The bell rang. The door flew open, he counted them, one, two, three, four, aaaaaand...the town hermaphrodite walked out of the classroom. He looked back at his horoscope. "There's no way am I asking Francis to prom. Must've been a typo." He threw the paper in the garbage just as Lacy Freidberg walked out. "Hi, Sam!" she said, fumbling her books a bit.
"Oh, hi Lacy." He replied, noticing how the flowers played around her boobs in that summer dress. "Hey Lacy, do you have a date for prom?"
"Actually yes, or no, I don't. In fact I was wondering if you would tell your brother Matt I was wondering..."
"Oh, yeah, sure...I'll let him know."
"Also, I was just talking to Francis, and well, his cousin Amy, who goes to school across town, just missed her prom because there was a death in the family. I think he was going to ask..." Just then Francis chimed in.
"Naw, forget it, I just got a text from Amy, she's going to Bakersfield's prom with this guy, Hannibal." Should have talked to the fifth person out about the dance when you had the chance dumbass, Sam thought to himself.
"You got a date yet, Francis?"
"No."
"Mind wearing a dress?"
"...No."
"Then let's do this thing."
1.3
After the dance Erin took Ahmed back to her car and the wind played all through his dreads. I never should have cut my hair this short, she thought to herself, then I'm sure he would have liked me.
"What are you thinking?" He asked her, hoping the answer was somewhere along the lines of "we should make out in my car", but of course...
"Oh, nothing." She slipped the key into the door and auto-unlocked the rest. Ahmed sat in the passenger seat. Nervously, Erin started the car and began the long, silent drive. He's being so quiet, she thought, I stepped on his feet all night and danced with other guys and should have said no to Tommy when he asked to have the slow-dance. Jesus! I've been the worst date in the world, and here we are after what should have been a great night, the most awkward couple ever, and we're not even a couple. Why did I pressure him into this? I'm such a bitch!
"Um, Erin," said Ahmed.
"Yeah?" she perked up.
"Where are we?"
"Oh my god! This is my house! Ha ha, I'm such an idiot I should have driven you..."
"No, actually, I forgot my keys, so...if it's alright with your parents..."
"They're actually...haha!" she found the resolve in spite of the awkwardness to get it out, knowing he didn't like her, "They're out of town for the weekend."
Ahmed smiled, SCORE!
B. McGILLICUDDY
A POEM, FOR A QUEER
B. McGILLICUDDY
There was a point on a hand
Where human met hardware
And hardware said "software, begin"
"Chime!" went the interface
Time seemed to slow her pace
Finally the window said "log in"
Each button tapped until the one
That signaled the process was done
And finally the contact list appeared
His heart, pined, she'll be online!
He knew their words would here, combine
He clicked her username and typed "hey there"
But suddenly, her name went pale
His heart it stopped, his voice, it wailed
"She hates me!" all his hope had failed
But look, that other hot chick with the massive tits just got on! Sweet! *Click*
B. McGILLICUDDY
There was a point on a hand
Where human met hardware
And hardware said "software, begin"
"Chime!" went the interface
Time seemed to slow her pace
Finally the window said "log in"
Each button tapped until the one
That signaled the process was done
And finally the contact list appeared
His heart, pined, she'll be online!
He knew their words would here, combine
He clicked her username and typed "hey there"
But suddenly, her name went pale
His heart it stopped, his voice, it wailed
"She hates me!" all his hope had failed
But look, that other hot chick with the massive tits just got on! Sweet! *Click*
B. McGILLICUDDY
FLUFF, FLUFF, FLUFFITY FLUFF
B. McGILLICUDDY
He was a wayward soul, settled amidst the men he hated most. She was a dutiful damsel who had lost her way in the forest of life. They met where such people meet, in a sea of leisure and debauchery, two fish, riding the hurricane's waves to nowhere, and ultimately to each other.
At midnight they kissed, and that was that. He hated her for it, she thought him a beautiful fool, and left him, there, with a cigarette in his hand and a hole burned straight through his heart. So he stole a bottle of Jagermeister and drowned in it, while she went off to philander elsewhere, and under the influence of other heavy hallucinogens.
It was for eight months, eight highly-eventful months, that their souls longed for eachother's company. Their longing ended on a Summer's day, when fist met door and hand met knob and lo and behold, her eyes met his and he plummeted. And now, we're all the better for it, says I. Says I, a wayward soul, now settled and nestled against the bosom of a dutiful damsel, who found a hansom man while traversing the forest of life. Please, Dear, beautiful bitch, would you make me a turkity sandwich?
B. McGILLICUDDY
He was a wayward soul, settled amidst the men he hated most. She was a dutiful damsel who had lost her way in the forest of life. They met where such people meet, in a sea of leisure and debauchery, two fish, riding the hurricane's waves to nowhere, and ultimately to each other.
At midnight they kissed, and that was that. He hated her for it, she thought him a beautiful fool, and left him, there, with a cigarette in his hand and a hole burned straight through his heart. So he stole a bottle of Jagermeister and drowned in it, while she went off to philander elsewhere, and under the influence of other heavy hallucinogens.
It was for eight months, eight highly-eventful months, that their souls longed for eachother's company. Their longing ended on a Summer's day, when fist met door and hand met knob and lo and behold, her eyes met his and he plummeted. And now, we're all the better for it, says I. Says I, a wayward soul, now settled and nestled against the bosom of a dutiful damsel, who found a hansom man while traversing the forest of life. Please, Dear, beautiful bitch, would you make me a turkity sandwich?
B. McGILLICUDDY
UUUUUNSPIRED :-P
B. McGILLICUDDY
Having one of those mornings. Those mornings when you wake up and the world is fresh and new and you feel like you just gave birth to a pygmy elephant maybe. Where did all the zest go? Where's the wonder and amazement that makes life fun and seem under-appreciated? I feel like I've run out of things to think, and it's got me feeling completely un-spired.
The paradox at hand is that I immediately felt like writing about it, which makes me, by definition, in-spired. But it's nary a sort of inspiration I would want to act on, let alone expose to you, the public, or pass as anything resembling art. But as the King of Austria once said, "*Cough* Well! There it is then!" via riveting Hollywood tale of a musician's tediously composed, fatal vie to the death with a god among men.
I wonder what percentage of the population thought Mozart a pretentious prick in his day? I wonder what percentage of the people that read this blog (which currently reaches a steady two-hundred-forty-a-day) even give a fleeting deuce about the artistry behind these words. This is a barrage of Bohemian soul-bearing that will undoubtedly bring about a blippity rip in the universe as we know it. And who is acknowledging it? And why do I, a contributor to this loud nothing, feel the need to?
Ahh! I am dispassionately raging against all rage and here is my frustration, as absurd as it may be, that this "love", this hingeless, constantly revolving door, that goes in and out of true assurance and the deepest form of fear and discontent, has spawned an harmonious choir of typists, dead-set on amalgamating their recounted wows and woes, here, on this server, linked by this URL, and, in the midst of this age's common sense and common fallacies, the passions that resonate in these hearts and minds so loudly and with such rapidity and intensity that it could not be contained within the bounds of their boundless minds, do this all for nothing, but for the sake of sake itself.
"Why?" is the question that plagues me. And my "heart", she answers "why not?". And so I pass this notion on to you, and beg you pay no heed.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Having one of those mornings. Those mornings when you wake up and the world is fresh and new and you feel like you just gave birth to a pygmy elephant maybe. Where did all the zest go? Where's the wonder and amazement that makes life fun and seem under-appreciated? I feel like I've run out of things to think, and it's got me feeling completely un-spired.
The paradox at hand is that I immediately felt like writing about it, which makes me, by definition, in-spired. But it's nary a sort of inspiration I would want to act on, let alone expose to you, the public, or pass as anything resembling art. But as the King of Austria once said, "*Cough* Well! There it is then!" via riveting Hollywood tale of a musician's tediously composed, fatal vie to the death with a god among men.
I wonder what percentage of the population thought Mozart a pretentious prick in his day? I wonder what percentage of the people that read this blog (which currently reaches a steady two-hundred-forty-a-day) even give a fleeting deuce about the artistry behind these words. This is a barrage of Bohemian soul-bearing that will undoubtedly bring about a blippity rip in the universe as we know it. And who is acknowledging it? And why do I, a contributor to this loud nothing, feel the need to?
Ahh! I am dispassionately raging against all rage and here is my frustration, as absurd as it may be, that this "love", this hingeless, constantly revolving door, that goes in and out of true assurance and the deepest form of fear and discontent, has spawned an harmonious choir of typists, dead-set on amalgamating their recounted wows and woes, here, on this server, linked by this URL, and, in the midst of this age's common sense and common fallacies, the passions that resonate in these hearts and minds so loudly and with such rapidity and intensity that it could not be contained within the bounds of their boundless minds, do this all for nothing, but for the sake of sake itself.
