I don't know how to word what I want to convey. It has to do with being straightforward. I write a lot of nonsensical jumble on the subject of the unsaid.

God, what the fuck is even the point of trying anymore. Nothing I write here is going to matter.

Lemme know if you see a truth stick around these parts.

(falling over...now.)

I'm watching "The Man Who Fell To Earth."
I like it, but I do wish that when said man did, in fact, fall to earth, he hadn't taken discontinuity to a whole new level. Or shall we say all time low...
I do like a movie where the editing includes a portion in which all the clips are pieced together with no regard for continuity or viewer clarity. I think Matthew Barney must have been watching this movie when he numbered all the cremasters. Either that or he was really bad at counting.

I do wish more high-concepts included Bowie.

One of the things that makes The Graduate such a great film (in my opinion, though it's not as if I am attempting to defend something like Gangbang 5: The Musical!* That is to say most people would agree that The Graduate is no waste of celluloid.) is the final (diagetic*^) moment, as the getaway bus is driving away from the church. Dustin Hoffman and Katharine Ross, having just caught their collective breaths from the exhilaration of being those never-happens-in-real-life wedding crashing type romantics, stop looking at each other and stare forward. Just before the credits begin to roll, both characters experience a slight shift in facial expression- from adrenaline rush happy to slight worry/ slight panic/ okay what now. It's only a few seconds, but it changes the ending of the film so completely, so much so that missing it would be missing the entire point of the film. It shifts from an audience fulfilling happy ending to hmm...maybe they won't live happily ever after. Maybe if the cameras were still rolling they would capture the bride returning to her estranged fiance, maybe it's not so easy after all, maybe it's more like real life than scripted time frames. It's absolutely amazing that Mike Nichols managed to capture more in those five seconds than some directors do in an entire body of work. We can attempt to do what makes us happy, what seems to make us happy, to be selfish, to achieve so-called spontaniety, but there's still always that grain of doubt always so restless in the back of our mind, restless and shouting the details of forthcoming disappointments. Expectations can be such a facade, especially those involving the emotions of another human being.

Driving past the airport, the very thing which inspired the above paragraph, always makes me want to take that exit into the terminal and get on a plane. And just go somewhere, just escape. Except I always want to be with someone, preferably someone who means more than just something, and I never seem to have said accompaniment, much less the guts. I don't think it's hopeless romanticism so much as hopeless hope. Tell me everything's impossible you television cliche of a cynic, tell me nothings worth losing face and I'll tell you how little some faces are worth.

Something has to be real. Something has to be worth the doubt of living happily ever after.


*not a real movie, i don't think.
*^that was just an excuse to use the word "diagetic", such is the case with 99% of the time you happen across diagesis in all it's written incarnations. I think I've said that before, oh the deja-pointlessness.

From Eric Von Strofuckingheim's livejournal:

I'm listening to a compilation of Connecticut Hip-Hop from the late 70's and early 80's right now. Whatever happened to the Positive Choice Band.

And really, is there anything funnier than hearing someone doing a shoutout to all the towns in Connecticut?

Hartford ... We're DOWN!!!
SpringField ... We're DOWN!!!
New Haven ... Oh Yeah!
Norwalk ... We're DOWN!!!
Brisbort ... We're DOWN!!!
Waterberry ... We're DOWN!!!
MiddleTown ... We're DOWN!!!
Stamford ... We're DOWN!!!
Ensonya? ... We're DOWN!!!
Berrydun ... We're DOWN!!!

Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit. Dammit.

Yep, that's about as poetic as I'm gonna get right now.

What's worse that figure skating, you ask?
That pile of vomit band Evacescence (or however you spell it).

And what's worse than that pile of vomit band Evanescence?
Watching someone figure skate to one of their songs.

Why the hell do I continue to watch the Today Show...

Earlier one of my group heads yelled over my cubicle wall- "hey, go to melanie griffith dot com." It will be your new favorite website!

And indeed it is. Behold the crap.

I can't help but think Stevie Nicks had no small part in this.

Ok this is cute as shit:

There's something kinda scary about opening up my internet browser and having this pic pop up at me:



Damn. I mean, I've heard people bash the new R.E.M. album but at least they aren't scaring small children (who use the internet).

I just realized that the elections are only three weeks away.

Ok, actually the ten-times-daily Kerry campaign e-mail reminded me how time be a'flyin'.
Which reminded me that I need to go ahead and fill out/send in my absentee ballot.
Right now it's on my floor, and just happens to be face-up to the constitutional marriage amendment.
Ugh.

In other news, I am currently blasting "Slanted and Enchanted" on the 'ol soundsticks, much to the delight (chesley's little wrists) of my coworkers.

Today I have no sense of smell. Lunch was absolute crap.

From Fafblog...

Flowers for Derrida

Jacques Derrida died yesterday. We threw a Deathday Party to undermine the hegemonic life/death binary but for some reason everybody was still kinda sad.

