Roy created this abomination which was inspired by my abomination.
And the world is a better place.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Fuck
Fuckers. Fucking fuckers. Fuck fucking fuckers. Fuck fucked fucking fuckers.
Take the above sentences and illustrate them.
1. Fuckers. People fucking. Let's say they're pink.
2. Fucking fuckers. The same people as in number one (the pink people) except suddenly they are being fucked by new, scary people who just showed up out of nowhere. They are green, these new people.
3. Fuck fucking fuckers. The green people are fucking the pink people, and a giant purple hand is giving them all the finger, much to everyone's shock and surprise.
4. Fuck fucked fucking fuckers. The big purple hand giving the finger is still there. The pink people (looking miserable) are being fucked by the green people (who look surprised) who are now being fucked by crazy smiling blue people.
Doctor Seuss should have done porn.
The End.
Take the above sentences and illustrate them.
1. Fuckers. People fucking. Let's say they're pink.
2. Fucking fuckers. The same people as in number one (the pink people) except suddenly they are being fucked by new, scary people who just showed up out of nowhere. They are green, these new people.
3. Fuck fucking fuckers. The green people are fucking the pink people, and a giant purple hand is giving them all the finger, much to everyone's shock and surprise.
4. Fuck fucked fucking fuckers. The big purple hand giving the finger is still there. The pink people (looking miserable) are being fucked by the green people (who look surprised) who are now being fucked by crazy smiling blue people.
Doctor Seuss should have done porn.
The End.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Ice in my Heart
I cut open my chest. I take out my heart. I cut open my heart. Inside, there are diamonds. They are big and beautiful, but they're choking my heart.
I lift my heart up to my mouth, suck the diamonds out of the chambers, and spit the diamonds on the floor. They taste salty and cold. I do this over and over. When my heart is entirely clear of diamonds, I stitch my heart up, put it in my chest, and stitch my chest closed.
When I look to the floor, the diamonds are gone -- melted. It turns out they were just ice.
And now that my heart is clear of ice, it beats hot, and fierce, and loud. As if for the very first time in my life, I feel my blood running through my veins like deer running through the woods.
You look at the logs, the grassy knolls, weeds, and other debris. You think nothing can run through all of this. And then one day you see a deer sprint through all of it, never once looking down at its feet. More graceful than any dancer or martial artist, deer know how to move.
And now my blood is like that. My blood runs through my body, never looking down at its feet, dancing through my veins.
Where did the ice come from? My eyes give off heat. What I don't look at, inside of me, becomes cold. I stopped looking inside my heart, and ice formed. It's that simple.
There are two ways to deal with ice in your body. You can do what I did, and perform surgery on yourself. Or you can just ignore it. What's frozen doesn't really hurt.
Yes, walking around full of ice will cause a lot of problems for you. Sluggish, dependent on others, neither quick to anger nor quick to cry, an irritable sort of logic grabs hold of you, and you call it "reason" and declare it "good enough". You call your cynicism "sensible", and your blindness "sticking to the facts". People hate you, tolerate you, think of you as one of those dependable people with nothing interesting to say.
And you can live that way for years and years. No one will tell you, "Hey, you're full of ice." For starters, most won't notice. They're full of ice, and blind too. Others will notice, but know the futility of trying to tell you about it.
"Your heart is full of ice," are not the sort of words people tend to hear. Some statements are like that. They just don't fit into ears.
The only real way, to know if your heart is full of ice, is to look in there yourself. Not a quick peek. That won't do it. You need to cut your heart open and stare into all the chambers, one at a time, for a long, long time.
Are you willing to look inside your heart? Do you want to know if your heart is full of ice? If you look, and find ice in there, are you going to do something about it?
I lift my heart up to my mouth, suck the diamonds out of the chambers, and spit the diamonds on the floor. They taste salty and cold. I do this over and over. When my heart is entirely clear of diamonds, I stitch my heart up, put it in my chest, and stitch my chest closed.
When I look to the floor, the diamonds are gone -- melted. It turns out they were just ice.
And now that my heart is clear of ice, it beats hot, and fierce, and loud. As if for the very first time in my life, I feel my blood running through my veins like deer running through the woods.
You look at the logs, the grassy knolls, weeds, and other debris. You think nothing can run through all of this. And then one day you see a deer sprint through all of it, never once looking down at its feet. More graceful than any dancer or martial artist, deer know how to move.
And now my blood is like that. My blood runs through my body, never looking down at its feet, dancing through my veins.
Where did the ice come from? My eyes give off heat. What I don't look at, inside of me, becomes cold. I stopped looking inside my heart, and ice formed. It's that simple.
There are two ways to deal with ice in your body. You can do what I did, and perform surgery on yourself. Or you can just ignore it. What's frozen doesn't really hurt.
Yes, walking around full of ice will cause a lot of problems for you. Sluggish, dependent on others, neither quick to anger nor quick to cry, an irritable sort of logic grabs hold of you, and you call it "reason" and declare it "good enough". You call your cynicism "sensible", and your blindness "sticking to the facts". People hate you, tolerate you, think of you as one of those dependable people with nothing interesting to say.
And you can live that way for years and years. No one will tell you, "Hey, you're full of ice." For starters, most won't notice. They're full of ice, and blind too. Others will notice, but know the futility of trying to tell you about it.
"Your heart is full of ice," are not the sort of words people tend to hear. Some statements are like that. They just don't fit into ears.