"Why?" is the question that plagues me. And my "heart", she answers "why not?". And so I pass this notion on to you, and beg you pay no heed.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/23/2009
ASSES WITHOUT HOLES
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'm like a stubborn monkey. Like, if we had too much banana pie last week and I'm sick of it, I'm sick of it for ages. Like, don't even mention banana pie until the next big territory war over the orangutans who live five branches down, because that's the only thing that could possibly get me pumped about banana pie again.
I've never used Linux and really don't know what it is except that I know that TRUE nerds use it. Like the nerds I wish that I had the focus or mental capacity or level of reclusiveness/anti-solidarity to be. So when I realized that PC's made me angry and no one I had any semblance of respect for was using one anymore, I found Apple computers very conducive to my naturally lazy personality. Then I realized that when Apple products break, they are broken, and that I am supporting socialism by owning one, and I realized that this makes me wish that money didn't exist at all.
Is it odd that I seem to be naturally attracted to women of Scot/Irish descent? I mean, I live in America, where it's your job to mix up the ingredients of humanity a little, and here I am, playing into pre-patriotic-post-nationalism by dating a Mick. Does that make me a cliche? Does that make me the most cliched type of cliche ever? An American Cliche!?
Why am I asking questions about topics I don't care about, or bringing up topics that I am not remotely invested in? Is this stream of consciousness blaaag post a sign of my insanity, or the fact that you're reading it a sign of yours? Or neither? Or less than or equal to?
Okay, so the topic of this post is love. I am in love. I don't know why. I don't care why, because I like it. So now that I've decided these things, it's time to take all these factors and figure out how to make my life interesting with respect to them. For example: take the list of statements above, then add this one: I prefer Pepsi to Coke (the one that is not an alkaloid), and that makes me a pretty interesting person, because what if my significant other is predisposed to liking Coke (the cola)? There's conflict there. Will we break up over this issue? Will we get into an in-depth discussion about our tastes over Coke (the drug) and end up yelling at each other passionately about this and other matters of personal preference?
The answer is no. Why is the answer no? How do I know this? Because I am a clinically diagnosed psychic. I already know that we break up over the issue of whether or not I should dye my hair pink for a photoshoot at the pinnacle of my career as a male model. So that makes the previous series of situations completely hypothetical. Which is good.
If I were the rhinoceros in the "Make Love Not War" poster, I'm not sure if I would be embarrassed or particularly peeved that a photograph of me was used to help America lose the Vietnam War, since I lived in Africa and the conflict didn't particularly affect me. But I think if I were a culturally aware rhinoceros, then I would probably just approach the whole situation with a bit of a detached, judgmental, blank rhinoceros stare, because generally Americans should know that rhinoceroses fucking isn't the hottest way to promote a sexual revolution.
I'm going to go eat some pizza now, and talk to that Mick who likes Coke (the solid, carbon-based fuel) and don't you dare mention banana pie.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'm like a stubborn monkey. Like, if we had too much banana pie last week and I'm sick of it, I'm sick of it for ages. Like, don't even mention banana pie until the next big territory war over the orangutans who live five branches down, because that's the only thing that could possibly get me pumped about banana pie again.
I've never used Linux and really don't know what it is except that I know that TRUE nerds use it. Like the nerds I wish that I had the focus or mental capacity or level of reclusiveness/anti-solidarity to be. So when I realized that PC's made me angry and no one I had any semblance of respect for was using one anymore, I found Apple computers very conducive to my naturally lazy personality. Then I realized that when Apple products break, they are broken, and that I am supporting socialism by owning one, and I realized that this makes me wish that money didn't exist at all.
Is it odd that I seem to be naturally attracted to women of Scot/Irish descent? I mean, I live in America, where it's your job to mix up the ingredients of humanity a little, and here I am, playing into pre-patriotic-post-nationalism by dating a Mick. Does that make me a cliche? Does that make me the most cliched type of cliche ever? An American Cliche!?
Why am I asking questions about topics I don't care about, or bringing up topics that I am not remotely invested in? Is this stream of consciousness blaaag post a sign of my insanity, or the fact that you're reading it a sign of yours? Or neither? Or less than or equal to?
Okay, so the topic of this post is love. I am in love. I don't know why. I don't care why, because I like it. So now that I've decided these things, it's time to take all these factors and figure out how to make my life interesting with respect to them. For example: take the list of statements above, then add this one: I prefer Pepsi to Coke (the one that is not an alkaloid), and that makes me a pretty interesting person, because what if my significant other is predisposed to liking Coke (the cola)? There's conflict there. Will we break up over this issue? Will we get into an in-depth discussion about our tastes over Coke (the drug) and end up yelling at each other passionately about this and other matters of personal preference?
The answer is no. Why is the answer no? How do I know this? Because I am a clinically diagnosed psychic. I already know that we break up over the issue of whether or not I should dye my hair pink for a photoshoot at the pinnacle of my career as a male model. So that makes the previous series of situations completely hypothetical. Which is good.
If I were the rhinoceros in the "Make Love Not War" poster, I'm not sure if I would be embarrassed or particularly peeved that a photograph of me was used to help America lose the Vietnam War, since I lived in Africa and the conflict didn't particularly affect me. But I think if I were a culturally aware rhinoceros, then I would probably just approach the whole situation with a bit of a detached, judgmental, blank rhinoceros stare, because generally Americans should know that rhinoceroses fucking isn't the hottest way to promote a sexual revolution.
I'm going to go eat some pizza now, and talk to that Mick who likes Coke (the solid, carbon-based fuel) and don't you dare mention banana pie.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/22/2009
GIVE A LITTLE
B. McGILLICUDDY
They offered religion. I offered a helping hand. They took it.
They offered free pizza. She offered to let me watch her clean. I took the latter.
I offered to make out. She offered to make love. We made both.
I offered an audience. They offered good music. They gave me a smiling migraine.
I offered nothing. He offered me friendship. One of them has an expiration date, the other doesn't.
We offered to read. He offered to write. Sometimes we don't make good on our charity.
He offered to talk. I offered to listen. He lost me when he said "help you".
He offered a beer. I offered a 2-note. We traded.
Overall an uneventful Sunday.
B. McGILLICUDDY
They offered religion. I offered a helping hand. They took it.
They offered free pizza. She offered to let me watch her clean. I took the latter.
I offered to make out. She offered to make love. We made both.
I offered an audience. They offered good music. They gave me a smiling migraine.
I offered nothing. He offered me friendship. One of them has an expiration date, the other doesn't.
We offered to read. He offered to write. Sometimes we don't make good on our charity.
He offered to talk. I offered to listen. He lost me when he said "help you".
He offered a beer. I offered a 2-note. We traded.
Overall an uneventful Sunday.
B. McGILLICUDDY
COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT
B. McGILLICUDDY
If there was any pain in your eyes when I said "goodbye", I did not see it. I could not bear to make contact with those baby blues. I couldn't bear to see your soul as I ripped it from you. We are one thing. One broken mass of flesh. I called you on my cellular phone and I said the words "this is finished", and from far away I made you cry. I stretched my magician's spell across the spectral satellites and screamed at you obscenities, and you felt alone. And now I feel alone. It was black magic, baby. These are the days of miracles and wonders and we cried amidst them. We are alone and we always will be in this big ancient everything. I'm saying that I am sorry. That I have regrets. That everything lasts forever. That we are still together, in pain, that they are still together, in death, that I am still together, in pieces. I lied to you the day I met you. I said that I live for form and not for function, that I am aesthetically bound to my mind's eye. But you saw through my bullshit, and you loved me in spite of it, and I broke your heart in defense of it, knowing you could see. I am ashamed and I am sorry. I need things. I need things that work. I like things to fit and mix but they also must perform. And I broke this working thing, you and me, us. And I think souls are like polymers. You can't melt them back together, no matter how hot things get. This is the beginning of something perfect.
B. McGILLICUDDY
If there was any pain in your eyes when I said "goodbye", I did not see it. I could not bear to make contact with those baby blues. I couldn't bear to see your soul as I ripped it from you. We are one thing. One broken mass of flesh. I called you on my cellular phone and I said the words "this is finished", and from far away I made you cry. I stretched my magician's spell across the spectral satellites and screamed at you obscenities, and you felt alone. And now I feel alone. It was black magic, baby. These are the days of miracles and wonders and we cried amidst them. We are alone and we always will be in this big ancient everything. I'm saying that I am sorry. That I have regrets. That everything lasts forever. That we are still together, in pain, that they are still together, in death, that I am still together, in pieces. I lied to you the day I met you. I said that I live for form and not for function, that I am aesthetically bound to my mind's eye. But you saw through my bullshit, and you loved me in spite of it, and I broke your heart in defense of it, knowing you could see. I am ashamed and I am sorry. I need things. I need things that work. I like things to fit and mix but they also must perform. And I broke this working thing, you and me, us. And I think souls are like polymers. You can't melt them back together, no matter how hot things get. This is the beginning of something perfect.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/21/2009
NOT TO MAKE YOU JEALOUS OR ANYTHING, BUT I HAVE GROUPIES
B. McGILLICUDDY
I write songs, and those songs are sub-par by say, classic rock standards or, say, in the opinion of my friend who happens to have a vagina and makes my heart skip beats, by the standards that Modest Mouse sets. But some people listen to it, and ask me when my next album is coming out, and come to my coffeehouse shows, and, back when I lived in California, would have sex with me for writing songs about them. Those are called groupies right?
