Do you know what I hate? Do you know what really makes my nerves crackle with a kind of dark negative energy that can only be sated with immediate violence towards what ever is closest?
Closed-mindness. I’m not ever sure if that’s a word, but you get my drift.
For example, just say, you’re telling someone a completely fictitious and fanciful theory about why the sun comes up every morning, and even before you can finish saying “and that’s when the giant has a break for lunch” the person you are telling this tale too cuts you off by saying “Couldn’t happen. It has to do with the rotation of the Earth.”
“Yes, I am aware of science (you self righteous twat)” you reply, faceplaming so forcibly you are surprised you don’t give yourself an injury, “I was just trying to tell a you a completely fictitious and fanciful theory that I thought you might find interesting. But it appears I was wrong, and I shall now avoid you for the rest of my life.”
Or people who think they’re open minded just because they’re an atheist. Most athiest’s I know are violently against the idea of religion and push their ideals as hard as any Jehovah’s Witness.
Okay, so I’m not the epitome of humanity when it comes to open mindness. I still judge radio stations by how many ads they play, bands by their hype, illicit drugs by their scare campaigns, but for the love of someone’s god, I say tomAHto, you say tomAIto, let’s just all get over it.
You should listen to the small child who says a tiny woman in wings and a tutu puts a coin under their pillow in exchange for their extracted baby teeth or the toothless man man who says a woman of that same description is standing right behind you. You don’t have to agree with them, just listen.
Who knows? They might be the ones who sees things with the most clarity.
Stay tuned for next weeks rant: Vegetarians and why we should fill their veggie patties with traces of meat.
awww, you just missed out, I use to have no curtains on my windows, but alas, you and the early morning golfers can no longer watch me do my “nudie run”.
A plague o’ both your houses!
They have made worms meat of me!
I love the scene of Mercutio’s death.
But Shakespeare is so year ten.
I’ve been trying for hours to come up with something witty to reply to this.
It’s not working for me. So I answer you’re non-question with a question, why is it necessary to tell me this on Tumblr?
Right, do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to start my oral on Andy Warhol, right here, right now. See, I’m trying to trick my brain. If I think it’s something informal, just some piece of random brain explosion, maybe it’ll help me to loosen up? I’m hoping that without the stress, ideas shall simply bloom like a flower should do when it’s been left to just grow. I’ve turned off my music and exited Facebook. Msn has been logged out of for a while. Okay, I shall begin..
Arg.. I can’t do it.
Wait, okay, no, I’m not going to give up. Let’s just start slowly. Bear with me everyone, I’m just going to map out my thinking. This is more for me then for your entertainment, so please, feel free to go off and do something else. I’ll call you back in at the end, when hopefully our intrepid hero has triumphed over writers block and has something to show for herself.
So, my focus for this term has been hidden identity and anonymity, using the internet and superheroes to get my faux message across. Now, Andy Warhol was quite the opposite of that, wasn’t he? He was all about the fifteen minutes of fame, and celebrity worship. But also in a sense, lose of identity. The Marilyn Diptych, a silkscreen painting completed in 1962, weeks after Marilyn Monroes death, the repetition of the image shows how Marilyn was seen and thus owned by the public in general. Marilyn was an object, not a person and the Marilyn Diptych shows this. Hmmm.. I think I’ve just said the same thing twice…
Rarg, okay, this is good… this has gotten my head straightened out a little bit… um… do you want to read what I’ve got so far? Eh, well I don’t really care, I’m going to post it anyway…
(Ignore the bullshit at the beginning about “my sense of identity being influenced by…” That’s just to… I don’t know… tie my oral in with the task better)
My sense of identity has been very much influenced by the ever growing online culture. This involves an obscurity of identity; on the internet an identity can be easily adjusted or changed all together. It also shows the emergence of individuality amongst this heavily commercialised world, the internet being a place where one can express oneself as however they want to be seen. But in a way, that can be questioned: If we are all going on the same websites, “liking” the same things, showing the same pictures on our blogs, are we truly individuals? Also, the idea of blogs, projecting our personal lives on to a public stage, complete with headlines and pictures, is all most reminiscent of the celebrity cult and the 15 seconds of fame that Andy Warhol often makes a statement about in his artworks, but showing the progression of our age, the new celebrities are “ordinary people”, reality TV show stars.
