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Painting & Unrelated Poem
Let me tell you about SHIT
PsycHOTemplar, Oct 08 2008
I turn 19 tomorrow, but since TL is on the Korean time, I figure I might as well make this post today. In the province I live in, I will have every right I can have with regards to age. Under the eyes of the law, I guess that means it thinks I'm wise enough to handle those rights. So let me share with you some of my wisdom today.
The world is a funny place. The world is the only place. Living in it will be the only experience I ever have. Throughout life, I believe it is everyone's ambition to pursue pleasure, and evade pain. This is done by shaping the world around you. Moving this here and moving that there only to the end of this ambition.
Humans are funny creatures. For all the power we wield -the power to destroy, the power to create, the power to change- we are equally frail. A bump on the head can render us mentally handicapped, two days without food or sleep can leave us incapable of the simplest tasks, and a clever lie can make us hurt ourselves. Where one can kill another human, permanently damage another human, and deceive another human, one is equally capable of being both the assailant, and the victim.
When I was young, I believed whatever I wanted to believe. I believed no one wished ill upon me. I believed everyone's goal was to help me. I believed the world was a kind and gentle place. And I'll bet you did too.
Growing up, I eventually discovered through hard experiences that the world wasn't what I wanted it to be. The world was what it was. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is looking out for their self-interests alone. Our mothers, our friends, our neighbours and our leaders are all looking out for their personal agenda. Sometimes that's bad news for someone else.
All people are hedonistic, but not all people are intelligent. In fact, very few people posses a strong sense of foresight and reasoning when they make their decisions. This realisation came to me after I discovered the ladder. In the space of time before I realised so many people, including close friends, were not as intelligent as I'd been giving them credit for, I made many mistakes, and befell many losses. It came from trying to predict people constantly. I would always assess someone's motives (what I knew they thought would make them happy), and decide what the most obvious and best things were that they would do to achieve their goals. That was how I knew what people were going to do before they did things. But it only works sometimes, and because it worked for so long, I started staking more, and more important things on it. I'd decide what I was going to do based on how I predicted someone's behaviour. When things went awry and someone stopped acting how I knew they should act, I got confused. I looked for things that were wrong, I wondered if the person's goals had changed. What I finally discovered was that they had, but not really. The end goals were all the same, only one new goal was added; Which was to sit on this person's ass and do fuck all while things spiralled to shit. Essentially, this person was an idiot.
You might say that if this person found pleasure in sitting on their ass and doing nothing, then despite it being short term, they were achieving their goals. And you'd be right. But I don't believe anyone can be happy doing nothing while they watch their life go to hell. This person was avoiding the imagined pain of going out and getting things on track, and accepting the real pain of feeling helpless and doing nothing. This person was literally too stupid to pursue happiness, and avoid pain.
But this person was my really close friend. My own pursuit of pleasure involved her being around and happy in the future, so that I could rely on her. Naturally, I saw it as in line with my own interests to try to get her to pursue her own. I tried for months. Every bit of progress was destroyed the next day. Eventually she saw me as trying to bring her into the pain (of pursuing her goals) that she was avoiding. It was backlash. If she was refusing my help, I could only stop offering it. We stopped being friends, and I was distraught over the loss, my own pursuit a failure. A month without talking, and she finally spoke up. She finally seemed to realise. She apologised and agnoized over her foolishness. But I couldn't accept it. I couldn't be friends with her. It hurt, but I thought there was no point in wasting anymore time.. In giving in. Maybe I was an idiot. Maybe I feared pain where pleasure could have came. Maybe I wasn't. It was never clear. I sent her off with the best wishes I could give. I told her that it didn't matter what she'd done, as long as she learned from it she didn't need to regret it. And then we said good bye. A month later, I wanted to check up on her but she wasn't to be found. I don't know what happened to her, but I fear the worst.