So I have to bring up the topic of JEALOUSY, because I don't understand what it is that I'm experiencing. I did all this sleeping around and shit back in college that I have very little recollection of, and I'm friends with and/or don't remember the names of most of the so-called "notches on my belt". And the few that don't fall into those categories will DEFINITELY never sleep WITH ME again.
So why then, do I have such a hard time grasping the idea that the situation is the same with said Modest Mouse groupie, and her past series of flings/relationships? I have no intention to sleep with the girls I once did, and currently have no prospects as far as cheating may go, and IF I DID, based on my past experiences, I'd be more creeped/tuned/grossed out by them, via my overwhelming appreciation for the vagina at hand.
"Long-term memory is for the weak", Floyd said to me earlier today. And I'm obviously weak, because I have distinct memories from early childhood and from a month ago when I had one of the best days of my life, via relational reunion with The Bomb Diggity. I forgive typically, because I'm a forgiving motherfucker, but forgetting is not my forte. Luckily, neither is retaliation. Unluckily neither is marketing.
SO THIS IS ME VENTING MY FRUSTRATION! Because there is no room for jealousy in this relationship. There is no room for jealousy in the modern age. Sharing is caring they say, and even though applying that phrase to people is kind of taboo, and could ultimately be fatal since AIDS is on the rise again, I'm just going to have to suck it up and remember that I ain't gonna cheat, and she told me she won't, and what's past is past, and words are all we got to communicate with, yo.
Now to make good on a few promises...
B. McGILLICUDDY
I write songs, and those songs are sub-par by say, classic rock standards or, say, in the opinion of my friend who happens to have a vagina and makes my heart skip beats, by the standards that Modest Mouse sets. But some people listen to it, and ask me when my next album is coming out, and come to my coffeehouse shows, and, back when I lived in California, would have sex with me for writing songs about them. Those are called groupies right?
So I have to bring up the topic of JEALOUSY, because I don't understand what it is that I'm experiencing. I did all this sleeping around and shit back in college that I have very little recollection of, and I'm friends with and/or don't remember the names of most of the so-called "notches on my belt". And the few that don't fall into those categories will DEFINITELY never sleep WITH ME again.
So why then, do I have such a hard time grasping the idea that the situation is the same with said Modest Mouse groupie, and her past series of flings/relationships? I have no intention to sleep with the girls I once did, and currently have no prospects as far as cheating may go, and IF I DID, based on my past experiences, I'd be more creeped/tuned/grossed out by them, via my overwhelming appreciation for the vagina at hand.
"Long-term memory is for the weak", Floyd said to me earlier today. And I'm obviously weak, because I have distinct memories from early childhood and from a month ago when I had one of the best days of my life, via relational reunion with The Bomb Diggity. I forgive typically, because I'm a forgiving motherfucker, but forgetting is not my forte. Luckily, neither is retaliation. Unluckily neither is marketing.
SO THIS IS ME VENTING MY FRUSTRATION! Because there is no room for jealousy in this relationship. There is no room for jealousy in the modern age. Sharing is caring they say, and even though applying that phrase to people is kind of taboo, and could ultimately be fatal since AIDS is on the rise again, I'm just going to have to suck it up and remember that I ain't gonna cheat, and she told me she won't, and what's past is past, and words are all we got to communicate with, yo.
Now to make good on a few promises...
B. McGILLICUDDY
(PA)(T)(R)(TI)(EN)(TS)(CE)
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'm not a doctor, but I invented a new disease. It's called "I miss you so much I could throw up itis". It really sucks because I think that I not only invented it, but I'm actually severely afflicted by it.
I wonder if I could patent this disease and maybe make a lot of money whenever someone contracts it. The symptoms are pretty bad: stuffy nose, teary eyes, sore throat, uneasy stomach, all followed by long bouts of sitting by the window and watching the world go by. It's not an emo disease, it's more stress-induced. It's usually set on by a lot of "what ifs".
"What if she gets into a car accident and I don't find out until the day before the funeral because her sister is so grieved that she forgets to call me."
"What if she gets really drunk and falls down some stairs, because stairs are really steep in big cities, and hits her head? How will I cope with having a comatose friend that's a girl that I've slept with?"
"What if she drunkenly has sex with another guy and is so ashamed and so scared that I'll leave her when I find out, that she makes up a bunch of stories to cover it up and I only realize it when I contract some super-rare, incurable STD?"
"What if she realizes she's more happy at home and decides not to move back to this shitty college town, leaving me to go through that same cycle of death and rebirth that I almost didn't make it through last time we split?"
AND
"What if none of this happens and she gets back and is so happy to see me that we spend a whole week together and it's awesome and amazing and all my worrying was for nothing?"
I'm pretty much over the worrying part, and the missing part, but the stress still made me so sick that I'm just now starting to recover. My parents felt bad for how bad I was feeling and treated me to McDonald's bacon ranch crispy chicken sandwiches and a large coke. I know this sounds absurd, but that's exactly what happened. And I'm pretty sure I'm just going to puke it all up later.
I once said that Benjamin Franklin was a cheater and didn't know shit about absence making anything do shit except maybe giving you low marks in your social studies class. I still believe this and though my heart is not growing "fonder", my cock is shriveling, and I don't see any reason to leave my house, which is only two degrees warmer than it is outside. I also just realized how emo this all sounds, and the fact that I suspect that the famous writer, Tao Lin, might be reading this blog will probably make me look really bad consistency-wise, and he'll probably hate my writing as a result. But really I'm just not in a froofy mood today. And it's when I'm feeling froofy that you guys get your musings on the universe and short stories about people with southern accents and updates about "microquirk". So this IS me getting vulns and being sick and trying to be funny in spite of it.
My friend that's a girl and who has the feminized version of my Christian name and is the same height as me and who, now that I'm thinking too much about, I miss very much..."what if?"...is coming back home tonight. And hopefully I'll be well enough tomorrow to take a shower and draw her a pretty picture and maybe write her a song. But I dunno. That's more than four hours from now.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'm not a doctor, but I invented a new disease. It's called "I miss you so much I could throw up itis". It really sucks because I think that I not only invented it, but I'm actually severely afflicted by it.
I wonder if I could patent this disease and maybe make a lot of money whenever someone contracts it. The symptoms are pretty bad: stuffy nose, teary eyes, sore throat, uneasy stomach, all followed by long bouts of sitting by the window and watching the world go by. It's not an emo disease, it's more stress-induced. It's usually set on by a lot of "what ifs".
"What if she gets into a car accident and I don't find out until the day before the funeral because her sister is so grieved that she forgets to call me."
"What if she gets really drunk and falls down some stairs, because stairs are really steep in big cities, and hits her head? How will I cope with having a comatose friend that's a girl that I've slept with?"
"What if she drunkenly has sex with another guy and is so ashamed and so scared that I'll leave her when I find out, that she makes up a bunch of stories to cover it up and I only realize it when I contract some super-rare, incurable STD?"
"What if she realizes she's more happy at home and decides not to move back to this shitty college town, leaving me to go through that same cycle of death and rebirth that I almost didn't make it through last time we split?"
AND
"What if none of this happens and she gets back and is so happy to see me that we spend a whole week together and it's awesome and amazing and all my worrying was for nothing?"
I'm pretty much over the worrying part, and the missing part, but the stress still made me so sick that I'm just now starting to recover. My parents felt bad for how bad I was feeling and treated me to McDonald's bacon ranch crispy chicken sandwiches and a large coke. I know this sounds absurd, but that's exactly what happened. And I'm pretty sure I'm just going to puke it all up later.
I once said that Benjamin Franklin was a cheater and didn't know shit about absence making anything do shit except maybe giving you low marks in your social studies class. I still believe this and though my heart is not growing "fonder", my cock is shriveling, and I don't see any reason to leave my house, which is only two degrees warmer than it is outside. I also just realized how emo this all sounds, and the fact that I suspect that the famous writer, Tao Lin, might be reading this blog will probably make me look really bad consistency-wise, and he'll probably hate my writing as a result. But really I'm just not in a froofy mood today. And it's when I'm feeling froofy that you guys get your musings on the universe and short stories about people with southern accents and updates about "microquirk". So this IS me getting vulns and being sick and trying to be funny in spite of it.
