Loose Cannon Catalogue

New Entry

Wed, 28 Jan 2009 16:14:40 GMT

New Year, new Entry. That's the way to do it. I'm in Amsterdam for six months. The larger preoccupation that must more or less cut through most of my time is, how else, a job. I have never held one. Minimum wage style selling of comestibles it is then.

I am looking up opportunities to work with psychiatric patients (real ones, not caricatures, of which I have had the misfortune to meet quite a number of times) and to simply talk to them through volunteering. A buddy program, basically. I'm seeing a psychiatrist with a mustache like that of a bloody walrus. A lovely man. A lovely plan.

I thought I was going to build houses in Tajikistan, but it might actually be in Ghana or Romania, and my English lit. and phil. degree (the one I'm working towards) is slowly moving to something more socially conscious. Perhaps for the better? Increasingly! Yes, I, as a man, dearly miss Sierra. Yet, I, as a man, dearly missed many opportunities for time to do these things. So these things will align my miscellaneous coordinates to this simple task of life.

Fuck, I remember why I hate diaries, agendas, and organizational tools.

Wed, 12 Dec 2007 19:24:52 GMT

It doesn't matter how apathetic you are, what you will be doing, what the sights will be in ten, twenty years. Most of what we know about our environment now will be irrelevant then, rats on a sinking ship. Citizens of the sensational overstated politik, religious persecution, the ADHD lever rising with the seas. No one can really escape the overdue notices of melting ice in the Arctic or how impossible really it is to imagine 300 million environmental refugees. Even presenting the problem as long term seems to distract people from noticing the little unusual changes in climate that seem more and more alien. Global warming will destroy my country. What about that? Parliament in the Netherlands just posted a bill raising the defences against the sea. But the projections keep getting closer to the present, it matters it matters, don't turn your head to it aim for a career. Then peak oil, hopefully hitting us before the sea. Scenarios for a dooms day. I'm sorry, it's happening now, and if we don't care, which we don't, well.

Let's just say that we'll look to days where everything happens as usual. They will. Until the next Katrina, until the next quake with rising sea levels, tsunami breaches and things.

This Country

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 22:20:54 GMT

is Sick.

Can't help thinking I'm better off not bothering to read the news. No, I won't link news stories about decapitations in Iowa, or three men holding a woman as a slave in Virginia, or another corrupted story debating the immaturity of Americans on the whole in this pointless, pointless country. So the point being that this nation was created in equality, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness replacing fraternity is proved when you see the other guy get your certificate in the legacy of some white lie. Then, when the banks crash, the yuan is adjusted to compensate.

In 2004 I was exchanging emails with Ian Lavsky of Constellation Records (GY!BE,ASMZ,DMST) about the (un)justified feeling of resentment towards the prom dance America has become. I can't pin point verbatim, I lost those emails once I left school in Ams., but this nature of profiteering and resulting identity fucking has something to do with what he said.

"The entirety of this social madness is based on collecting the next paycheck, rubbing each other in cracked gazes and finding the next brightly colored object" or something along those lines.

I'm not sure whether the assumption is compromised free market capitalism or whether it just comes off from the belief that individuals are all we have now. Neither are great or the basis of an integrated culture based on flexible values that make worth of individual and collective effort. I'll end my generalizations here and continue with Epicurus on atomic effluence.

/end rant

My Anxieties Don't Do Any Justice to This

Mon, 29 Oct 2007 13:42:27 GMT

I've never been this happy before.

But

True: I've been happy
True: It's too beautiful for words.

Always there, always amorphous and free.

Sinds 19/09/07.

I'll say Yes now to years ahead, everything's possible now.

Calling ALL PRETENDERS

Wed, 13 Jun 2007 12:50:35 GMT

Write me. Or face the consequences of justice before her majesty the Queen, King George III. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.

MURILLO STRAAT 8 I

1077 NE

AMSTERDAM THE NETHERLANDS

Admittedly, I don't have too many friends, and I don't care to have too many. This may result in losing "face" ( I am an eighteen year old male) and the possibility of destroying contacts that will get me "places". I cannot pretend to not be bothered (double negative) by this, but as such (in this moment) I hardly care. Therefore, write. Write for the president, write for the janjaweed write. Write for the kid with the phone who refuses to write. I don't care what you say, I'm inviting you anyway.

