Reading this may infect you........please read this.
Why are the people falling to bits and pieces? Is it really that simple for people's fragile psyches to crumble during these viral, re-imagined life? Have we gotten to used to Neo-Con living? The very fabric of life to become uncertain and full of angst and a feeling of total loss? We will attempt to answer or entertain these questions, and many more, or less, or none at all, (That's the beauty of a blog post, I could simply end this tripal trope NOW, walk away, call it lazy, and not give a fuck. That's beautiful.) Truthfully, the last thing you came here to read about is anything virus in nature. Yet, it permeates and prevails everything, everywhere, like a sexual beast wearing a Godly gown, or a Boy Scout uniform. Even if you try to ignore this THING. It penetrates you like a rapist in the moon gleamed night. It never forgives for its forceful intrusions, it just takes from you, spits on you, and leaves you for dead, or few more uses later, without thinking twice. Well, that's LIFE. GET USED IT. Otherwise you can collect your broken teeth in the gutter and go looking for a dentist at 2am at night on a Saturday. Now this is pretty grim. I like to write like that, it's colorful, and makes for a bit of discomfort, but then again, it can feel extremely accelerating, releasing, sobering, moving, or disappointing and awkward, like the sages say, it's all precious perspective, the eye of the beholder, until your finished of beholding and reach for a big spoon to proceed to gouge your eyeballs out, cause sometimes even looking at it hurts so much that self inflicted harm seems trivial at best, compared to these disappointed words of deep darkness and despair. Why is it easy to talk with such bleakness? Does this come natural to us? Dare I say that doing the opposite is far harder to achieve? Like LOVE, PEACE, ACCEPTANCE, UNDERSTANDING, AND.....but if a sword forged in everlasting fire (that is, the sword always remains on fire) decides to surprise attack you from multiple trick angles and tries to shred your fleshy mounds, and considering what I just said, that you would LOVE the murderous sword? Or would you fight for your life? As it slices your guts out onto the floor, would you attempt to hug it and tell it that LOVE is the only answer? Soon your be ground beef, and sold to the highest bidder on the flesh market. The sword keeps flaming, forever slashing with heat and smoke and flame, it cares not that you have been slaughtered for the greater good of......well that's depressing, but it does contain a little truth hear or there, but dont ask me I am currently being disemboweled by a flaming sword and....(falls to the ground as intestines spill onto the pergo floor)
The other day, a man went on television and told the world, he was prepared to commit suicide whilst being trapped upon a cruise ship, shut away in quarantine with 3 meals a day, cocktails, a shower, a working sink, plenty of toilet paper, Netflix, internet, his phone, a big TV, electricity did I mention clean, running water? I felt like a flaming sword, this man was a fragile idiot, do us a favor and kill yourself please. Is that heartless to say? I really dont give a fuck. Indigenous people in many Native American lands are and have been living with no running water or electricity much less any of those other ultimate comforts for generations and trust me, they never think about killing themselves, I JUST LIED TO YOU, Natives on the Rose Bud Reservation had the highest suicide rate in America. Meanwhile I have to listen to this pussy ass motherfucker complaining his perfect dream vacation went to shit cuz he is stuck on a luxury cruise line for 2 weeks in a state of the art state room, being served 3 times a day by a well dressed butler. And this fool wanted to end his sorry ass life? Really? Is this how fragile mass society is? I live everyday of my life in solitary confinement, even before this virus shit, being a hermit is wonderful! And I also kept my distance from people before too, now I have an excuse for my anti social behavior! I AM BEING SAFE NOW, not agoraphobic and withdrawn. Seriously, if you gave me supplies and dumped me into the deep woods for a year, in total solitude, I would LOVE IT! Meanwhile the bulk of the rest of society would loose there marbles in a fee weeks, perhaps a few days without Instagram and YouTube video's of obese cats, and poof you wanna commit suicide, in fact EVEN WITH all those things,they begin to think they are in prison, just imagine what Nelson Mandela went through, ahh, it doesn't matter, your strength has been sucked from you, little did you know, YOU WERE ALWAYS IN A PRISON, FOOL, just humbly distracted. I know how being locked in a state room on a cruise ship is SOOOO GOD DAMN horrible, that you must kill yourself, to save yourself from such a horror! (Gasps of air) Give me a fucking break and give me the flaming sword for I can plunge it deep into your guts and do the world a favor. Does that sound too cruel, so sharp, too, UNSENTIMENTAL AND UNSENSITIVE? Well, nobody said LOVE was easy. But all those flaming swords out there dont give a fuck, soon the world will be close to 9 billion people with a unsustainable structure in place to sustain it. It's going to collapse, and perhaps one less pussy ass motherfucker in this overcrowded world is better for it's very survival. Life is brutal, Nature is violent, either live, or die, and if you give up and decide to kill yourself because you didnt get your perfect little vacation, give me a ring, I will be happy to save you the trouble and slide my blade into your belly and make it even more effortless for you to pass from this existence, for the will and love for others who actually appreciate it, is what I am afterx because many will never see it, or experience it, be thankful. Rather then throw it away in useless vacations and self absorbed personality worship. Is it really that easy? No, not really, but the words keep rolling, so I keep writing, one can never be choosy nowadays, space is limited and I have a lot of time on my hands so entertain me, or die mother fucker! (Reaches down and waters a orchid in the window) Do you feel me? Let's have lunch and ponder on different things.
