Congratulations, You're a Jackass

Sometimes, I tell a complaint in the form of a story.

Like this.

There is nothing worse than getting to about 8 o'clock and having your phone on 7% battery.

Like, I'm just chillin' in my basement watching a movie or engaging in some equally important and integral to society-type activity, and my phone's all like boo-de-lee-boo you need to charge me now.


What the hell am I supposed to do then?

My phone charger is all the way in my bedroom. I can't watch How I Met Your Mother until my eyeballs start to bleed if I have to go sit in my room for my phone to charge.

And what if someone sends me a really important text?! I have to charge my phone for at least thirty minutes if I want it to last the rest of the night, I could miss something!

And what if that person does text me, and it is important, and I don't respond?? The results could be DETRIMENTAL.

Okay, maybe not detrimental.

But it still sucks.

So I'm forced to find a new activity, such as reading (in my room) or playing guitar (in my room) or pointlessly searching tumblr (also in my room) just so that my dumb phone has time to charge so that I can keep talking to my friends all night.

And it's at that point in the story that I'm like, dude... you're a jackass. First world problem.

While I have to charge my phone, and it's such an inconvenience and stuff, there are people, like, dying and stuff.

While my woes are about whether or not anybody important may talk to me in the half an hour it takes to charge the battery on my smartphone to a reasonable level, some people are worried about things that actually matter. Like, where they're gonna sleep or something.

Only in first world countries, man. Only in first world counties.

Your phone won't charge? Congratulations you first world snob, you're a jackass.

Sometimes In Photo...

We have three times as many work days as I actually need.

And I forget my book.

And I have an hour and half to kill doing absolutely nothing.

So instead of doing absolutely nothing, I vie to instead write paragraphs in French, about French-y things and stuff. You know. The uszh.

(Okay seriously, how are you supposed to shorten the word "usual" into something even slightly discernible. This inability is to me a very troubling fact.)

((I bet you're glad you know that now.))

Then, when I finish my paragraphs, I decide to blog about my paragraphs. Because that is a logical next step, right?

I wrote about le fromage and les poissons qui ne sont jamais delicieux and now I'm hungry.


Even if the fish are never delicious.

Opinions, Please

Unintelligent people should not voice their opinions.

...Okay, that was a bit of an over-generalization. Allow me to modify.

Unless you have clearly thought out your opinion and could in some way back it up, and are also personally convinced that it's not just an obstinate blurting of some half-baked idea, then keep it to yourself.

So many opinions are so poorly thought out and so completely retarded to any logical thinker that they successfully undermine not only themselves, but also the entire genre of opinions and their voicing.

That said, I love hearing what people think.

Feedback on every aspect of my life is probably one of the things that I look forward to the most.

Not mindless compliments.

Feedback.

It's like an ongoing growing experience, where instead of constantly having to shape your world around your own skewed view of everything, you can take into consideration the opinions of all those around you, both of equal and opposite temperaments to your own.

Unfortunately, I never get that feedback.

I wish I did, though. I love to hear even the negative things. It constantly gives me something to work on.

But let's be real here. How do you ask people for their honest opinion and actually get it?

So many people ask for opinions when really all the want is compliments, or ask for advice when they really just want to be told that they don't need advice, because they're already perfect.

That's bullshit.

Everybody can improve, and even if there are one or two people who think that you are perfect in one or two aspects of your life, there has to be something about every person that can be improved.

I'm not good at being sincere with my compliments. But if it were socially acceptable for people to ask me my opinion on some aspect of their personality or conduct and for me to give my honest answer, I would do it.

And I wish that others would do the same for me. I love hearing feedback on my acting, especially the negative. I want to improve in the eyes of everybody.

I want to know how I am perceived to the world around me.

How can I ask for that? By asking for opinions.

But not the stupid ones. Dear god, not the stupid ones.

If I ask you to explain it in a reasonable manner and your immediate reaction is "uhh...", I will probably punch you in the head.

Probably.

Two Steps Forward

And then a third step forward.

Haha. Psych. You all know that's not how the proverb-y thing goes.

One step back. So, essentially, one really slow step forward filled with false hope and a deceitful sense of achievement.

That's the way this cold has been.

I missed school because of it.

It's a freaking cold, man. A cold. A cold.

Which is why I'm now voting to call it either Mr. Banner or Bruce, you know, whichever it prefers for the day.

So, anyway, want to know what's a really bad idea to introduce me to when I am forced to spend massive amounts of time sitting on my couch because my head feels like it's going to explode in a giant gooey mess if I move?

A website that contains dozens, nay hundreds of articles on exceedingly nerdy things such as "7 lost bodies of work that would have changed everything" or "the 7 most badass last stands in history" (they have a thing about the number 7).

I'm talking about cracked.com.

It's glorious.

I have read so many useless facts in the last few days it's about time for me to get on jeopardy or something. Not that I would really do very well, though, considering the fact that my memory cells were all clogged with mucus and when it comes to remembering real things such as names or dates I'm totally lost.

But I know shit now, man. I'm informed. So if someone asked me, I don't know, say "was there at one point a giant man-made hedge in India that was completely forgotten about after its destruction regardless of the fact that it was 2,000 miles long?"

I would say yes. 

Yes there was.

Inside-Out

Necessity was absent for the birth of the dictionary. The right words never seemed to come when faced with an actual confrontation. The ideas stumbled over themselves in her brain until they beat a retreat to the land of the lost, where no phrase could ever find the way to express them. It was as if they were meant to be turned out raw, like meat waiting to be tenderized and cut apart before being cooked in searing hot oil or thrown onto a steaming grill. They were still clinging to that last bit of life; where they owned a share but never had to pay a visit to the tenants. They bled out like water, but refused to congeal even enough to be seen under a microscope. As they were covered by the dust, she slowly forgot, but could always see the embossed titles on the hard covers of thoughts never to be destroyed, and only reopened years later, when the reader could no longer be sure of the meanings.

When My Life Will Be Complete:

• When I have a hedgehog
• When it plays out like a romantic comedy
• When I have a hedgehog

This is the Last For the Night

I promise.

I just figured y'all should know that since there's a novel's worth of writing that I posted tonight, you shouldn't start reading with this post.

Well, actually, scratch that. You should.

Because if you read this post, you'll know to read the rest of the posts in reverse order.

Because I'm going to tell you.

They'll make more sense if you read them in the order that I actually posted them, as I did in fact organize these poems into a pseudo-series that doesn't really make sense if you read it backward.

Read them. Love them. Comment on them.

Absolom

Don't you wish you could see it all
like the signs on the side of the road
saying "fog may exist."
The tide rolls in
obscured by the paper
with no ink of retreat
and no hand holding the pen
to show it all stretched out.
Don't you wish
you could see it all?

The Battle of the Papacy

Polarity's bullets aren't
fired
because I can't find
the trigger.

I Look Better In Black

Is orange the color? I didn't know.
It doesn't fit everyone like you say it does
It doesn't fit much of anyone at all
It doesn't fit me.
You tell me to like it
But it's out of place
There's nothing here for it
But the flip end of the magnet
Pushing it back into my arms.