She'd hurt me. She'd hurt me so many times. Not because I wanted to be her lover, no, we were only friends. But because I'd felt so betrayed when she'd whisked away our friendship. Took me for granted. I wouldn't have any of that. I'd leave her. I didn't think she'd care. I thought she'd grown tired of me and was only pursuing her pleasure. But she did. She came back for me twice. The first time I graciously welcomed her back. The second I decided she needed to learn a lesson. Not only for myself, but for her in her future friendships. When she realises that even if Jesus himself couldn't have broken them before, they could become frail and meaningless when left unattended.
It seemed that the lesson I was teaching was the lesson I was learning at the same time. The lesson that things are not as reliable as you want them to be. Things are only what you make them. Humans are only what they are. Your best friends will deceive you if they're too stupid to realise you won't put up with it, and they'll miss you when you're gone. The assumption that everyone knows what they're doing is a false one. But despite this knowledge, your actions cannot change. You cannot save someone from the consequences of their foolishness. They must learn the hard way, or not at all.
I was bored so I made a video combining the three.
Poem and painting authored by me; please don't use without my permission.
Comments appreciated. Criticism mostly useless, but if you're dying to say something, go ahead.
Douglas Adams; HitchHikers Guide to the Galaxy
Chapter 7
Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe.
The second worst is that of the Azagoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode To A Small Lump of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.
The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England in the destruction of the planet Earth.
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz smiled very slowly. This was done not so much for effect as because he was trying to remember the sequence of muscle movements. He had had a terribly therapeutic yell at his prisoners and was now feeling quite relaxed and ready for a little callousness.
The prisoners sat in Poetry Appreciation Chairs — strapped in. Vogons suffered no illusions as to the regard their works were generally held in. Their early attempts at composition had been part of bludgeoning insistence that they be accepted as a properly evolved and cultured race, but now the only thing that kept them going was sheer bloodymindedness.
The sweat stood out cold on Ford Prefect's brow, and slid round the electrodes strapped to his temples. These were attached to a battery of electronic equipment — imagery intensifiers, rhythmic modulators, alliterative residulators and simile dumpers — all designed to heighten the experience of the poem and make sure that not a single nuance of the poet's thought was lost.
Arthur Dent sat and quivered. He had no idea what he was in for, but he knew that he hadn't liked anything that had happened so far and didn't think things were likely to change.
The Vogon began to read — a fetid little passage of his own devising.
"Oh frettled gruntbuggly ..." he began. Spasms wracked Ford's body — this was worse than ever he'd been prepared for.
"... thy micturations are to me | As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee."
"Aaaaaaarggggghhhhhh!" went Ford Prefect, wrenching his head back as lumps of pain thumped through it. He could dimly see beside him Arthur lolling and rolling in his seat. He clenched his teeth.
"Groop I implore thee," continued the merciless Vogon, "my foonting turlingdromes."
His voice was rising to a horrible pitch of impassioned stridency. "And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,| Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"
"Nnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyuuuuuuurrrrrrrggggggghhhhh!" cried Ford Prefect and threw one final spasm as the electronic enhancement of the last line caught him full blast across the temples. He went limp.
Arthur lolled.
"Now Earthlings ..." whirred the Vogon (he didn't know that Ford Prefect was in fact from a small planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, and wouldn't have cared if he had) "I present you with a simple choice! Either die in the vacuum of space, or ..." he paused for melodramatic effect, "tell me how good you thought my poem was!"
He threw himself backwards into a huge leathery bat-shaped seat and watched them. He did the smile again.
Ford was rasping for breath. He rolled his dusty tongue round his parched mouth and moaned.
Arthur said brightly: "Actually I quite liked it."
Ford turned and gaped. Here was an approach that had quite simply not occurred to him.
The Vogon raised a surprised eyebrow that effectively obscured his nose and was therefore no bad thing.
"Oh good ..." he whirred, in considerable astonishment.
"Oh yes," said Arthur, "I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was really particularly effective."
Ford continued to stare at him, slowly organizing his thoughts around this totally new concept. Were they really going to be able to bareface their way out of this?