"I don't get it," says me. "How could Derrida die? He was a social construct."

"True," says Giblets. "Nothin is outside the text, includin Derrida."

"Then he couldn't die," says me. "After all if he did he would be reinforcin the hegemonic Dead Derrida/Live Derrida binary."

"We must deconstruct Derrida's death!" says Giblets. "Beginning by inverting the priveleged duality! Derrida is alive!"

"He's stuffin his face with cake right now over there!" says me.

"Mmmfff," says Derrida. "Waffff uppppf fellaf."

"Derrida stop eatin all our cake!" says Giblets. "That cost good money!"
Man that Derrida's always been a greedy bastard.

I just found out that Jacques Derrida died a few days ago.
I don't know what to say about that.

Neither, I suspect, does he.

I'm glad I smoke. Otherwise I would never get any fresh air.

It's 8:45 pm, and I am still at work, revising scripts. I think partially as a result of this late working hour, and partially due to the margaritas they're handing out in the studio, I am becoming increasingly susceptable to distraction from my task at hand.

For instance, I just made up one of those stupid "blog" terms (like blogosphere, blogastroenteritis, etc.). Cause it's the thing to do when you are trying to do something else!

"Defenestration of Blog": When you throw your blog out the widow due to misconduct or general suckiness. It helps if your blog is of noble descent.
(If you have no idea what this references perhaps you had better brush up on your European History, more specifically "Thirty Years War, causes of".)

Here, someone taste this margarita and tell me if it has any alcohol in it. Cause I don't think it does.
I'm gonna have five more to make sure.

In a suprising turn of events, the moderator leads the VP candidates in an impromptu round of "The Hokey Pokey." Here we see Cheney (having put both his left and right hand in) questioning whether Edwards has the experience necessary to "shake it all about.":


Edwards retorts with "experience does not equal good judgement," all while distracting the moderator with the 'ol "detatchable finger" trick.:

Apparently I do not own envelopes.
Apparently I do not own blank sheets of paper by which to fold in an envelope-like matter.

Today after putting my two cents wortha coattail riding in at the department meeting, I somehow drifted from taking actual notes to drawing a dinosaur. With a mohawk. Giving everyone the middle claw.
It's titled "When Dinosaurs Roamed The Mall." Panagea Uber-Alles!
I should probably scan that shit in. I'll put that at the bottom of my list of "things that seemed like a good idea at the time to do".

Alright, when I say your name, you say 'here.' And we will assume 'here' is short for 'here I am...rock you like a hurricane.' -ATHF

Newly-found server functioning= catching up on posting pics...lucky you!

I need this poster. It is the pinnacle of awesomnity. If only I had a shitton of spending money...

Cremasters Of The Universe!

I just uttered the phrase "oh, except the highlander. he can't die." I would cite context, but context seems to be rapidly becoming less and less important as the hours pass. Sufficive to say that the cat is having an affair with my computer bag and there is a french paratrooper in the adjoining room (or- citing lack of parachute or biplane- perhaps simply paragroundsman, or just infantryman or if we're very lucky a french highlander like from five seconds ago with the immortality and all). And if asked to cheer up a french mercenary from the inter- highlander what to do, what to do...tup tup...tup? Of course! Give him a copy of the Law and Order Coloring Adventure Book!

As one of my coworkers exclaimed:
"You can color in your own blood and shit!" -Justin, coworker

Inching towards surreal, I think, though the early AM fog has since lifted. Fog makes everything a bit more diagetic, as do the tinkly soothing tones of listening to something I like to call aquarium rock.* Combine this with the random early morning normality of a man bidding his matching pink-attired daughters see ya later for a day of work and it makes for quite the virtual conciousness. I'm spectating like a motherfucking champ!
The entire evening was a bit (in lieu of repeating "surreal") ethereal..god that sounds too much like the screen name of a girl in her 20's that still collects pictures of fairies but spells it faeries and has that ophelia print above her bed. Phantasmagoric? No, that just makes me think of "PhantasmagoRIE!"
While I search for an adjective you kids enjoy a heaping helping of cereal!*(2)



Detatched. Everything was just student film verite and I was watching the scenery start to crack at the hinges. Mmmm...pretention.

And I will cut myself off for fear of this post turning into something cathartically unreadable.

If anyone asks, last night never happened. If you can't handle the lie, just distract them with these magical floating knives:



appendix
*aquarium rock is the subgenre of some other genre that I made up. it sounds the way you would imagine music would sound if it were played on xylophones by marine life. that is to say, it sounds a bit like the "let's go under the sea" section of my 1983 strawberry shortcake workout album.
*(2) smoke break, actually.

Why Kerry Won The Debate:

He found the audience first:






In other news, it's awfully embarrasing when two people show up in the same ill-fitting pink dress: