Pseudo Sartre

All artr is constricting. It is either pornography or propaganda. Pornography creates an illusion world a la the Matrix. Propaganda is what a military recruiter uses. This is why the best artists are unhappy - they are not free, rich, handsome, or have 12-inch horse cocks, as are present in pornography. [I, of course, am exempt from this rule.] Propagandists very rarely follow their own call to revolution. [Karl Marx's last words were heard by his servants, John Lennon died a millionaire, etc.] All power comes from points, the point where the bullet hits the bone, the point of a knife, or even the point of a novel. But if you don't have a point, then you're just speaking without thinking.

Anyway, bullshit, I'm dismantling this as I'm building it. Peace.

I Fear For The Future...

The pervisities of the future both intrigue and frighten me.

S & M. Lube. Dildos. Strap-on dildos. Double-ended dildos. Vibrators. The Sybian. Sex swings. Bonk'er Classic and Bonk'er Extreme. And porn. My God, it's full of porn! will surely be one of those comments on our society. Or, it should be.

Which makes me wonder whether the darkest imaginings of science erotica we have now will seem passe and quaint.

When will the sex industry catch up with imagination? Can they?

Imagine the future - clones, robots, genetic engineering. Hermaphrodites as fashionistas. Cloning yourself, giving mutual masturbation a second meaning. Trying to chase away robots, for fear they'll stear our women.

Which is why I'm in favour of sexual conservationism. Like what the environmentists do. Only instead of trying to preserve the beauty of Mother Earth, trying to preserve the beauty of porn stars.

Here's the thing - we enter in a sexual dark age, repression is the norm, no more porn, internet, Big Brother-esque, simply for porn. Anywhere else gets to be a bother. Of course, history abhors static, so it comes back to a sexual revolution, where it becomes freeing.

I'm just afraid the sexual revolution won't collapse and create equilibrium.

But industry marches on. And if prohibition has taught us anything, it's that people want what they want.

Is there a breaking point to deviancy? Perhaps, in the future, they'll make a category of porn so abhorrently filthy, that it devours all the other porn memes out there. Porn becomes subsumed by the sheer erotic/disgusting power of that porn meme, and it eventually collapses. People retreat from porn.

(Meme is an idea you catch like a virus. It becomes popular, and infects the consciousness. You're not the same. It spreads, like John Woo dual-handgun sequences in action movies.)

I'm looking to Japan to introduce something like this.

P.S. I vote we don't make robots with penises. They probably will take away our women. Unless they make robots with vaginas. Then we'll see. Introduce them to China, that way they don't have to keep aborting baby no. 2. Repeat until the population reaches an acceptable level, than outlaw the fuckers.

Music I'm Listening To

Jamiroquai.
Dead Prez.
Prince, From The Purple Rain soundtrack.

I download too many things. I download comics, music, movies. My life comes from Kazaa. It's pathetic. This post is pathetic. I'll end it right now.

I Am A Succesful Person And People Like Me

I'm an imaginary shopper.

When I buy something, I go in and out, boom, Mission Impossible style.

But when I don't buy anything, I spend more time in the store than ever. This is pathetic - I look at something, turn it around, then put it back. Just today, I imaginary bought a Sid Vicious action figure, a Public Enemy poster, a Johnny Cash compilation CD, and a Mozart CD.

I've rung up quite a debt. And I'm paying for it, in real life.

This is what I do when I'm bored. I'm Edward Norton before he meets Brad Pitt in Fight Club. I need to start a fight club.

That is all.

Phrases I Want On T-Shirts

"Do not pierce, or you will lose precious juices."
Got that off instructions on how to cook sausage.

"Nunchakus are not permitted."
Got that from an anime convention rules about cosplay. That's when people dress up as their favourite anime character. Like Star Wars, but on a much wider scale. That's for my next t-shirt, which, I think, works well in public, but especially in the context of anime conventions:

"Silly rabbit, dress up is for kids."

"Destroy all who oppose you."
"Stop him!"
"Mwa ha ha."

"Fred
Unger
Can
Kill
You"

"Free Kittens
Call 1-876 - 555 - 4321"

"Imprison your mind."

My Battle With Distraction

I hate writing about writing, but I hate you too, so you're gonna read this.

Okay, my life is a constant battle with distraction. I have to fight to read smart books. Not watch downloaded episodes of Trailer Park Boys. I have to fight to write this blog, or come up with ideas about magic/futuristic societies divided by sex on a planet that's split in half. Not go to websites I've checked for the five billionth time. I have to fight to think about issues that have plagued man since the beginning of time. Not try and look up information on the Wildcats. [Like what I'm doing right now, as I'm writing this blog.]

