Mental Threshold

From now on I gonna write stuff at www.xanga.com/streetlife heh.

Pure random observations following earlier 19th century American writers' embrace of the stream of consciousness (that sentence sucks) and cus bullet lists rock:

-I can't be bought, because what I want isn't money.
-Beer mixed with Iced tea tastes good and heals the sick.
-A retarded blind lady bumped into me. After apologizing she asked me if I had any cigarettes. Then she asked me what bus was in front of us (this was when I realized she was blind). I asked her which bus she was looking for, and then led her by the arm down the block to board it. Whenever I do things that are considered "good", I wonder if I am just looking for some kind of cosmic gain in the form of a job, acknowlegement of my existence, etc...one of the greatest differences between Judaism and Islam is the difference between the moral value of an act's intent, and it's outcome. Is my intent clouded by hoping god is over my shoulder so I can catch a fucking break in life? Or is the action a good one, no matter what type of divine copensation I might subconsciously seek, or that I hope I will feel like I am "good"? Confusing and scary stuff.
-I drove for the first time in a couple months today (again, unliscensed). By Christmas I will have at least a 240sx. Not a bad car, but definately not the badass I covet at night. Insurance companies don't like young males like me to have cars that do their penis justice. That means No 8 cylinder Detroit hemis. The Bugatti Veyron is going to be the best car on earth. Maybe. If not, the Enzo.
-Spider roll (softshell crab) is the best type of sushi.
-Chess is fucking madenning. I play like a bipolar brilliant retard. I lose the first game to an unfamiliar opening like a complete amateur, then get the same guy into a beautifully crafted mating net that reminds me of a Capablanca game I once went over. I'm reading up again, trying to become a stronger player to make up for all the stupid things I've done. If only when I was in highschool I wasn't full of pills and self-pity, I would have saw through the bullshit and been something more than ultimately mediocre. Put me in Arkham with the Riddler and throw away the key, this stupid game is giving me dreams again.

"It is dangerous to be sincere unless you are also stupid."
- George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950)

Today I got my own "apartment". The quotations mean that I don't consider one room that I have to pay $330 a month for a true apartment. My place is in the bottom floor of a house in the University District. It's not a total dump, but it's god-awful close. No phone or anything. I'm gonna be job-rooking as soon as I move in on Wednesday, I pray that I won't have to work fast food again.

The thing that sucks about all of this is how temporary it is. I'm going to be gone to boot camp in less than three months. My mom is making me move out, because I don't "respect" her. Respect according to my mom, is letting her tell lies without me refuting them. So retarded. So I'm going to be living in a dump and feeding and housing myself...which is kinda cool. It's almost a trap though, once I get comfortable with being independent, it'll be hard to go to bootcamp. But it's all for the best, I could never pay for a full college education by myself, or see the world...

Anyways, it feels good to finally leave childhood completely behind. The scary part is how bored I will be while looking for a job. Without internet access, I'm probably going to be stuck reading newspapers I find in cafes, and writing down random thoughts to keep myself sane. Maybe I might become a beatnic?

Hopefully none of those transient looking people who live in the same building with me will steal my stuff. That's all I can hope for at this point. Everyone who wants to keep in touch, email me, and I will occasionally answer back when I trek over to the library or something.

Pray for me, folks.

"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work."
- Thomas A. Edison

"You're pretty high and far out. What kind of kick are you on, son?"
I haven't written anything on this junk for a long time. Probably because to write something, I have to think about something, and the past couple weeks my thoughts have been about running, doing situps, and making contraptions with bunjee cords and broomsticks to make my neck bigger.

However, I am seeing some benefits. I've lost almost 30 pounds and am almost within the acceptable range to enlist. By next week I should be done, and hopefully I will be out of this state for good. My MOS is 98c, or Intelligence Analyst. This means I get to hear dope intercepted messages and decide how the army should act based on that information. Or at least I will, as soon as I get top security clearance. This includes a backround check of some kind (I am not sure of the details) and a lengthy interview. Sometimes I think about becomming a spook, but instead of intelligence work and espionage forever, I think I'd rather be an astronaut. No joke. Uh, and then US President. Right.

I think I'm going to get a livejournal because it's easier to work with, though blogger is pretty cool. I'll still update this whenever I have something to say, but that's getting really rare nowadays...it seems as I can ran faster and farther(a hair under 6 miles today), I become more and more softspoken...Hmm.

