Dream # Two

The world was ending. Something cataclysmic had happened, and now it was too cold to grow the crops needed to support modern society. I had met a girl from real life (who I had and to some degree still have a rediculous crush on) and we were slowly starving/freezing to death. Finally, we realized that the only option for survival was to move south. We eventually reached a structure populated by a few hundered people, many of whom I recognized. Over the weeks, the girl and I were seperated as we assumed our new roles in this commune, until one day I decided that I desperately needed to ask the girl to marry me (my sleeping mind doesn't make very rational choices) under the assumption that we wouldn't be around much longer anyways. I went to the leader of the colony to find where she was living in the building (and here's where the dream becomes nightmare). He told me that she had hung herself several weeks ago, on April 4th. Apparently, she had learned that her parents died trying to reach the colony. I went to her room, and saw the rope hanging from the ceiling,. the most horrific part of the dream, however, was that I never actually saw her body, and as I woke up I was running frantically throughout the building attempting to find her, not sure if she was truly dead.

Perhaps the most strange aspect of this whole story is how I was woken up. It was a jehovah's witness saleswoman knocking on my door.

My dog has Cancer

When you approach from further away

she looks... swollen... overfed... pregnant

but then you start to notice the signs

the spine set apart from the body

the angle she holds her head,

it suggests resignation... defeat.

You come closer still and

she lays down on the tile

trying to keep her failing body cool

The tumors press hard against her lungs

and with each breath her ribs must stretch

far beyond their original design

They look almost like gills

And I fantasize that she has

become a fish ready to find water

but that's a silly thought.

You feel her frame and notice

how her cells are eating what food remains

trying to replenish the blood leaking from her spleen

those little nubs on her ankle

are little more then empty sacks now

a further reminder of how far she has fallen

she used to be so fast-

and now she can't even manage

to walk, at least without panting

when that happens, she looks happy.

She is five years old

and this cancer is as random

as the force that gave her life

that little mutation that killed her

no different then the ones that birthed her

a chaotic sequence of tragic events.

something for the GWJers

This picture describes what it can be like playing LoL with a certain someone. There are positive and negative attributes here.

The American Meat Eater

Over the last 200 years or so, roughly since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, a curious transition has occurred. The majority of western nations' populations have shifted from being producers to consumers. Along the way, we have lost our utilitarian value. We are no longer necessary for civilization, just people who buy and sell the (mostly unnecessary) items that others create. To subvert a common aphorism, Humanity is expanding to meet the needs of the expanding Humanity.

All this extra baggage has precipitated a change in the way basic necessities are created for distribution to the teeming masses. The assembly line method of production established by Henry Ford for automobiles has spread to all aspects of modern life; everybody wants everything faster, cheaper, and better. In his essay Power Steer, for the New York Times, Michael Pollan explores this method applied to animals, specifically Black Angus cattle. “I started my tour at the feed mill, the yard's thundering hub, where three meals a day for 37,000 animals are designed and mixed by computer. A million pounds of feed passes through the mill each day. Every hour of every day, a tractor-trailer pulls up to disgorge another 25 tons of corn.” He goes on to explain how the rendered pieces of other animals are used to deliver even more protein to the creatures: “F.D.A. rules still permit feedlots to feed nonruminant animal protein to cows. (Feather meal is an accepted cattle feed, as are pig and fish protein and chicken manure.)” The Indians would be proud.

So why do all these unappetizing details matter? Because they are the natural products of the state we have placed ourselves into. According to a study conducted by the American Institute for Caner Research, 72 percent of Americans have meals centered around “animal fats” while only “27 percent were eating the recommended proportion of plant food to animal food.” Put simply, we're addicted to steak. This addiction is fueling a drastic decrease in the quality of the meat.

The problem is that nothing is likely to change. The last successful blow in favor of food quality was Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, a book that was written a century ago and led to the creation of the same FDA which now allows the feeding of chicken manure to cattle. Likely the last time you heard of something regarding these issues was a publicity stunt by PETA, a group which is constantly lambasted for its own arrogance and self righteous quasi-militant mannerisms. Radical extremists (to borrow perhaps a tad boldly from the “War on Terror” word bank) such as these won't force a change on an issue so closely tied to everyday life such as this. And the natural state of the everyday liver seems to be apathy. We won't change things because we don't want our comfortable surroundings to change. Even though familiarity breeds contempt, fear of the unknown is a much more powerful motivator. Take, for instance, myself. After reading Power Steer I sat at the dinner table for a meal of roast beef, while reciting the new facts I had learned about cattle production to my parents. We joked and my mother contested the new found information with what might have been utilitarian philosophy, but we continued eating.

This apathy is exactly what David Foster Wallace describes in Consider the Lobster.

The more important point here, though, is that the whole animal-cruelty and eating issue is not just complex, it’s also uncomfortable. It is, at any rate, uncomfortable for me, and for just about everyone I know who enjoys a variety of foods and yet does not want to see herself as cruel or unfeeling. As far as I can tell, my own main way of dealing with this conflict has been to avoid thinking about the whole unpleasant thing. (62)

At this point the issue begins to blend between food quality and animal rights. Regardless, a lack of interest in dealing with either problem becomes apparent. Wallace has hit the nail on the head with Consider the Lobster. We don’t want to think about what we’re eating, and so we will continue to objectify, obfuscate, and ignore the problems served alongside our dinner until something quite dire happens.