Sensitive Keypad Cabbage-Desire Grill Machine Mustard Sauce Rant

Fri, 01 Jun 2007 12:06:21 GMT

Walking outside I found a little medaillon. Outside of a phone store, by a bench. "Republique Francais 1808" with a Romanized profile of Napoleon Bonaparte. I recognized the style, a Neo-Classicist approach to the new and "free" First Republic. Not only did France try and become a classic democracy, it tried to mimic many different styles of Republican Rome. It reminded me of the Holy Roman Empire as well where the Emperor allowed every sovereign to make coins in their principalities. Not principalities, states. Mimicking Rome throughout history has brought similar fates to the decline of nation states, similar to the downfall of republican Rome. America! There was an article on the privatization frenzy in the States that was compared to the last days of "democratic" Rome in Vanity Fair. Unperceivable. The creation of dynasties though in the last twenty years (cemented with the almost unlikely election of Hillary Clinton) would make that reality a walking joke. Then there will finally be a day. How would an American dictator sound? Julius, Augustus, Solon, especially with the senate still in place it would hardly make much of a difference as it is. Presidents...the presiding authority. The ultimate call in a country's affairs. How about that veto power?

Okay, this is impossible. I've overlooked the significance of finding a commerative coin of the first republic on a personal level. A coincidence. But then something. I think. France! J'comprende pas! Dass kann ich besser in Deutsch aufsprachen. Monkeys have similar reactions to coins with mirrors embedded on them. Not simple mirrors, reflections of other things as well. If these mirror coins existed and fell out of the sky (as RF 1808 did) researchers, locals, and park guards in Africa would wonder at the resounding shrieks and yelps coming from the forests.

I've kicked the medications. Better to be a twitchy and perceivable human being with feelings than an automatic tired robotic thing with less life in it than an orange. Lots of oranges live, and I did too on lithium and seroquol. But then again, it was more of the same. Stop kidding myself. It is almost close to eigth grade. What's next? A job, a little bit of travel. Basic. These months will go by fast without something to be busy about. Writing letters is not a job. Neither is it an accomplishment. But it is as it is. An affectionate transmittal.

Tattoo: Art-deco/Greek owl on right hand shoulder with the first lines of Beowulf.."Hwaet er gardena in geardagum" or just "Hwaet!"(Hark! or Lo! Listen well! Depending on whose translation you read. Seamus Heaney does it well: "So.") Catching up on academically innapropiate reading.Feels like I've let off where I stopped ages ago. A year. Academically innapropiate in facing seminar books that have nothing to do with what I'm reading now. I'll never pierce anything, but a tattoo seems pretty important. All of a sudden, especially what I've been thinking about. Nothing too big or too grand. Hwaet!

disease

Sat, 12 May 2007 23:06:10 GMT

Bad karma not to.

Leave a comment and I will...

1 - Tell you why I friended you.
2 - Associate you with a song/film.
3 - Tell a random fact about you.
4 - Tell a first memory about you.
5 - Associate you with a character/pairing.
6 - Ask something I've always wanted to know about you.
7 - Tell you my favorite user pic of yours [if it pertains].
8 - In retort, you must spread this disease in your LJ [or blog].

Yeah. That.

Mon, 07 May 2007 20:33:07 GMT

That I would be good.

Alanis Morissette, "That I Would Be Good."

Mania 3: Depression in the Early 50's

Sun, 06 May 2007 22:32:14 GMT

Happy, in a delicate way. Amsterdam is looking more and more beautiful every day, there hasn't been a drop of rain in two months, the average temperature is 20 degrees Celsius at midday, and everything has bloomed already, resulting in a rather peaceful interim summer that swells and blows over. Winter in the Berkshires from photos on Facebook. I couldn't tell the difference between a landscape in May or October from them, save the obvious clothing differences. The weather is kind of...gentle here. In a rough way. What am I talking about? The weather. Unkept promises spring forth blah.

