The Void of Meaning

Yes, it is true: the Moon kept me up ALL NIGHT long. I couldn’t take it anymore. So I turned around in bed and coughed. Did it help? ….no. I don’t get it. I see full moons at LEAST once a month, so why did last night’s ‘old man in the sky’ creep me out so much? Did anyone else feel this? (or am i just crazy me?) In bed, in a very odd delusional state came over me, and I began thinking about the meaning of words.

It started with the seedlings to the poem bellow, and as I thought the lines over and over, the room began to spin as if it was a rabbit hole and my name was Alice. How the hell did we give these random grunts meaning? These sounds, which are so similar to so many other sounds;  that when placed in a specific order create (drumroll please,) MEANING.

I swear I wasn’t high. No, really. I felt like I was 3 again, and thinking about the mechanics of a toaster (it fascinated me to no end… and sort of still does: Yeah Toast!:)

Now, I know that the more literary minded among you will hark back to literary theory: about words breaking from meaning at the philosophical moment of Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Eden (- or some such.) but I’m referring to the ease at which we personally lose track of the meaning of our own words… (oh, shit, it’s starting again) Like when you are deep in a rant and you lose your thought express bus, and then suddenly everything that you were so passionately expressing gets lost in the over-stimulated mental void and promptly disappears. AhhhhhHG…. 

Needless to say, this morning I needed coffee. So I went to a cute little cafe nearby. Not only did I get coffee. I got art. Watch out world, here it comes:

Suddenly words and their meanings (and lack thereof) floated together and reunited in the brown and white foamy universe in my cup. Thank Gawd for Coffee! It’s definitely a sanity saver. (Yeah Coffee!)

The Bastard Moon

Last night, the moon followed me home (like a vagabond or a stalker,) it glared at me over my handlebars (unyielding, sullen and silent) ‘Leave me alone!’ I rallied against its persistence ‘My business is my own, how dare you be so insistent?’ (But I could not undo its gaze.) “that little fucker…” I grumbled, (hoping it would not hear,) as I scuttled into my doorway and shut the old wood behind me. I peered through sideways slats and surveyed the horizon, to find it in the exact same place, (continually gawking at me) Indeed, it remained there all night (like a voyeur in darkness) making me toss and turn, (Twisting under it’s pointed ponderance) Luckily, it took its leave by morning, (as quietly as it had come,) leaving me worried and wondering: how will it be? (now that it knows where I am?)

The Lizzard Speaks II

“If ‘Rectum’ means ‘right’, why does everyone think it’s so wrong?” -The Lizzard

The Lizard Speaks

Quote of the Day:

“What?! Emus can run up to 64 km an hour? DUDE, I’m becoming an emu.” -The Lizzard

Would Nostradamus have worn BLING?

I watched an 1982 film about Nostradamus’ life and predictions last night. It was quite the assortment of fear-mongering and speculation that I had thought it would be. Apparently, Nostradamus predicted the Kennedy assassination, the first world war and the second world war. He even predicted a third world war that should have started in 1999. He said the ‘New City’ (presumably New York City) would experience a ‘terror’ from the skies, and that it would subsequently descend into complete disorder. Then he predicted that a man wearing a blue turban would make an alliance with an Eastern European force (which they assumed would be Russia- and remember, this film was made in the throes of the Cold War). Nostradamus wrote that this alliance would signal the beginning of a “world-wide reign of terror”

Now, to put this in context, the film also mentioned that both the allies and Germany used Nostradamus’ predictions as propaganda to garner support for their respective sides during WWII. Funny that, eh? And then went on to mention that each side hand-picked what phrases would be most supportive to the respective sides’ war effort.

I can’t help but wonder if the same was done since. Perhaps the ‘War on Terror’ wouldn’t have been worth a speckled herring if Nostradamus hadn’t made a mention of it…. Chicken? Egg? Hmmm….

During the whole movie, I just couldn’t help but wonder: Would Nostradamus have would have worn bling? I think he would have.

Pocket Lint

It is true what they’ve said about me

I have lost every last bit of my poetry.

I must have kept it all in my jeans,

On dirty little scraps of paper

As if they were forbidden

Like nudes of an ex lover.

Isn’t that what poetry is?

Unclothed phrases

Shaking their unmentionables at you

I shouldn’t mention them though.

They’re gone now.

All gone.

I can’t even tell them from the pocket lint anymore

Funniest Cat Fight… Ever

After reading whomunculus‘ cat-post, I decided to scratch one out myself. This is the clip that I’ve watched once every six months for the last four years or so, and it still makes me roar- with laughter that is. I just SERIOUSLY wish I could read the subtitles…

Battered Women are Nothing Like Battered Shrimp

The misconceptions about battered women abound. I remember once reading that the chances that a woman will be killed by her abusive husband/spouse/boyfriend are highest just after she leaves the relationship. Women instinctively know this. I’m surprised it has taken everyone else so long to stop making up weary accusations for battered women and their severe hasitance to leave their abusive relationships, and start looking at the facts from these women’s perspective.

I’m Going to Write a Post About Love

haha ha ha, Just kidding.

The Goddess of Translucence

The goddess of translucence
Taught a pearl all her tricks
Then realized the danger
And conceived a folly fix
She hid the tiny treasure
Under the cover of mist
In the mouth of a mollusc
And sealed it with a kiss                                                                                                                   The creature grew to love
The tiny pearl so much
That he called her a daughter
And treated her as such
But the fateful day came
When the tiny pearl died
And the goddess of translucence
Was back by her side
The grief stricken mollusc
Denounced the carelessness
With which the great deity
Had rendered him childless
In a fit of real remorse
She taught by demonstration
The making of a pearl
And gave him the creation

by Lucy Anacleto