The Battleground

Setting the Record Straight: I

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 18:59:00 +0000

With the inception of social-networking onto the center stage of our culture, I have been fortunate enough to witness the clearing of trails I thought long since dilapidated, choked with the weeds and thistles of time. It is as if I am bearing witness to the happy ending of some fatuous children’s movie in which the purity of magical golden sparkles rushes and roll across the land; an incoming tide of innocence and delight, transforming a dark and wicked landscape of jagged and sinister silhouettes into a bright Technicolor world of sparrows and shiny eyed squirrels perched upon my fingertips .
In the new and vibrant world I exchange a few hundred words with persons I haven’t seen in years. I learn the fates of my fellow pawns in this cosmic game of chess (perhaps Parcheesi). We fondly recall the inconsequential moments in life, those times we smiled and laughed. We share the moments that changed us, but only begrudgingly and in a hastened pace. Perhaps, we fear that we are not the same persons we once were. The smiles and laughs less honest then they were before. Perhaps, we fear that existence has worn upon us, and only those who knew us when our edges were still crisp, our smiles still vigorous, will perceive the change. Perhaps, I’m full of shit and meandering off the topic of which I intended to address when I began this assemblage of words.
Now that people who actually know me may perchance stumble upon one of the many rumored exploits of mine that, through no fault of volition of my own, have surfaced upon the digital ocean that is the interwebs; I must address the inaccuracy of aforementioned rumored exploits.

1.) My Kardashian Tryst, Or a Tale of Three Sisters
Where the accusation of my Kardashian assignation began I know not. However, it disturbs me deeply that anyone would propagate material so deleterious to my character. Never have I cavorted betwixt the Kardashians three, lathered in Johnson’s baby-oil, squealing in sheer delight as I slid upon their plenteous curves. It is a lie, a desecration of truth, not to be tolerated. That someone would so rakishly throw me into the realm of the profane; it hurts me in a profound manner.
When I had discovered that numerous forum boards, use-net groups, and bbs systems (the latter two aren’t even in popular use anymore, but the fiend covered his bases well) had been inundated with poorly constructed Photoshopped pictures of myself in playful debauchery with the sisters three; some of these vitiate images even included their mother, I was physically sickened. When it was made known to me that similar pictures were circulating via chain e-mails, I was downright revolted. However, the worst blow was struck when I realized that these e-mails had been sent from mine own hotmail account.
Why would some ne'er-do-well endeavor at such lengths to transfigure me into some person of ill repute? I, a man of utmost purity and innocence, surely, deserve not such melodious treatment. Perhaps, the fundamentalists are correct; society is in collapse (they should be correct about something, even a clock and all).
I allowed the rumor to run its course, figuring that the attention span of our current culture would inevitably deposit it amongst the other bones of yesterday’s fascinations. Now I address it directly, lest a acquaintance of days gone past should stumble those bones and breathe life into them like YHWH in the valley with Ezekiel and think I, myself, had belied my relationship with the Kardashians; a relationship of pure and unadulterated distain and mistrust.
They are servants of the underworld, come to strike the final blow upon a grand and inquisitive species. They have come to drag us back into the dark ages, where Byzantine-esque monks feverishly burn copies of Miley Cyrus CDs, and Statesmen, fluorescent orange and chiseled abdomen prominently displayed, make it rain upon scantily clad peasants women. Where intellectuals pen discourse upon discourse highlighting the truth and merit of the Twilight saga, and denounce its assailants with the misguided zeal of Augustine himself. I shudder.

[1] See any fucking Disney movie with a princess, ever

On Islam: 1

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 18:56:00 +0000

Recently, I had a discussion with my dear-ol’ dad involving the religion of Islam. Of course, this was spurred on by the recent New York mosque proposal. My dad, an Evangelical Christian, insisted that the mosque was to be equivalent to the salt upon the earth of the conquered territory, or in other words a symbol of Islamic victory. He insisted I had to look at “what they believe” and “what the Qur’an” said. So, I; having never been one for accepting second-hand information uncritically, figured I’d crack open a few of the translations available to me, and take a skim through the revelations of the Prophet Mohammed, peace and blessing of Allâh be upon him (LOL, sarcasm).
Anyways, my dad happened to mention on many occasions that Qur’an translations attempted to smooth the rough edges of this particular revelation (kind of like Isaiah 7:14 still reading “virgin” in most modern translations), so he might be skeptical of any quotations I may put forth. I will be using the Pickthall (Muslim) and Palmer (Christian) translations, I would have preferred to use the Arthur Arberry and Sale renditions, but alas, I don’t have either. I also might throw in some quotations from the Hadith.
I make no claim to intimate knowledge of Islam, its current apologetic practices, or common interpretation; I seek to examine the words as they are, and not as this person or that envision them to represent.
This post stems from a cursory inspection so I didn’t read past 2. al-Baqarah: The Cow, but it provided enough quotes to get my point across.

[Pickthall]
62 Lo! Those who believe (in that which is revealed unto thee, Muhammad), and those who are Jews, and Christians, and Sabaeans - whoever believeth in Allah and the Last Day and doeth right - surely their reward is with their Lord, and there shall no fear come upon them neither shall they grieve.

[Rodwell]
Verily, they who believe (Muslims), and they who follow the Jewish religion, and the Christians, and the Sabeites --whoever of these believeth in God and the last day, and doeth that which is right, shall have their reward with their Lord: fear shall not come upon them, neither shall they be grieved.

[Picktahll]
87 And verily We gave unto Moses the Scripture and We caused a train of messengers to follow after him, and We gave unto Jesus, son of Mary, clear proofs (of Allah's sovereignty), and We supported him with the Holy spirit. Is it ever so, that, when there cometh unto you a messenger (from Allah) with that which ye yourselves desire not, ye grow arrogant, and some ye disbelieve and some ye slay ?

[Rodwell]
Some of the apostles we have endowed more highly than others: Those to whom God hath spoken, He hath raised to the loftiest grade, and to Jesus the Son of Mary we gave manifest signs, and we strengthened him with the Holy Spirit. And if God had pleased, they who came after them would not have wrangled, after the clear signs had reached them. But into disputes they fell: some of them believed, and some were infidels; yet if God had pleased, they would not have thus wrangled: but God doth what he will.

[Pick]
94 Say (unto them): If the abode of the Hereafter in the providence of Allah is indeed for you alone and not for others of mankind (as ye pretend), then long for death (for ye must long for death) if ye are truthful.

