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TheWorldsOfficialCritic
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Name: TheWorldsOfficialCritic
Gender: Male
Interests: Having a non-cliche interests entry.
Expertise: Jack of many, master of none.
Industry: Brute labor.
Message: message me
Member Since:
12/20/2007
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| Honestly, I can't.
I simply have no explanation, because every aspect of who I am, how I think, what I believe, and how I feel contradicts and verifies itself at the exact same time.
Absolutes happen both never and always in my head. It's a collision and peace of the grayscale, fantastical color, and the light and darkness that cannot be understood. My mind knows more and less than it informs me of.
I just want to talk. Writing words, tapping a key, holding a freaking pen makes me feel better. I don't want to notice anything around me. I just want to create and destroy in the confines of my own fairytale. I wonder if God is clinically depressed. It must suck to be him... the souls, lives, hopes, shouts, sobs, torment, joy, and sin of billions, before, after, and now. How is not insane by now? I can hardly handle my own mind. He has to handle all of ours, AND his own. I wonder what God dreams of.
I'm listening to Monster by Skillet for at least the twentieth time in a row. I can't put into words how true it is.
Don't mind my rambles. Meandering the English language is a hobby of mine. It's also pretty destructive. A lot of hurt and a lot of hope come from language. It's up to you to decide what you see. To be pretty honest, it's everyone own stupid choice. They can see reality or see a fairytale. You can't have both, no matter what the romantics and the writers say. Don't you dare let the cynics keep you from striving for it, though, because hope often comes most from a hopeless cause. Why do we strive to be perfect people when we never will be? Because we have a hope, that which comes from a righteous ignorance, the kind that is actually correct.
But hey, my name is Joseph. Nice to meet you.
You will find that most things I write are either giving fairytale or reality a big, philosophized version of the finger. I strive for both, I scream in hatred at both. Meh, that's just me. Running in circles is not a crime, it's just stupid. If it's not wrong, don't stop it. Bwahaha. Circles.
That reminds me of a rhyme I once read in a book. The book was called The Riddles of Epsilon.
"Ours is for the Ouroborous,
Ours is for to be empowered,
Head to tail we chant in chorus,
The innocent will be devoured."
T'was sung by the Solemn Choir, a group of men holding onto the will to bring back Cimul, the Lord and Prince of Inversion, to bring back the jewel stricken from him, and to, yes, devour the innocent.
It's an interesting topic, to say the least.
"The secret side of me
I never let you see
I keep it caged, but I can't control it, so stay away from me, the beast
Is ugly, I feel the rage, and I just can't hold it"
As Stalin said, one death is a tragedy, but millions is a statistic.
"It's scratchin on the walls
In the closet, in the halls
It comes awake, and I can't control it
Hidin' under the bed
In my body, in my head
Why won't somebody come and save me from this? Make it end!"
If you think about, we're a supreme irony. A creature design to companion Perfection, but we slay it. ^_^
"I feel it deep within
Just beneath the skin
I must confess that I feel like a monster!"
Also, we are an irony in that we live, but we die. Opposites, but all experience them. All humans start at the North pole, a frigid land yet vibrant, beautiful and full of life you find no where else. You travel, travel, trip, trip, experience, experience, fail, fail, and you reach the South pole: cold enough to freeze your bones, this is the end of the trip. There is no where left to go but down, down, there. You can see the big metaphor. Hey, death isn't that bad. At least it has penguins!
"I hate what I've become
The nightmare's just begun
I must confess that I feel like a monster!"
It's tragic, isn't it? Life, dies. Oh, dear. This, is an end. It's an escape, or is it a trip to a different world?
"I FEEL LIKE A MONSTER!"
You can't always win, though. You have a right to the pursuit of happiness, not to happiness itself. That's locked up, and not for the likes of you, street urchin!
"My secret side I keep
Hid under lock and key
I keep it caged, but I can't control it, 'cause if I let him out,
He'll tear me up, break me down
Why won't somebody come and save me from this? Make it end!"
Life is too short to not notice that quotation marks resemble pencil erasers. I holds words, BUT, then, BLIP! It's gone. Like life.