"Yes, do continue ..." invited the Vogon.
"Oh ... and er ... interesting rhythmic devices too," continued Arthur, "which seemed to counterpoint the ... er ... er ..." He floundered.
Ford leaped to his rescue, hazarding "counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the ... er ..." He floundered too, but Arthur was ready again.
"... humanity of the ..."
"Vogonity," Ford hissed at him.
"Ah yes, Vogonity (sorry) of the poet's compassionate soul," Arthur felt he was on a home stretch now, "which contrives through the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this, transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamental dichotomies of the other," (he was reaching a triumphant crescendo ...) "and one is left with a profound and vivid insight into ... into ... er ..." (... which suddenly gave out on him.) Ford leaped in with the coup de gr@ce:
"Into whatever it was the poem was about!" he yelled. Out of the corner of his mouth: "Well done, Arthur, that was very good."
The Vogon perused them. For a moment his embittered racial soul had been touched, but he thought no — too little too late. His voice took on the quality of a cat snagging brushed nylon.
"So what you're saying is that I write poetry because underneath my mean callous heartless exterior I really just want to be loved," he said. He paused. "Is that right?"
Ford laughed a nervous laugh. "Well I mean yes," he said, "don't we all, deep down, you know ... er ..."
The Vogon stood up.
"No, well you're completely wrong," he said, "I just write poetry to throw my mean callous heartless exterior into sharp relief. I'm going to throw you off the ship anyway. Guard! Take the prisoners to number three airlock and throw them out!"
As is tradition for me every benchmark post count, I'm here again to give back to the community... Unfortunately, I'm too lazy to make a cool video... So instead I offer this:
Please post a replay (one per person) of the most interesting game you have... preferably largely unknown. When I say interesting, I mean unique... wacky... off the wall strategies.
I will choose the best one and write up a hopefully equally interesting battle report... And this time I'll even edit it before posting.
My friend wrote me a short story... It's stars her and myself... It's 7 pages long... If you don't read it, don't bother posting. I'm not looking for criticism of the writing either, so don't waste you time.
Two figures sat in silence, legs dangling from their seat high up on a weathered brick wall. They were about a meter apart, one a young woman, the other a young man. Towering poplar trees shaded the large park, path twisting in and out of maintained, green grass. Behind the wall where the two perched, stood a small playground filled with sand. The swings swung pathetically in the cool breeze, for it was getting dark out, and all but the two people remained in the park. Swinging her legs in the air, for lack of anything better to do, the woman shuffled over with her arms, sat back down on the wall. “Ed?” The young man seemed to suddenly snap out of a trance, he looked over. “Pretty sure you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb wearing that jacket,” the woman said, gesturing at him. “No,” Ed mumbled to no one in particular. “You just have to learn to appreciate my great sense of fashion,” he said, zipping up his yellow fleece. The woman regarded him with a crooked smile. “If you say so,” she leaned over, elbowing him clean off the wall. With a surprisingly light thud, Ed landed on his back into a pile of pillows. Dazed, he slowly sat up. “Steph…” he spoke, slight annoyance creeping into his voice. Failing to conceal her laughter, Steph grinned. “Where did those pillows come from? How lucky…” she trailed off, leap off down the wall. After examining the abundance of mismatched pillows, she looked down at Ed, offering her hand to her fallen friend. Steph yelled “Psych!” withdrawing her hand, but eventually helped him to his feet. In the distance, the faint hoot of calling owls could be heard. One by one the street lamps switched on, their soft orange glow lighting up the nearby roads. Refusing to take off his yellow jacket, Ed stalked up ahead. Although, he admitted to Steph, that it wasn’t very James Bond like. James Bond didn’t stick out like a sore thumb, he was just the opposite. The two rounded the corner, managing to find the correct street name. Old, crumbling buildings lined the near abandoned street. Weather beaten, the aging foundations seemed as though they’d collapse into a heap. Other buildings were blocked off with chain link fences which were