[Rod]
SAY: If the future dwelling place with God be specially for you, but not for the rest of mankind, then wish for death, if ye are sincere:

[Pick]
109 Many of the people of the Scripture long to make you disbelievers after your belief, through envy on their own account, after the truth hath become manifest unto them. Forgive and be indulgent (toward them) until Allah give command. Lo! Allah is Able to do all things.
110 Establish worship, and pay the poor-due; and whatever of good ye send before (you) for your souls, ye will find it with Allah. Lo! Allah is Seer of what ye do.
111 And they say: None entereth paradise unless he be a Jew or a Christian. These are their own desires. Say: Bring your proof (of what ye state) if ye are truthful.

[Rod]
Many of the people of the Book desire to bring you back to unbelief after ye have believed, out of selfish envy, even after the truth hath been clearly shewn them. But forgive them, and shun them till God shall come in with His working. Truly God hath power over all things.
And observe prayer and pay the legal impost: and whatever good thing ye have sent on before for your soul's sake, ye shall find it with God. Verily God seeth what ye do.
And they say, "None but Jews or Christians shall enter Paradise:" This is their wish. SAY: Give your proofs if ye speak the truth.

[Pick]
136 Say (O Muslims): We believe in Allah and that which is revealed unto us and that which was revealed unto Abraham, and Ishmael, and Isaac, and Jacob, and the tribes, and that which Moses and Jesus received, and that which the prophets received from their Lord. We make no distinction between any of them, and unto Him we have surrendered.

[Rod]
Say ye: "We believe in God, and that which hath been sent down to us, and that which hath been sent down to Abraham and Ismael and Isaac and Jacob and the tribes: and that which hath been given to Moses and to Jesus, and that which was given to the prophets from their Lord. No difference do we make between any of them: and to God are we resigned (Muslims)."

From, A Manuel of Hadith,
translated by Maulana Muhammad Ali [1944]:

[Pg. 252]
"And those who strive hard for Us, We will certainly guide them in Our ways" (29:69).
"Strive hard against them a mighty striving with it (the Qur'ân)" (25:52).
"And from among you there should be a party who invite to good and enjoin what is right and forbid the wrong. and these it is that shall be successful" (3:103).
"There is no compulsion in religion" (2:256).
"And fight in the way of Allâh with those who fight with you and do not exceed this limit" (2:190).
"And they will not cease fighting with you until they turn you back from your religion if they can" (2:217).
"And fight with them until there is no persecution and all religions are only for Allâh" (8:39).
"And if they incline to peace, do thou incline to it and trust in Allâh And if they intend to deceive thee, then surely Allâh is sufficient for thee" (8:61, 62).
"He it is who has sent His Messenger with the guidance and the true religion that He may make it overcome all (other) religions." (61:9).

[Pgs, 258, 259]
8 Ibn 'Abbâs reported,
The Messenger of Allâh, peace and blessings of Allâh be on him, wrote to the Cæsar inviting him to Islâm, and sent his letter to him with Dihyah al-Kalbî, and the Messenger of Allâh, peace and blessings of Allâh be on him, ordered him to make it over to the Chief of Busrâ that he might send it to the Caesar.[6]
(B. 56:102.)

9 Ibn 'Abbâs reported,
. . . And this (letter) ran as follows:
"In the name of Allâh, the Beneficent, the Merciful. From Muhammad, the servant of Allâh and His Messenger, to Heraclius, the Chief of the Roman Empire. Peace be with him who follows the guidance. After this, I invite thee with invitation to Islâm. Become a Muslim and thou wilt be in peace--Allâh will give thee a double reward; but if thou turnest away, on thee will be the sin of thy subjects. And, O followers of the Book! Come to an equitable proposition between us and you that we shall not serve any but Allâh, and that we shall not associate aught with Him, and that some of us shall not take others for lords besides Allâh; but if they turn back, then say: Bear witness that we are Muslims."

[5] These instructions were given to 'Ali by the Holy Prophet in the expedition of Khaibar, which shows that invitation to Islâm was the greatest jihâd of Muslims.

[6] This Hadîth which speaks of the Holy Prophet inviting the Cæsar to Islâm forms part of the chapter on Jihad in the Bukhârî, which again shows the wide sense in which jihâd was interpreted by Muslims. The subject-matter of the letter written is produced in the next hadîth, which should be treated as a supplement to this hadîth.

Okay, so I’ve heard it said that Islam is the religion of peace, and based solely upon fragmentary excerpts I could see why. However, I am quite positive that verse could be dug up which reflect an entirely different sentiment. Islam and the Qur’an like most religions and “Holy” books take on a variety of facades and meanings.
I could see how an Islamic person could point to numerous verses in the Qur’an condemning violence, and how Jihad can, in many circumstance, be the Islamic equivalent to the Christian “Great Commission”.
I could see how some could say Islamic terrorists of today are just ignoring the tenets of their holy book, but as I stated previously I’m sure a terrorist could point to verses which would justify his actions.

I guess the overarching point I’m getting at is that people should be weary of conclusions they draw about another religion based upon suppositions and commentary from contrary positions. Of course, contrarian opinions are important to familiarize oneself with on any given subject, but one most also take the time to review arguments of the proponent and in the case of religion the original documents. That’s just intellectual honesty, my friends, and it’s lacking in this day and age, perhaps it has always, but needn’t.

I heard it from a rather loony evangelical Christian apologist on a Youtube video once that a good Christian should never accept a quotation of a servant of Satan (by which I assume he meant a non-Christian), so I guess it would be fair to say that one should never, a priori, accept arguments against a faith by its opponents.

I hope to write more articles pertaining to this controversial religion, and religion in general once I've a had a chance to gain a fuller understanding.

