Ham & Cheese Sandwiches at the End of the Universe (Part I)
I'm in New Mexico, and I've been thinking...
This country (I'd even venture to say world in most cases) is going to absolute shit, but that shouldn't be news you -- and dare I say that if I did make such a whole-heartedly lame (and let's face it, overused) declaration on the downward-spiral of the American zeitgeist as though it was news then...fuck, I would hope that I'd be crucified by you (my one reader). We have reached a pinnacle of ignorance in 2006 in that the people who think they're making changes and "doing something" are nothing more than the very same cogs we're "fighting" on the lateral right.
We are faced with war zones every day in this country, but somehow a blind eye is turned upon them as of late because we're too self important to know what the fuck we're fighting against -- we've been tricked, we're being duped, and it's not even by those "evil men in Washington" we've always so easily been able to point our fingers at.
Being In high school, I knew who my enemies were, and there was something strangely comforting in that. If someone didn't agree with my feelings on abortion, religion, or even fucking Britney Spears -- it didn't mean I didn't like them, I simply knew that we differed on ideals here and there, and that there were some things which wouldn't be bad to consider "off limits" in casual conversation.
I remember many a day in 11th grade wherein either I would scathingly turn to my notebook for solace and escape, or Kristen would turn away from me in tears simply because of our inability to have a respectful conversation about God and organized religion. Even though we both lived under the pretense and guise that we were trying to be fair, neither of us could've been farther off from the truth. Fuck all, she was full of shit, and to her, I was lost...we both wanted to "save" (her in the more literal sense, I suppose) each other, and when you enter a situation like that, no one's going to get anywhere -- especially anywhere positive, but that doesn't make you an "enemy" to my existence, it simply means I'm not likely to call you for a beer and a chat about the unrecognized importance and value of an individual like Dr. Jack Kevorkian. [Actually, by show of hands I don't imagine I'd be able to have that conversation with more than a select few of you, but call a spade a spade and take the analogy as I intend it to be read i.e. it means when it comes to certain ideologies I disagree with my closest friends a lot, but we still dig each other]
Another example of a relationship with those of which didn't really "make sense" but never was a compromise of morals (read: sleeping with the enemy) would've been my lifelong struggle with the stereotypical male (believe it or not, I do consider some of those "guys" in my life to be some of my truest friends). The sports or drinking or even steak and potatoes and then more steak was never my problem...my problem was always pussy (oh the depths of which that statement could be dissected, and only for that reason shall I leave it). My male friends inability to keep their mouths shut about what goes on behind a closed door with a lady (I normally wouldn't be so limiting in my usage of descriptor, but I really don't have any "stereotypically male" gay friends, so fuck it) was a major factor of my isolation from my masculine self throughout my formative years. That and wanting to wear makeup and listen to lots of art-fag wankery...but regardless, minus the eyeliner and Elliot Smith records, I wasn't around much testosterone except for the occasional meat-fisted jock pushing me around. It took me years to find comfort in my closest (and I'm talking two or three people) friends talking about sex...I don't mean sexuality, I mean sex. And I don't mean sex-sex: I mean gritty details of what goes on between someone and their partner(s). I never needed to know how and where and to whom my friend did what to -- it just didn't interest me, and breached some strange unspoken rule I subscribed to wherein I occasionally would talk about experience, but not necessarily detail, and almost never the "with whom." Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I regret living like that, I'm just noting the facts...to be honest, really the only thing that I missed out on was knowing the innermost details of some girl and what crazy shit she was/wasn't into -- and, well, I do think that this desire to keep my physical nature in hiding from the public eye did fuck me up when it comes to me ability to open up in plenty of other venues (i.e. public declaration of love, singing, general-openingupness), but I'm working on that...
I'm not sexually incompatible with people because I don't like sex, but I'm really fucking sexually incompatible with people who find it to be a spectacle or a sport -- and that's fine, it's just not for me -- please don't think I'm tearing people like that down, it's just all relatively the same reason I don't smoke pot, and don't like a lot of the music my friends love -- it's not that it's bad, it's just that we're not compatible. I don't dig porn, I don't like talking to Clay about what someone tastes like, that doesn't mean I'm "right" -- it just means it works for me and I don't lose sleep over it. I've turned out to be a pretty disappointing creature when it's come to sex with some of my exes, but I'd make an absolutely horrible lover for most of my guy friends...we'd break up within twelve hours of our first intimate night simply because I'd be so ashamed they'd "dare" talk to my other friends about our time in bed -- not because the sex would be bad (albeit awkward), but because...I'm shy when it comes to some things. Not even so much shy...old fashioned.