in equally poor conditions. Garbage tumbled about tangling itself in the mesh. They stayed in the shadows avoiding the street lamps - Ed in his yellow jacket, Steph dressed mostly in black. A rustling noise caused Ed to spin around. The noise increased in volume, a continuous hiss. Searching for its source, Ed suddenly stepped back, feeling the wind kicking up. Facing one of the old buildings, the two watched as it rapidly crumbled to dust. The wind sending clouds of it spiralling into the air. Shrugging it off, they crept on into the night. “I’m pretty sure this is the place,” Ed spoke glancing around suspiciously. “I mean, there should be a couple of them here and - ” “SHH!” Steph broke in, “I see one!” she half whispered, elbowing Ed blindly. Her eyes were on a scantily dressed woman. Walking in unusually high heels, the woman stopped under the orange glow of the street light. Like a spotlight, she was willingly exposed. Her hair was bleach blonde, and the amount of leg that was exposed would’ve raised eyebrows. It was a hooker! At long last. There was no possible way to sneak up on the woman, she was out in the open, perhaps a distraction would be at best odds. The two devised a quick and simple plan, nodded once, then set off. Lurking in the shadows, back against a decrepit building, Steph picked her way through the littered sidewalks, cautious not to tread on anything. She gingerly pulled a gun out of her dark side bag, directly it towards the ground, her eyes trained on the woman a few yards away. Meanwhile, Ed peered at his watch, counting the seconds until Steph was in place. The wind was beginning to pick up, and the dust from the fallen building was still flying around. Blinking, Ed took a final glance at this wrist then stepped out into the open. The hooker immediately noticed as a man suddenly appeared, walking somewhat casually down the street. The man caught her eyes and grinned a perfect set of teeth. However odd this might’ve seemed to the hooker, her face did not reveal a thing. She turned towards the approaching person, flipping her blonde hair. By this time, Steph had crept up to the prostitute, gun at the ready. The woman’s back was facing towards her, she raised her gun, taking aim. At that very moment, the hooker swung her hips, taking a side step to the right. She flipped her long hair back, gazing over her bare shoulder. Ed stopped in his tracks, still facing the hooker. He held his breath. The prostitute returned her attention back to the man in a yellow jacket. Picking herself off the ground, Steph stood up and fired. A crack sounded as a large net sprang into the air, engulfing the unsuspecting hooker. She fell to the ground in her clumsy heels, managing to become even more tangled as she collapsed in a heap. Laughing hysterically, the woman dressed in black came out of the shadows, she swung her arms casually, the net gun in her grasp. Ed chuckled to himself, sticking his hands into his pockets. The two inspected their catch, as if it were prized game. Recovering from the blow, the hooker awkwardly sat up, still tangled in the netting. She spoke hesitantly, “Who are you people?” Not expecting to have to converse, Ed and Steph stared dumbly at the woman sitting in a heap before them. “Uhh…” Steph started, then stopped herself. Ed cut in, ignoring the hooker, “Weren’t we supposed to…you know?” “Oh, right,” chipped Steph, looking at the ground. The prostitute stared at them in disdain. “Well, uh, I guess we didn’t exactly work that into the plan did we?” “Nope.” As the two began to pace around in thought, the hooker began to poke at the net, attempting to find a way out. She hastily grabbed at it in places, suddenly desperate to escape these two lunatics. “Oh!” Steph rushed off towards the disintegrating buildings. She returned with a two by four in her hands. She shrugged, tossing it to Ed. Catching it, he looked at it, confused. “Why do I have to do it?” “Well, I thought it was only fair, you know, with me firing the gun and all.” He gave her an amused look, regarding her oddly. By now, the hooker was desperately trying to free herself, but had instead only managed to make her situation worse. She looked up at the man towering above her, she appeared to be frightened. “Sorry…” Ed mumbled, as the two-by-four connected with her skull. The woman slumped limp. Dead or unconscious, the two conspirators weren’t sure, as they dragged the pile of net and woman out from the middle of the street. Sombre faced, they dumped the limp body amongst the abandoned alleyways, hidden between the broken and saddened buildings. The two booted