Black and White

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 18:45:00 +0000

Recently my dad accused me of having no black and white; an accusation which couldn’t be more unjustified. In the following I shall discuss my personal views of black, white, and the intermediate shades which lie between.
To provide context for the origin of this discourse I shall begin by describing some of our conversation, and how the aforementioned accusation was levied against me. My dad was telling me about a study he had heard of in which it was shown that entrepreneurs (from what I gathered) without a college degree did better than those who had a degree. It was my contention that one should be weary of such studies, due to the sheer number of variables involved. Not being privy to the methodology followed by those who performed the study I had misgivings.
How many sources of effect can you think of that influence a person’s success (neglecting for the moment the need to solidly define “success” first)? Just off the top of my head I can think of upbringing, genetic dispositions, personality, and socioeconomic position. Then we have loose factors when it comes to defining a “college degree”. Not all college degrees are the same, masters, bachelors, and doctorates. Then there’s the field of study to which the degree pertains and how it relates to a person’s chosen career path that needs to be considered. Therefore, I feel absolutely justified in approaching this study critically, and skeptically (how I would recommend approaching all studies). Of course, all the information I had in regards to this study were second hand, supplied from my dad, who it seemed hadn’t actually read the findings, but heard about it on a radio program. Such second hand communication of scientific findings via unscientific outlets is, in my opinion, always suspect; there being a tendency for the twisting of conclusions and mining of quotes in order to support sociopolitical presuppositions
Upon relating my thoughts I was then charged with having no “black and white”. However, how my dad came to this conclusion is completely lost to me. In fact, it places my line of reasoning on the exact opposite side of the spectrum in which I was arguing. I have no problem viewing questions or concepts through a monochromatic lens, but only once that boundary is defined as concretely as possible.
It’s completely useless to throw about absolutist appeals this way or that before one thoroughly delineates what exactly is this way and what exactly is that. I’m not one to support solipsistic philosophies or unbridled relativism. They have no utilitarian purpose. I grant that my own consciousness is all I can know in absolute terms to exist. Perhaps, the decryption of the signals from my sensory organs by my brain isn’t an objective process. Operating on the assumption that the way I experience of the universe is untrustworthy, what questions do I ask? How do I proceed to inquire about the nature of anything external to my own cognitive process? Philosophies mired in muddled ambiguity are useless in any real-world sense.
As far as relativism is concerned, only the delusional insist upon denying that context plays an important role in how one must view any given issue.

Damn You Coffee-Pot

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 00:48:00 +0000

With a heavy heart I must denounce a certain kitchen container, damn near a reliquary to me. Oh coffee-pot how thou hast let me down. The duties for which you were designed, and I request of you are simple and two fold; 1) you are to store my beloved nourishment of the morning (and occasionally afternoon), 2) you are to transfer your precious cargo to my coffee cup. In the former I find no fault in you. However, in the second you incessantly fail me. This is especially disappointing, seeing as how I perform most of the work in this task. It is a matter of teamwork, and you my friend, are slacking.

“What have I done to deserve you admonishment?” you may ask. Well, I’ll tell you. You constantly drip coffee all over the counter-top. You have a fucking spout coffee-pot. How is it that you cannot manage to channel a liquid from yourself to another vessel when you have I appendage specifically designed to do so? I ask of you very little, and what do you give me in return? A puddle, which I must wipe up for every cup of coffee I seek to enjoy. I realize you do not sleep, and therefore cannot comprehend how easily aggravated one can be upon his revival at dawn. I make excuses for you no longer. Fuck you coffee-pot, I will smash you. I will scatter your specular fragments upon hardwood and grind them to granular white powder beneath my boot. Please coffee-pot I beseech you, do not make me put on my boots first thing in the morning (by which I mean 8-9 o’clock).

I will not suffer you incompetence much longer.

Spirituality

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 03:45:00 +0000

Why is it that people seek some transcendental meaning in life? Why are so many enamored by spirituality, and what is it exactly? Before I continue with my thoughts, I would entreat anyone who reads this to respond with their own definition. I realize that “spirituality” is a nebulous terms that means something unique to each individual.

I am no stranger to the tingling sensation of something greater. I feel it anytime I browse astronomy pictures. When I take moment and try to consider how immense, beautiful, terrifying, elegant, and chaotic this universe is all at the same time. Our universe is estimated to be 156 billion light years across, our galaxy (the Milky-Way) is 100,000 light-years across. Every time you look into the sky you’re looking back through time billions of years. Some might say it makes them feel insignificant, I’m honored.

When I read Homer’s the Iliad and realize that over 2,000 years ago the imagination of mankind was already at work, dissecting its joy and sorrow and reconstructing it in beautiful poetry. When I dig into the authors of the Age of Enlightment and Thomas Paine or David Hume reaches out from the 1700s to move me with words that ring as true today as they did in their lifetimes.

My spirituality is scholarly. I am touched deepest when I learn something new about the world, the mind, society, the cosmos and how they work. I’ve been told this is “sad”, and I fear that no matter how many books I read, hours I spend pondering, or lively discussions I have this is one sentiment I will never understand. In truth I say “my spirituality” only for poetic reasons, and the lack of a more accurate term. What some people might call their soul, I call my mind and am no less mystified for it.

For claims made of the functioning of the physical world I demand empirical evidence, for those of a philosophical nature I demand sound logic. Perhaps, these limitations enforced upon me by my own intrinsic nature will hinder me from experiencing “spirituality” as most people do. Though I’d like to think what I experience is basically equivalent to what others do, and if it is not than it is I who is sad for them.

Eternity

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 05:59:00 +0000

I’ve never understood the human desire for eternal life. I can on some level comprehend the fear of death, though it isn’t one I hold myself. However, the wish for perpetual consciousness is one that can only be made before really taking a moment’s pause to reflect upon its consequence. Yet, people throughout history have sought to prolong themselves, in one form or another, forever.

Can you imagine what it would be like to have had every thought you could ever possibly have? To truly suck the well of experiences dry? What is to be done when every occurrence is exhausted? As far as I’m concerned the limitations of one lifetime is in no way restrictive to me. Perhaps, in the end I may lament on missed opportunities, but I say that is better than to lament on no more opportunities to be had.

Time is a fundamental dimension; necessary to our comprehension of reality. What happens when it is removed? What does any given moment mean without one to precede it and another to follow? This is basically what eternity is; not an unending procession of time but an absence of time all together.

So some people might fear death. Perhaps because they think we can’t imagine it. We have nothing to measure it by; there is no personal experience to subject it to (try sleeping on it, perhaps you'll gain some understanding). I on the other hand grasp a lack of consciousness, and I would far more look forward to that then trying to beat my paddle-ball high-score of 23e+10.

The Value of Ideas

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 16:36:00 +0000

Some might say all beliefs are equal. They might say you cannot weigh an idea. They might say that there is no quantifiable attribute to a concept. They may say that anything can be true, and I say this is false. Ideas have value, and perhaps more of it than anything you can lay your hands upon. We live in a universe of cause and effect, and dogma is the greatest cause of action among man. However being the greatest doesn’t always make it great.