Can't wait to get another badass Russian watch, this one could come in the mail for me any day now: Booya. I beleive it's an official Soviet submariner watch. Cool stuff, and not so blatantly Soviet I will take flack for having it in the armie. Choice.

Lately I have only one friend left in this state...well, there are others, but the non-communicate with, don't know what the deal is type of friends. I don't want to start fresh once I leave, but I also feel like keeping in contact with people has to be a two-way street. I guess people change too much to stay the same forever, but I beleive it can work. There's a lot of people I really miss talking to.

My life is so boring and one-tracked it's amazing I can still enunciate words. I will try to muster up the least bit of personality one of these days, I swear ma'am.

"One should always play fairly when one has the winning cards."
-Oscar Wilde

I'm waiting for a soviet watch and three different checks for various services rendered in the mail... the watch I need for functionality, the cash I need to get some things for a friend. In case you haven't noticed by now (with 3/4ths of all the quotes at the end of my posts being by communists, or about communism), or my email address, or AOL SN (commieSHO)- I have a huge fascination with communism. I've read Che Guevara's "Guerrilla Warfare" through-and-through. Twice. Not to be confused with the simplistic (and history-ignoring) liberal college kids who really need to find a way to piss off their parents though, my interest in communism is much like melodramatic goths' interest in death: I can't be too serious about it, otherwise I'd have tried it by now.


In Russian: "Our forces are numberless". I would do anything for this poster in my room.
Let's set the record straight: Communism sucks. It doesn't work in real life, or (arguably) on paper. The number of people the Soviet Regime murdered would have given any nazi the wet-dream to end all wet-dreams. Yet it's appeal to the common man empowers the peasant farmer to raise up arms in defense of his country. Everyone is a brother in the face of greedy capitalism, no? This is the very reason I find it so fascinating. So I collect russian (specifically Soviet) watches. I was going to collect communist-themed posters, like the farmer above, but I don't think a pinko propoganda poster will be allowed in the army barracks. I must say though, Raketa company makes a fine watch. The one I have has golden sickle and hammer watch hands, on a soviet-red backround. On a good wind I can get a bit over a day and a half, and for that day and a half it doesn't seem to lose any minutes. I'd really love to get my hands on one of these.

I've talked to a girl from mainland China on ICQ a few times. She said Clinton was her hero, and like the rest of the world, was vehemently anti-Bush. She said that from elementary school they learn about how good communism is, the same way we learn about capitalism. This surprised me, but then I guess it's neccessary to get 'em young before they decide that freedom of thought and religion are pretty important. I asked her how the government could improve if no one is legally allowed to criticize it, without facing imprisonment. After getting bullied by "the party" at school to join, she posted my question up on the school's message board (I think, her english isn't flawless and I wasn't sure what she meant) and the question was promptly censored by "the party". I was pretty sad, if you're in mainland China and not allowed to criticize your government publically, wouldn't it be better to be a happy conformist? No one really wants to be that guy in Tianmen Square who faced down the tank. (A big hero of mine.)

The great thing about Soviet communism (other than making NASA kick so much ass, or making cold-war inspired movies like Wargames kick an equal amount of ass), is that it inspired some really great artists to attempt to brainwash people en masse via propoganda posters. With messages like "Your enemies want to send you to war against me, your brother" , the somewhat subtle "Women, adhere to the cooperation"and the enigmatic and vague: "Long live the great Stalin!" Not to say that all Soviet propoganda posters were evil brainwashing...some of the brainwashing was positive. Some posters promised farmers that if they fought on the side of the reds (communists) against the whites for control of Russia, that literacy would be brought to all. After the communists took control, they sent out posters promoting cleanliness to avoid disease, such as this one.

I've thought of getting CCCP and KGB themed shirts because I like the images and color scheme, but then I remember that one of my pet peeves is people trying to "say something" with a damn T-shirt. Really, if what you say can fit on a T-shirt in block letters as big as my fist, it must not really be all that mind-blowing. "Oh my god, voting republican is easier than thinking? Damn glad your shirt made such a convincing argument before I threw my vote away!"