garbage out of their path as they emerged moments later from the shadowed alley. Ed stuck out his hand for a high five, stopping. Steph applauded his efforts, by ignoring him. His arm extended well over the reach of hers. Instead, they hugged briefly on a job well done, then ambled on into the park from which they originally came. Steph and Ed slowed their pace as they leisurely hopped the fence and walked the twisting paths. The two jumped out of skins as the ear splitting squawk of a police siren began to wail. The blaring siren cut out as footsteps dropped out of the vehicle, and the loud clunk of the police car door punctuated the officer’s arrival. The cruiser’s flashing lights spun wildly blue and red, illuminating a male officer. Dressed in his uniform, he walked with a purpose, as he strode through the bushes cocking his head every which way. “Hey!” the officer yelled as two figures crouched very conspicuously, immediately broke into a sprint. Not wasting any time, the policeman bolted after them, simultaneously grabbing for his handgun nestled in his belt full of other gadgets. Screaming threats echoed from behind them as the two ran flat out through the airy park. The trees were zipping past them in a fury as they leap over dangerous tree roots and avoided park benches. The man behind them was yelling for them to stop, but the two paid him no heed and didn’t slow their pace as they endured the race, slowly gaining the upper hand as the middle-aged cop began to tire. Although the policeman might’ve been old and tired, he still held a gun. Shots rang out in the blackness, how many, Ed and Steph weren’t sure. What they were sure of, was that they were wasted bullets, and they were getting away. Ed, running up ahead, began to slow and finally came to a stop, hunching over. They’d long ago left the park, and by the looks of things, the two had entered the forest adjoining the park area. Panting with exhaustion, Ed peered around as best he could in the dimly lit grey. Wisps of what appeared to be smoke, danced and twisted in the air. The trees were still towering, but had now thickened, more evergreens than the city planted poplars. It was fog, Ed realized, then suddenly spun around in puzzlement. It was too quiet…where was Steph? Ed stumbled backwards in confusion, nearly tripping over a gnarled tree root. It was almost as if the branches were closing in, and Ed swiped them off, keeping them at bay with raised arms. With what little he could see, Ed stopped flailing his arms about and stopped doing whatever he was doing altogether. In the newly reached silence, tendrils of mist hung heavy in the air, glazing the blackness into a dull grey. A rustling in the bushes caused him to slowly turn around. “…Steph? Hello?” he called. No one answered as Ed crept cautiously towards the noise. He wished he would have had the net gun with him, or any gun for that matter. It was becoming increasingly difficult to see, and Ed had to grope near blinded in front of himself. He crouched down, fear sinking in at the back of his mind. Silence. A moment passed, and the quiet rustling persisted. From out of the fog bounded two little rabbits. They watched him warily, wide eyed, then bolted off in alarm, their cotton ball tails disappearing into the white haze. Oh, Jesus, Ed thought, flopping onto the hard, damp ground. What if the cop actually caught Steph? No, that’s impossible, she was running with me the whole time…Where did she go? His thoughts raced madly at ridiculous, then palpable scenarios, finally retiring to leaning on his left knee. Time ceased to exist as seconds progressed to minutes as they tickled by, or maybe it was hours, Ed was not sure. He called out several times, but received no real answer, save for the distant hoots of rousting owls. Eyes peered through overhanging branches, narrowing as they settled on a figure. He was hunched over, sitting cross legged, leaning over his left knee. His back faced the peering eyes. A sudden crashing of underbrush and tree branches jolted Ed back into reality. “Ed!” a dishevelled Steph stumbled out of the thick brush - net gun still in hand. “Where were you?” Squinting through the blackness, he noticed she was scraped up. “I thought - ” “You were running so damn fast, I guess those tree roots had to get one of us,” she brushed absently at the dirt on her clothes. Grinning almost apologetically, Steph stuck a hand into her side bag, fishing around for something, as if nothing was remotely wrong. Ed stood up, a bit dazed, but nevertheless relieved to see Steph. A light flicked on, and suddenly the world was much clearer.
