"Meridianfrost means there is a danger in being indecisive. That when you grow old, all of your middle decisions will pile up with a kind of chilling, and regretful hindsight. Dare to take a side, and that reflection will be a series of momentary life experiences where we have failed, and succeeded. Or more appropriately, where we have learned and triumphed, instead of populating our thoughts with what we wished we had done. Seize YOUR day. Seize your life."
~meridianfrost
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Walker's Question
Walker - "I just realized that i don't know if i hate all races or love all races. By that i mean there are no races. My grandmother's father came from Switzerland, but was really Italian, but most Italian where either immigrants or slaves from the roman empire, and wherever they are from before that is probably the same thing......immigrants or slaves...one can't identify as any race because we aren't anything...or are we everything? How long does it take to become a race? i just needed to tell someone, and you're the only one who would be intelligent enough to appreciate it, if there is anything to appreciate in this. anyways, thanks."
ME - "Well, one of the very first things I learned in Anthropology, was that there was no significant variation between different ethnicities. I'll never forget it actually. My professor sat on the front edge of her desk and said. "There's something that you should know about me. I'm racist." and the crowd had this kind of, collective tension that soon turned to confusion when she went on by saying "...and so are you." She continued by saying that there are no biological differences between races, and that the lowest common denominator of human is the one who discriminates because of a person's ethnic or cultural background.
You'd be astonished to discover the genetically molecular similarities of some of the people on this blue dot of ours. It's just our ridiculous ability to discriminate against social and cultural groups that have been carried over from one generation to the next. Cultural identity (especially in America) is fuzzy at best, so when we do find colorful expressions of humanity, we point and laugh, or fucking HATE because of a lack of understanding of cultural diversity, OR our subconscious desire to find a sort of comradeship in a culture that is so obviously lacking in it, especially if you are a fucking white dude in America. Ha.
Get the idea of "race" out of your mind permanently. It's a foolish concept not grounded in any sort of science. Replace the word with "Ethnicity" and you will begin to see the fear, and anger, and jealousy associated with the negative or pejorative application of that word in society. It'll cause you to look inward, and face your fear, or whatever unease you might feel about particular ethnic groups, and just generally raise your awareness that culture is a thing to be admired and shared.
Embrace humanity, and live a fucking happy life. Thanks for the comment. Take care."
ME - "Well, one of the very first things I learned in Anthropology, was that there was no significant variation between different ethnicities. I'll never forget it actually. My professor sat on the front edge of her desk and said. "There's something that you should know about me. I'm racist." and the crowd had this kind of, collective tension that soon turned to confusion when she went on by saying "...and so are you." She continued by saying that there are no biological differences between races, and that the lowest common denominator of human is the one who discriminates because of a person's ethnic or cultural background.
You'd be astonished to discover the genetically molecular similarities of some of the people on this blue dot of ours. It's just our ridiculous ability to discriminate against social and cultural groups that have been carried over from one generation to the next. Cultural identity (especially in America) is fuzzy at best, so when we do find colorful expressions of humanity, we point and laugh, or fucking HATE because of a lack of understanding of cultural diversity, OR our subconscious desire to find a sort of comradeship in a culture that is so obviously lacking in it, especially if you are a fucking white dude in America. Ha.
Get the idea of "race" out of your mind permanently. It's a foolish concept not grounded in any sort of science. Replace the word with "Ethnicity" and you will begin to see the fear, and anger, and jealousy associated with the negative or pejorative application of that word in society. It'll cause you to look inward, and face your fear, or whatever unease you might feel about particular ethnic groups, and just generally raise your awareness that culture is a thing to be admired and shared.
Embrace humanity, and live a fucking happy life. Thanks for the comment. Take care."
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Black Dust.
I'm nocturnal. I fucking hate the night. All I see is neon, and hookers, and lavender light, fucking underfed and malnourished strippers sucking cock for 20's and greasy floors dripped with the semen of troglodytes. Oh how I long for this fucking ambient glow to flicker and die, so I might see the stars as something in... the black, rather than the hum of cock cancer.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Java Prayer
Every time I fly, I pray for a crash. Sitting there at number 3 or 5 or 1 in line for takeoff, the captain’s apathetic voice crackles through the intercom like a fucking five dollar walkie-talkie, barely audible over the idling jets on the wings. I can just make out -
“Flight attendants please take your seats.”