I think the most ironic thing however is that I am often accused of having an overabundance (and even deviantly-subversive) sense of sexuality. Because I tend to hide things away from the mass of society, it seems to confuse all parties involved...it doesn't make sense that I am an aspiring lead vocalist for a rock band but don't and would not ever (A)do so for sex (B)utilize said roll of "power" for anything other than attempts at an emotional connection [STOP: I am fully aware of the repercussions of that statement; in fact, my emotional connections to people are often far more intense than any physical permutation I could ever muster up, and people who know me know this -- people who know me and dislike me know this too, and they usually dislike me at least a little bit because of this -- when I say "emotional connection" do not read that as my entering into a relationship with someone and becoming some sort of physic debilitating vampire -- I mean it in the sense that I wish to give people hope and help them find the beauty in life through music like so many artists have done for me-- not that I want admiration or people to think that I'm "hot" physically and intellectually though this side note as a whole is an entirely different entry which maybe sometime soon I'll delve into*]. It doesn't seem to add up to a girl that yes, I'm sensitive, but I also have a libido -- perhaps too much of one in the right (or to some, wrong) circumstances.
I have no problem talking about masturbation in and of the fact that it's a very personal (read: only involves me) thing, though I wouldn't fucking bring it up at family dinner, either -- just because I don't see it as shameful doesn't mean I want to talk about it, and I feel the same with what I have or haven't shared with a girl behind closed doors -- just...to a more grandiose extreme. I'm like the anti Eminem (in that his "I have the First Amendment on my side" argument will or at least should always win, but doesn't mean he has to expose ignorant feeble-minded 12 year olds to dark shit). Except I only rap about sex. Or...lack thereof. Or...at least from my raps, one would assume lack thereof. Got it? Prolly not...
Talking about the personal details of what my ex does or didn't do, is like giving you a really good porn tape...I know my use of the English language is better than a shitty quality amateur porno involving me, and I really just don't want to "hand over" that kind of thing...I just feel like giving Stephen or Jim fuel to mentally fuck my girl is just kind of...sick...and to have my aid in mentally watching me fuck my girl (or in most cases, giving them the ability to do so on their own later) just...ew.
"But wait, Sean!" I can see some of you saying, "You're making a mistake, because in fact my imagination is better than bad digicam porn, too -- in my mind I can think of all sorts of fucked up shit, so all you're really doing by not talking about the details is taking the realism out of it, you're not denying me the spectacle."
Well dear (slightly sketchily-thinking) reader, I did think of that argument, and I'm sorry, but I guess it's a situation where I have to take what I can get, and people have to expect that when it comes to sex and me talking about it, they too have to take what they can get from me: not very much. If they wanna work for it, you're right, I have no control over that (and boy have I seen Stephen work at fucking people's girlfriends here and there), but I'm not going to hand it over that easily. Growing up, it always seemed to me like some sort of bizarre swap -- if I gave up the goods on what making out with Heather Valente was like, then someone in turn could tell me what it was like to get a blowjob from Jamie Start...and that my friends, just wasn't my bag. I'm not saying "If I wanted head from Jamie Start, I would've just gotten it myself" -- because in fact that concept never interested me and I'm sure probably repulsed her -- but the proof is in the pudding, I know plenty of my friends who're quite incestuous and trade off or want to trade off and fuck each other's partners -- but they don't always get to. Sometimes, they have to work at it, and that daunting task in and of itself discourages them and therefore makes it an undesirable notion. I'm glad I for the most part stopped dating classical whores (as in sluts in the classical sense, not girls who want to fuck Debussy), because in the least, as badly as our relationship may have ended, I'd like to think they at least gave my dude friends a run for their money. Is that the moral of the story? If you wanna get off on my girlfriend, you're gonna have to do it alone, buddy boy -- 'cause I ain't gonna tell you what it's like...and here's hoping that you're lazy enough not to wanna bother with the work. It's kind of like why I find a girl sexier when clothed, or why I don't want to fuck on the first date if I actually am really into you...I want it to matter...I want to have time to let it mean the most it can...if you wanna turn me off be sure to be all about how much of a sexual fucking dynamo you are -- you'll get the easy meatheads for sure, or maybe you'll grab that rare smart and also more publicly sexually liberated male (like Jim), but you're not going to get me. This my friends is why I'm the perfect frontman for said rock n' roll band -- I am of no danger when it comes to bringing sketchy girls around, because I ain't giving up nothing for flashing your tits except maybe some free merch -- and I don't mean as a reward, I mean because you should fucking cover up, and not give into the male-dominated concept that you should always be sexual creatures for us. Do what you want for you, but don't lie to yourself and say that it's to feel "empowered" -- you want someone jerking off over you, and again, that just isn't my thing. I find it ironic that in the very same way I'm oft-harassed for leading people on by my looks, female friends of mine can be championed for being so "liberated."