Just to get by from one moment to the next, and then I won't have to worry about no more. Darn tootin'. I've spotted my old Wicca books where they stacked my books into neat little piles to save in space. They looked really attractive. One's green and black, the other blue on white, with little post-it notes sticking from the pages where I diligently laid my mind to ritual and ceremony. The athame, the coven, the sacred festivals. All fresh and balanced. Recall, recommunicate, reorder. Cleansing. Go back to the farmer's market on saturdays to collect herbs and spices for recalling. I've never lost my faith, I think. It was always there in some form. Just caught up in the travails of another honest life from one other honest life. That's what I'd like to believe. Rekindle the old innocence. Get my hands on some new crystals, forge a ring out of old keychains. But above all, detoxing my body from things and meditating. Get in touch with the Pagan Club at SR.

Somehow something like this is really important. I've always been spiritual. But in no other distinguishable way than in this. See what comes out of the new faith. Hm. Maybe I need religion anyway.

Fri, 04 May 2007 23:28:19 GMT

But everything in my head changes so fast. I can't decide. What is there to decide in the first place? Oh fuck me. Sleep is good. Self-destructive manic cycles are not. Especially ones that go on about actual things. I should stick to candy canes and magic ponies.

Mania 2: Interesting Thighs, Suburban Nightmares. Creepy Truths. Awful Histories.

Fri, 04 May 2007 23:23:42 GMT

Tonight I'm writing a particularly long journal entry. This is not about myself, or about assessing things in general. Just to write. Just to let myself know. So here goes. Nothing too pedestrian, I hope. An account of day today activity would bore anyone, so I'll rise above that. Whatever that is. Whatever what is? I am neither relaxed nor happy, rather desperately clinging onto the last figment of reality. Things have been so surreal lately. It makes me reconsider what I take for "real" even though posing that question on myself would certainly not make this any better. Dreams, for example, of likely scenarios where the only thing that is wrong with the picture is an empty bottle in the fridge. Something is catching up to me fast, and I have no idea what it is. It's like the typified behavior of an eighth grader. Or maybe just me looking back at myself and superimposing past events on current ones. I don't know. Being off Prozac is also terrifying. Anxiety, depression, the whole thing keeps on coming back at me like a wild dog at the chase. No guns or trumpets here to call off a rabid part of me to strain the concentration of the hunting party. In a way this is a perfect analogy: parts of me on horses, chasing the fox, parts of me dogs, restricted by this superficial amount of control exerted by the horse bound characters. My new medications scare me more. Lithium, and Seroquol, the first supposed to stabilize moods and episodes of randomly induced mania (also supposed to reduce the risk I've had with hallucinations, but...) and the second a smooth, cool anti-psychotic. I said the first was supposed to stop me hallucinating, but it does not. Things out of the corner of my eyes, random blue spots, flashing lights, people in black suits. It's incredible to see what a mind can come up with when it's left to its subconscious devices. I guess I might be in a tight fix. Everything is not okay. I don't need emotion status reports from back home (that's what it is now) to tell me it is not okay either. Fuck all of you people. Basically. But not for very long, and there are two or three people who are excluded from this sweep. I don't need your baggage. Can't handle it next to the pills. Small doses, maybe.

On that note I realized something else coming back to my family. Before I lost half a mind I was actually a kind of invisible rock supporting the beams and balances of every single family member that tried to cross paths and ties with each other. Trying to fill in the gaps. My grandfather told me to not risk becoming a kind of father to my siblings or a replacement husband to my mother. Disgusting, but it is what happened. I guess. A protective response. Not unusual in some countries. Fucking horrible for my part. Nothing to be done; there's too much to consider. Then there's that, and this, and all of these things. My stepmother with brain cancer, dead in the next year and a half, despite all the clean scans. And then the bright lights, and the ambulance. A funeral, my dad will break down. Unable to work. I'll work. It'll work. It'll all work. Out. Right. Everything will work out. Right. Right. Fuck.

Here's my remembrance day gift to the world. A tablet of seroquol. Tales of Oedipal behavior in oldest sons. Bohemian shit. Nevermind the originality, save it for church. Wear a hat and nevermind the consequences. Never to be discovered in our conversations. That's the way it is. The best things are free. I'll accept no alternatives. Maybe mastercard. Or american express. No. Protractors. Safety. Wonder. Hope. Prozac. Coffee. Cigarettes. (Teal. Bread. Tea. The Te.)

Language, you suck.