"It's hidin' in the dark
Its teeth are razor sharp
There's no escape for me
It wants my soul, it wants my heart"
And then you feel so lonely when you realize what the word means. No one else is you, there's just one person inside that soul. Sure, there's everyone outside of you, but does that count? Everyone is separated, ironically, by a vehicle that creates contact. You just want to break free, don't you? Heheha. DON'T YOU?!
"No one can hear me scream
Maybe it's just a dream
Or maybe it's inside of me
Stop this monster!"
Two hundred years ago, and all the up to the Victorian Era and beyond, doctors could not tell the difference between a dead man and one in a coma. Thus, people being buried alive was quite common. To solve this, coffins were invent that had a string inside it that went through a pipe in the ground and to the surface above, where it rang a bell to alert the grave keeper that you had been buried alive, and he could quickly dig you up.
*ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding!* ^.^
Heheh, monsters.
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” - Friedrich Nietzsche
The abyss and I know the very color in the other's eyes. We have gazed quite thoroughly.
My name is Joseph (a second meeting, haha!) and I fought the monster among me so much that it has become me. It was better left untouched, I guess.
I would ask that you not tap into the depths of your mind. Everyone is capable of the abyss; this you must never keep far from mind. It must have been interesting to be Jesus, because every human temptation was thrown at him. I wonder how that felt...
Bye. -_^
Chill, you spazerts.
\,,/~Joseph~\,,/
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| Yeah, like, I've totally been sleeping this entire ti- no. Yeah, I took a break. When I have something to say, I blog. When I don't, I don't. So, for quite awhile, I had nothing to say at all. But, I've decided that people need to be properly informed of the world around them, so, I'm here, now. Yeah, GM declared bankruptcy. Now, see, the state of the company leaks into the state of the CEO. The state of the CEO leaks into the state of the slightly lower heirarchists, and so on and so forth. Eventually, this leads to the supervisors. The state of the supervisors leaks into the state of the assembly line employees. The state of the assembly line employees leaks into the product, being the cars. Obviously, everyone is depressed over the state of everything in GM, so, the cars are bipolar and clinically depressed. If you buy a new Chevy and you find your tires slashed the next day, yeah. The car did that itself. So, what shall I do now that I have exhuasted the only joke I could think up in the ten minute span that I am writing this in? Uh... Dictionary of Happiness? Today's word: Believe Dictionary.com's entry for believe: "To have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing so: Only if one believes in something can one act purposefully." So lacking in personality. The Dictionary of Happiness entry: To think you're totally right. Believing is something that commonly happens on internet forums and chatrooms. "I believe your argument proves that you're really Hitler DISGUISED as Twilitegrrl236." Example: "It's a good thing that motivational speak believes in you, 'cause no one else does." That concludes today's entry. Oh, on a final note, listen to the bands Bloc Party and Otep. They are simply marvelous. Remember: "All credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of truth come only from the senses." - Friedrich Nietzsche. And: "Nietzsche was stupid and abnormal." - Leo Tolstoy Chill, you spazerts. \,,/~Joe~\,,/ P.S. To my facebook friends (if you are not a friend of mine on facebook, you're welcome), if you had not noticed, this was originally posted on Xanga. I think you should have gathered that much. Writing notes on facebook is for squares and the occasional misguided hexegon.
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| Well, considering that the suggested dosage would probably be something of an overdose, it would probably be beautiful colors which eventually give way to sudden, painless death. And I'd be fantastic as a steroid!
