Specifically during the past election, I would get forwarded insanely childish and partisan propaganda chain letters. One thing that I noticed on a few of them was the signature of the original author, furiously pointing out the clear, obvious injustice of having to press 1 for English. This is Amurca, durnit! Speak English! Which, at the same time, made me think of the quote, don't know by who, that says Great Britain and the US are two nations divided by a common language. I could make other references, such as uproars over Ebonics, use of the word "dude," or the great-great grandson of Francis Scott Key getting mad that the National Anthem was sang in Spanish. You get the gist.
But I was reading a blog today which had this little tidbit:
‘‘Physitions teache that there ben thre kindes of spirites,’’ wrote Bartholomew Traheron in his 1543 translation of a text on surgery, ‘‘animal, vital, and naturall. The animal spirite hath his seate in the brayne called animal, bycause it is the first instrument of the soule, which the Latins call animam.’’
Do you know how many of those words are, right as I type this, being underlined in red for their incorrect spelling? Given all the old texts we have access to (and that, in the case of English, a language that is not the oldest in the book) how in the world does someone defend their own language as being correct? A math equation, sure, I can understand someone sticking to that, but pronunciation and spelling? They're just a play on words. How can someone be so stuck as to believe that the rest of the world speaks incorrectly? Especially since they will most likely claim they're defending history and tradition, two things that language is infamous for making a mockery of. Even further, if this person believes that their way of speaking is the correct one, why aren't they using it better?
I really found the word "bycause" interesting because (ha!) it makes so much more sense than the word just in front of my parenthetical laughter. Why did something happen? By cause of... But to say something happen be cause of... makes no sense. Yet that's how it is. Lazy tongues, bad ears, and ethnocentrism have shaped language far, far more than any grammar books. The latter of those three has shaped culture far more than anything else period. Just ask the Aztecs.
We should revamp Ellis Island, we don't ask for enough. Gimme accents, slangs, slurring contractions and action. If someone doesn't speak your language, how do you know they're wrong?
13.3.09
Hold it Up
If someone knew they would get away with a bank robbery but still wouldn't do it, I would never date that person. That sort of integrity rarely leads to honesty, at least not the kind I like.
There's a guy, his name doesn't matter, and his claim to fame is that he's always flat out truthful. Blunt about it. "I'm looking at your breasts," seemed to be his most common thing to admit, or at least something physical/sexual in nature. Which is fine, it's what I'm thinking about most of the time, too, but why is it that bare honesty always seems to revolve around admitting something sexual? Are there things we lie about more than sex, or how often we're thinking about it, or how we'd really like to be having it? I'm sure there are, but at the same time I'm not so sure. I think that, to some degree, it's the easiest type of thing to admit. There are some aspects/secrets that people genuinely don't want to tell, but sex never seems to be in that category, who isn't dying for that perfect social situation where everyone is TOTALLY DISHING about how hot it was and what could've made it hotter. It's pretty fun.
Sexual taboo is, at best, a white lie. We seem to be dovetailing away from the Victorian modes of "chastity," which only served to create new, far more intense fantasies and a handful of effective putdowns (i.e. bastard). Why it is we hate our own behavior I'll just never know, there are so many other ways to be obsessed with sex, but some people can't seem to get enough of what they hate. But I suppose it makes sense. Even if people are doing something you absolutely abhor, there's still (or at least should be) a part of you that's insanely jealous that they're doing it, and noting inspires jealousy like the sex you're not having.
I'm looking at your breasts.
There's a guy, his name doesn't matter, and his claim to fame is that he's always flat out truthful. Blunt about it. "I'm looking at your breasts," seemed to be his most common thing to admit, or at least something physical/sexual in nature. Which is fine, it's what I'm thinking about most of the time, too, but why is it that bare honesty always seems to revolve around admitting something sexual? Are there things we lie about more than sex, or how often we're thinking about it, or how we'd really like to be having it? I'm sure there are, but at the same time I'm not so sure. I think that, to some degree, it's the easiest type of thing to admit. There are some aspects/secrets that people genuinely don't want to tell, but sex never seems to be in that category, who isn't dying for that perfect social situation where everyone is TOTALLY DISHING about how hot it was and what could've made it hotter. It's pretty fun.