I can't get it out. I can't wonder what she thinks. It's beyond me now. Too much to consider. All those little things. Afraid of posting things. Keeping him in close check.

I don't need it. I quit this game a week ago. Sewn eyes and mouth shut to this. Now I write about mania, and tobacco. I find these things less than agreeable, but at least they keep me intact. If I ever were.

Boxes of cats,
People with Taz tattoos,
Explosive personalities,
Self-centeredness,
Protractor from your new geometry set,
Inability to do math,
Geography.

"Polaroids of Polar Bears" - Alexisonfire

So fuck, whatever. Whatever that means. Ill borne to define that.

Mania 1: Brain on Brain Action.

Thu, 03 May 2007 20:45:31 GMT

I hate polls. I can't stand them. They are a presupposition to gauge the behaviour of an individual, transfixed on the heavenly canopy of social groups. Boo! I am Edvard Much, the crazy eyed schizophrenic who went ballistic on his canvas one summer day. He fixes us a drink, my dear, don't bother him. Don't bother to drink, don't bother to binge. I'm out of cigarettes, lovely. Cop us one then eh ? Night's are cold, the winter's left us but the chill eats at our hearts. One person, One keyboard, one mind to mind over to bother . No poking. This current state of mind never bothered me. Edvard Munch. That's an awfully real gun. No danger. I have never been a danger to myself, this warms me . The summer is coming with it's violent streamers and long drawn sheaths and swords. "Scrape yr knee, it is only skin. I love you truly or I love noone". Lyrics in a sentimental song about hate love relationships by ms.newsom.

Back to realistic measures. The scream is a portrayal of angst in its final stage, the abject rejection of form, where we cannot dare turn back to our brothers and sisters. There was a quote that would have been appropiate here were it not for me forgetting the damn thing. Stupid poor bastard...smeagol. Smeagol, lowly beast. Nothing for you here. Be gone with you. What are you doing here? I am everything and nothing you have previously imagined. There is no time for regret now, or considering mistakes or even thinking of ways out of this mess. There is no way out, sir. Brains. Brains. This is no bum rap. This is a guy wearing a Hilfiger polo in front of his mac typing furiously while trying to not gettting distracted by his IM's and cigarettes. Or sheltered situation resheltered situation, a safer disposition.

He might run on for a long time, run on duckin and dodgin. Run on..

It's alright.

View Poll: Level of Sanity in Cookies

in defense of simpletons, vagaries of vagueness.

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 20:24:44 GMT

If I were one, I'd be asking why. As long as someone has not asked themselves what a meaningful and productive life constitutes, there should be no question that they are not simple in understanding. Or so it goes. As far as argument, anyone is simple as long as they accept a particular common pattern or category that imposes itself on everyone else. A job, a hobby, entertainment, a house, a pet, a fence, a pocket full of secrets, a bland and accepting demeanor, an outlook on things that is mere temporary restitution on a particular loss. There are a lot of simple emotional losses in a simple life, with the relations between one family member and another trespassing onto another only in the event of a disaster.

Hypothetical. Untrue. Unwanted. Unheard of. In terms of simpleness, a vulgar kind of distaste for self-development. No? The little details always take me off guard. I couldn't put them down either, they held me locked.

Not being particular in a discerning kind of way, not mentioning the lists and places of the ordinary things may seem a little frustrating. It could pain me if it weren't so personal. If I were more sure of myself, which is a typical state of mind that abbreviates any kind of argument into "I don't know", then I would maybe venture to do more abrupt things. Argh.

Not quite there.

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 23:55:12 GMT

There's more to be said. Whatever that is I'll have to figure it out soon. There's no sense in leaving off where I could take some sort of clarification to new heights. That sounds revisionary. I'd love to master the art of implication, where by words by themselves have little to do with their intention. Suggestiveness. It is a word as simple as any other when understood. Coupling clauses to imply a kind of undertone or weight. Imagining you're a super hero is worthless once you can convince someone you are by argument. I mentioned in an earlier note that I might be insane, but that's ridiculous.