The only real way, to know if your heart is full of ice, is to look in there yourself. Not a quick peek. That won't do it. You need to cut your heart open and stare into all the chambers, one at a time, for a long, long time.
Are you willing to look inside your heart? Do you want to know if your heart is full of ice? If you look, and find ice in there, are you going to do something about it?
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Truth
"You get truth through hard work.
The truth is earned," he said.
"Here's some truth," I replied,
and kicked him in the head.
Some truth is hard and pointy.
Some truth is soft and round.
Sometimes you have to hunt for it.
Some truth is simply found.
"You get truth through hard work.
The truth is earned," he said.
I beat him with a baseball bat
until all his truth was red.
Some truth is quite comforting.
Some truth will cause you pain.
But if you insist your truth is all,
you'll drive everyone insane.
"You get truth through hard work.
The truth is earned," he said.
Then some truth fell from the sky
and crushed his lumpy head.
[slightly rewritten 21st Nov. 2009]
The truth is earned," he said.
"Here's some truth," I replied,
and kicked him in the head.
Some truth is hard and pointy.
Some truth is soft and round.
Sometimes you have to hunt for it.
Some truth is simply found.
"You get truth through hard work.
The truth is earned," he said.
I beat him with a baseball bat
until all his truth was red.
Some truth is quite comforting.
Some truth will cause you pain.
But if you insist your truth is all,
you'll drive everyone insane.
"You get truth through hard work.
The truth is earned," he said.
Then some truth fell from the sky
and crushed his lumpy head.
[slightly rewritten 21st Nov. 2009]
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Theatre
This piece of experimental theatre is planet-wide. Everyone is an actor in it, whether they want to be or not. We're not sure when it's going to end. And it has already started. I'm just telling you about it, so you know what's going on. I'm no director. Or, at least, we're all directors. It's kind of an improv piece.
You can wear whatever you want. You can play whatever part you'd like. You can do whatever you want. Please try to be interesting. You get extra points for authenticity. Lots of feeling, please.
The plot is really complicated. There is a cast of billions, after all. Just jump right in, do whatever feels right.
And.... go!
* * *
The sad thing is, there are people who insist, angrily, that they're not a part of the play. They try to hide in caves, bachelor apartments, what have you. They have few friends, or they only hang out with other people who are anti-theatre.
Makes no difference. They can hide if they want, but they're still on stage. The audience is inside us. It's in our blood.
And on some level they know it. Stage-fright, basically. That's all it is. They'll get over it. And even if they don't, it doesn't matter. It's a sub-plot we can work with.
* * *
Everyone is god. We are all gods. And we got bored, so we started playing. We said, "Let's pretend we're not gods. Let's give up our powers for a little while, limit our consciousness, and see what we do. Let's pretend we're mortal. What an awesome game! There will be real consequences to everything."
"What's my line?" asks a young, lost actor. "What's my part? What am I supposed to be doing or saying?"
"Oh Shiva," I think to myself, "What silly game are you playing now?"
[That idea totally stolen from Alan Watts. Credit where it's due.]
* * *
You were born into the theatre. Play your part to the best of your abilities. Anything else is nonsense. And know that your script is inside of you. Yes, you're faking it, in a sense. But there are real lines in your belly. When you deliver the right dialogue, you'll know it. When it rings false, you'll know it too.
Do the best you can. Even if you fuck up your lines, you're doing pretty good. We'll improv around your errors. And errors is the wrong word, really. But it'll do.
I guess I fucked up my lines, when I said "error". That's okay. Mistakes make a performance even more interesting.
* * *
You can do it. I have faith in you, Shiva. I have faith in all of us.
You can wear whatever you want. You can play whatever part you'd like. You can do whatever you want. Please try to be interesting. You get extra points for authenticity. Lots of feeling, please.
The plot is really complicated. There is a cast of billions, after all. Just jump right in, do whatever feels right.
And.... go!
* * *
The sad thing is, there are people who insist, angrily, that they're not a part of the play. They try to hide in caves, bachelor apartments, what have you. They have few friends, or they only hang out with other people who are anti-theatre.
Makes no difference. They can hide if they want, but they're still on stage. The audience is inside us. It's in our blood.
And on some level they know it. Stage-fright, basically. That's all it is. They'll get over it. And even if they don't, it doesn't matter. It's a sub-plot we can work with.
* * *
Everyone is god. We are all gods. And we got bored, so we started playing. We said, "Let's pretend we're not gods. Let's give up our powers for a little while, limit our consciousness, and see what we do. Let's pretend we're mortal. What an awesome game! There will be real consequences to everything."
"What's my line?" asks a young, lost actor. "What's my part? What am I supposed to be doing or saying?"
"Oh Shiva," I think to myself, "What silly game are you playing now?"
[That idea totally stolen from Alan Watts. Credit where it's due.]
* * *
You were born into the theatre. Play your part to the best of your abilities. Anything else is nonsense. And know that your script is inside of you. Yes, you're faking it, in a sense. But there are real lines in your belly. When you deliver the right dialogue, you'll know it. When it rings false, you'll know it too.
Do the best you can. Even if you fuck up your lines, you're doing pretty good. We'll improv around your errors. And errors is the wrong word, really. But it'll do.
I guess I fucked up my lines, when I said "error". That's okay. Mistakes make a performance even more interesting.
* * *
You can do it. I have faith in you, Shiva. I have faith in all of us.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
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