rocket to nowhere

it’s time for more ibuprofen.

it’s time to thank Dylan over at Pimps of Gore for his plug (I plug him in the sidebar, but a plug in the body is long overdue (speaking of plugs in the body and ear infections . . . I won’t (speak of them)): you should check out his site, which (unlike mine) is well-written and useful and gives the reader real presents (whereas mine just pretends to pretend to give the reader something vaguely resembling (but not quite actually resembling) presents (or something)).

it’s time for two quotations from Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (which I recently finished reading (and it was wonderful), and when I finished reading it (it, by the way, was wonderful), I read The Hours by Michael Cunningham (which, by the way, was also wonderful (really) and was also, by the way, made into a fine film, perhaps you heard of it?) which may or may not elaborate on the quotation from Beckett above:

“It might be possible, Septimus thought, looking at England from the train window, as they left Newhaven; it might be possible that the world itself is without meaning.”

&

“For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying–what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt. / ‘But I do not know,’ said Peter Walsh, ‘what I feel.’”

it’s time for also maybe this one as well:

“A thing there was that mattered; a thing wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death.”

and indeed, since the above quotation leads inevitably (in my mind) to Hopscotch by Julio Cortazar (especially the “people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mytically, evaded them” part) and Hopscotch inevitably to Prufrock (even though both Mrs. Dalloway and The Hours could lead one inevitably to Prufrock), it’s time for the yellow smoke that slides along the street, rubbing its back upon the window-panes; it’s time, it’s time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; it’s time to murder and create, and time for all the works and days of hands that lift and drop a question on your plate; time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of a toast and tea.

it’s time for me to tell you what all this has to do with my ear infection, the taking of more ibuprofen and the thank you and plug in exchange for the plug.

it’s time for pain and the alleviation thereof.

it’s time for more blah blah blah here at the rocket2nowhere blahg.

(one) from anonymous user taysbraid on lawrence.com:

“As Hanson’s new freedom through independence has exerted itself, they have been gaining more and more fans, of all ages and genders, and it’s again unfortunate and misleading to hear “those of us who are left,” when their online fan club forums receive millions of posts monthly from members who actually pay for the priviledge.”

(two) from an article called Nepal Boy Called Reincarnation of Buddha by Binaj Gurubacharya:

“Ram Bahadur Banjan, 15, sits cross-legged and motionless with eyes closed among the roots of a tree in the jungle of Bara, about 100 miles south of the capital, Katmandu.”

And so that, dear Reader(s), is the New Zodiac by sh and bigjesus. I hope you found it enlightening and/or entertaining on some level at least. We (and when I say “we,” I really mean “I”) now return you to your semi-regularly scheduled program, which will include (but is not, or will not be, limited to):

More telephone conversations like the one I just overheard (well, half of it anyway):
“Hello? — This is she. — What?!? — You have my rabies certificate? — What is the question? — Yes, I am. — Ok, thank you.”

More of my own digital photography (as opposed to things mined from Google):

More or less of the “award-winning,” first-class, top-notch, liberal-lovin’, muckraking, inside (and below) the Beltway, “journalism” you’ve come to rely on as part of your daily, intarweby sustenance! Huzzah!

More blurring the line.

More clever high jinks and shenanigans!

More moreness! Less lessness! More or less more and less moreness and lessness!

I hope you’ll join me!

10:15 p.m. – 12:14 a.m.

You are highly emotional and fanatically, yet bizarrely and creatively spiritual. Things that are of this mundane world do not interest you in their original forms (or you have difficulty comprehending them), so you find ways to personalize the things around you, so as to carry your connection to the Transcendent into all aspects of your life. Just look at that steering wheel and those seat covers! You find strong and significant meaning in occurrences others find commonplace. You can be utterly incomprehensible, yet your cadence is hypnotizing. Sex is a strong motivator for you, and you are very honest and outspoken about your libidinous needs. You are largely uncomplicated and predictable, and as such probably make a very good friend. Especially to lards and oils.

8:15 p.m. – 10:14 p.m.

You are a lifeless, non-human thing that has been granted the blessing of human characteristics! Where before you would have been “content” in your “unconsciousness,” you are now charged with maintaining not only consciousness, but also a code of morals/ethics. Where before you had nothing but being, you now have being and becoming as well as the desire to tell the difference between the two. More importantly, you now have desire (and either the fulfillment or denial thereof). Where before you had no sense of self, you now have a self and all the doubts and worries that go with it. Now that people around you have recognized your humanity, you can no longer go back to being the inanimate object you were before. Because you are technically not alive, technically, you cannot now die. You get to be human-like forever! Lucky you!

6:14 p.m. – 8:14 p.m.

You are tenacious, stubborn, scrappy and unbelievably gorgeous. You have a terrible knack for getting yourself, and therefore anyone who cares for you, into unbelievable amounts of trouble. This usually happens simply because you are satisfying some whimsical itch of curiosity—or because you have a fanatical wish to die at the hands of those upon whom you eavesdrop. You never stop talking, asking questions, making editorial asides, or prying into the affairs of others. Your grammar is impeccable. You crave the attention of the strong, but may be lulled into a delirious state of arousal by the absurdly intelligent. You are secretly a filthy slut. Conversely, it is no secret whatsoever that you are the single most annoying person with whom your friends and colleagues have any contact.

4:15 p.m. – 6:14 p.m.

You are calm and thoughtful. You often find yourself surrounded by small children who have a tendency to freak out, and whose eyes and mouths become exceedingly, impossibly large at such times. You clean your glasses while squinting or you rub your chin. You narrowly avoid being hit in the head with flying objects while cleaning/squinting or chin stroking. If you had a nickel for every time someone said to you, “You know, it’s crazy, but it just might work!” you’d be rich beyond your wildest dreams. You have forgotten how many times you have averted disaster by being calm and thoughtful (and also somewhat absent minded). You have forgotten that you have ever averted disaster by being calm and thoughtful (and also somewhat absent minded). Every crisis is a new problem to you. You know what the bubbling liquid in the test tube is. You don’t know how your glasses always manage to get so dirty. You don’t know who these large-mouthed, large-eyed, screaming children are, they’re certainly not yours, you’ve never been married or even really had sex except for maybe that one time with the tenacious, stubborn, scrappy reporter who helped you avert disaster by being tenacious, stubborn, scrappy and unbelievably gorgeous, but no one really knows if the two of you knocked boots, and the loud, orphan children who are always following you around and getting you into trouble just giggle uncontrollably every time you mention her name. Oh well.

2:15 p.m. – 4:14 p.m.

You are a seething mass of evil, borne out of the Carven Rim and through the Windowless Solids of Five Dimensions. Your irresponsible whisperings about the Nameless Cylinder penetrate into the minds of the willful and weak alike, and render bold men useless with abject terror. The foetid aura that surrounds you—your stinking, rotten presence—demands nothing less than the full subservience of your wretched minions, whom you send out on loathsome errands, usually to the Disney Store. Gaze not upon us, O thou lumbering chaos!

12:15 p.m. – 2:14 p.m.

Despite the fact that an all-star team of designers (hand-picked by an all-star team of designer pickers) spent years agonizing over each and every last one of your particular particulars, and despite the fact that you were crafted with care from the very best and finest and most expensive materials available, and despite the fact the head of the office of the government’s official office in charge of the office of ergonomically correct ergonomics regularly sings your praises (alleluia to the highest!), the fact remains that you are breaking the backs of cubicle-bound office workers the world round. Congratulations.