How about I tell you, for one year, we are going to drop you on a remote island in a unknown chain of archipelago's, and you will also receive plenty of supplies to survive, as well as ample entertainment, maybe even a illicit drug or two, and your be on a island that is utter paradise. We even built you a fashionable hut to live in, it even has satellite internet! But no keyboards, you can only passively read and digest information, never interact. Your only interaction will be a rescue/supply phone, linked straight to our command ship a few miles off shore. This will provide additional supplies or medical attention, but don't expect to just call us up to have a simple conversation. Emergency means emergency. You will have to live in solitary island confinement for 1 year, and within one of the boxes is a gun, with one bullet. How many do you suppose will put the weapon to the temple and blow out the brains? Because without being able to simply talk to another human being, or your flesh and blood, your wive, your little boy or girl you love and having to listen to your mind all day, it might be an option for your weak soul to consider. I keep hearing these things on the TV, people loosing it while trapped in their homes. Maybe you realized you actually hate your wive, and despise your children. And that work and friends was really the only distraction you had, now you have to sit in this box, and listen to your family howl about meaningless things 24/7, you better hope you love them, you better hope you made the right decisions. Shit, this blog post is getting quite dark, and dangerous.
Do you like coffee? And I don't mean a Latte Cinnamon Whipcream Nutmeg and Almond Milk rather then dairy coffee. I mean just regular coffee, black, or with cream and sugar. The original cup from long ago, before abominations like StarBucks came along, before hipsters, your Grandpa's coffee, like when he used to go to a diner in 1948 and get a cup that was placed upon a saucer, in case it spilled, and when you sit it down, it makes that lovely sound as the cup interacts with the saucer, and the saucer has a divot that the cup fits perfectly into, that's the kind of coffee I am talking about, the one served by a overaged waitress, with a long cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and the ash needs to be flicked, and even though she smiles, you know she hates you, THAT KINDA COFFEE!
A few years ago, I decided that the coffee percolator I owned was a piece of crap. Sloshing hot water over the coals of coffee grounds seemed too technologically advanced for a simple cup of coffee. So I switched to a French Press. Then the pre ground coffee tasted not as good, so I bought whole bean. What I particularly love about making coffee this way is that its complete humanly mechanical. First you must grind the coffee beans. You interact with the fresh smell of the whole beans, wholesome and awakens the senses. At first I used an electric grinder, then I found it reminding me of the old percolator, too much innovation. So I switched to a manual grinder, you place the beans inside it awaiting coffin, and turn the little handle, it grinds the beans nice and not too course, not like dust from pre ground coffee, nice chunks of bean. Then you must boil the water, and make sure you use the right amount for your french press. Then watching the water boil, you must get it to a roaring boil, extremely hot. Pour it over the prepared grinded coffee beans. What I love about the French press is, not only its simplicity, but the marriage of boiling.hot water to the coffee, it just doesn't spurt over the top of it and drain into a pot, it sits together in the hot water as ONE. Like tea steeping without a bag. You then stir them well and let it sit for a few minutes. Then after it steeps, the real fun part happens. You press slowly down on the press, and it has a screen on it and pushes or presses the coffee down to the bottom of the vessel. Then whole process is mechanical only with human interaction, and you feel as if a part of you actually made the coffee rather then putting everything quickly into a machine and turning on a button, the human mechanical interaction is part of the art of making the perfect cup of coffee. It fascinates me how excited it makes me feel every morning to take part in this ritual to make a few delicious cups of coffee. I then think of Marcel Duchamp as a young child, and looking through the candy store glass and watching the candy maker grind the chocolate with the chocolate grinder, turning the handle and making the gears move, the human arm becoming part of the machine, without the two, grinding chocolate would of been impossible or much more laborious. This is how ART should be done, or perhaps should NOT be done, what exactly IS ART anyhow? I am not entirely sure anybody can answer that question. But one thing is sure, the French press does produce, in my opinion, the best cup of human mechanical coffee I have ever had.
