Archive for March, 2012

Bell Curve

Posted: March 8, 2012 in transliteration

This post has been deleted.

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drunk idioms

Posted: March 5, 2012 in otiose
Tags: , , , , ,

Come back to it.
Come back to it again and again.

Maybe it’s like an infected puncture wound.
Should I worry that I haven’t had a tetanus shot since childhood
when I’ve stepped on countless nails and caught skin on plenty of jagged rusty edges since then?

The newest scar is still red, although it’s been healed for months.
It will take years to fade from the delicate, translucent skin of my inner arm
on the left side.

Wounds are too cliché for this facsimile of simile.

Similarly, maybe it’s like a distracted page of text
trying to read and listening to the people in the next room instead.
Rereading.
Lacking comprehension of any words regardless of the source.

It’s superficial.

It’s a tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick tick tickticktick.
Not of a clock
but of an engine block cooling in the hot sun
after a hot day
in a hot parking lot
after a long, empty search around the block.

The same block.
All day.
Everyday.

It runs all the way through and bottoms out.

Come back to it.
Back, back, back.
Reach back down inside and turn sideways to the back of an overactive
undernourished
series of thoughts that are septic at best.
Caustic.

Comforting in their self-destructive familiarity.

“Have you ever been drunk?”

I looked up from what I was doing, taken aback.
Is that a trick question?
You should probably ask me if I’m drunk now.
I’ll drink all of you under the table right now.

I heard one girl: 4 parts cola:1 part whiskey.

That’s not drinking.
That doesn’t even make sense.
How are you going to taste the whiskey?

One likes her “boxed wine.”
Christ.
I don’t even like “good” wine.

“What kind of drunk are you?”

The kind with active taste buds that wants to kill them.
Everything.

Inconsistent.

It depends entirely on my motives and mood beforehand.
I’m a dangerous drunk.
I’m the kind of drunk that will fall over from alcohol poisoning before standard signs of drunkenness emerge.
I’m the kind of drunk that has successfully distilled my own vodka without going blind.
I’m the kind of drunk that’s fermenting inside.

I’m the kind of drunk that decided it’s best not to drink.
For the most part, I abide by that decision.
I’m not a drunk at all. I’m a fucking addict.
Ask the rabbits.
I refuse to drink with people I don’t trust, which includes you.
That doesn’t mean I don’t drink, and it certainly doesn’t imply that I’ve never been drunk.
Fuck.
Some of the trouble I could have dodged.

Go ahead. Ask me what else I’ve done to myself
or have had done to me.
I think, given your odd question, that you’d be genuinely surprised.
Then again, it’s none of your fucking business, is it?

It’s strange to me, but the innocent, virginal guise isn’t an accident.

You’ve done more to help me accept my past than anyone has in a long time, because you’re so much like her.
I don’t know if I should tell you that or not.
Down to disquieting detail.
You’re so similar.
The shape of your lips.
The makeup line at the jaw.
Everything…except you’re a lot smarter.
You’re more beautiful.
You’re not even remotely as trashy.

Thank you for existing.

It’s hard to mute the past.

I keep coming back to it.
I wish I could have meant something to you.
It sits in the back of my mind on good days.
I sit with it knowing
knowing
the weight is just going to slide back down.
Fuck.

Fuck.

It always does on the bad days.
Usually it takes two years.
It’s taken ten with the only other person I ever completely trusted.

Ten.

I’ve got seven and a half more.
You know, this is some kind of neurosis.
That fucking number.
That fucking meaningless number that somehow attached itself
as a toe tag identifier
tow the line – pull weight
Fishing for compliments.
toe the line – follow rules
You are not qualified to quantify a turn of phrase as incorrect.

Crawl back under your rock and die.

Out of sight, out of mind.
Remind me again later.

So…you resent your girlfriend.
From what I can gather, most things beyond her arm candy qualities taunt you.
Maybe the sex is okay.

I understand that you think I’m a little smarter than the standard ilk.
I’m not sure what you deal with on a day to day basis.
I’m pretty sure you’re not discussing the merits of Dostoevsky over Tolstoy
or BRMC over LMFAO with your girlfriend.
I don’t think you expound on Marxism very often when I’m not around
or marvel on the central nervous systems of small invertebrates…

I could be wrong, but I’m not.

I should stop you now, because…I don’t want to be your friend.
I’d fuck you in a heartbeat, and maybe that would do something for your faltering ego
that neglected portion tied to your unacknowledged intellect, but…

I’m not really that smart.

