I understood this concept before I got out of the 4th grade. I think that was like 1956. You mean that the NOMPH is repeating the same behavior again and again (like voting, for instance) and expecting different behavior?
If you just change watch TV to listen to radio, I don’t see where anything has changed since before we dropped the original bomb that I keep arguing is the ultimate solution to all our problems.
Freedom is horse exhaust. What did Dylan “Drunk Ass: Thomas say about singing in his chains like the sea?
Get a grip, dude. None of this matters. It’s all misdirection and distraction. There was a reason I coined the term disinformation and the government embraced it.
Reread some Vonnegut. It doesn’t even matter what you pretend to be. Obama is gonna fix it.
Yeah, right.
The showers may once again be free. But bring your own soap.
I never believed in living the way described on the spray-painted wall. In fact, I never did live like that. I don’t really watch tv and the kids get free education. What I am seriously lacking, in every sense of the word, is passion. I have literally no desire to do anything.
Writing used to feel so good. I used to love learning new things. In fact, I can’t remember a time when learning was dull.
Maybe I am looking in the wrong place. Maybe I shouldn’t be looking at all. Maybe not caring is what I should be letting in.
Yeah, but I’ve never believed in anything. In the fourth grade, when it came my turn to tell what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said: “Cruel.”
What’s love got to do with it?
Perhaps you have become comfortably numb. For some that is a desirable and comfortable place to be. I know I’ve occasionally had to battle court-appointed mind zombies who tried their best to make me one of them with medication and meditation. Relax and let go, my ass.
Lennon was pretty close with defining life as something that happens when you’re making other plans, but that was before 9/11 changed absolutely nothing. Take the current mongolian cluster fuck. Please.
The Romantics used to gush over creation as the expression of passion recounted in a state of tranquility.
Feeling something and expressing it are not the same thing. In fact, I think they are things so different that they nothing in common. Stuff that stirs the passion is usually sentimental claptrap and social propaganda. I grew up with touchy feely huggie motherfuckers that simply smelled bad to me. No wonder I like Swift and Milton and Bukowski and Vonnegut and Camus.
Love is for the living
Not the page
That was part of a poem I wrote in response to a piece by Ralph Adamo submitted to the creative writing workshop in 1971 at the University of Arkansas. I just found an article on Ted Stevens’ intertube about Ralph that is a fairly good read. http://www.soros.org/resources/multimedia/katrina/fellows/adamo.php
I published a chapbook of Ralph’s poetry — Why We Have Friends — in 1975, I think. I did publish it, but I’m experiencing advance oldheimer’s when it comes to places and dates.
Maybe we all need a good fucking catastrophe every now and then. As Fubar used to say: Bring it on!
Passion comes from struggle, IMHO. I remember reading, “The Dubliners,” in a class, with a Professor who believed he was William Faulkner reincarnated. As we discussed, “Two Gallants,” the Professor spoke of the putrid morality these boys possessed, how lowly they were. I argued the opposite. I thought they were roll-models. I thought they were living life the way it should be… full of passion and curiosity. Sure, they weren’t doing what was “right,” but anybody worth a kroner can see that this is what makes life interesting and exciting.
Snap out of it, Pants.
I understood this concept before I got out of the 4th grade. I think that was like 1956. You mean that the NOMPH is repeating the same behavior again and again (like voting, for instance) and expecting different behavior?
If you just change watch TV to listen to radio, I don’t see where anything has changed since before we dropped the original bomb that I keep arguing is the ultimate solution to all our problems.
Freedom is horse exhaust. What did Dylan “Drunk Ass: Thomas say about singing in his chains like the sea?
Get a grip, dude. None of this matters. It’s all misdirection and distraction. There was a reason I coined the term disinformation and the government embraced it.
Reread some Vonnegut. It doesn’t even matter what you pretend to be. Obama is gonna fix it.
Yeah, right.
The showers may once again be free. But bring your own soap.
Ligi
I’m still at the heart of religion
I never believed in living the way described on the spray-painted wall. In fact, I never did live like that. I don’t really watch tv and the kids get free education. What I am seriously lacking, in every sense of the word, is passion. I have literally no desire to do anything.
Writing used to feel so good. I used to love learning new things. In fact, I can’t remember a time when learning was dull.
Maybe I am looking in the wrong place. Maybe I shouldn’t be looking at all. Maybe not caring is what I should be letting in.
Yeah, but I’ve never believed in anything. In the fourth grade, when it came my turn to tell what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said: “Cruel.”
What’s love got to do with it?
Perhaps you have become comfortably numb. For some that is a desirable and comfortable place to be. I know I’ve occasionally had to battle court-appointed mind zombies who tried their best to make me one of them with medication and meditation. Relax and let go, my ass.
Lennon was pretty close with defining life as something that happens when you’re making other plans, but that was before 9/11 changed absolutely nothing. Take the current mongolian cluster fuck. Please.
The Romantics used to gush over creation as the expression of passion recounted in a state of tranquility.
Feeling something and expressing it are not the same thing. In fact, I think they are things so different that they nothing in common. Stuff that stirs the passion is usually sentimental claptrap and social propaganda. I grew up with touchy feely huggie motherfuckers that simply smelled bad to me. No wonder I like Swift and Milton and Bukowski and Vonnegut and Camus.
Love is for the living
Not the page
That was part of a poem I wrote in response to a piece by Ralph Adamo submitted to the creative writing workshop in 1971 at the University of Arkansas. I just found an article on Ted Stevens’ intertube about Ralph that is a fairly good read. http://www.soros.org/resources/multimedia/katrina/fellows/adamo.php
I published a chapbook of Ralph’s poetry — Why We Have Friends — in 1975, I think. I did publish it, but I’m experiencing advance oldheimer’s when it comes to places and dates.
Maybe we all need a good fucking catastrophe every now and then. As Fubar used to say: Bring it on!
Just don’t get fooled again.
Passion comes from struggle, IMHO. I remember reading, “The Dubliners,” in a class, with a Professor who believed he was William Faulkner reincarnated. As we discussed, “Two Gallants,” the Professor spoke of the putrid morality these boys possessed, how lowly they were. I argued the opposite. I thought they were roll-models. I thought they were living life the way it should be… full of passion and curiosity. Sure, they weren’t doing what was “right,” but anybody worth a kroner can see that this is what makes life interesting and exciting.