Thanks a lot for being so thoughtfull with a T-shirt, you jerk. Not that I'm a repub. I don't have a party, because I don't believe in them. But of the big two, I probably swing that way more. Of course, when I run for presidency in 2023 I'll need the support of one of these two, but which one is really inconsequential.

"One cannot play chess if one becomes aware of the pieces as living souls and of the fact that the Whites and the Blacks have more in common with each other than with the players. Suddenly one loses all interest in who will be champion."
-Anatol Rapoport, Strategy and Conscience, 1964.

Sakuraba lost. I saw it comming a mile away, not because I'm a precog (which I am), but because it was so obvious: Sakuraba lost his last two matches with Vanderlei Silva, and has only won two of his last seven fights. His last two fights against Silva were nauseating to watch: One of Mixed Martial Arts' most talented fighters getting annihilated...no, beasted by Silva. This time getting KO'd in 5:01 seconds from a punch. It's difficult for Sakuraba fans to see a champ get treated this way.

During his MMA career (record: 14-6-1), Sakuraba has entertained us with his theatrics and flashy style, as well as defeated skilled fighters such as Marcus Silveira, Vitor Befort, Royler Gracie, Guy Mezger, Henzo Gracie and Quinton Jackson, just to name a few. Being 35, I hope he's able to absorb these losses and deliver us a few more spectacular Pride victories before he retires.


"Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something."
~~ Pancho Villa, Mexican revolutionary, d. 1923

Almost everyone except the most hardcore of acetists has collected something or other. The most common and socially acceptable ones include baseball cards, comicbooks, action figures, etc. As a kid, I ran the gamut of collections, but I've had a few that weren't exactly n'sync with the status quo. How much does what you collect really say about you? I'd wager, quite a bit.

My first collection started when I was four or five. I had a plastic doctor's briefcase, and I thought "I could keep stuff in here!" After contemplating what I could start collecting for my briefcase, taking size into careful consideration (or, as close as a four year old can get to careful consideration) I decided that I'd keep batteries in my briefcase. Yes. I collected batteries. I went through the house taking the batteries out of everything to put them in my little plastic briefcase with the red cross on the front. When my grandma found out about this she was less than enthusiastic, making me put all the batteries back where I got them. So maybe being a used-battery collector is a little weird, but at that young age, it didn't reflect on me significantly.

My current collection, though, is another issue. I sold all my videogames, comic books and quite a few baseball cards from my collection. The only one left is the most low-maintenance one of them all. Unlike the others, I never have to spend a red-cent to maintain it. It is guaranteed to grow, since the earth hasn't reached it's carrying capacity, and modern medicine won't allow us to die out from a good ol' Biblical style plague: obituaries.

There, I said it. I collect obituaries. Not just obituaries of notable people like my beloved Ingrid Bergman, but those of the common man. The first thing you learn in journalism, is that everyone has a story to tell. I very rarely tell anyone that I do this. I don't want to be confused for yet another pathetic attention-whoring goth with a death fetish. I don't want to die anytime soon, and the process of dying really doesn't interest me that much. Once you die, your body can no longer maintain cell-walls and your DNAases enzymes get through the cell and go jack the ripper on your DNA. After that, no amount of Frankenstinian defibrillation is going to save you. So why the obituary collection then?

For a few reasons. The most obvious being, I don't want to be stuck with a sucky one. I see these poor bastards in the newspaper with a picture of them at some decrepit old age, looking like death would be a relief at that point. Then some poorly written (and very boring) text that are nothing but a cliff's notes on the person's life events. "Cliff was born in tampa, florida in May 30 1925, graduating from Tampa-City High. There he met the Judith Maine, who he married happily for 30 years. Cliff loved to fish and camp. He is survived by his wife, son, daughter, neice, nephew, neighbors and mailman. He will be missed." Boring. Do I really know anything about the poor bastard now? No. Do I feel like I wish I had known Cliff, because he got married, liked to fish, and popped out the statistically average family? Not really. So to avoid ending up like Cliff, I've clipped out the obituaries that I like, paste them onto construction paper, highlight the most interesting segments, and then write a few short notes on the back about why I like this obituary. My ground rules for writing a kickass obituary:

• The world doesn't need to know every single goddamn relative I've left behind. Wife and kids, that's it.

• My picture must be one of me in some sort of suit, dressed up. Preferrably a picture from when I'm US president.