By the way, now that I'm on the topic of cartoon trivia, there are two cartoons that I remember from my childhood. And by remember, I mean two scenes.

The first one was (I think) a Hanna-Barbera cartoon, in which the Earth is split in half, like it was cut with a knife, when a meteor hits it. It's post-apocalyptic, and that's all I know.

Oh, I figured out that it was Thundarr the Barbarian. Designed by Jack Kirby. I must get this on a t-shirt or some kind of merchandise before I die. This is pure unfiltered nostalgia crack-cocaine, straight from the Afghanistan that was the 80s. I may or may not commit a crime to get this shit.

The second one's theme song ended by showing all these guys in armor falling into some lava.

I was supposed to write more, but I got fixed up in looking up old DiC Entertainment cartoon shows. No more NITS for you.

I lost this battle, and hope I won't lose the war. Against distraction.

I Think I Saw A Pimp, Coming Home From Church

He wore a white suit, pimp cane, European style man-purse, white fedora, white dress pants, white t-shirt, and bling with a cross on it. He was swaggering.

Either he was a pimp, or he wanted to be.

I favour the former, because it's the better story.

What was the last movie that offended everyone? I'm curious. Michael Moore doesn't count, because he was just confirming what lefties thought they knew.

You Gotta Admire Smokers...

Smoking creates comrades in death. Sure, you'll probably die of lung cancer early on. But these smokers seem to have quite a lock on social interactions.

There are only two things strangers ask me for: smokes and spare change. Oh, three. Today, in a cheapo grocery store, this woman did the ol' "Excuse me," routine, society's head's-up that a stranger wants to mooch of you.

I was about to whip out a "I don't work here." I usually wear a white dress shirt and tie. I thought she thought I worked there.

Then it turns out she wanted me to get a plant that she couldn't reach.

So, back to people asking me for cigarettes.

"Hey man, got a smoke?" said a stranger.
"No."
"Oh."
A pause.
"So why did you think I smoked, anyway?" I queried.
"No reason." He got off.

Now, why don't people do that for more shit in life? Like, "Hey man, got some food?" I'd be much more willing to give a homeless guy food. You know, I can probably think that he's gonna buy some beer with change. But, you know, the essential problem with the homeless is that they rely strictly on human kindness, which was bought out in 1973. We need to see results. I mean, every charity in the world gives you a picture of the starving African family you get out. You get to see what you're doing.

But of course, with costs and advertising and all that, you essentially have to pay the middlemen. This leads to extraneous costs, and otherwise failures.

With direct begging, you cut out the middleman. There are also thousands of potential sales peoples, all working on commission, all working for free, all highly motivated.

But with direct begging, you don't get the organization and something to show for it.

Now, what I'm proposing is that the charity's hand out a homeless information/set up package.

Basically, this package is basically a clipboard, a sign, and a pen. This organization assigns the homeless a number, and a background check. On this sign would be a mark of approval.

Now, here's how a transaction would typically go:
Rich Guy: "Oh, that poor fellow! He had his legs blown off in the Gulf War trying to save an Iraqi orphanage. If only there was some way I could help that poor man."
Homeless: "Do you have any spare change?"
RG: "Why yes, Mr. Homeless, indubitably. Shall $2 be satisfactory?"
Homeless: "It shall indeed, sir."
(Rich Guy hands him two dollars.)
RG: "Well, shall I have my tax deductable receipt?"
Homeless: "Oh, you may sir."
RG: "May I have your backstory..."
Homeless: "Oh yes, sir, comes guaranteed, written on the receipt."
RG: "Oh, okay, I was just checking. That's how it works."
Homeless: "Indeed, that's how it does, sir. Anyway, here you go. All set."
RG walks, then turns around.
RG: "My fellow, I hate to be of an especially suspicious nature, but pray tell, what were to happen if you were to spend it on drink, or drugs, specifically of the sort that one injects into one's eyeballs?"
Homeless: "Oh, not a problem a bit, sir. You see, the organization I work with is quite stringent about budgeting my income. If I do not report back to them with a receipt for every cent I have earned, I lose my licence. And believe me, once you lose THAT, it's quite difficult to get it back, even if you were Lord Wellington himself."
RG: "Ah, yes, well, good day."
Homeless: "Yes, good day. And may I remind you sir, always go for the accredited homeless."
Fin.

Oh, and by the way, the joke about "I'm spending it on weed, but at least I'm honest" sign gets old. Seriously. Metafiction is dead...and we have killed it! Behold, I teach you the metafiction! It is this lightning...it is this madness.