- and they emerge from the rear of the plane, with their bullshit smiles, having just joined in mocking the fat guy in the front of the plane who has already asked if he can have something to eat. One of them looks at him and suppresses a laugh with a reasonably disguised cough. I notice a stain on my tie, and I’m suddenly propelled back to my hotel room, and the violent fucking of the night before. She sounded like an animal who'd carelessly ambled into the street and was hit by a speeding car. Left hand ripping the hair from the back of her head while the right choked her neck coaxing a panicky gurgle of bliss. I pressed the back of her head into my cock while she stared into my eyes. It penetrated her throat with that familiar, tiny pop, and her eyes rolled into stare at her own cerebrum. I saw her mouth filling with my cum again in that darkness. Saw the smile of satisfaction as those opalescent streams of milky soul streaked across her alabaster cheeks, glowing in the dark. I kiss her after. Taste the soft warmth of the only thing I have ever had worth offering. I move a clumsy hand to the night table in search of a cigarette, knocking over one of the ten cups of cold coffee in the room, and pause. She's breathing in short gasps. Shuddering on her back as though the entire world was comprised of that view of the ceiling.
The coffee courses in a slow stream toward the end of the table, and escapes the edge, dripping onto the hunter green olefin. At first a steady flow, but bound for a dwindling drip, smacking the floor in that patting noise of liquid falling onto short polyester fibers. I touch her face. Her lips are still slick. I gently trace the pad of my thumb over them. “I love you so much.” She says. And the air conditioner clicks on and roars to life.
The jets of the plane throttle up. I’m pushed backward into my seat by the unusual force of acceleration. I look to the front of the plane now. The flight attendants seats look safer than mine, but I don’t care. After all, I’m about to die.
The engines cavitate with exploding jet fuel, and the view outside begins to blur in an absurd streak of bad impressionism as the ground falls from beneath me. Another thrust. Downward this time, and then the sensation of being lifted into the sky.
I close my eyes, and imagine a faulty fuel line. I course it’s path to the break, where a spark is waiting to ignite the wing tank. I see hydraulic fluid leaking from a gasket in some imaginary machine, causing a catastrophic failure in flight control. I see a microburst flipping the aircraft at 500 feet, and it’s maddeningly short tumble to earth, blazing an exploding fireball trail through some suburban neighborhood. I pray to nothing.
“Please.” I say. “Let it happen now.”
The aircraft banks sharply to the right. “Let the flaps lock, and send this fucking plane into a glittering streak toward the earth’s core. Let it end now.”
I speak to those I love, and remember their faces. I tell them that I am not afraid. I calmly, and very quietly tell my secrets to the high pitched and steady drone of the muffled fuselage, and prepare to meet my end among the screams of my fellow passengers without a sound. I rip the oxygen mask from the compartment above me and cast it away. I feel the velocity increase. I hear the steadily growing squeal of the turbines as they swallow the forced air. I see a rotating gimble, spinning in all directions.
And just as the plane’s cockpit is crushed into the ground, I open my eyes, four miles above the earth. The beverage trolley is next to my seat. I tilt my head as the goldbricking flight attendant asks me if I would like something to drink.
An eyebrow drifts toward my scalp, and I give her a little smile.
“Coffee, please.”
“Flight attendants please take your seats.”
- and they emerge from the rear of the plane, with their bullshit smiles, having just joined in mocking the fat guy in the front of the plane who has already asked if he can have something to eat. One of them looks at him and suppresses a laugh with a reasonably disguised cough. I notice a stain on my tie, and I’m suddenly propelled back to my hotel room, and the violent fucking of the night before. She sounded like an animal who'd carelessly ambled into the street and was hit by a speeding car. Left hand ripping the hair from the back of her head while the right choked her neck coaxing a panicky gurgle of bliss. I pressed the back of her head into my cock while she stared into my eyes. It penetrated her throat with that familiar, tiny pop, and her eyes rolled into stare at her own cerebrum. I saw her mouth filling with my cum again in that darkness. Saw the smile of satisfaction as those opalescent streams of milky soul streaked across her alabaster cheeks, glowing in the dark. I kiss her after. Taste the soft warmth of the only thing I have ever had worth offering. I move a clumsy hand to the night table in search of a cigarette, knocking over one of the ten cups of cold coffee in the room, and pause. She's breathing in short gasps. Shuddering on her back as though the entire world was comprised of that view of the ceiling.
The coffee courses in a slow stream toward the end of the table, and escapes the edge, dripping onto the hunter green olefin. At first a steady flow, but bound for a dwindling drip, smacking the floor in that patting noise of liquid falling onto short polyester fibers. I touch her face. Her lips are still slick. I gently trace the pad of my thumb over them. “I love you so much.” She says. And the air conditioner clicks on and roars to life.
The jets of the plane throttle up. I’m pushed backward into my seat by the unusual force of acceleration. I look to the front of the plane now. The flight attendants seats look safer than mine, but I don’t care. After all, I’m about to die.