You cannot measure the worth of doctrines with graduated cylinders, scales, or rulers. By what then is a doctrine to be measured? Perhaps we cannot measure with numbers the cause, but we can the effect. If someone says to you “think as I think and you will be happy” should they not be happy? If they say “think as I think and you will be just” should they not be just? If they say “think as I think and you will be moral” should they not be moral? If he is, is the one standing next him? How about the one standing next to her?

Scrutinize the ranks of those who claim truth and beauty for those who exhibit revolting deceit. If you see a blanket of light with a few holes of darkness, then perhaps it is an idea worth holding. However, if you find but sparkles of light among an ocean of stormy black, then it is your duty to mankind to denounce such an idea.

It matters not how lovely a seed if all it bears are poisonous thorns.

However, more important than searching the multitudes of those who stand opposite you, is searching those who stand amongst you, and more important than that is searching yourself.

The City Market Bell-Pepper

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 03:00:00 +0000

I ran down to the local City-Market this evening for a bag of charcoals, and as I approached the check-out lane I was greeted by a single Bell-Pepper. It was perched upon the little fridge where they keep drinks, just sitting there staring at me like “sup?”

I thought, “Don’t ‘sup’ me Bell-Pepper, you don’t fucking belong here among these sugar saturated sodas, bottle waters, and fruit juices. You’re a Bell-Pepper, and Bell-Peppers are disgusting.”

I understand you may thinks that’s an awful hard stance to take on the Bell-Pepper, but I don’t give a shit. The Bell-Pepper will never fit in with beverages. When’s the last time you enjoyed a cool refreshing glass of Bell-Pepper juice? Never, that’s when. So shut your whore mouth, and quit thinking shit opposing my point of view. You’re just making yourself look stupid.

Perhaps, the Bell-Pepper was exiled by the Bell-Pepper society. Perhaps, he had a torrid affair with a Peblano and most Bell-Peppers are, let’s say, old fashioned and don’t agree with inter-pepper relationships. So, the Bell-Pepper decided to take to the road with his Peblano lover. See the world, and experience the magic it has to offer with his soul mate. They slipped away and under the plastic-bag dispenser made their plans. They would escape the bigotry of their antiquated views pepper peers, and find happiness in another aisle far away.

However, that night as the Bell-Pepper cautiously tossed almonds at the Peblano’s bin, his dreams, his plans for the future, everything he had come to live for were destroyed. It was as if his little pepper heart were thrown in a Ronco food processor and puréed into a delicious salsa to be enjoyed with nachos during the upcoming UFC 106 (Go Griffon!). The beautiful Peblano appeared from the bin’s rim, tears in her eyes, and unable to look at the poor Bell-Pepper. She would not be coming.

The distraught Bell-Pepper meandered across the white tiles, no purpose left, no friends, no where left to turn. All was lost. He looked up towards the fluorescent lights.

“WHHHHYYYYYY. Why hast thou forsaken me!?”

Then the fridge caught his eye; the ledge beckoning him, offering resolution. He clambered his way up its side somehow, not easily seeing as how peppers have no limbs, unless you count the stem, but I don’t.

Perched upon the ledge looking down at the tile floor many feet below he inhaled deep. He was afraid. He knew not what awaited him on the other side of splatterdom. He wasn’t sure he had the seeds to find out. That’s where I entered the story, and rolled him off.

Ha, ha fucking pepper. You didn’t deserve to live anyways. You were an outcast, exiled by your own people, abandoned by the only pepper you ever loved. You were a Bell-Pepper, and Bell-Peppers are disgusting. I hope you survived the fall, only to be crushed under the wheel of a shopping cart… or better yet the wheel of one of the fat-people buggies, as the beverages cheered from the shining glass home. Ha, you thought they would take pity on you? You were evicted from a circle of bums around a trashcan fire, and you had the gall to try and crash on the Queen’s couch? You deserve your foul fate.

Mike Tyson Conquers Soul of Paparazzi

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 19:23:00 +0000

Recently, Mike Tyson, was arrested for ripping out the heart and eating the children of a paparazzi photographer. Of course by “ripping out the heart” and “eating the children of” I mean punching his face, but Mike Tyson always put shit in a more meaningful way. Of course by “shit” I mean fists, and by “more meaningful way” I mean people’s faces.

Template for lens glass insertion

Seriously, I can’t think of anyone more deserving of having their snot-box smashed. Paparazzi are filth and don’t deserve any protection under law. If you’re going to run around sticking your Nikon D3 in people’s faces, then you should be prepared to swallow it. You should be prepared to have your lens glass smashed into tiny of little fragments which would then be inserted into your face to form complex geometric patterns, or perhaps fractal renderings of some sort.

The Dark Days Pt 1

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 00:25:00 +0000

The Mayan calendar is approaching its end, the dark days of Nostradamus are descending upon us, the trumpets are out my friends, and the downfall of humanity is approaching. What can you do? Cracks are surfacing on the granite countertop of civilization, ants shall soon pour forth from the aforementioned crack, so the next time you feel in the mood for a ham sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and pepper-jack cheese; you will pull forth these ingredients in preparation for the construction of a delicious lunch, but once they are on the cracked counter top and you reach into the plastic bag to retrieve a couple slices of white bread in order to begin… SON OF A BITCH! Fucking ants all up in your bread.

There’s nothing you can do to combat the collapse of civilization, it was written in the stars since the beginning of time. The seven sisters shall be stung by the savage tail of the scorpion; an eagle will then eat that scorpion while a lion serves a centaur in dance competition. No friends, you can’t stop it, but you can be prepared, and I shall lay forth the design which shall sustain you.

First, you must stock up on leather-pants, umpire padding, and weapons. Weapons of the highest priority are firearms, for they are most effective. However, rudimentary objects of daily life fashioned into instruments of death are also desirable for their virtue of style. Some examples of such objects would be; a hockey stick with skulls painted on the end, a baseball bat wrapped in barb wire with skulls painted on the end, a 2x4 with the faces of Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana cut from magazines and glued to the opposing sides of the 2x4, etc.

Second, you must have a punk rock haircut. Perhaps a Mohawk or Liberty Spikes dyed in flamboyant colors. You must also have accessories to match this haircut and the previously mentioned leather pants. Accessories such as a dog-collar with metal studs, leather gloves with skulls on them (or perhaps pink butterflies for the sake of irony), facial jewelry of dubious symbolism is a must, more skulls.
Third, you must have an appropriate chariot. Cut the top from your automobile and install a rusty metal roll-cage, or buy a motorcycle.