I just answered this Featured Question; you can answer it too! | | |
| Or, at least, it will be. I have beats and rhythms pulsing through my head almost every second. I move to my own groove, as basic as that beat it is. It comforts me to write something. Just simply punching down each word warms me. It's bloody hot out, but that hasn't stopped me from feeling cold. I'm sensitive to heat, and I cannot stand the sun or hot air. It's all around me, though, I still feel chilled. So frozen that you could stick my heart in your drink and it would be perfect. It would give "on the rocks" a whole new meaning. But, in a less literal examination of my title, each thought I have hurts in some special way or another. I want to slap myself over the head, and move those gears back into, eh, gearing right. The way they are gearing at this point -which is also how they have been gearing for quite awhile- is just about unbearable. In other words, I just got back from my friend's service. The actual funeral was private to family, but this one was to friends and loved ones. I doubt he even remembered me. I definetely remembered him, though. Moving on... Dictionary of Happiness Entry: Poetry. Dictionary.com definition: –noun | 1. | the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts. |
| 2. | literary work in metrical form; verse. |
| 3. | prose with poetic qualities. |
| 4. | poetic qualities however manifested: the poetry of simple acts and things. |
| 5. | poetic spirit or feeling: The pianist played the prelude with poetry. |
| 6. | something suggestive of or likened to poetry: the pure poetry of a beautiful view on a clear day. |
How uninventive. Dictionary of Happiness entry: 1. A tree belonging to Edgar Allan Poe. 2. A common synonym for angst. 3. A word usually associated with skinny, pale people who haven't been outside in years. 4. The result of tears, broken innocence, word magnets, and a blender. 5. Mixed with alcohol or other mind blowingly incapacitating substances, it is the main cause of FUI arrests. (Fruitcaking Under the Influence) 6. The main way little children can let the world know that daddy is a masochist and mommy is a sadist without getting caught, however, it's usually too late by the time the poem is translated out of shakespear-ian. Example: Little Sally work for months on a poem which detailed her pain ridden childhood and how everyone would make fun of her. She then sent it to a poetry magazine to be published within it. The magazine sent it back saying that it seemed like she just put a few words together meaninglessly. She was heart broken, but ewas determined to get the magazine to publish it. She modified the poem from censored to uncensored, detailing her rape, diagnosis of cancer, the euthinization of all her pets in one day, and the suicide of boy she loved. The magazine accepted it, and filed it under comedy. Heh, I really do not like myself. ^_^ Chill, you spazerts. \,,/~Joe~\,,/ | | |
| One of the closest friends of my childhood and preteen years took his life on Sunday, so, yeah. I'm going to deal with it the best way I know how: I'm going to hate myself, everything else, and let the music fuel my anger. That said, at the strong, strong, strong, strongstrongstrong advice and wish of my counselor, I removed my stories and poetry from Xanga, except for the ones I wrote to be posted on xanga. *balloons, parties, cake, ice cream, joy and ponies abound* “You must realize that one day you will die. Until then you are worthless.” - Chuck Palahniuk quotes If you hadn't figured it out yet, I've had a pretty bad week, so far. On the face of the AOL homepage, today, there is controversy, scandals, scantily clad women, anger, hatred, misfortune and consumerism. I don't even know why I use the internet anymore, honestly. There's so much wrong with it, and very, very little that's right. Also, the right stuff has it's own secretive wrong side. Why bother having something correct if it's only going to be incorrect in it's own special, devious method? Meh. It'll burn some day. It'll be like fireworks, and the birth of a new nation. Some 4th of July, we're going to have an America free of capitalism, free of socialism, free of drugs, free of razor blades, free of eating disorders, free of rape, free of murder, and it'll be the new Declaration of Independance. We'll be a nation with a clean slate and free of sin. Some day, we'll be independant from what America is now. I know what day that will be. The one on which Hell freezes over. Today's Dictionary of Happiness entry: Dreams. Dictionary dot com states: | 1. | a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep. |
| 2. | the sleeping state in which this occurs. |
| 3. | an object seen in a dream. |
| 4. | an involuntary vision occurring to a person when awake. |
| 5. | a vision voluntarily indulged in while awake; daydream; reverie. |
| 6. | an aspiration; goal; aim: A trip to Europe is his dream. |
| 8. | something of an unreal beauty, charm, or excellence. |
How wrong. ^_^ The Dictionary of Happiness entry: Dreams: 1. A nightmare, otherwise known as screams in the night. 2. The thing that makes children believe for sure they are going to be a doctor, a rock star, a ballerina, or an astronaut. 3. The universal term for a dark comedy. 4. Aerosmith album covers. 5. Something that little boys have and try to cover up with a roll of papertowels and tears. 6. The kind of thing someone has during childhood, like being president or a supermodel. It continues to the day they day, even when they are conveniance store janitors and prostitutes. 7. The number one cause of fear in the United States. 8. The single most flammable object known to man. "This is the year that hope fails you." - Slipnot. Sure freakin' is. Chill, you spazerts. \,,/~Joe~\,,/ | | |
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