Clouds were gathering as the two wearily hiked the final couple kilometres back to the house. Except, when they arrived, there was no house to be seen. Instead, a broad clearing greeted them, log pole pines teetering in the winds. And above, through the clouds, stars sparkled weakly. Frowning, the both of them wandered confused about the area. Key dangled in Steph’s hand, jingling. But where was the door? Still aimlessly wandering up and down the clearing, Ed’s next step fell unrepentantly lower than his last one had. He called out to Steph, just as flakes of soft crumb-like matter began to fall from the sky. Seconds ticked by and the crumbs began to fall more steadily. A large round things dropped from the clouds, bouncing once as it settled to the ground. On closer inspection, the two whopped with their luckiness, for muffins were soon raining down upon them. “I didn’t think this was in the forecast,” Ed spoke, following the newly discovered stairs that spiralled downward. Steph followed behind him, keys in hand. Once underground, they found themselves in a peculiar home. It was modern, yet homely. China was displayed in the buffet, and an old whistling kettle sat on the stove, these simple elements gave it an almost lived-in sort of feel. There were no windows, so instead, lavish paintings were hung up against the earth coloured wall. Books and magazines were splayed across the coffee table, and a couple used dishes sat diligently by the sink, awaiting to be washed. It was almost as if someone actually did live here. Opening the cupboards, Steph pulled out a box reading: ‘Add water muffins,’ she tossed it in the garbage, continuing to poke around. But as Ed and Steph prodded around, opened closets, peered into the refrigerator - and basically poked around the entirety of the home - their efforts were not rewarded. The house was empty. “Say, where did you ever get those keys from anyways?” Ed said, prodding one of the pillows absently. “I don’t know. I found them in my bag, along with the address.” “What? You mean to say we just walked into someone’s house, to which we have no idea whose? For all we know,” Ed continued, “this could be a trap.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting a giant monster to appear, gargantuan bared teeth. “Unlikely,” Steph busied herself with boiling some water. She placed the old kettle onto the stove. “It doesn’t matter now. We’re pretty safe being underground and all,” she shrugged, hopping up onto the counter. “Safe…” Ed scoffed, but decided to calm his nerves nevertheless. He sat down. Their conversation lapsed to silence, the quiet drone of the boiling water filling the gap. The two sat in silence with their thoughts, idly tapping their feet, or unconsciously staring out into nothing. The rising shriek of the kettle snapped both of them out of their stupor. A cup of stifling tea was placed in front of Ed. He accepted it, and the two exchanged brief apologies for being so terse. They flopped onto the couch, switching on the television. Whilst flipping channels, Steph stopped on one of the news stations. They watched without interest, sipping their tea. Without warning, something leap into Steph’s lap. Gasping with surprise, a stripy cat made itself comfortable, its green eyes flashing mischievously. So there was a resident in the house. They chuckled to themselves, returning their wandering attention back to the TV. Ed’s mouth dropped as he leaned forward facing the TV. Steph’s gaze followed his, and her eyes widened in turn, tea almost spilling. Playing on the screen was a vivid picture of a familiar woman tangled up in a net. Except this time she was dead, the camera zooming on the body. Yellow police tape flipped in the wind, cops and officials stalked around the bordered off zone. Flies buzzed around the body restlessly. Steph absently stroked the cat in her lap as she stared at the box with the sound and visuals. Ed had somehow found a blanket and had draped it over his shoulders - it resembled a cape. “Oh, this can’t be good,” Steph spoke before Ed could. The TV flicked off and the two sat staring at each other. A mixture of surprise, dread and a smidge of humour were in their eyes. They laughed despite the circumstances.