My friend that's a girl and who has the feminized version of my Christian name and is the same height as me and who, now that I'm thinking too much about, I miss very much..."what if?"...is coming back home tonight. And hopefully I'll be well enough tomorrow to take a shower and draw her a pretty picture and maybe write her a song. But I dunno. That's more than four hours from now.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/20/2009
PREFERENTIAL DIFFERENTIAL
B. McGILLICUDDY
I like a lot of things. And I dislike even more things than those. For example, the grammar usage in the last sentence: HATED IT. But whatever it is about the likable things in my life that makes them superior to what YOU like, it's my personal compulsions, and little more, that makes any much ado about my preferences toward them. Maybe popular opinion has some sort of say, but I tend to try to be ANTI-POPULAR OPINION, because popule suck!
I have, however, happened upon a bunch of popule who philosophically agree with my take on what's to be liked*/unliked* with reference to the human condition/worldviews in general/ghey marriage/(f)art, but they are my xolaektyv(collective) simply because I like to think they are, not because I have any right to their thoughts or because I prescribe to their SUPERIOR OPINIONS. And luckily for me, none of them have deemed me "too pretentious" or a big enough asshole to leave me and my need for intimacy in the dust.
But you've seen the product of it, and I like to think this is a beautiful collection of literature by a collection of LITERALLY (NO SRSLY) BEAUTIFUL people, no matter how constantly self-reflective and ugly this blaaag is/may be to any of you(r m)other(s) cock-suckers (and no, I don't intend to suggest that I have had the great honor and privilege to have ever performed fellatio, I'm using the term as a form of post-post-argumentative degradation; no offense to you, fellatiatorés, we recipients are forever indebted to you). Which brings up the point that there are some dudes who don't like getting head, which I mean, srsly, "to each his own" and a "pfft!w/evs" on that one.
But what it was that I was talking about was the highly self-reflective nature of this bloag. AND ISN'T LIFE SELF-REFLECTIVE Y'ALL!? Isn't every moment a resonating reminder that there was A LOT OF SHIT that built up to this? And "liking" one damn thing or another may make it more prevalent in your life, your mind's eye, or in and around your mouth/vagina/septum/urethra, but what I LIKE:D and what u lyke:\ are basically on a level playing field of importance/relevance to the outcome of human existence/history/what tweens amidst existential crises will be obsessed with in the near/relatively distant future (yeah right, I'm way more tween fodder than you'll ever be).
So, I scream, you scream, we all scream for relevance I suppose, but I'm going to go off and do what it is that gets my cheeks a-grinnin' and vocal cords a-mmmmmin' and O face a-Oin', cause that just sounds a helluva lot more fun than sitting at home sans alcoholism/expensive drug habit/disease(acquired via sexual transmission). But you sir, you go'on dew whaatchu whaant (or don't necessarily want to do, but will, because of your obligations and many responsibilities to your ungrateful family, money-hungry church, and to your guilty guilty guilty addiction to child pornography that you have to keep like super super secret, yo).
OMG I'M GONNA GO HAVE/ENJOY A CIGARETTE NAO (via carcinogenic poison respiring through my bronchi and directly attaching to naturally-occuring neurotransmitters in my brain that make me go "OMG, I EXIST!" and will ultimately result in my premature(???) death(???) at the hands of a serious car(cancer(cougar)) accident(affliction(attack)))!!!
B. McGILLICUDDY
I like a lot of things. And I dislike even more things than those. For example, the grammar usage in the last sentence: HATED IT. But whatever it is about the likable things in my life that makes them superior to what YOU like, it's my personal compulsions, and little more, that makes any much ado about my preferences toward them. Maybe popular opinion has some sort of say, but I tend to try to be ANTI-POPULAR OPINION, because popule suck!
I have, however, happened upon a bunch of popule who philosophically agree with my take on what's to be liked*/unliked* with reference to the human condition/worldviews in general/ghey marriage/(f)art, but they are my xolaektyv(collective) simply because I like to think they are, not because I have any right to their thoughts or because I prescribe to their SUPERIOR OPINIONS. And luckily for me, none of them have deemed me "too pretentious" or a big enough asshole to leave me and my need for intimacy in the dust.
But you've seen the product of it, and I like to think this is a beautiful collection of literature by a collection of LITERALLY (NO SRSLY) BEAUTIFUL people, no matter how constantly self-reflective and ugly this blaaag is/may be to any of you(r m)other(s) cock-suckers (and no, I don't intend to suggest that I have had the great honor and privilege to have ever performed fellatio, I'm using the term as a form of post-post-argumentative degradation; no offense to you, fellatiatorés, we recipients are forever indebted to you). Which brings up the point that there are some dudes who don't like getting head, which I mean, srsly, "to each his own" and a "pfft!w/evs" on that one.
But what it was that I was talking about was the highly self-reflective nature of this bloag. AND ISN'T LIFE SELF-REFLECTIVE Y'ALL!? Isn't every moment a resonating reminder that there was A LOT OF SHIT that built up to this? And "liking" one damn thing or another may make it more prevalent in your life, your mind's eye, or in and around your mouth/vagina/septum/urethra, but what I LIKE:D and what u lyke:\ are basically on a level playing field of importance/relevance to the outcome of human existence/history/what tweens amidst existential crises will be obsessed with in the near/relatively distant future (yeah right, I'm way more tween fodder than you'll ever be).
So, I scream, you scream, we all scream for relevance I suppose, but I'm going to go off and do what it is that gets my cheeks a-grinnin' and vocal cords a-mmmmmin' and O face a-Oin', cause that just sounds a helluva lot more fun than sitting at home sans alcoholism/expensive drug habit/disease(acquired via sexual transmission). But you sir, you go'on dew whaatchu whaant (or don't necessarily want to do, but will, because of your obligations and many responsibilities to your ungrateful family, money-hungry church, and to your guilty guilty guilty addiction to child pornography that you have to keep like super super secret, yo).
OMG I'M GONNA GO HAVE/ENJOY A CIGARETTE NAO (via carcinogenic poison respiring through my bronchi and directly attaching to naturally-occuring neurotransmitters in my brain that make me go "OMG, I EXIST!" and will ultimately result in my premature(???) death(???) at the hands of a serious car(cancer(cougar)) accident(affliction(attack)))!!!
B. McGILLICUDDY
NAO
B. McGILLICUDDY
You know the funny thing about the present? It's like a present, presented to us by the universe, and it just KEEPS ON GIVING!
I for one am all about a perpetual zeitgeist mentality, acknowledging and appreciating the fact that the entire universe is happening NAO and that there are galaxies colliding NAO and that there are stars exploding NAO and there are planets forming NAO and satellites silently *beep-beeping* NAO and predators stalking their prey NAO and babies sleeping forever (R.I.P.) NAO and women SUPERorgasming NAO and strange under-water sea creatures JUST EXISTING NAO, and an infinity full of infinitesimal, uber-organized, and still absurdly random bits of nothing making it all happen right at this very...NAO!
Doesn't it make you feel great to be alive? Here? NAO? I hear that there are some people on this planet who are suicidal, who think they don't matter to the universe. Well how can you not matter if you're happening NAO? Because NAO is full of matter! EVERYTHING is matter! And I know that's just a play on words, an assembly of that same meaninglessness that those very "some people" want to escape, but GODDAMN, only "some people" have the ability to understand that pun, and it won't mean a thing to "some people" in the future. But at least YOU "some people" got the joke NAO! And I think that that, in itself holds its own romantic, sensual, if still comedic, allure.
Okay, but now I've overused my buzzword, and it's time for me to come to my point.
It's a luscious, grand place we're all existing in at the moment, and even if there's murder and rape and dysentery, there's this whole glorious expanse that just goes on and on and on, and there are plenty of people having the best fucking day of their lives today! And isn't it funny how that just doesn't cut it, and you couldn't give LESS OF A SHIT when you're separated from the only person you want to share this awesome fucking morning with!?
GOD FUCKING DAMN *SPIT!* COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCK I MISS HER RIGHT NAO.
B. McGILLICUDDY
You know the funny thing about the present? It's like a present, presented to us by the universe, and it just KEEPS ON GIVING!
I for one am all about a perpetual zeitgeist mentality, acknowledging and appreciating the fact that the entire universe is happening NAO and that there are galaxies colliding NAO and that there are stars exploding NAO and there are planets forming NAO and satellites silently *beep-beeping* NAO and predators stalking their prey NAO and babies sleeping forever (R.I.P.) NAO and women SUPERorgasming NAO and strange under-water sea creatures JUST EXISTING NAO, and an infinity full of infinitesimal, uber-organized, and still absurdly random bits of nothing making it all happen right at this very...NAO!