The cost of change in the food industry will be a mass epidemic, or revelations about animal treatment so shocking and undeniable that those who don’t become vegans will at least raise their own meals, or a number of other foreseeable yet unlikely scenarios.

Individually, my position (and yours) on this issue is meaningless. The stalemate between slaughterhouse corporations and animal rights activists will continue, and neither side will gain meaningful ground in this battle. It’s going to take a true groundswell of support from a majority of the population, and those waves are difficult to predict.

Dream #1

As a preface, I'll say that I've been reading about /listening to / watching a lot of content concerning CODMW2, and that I've been in some sort of feverish state for a few days. And now, the dream.

I was in some sort of large, grassy field, and met with two acquaintances from school ( a boy and a girl, both a grade younger than me). while there, we saw someone else from my school who none of us particularly liked. Next, I'm in some sort of large city in the twilight, walking up the steps to a building that must either be a bank or a museum, but is largely without furniture or anything else those buildings would hold. I make my way to the opposite end of the building from the entrance, on the second floor, and meet the same two friends. We talk for a short while, and then all of a sudden, people with guns begin attacking us. we have somehow acquired our own weapons, and begin fending off the assailants. at some point, I realize that the person orchestrating the attack is the same one we saw in the field earlier. The boy who was on my side of the fight disappears, and me and the girl sneak through back towards the entrance with pistols, at one point making our way through a bathroom where i was sure an enemy would attack by jumping from one of the stalls. eventually we make our way out, meet up with the boy who had disappeared, and begin chasing the other kid and his henchmen. he causes a moving van type of vehicle to swerve off the road into a parking lot. when it tips over, a pile of vespa scooters tumble out from inside the van. The person we are chasing escapes. Next scene, I'm on board a space station (yea, I don't know either) along with the two others. For some reason, gravity still applies. We're under attack by the same group of people, and we realize that the guy chasing us is willing to blow up the station in order to kill us. We flee to the escape pods, and mine is the last on the row. the other two make it, but for some reason when I squeeze into the garbage can sized pod and eject, the top doesn't come with.

I woke up gasping for air.

Only A Little Late (Modern Guilt Review)

Yes, I'm a fanboy! No, that's not a conclusion! No, I'm not a good writer! Yay, it's a new post!




Beck’s Modern Guilt is his first full album attempt to express his dark, melancholic side. Because of this, the album is remarkably consistent. Almost all of the tracks feature his electronically warped, near-indiscernible voice whose fans would be familiar with from earlier songs such as Broken Drum or Derelict. These same tracks feature the jazz-like interlacing of drumbeats by Modern Guilt’s co-producer, Danger Mouse, and an overall tone of sadness and despair (this makes sense because Beck began writing the album shortly after a divorce and almost twenty years of a grinding tour schedule). Notable standouts of Modern Guilt include Gamma Ray (a simple but catchy surfer rock tale of nuclear annihilation) and Volcano (a two minute autobiography of Beck’s quest to find balance between his morbid feelings and crowd pleasing compulsions).

Now, all this consistency might read like a compliment, but as any Beck fan will tell you, inconsistency is his strong suit. On Odelay!, you will find, back-to-back, the punk rock sounds of Minus next to rockabilly classic Sissyneck next to the electronica of Readymade next to the rap-chant of High 5 (Rock the Catskills). Which brings me to one last thing. With just ten tracks and at a few minutes older than half an hour, this album is short. It’s just a little bit more than half as long as Beck’s second most recent album, The Information. But that isn't really a problem. It’s just another facet of the diamond in the rough that is Beck.

Reflections on School EYE

Ok, first of all, I want to tell everyone who sees this "Thank you for visiting!" (that's a direct quote by the way). Now, if, in the unlikely chance you actually enjoy this post, or get something out of it, or connect, or etc. etc. etc. please don't depend on me to keep publishing. I'd like to do just that, but I'm really busy at the moment and this is of secondary importance right now.

Now about the post. Ok. Be warned that this was a little journal entry I did in 20 minutes in-class, (less really) that I transcribed to the computer. In other words, it is RAW. All of the punctuation, profanity, and grammar is still present, no editing required. Keeping that in mind, I hope you have an enjoyable time peering through this tiny little window into my life.

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I don’t really understand what this about. After all this explanation I still don’t know what I’m doing. Am I stupid? I hope not – I don’t think I am, either. But then, why am I leaving this godamned place? Are all my excuses pitiful little just-that’s? Is that what defines me? I don’t think so; but We’ll see. I just know that I can’t take more of this place – of the teacher x who requires their students to arrive in little cookie cutter rshapes – their assignments, too. Of teacher Y who is utterly incompetent half the time, while going way over our heads the next. I can’t stand school district Z who wastes money on band and over-the-hill sports, but cant’ spend a few hundred on something non traditional. It doesn’t fit the norm and isn’t in the social pretext. Will school A be any better? How the fuck will I know? But it isn’t this place, and that makes me willing to try it. A school that doesn’t fill itself to the brim with acronyms – doesn’t divide, then conquer its students. More importantly though, it realizes (from what I’ve heard) that kids are just that – kids. I suppose the problem with this place isn’t that they treat us as adults, (they certainly don’t) But instead we get lost in the inbetweens, slip beneath the covers of the couch and are lost in this sad little parody of no-quite-here-or-there.
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Again, thanks for reading, and please, lots of feedback. My career path seems to be going in a written direction, so improvements are appreciated. Also, I promise less vulgarity when I write in the future, this is just a subject I'm highly passionate about (in a bad way).