I digress (and I'm starting to sound kind of bitter about not being asked to do porn, I suppose)...
While I was in New Orleans a few years ago, I was followed and nearly mugged late one night in the French Quarter -- I never saw my almost-attackers faces, but without even knowing race (or technically even sex), I knew that they were bad -- maybe not bad people as a whole, but invested in me for reasons of which were ultimately not going to have a positive outcome -- really for anyone involved since they presumably were going to in the least rob me, and all I had on me was about $20 and a shitty cellphone...who knows, maybe they were vampires and I missed out on the chance of a lifetime, but probably not, and regardless, just like a rabbit knows that it is prey to a fox, I knew that the only security I had was ducking into a tavern, getting lost in the crowd, and making my way back to my friends who were quite a ways away in another bar. They would be to me easily classified as an "enemy" to my existence, or in the least my checkbook. There was no ambiguity with them -- whether or not we could sit down and have one of those conversations in which I'd discover what we could and couldn't easily talk about (chances are, they were the type of people to kiss and tell, I guarantee it), it didn't fucking matter. Regardless of said balance (my attackers needed me to play the roll of prey, or else they would've just been another pair of insignificant pent up crackheads), we must not make the mistake that both parties involved found enemies in one another. My existence in New Orleans presented them with a purpose wherein solely by being on a dark street I wasn't familiar with, I gave their otherwise meaningless life reason, however, it does not mean that everything is two-sided when it comes to good versus evil. I think most people would agree that had I been robbed, it would've been a horrible thing happening to a "good" person -- no one would've dissected the crime and said "Well, Sean's done some really shitty things in his life." In my fear, those two people were my enemy, but I didn't pose any threat to them -- only if after the ill-fated mugging had I gotten up, chased them back home, fucked their Mom, done their drugs, stolen their money, and keyed their car would I be on level with them as an "enemy." Though most of us consider George Bush our "enemy" do you really think he would waste his time considering any of us special? No, because we're not doing anything to fuck his shit up. Look at who is considered a threat to this country or an "enemy" to Bush -- not you or I, because we've thus far proven that parades, protests, and politically-minded art (debatably more than any other politician in history has illicited) ain't gonna stop his madness.
I often hesitate to even bother stating that George W. Bush is one the worst leaders to ever rule over this country -- really, by now, who the fuck doesn't know that? Our president is a douchebag, next. But what is next? Who knows? And why isn't we don't know? It's because we are living in such a sterilized state of the nation that while we waste our time "fighting the good fight" the true slime slides into our houses without even having to try and hide -- we invite it...
It was about six 'o clock in the fucking morning (-7 GMT) when I started writing this, and now I'm staring it down recognizing that I've yet to even get to the point of it all. I'm jacked up on a vegetable platter, metallic-tasting water (I made the mistake of using tap water and for some reason couldn't bring myself to "waste" it by pouring it out and instead filling my glass with the safe-for-human-consumption-H20), and the stack of books by my side which will entertain me throughout this trip as I've quickly watched the few shows I thought to bring on my iPod video. There's where our problem lies, my friends, in the video iPod...when writing that statement, my initial reaction is that I'm guilty of something -- for embracing pop culture (equivalently on multiple levels; in my usage of a highly stylized mainstream media player, in possibly choosing said player over literature in the first place, and God forbid the fact that I have some pretty geeky sci-fi popcorn-TV on there) -- but that's not what I'm talking about at all. I'm here simply because I've looked into the enemies eyes tonight, and they've kept me awake -- I'm scared, and in fact, I'm actually kind of terrified. Despite what you may think, this post isn't about sex, or arguments, or our lame-ass ruler, it's about Ani Difranco, the real enemy to me, to you, to America, and to the world...
(To be continued)
* In fact, it'll prolly come before Part II of this whole thing because I got side-tracked and started writing it and kind of realized that it's a good exercise for me to take part in and get out of my head so my next entry isn't so manic and sidetrackish as this one.