Doesn't it make you feel great to be alive? Here? NAO? I hear that there are some people on this planet who are suicidal, who think they don't matter to the universe. Well how can you not matter if you're happening NAO? Because NAO is full of matter! EVERYTHING is matter! And I know that's just a play on words, an assembly of that same meaninglessness that those very "some people" want to escape, but GODDAMN, only "some people" have the ability to understand that pun, and it won't mean a thing to "some people" in the future. But at least YOU "some people" got the joke NAO! And I think that that, in itself holds its own romantic, sensual, if still comedic, allure.
Okay, but now I've overused my buzzword, and it's time for me to come to my point.
It's a luscious, grand place we're all existing in at the moment, and even if there's murder and rape and dysentery, there's this whole glorious expanse that just goes on and on and on, and there are plenty of people having the best fucking day of their lives today! And isn't it funny how that just doesn't cut it, and you couldn't give LESS OF A SHIT when you're separated from the only person you want to share this awesome fucking morning with!?
GOD FUCKING DAMN *SPIT!* COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCK I MISS HER RIGHT NAO.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/18/2009
NOTE TO SELF II
B. McGILLICUDDY
Don't leave intimate conversations just as they're getting good, simply because you think you have social obligations. It makes you look like a dick.
And then, once you're high and you get paranoid because you think you look like a dick, you'll find it necessary to apologize profusely and look for advice, when really, you didn't look like that big of a dick in the first place.
Then people will write public blog posts about it.
And those people will actually be bigger dicks than you are, generally, so no worries.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Don't leave intimate conversations just as they're getting good, simply because you think you have social obligations. It makes you look like a dick.
And then, once you're high and you get paranoid because you think you look like a dick, you'll find it necessary to apologize profusely and look for advice, when really, you didn't look like that big of a dick in the first place.
Then people will write public blog posts about it.
And those people will actually be bigger dicks than you are, generally, so no worries.
B. McGILLICUDDY
TWO, NOT ONE
B. McGILLICUDDY
It's a dynamic, not a "connection". It's just two different people in frequent contact with each other, bending moods and warping expectations, producing chemicals. There's an "agreement" between us, but it's vague and there isn't a "prevention" clause. There are only stipulations regarding how we interact when physically "together". Everything outside of this is what it would be between strangers.
I do this, and it doesn't affect her life. This is done to me, and it still does not affect her. She does this and that and the other, and it is her business and hers alone. This has no telepathic implications, no matter how much I want it to. There is only the friction between us, like two gears working a clock, and when the mechanism is taken apart for repair, and there is nothing between us, there is nothing between us.
We are two different people, two minds, two hearts, two sets of corresponding genitalia. And I'm having an extremely difficult time coping with this realization.
I want "us" to mean something. And I think it does on some level. "Us" means "you and me", a phrase that denotes there's a harmony there, that our vibrations collide and make something beautiful, something better, but it does not mean that we stop playing our own melodies, just that it's "good" when they come together, that we're "compatible". And I suppose that works for me.
I still fucking miss her though. Fuck.
B. McGILLICUDDY
It's a dynamic, not a "connection". It's just two different people in frequent contact with each other, bending moods and warping expectations, producing chemicals. There's an "agreement" between us, but it's vague and there isn't a "prevention" clause. There are only stipulations regarding how we interact when physically "together". Everything outside of this is what it would be between strangers.
I do this, and it doesn't affect her life. This is done to me, and it still does not affect her. She does this and that and the other, and it is her business and hers alone. This has no telepathic implications, no matter how much I want it to. There is only the friction between us, like two gears working a clock, and when the mechanism is taken apart for repair, and there is nothing between us, there is nothing between us.
We are two different people, two minds, two hearts, two sets of corresponding genitalia. And I'm having an extremely difficult time coping with this realization.
I want "us" to mean something. And I think it does on some level. "Us" means "you and me", a phrase that denotes there's a harmony there, that our vibrations collide and make something beautiful, something better, but it does not mean that we stop playing our own melodies, just that it's "good" when they come together, that we're "compatible". And I suppose that works for me.
I still fucking miss her though. Fuck.
B. McGILLICUDDY
JUSTIN M. JIMINEZ PRESENTS "MOVIE MIND"
B. McGILLICUDDY
A buddy of mine and fellow filmmaker wrote a poem that resonated with me. I don't know if it's meaningful or if he cried while writing it, or if he was just jerking out ideas for his own psychological masturbation, but he's a self-professed Bohemian, and we here at Romantic Rhetoric support Bohemian art.
"MOVIE MIND (WORKING TITLE)
By JUSTIN M. JIMINEZ
My movie mind remembers pictures
Images of past, present, and future scenes
I write to turn these dystopic dreams
Into idyllic lines of prose
To weigh the pros and cons of keeping you
Within my mind’s memory banks
Do I store these miserly thoughts,
Keep them fresh for a hopeful scene?
Or do I dispose of these leftover images
And feed them to hungry souls?
This is my movie mind."
Also, he's a regular reader, so he's got street cred in our scene yo. Keep 'em coming duder.
B. McGILLICUDDY
A buddy of mine and fellow filmmaker wrote a poem that resonated with me. I don't know if it's meaningful or if he cried while writing it, or if he was just jerking out ideas for his own psychological masturbation, but he's a self-professed Bohemian, and we here at Romantic Rhetoric support Bohemian art.
"MOVIE MIND (WORKING TITLE)
By JUSTIN M. JIMINEZ
My movie mind remembers pictures
Images of past, present, and future scenes
I write to turn these dystopic dreams
Into idyllic lines of prose
To weigh the pros and cons of keeping you
Within my mind’s memory banks
Do I store these miserly thoughts,
Keep them fresh for a hopeful scene?
Or do I dispose of these leftover images
And feed them to hungry souls?
This is my movie mind."
Also, he's a regular reader, so he's got street cred in our scene yo. Keep 'em coming duder.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/17/2009
THE EXPANSE
B. McGILLICUDDY
In between each little particle of love is a force of attraction. Either you dig it, or you can't. So then you have to be disastrous with your panties, or socks, but the thing is you have to choose. Or you lose. There are place mats and lots of styrofoam and people who can't stand capitalization. Once upon a time I pretended I was hurt for a while, then when I passed seamlessly through the prison bars I saw you. The answer is yes, but it's highly conditional. If you ever get the chance to make a movie, take it, and add a few condiments, because flavour is key. I don't know what it is about beans, but they are delicious and guzzling down a few brewskies like you're riding the Gravy Train down South doesn't have the privilege of making a difference. I've never been to Turkey personally, but I hear it's nice this time of vagina. You, me and my romantic sensation should pass the time here in sobriety once the opportunistic landlady pays me back. Crash wasn't that loud, but it had a lot of ATP. So I think biologically we're very similar, but your jeans don't match the color of my heart. Tick tock tick tock rhymes with stock, and I spend a lot of time at the market soooo...we're even. I bet you had a bad day when you found out your yeast was infected, because all your bread was on loan from the government. And who knows when your Post-it Notes will be considered legal tender. I like my steak MEDIUM WELL, because I have trouble interpreting psychic intra-action.
B. McGILLICUDDY
In between each little particle of love is a force of attraction. Either you dig it, or you can't. So then you have to be disastrous with your panties, or socks, but the thing is you have to choose. Or you lose. There are place mats and lots of styrofoam and people who can't stand capitalization. Once upon a time I pretended I was hurt for a while, then when I passed seamlessly through the prison bars I saw you. The answer is yes, but it's highly conditional. If you ever get the chance to make a movie, take it, and add a few condiments, because flavour is key. I don't know what it is about beans, but they are delicious and guzzling down a few brewskies like you're riding the Gravy Train down South doesn't have the privilege of making a difference. I've never been to Turkey personally, but I hear it's nice this time of vagina. You, me and my romantic sensation should pass the time here in sobriety once the opportunistic landlady pays me back. Crash wasn't that loud, but it had a lot of ATP. So I think biologically we're very similar, but your jeans don't match the color of my heart. Tick tock tick tock rhymes with stock, and I spend a lot of time at the market soooo...we're even. I bet you had a bad day when you found out your yeast was infected, because all your bread was on loan from the government. And who knows when your Post-it Notes will be considered legal tender. I like my steak MEDIUM WELL, because I have trouble interpreting psychic intra-action.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/16/2009
SYMPATHY
B. McGILLICUDDY
"What do you want me to do!?"
"I just want you to empathize with me!"
"Nonononono, what it is you're asking is for me to sympathize with you. I know how you feel! You're afraid, you're at a loss, you don't know what's next and you think you might not be able to handle it. I'm sorry honey, but that happens to everyone! Hell, I feel like that right this second, but you know what? You just gotta suck it up and fight through it because not a single person can do a goddamned thing for you."