My mediocre intelligence is also pretty much all I have going.
I’m not pretty.
I’m not healthy.
I’m not social.
I’m not happy.
I’m not successful.
I’m not even remotely fun…unless the only interacting you want to do is sexual.

I think you already have those bases covered.
I just…have a hard time imagining that you would stray from something
you’ve assigned monogamous
entrenched in three years of commitment
for rug burn and reading recommendations.

I’ve met her. She’s better than me. Believe me.

I’m not driven to settle.
My main objective is not a picket fenced in life.
I don’t want kids.
I’m not that interested in making money beyond removing my debts.
I didn’t go to school for financial gain.
My motive to go back is not for financial gain or status.
I have no interest in climbing the socioeconomic ladder.
I do have goals.
I am selfish.
I have no intentions to stay here.

You’ve lived here your whole life doing what you’re doing now.
I’m sorry that you’re not happy with what you know is safe.
Your girlfriend is going to keep the same job for the rest of her working life
unless she’s forced out.
It’s her career and her glass ceiling, because she’s content with it.

Issues that you’re worried about; where this resentment pops up…yes:
She’s going to get older.
Her sex drive might lag.
She’s going to gain more weight.

Get used to it, or leave.

She’s also obviously in love with you, and she’s going to stay with you
and laugh at your stupid jokes
and watch you get older, and fatter, and more inclined to watch TV
than fuck her brains out.

I can’t offer you what you seek.

I’m not even through the revised introduction to Stephen Jay Gould’s, The Mismeasure of Man, and I already know that the fucker can’t write.
I came online to figure out why I even have this book in my possession, and the first bad review I read still says his shit is well written.
This is the worst analytical writing I’ve read since college.
It’s fucking awful.
I agree with the son of a bitch. That’s the worst part. I agree with his position on soft science, but I can’t read this shit.
I suspect the whole book, all 424 pages. consists of nothing but the same sentence restated thousands of times.
Granted, introductions are almost always annoyingly repetitive, but I’ve also read an essay in the back.
I read the essay in the back, because I was directed to read it at some point during the introduction to the introduction, and then in the essay, I was directed to read something in Chapter 7.
This isn’t a fucking children’s choose-your-own-story book. Why don’t you just write the fucking thing in the order you want it to be read, motherfucker?
I’ve already read the same fucking sentence two dozen times, and I’m only 30 pages into the shit.
He uses “big” words in nonstandard ways, and he uses awkward variations of normal words repeatedly. He’s obnoxiously haughty.

Ugh. Well written? Well fucking written? Relative to what? What the fuck?

This is going on the stack with Thoreau as unreadable. Thoreau is better than this. I’ll finish Thoreau and restart Milton before I even consider coming back to this shit.

I love nerds.

Posted: March 1, 2012 in transliteration
Tags:

Probably the most amusing anagram ever:

1st – Mike Keith with:
hydrogen + zirconium + tin + oxygen + rhenium + platinum +
tellurium + terbium + nobelium + chromium + iron + cobalt +
carbon + aluminum + ruthenium + silicon + ytterbium + hafnium +
sodium + selenium + cerium + manganese + osmium + uranium +
nickel + praseodymium + erbium + vanadium + thallium + plutonium
=
nitrogen + zinc + rhodium + helium + argon + neptunium +
beryllium + bromine + lutetium + boron + calcium + thorium +
niobium + lanthanum + mercury + fluorine + bismuth + actinium +
silver + cesium + neodymium + magnesium + xenon + samarium +
scandium + europium + berkelium + palladium + antimony + thulium

[This is a “doubly-true anagram” – if you replace each element with its atomic number (= position in the periodic table), there is still equality:]

1 + 40 + 50 + 8 + 75 + 78 +
52 + 65 + 102 + 24 + 26 + 27 +
6 + 13 + 44 + 14 + 70 + 72 +
11 + 34 + 58 + 25 + 76 + 92 +
28 + 59 + 68 + 23 + 81 + 94
=
7 + 30 + 45 + 2 + 18 + 93 +
4 + 35 + 71 + 5 + 20 + 90 +
41 + 57 + 80 + 9 + 83 + 89 +
47 + 55 + 60 + 12 + 54 + 62 +
21 + 63 + 97 + 46 + 51 + 69
[= 1416]

And with that, I log off for the move.