The ducks are laughing faintly in the dark.
Don't depend on my cell phone's battery.
There's a minor mob of birds at the park.
Ever ready to practice flattery.
The undead enjoy many mindless chores.
Like slaying white werewolves and grizzly bears.
I have no real taste for reflexive wars.
But I do like dark Disneyland affairs.
Winamp vanished so I can't stop the beat.
I couldn't use a spoon with my ramen.
Using chopsticks doesn't mean I am 133t.
Or last night would've involved more women.
Old TV shows always have new meaning.
For how your electricity's seeming.
No help with the vowels, there. Have fun, reader.
YouTube's gotten to be the number one accomplice to my insomnia. Too often these days, I find myself staying up an hour longer than I intended, largely because YouTube's "Recommended for You" platter is actually pretty keen. But last night I was mainly just watching Nine Inch Nails and John Lennon.
Watching a video of "Imagine", I kind of knew the whole time I was going to see a bunch of vitriolic or passive aggressive pro-Christian comments when I scrolled down. I was thinking about how the song is a great touchtone in the effort to find the reality of peace, which was naturally followed by the thought that there would therefore have to be angry comments.
The best art usually poses a question, not a solution. Sometimes it's a leading question, but like the manipulator Gavin Elster in Vertigo, good artists know that people give information more credence when they find it themselves. That's also a good reason for the artist to create for him or herself first--let them come to you, as they say.
When Lennon says to imagine "no one to kill or die for," I'm afraid there are too many people whose instincts respond, "Where's the fun in that?" Or rather, "Where's the meaning in that?" It's part of perceiving reality as a linear thread, I think, that begins with birth and ends with death--the value of now is diminished for its uselessness for propaganda. They can't tell you what you're doing right now--you know--but you can't say they're wrong about to-morrow. Which is religion manipulating you into doing the work for it. I suppose the difference between religion and art is analogous to the difference between pick-pockets and slight-of-hand magicians.
I'm so sleepy to day, I hope I manage to get as much done as I want to. I'm sitting here eating from a massive bag of unsalted peanuts I bought a few days ago not wanting to move.
Yesterday I went to Fry's with Tim and bought a new power supply for my computer, which Tim seems to think might stop the random shutdowns, as well as my annual printer cartridges because Comic-Con's already just over a month away . . .