Once these have been obtained, you will be ready to embark upon your new life as a raider, or marauder. The Thunder-Dome is approaching my friends, and the spoils of anarchy lie beyond.

TV Gives Wrong Impression to Young Girls

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 02:59:00 +0000

I was watching TV the other day, and a commercial came on. It showed a young girl standing infront of a billboard advertisement with a beautiful women on it. Then there was a flash of dozens of beautiful women advertisements, which cut to the same young girl sitting on the couch. I found myself thinking "well bitch, if you wanna look like that sitting on the couch won't get it done". Why I called her a bitch in my thoughts I'm not sure, gut call I guess.

My point is this; girls should be pressured into being beautiful. I don't want to live in a world full of ugly. Ugly's running rampant as we speak, and that's with the social expectations and pressures we have in place. Can you imagine what would happen if we stripped that all away? If we actually convinced girls that their looks weren't paramount? I shutter to think.

Hot chicks catch breaks. Everybody likes pretty, it's makes us feel all warm inside, and if you get inside it then it's really warm, but I digress. I'll stop to help a hot girl change a flat, but little miss hog-face can pull out her damn spare. I don't even feel bad about. I might stop, roll down the window, laugh at hog-face, and then peel out. Why is this commercial trying to force young girls to grow up and suffer that fate? It's thoughtless and cruel.

I Dreamt of Death

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 17:00:00 +0000

I arose this morning from the vivid depiction of my own death. I was driving down an interstate, and there were some people on motorcycles in front of me performing various tricks. A girl with a long blonde pony-tail was riding right behind another motorcycle, within inches of it. She jumped over her handle bars so that she was standing on the back of the seat of the motorcycle in front of her while still holding on to the handle bars of her own motorcycle. Then she jumped off and ran along side of her motorcycle for a few seconds before jumping back on.

I then passed the motorcycle stunt trio and went under an overpass. Right as I emerged a semi-truck jumped the medium into my lane of traffic, and jack-knifed across the road. I slammed on the brakes before colliding with the truck, behind its front tire. I had been able to slow myself enough so that the impact what relatively minor. I crinkled my front end, but I wasn’t injured. However, I had just enough time to take a breath before something slammed into my rear.

I could hear the metal crunching, feel the steering wheel pressing against my chest, and then hear my ribs cracking under the tremendous force. My entire body was numb. The last image I saw was that of my left arm stretched across the dashboard in front of my shattered window. I heard myself struggle to inhale, the raspy and stuttered sound of air struggling to find its way into my crushed lungs is still in my head.

The funny part is that I was totally calm. I didn’t jump awake, heart pounding, but slowly passed into consciousness in this world as I faded from that of my dream. I looked at my left arm stretched across my pillow in exactly the same fashion as it had been in my dream, and smiled. Death wasn’t all that bad.

Work and America

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 16:59:00 +0000

When did so many American people begin viewing the government as an independent entity, and not as an extension of themselves? Democracy; for the people, by the people, that’s what America is. However, I hear more and more people talking about what the government owes them. The government can’t give someone anything; the government is just the middle-man. In demanding service from the government a person is really demanding something from their self and their fellow citizens, and if they are demanding something then it logically follows that they can’t provide it for their self, so in the end they’re just demanding it of their fellow citizens.

I must ask the question; what does one citizen owe to another? The concise answer is nothing. No one has an inherent duty to anyone else simply because they reside in the same country. Being successful doesn’t automatically make you your neighbor’s keeper.

The idea of a “civilized nation” is destroying our nation. If being civilized means that being weak, or unable to do for yourself, entitles you to support from those who can then lead me to my cave. If you focus on being given what you need then you neglect working for what you want.

Hard work and dedication would seem to be the sacrifice that must be made to obtain a civilized nation. Once upon a time you deserved what you fought to obtain. The only rights you truly had were the ones you struggled to gain, or sustain. We’re not born with the right to be happy; we’re born with the right to find happiness. How it was once upon a time is how it still is today; we’ve just fooled ourselves into thinking otherwise. You only have this right or that right until someone comes along and takes it away.

It would appear strange that all these advocates fighting to feed the sense of entitlement growing in this country have never worked a day in their life. Sure, maybe they crammed for an exam. Perhaps, they’ve knocked back a few Red-Bulls and pulled an all-nighter flipping the pages of a text book. I have the utmost respect for the pursuit of knowledge, and the importance of academia; however, it doesn’t make your hands bleed.

There is enlightenment to be found in a sore back after spending a day with a shovel. There’s an illumination in swollen ankles from a day of heavy lifting. The understanding of life is found in the rain and snow as it beats down on your back, and it’s absorbed when you grit your teeth and carry on in order to get the job done.

The strongest, most enduring, and respectable form of character isn’t written on any pages, I’ve searched, and appreciation of life can’t be received as a gift, only as a reward.

Adamantium to Loony Rant

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 02:10:00 +0000

The other day I was writing something, and I noticed that the word Adamantium is not in the Microsoft dictionary out-of-the-box. I was perplexed; figuring that Adamantium is pretty much a household term thanks to Wolverine. Then for shits and giggles I tried Magneto, and it’s in the fucking dictionary! Now before you physicist types fuck up the forthcoming hypothesis with your little “facts” and “Webster’s definitions”; I’d just like to say, STFU!