• Omit the dates for when I completed highschool and other insignificant things. Birth and Death are all that's needed.

• Don't just write about things I did, write about things I thought.

• Assuming I become a mason within the next few years, slap on one of those masonic symbols.

I'm also always working on an ongoing playlist for my funeral. Not because I think it'll be the most fun I ever had (calm down, gothie), but because every funeral I've been to is so fucking boring that I feel guilty about wanting to stab myself in the thigh, just so that I won't have to go. I don't want to bore people, and I especially don't want to make them feel guilty. The solution: make the funeral FUN. Have a eulogy with some fucking jokes in it. Play some good music like John Law Burned Down The Liquor Sto' by Chris Thomas, La Vie En Rose by Louis Armstrong, and Blue Moon by Carmen McRae. I want a simple cremation, but I haven't decided what I want to do with the ashes, but I'd like to have them in outer-space.

Does anyone else collect obituaries? I don't know. It's a bit unusual, but you don't see me in "unusual" places trying my hardest to "appear" unusual, i.e., at hot-topic. No matter what, from now on I am simply me.

"There are two kinds of people, those who finish what they start and so on."
-Robert Byrne

whoa, I just found this picture I drew when I was ten. It looks like a crappy eye of Horus.

Boredom is lying on your bed giving your bicep a hickey while listening to Little Walter. In a wifebeater. So when the doorbell rings, even if it's a Jehovah's Witness, you're glad for the change of pace. (I have always enjoyed talking to them and other evangelists myself.) But at the door, something even better than a Jehovah's witness...the harmonica you ordered off of ebay!

So now I can lie on my bed and play Little Walker songs and stop sucking on my arm. In a wife beater, obviously. Boredom eradicated. So I've spent the last week or so trying to teach myself Blues Harp (harmonica to you squares). I can stumble my way through a half dozen songs by now, including Popeye The Sailor Man, La Cucaracha, Home on the Range, and the Star Wars theme. I'm not putting in Steve Vai time (10 hours of solid practice a day), but I get a good 15 minutes on the bleachers before summer school starts. I'm not better than Little Walter (or even Big Walter) or Muddy Waters yet, but I'm movin' on up.

The reason I got into harmonica is because it's the cheapest instrument you can buy, pretty much. I've wanted to learn Guitar since sixth grade but never had it prioritized enough to buy my own when I had a job, and multiple requests for one for the holiday seasons have been "misplaced" as far as I can tell. I also would prefer a trumpet, which funnily enough, I already know how to play. Fourth and Fifth grade band member, HELL YEAH.

The Harmonica is a good medium for the freakin' blues I am feeling right now. I never knew the act of joining the army would cause me to lose 3 of my "friends". It's depressing in a way, but hey, some people are just temps, and don't really make the cut as a part of your life in the long run. If someone loses respect for you because of a decision you make concerning your own future, they're not worth your time.

On top of that, the uber-cute chick (equipped with cute glasses...yummy) that rang my doorbell and said she would go out with me, meant the "me" that's someone else apparently. WHY DO THEY KEEP SAYING YES WHEN THEY MEAN NO?? I dunno how many times this has happened to me...?

I ran 2 miles today in army preparation, I have a training buddy who is leaving for basic training on Monday. So now it's 3AM, and I know he's probably going to call me at 10am to go run 2 more miles. I hate running, and I hate this stupid Atkins diet. The army would be hands down, the dopest thing ever if you didn't have to run...Being an insomniac, however, is never cool.

I think I'll just sit with my harmonica in my mole-hut, and play the blues.

(Heather is hecka-dope, so go check out her blog.)

"No one will win the battle of the sexes, there is too much flirting with the enemy"
-Henry Kissinger

Mullatto is slave word/but I can't use a halo/
first Oreo US president/
In a society where you need a label/

*revisionist history mode* It can't be good to not censor myself when I write crap like this. Forgive me for being a filthy commie and not letting the record reflect reality. Workers unite! Sometimes though, reality isn't for the best. To make up for it, a picture of Teddy Roosevelt. War-hardened pimp with a mack hand all the hunnies respect, and the farthest thing from a stinking communist as you can get.


"Every good communist should know that political power grows out of the barrel of a gun."
-Mao Tse Tung