"I'm asking you to be here for me. I'm asking you to help support me through this!"
"What do you think this is!? I'm telling you what you goddamn need to hear. Every single word I'm speaking to you is truth! Cold, hard fact."
"You asked me what it is I wanted you to do and you're not even listening to my answer."
"Okay. I'm sorry. What do you want?"
"A hug."
"A 'hug'?"
"Yes. A 'hug'. I want you to hold me."
"Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is that going to do!?"
"It'll prove to me that you're here for me, that you are actually willing to be here with me in spite of my problems. That you don't see me as less of a person, or less of a part of your life just because we have our own issues. It will show me that there is at least one person on this planet who wants me to succeed, because so far, it seems to me like the whole bloody lot of the entire fucking universe is against me. And the universe, to be honest with you, is heavy as shit. So I would really, really...really like a hug."
"No."
B. McGILLICUDDY
"What do you want me to do!?"
"I just want you to empathize with me!"
"Nonononono, what it is you're asking is for me to sympathize with you. I know how you feel! You're afraid, you're at a loss, you don't know what's next and you think you might not be able to handle it. I'm sorry honey, but that happens to everyone! Hell, I feel like that right this second, but you know what? You just gotta suck it up and fight through it because not a single person can do a goddamned thing for you."
"I'm asking you to be here for me. I'm asking you to help support me through this!"
"What do you think this is!? I'm telling you what you goddamn need to hear. Every single word I'm speaking to you is truth! Cold, hard fact."
"You asked me what it is I wanted you to do and you're not even listening to my answer."
"Okay. I'm sorry. What do you want?"
"A hug."
"A 'hug'?"
"Yes. A 'hug'. I want you to hold me."
"Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is that going to do!?"
"It'll prove to me that you're here for me, that you are actually willing to be here with me in spite of my problems. That you don't see me as less of a person, or less of a part of your life just because we have our own issues. It will show me that there is at least one person on this planet who wants me to succeed, because so far, it seems to me like the whole bloody lot of the entire fucking universe is against me. And the universe, to be honest with you, is heavy as shit. So I would really, really...really like a hug."
"No."
B. McGILLICUDDY
SLUMP
B. McGILLICUDDY
Love is a dynamic thing. Like the rest of the universe, it's in a constant state of flux, so when things stop getting saucy, it can seem like "it's going to be like this forever", but there's always this amazing unexpected turnaround that just pops up when you're least expecting it.
The same is true for creativity. While I'm waiting for both to *shwoop!* back to their regular pulse, I'll offer up some dangerous musing for you all.
In the beginning, love created expectation, and all its accompanying emotional turmoil. After it all went downhill and life lost it's flavor, that anti-climactic trough that bears no fruit seemed to be all that was or would ever be. But here it is, the turn, just before the prestige, where patience is key, emotion is useless and the seeds of anticipation are waiting to take root. When will the Winter end and Spring return? We wait, we wait, we wait...
B. McGILLICUDDY
Love is a dynamic thing. Like the rest of the universe, it's in a constant state of flux, so when things stop getting saucy, it can seem like "it's going to be like this forever", but there's always this amazing unexpected turnaround that just pops up when you're least expecting it.
The same is true for creativity. While I'm waiting for both to *shwoop!* back to their regular pulse, I'll offer up some dangerous musing for you all.
In the beginning, love created expectation, and all its accompanying emotional turmoil. After it all went downhill and life lost it's flavor, that anti-climactic trough that bears no fruit seemed to be all that was or would ever be. But here it is, the turn, just before the prestige, where patience is key, emotion is useless and the seeds of anticipation are waiting to take root. When will the Winter end and Spring return? We wait, we wait, we wait...
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/15/2009
SHIT Y'ALL, I'M GETTING "VULNS"
B. McGILLICUDDY
My personal artistic vision is shit. And it's because all it is, is my loose interpretation of a world I have little to no understanding of. The same, I think, can be said for anyone about anything they lay claim to or have stake in.
The old folks say that the longer you analyze the world, the more you realize how little you know about it. I agree with this.
I'm just saying I'm young and stupid enough to think that every revelation I have about myself and the world is worth little to nothing in the grand scheme of "things". But I can't deny that I like what I like, and I do what I do because I like doing it. And if someone else seems to like watching me, good for them and for my self esteem. But when people refer to grand truths and ultimate realities, I gotta say, I don't know much about them, because the only reality I've been a part of, besides the secondhand reality we call "the interwebs", has been the one I've experienced through this highly subjective interface called "Me".
And in the end, this spiel is not about me bearing my heart, getting vulns, or being defensive about my beliefs. THIS IS ME YELLING AT YOU ABOUT THINGS I THINK.
I just happen to think that my take on "beauty", "love", and "getting naked and performing coitus" is the best take anybody has to offer. So if you want to listen to some narcissistic, highly subjective, but extremely honest idiot tell you what's what about love, then allow me to spoon feed you my bullshit, but don't think it'll get you "anywhere", because it sure as hell hasn't done that for me.
B. McGILLICUDDY
My personal artistic vision is shit. And it's because all it is, is my loose interpretation of a world I have little to no understanding of. The same, I think, can be said for anyone about anything they lay claim to or have stake in.
The old folks say that the longer you analyze the world, the more you realize how little you know about it. I agree with this.
I'm just saying I'm young and stupid enough to think that every revelation I have about myself and the world is worth little to nothing in the grand scheme of "things". But I can't deny that I like what I like, and I do what I do because I like doing it. And if someone else seems to like watching me, good for them and for my self esteem. But when people refer to grand truths and ultimate realities, I gotta say, I don't know much about them, because the only reality I've been a part of, besides the secondhand reality we call "the interwebs", has been the one I've experienced through this highly subjective interface called "Me".
And in the end, this spiel is not about me bearing my heart, getting vulns, or being defensive about my beliefs. THIS IS ME YELLING AT YOU ABOUT THINGS I THINK.
I just happen to think that my take on "beauty", "love", and "getting naked and performing coitus" is the best take anybody has to offer. So if you want to listen to some narcissistic, highly subjective, but extremely honest idiot tell you what's what about love, then allow me to spoon feed you my bullshit, but don't think it'll get you "anywhere", because it sure as hell hasn't done that for me.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/13/2009
NOVELTY
B. McGILLICUDDY
Jared liked to collect fake flowers. He had all kinds of them. There was one bouquet that looked kind of like it was made from real flowers, and each one had petals made from fabric and plastic stems. Then there were kinds that didn't resemble real flowers at all, but were brightly colored toys with pink and blue and purple "petals", and with yellow centers attached to green "stems" and pivoting "leaves" that he purchased in conjunction with a childrens combination meal at a popular franchise restaurant. There were also some metallic pins and ornaments cast to look like nice flowers, and some were even gilded with real gold.
He also had images of flowers. For example there were quite a few pictures of flowers he had taken and printed from 35mm film. Some pictures he found from the internet were printed from his mother's computer and set in floral frames and hung on his walls. There were also large posters of flowers that were blown-up copies of photographs taken by famous photographers as well as prints of old, hand-drawn ecological and agricultural drawings of flowers like the kinds you might find in a survival guide.
His pillowcase, comforter, wallpaper, and the outside of his dresser drawer were all made from patterned prints made to resemble some of the flowers renowned for their exceptional beauty and elegance. Unfortunately, the architect who built his house did not appreciate Victorian-era floral engravings and did not incorporate them into the trim, door or window frames, otherwise Jared would have been very happy about that.
Instead of watering them daily, since they weren't real flowers, Jared would spray the fake flowers with perfumes made from extracts of actual flowers or made to approximate the smells of the flowers depicted on their bottles. Each morning he would go to his cabinet and pick out the perfumes of the flowers he wanted to smell that day, and would spend as much time as was necessary to create the most elaborate amalgam of aromas until his room was full of fake, floral splendor.
One day a girl named Amanda came over to Jared's house and experienced the experience that was his bedroom and that had become his passion and daily routine. But her reaction to it was a less than exuberant one, and she commented on the notion that Jared might be "a faggot". So Jared poured the perfume all over his floor and bed and dresser drawer, ignited it using a wooden match and burned his house down.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Jared liked to collect fake flowers. He had all kinds of them. There was one bouquet that looked kind of like it was made from real flowers, and each one had petals made from fabric and plastic stems. Then there were kinds that didn't resemble real flowers at all, but were brightly colored toys with pink and blue and purple "petals", and with yellow centers attached to green "stems" and pivoting "leaves" that he purchased in conjunction with a childrens combination meal at a popular franchise restaurant. There were also some metallic pins and ornaments cast to look like nice flowers, and some were even gilded with real gold.