This country (I'd even venture to say world in most cases) is going to absolute shit, but that shouldn't be news you -- and dare I say that if I did make such a whole-heartedly lame (and let's face it, overused) declaration on the downward-spiral of the American zeitgeist as though it was news then...fuck, I would hope that I'd be crucified by you (my one reader). We have reached a pinnacle of ignorance in 2006 in that the people who think they're making changes and "doing something" are nothing more than the very same cogs we're "fighting" on the lateral right.
We are faced with war zones every day in this country, but somehow a blind eye is turned upon them as of late because we're too self important to know what the fuck we're fighting against -- we've been tricked, we're being duped, and it's not even by those "evil men in Washington" we've always so easily been able to point our fingers at.
Being In high school, I knew who my enemies were, and there was something strangely comforting in that. If someone didn't agree with my feelings on abortion, religion, or even fucking Britney Spears -- it didn't mean I didn't like them, I simply knew that we differed on ideals here and there, and that there were some things which wouldn't be bad to consider "off limits" in casual conversation.
I remember many a day in 11th grade wherein either I would scathingly turn to my notebook for solace and escape, or Kristen would turn away from me in tears simply because of our inability to have a respectful conversation about God and organized religion. Even though we both lived under the pretense and guise that we were trying to be fair, neither of us could've been farther off from the truth. Fuck all, she was full of shit, and to her, I was lost...we both wanted to "save" (her in the more literal sense, I suppose) each other, and when you enter a situation like that, no one's going to get anywhere -- especially anywhere positive, but that doesn't make you an "enemy" to my existence, it simply means I'm not likely to call you for a beer and a chat about the unrecognized importance and value of an individual like Dr. Jack Kevorkian. [Actually, by show of hands I don't imagine I'd be able to have that conversation with more than a select few of you, but call a spade a spade and take the analogy as I intend it to be read i.e. it means when it comes to certain ideologies I disagree with my closest friends a lot, but we still dig each other]
Another example of a relationship with those of which didn't really "make sense" but never was a compromise of morals (read: sleeping with the enemy) would've been my lifelong struggle with the stereotypical male (believe it or not, I do consider some of those "guys" in my life to be some of my truest friends). The sports or drinking or even steak and potatoes and then more steak was never my problem...my problem was always pussy (oh the depths of which that statement could be dissected, and only for that reason shall I leave it). My male friends inability to keep their mouths shut about what goes on behind a closed door with a lady (I normally wouldn't be so limiting in my usage of descriptor, but I really don't have any "stereotypically male" gay friends, so fuck it) was a major factor of my isolation from my masculine self throughout my formative years. That and wanting to wear makeup and listen to lots of art-fag wankery...but regardless, minus the eyeliner and Elliot Smith records, I wasn't around much testosterone except for the occasional meat-fisted jock pushing me around. It took me years to find comfort in my closest (and I'm talking two or three people) friends talking about sex...I don't mean sexuality, I mean sex. And I don't mean sex-sex: I mean gritty details of what goes on between someone and their partner(s). I never needed to know how and where and to whom my friend did what to -- it just didn't interest me, and breached some strange unspoken rule I subscribed to wherein I occasionally would talk about experience, but not necessarily detail, and almost never the "with whom." Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I regret living like that, I'm just noting the facts...to be honest, really the only thing that I missed out on was knowing the innermost details of some girl and what crazy shit she was/wasn't into -- and, well, I do think that this desire to keep my physical nature in hiding from the public eye did fuck me up when it comes to me ability to open up in plenty of other venues (i.e. public declaration of love, singing, general-openingupness), but I'm working on that...
I'm not sexually incompatible with people because I don't like sex, but I'm really fucking sexually incompatible with people who find it to be a spectacle or a sport -- and that's fine, it's just not for me -- please don't think I'm tearing people like that down, it's just all relatively the same reason I don't smoke pot, and don't like a lot of the music my friends love -- it's not that it's bad, it's just that we're not compatible. I don't dig porn, I don't like talking to Clay about what someone tastes like, that doesn't mean I'm "right" -- it just means it works for me and I don't lose sleep over it. I've turned out to be a pretty disappointing creature when it's come to sex with some of my exes, but I'd make an absolutely horrible lover for most of my guy friends...we'd break up within twelve hours of our first intimate night simply because I'd be so ashamed they'd "dare" talk to my other friends about our time in bed -- not because the sex would be bad (albeit awkward), but because...I'm shy when it comes to some things. Not even so much shy...old fashioned.