What if Duchamp never came along? Would we all still be Cubanist's? Or, if Duchamp didn't do what he did, would've some other person eventually have done it? But what exactly DID Duchamp do? Clearly most of his creations and discoveries were really just accidental. Many of them quite boring, if you were to simply go to a museum and look at them. It wasn't until Duchamp picked the object up, or stood next to it, telling you the stories and speaking about his thoughts his feelings, only then did it take on a entirely NEW meaning to you, first you get your own impression, you taste your mind, then moments after Duchamp speaks about the piece, and then you taste his mind, when he applied the human characteristic to the piece, only then did the piece make sense, only then did it take shape, for like a chocolate grinder or a French press, it's purpose is meaningless and void by itself, until the human element is introduced into the equation, then, like the water marrying into the ground coffee beans, only then does the magic begin. Perhaps that was how art was changed, instead of merely looking at a piece from a eye point of view. Here is X. Y made X, here is X. You see X, but without Y, X remains 85% irrelevant to the eye. Y must then use X to take you to the 100% XYZ.
Shrug off this mortal coil, for infinity awaits with a fresh brewed cup of coffee.
Do you like coffee? And I don't mean a Latte Cinnamon Whipcream Nutmeg and Almond Milk rather then dairy coffee. I mean just regular coffee, black, or with cream and sugar. The original cup from long ago, before abominations like StarBucks came along, before hipsters, your Grandpa's coffee, like when he used to go to a diner in 1948 and get a cup that was placed upon a saucer, in case it spilled, and when you sit it down, it makes that lovely sound as the cup interacts with the saucer, and the saucer has a divot that the cup fits perfectly into, that's the kind of coffee I am talking about, the one served by a overaged waitress, with a long cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and the ash needs to be flicked, and even though she smiles, you know she hates you, THAT KINDA COFFEE!
A few years ago, I decided that the coffee percolator I owned was a piece of crap. Sloshing hot water over the coals of coffee grounds seemed too technologically advanced for a simple cup of coffee. So I switched to a French Press. Then the pre ground coffee tasted not as good, so I bought whole bean. What I particularly love about making coffee this way is that its complete humanly mechanical. First you must grind the coffee beans. You interact with the fresh smell of the whole beans, wholesome and awakens the senses. At first I used an electric grinder, then I found it reminding me of the old percolator, too much innovation. So I switched to a manual grinder, you place the beans inside it awaiting coffin, and turn the little handle, it grinds the beans nice and not too course, not like dust from pre ground coffee, nice chunks of bean. Then you must boil the water, and make sure you use the right amount for your french press. Then watching the water boil, you must get it to a roaring boil, extremely hot. Pour it over the prepared grinded coffee beans. What I love about the French press is, not only its simplicity, but the marriage of boiling.hot water to the coffee, it just doesn't spurt over the top of it and drain into a pot, it sits together in the hot water as ONE. Like tea steeping without a bag. You then stir them well and let it sit for a few minutes. Then after it steeps, the real fun part happens. You press slowly down on the press, and it has a screen on it and pushes or presses the coffee down to the bottom of the vessel. Then whole process is mechanical only with human interaction, and you feel as if a part of you actually made the coffee rather then putting everything quickly into a machine and turning on a button, the human mechanical interaction is part of the art of making the perfect cup of coffee. It fascinates me how excited it makes me feel every morning to take part in this ritual to make a few delicious cups of coffee. I then think of Marcel Duchamp as a young child, and looking through the candy store glass and watching the candy maker grind the chocolate with the chocolate grinder, turning the handle and making the gears move, the human arm becoming part of the machine, without the two, grinding chocolate would of been impossible or much more laborious. This is how ART should be done, or perhaps should NOT be done, what exactly IS ART anyhow? I am not entirely sure anybody can answer that question. But one thing is sure, the French press does produce, in my opinion, the best cup of human mechanical coffee I have ever had.
What if Duchamp never came along? Would we all still be Cubanist's? Or, if Duchamp didn't do what he did, would've some other person eventually have done it? But what exactly DID Duchamp do? Clearly most of his creations and discoveries were really just accidental. Many of them quite boring, if you were to simply go to a museum and look at them. It wasn't until Duchamp picked the object up, or stood next to it, telling you the stories and speaking about his thoughts his feelings, only then did it take on a entirely NEW meaning to you, first you get your own impression, you taste your mind, then moments after Duchamp speaks about the piece, and then you taste his mind, when he applied the human characteristic to the piece, only then did the piece make sense, only then did it take shape, for like a chocolate grinder or a French press, it's purpose is meaningless and void by itself, until the human element is introduced into the equation, then, like the water marrying into the ground coffee beans, only then does the magic begin. Perhaps that was how art was changed, instead of merely looking at a piece from a eye point of view. Here is X. Y made X, here is X. You see X, but without Y, X remains 85% irrelevant to the eye. Y must then use X to take you to the 100% XYZ.
Shrug off this mortal coil, for infinity awaits with a fresh brewed cup of coffee.
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