Last night several kids barred our room with recycle bins and garbage cans. Both doors. I caught them the second time. There was no intention, it was.."a secret plan gone horribly wrong. Honest!". I'm pretty sure I could be disliked by a couple if not several people, especially those who claim no grudge but roll around in a nominal state of "apathy". I manage to stay low mostly. A lot quieter. The little permutations and differences in restlessness between one and another. Such is life in Kendrick.

The first thing I thought when I came back here was "AAARGH WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE, THIS IS NO PLACE FOR ME. WHAT PLACE WOULD THAT BE? GRUMBLE." She made it perfectly clear where I was. I just wish I wasn't so awkward. I guess that letter had no place in time to be stuck in.

I do not know myself.

Born yesterday with the sun in my eyes and the wind in my cheeks

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 22:16:51 GMT

It might do me some good, after all. The current state of mind is edge. The next and former states of mind are irrelevant. Continuing to discount the mundane details of a little life, something I've done throughout my own. If and only if I could grab onto something that does make sense. So tomorrow I have an appointment with my neurologist, Dr.Knepper. I was casually informed by her office yesterday (by snail mail) that they had no intention of scaring me, since they were looking for a colloid cyst during the EEG and MRI scans. A cyst is something to be scared of. Not knowing what they were looking for is comforting though. A little background story is appropriate here. For most of my life I've had headaches, growing more and more severe as I grew up, coupled with stomach aches, morning sickness (and plenty more intermittent fits of nausea), and depression.

At the time I was treated for ADHD with Ritalin as well, but more on that later. I didn't think that was wrong, people feel bad all the time physically and mentally, and a kid like myself at the age of ten could hardly read the DSM journals or ask if anyone else had it. I had problems enough with my self esteem crying over math and speech problems. When Health Services prescribed me Prozac for anxiety related issues that developed mostly during the first month or so at the Rock (stress related, I guess, maybe this country), I was every bit relieved that some of my headaches were receding as well. As some of you may presuppose though, I have always been slightly at a loss for words, or strange in any sense.

No matter. So when my headaches were intensified a couple of months later (probably stress again), I saw health services. I briefed them on my symptoms. "You have seizures. We'll get in touch with a neurologist." According to the scans, which only looked for possible physical deformations or neoplasmic growths, I was an average human being. So I started taking, in conference with Dr.Knepper, a fancy new drug named Naproxene. It seems to be working, though I always feel like there's something crawling under my skin and scalp. Once again, a small matter. Let's rewind, there are more symptoms here. So a couple of months back, I start smelling things that should not be there. I ran out of Prozac one day and spent a night seeing figures clad in black dash across Kendrick lawn ( they're not there, they take too short a time to dance and skip and jump against the will of gravity, they were disgusting), or hearing laughter in the woods where there would usually be nothing (even at that time of night). I wasn't scared. I enjoyed most of it, kind of interesting. Seeing things out of the corner of eyes is something I've done all my life anyway, or in chunks of it.

For instance just now I saw someone walk towards the library maybe 300 meters from where I was, and five seconds later they're reading a magazine in the reading room, right next to me. There's very little that could scare me, truthfully. But that is just...I don't know. But of course I do, and smelling coffee in the middle of the night out of nowhere doesn't comfort me either. It's all minor though. Nothing like a Kool-Aid man jumping out of the closet screaming he needs volunteers for a cakewalk on all of Jupiter's moons. I'd probably say yes to that. Onto other things. So I'm seeing the neurologist to discuss what I've seen and heard that don't follow the Cartesian dialectic. I might end up in another machine, getting scanned for things I don't have.

Another bright new beginning.

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 10:25:08 GMT

Hello folks,

I'm posting a developing course program for yr scruples and questions, and hopefully yr learned advice. It seems a little out of balance, paritally cause I'm pursuing the idea that I should develop an area of interest in languages and a social science. K, here goes nothing:

FYS Vechhio (or Filkins) TR 12:30-1:55
Gender, Culture, and Society MW 2:00- 3:35
Accelerated Beginning Latin MW 10:30-11:25 & TR 10:30-11:55
Introduction to Linguistics MWF 1:00-1:55
possibly philosophy 101...

...and then I have to take math 099 (can anyone help me out with what takes up in the schedule?). i would like to take a year long course in science next year, 'stead of this year, something organic. maybe mycology? I've often thought to myself: "this is a flight of fancy, pieter". heh, advise?!