I think the most ironic thing however is that I am often accused of having an overabundance (and even deviantly-subversive) sense of sexuality. Because I tend to hide things away from the mass of society, it seems to confuse all parties involved...it doesn't make sense that I am an aspiring lead vocalist for a rock band but don't and would not ever (A)do so for sex (B)utilize said roll of "power" for anything other than attempts at an emotional connection [STOP: I am fully aware of the repercussions of that statement; in fact, my emotional connections to people are often far more intense than any physical permutation I could ever muster up, and people who know me know this -- people who know me and dislike me know this too, and they usually dislike me at least a little bit because of this -- when I say "emotional connection" do not read that as my entering into a relationship with someone and becoming some sort of physic debilitating vampire -- I mean it in the sense that I wish to give people hope and help them find the beauty in life through music like so many artists have done for me-- not that I want admiration or people to think that I'm "hot" physically and intellectually though this side note as a whole is an entirely different entry which maybe sometime soon I'll delve into*]. It doesn't seem to add up to a girl that yes, I'm sensitive, but I also have a libido -- perhaps too much of one in the right (or to some, wrong) circumstances.
I have no problem talking about masturbation in and of the fact that it's a very personal (read: only involves me) thing, though I wouldn't fucking bring it up at family dinner, either -- just because I don't see it as shameful doesn't mean I want to talk about it, and I feel the same with what I have or haven't shared with a girl behind closed doors -- just...to a more grandiose extreme. I'm like the anti Eminem (in that his "I have the First Amendment on my side" argument will or at least should always win, but doesn't mean he has to expose ignorant feeble-minded 12 year olds to dark shit). Except I only rap about sex. Or...lack thereof. Or...at least from my raps, one would assume lack thereof. Got it? Prolly not...
Talking about the personal details of what my ex does or didn't do, is like giving you a really good porn tape...I know my use of the English language is better than a shitty quality amateur porno involving me, and I really just don't want to "hand over" that kind of thing...I just feel like giving Stephen or Jim fuel to mentally fuck my girl is just kind of...sick...and to have my aid in mentally watching me fuck my girl (or in most cases, giving them the ability to do so on their own later) just...ew.
"But wait, Sean!" I can see some of you saying, "You're making a mistake, because in fact my imagination is better than bad digicam porn, too -- in my mind I can think of all sorts of fucked up shit, so all you're really doing by not talking about the details is taking the realism out of it, you're not denying me the spectacle."
Well dear (slightly sketchily-thinking) reader, I did think of that argument, and I'm sorry, but I guess it's a situation where I have to take what I can get, and people have to expect that when it comes to sex and me talking about it, they too have to take what they can get from me: not very much. If they wanna work for it, you're right, I have no control over that (and boy have I seen Stephen work at fucking people's girlfriends here and there), but I'm not going to hand it over that easily. Growing up, it always seemed to me like some sort of bizarre swap -- if I gave up the goods on what making out with Heather Valente was like, then someone in turn could tell me what it was like to get a blowjob from Jamie Start...and that my friends, just wasn't my bag. I'm not saying "If I wanted head from Jamie Start, I would've just gotten it myself" -- because in fact that concept never interested me and I'm sure probably repulsed her -- but the proof is in the pudding, I know plenty of my friends who're quite incestuous and trade off or want to trade off and fuck each other's partners -- but they don't always get to. Sometimes, they have to work at it, and that daunting task in and of itself discourages them and therefore makes it an undesirable notion. I'm glad I for the most part stopped dating classical whores (as in sluts in the classical sense, not girls who want to fuck Debussy), because in the least, as badly as our relationship may have ended, I'd like to think they at least gave my dude friends a run for their money. Is that the moral of the story? If you wanna get off on my girlfriend, you're gonna have to do it alone, buddy boy -- 'cause I ain't gonna tell you what it's like...and here's hoping that you're lazy enough not to wanna bother with the work. It's kind of like why I find a girl sexier when clothed, or why I don't want to fuck on the first date if I actually am really into you...I want it to matter...I want to have time to let it mean the most it can...if you wanna turn me off be sure to be all about how much of a sexual fucking dynamo you are -- you'll get the easy meatheads for sure, or maybe you'll grab that rare smart and also more publicly sexually liberated male (like Jim), but you're not going to get me. This my friends is why I'm the perfect frontman for said rock n' roll band -- I am of no danger when it comes to bringing sketchy girls around, because I ain't giving up nothing for flashing your tits except maybe some free merch -- and I don't mean as a reward, I mean because you should fucking cover up, and not give into the male-dominated concept that you should always be sexual creatures for us. Do what you want for you, but don't lie to yourself and say that it's to feel "empowered" -- you want someone jerking off over you, and again, that just isn't my thing. I find it ironic that in the very same way I'm oft-harassed for leading people on by my looks, female friends of mine can be championed for being so "liberated."