The Problem With Vaginas

Penile insecurity is rampant in our society. Spam in our e-mail boxes. "All natural" cures infomercials late at night.

Now, the reasons for this are plentiful. Porno thugs with penises nearly as big as mine. There's a whole other list of reasons for this, but I'll offer up another theory as to why penis fear has always been going on. Fear that the other guys are bigger than us, fear that we are small. (I don't call this insecurity because insecurity is too psychological a term. Not strong enough. After all, we live to fuck. If we woke up with a harem and food and a bed and a place to poop and a tv, we'd be happy. We wouldn't leave that room, ever.)

It's the vaginas. We don't know how huge they are. I'm not a gynecologist, but I'm guessing that for some women it's a sliver of a pinprick, others it's the Grand Canyon. We can't exactly shine a flash light in there and explore around. Unless that's part of how kinky you are. We have to guestimate.

So, we're left in the dark. But women, you can change this. Give us a gauge. Tell us if it's all the same. When you're masturbating, try and see how far it goes. Or, if I'm wrong, and it's all basically the Marinas Trench only wider down there for each and every women, tell us. At least that way we'll know. You can even do it with hand signals. For the left hand, pick a finger. Pinky for the smallest, then index, then ring, then middle. On the right hand, with your index and thumb, show how big it is.

And women, I know we ask a lot of you. Thanks for wearing shit that's uncomfortable, do things you normally don't want to do, for mostly us. Hell, even if I find it unattractive, I still gotta admire the girl with the rolls who wears the belly shirt and the thong showing.

But, if you do this, we'll know what kind of drilling we have cut out for us. If it's really small, we'll try not to reach up to your mouth. If it's large, we'll drill you so hard it'll make those 500 foot oil rigs seem gentle.

Really, a relationship is based on communication. That's what it's all about.

And really, anyone in a combat situation will tell you you need to check out the terrain before you go charging in.

A Parody

There is a time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven.
A time to give birth bloody and screaming, and a time to die bloody and screaming; A time to make nice things, and a time to destroy things with bats covered in barbed wire.A time to punch people in the face, and a time to heal from face punches; A time to kick ass, and a time to have thine own ass kicked. A time to watch Holocaust movies, and a time to watch Clint Eastwood movies; A time to listen to Handel, and a time to listen to N.W.A. (Specifically, Gangster, Gangster) A time to throw stones at police, and a time to gather stones to eventually throw at the police; A time to get drunk with a friend, and a time to tell your friend to go fuck himself up his ear with a hammer.A time to search for a condom, and a time to give up as lost; A time to discuss modernist theory, and a time to discuss fingerfucking. A time to be silent, and a time to speak.A time to love anime, and a time to hate anime; A time for getting medievil on some punk motherfucker's ass, and a time for chilling wit' yo homies and/or bitches.

There is no time for watching reality tv, though.

Met A Cute British Chick

Cute British chick, all alone, no friends in the world.

Unfortunately, didn't get no play but it was our first day so what the hey.

Should've sealed the deal. I was chatting her up, brought her roses.

Drank a White Russian for the first time. She was a cool chick.

Dealt with everything as cool as cucumber.

Back To School

Lots of stuff to talk about. I'll try and make it quick.

Moved into Neil-Wycik - an apartment slash residence for students. I have filled out a maintenance request form for a new lamp, new desk chair, a paint job, walls that allow posters, a dishwasher, and a new room, and two lightbulbs. For the living unit, I have requested that a dirty bean bag type chair be removed post-haste, and that four lightbulbs be installed, to replace the three empty ones, and one funnel type fixture made out of paper.

That was yesterday. Today, I have received the light bulbs.

Woke up early to get tickets for the Toronto Film Festival. I will see Dave Chapelle's Block Party, Tideland, Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, and Everything Is Illuminated (I thought Oldboy was good except for the ending...see it to believe it. Let's just say, the revenge this guy gets on this guy gets good.) So hurray for that.

Got there at 6:42, got the tickets at 9:30. That was fun.

Oh, and how's this for a coincidence? That girl I dated, the relationship that's gone from dead to undead to living back to dead again? After four months of no communication (on both our parts) BAM! First store, first day back in Toronto, a comic book store, of all places, I see her.

Because I am a pussy, I waved to her. Then I hid upstairs.

I am going to Hell. I am going to burn, I am going to have my teeth pulled out of their sockets, lit on fire, and pushed through my eyeballs, while twelve demons take turns shitting on my nose, and lubeless demons ass rape me through my penis hole.

It will happen my friends, oh yes. Because I am a bastard pussy. I could've said "Hi," or anything else, but I ran. And God hates cowards.

Anyway, I wish I'dve handled that better.

More later.