The engines cavitate with exploding jet fuel, and the view outside begins to blur in an absurd streak of bad impressionism as the ground falls from beneath me. Another thrust. Downward this time, and then the sensation of being lifted into the sky.
I close my eyes, and imagine a faulty fuel line. I course it’s path to the break, where a spark is waiting to ignite the wing tank. I see hydraulic fluid leaking from a gasket in some imaginary machine, causing a catastrophic failure in flight control. I see a microburst flipping the aircraft at 500 feet, and it’s maddeningly short tumble to earth, blazing an exploding fireball trail through some suburban neighborhood. I pray to nothing.
“Please.” I say. “Let it happen now.”
The aircraft banks sharply to the right. “Let the flaps lock, and send this fucking plane into a glittering streak toward the earth’s core. Let it end now.”
I speak to those I love, and remember their faces. I tell them that I am not afraid. I calmly, and very quietly tell my secrets to the high pitched and steady drone of the muffled fuselage, and prepare to meet my end among the screams of my fellow passengers without a sound. I rip the oxygen mask from the compartment above me and cast it away. I feel the velocity increase. I hear the steadily growing squeal of the turbines as they swallow the forced air. I see a rotating gimble, spinning in all directions.
And just as the plane’s cockpit is crushed into the ground, I open my eyes, four miles above the earth. The beverage trolley is next to my seat. I tilt my head as the goldbricking flight attendant asks me if I would like something to drink.
An eyebrow drifts toward my scalp, and I give her a little smile.
“Coffee, please.”
The Guillotine
So… here I am. Damp wood at my neck. Staring into the rusty brown basket that my head will wobble in once the blade has severed it. To my left, a lined box into which my decapitated body will soon be unceremoniously flipped after all those words fall. I can hear them on the blade, muttering incoherent bits of fabrications and false anger. They’re priming their conjured ire for the drop and the chop. Steady eyes at the space just below the base of my skull. Waiting for the elevation to courage that’s necessary to slice that innocent love from the course of its realization.
It’s 9am.
A trickle of water bleeds from a leaky spigot on the wall to my right. It courses through street mortar and bulges toward me.
The voices grow louder.
The soldiering streak catches a glimmer of sunlight, and speeds through the puzzle in the road.
I glance as far as I can toward the tetragon shear. The words are moving faster there. Concentrating on the edge as they prepare for the click and the drop. A figure to my left extends a hand from the folds of her midnight cloak. I notice her glittering lavender nail polish is chipped along each unattended ridge. I catch a hint of jasmine on the breeze. Just beneath the brim of her hood, a crooked smirk curling up the left side of her face. She glances at the blade, clutching the lever with uncharacteristic strength and purpose. I thought of those hands touching me in dire moments. How they looked curious, and clumsily graceful. Strange to see them like this now. Disjointed, and lacking any semblance of affection.
On my right, the water rages toward me now. Bursting from the mortar and onto the surface of the blackened cobblestones, flooding the edges like great waves crashing on cliffs.
I watch the fingers on the hand flex, and the twitch of an arm. A shink, and words are sent plummeting toward my love. They ride the rail, bent on one final disconnection. Screaming down that fake wave of promises and sentiments.
The torrent of water lurches up into a massive blanket of transparent cloth, catching every beam of light unhindered by the protruding guillotine and its operator. A gasp. A pause. A thought.
I’m not confused, though I would like to have seen the sky one last time.
It’s 9am.
A trickle of water bleeds from a leaky spigot on the wall to my right. It courses through street mortar and bulges toward me.
The voices grow louder.
The soldiering streak catches a glimmer of sunlight, and speeds through the puzzle in the road.
I glance as far as I can toward the tetragon shear. The words are moving faster there. Concentrating on the edge as they prepare for the click and the drop. A figure to my left extends a hand from the folds of her midnight cloak. I notice her glittering lavender nail polish is chipped along each unattended ridge. I catch a hint of jasmine on the breeze. Just beneath the brim of her hood, a crooked smirk curling up the left side of her face. She glances at the blade, clutching the lever with uncharacteristic strength and purpose. I thought of those hands touching me in dire moments. How they looked curious, and clumsily graceful. Strange to see them like this now. Disjointed, and lacking any semblance of affection.
On my right, the water rages toward me now. Bursting from the mortar and onto the surface of the blackened cobblestones, flooding the edges like great waves crashing on cliffs.
I watch the fingers on the hand flex, and the twitch of an arm. A shink, and words are sent plummeting toward my love. They ride the rail, bent on one final disconnection. Screaming down that fake wave of promises and sentiments.
The torrent of water lurches up into a massive blanket of transparent cloth, catching every beam of light unhindered by the protruding guillotine and its operator. A gasp. A pause. A thought.
I’m not confused, though I would like to have seen the sky one last time.
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