I digress (and I'm starting to sound kind of bitter about not being asked to do porn, I suppose)...
While I was in New Orleans a few years ago, I was followed and nearly mugged late one night in the French Quarter -- I never saw my almost-attackers faces, but without even knowing race (or technically even sex), I knew that they were bad -- maybe not bad people as a whole, but invested in me for reasons of which were ultimately not going to have a positive outcome -- really for anyone involved since they presumably were going to in the least rob me, and all I had on me was about $20 and a shitty cellphone...who knows, maybe they were vampires and I missed out on the chance of a lifetime, but probably not, and regardless, just like a rabbit knows that it is prey to a fox, I knew that the only security I had was ducking into a tavern, getting lost in the crowd, and making my way back to my friends who were quite a ways away in another bar. They would be to me easily classified as an "enemy" to my existence, or in the least my checkbook. There was no ambiguity with them -- whether or not we could sit down and have one of those conversations in which I'd discover what we could and couldn't easily talk about (chances are, they were the type of people to kiss and tell, I guarantee it), it didn't fucking matter. Regardless of said balance (my attackers needed me to play the roll of prey, or else they would've just been another pair of insignificant pent up crackheads), we must not make the mistake that both parties involved found enemies in one another. My existence in New Orleans presented them with a purpose wherein solely by being on a dark street I wasn't familiar with, I gave their otherwise meaningless life reason, however, it does not mean that everything is two-sided when it comes to good versus evil. I think most people would agree that had I been robbed, it would've been a horrible thing happening to a "good" person -- no one would've dissected the crime and said "Well, Sean's done some really shitty things in his life." In my fear, those two people were my enemy, but I didn't pose any threat to them -- only if after the ill-fated mugging had I gotten up, chased them back home, fucked their Mom, done their drugs, stolen their money, and keyed their car would I be on level with them as an "enemy." Though most of us consider George Bush our "enemy" do you really think he would waste his time considering any of us special? No, because we're not doing anything to fuck his shit up. Look at who is considered a threat to this country or an "enemy" to Bush -- not you or I, because we've thus far proven that parades, protests, and politically-minded art (debatably more than any other politician in history has illicited) ain't gonna stop his madness.
I often hesitate to even bother stating that George W. Bush is one the worst leaders to ever rule over this country -- really, by now, who the fuck doesn't know that? Our president is a douchebag, next. But what is next? Who knows? And why isn't we don't know? It's because we are living in such a sterilized state of the nation that while we waste our time "fighting the good fight" the true slime slides into our houses without even having to try and hide -- we invite it...
It was about six 'o clock in the fucking morning (-7 GMT) when I started writing this, and now I'm staring it down recognizing that I've yet to even get to the point of it all. I'm jacked up on a vegetable platter, metallic-tasting water (I made the mistake of using tap water and for some reason couldn't bring myself to "waste" it by pouring it out and instead filling my glass with the safe-for-human-consumption-H20), and the stack of books by my side which will entertain me throughout this trip as I've quickly watched the few shows I thought to bring on my iPod video. There's where our problem lies, my friends, in the video iPod...when writing that statement, my initial reaction is that I'm guilty of something -- for embracing pop culture (equivalently on multiple levels; in my usage of a highly stylized mainstream media player, in possibly choosing said player over literature in the first place, and God forbid the fact that I have some pretty geeky sci-fi popcorn-TV on there) -- but that's not what I'm talking about at all. I'm here simply because I've looked into the enemies eyes tonight, and they've kept me awake -- I'm scared, and in fact, I'm actually kind of terrified. Despite what you may think, this post isn't about sex, or arguments, or our lame-ass ruler, it's about Ani Difranco, the real enemy to me, to you, to America, and to the world...
(To be continued)
* In fact, it'll prolly come before Part II of this whole thing because I got side-tracked and started writing it and kind of realized that it's a good exercise for me to take part in and get out of my head so my next entry isn't so manic and sidetrackish as this one.