The patter of actual rain could be heard on the ‘roof.’ A monotonous, dull, but pleasant drone. The silence was absolute, the light pattering of rain became their white noise. Huddled up on the couch was Steph, with the cat in her arms, and Ed slept on the adjacent couch, cape blanket put to good use. A shadowed figure crept stealthily through the long hallway, peering through all the guest bedrooms. The figure was lucky that none of the doors creaked. Hunched over, it made its way into the kitchen, shuffling quietly into the connecting living room. A young man and woman slept soundlessly on the beige couches. The figure gazed at the two people for a moment, then went back into the kitchen. As quietly as humanly possible, the figure rummaged around in the darkened rooms. It paused momentarily, a creaky, accented voice whispered, “El-Elizabeth…my dear?” In the morning darkness, the figure hobbled away down the hall, then disappeared.
Awakening luxuriously amongst several tangled blankets and one spoiled cat, Steph found her arms, and gazed at the clock upon the wall. Funny, she thought, attempting to escape the pile of blankets, where did these come from? The cat murmured its annoyance, sliding off the couch with a couple blankets. Ed too somehow had more blankets as well as pillows, than he had had before. He blinked, staring oddly into space. “Huh…” he muttered, flopping back into his makeshift bed. In the kitchen, a large pot of tea had been made - recently - it was still hot to the touch. Two cups were placed beside the red tea pot, and a small jug of milk and bowl of sugar sat next to them. Frowning, Steph turned around to find a platter stacked high with muffins. “Hallelujah…” she muttered to herself, then turned around, as if expecting someone to be there smiling warming at her. Instead, the kitchen remained dim and quiet.
Many hours - and muffins - later, Ed and Steph found themselves amongst the bustle of the airport. Every which way people were briskly walking, small carry ons in tow. They passed by rows of little airport shops, news stands, cafes and bookstores. A woman’s voice boomed over the intercom, someone named Lisa Cockburn had forgotten her wallet at the Starbucks in Gate D. Through the large windows, the two glimpsed massive planes land and take off. And little people in orange waved bright sticks around. People endlessly talked on their cell phones and uncontrollable children bounded around - much to their parents dismay. Soon, aboard a large 747, and minutes later, the craft lifted off into the air with a roar. Dozing, and half ignoring the stewardesses, the both of them stared expectantly through their little window, spotting wispy white clouds. It wasn’t until hours later, that through the receding clouds, they glimpsed the endless, rolling green hills of Ireland.
Who the fuck thinks they're too good for Windows? The faggot who put a Ubuntu motherboard on my laptop, I guess. My brother has a lot of old laptops and was able to trade one in for this nice old Toshiba thing that's probably more powerful than my home PC. You would think that's a pretty sick deal, right? No, because it has this fucking joke of an operating system "Ubuntu" on it. You can't do anything with this Linux based piece of shit. Everything takes years to start up, the interface is clumsy, nothing is customizable, and you can't even make desktop icons. All you get is this bubbly interface that feels like a child's toy. It's inferior in every way to a real operating system.
This laptop originally came with Window XP, but apparently something happened to the motherboard and it had to be replaced. I want to know who the fuck gets off on putting a Ubuntu motherboard in when it would be just as easy to put a superior WinXP one in. I don't know much about computer hardware, but this just seems like a dick move.
I want fucking yellow text on black backgrounds, damn it. My PC lets me do that, and my PC also runs an array of useful file types. But try to run anything on this Ubuntu piece of shit and it tells you it's not compatible. You have to use it's specialized Ubuntu versions of the programs, and if there isn't a Ubuntu version you can try your luck with Wine, waste a few hours, and find out fuck all works anyway.
Is there any saving grace to this operating system, apart from possibly being cheaper? I don't know what I'm going to do with this thing, but I feel dirty just thinking about taking notes in university on it. Maybe I'll try to trade it to some dumbass who thinks he has to be different in every way.