I’ve come to realize that Microsoft is actually a front for the Brotherhood. I must admit, the only comic book character I follow is Deadpool (<-Not in the dictionary), and have no idea whether or not the Brotherhood of Mutants still exists. If it doesn’t, the Microsoft Office developers are trying to rebuild. The developers of Open Office must be informed! Only they can stop this menace growing deep within the fluorescent lit corridors of Microsoft. The Open Office people have a stealth jet right? Be forewarned people the Office Wars are on the horizon. Personally, I’m siding with the Brotherhood of Microsoft. Fuck the Linu-X-Men; seriously. Open source software is great in principle, but it’s lacking in every other aspect. Besides, it’s for socialites, err Socialists, and dirty Commies. Piracy is the true American way! I doubt those idealistic Linu-X-Men advocate Piracy, so obviously they aren’t very American. However, Microsoft doesn’t either. Shit, we’re fucked. Join the resistance. We have to shut down these meta-human software developers before they use their powers to subvert us all to either Capitalism or Equality. This post is going nowhere. My premise for this whole thing is being adhered to loosely at best. I should rethink and come up with another draft, but when writing these blogs I go pretty much stream of consciousness. Like up there where I said open source software is for socialites; I just kept on going. We all know those big-ass rose-tinted sunglass sporting bitches don’t run Red-Hat. Paris Hilton is compiling shit. I can’t think of another one of those chicks, but isn’t programming a damn thing. I don’t care though; put fingers to keys and go, that’s how I run game. The news had pictures of some murdered transvestite on the other day and my first thought was, he’s hot. I don’t give a shit, I just write it; none of you are ever going to meet me. I’m just some weirdo with a twisted sense of humor on a keyboard somewhere. Fuck you! I don’t know why I became so irate with you just now. That was uncalled for, and I apologize, but really, we both know I don’t mean it. I never do. It’s all just an act to subdue your displeasure with me. I only make you happy via lies and manipulation. It’s better for both of that way. I find joy in playing puppet games with you, and you find joy in my nice-guy façade. Mu-hahahaha! Fools! I will kill your children!

I’m joking no I won’t. Unless I’m like 95.5 percent sure I’ll get away with it. If I’m positive there’s no witnesses, and I just happen to have some gloves, the chain from a chainsaw, a duffel-bag, and happened to be near a large body of water, sure I’ll off ‘em. I’ll choke the little bastard with the chainsaw chain, puncture any organs which might balloon with posthumous gasses, stuff his gut and intestines with rocks, stuff him in the duffel-bag, zip up the bag, and sploosh under an overcast night sky.

I kinda hope no one reads this, yet I’ll post it anyway.

Olive Garden Kills the Unhappy

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 21:44:00 +0000

The other day I was at an Olive Garden, in Cheyenne, Wyoming. I happened to notice a strange quote on a decorative black-board, which met me as I entered. It read “If you’re happily, you’re family”, and I thought, that’s a horrible thing to say to unhappy people. Then my mind laid out a rather extreme and unlikely scenario.

Let’s say for instance, a man’s mother just died. He is an only child, and his father let them when he was born. Now he’s all alone in life. His mother, whom he loved dearly, just died in a fire, while trying to save his puppy. The puppy didn’t even survive. This guy’s down and out. He’s never been more unhappy in his life. So, he decides to go to the Olive Garden for, what he hopes to be, an uplifting Italian meal.

As the man passes into the dining area, a black-board catches his eye; a black-board which joyfully high-lights his isolation. Oh, hello Mr. Frumpy-Pants, you’re not really welcome here. Sure, we’ll feed you, but honestly we won’t accept you. How could we? We don’t give a shit what atrocities have befallen you today. You’re not a part of this cheerful family. Why don’t you just head home, eat some Vienna sausages, pop a bottle of Tylenol 3s and wash it down with a bottle of Popov Vodka, and die.

I hope you’re satisfied with yourself Olive Garden. You killed this poor man. Oh yes, he took you’re advice (in my interpretation of this hypothetical situation). Now he joined his ghastly roasted mother’s corpse as maggot food.

I suggest everyone contact their local Olive Garden and complain about this travesty of humanity.

Unemployment Solution

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 18:56:00 +0000

I think it’s pretty well known to everyone by now that our nation is in economical turmoil. Our unemployment rate is ridiculously high, and I heard on POTUS this afternoon somebody said it would be at least six years before it even returned to where it was before the downturn (“somebody said”- you can’t fuck with my research skillz). Anyways, the point is, I have discovered an elegant solution to the unemployment problem, and I believe it will help with some of the other factors economic problems.

Before I get too far into my answer to our current state of affairs I would like to point out that these are desperate times. Our economy is taking a beating like Rihanna telling Chris Brown that dinner’s cold, and the dishes aren’t done. So understand I will be asking a lot of the American people.

The answer to unemployment is deceptively simple; suicide. If two thirds of our unemployed population swallowed a .45 slug it would effectively cut our unemployment rate by two-thirds (My math skills, also unfuckwitable). Think about it, the American depression rate is nearly 54 percent; according to a figure I just put in this sentence. That’s around 1.3 billion people, I guess; I’m making up all these numbers.

Let’s be honest; we really don’t need these Prozac popping drains on society. You, the Xanax zombies of the world; you can accomplish one thing to benefit our great country. Off yourself. All you have to do is flush your meds down the toilet, or sell them to some local elementary school kids (they’ll buy whatever, they’re stupid). Then, let nature run its course. You probably wanted to swing from that pole in your closet with a belt at one time or another anyway. That’s instincts. Who are our psychologists to play God? Obviously your brain is telling you that you’re unworthy of breathing, and you shouldn’t argue with that.

Depression isn’t a mental illness. It’s nature’s way of thinning the herd, since lions don’t eat us anymore, and religion isn’t killing everyone fast enough. You’re brain is telling you that you are extra weight. You are America’s man-boobs. Do everyone else a favor, and liposuction, er wait, lipo-blow your brains out all over your garage.

If you really want to help, take out some families on welfare while you’re at it. That’ll really cut back on American expenditures which show no return. Hop in that broken down piece of shit jalopy you drive, and ram right through your local Habitat for Humanity.

DISCLAIMER: Do it faggot!

Meeker, Co and teh DOW Douche-Bag

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 02:39:00 +0000

I’d like to take some time to write about Meeker, Co. The people in Meeker are some of the nicest you’ll ever come across (outsiders are their main source of income). However, the law is formed from a bunch of bitches.

While I was there my dad and I decided to hit the shooting range to buck off a few rounds. We had a fed-ex envelope as one of our targets. There was this old piece of shit couch out there that we stuck it in, and forgot to grab. Anyways, now, two weeks later a DOW douche-bag calls my pops to inform him he’s getting a littering ticket. What kind of shit is that? It was in a fucking couch. It was a little piece of trash firmly fastened to a huge piece of trash. There was trash everywhere. It was a shooting range, cans, bottles, unwanted pets, babies whose mothers had a date they wanted to go on.

I want to know how this incredibly perceptive Douche o’ Wildlife officer even noticed the damn thing. I guess when you don’t have much to do in a day you find shit like that. Then, I wondered if he really became irate upon its discovery. I wonder if he was all pissed standing out in an open canyon like “what kind of monster would defile nature’s majesty with the white cardboard rectangle of Satan? Oh, what is this? A name, well I have a surprise for you pal.”