Sexual taboo is, at best, a white lie. We seem to be dovetailing away from the Victorian modes of "chastity," which only served to create new, far more intense fantasies and a handful of effective putdowns (i.e. bastard). Why it is we hate our own behavior I'll just never know, there are so many other ways to be obsessed with sex, but some people can't seem to get enough of what they hate. But I suppose it makes sense. Even if people are doing something you absolutely abhor, there's still (or at least should be) a part of you that's insanely jealous that they're doing it, and noting inspires jealousy like the sex you're not having.
I'm looking at your breasts.
27.2.09
Premium
Human lives are supposedly priceless, so we don't try to value them, just give them up. I think the reason we don't actually calculate the figure is that if we actually found out how valuable some lives are we'd have a hell of a time trying to get them insured.
Afterthought
I mean, think about it, all the good and holy people out there, how could they know of their own saintliness had not every evil thought in the world at one point entered into their mind? Evil is a stranger to no one's mind. If you wonder just how cruel a human can be, look no further than yourself. You'll get there someday.
Hey, don't worry, it goes for niceness, too.
Asshole.
Hey, don't worry, it goes for niceness, too.
Asshole.
Really Swell
As CA looked down at the ground, he couldn't help but project what he saw in his head, and he could see it just as clearly as if it was being projected. This was a talent of his. He knew of others who had sponges for brains, whose eyes would search the landscape for any trace of filth or indecency, and they would soak it all in, saturate that little sponge they kept up there, and when their head was full with more reality than they could bear, they would wring the sponge until all the shit came flying out of their mouths. A wider arc of disbelief than there was before. How worthless to only collect the things you despise, and even more worthless still to force them on unwitting strangers.
He wasn't careful about what entered into his head at all, he wanted to think about everything. The trick is to always keep enough clean water in your body to dilute the toxins that will inevitably seep in. In his head, which served as a recycling facility for what he had seen each day, he would sort out what mattered, what was beautiful, and what fascinated. Anything that didn't suit him, he tossed aside. For those who believed in rights and wrongs, why did they bother trying to keep track of them? Wasn't there someone waiting at the end who was already doing a much better job of it? Certainly the point of the mountains was to so distract us from good and evil that we might accidentally meander into neutrality. Why have no landscapes been canonized? These things he would hold up within his head, in front of the light that shone from his eyes, and he would project it out for all to see, so that they could know there were still plenty of good films out there, so many objects just dying for a private screening. His eyes are projectors of the most whimsical matinee if you'll only sit and watch.
He wasn't careful about what entered into his head at all, he wanted to think about everything. The trick is to always keep enough clean water in your body to dilute the toxins that will inevitably seep in. In his head, which served as a recycling facility for what he had seen each day, he would sort out what mattered, what was beautiful, and what fascinated. Anything that didn't suit him, he tossed aside. For those who believed in rights and wrongs, why did they bother trying to keep track of them? Wasn't there someone waiting at the end who was already doing a much better job of it? Certainly the point of the mountains was to so distract us from good and evil that we might accidentally meander into neutrality. Why have no landscapes been canonized? These things he would hold up within his head, in front of the light that shone from his eyes, and he would project it out for all to see, so that they could know there were still plenty of good films out there, so many objects just dying for a private screening. His eyes are projectors of the most whimsical matinee if you'll only sit and watch.
Come Out Clean
If I could give you one phrase that will make your life as easy as possible:
"It didn't mean anything."
"It didn't mean anything."
19.2.09
My Basket
Chad had a few water pistols in the balloon, a huge heap of blankets, some decent whiskey, sake, and port, some ginger ale, no tools whatsoever, thirty feet of rope, vegetarian beef jerky, fine silk thread, a few DVDs of M*A*S*H, his laptop and a few spare batteries, a pair of exceptional headphones, four speakers mounted to the steel bars connecting the basket and balloon, a lovely scarf, a picture a friend had painted him, paper, pens, glue sticks, a poncho, and a sack of Italian pastries.
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