He also had images of flowers. For example there were quite a few pictures of flowers he had taken and printed from 35mm film. Some pictures he found from the internet were printed from his mother's computer and set in floral frames and hung on his walls. There were also large posters of flowers that were blown-up copies of photographs taken by famous photographers as well as prints of old, hand-drawn ecological and agricultural drawings of flowers like the kinds you might find in a survival guide.
His pillowcase, comforter, wallpaper, and the outside of his dresser drawer were all made from patterned prints made to resemble some of the flowers renowned for their exceptional beauty and elegance. Unfortunately, the architect who built his house did not appreciate Victorian-era floral engravings and did not incorporate them into the trim, door or window frames, otherwise Jared would have been very happy about that.
Instead of watering them daily, since they weren't real flowers, Jared would spray the fake flowers with perfumes made from extracts of actual flowers or made to approximate the smells of the flowers depicted on their bottles. Each morning he would go to his cabinet and pick out the perfumes of the flowers he wanted to smell that day, and would spend as much time as was necessary to create the most elaborate amalgam of aromas until his room was full of fake, floral splendor.
One day a girl named Amanda came over to Jared's house and experienced the experience that was his bedroom and that had become his passion and daily routine. But her reaction to it was a less than exuberant one, and she commented on the notion that Jared might be "a faggot". So Jared poured the perfume all over his floor and bed and dresser drawer, ignited it using a wooden match and burned his house down.
B. McGILLICUDDY
COOL BEANS, MAN.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Fuckin' cool beans...are mostly composed of jelly these days, and I definitely like how they're colorful and shit. Can't stand the taste though...each one's sweet as a brand new console and like, multiplayer fighting game as a surprise gift from your grandmother, man...fer sher, it's like five of 'em and I'm totes dunzo. Hate the gimmicky wannabe fad my sister drowned herself in, buying big bags of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavours. It's like a whole different ring of Hell, not knowin' if it'll be earwax or bubblegum. Chemicals man, nothin' magical about 'em. But their potential, for confusing your taste buds and like, conjuring bad nostalgia while still causing a surgary migrane, is apparently in-fin-ite. Tried passing off a bunch of the regular Bellies to this girl I've been seein' as a secondhand gift? Didn't work. She doesn't dig 'em either, man. Means we got a lot in common though I guess. Both not into the beans. How sweet is that?
B. McGILLICUDDY
Fuckin' cool beans...are mostly composed of jelly these days, and I definitely like how they're colorful and shit. Can't stand the taste though...each one's sweet as a brand new console and like, multiplayer fighting game as a surprise gift from your grandmother, man...fer sher, it's like five of 'em and I'm totes dunzo. Hate the gimmicky wannabe fad my sister drowned herself in, buying big bags of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavours. It's like a whole different ring of Hell, not knowin' if it'll be earwax or bubblegum. Chemicals man, nothin' magical about 'em. But their potential, for confusing your taste buds and like, conjuring bad nostalgia while still causing a surgary migrane, is apparently in-fin-ite. Tried passing off a bunch of the regular Bellies to this girl I've been seein' as a secondhand gift? Didn't work. She doesn't dig 'em either, man. Means we got a lot in common though I guess. Both not into the beans. How sweet is that?
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/12/2009
iBELIEVE
B. McGILLICUDDY
"I believe that Morpheus means more to me than he does to you. I believe if you are really serious about rescuing him, you are going to need my help. And since I am the ranking officer on this ship, if you don't like it...I believe you can go to hell. Because you're not going anywhere else."
I believe that a woman who is strong-willed and driven is maybe the hottest thing on the planet.
I however, do not believe in spacealiens, which makes strong-willed, driven women the STRANGEST THINGS in my understanding of the known universe.
B. McGILLICUDDY
"I believe that Morpheus means more to me than he does to you. I believe if you are really serious about rescuing him, you are going to need my help. And since I am the ranking officer on this ship, if you don't like it...I believe you can go to hell. Because you're not going anywhere else."
I believe that a woman who is strong-willed and driven is maybe the hottest thing on the planet.
I however, do not believe in spacealiens, which makes strong-willed, driven women the STRANGEST THINGS in my understanding of the known universe.
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/11/2009
NO MORE SEX!
B. McGILLICUDDY
Some people need to get over their legal addictions. Others need to get over their own self-deprecating antics. And even others need to get over their stage fright. And other even others NEED TO STOP TALKING ABOUT SEX. Because when a man leaves you a public message showing you his "O" face, then your verbal, public exhibitionism has gone too far.
So from now on, I will be writing prose poems about Nazism.
OH GREAT ARYAN RACE! YOUR BLONDE ON BLONDE ON BLONDE ON BLONDE WITH BLUE EYES AND PHILOSOPHICAL MINDS AND CORRUPTION OF SOCIALISM GETS ME FEELIN' LIKE A SKINHEADED COMPLEXION-DEPRIVED POST-NEGRO WITH TOO MUCH OF A HOLD ON A BYGONE RELIGION AND A SUPERIORITY COMPLEX THAT RIVALS AMERICANS NEOCONSERVATISM! WE WILL DO YOU GOOD BY KILLING YOU OFF, LEST YOUR HOUSEHOLD BE SHAMED WITH THE GREAT SHAME OF NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH! ZIGHEIL!
No but really I'm Jewish/Aborigine/Gook/Antarcticish in ethnicity, so they probs wouldn't let me be a Nazi. :(((
How about flowery post-sexual references to the digital age?
I STIMULATE PISTILS AND STAMENS VIA VERICOSE VEINS OF CHLOROPLASICITY, LAUNCHING A SITE OF IMPOSSIBLY ASCENDING BUMBLE INSEMINATION. THE INTERCONNECTIVITY OF THESE CHEMICAL SIGNALS PROJECTS A SIMULATION OF THE SPIRIT WE ADOPTED WHEN WE SAID "LET'S GET TOGETHER, YEAH YEAH YEAH, WHY DON'T YOU AND I COMBINE (VIA VERBAL INTERCOURSE)?" TRIDIMENSIONAL BIDIMENSIONALITY IS THE WAY BY WHICH I RESPIRE MY OXICARBON COMPLIMENTS BENEATH YOUR SOUL-PLUCKING, LIGHT-CAPTURING RESIDUALLY IMAGINED SELVES. SEROTONIN IS MY DRUG OF CHOICE, SO I EAR-TO-EAR MY DAILY INTAKE, BLUSHING WHEN I TREE-HUG AND SMUDGING ALL ITS MAKEUP IMMEDIATELY AFTER IT SUBMITS ITS ONLINE APPLICATION. CLICK!
Well that was interesting, you're thinking now. And I agree with you.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Some people need to get over their legal addictions. Others need to get over their own self-deprecating antics. And even others need to get over their stage fright. And other even others NEED TO STOP TALKING ABOUT SEX. Because when a man leaves you a public message showing you his "O" face, then your verbal, public exhibitionism has gone too far.
So from now on, I will be writing prose poems about Nazism.
OH GREAT ARYAN RACE! YOUR BLONDE ON BLONDE ON BLONDE ON BLONDE WITH BLUE EYES AND PHILOSOPHICAL MINDS AND CORRUPTION OF SOCIALISM GETS ME FEELIN' LIKE A SKINHEADED COMPLEXION-DEPRIVED POST-NEGRO WITH TOO MUCH OF A HOLD ON A BYGONE RELIGION AND A SUPERIORITY COMPLEX THAT RIVALS AMERICANS NEOCONSERVATISM! WE WILL DO YOU GOOD BY KILLING YOU OFF, LEST YOUR HOUSEHOLD BE SHAMED WITH THE GREAT SHAME OF NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH! ZIGHEIL!
No but really I'm Jewish/Aborigine/Gook/Antarcticish in ethnicity, so they probs wouldn't let me be a Nazi. :(((
How about flowery post-sexual references to the digital age?
I STIMULATE PISTILS AND STAMENS VIA VERICOSE VEINS OF CHLOROPLASICITY, LAUNCHING A SITE OF IMPOSSIBLY ASCENDING BUMBLE INSEMINATION. THE INTERCONNECTIVITY OF THESE CHEMICAL SIGNALS PROJECTS A SIMULATION OF THE SPIRIT WE ADOPTED WHEN WE SAID "LET'S GET TOGETHER, YEAH YEAH YEAH, WHY DON'T YOU AND I COMBINE (VIA VERBAL INTERCOURSE)?" TRIDIMENSIONAL BIDIMENSIONALITY IS THE WAY BY WHICH I RESPIRE MY OXICARBON COMPLIMENTS BENEATH YOUR SOUL-PLUCKING, LIGHT-CAPTURING RESIDUALLY IMAGINED SELVES. SEROTONIN IS MY DRUG OF CHOICE, SO I EAR-TO-EAR MY DAILY INTAKE, BLUSHING WHEN I TREE-HUG AND SMUDGING ALL ITS MAKEUP IMMEDIATELY AFTER IT SUBMITS ITS ONLINE APPLICATION. CLICK!
Well that was interesting, you're thinking now. And I agree with you.
B. McGILLICUDDY
more more ROMANTIC RHETORIC
B. McGILLICUDDY
Are we truly literate literists? Is this some fancy addiction we're indulging in? Is this some kind of revolution? Are you even fucking reading this? Can you even fucking read?
We are bound to your eyes by this alphabetical, misplaced parenthetical, but do you love us like we love to fuck with you? Maybe there are way too many questions here, and questioning the nature of the beast only makes it less artistic, but today my insecurities are gushing into your mind because I want you to know that we know what we are doing, and we will never let you in on it.
Who is this "we" I speak of? Are they "the writers" Floyd and La Frere so self-righteously refer to, when the personalities of this consciousness are subjects to be addressed? No, lover dearest, "we" are "you", and "your" constant curiosity about this punch-drunk concept "you" keep returning to; this enigma "we" all so heinously pursue and seem to stumble back upon. And these "insecurities" I'm professing aren't self-reflective questions, they are questions posed to "you", the consumer of this sexist, asinine work of "literature". This daily dose of romau that "we" keep conjuring for "your" masochistic soul. Because "you" don't want to know what "we" are talking about. "You" don't want to "understand" love. Simply mentioning the word does nothing but noticeably lessen the thrilling friction of the experience and the grimy fucking fact of it!!!
So what the fuck are you doing to yourself!? Why do you keep coming back to this!? Haven't you had enough?? There's plenty of other vulgar, masturbatory writing out there you can go blow your own mind to. SO STOP WASTING YOUR FUCKING TIME, DINING WITH THE NARCISSISTS.
w/<3
B. McGILLICUDDY
Are we truly literate literists? Is this some fancy addiction we're indulging in? Is this some kind of revolution? Are you even fucking reading this? Can you even fucking read?
We are bound to your eyes by this alphabetical, misplaced parenthetical, but do you love us like we love to fuck with you? Maybe there are way too many questions here, and questioning the nature of the beast only makes it less artistic, but today my insecurities are gushing into your mind because I want you to know that we know what we are doing, and we will never let you in on it.
Who is this "we" I speak of? Are they "the writers" Floyd and La Frere so self-righteously refer to, when the personalities of this consciousness are subjects to be addressed? No, lover dearest, "we" are "you", and "your" constant curiosity about this punch-drunk concept "you" keep returning to; this enigma "we" all so heinously pursue and seem to stumble back upon. And these "insecurities" I'm professing aren't self-reflective questions, they are questions posed to "you", the consumer of this sexist, asinine work of "literature". This daily dose of romau that "we" keep conjuring for "your" masochistic soul. Because "you" don't want to know what "we" are talking about. "You" don't want to "understand" love. Simply mentioning the word does nothing but noticeably lessen the thrilling friction of the experience and the grimy fucking fact of it!!!
So what the fuck are you doing to yourself!? Why do you keep coming back to this!? Haven't you had enough?? There's plenty of other vulgar, masturbatory writing out there you can go blow your own mind to. SO STOP WASTING YOUR FUCKING TIME, DINING WITH THE NARCISSISTS.
w/<3
B. McGILLICUDDY
3/10/2009
RBBTZN'SHT
B. McGILLICUDDY
There's something slimy and kinda sexual about frogs. They are swampy animals that are mostly known for their "songs" where they "ribbit" and bloat their jowls in a very scrotumesque gesture. The ritual of it is kinda creepy, and the bulgy eye thing isn't the cutest, but still, they remind me of the gooey nature of the minute, repetitive, OMGI'MGONNACUM aspect of the act. And the fact that tropical tree frogs are like the most poisonous little monsters on the globe makes THEM all the more ironic.
HARES. And by hairz I mean pubes/rabbits. The universal symbol of baby-making. They are fluffy-wuffy-kewtilly-snuggly-wuggums that just like fucking, all the time supposedly. Or maybe it's just because of that population growth diagram I saw in my biology class that they've been immortalized as such. I've never actually seen rabbits fucking before...GOOGLETIME!
..............
WHOA, I GOT WAY TO CARRIED AWAY WITH THAT. So rabbit sex doesn't look like any fun at all. If you've ever heard a rabbit scream, it's probably one of the sounds that inspired the concept of Hell, because it's not just obnoxious, It's earsplitting, and I just endured about half-an-hour of it. Don't think rabbits are the best candidates for the universal sex symbol. It's mostly the male rabbit hopping and humping around different holes until finally, bam! we're in! and then that lasts for about ten seconds and he's like, whoa! we're ouuuuuuut, and the whole time the female's all like "I don't really know how I feel about this, so I'm gonna scream until you give up," and of course, he never does. Persistent little lucky charm.
Ironickerly than the case of the deadly frog, is that the wife of a rabbi, who happens to be DIVINELY ORDERED to pop out billions of Jews all by her lonesome, is called a rebbetzin! Now maybe THAT'S where the RABBinowITz legend came from, because rabbi's DEFINITELY "fuck like rabbits". But there's just one thing about that that I don't get. Never in my life have I seen/met/heard of a Rabbi that seemed even remotely like he had anything to offer in a pleasurable thrust-gushing sense. They all just seem SOOOOO AWKWARD. Hopefully there's some Dr. Phil/Ruth figure who goes around the world giving tips on that matter to such dudes/rebbetzins for the greater sake of The Chosen. In fact I know one in-training, in case any rabbis/baby-makin-maschnitzels are reading and would like a referral.
In other news, "Ribbitting Rabbits for a Rabid Rebbitzin" is the name of my new documentary (out circa 2019), cumming to a theater just so far away from you that you go "meh" and decide to watch "What Dreams May Come" instead, near you.
B. McGILLICUDDY
P.S.
I don't know if you guys can tell, or if you care at all, but I like vaginae, and I have an unlimited access pass to my favorite one.
P.P.S.
Sorry to any "singles" who aren't on the Whorearound train to Orgasmsville. I'm not trying to make you jealous/horny/yes I definitely am.
There's something slimy and kinda sexual about frogs. They are swampy animals that are mostly known for their "songs" where they "ribbit" and bloat their jowls in a very scrotumesque gesture. The ritual of it is kinda creepy, and the bulgy eye thing isn't the cutest, but still, they remind me of the gooey nature of the minute, repetitive, OMGI'MGONNACUM aspect of the act. And the fact that tropical tree frogs are like the most poisonous little monsters on the globe makes THEM all the more ironic.
HARES. And by hairz I mean pubes/rabbits. The universal symbol of baby-making. They are fluffy-wuffy-kewtilly-snuggly-wuggums that just like fucking, all the time supposedly. Or maybe it's just because of that population growth diagram I saw in my biology class that they've been immortalized as such. I've never actually seen rabbits fucking before...GOOGLETIME!
..............
WHOA, I GOT WAY TO CARRIED AWAY WITH THAT. So rabbit sex doesn't look like any fun at all. If you've ever heard a rabbit scream, it's probably one of the sounds that inspired the concept of Hell, because it's not just obnoxious, It's earsplitting, and I just endured about half-an-hour of it. Don't think rabbits are the best candidates for the universal sex symbol. It's mostly the male rabbit hopping and humping around different holes until finally, bam! we're in! and then that lasts for about ten seconds and he's like, whoa! we're ouuuuuuut, and the whole time the female's all like "I don't really know how I feel about this, so I'm gonna scream until you give up," and of course, he never does. Persistent little lucky charm.
Ironickerly than the case of the deadly frog, is that the wife of a rabbi, who happens to be DIVINELY ORDERED to pop out billions of Jews all by her lonesome, is called a rebbetzin! Now maybe THAT'S where the RABBinowITz legend came from, because rabbi's DEFINITELY "fuck like rabbits". But there's just one thing about that that I don't get. Never in my life have I seen/met/heard of a Rabbi that seemed even remotely like he had anything to offer in a pleasurable thrust-gushing sense. They all just seem SOOOOO AWKWARD. Hopefully there's some Dr. Phil/Ruth figure who goes around the world giving tips on that matter to such dudes/rebbetzins for the greater sake of The Chosen. In fact I know one in-training, in case any rabbis/baby-makin-maschnitzels are reading and would like a referral.
In other news, "Ribbitting Rabbits for a Rabid Rebbitzin" is the name of my new documentary (out circa 2019), cumming to a theater just so far away from you that you go "meh" and decide to watch "What Dreams May Come" instead, near you.
B. McGILLICUDDY
P.S.
I don't know if you guys can tell, or if you care at all, but I like vaginae, and I have an unlimited access pass to my favorite one.
P.P.S.
Sorry to any "singles" who aren't on the Whorearound train to Orgasmsville. I'm not trying to make you jealous/horny/yes I definitely am.
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