I realize we should have grabbed the damn envelope, but come on. You can’t let one fucking envelope in a mound of shit slide?

Basically there’s two morals to this story; 1.) Don’t use shit with your name on it as target practice, and 2.) Never go to fucking Meeker, Co.

My Myspace Prank E-Mails

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 00:34:00 +0000

I thought I would share with you a few of the various messages I've sent on Myspace, in order to confuse, amuse, or maybe even discomfort people. So, without further ado here they are.

Cease and Desist (Stop Masterbating)
This letter is for sending to anybody, because the receiver needs not meet any requirements for it to work.

I have recently been informed, by many trust-worthy sources, of your habitual masturbation while viewing my Myspace page. Under usual circumstances this would not bother me, but do to the rash of unfortunate souls recently admitted to masturbation rehabilitation clinics, citing me as the primary source of their addiction, and the legal issues which have followed, I am forced to contact all persons engaging in such aforementioned activities and requesting it be stopped immediately.

This is a problem which lies heavily on my heart and soul. It distresses me greatly to think of these once vivacious beautiful women (and dude, but that distresses me in a whole different kind of way) reduced to mindless zombies touching themselves in the faint glow of computer screens. I cannot help the fact that I seem to be the solanum of sexuality, but I can issue this stringent warning; stop masturbating to the thought of me. It will take over your life; rule you like a magnificence Greek emperor. My spirit cannot take another life destroyed in my wake, but more importantly I can’t take another fucking lawsuit.

If utilization of my page for chronic masturbation does not stop I will be forced to visit the police Myspace page and send them a message detailing the situation, or possibly post a comment (assuming they accept my friendship, we’re not on the greatest terms).

Love or sincerely (whichever you prefer),
Me

I Need Advice (Wanting Stalkers)
I originally sent this post to Renee Townsend, but she never replied back. Fucking bitch, too good to reply to to her most amusing fan, well not really fan. I'm joking I'm sure she has hundreds of dirty-perve messages to delete, and my face probably fits in with the rest.

Dear [Insert Name],
Recently I’ve embark upon a quest. What is my goal? Capture the attention of various crazy people, and become harassed. I know; it seems like a strange aspiration, but I was often neglected as a child. I was the victim of a horrible accident during birth; I refer to it as the “Doctor Butterfingers-Didn’t-Rinse-The-Soap-Off-His-Damn-Gloves incident”. I suffered various learning disabilities and had a terrifying misshapen dome piece, so other children would not play with me.

However, that is not the real reason behind my need of attention. The only times I saw my mom was when she was in between “clients”, and then it was only long enough for her to tell me that I would never amount to anything and take another swig of her wine (after she dispensed it from the little box nozzle). My dad spent a lot of time with me, but he had a strange way of showing affection. He really liked playing catch, but preferred to use half-empty beer cans instead of baseballs for some reason.
I tell this story to shed light on were I’m coming from, and because I enjoy rousing sympathy from beautiful women (story works great at the club, but not so much for getting out of tickets).

I only have one direction left to turn, and it is towards the warm embrace of the world’s sociopaths.
Oh, what jubilance it would bring to my soul if I could receive just one mad-nasty picture along with a fairly detailed, yet horribly compiled (grammatically speaking), account of what its sender would like to do to my various orifices. All I ask is the occasional disturbing, hateful, explicit, unintelligent message, or perhaps UPS package containing my own hair and a short, but handcrafted letter; preferably scraped together from various newspaper clippings (magazine clippings would work too, as long as it was from Nickelodeon, Teen, or even Cosmo just to let me know the creator is really loopy).

What does any of this have to do with me, you wacko? You may be asking yourself. I write to beseech your tutelage. You seem to attract the same attention I desire, and expertly at that. It’s like you don’t even try, I am in awe of your deft ability.

I’ve tried everything. I posted pictures of myself in sexy lingerie, but the only response I receive is thirteen year-old punks calling me gay, and I’m not even gay. Admittedly, I don’t have “nice abs”, or “smooth legs” (or smooth anything for that matter), or a “killer rack”. However, my ass is alright, and my Don Johnson rugged facial hair is just straight-up sexy.

Maybe, I didn’t get the attention I seek because the pictures didn’t turn out well. I figured if I was going through all the trouble of wearing sexy lace lingerie I had to sport the matching heals. Unfortunately, it’s really hard to run in heals and my camera has a really short delay timer. Therefore, all the pictures ended up as me in a form a super-man dive, and I totally sprained my thumb three times. I won’t even get into what happened when my panty-shorts (I don’t know what they’re called not quite panties / not quite short, you know I’m talking about) caught on the edge of the coffee table.

I could go on, but I don’t want to waste too much of your time. So in conclusion, is there any advice you could offer to a would-be myspace-creepy-people victim?

I Think I Remember You (My Schnookems)
This is another one which could be sent to anyone, and most likely the most discomforting of the group.

I was browsing through Myspace today when I came upon your site, and I was struck by the most awkward feeling. Not a creepy kind of awkward feeling, mind you, just a sense of déjà vu. I’m not a crazy stalker who sits in a dark basement with boxes of pizza and gallon jugs of flat Mountain Dew. I do collect women’s hair, but that’s just so I can build a genetically engineered android to take over the world, so it’s nothing weird. What was I talking about?

Oh yeah, you triggered some deep dark memory trapped deep within my psyche. As I clawed at my temples trying to get the pain out of my skull, it hit me.

You ran over my dog!

Oh I remember well now, the way those mountain bike tires rolled over my pour little Schnookems. I just want to know. Does it haunt your dreams? Do you suffer as I? Do you lie awake at night with those tear filled puppy-dog eyes and horrified puppy-dog face floating in the darkness like an adorable little phantom? I do.

There was once a time when Schnookems was my only friend; my stoic companion who stood by my side as life rained agony and defeat down upon me; day after excruciating day. Every time I approached the brink of hopeless and stared into the abyss a little bark would wash over me, warming my soul. Not anymore.

Are you happy with what you have done? You heartless monster!

SCHNOOOOOOOKKEEEEEEEM!

And that's it. Feel free to use them, and send me any you can think up.

Pics, Video, and More?