PS: Yes, I have almost no experience on Linux based OPs, apart from possibly my iPod, and the last disaster of a laptop I returned within a week of finding out I hate Linux. Maybe if I were some crazy hacker I would find Linux remotely useful.
Since my last blog was crap, I thought I'd write something perhaps almost interesting.
The internet. It's had a huge impact on the person I've become. It's determined my character and personality more than even my own parents have, and probably as much as close friends have. It's something I don't consider a toy, though I might have before.
Maturing with the internet is an interesting process. I've used the internet extensively for years, and I've learned a lot from it. Not just the trivial information wikipedia donates, but in dealing with people. Specifically, in dealing with people with nearly complete anonymity.
I like to talk to people on the internet. To an extent, even argue. I find it intellectually stimulating. To some, this seems silly. Indeed, it largely is. For the few people on the internet that truly want to talk, there are many more that simply want to get a rise out of anyone they can. There are many more that want to live the life of the tough guy they always wanted to be. To call people little bitches when they don't agree, to call people little bitches when they do agree, and to brag about their non-existent work out routine, sex life, and bravado.
But you know that already. Thru the internet, I've learned to analyse seemingly absurd viewpoints, and discover their rationalities, sometimes eventually accepting them as my own. Thru the internet, I've learned not to get angry at people who have different views, or to run my mouth about how great my own are. In short, I've learned tolerance.
There's something else I've learned. Something I've learned somewhere inbetween the hard way, and the easy way. Thru the internet, and arguing with people, I've learned that a hostile demeanour makes you hard to agree with. It separates you, from the person you're trying to convince. It ensures failure. No one wants to say, "Yes, I'm an idiot. Thank you for enlightening me, I now agree with your points." Yet it's the mistake every human makes when first learning to argue. I'm glad I learned this on the internet, because due to my anonymity, no one I know in person will ever know how big a dipshit I was. They will only see me as someone who's always been polite when arguing. That's something very precious the internet has given me.
This is why I don't take the internet as all jokes. I try to make meaningful contributions, and praise others who do the same. It's because how you develop as a person on the internet, is the same as how you develop as a person in real life. So why waste all your time dicking around?
I treat people I meet over the internet the same as I treat people I know in person. You may say, "well you aren't going to live long if you're arguing with people about everything so often," and you'd be right... Except that people in real life don't tell two dozen strangers about their personal lives and misfortunes, expecting nothing but kind words and agreement. People tell their close friends about these things, and their close friends argue with them if they don't agree. No one gets beat up. If you're offended by a stranger telling you what to do, don't ask a stranger what to do. This is why in threads I ask for help, I do not give much personal information. I keep it general like I would keep it general to people who aren't specifically my friends.
So I ask you, why not take the internet seriously?
This is more of a request than a show and tell, but I'll start with the latter anyway.
Let's Play videos are basically videos of a person playing a video game, with his live commentary included. You can pretty much search "Let's Play" + any video game in the youtube searchbar and someone has done it.
So far people I've found enjoyable to listen to are ProtonJon and Quadraxis14 who play Mario ROMs and PilotWings respectively. Those are of course their YouTube account names.
Anyway! That's the gist of what it is. What I want to know is if anyone here watches these, and if they have recommendations... I like let's play videos, but I don't like listening to a 14 year old.. I want to listen to Manboys play video games, essentially.
It'll be much appreciated, because I use things like this to help me get to sleep... I put them on my iPod, and slowly wear my attention span to nothing and fall asleep. I used to do it with speedruns, then I did it with a combination of alcohol and animes... But now I've run out of speedruns to watch, and I'm not drinking so animes aren't as enjoyable.
Alright! Peace!
EDIT: Well, I watched a little more of Quadraxis' videos and it turns out... He's really not that fun to listen to, especially when he feels the need to talk constantly while having nothing to say. However, I found someone who's better, named BryTheFryGuy, but unfortunately he doesn't really play any games I'm too interested in watching.