Tuned

Is it too much to think everything in nature has a balance and rhythm to it? Is it stupid to think every mood, every emotion, every instance, every example, and every other little thing could be captured in music? The answer to both these questions - Yes. However… Is it moronic, eccentric, or indeed, psychotic, to try doing exactly that?

No.

Black/White

Catherine Huff is known to readers worldwide as a writer who’s managed to break the last barriers of publishing material. Which was detailing the horrific, in the middle of children’s literature. Black Humor in the middle of a moral anecdote. Arachnids, her short-story for children, managed to do exactly that, by introducing disturbing humor without the use of symbolism to cover up the more disturbing details contained in the story. Needless to say, more parents were up in arms about the issue. The children hadn’t lost their innocent little minds reading this story; nor did they kill anyone, as most of the Schools and Parents claimed they would.

Somehow, the idea of Culture Shock always ends with the conclusion, that it would desecrate the traditions and sensibilities of established norms. In all probability, I suppose Establishment Types do not, ever, find faults and fallacies with their own rules, regulations, and rationalizations.

Huff has recently published her autobiography, with detailed descriptions of her career shift, from Law Enforcement to Writing, her subsequent three-year spell at a minimum-security prison as a result of her writing, and certain details about how the autobiography itself took shape in prison.

As a book reviewer, it is absolutely pointless to introduce a review with personal details of the author. Call it editorializing, but what follows is the short story she published first, followed by the Prologue to her autobiography. Combined, they form a potent insight into the mind of the author. I hope.

Abode

I write.
I draw Buildings.
I’m Twenty-Three.
I’m now on a local Panel Show. Stoned. And, oddly enough, attentive. For a live show, though, too silent, and observant.
And, for the third time this month, I’m feeling sick, looking at people always coming up with the attitude, and belief, that being in an agreement with each other always, or fighting each other, should be the either existent choices for settling any-fucking-argument.

Life. Splendid. Seems like abrasive nonsense to me, maybe that’s the reason why I live in a constant state of incredulity, curiosity, and despondency.

In conclusion, I started to write original stuff for a professional reason, which seemed like a hobby to everyone else. My career was really on iron-bolted halt, to put it mildly, even my life. Something changed with one idea, then everything did. So, I built a house, and continued with minimal recognition, ending with a rant on a Panel show, which very nearly ended my even otherwise snail-paced, slouching career, into a new dimension - Mental Inertia. No, not writer’s block. Get my condition, and you can end up for months with no clear thought, or any thought at all really. Fortunately, looking back at a condensed version of the entire three years before, I think it was a life, which was at least interesting to observe, and oddly funny to exist in.

Interviewer

Para-Normality

Ghost: You people piss me off…

Me: What are you talking about?

Ghost: You’re obviously bastards…

Me: Look, I can think of a million other things a ghost could do to me. Verbal Abuse never really crossed my mind. What the fuck?

Future(d)

Technology is an extended frame, into conscious processes we've used up in our evolution of survival techniques through the ages, incorporating these into cultures to form customs... And now we perform them dogmatically, sub-consciously knowing there's something wrong with it, yet engaging in it because of some vague, cryptic social connotation.

Out-of-bounds Realism

Life is meaningless at the end, death is inevitable.

In most cases, life cannot be more pathetic or forlorn or despicable. Yet, life can only be as glorious or futile as we want it to be. If we're individually gifted in some respect, which we all are, recognizing what it is, is half the battle won. The rest of the effort, a genuine effort, mind you, should be focused on how to not squander the same gift, instead of engaging ourselves in some mindless, unenlightening exercise we undergo, supposedly to fulfill some vague, social purpose. We don't need that, it isn't vital to our existence. It doesn't define us, it doesn't enlighten us, it teaches us nothing, and yes, serves no genuine purpose.

Shoeboxes

The secret to being miserable is to have leisure to bother about whether you are happy or not. The cure for it is occupation.
George Bernard Shaw

Excerpt from Box 305: I want my idols to beat the fuck out of them

Emptiness shrouds us. To my way of thinking, emptiness is easier to handle than obligations. Emptiness makes it possible to tread along the line of insanity; obligations envelop us in a gateless circle of insanity. I wish I had people I looked up to, who would come to my rescue and kick the shit out of those people I hate. Odd, this rationalization coming from a pacifist. I wish there was some guitar hero or writer who could help. This is reality, though. There isn’t one soul I would like to harm, save for a handful of cretins. I wish it was more simple - reason is harder to generate than brute force. I suppose it’s difficult for people who're used to employing brute force as a solution to everything to understand this analogy. Trust me, it isn't to condescend any of you. You people, quite plainly, are a virus. Even if I was born because of you. Possibly, it partly is because I was Born, that I posess an everlasting contempt. Isn't it nice to see a moral idiot, and a sexist idiot, fight to the death, to gain the Superior hand in inconsequential Cattle Crap? And, even more dementedly, I have to pretend what they do is something rather cloy and innocent? Get real, for a microsecond, Stupidity isn't my forte.

Cruising

Personnel Decisions ~ December 2012

Me: I love this copy machine. This copy machine defines this work environment pretty well. Everything’s copied to the extent, that given the right amount of time, every employee looks like a clone of each other. The same walking-dead expression. It’s like an organization of zombies, servicing the general living population. The shop has this sinister white light throughout, the surroundings are white, the things we sell are white, the furniture is white, and the telephones - yes, white. Amazing, isn’t it?

Parlance on a Bench

We’ve lost the old one. Another member, of whom we genuinely thought of as family, gone.

Clarity in Regular Irregularity

1. DRIVE

Eddie: We’re bored, aren’t we?

John: You’re telling me? I was dozing off, and you call me out for a drive… And here we are, staring at automobile butts for an hour. If this is your idea of entertainment, I don’t know what gets you bored…

Eddie: What would you rather do?

John: I don’t know… A concert… A burger, perhaps… Anything but this.