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sat, 04 Apr 2009 15:41:00 +0000

The other day I was browsing a women’s empowerment website, because I’m all about women’s rights and liberation. Anyway, a porn pop-up shot up on my screen, and as I rushed my cursor for the close button before having to witness any objectification of women, I noticed a line of text reading “Pics, Videos, and more”. And more? What the fuck is more? MILF holodecks? Girl on girl boardgames? Erotica? Adult audio? An MMORPG. Then I thought that last one would be pretty funny.

Welcome to the world of Eroticar. Use the mystical prowess of sexual gratification to conquer your foes.

I'm a Nice Guy, Really

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 03:28:00 +0000

I messaged one of my little sister’s friends on myspace the other day (she’s 19 now I’m good to go, shut up). Anyways, I guess the message wasn’t mean, and she called me out on it; “Wow, you’re being nice,” and I get that all the time. Yeah, I’m a sarcastic smart-ass. I make fun of people, but only in good fun. If I don’t think they’ll laugh at it then I don’t say it, usually. Okay, sometimes I do.

It’s kind of disheartening to think, maybe that’s how people see me; a sarcastic asshole, with the saving grace of being able to make them laugh at themselves. I’d like to think I have more endearing qualities then that. Sometimes, I’d like to just be me, and actually connect with somebody. I can’t though because all they expect is stupidity, goofiness, and me to be generally nonsensical. When I do say something sincere or remotely kind I get “are you feeling okay,” so I feel stupid and go back to being cocky and cutting.

All I’m trying to say is; if I’m being nice to you, just enjoy it. If you make a big deal out of it, I’m going to stop and be an asshole.

Gun Control Rant

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 03:27:00 +0000

I was listening to the radio driving back from work today (POTUS, it’s one of my presets, shit I’m getting old), and they were interviewing people in Washington DC to get some views on whether or not we should send troops to Mexico.

Anyways, one douche-bag went off on gun control, and how the American people need to change their views on guns. We need to shut down all the gun stores; we aren’t cowboys anymore. All I can say is fuck that guy.Where does this delusion stem from? I guess people who weren’t around guns growing up. All they see is gun fights in movies, nine millimeters blowing up SUVS and propane tanks, or other fantasies. Beyond personal protection and mercing bitches guns are enjoyed by all kinds of hobbyists.

What really confuses is me is that even with all the shit-storms brewing in Washington, mishandled this and oversight that, some people are willing to put their safety completely in the hands of the government. Violence is capable of hitting your front door tomorrow in a lot of different forms, and personally I take solace in the ability to fire back.
I don’t want to have to stab a mother-fucker for trying to take my TV. At least with a gun I can stay out of splatter range and keep my kicks clean. People aren’t thinking of the dry-cleaning bills they will incur upon the nation by taking our guns.

Seriously, I’m not willing to put enough faith in anything to surrender my ability to defend myself. Today they take our guns, ten years from now some asshole has the capability to put cameras in our living room and posters of himself on every street corner. I really don’t think it’s all that far-fetched.

I’m no Bill O’reilly, let homos get married, let teen bitches get bleeding fetuses, promising a future of fail, sucked from irresponsible wombs without anyone narking them off to daddy, but let me have my gun.

Besides Jose and Figuardo aren’t getting their ARs and HKs from your local sporting-goods store, they bought from Heffey down at their local military outpost, or police station.

My New Gat

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 04:33:00 +0000

With a prospective assault-rifle ban looming, I copped me a new AR-15 while I still had the chance. This thing is fucking sweet. It's the DPMS LR-308. Now all need is the laser/flashlight attachment and trijicon ACOG scope. Only problem is I can't find an ACOG scope with BAC for the .308.
I've only went out and shot it once, but it was a kick in the ass. I have horrible eyesight, so with just pin-sights and no glasses I couldn't hit shit past 30 yards, but it tore the shit out of anything close enough. There's something uniquely empowering about a semi-automatic high-power rifle. It's like sexual gratification, and I'm not even a redneck.

Been a Long Time

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 04:06:00 +0000

It's been awhile since I've posted, cause I've been in middle of nowhere Colorado for I don't know how many months now with no internet. Now I've become used to not checking e-mails, myspace, facebook, posting blogs, that I don't do it even though I can.

I'm not sure exactly why I belong to all these social connect-with-your-fellow-man services. I'm not that social, and I don't promote one bit. I just kind hope people stumble across my shits, and go ohhh I like this. They never do. Fuck them though, you're here with me. That's all that matters, just you and me; as long as we have each other we can be happy. Hey, why is your cursor moving up towards your favorites menu? You best be adding me. Don't navigate away, I'm lonely. Please, stay, pleeeeaaaase. PLEEEEAAAASSEEE!
Come on, check out some of my old blogs->; some of them are pretty funny. I just deleted some of the whacker shit.
You know what? No. Fuck you, leave. I don't need you. I have a whole bookmark folder full of porno pages. I don't need anybody.

Meh

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 16:12:00 +0000

It’s been a ridiculously long time since my last update. At the moment my life is sort of an uninspiring stews complete with bland sauce and chunks of mediocrity; nothing interesting happening. However, I ended up with day watch duty for the pipeline contracting company I’m working for during Easter vacation. That’s three days of sitting in an office trailer and cruising around keeping an eye on jobsites, a wonderful banal seasoning to top off my uninspiring stew existence.
Anyways, I’ve been neglecting all my creative endeavors; as I have a propensity to do. Once again I’m in a lack of space and privacy condition which severely inhibits my ability to concoct any new material. It’s all good though, someday I release Shadow-Blades, which has been in the pre-alpha stage for almost a year now. It will be devastatingly fresh and the world will swing from my nuts as if it were dangling over a sea of molten iron.

I Lost My Edge

noreply@blogger.com (Omega) — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 04:08:00 +0000

Well, I’ve been struggling with a case of artistic constipation for fucking months now. It sucks so horribly bad. I’m getting to the point where I seriously questioning my own creative ability. For so long writing, drawing, designing, music all came so easily; now, nothing. I struggle to jot down a quarter of a verse, or stare at a big white rectangle without anything to write about. Even if I do get manage to force some topic into my brain to write about, I can’t seem to flesh it out. I write a bunch of generic bullshit, with no pizzazz whatsoever.
Fuck this, really. Fuck writers block with a frosty metal rod, and I hope it gets cold-fused to its rectal flesh, and there will be no warm water to sooth the skin peeling jerk that finally frees it. I’m thinking about hiring a muse just to kick the shit out of, and strangle with piano wire.