Andy Warhol started his career as a commercial artists and first came to the centre of the public eye through his highly successful illustrations for a shoe advertisement. Its his early beginnings in commercial art that pushed him towards the art that he would go on to be world renowned for later in life. Andy Warhol is the most well known pop artist ever.
Pop art is an art movement that responded directly to the times it was being created. With the development of the mass production industry and the introduction of the television, advertising was everywhere and the modern day need to consume was just beginning to heat up. Pop artists played with the idea of mass production, and commented on societies need to consume, whether it be objects or humans. Andy Warhol is best known for trying to take Pop art from an art form to a lifestyle.
SO YES, that’s all I’ve got so far.. Tell me what you think? Or you know, any ideas?
Blarg, I’m going to go do some work.
Sorry, I’ll be back to the regular whimsical posts soon.
-Myself, telling Seth how he can now abuse his new position of School Captain.
I can’t have a conversation on my Tumblr.
You’re forcing me to add you to facebook again aren’t you?
No, no, don’t say anything, it’s already done.
A few thoughts for you:
1. The Toowoomba Empire Theatre production of Monty Pythons Spamalot was sensational. I also felt extra warm and fuzzy on account of knowing the names of at least 6 of the cast members. One complaint though, at times I found it difficult to hear what they were singing. The orchestra, while being magnificent, was probably a tad too loud. A special mention to Patsy who, due to his lower status, was constantly forgotten by King Arthur but stayed loyally by his side, banging those two coconut husks together as only any other peasant probably could.
2. For the love of god, doesn’t anyone write monologues for 40-50 something females? My mother, a 40-50 something female, is desperately searching for one to audition with in four weeks at the University of Southern Queensland to learn theatre with 18-20 somethings…. I must admit, 40-50 something female is a fairly tough age to write for. I mean, if the characters a male, it’s a perfect opportunity to write a dramatic piece or even a humorous one about midlife crises. But 40-50 something females… they have no sense of humor at all..
3. I have asking this a lot, but why for the love of all things good and green, is the Batman leader of the Justice League? I’m not a big fan of the DC universe, but have recently started reading the Green Lantern. In this particular issue the Justice League was present and it didn’t make much sense to me that a mere man (albeit a man with a bottomless cash pool), with no actual super human powers, was lording over a team of humans with power that quite easily surpass his own. So tell me, why?
4. The craft box has finally migrated from my behind my bedroom door, to the middle of the lounge room floor. Mum said she’s going to do something with it, but I’m pretty sure it shall sit there for another ten months. You can not fathom my joy at finally removing that pile of junk from my direct line of sight. Yay, now I can fill that space with my own crap!
5. Martin Brown. I have been waiting for you to call me since Tuesday. So, yeah, no pressure bro, just fucking call me.
And 6. I have 25 followers! And only 11 of them are people I know! I’m feeling quite good about that. I’ve never been pushy about this before, but it would make me pretty darn happy if you 25 lovely, highly attractive and well mannered people spread my blog like a virus.
hmmm. I am attempting to think very carefuly what this is in relation to.
I suppose it all depends. If you are referring to yourself, I would consider very carefully what is you wish to get over and why. If you are referring to something I have written.. frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.
I currently have 111 posts. I tried putting that number through a binary decoder to see if it was some encrypted message from the beyond (the god of internets…?) telling me what my ultimate purpose on Tumblr is, but alas, it was not divisible by 8.
Maths makes me so sad sometimes.
I was awake most of the night last night. I have a cold, or some horribly mutated version of hay fever, and I decided it would be a fun idea to read Edgar Allen Poe and H.P. Lovecraft before I went to sleep. Oh what terrifying fever dreams it spawned.
Meh, not really.
In a way, I wish it did. Fear is a fascinating emotion. I admire how EAP and Lovecraft have that insight into the human mind and know what makes us scarred. It’s even more admirable that these authors, both writing well and truly over fifty years, still manage to grab a readers spine and dip it in a good ol’ bucket of the chills.
But not me. And I’ll tell you why.
Lovecraft is scary, but an incredible tease. For those of you who have read a great deal of his work, or even a small deal, you would know that the words “indescribable”, “unnamable” and “antediluvian” are among his favorites. Antediluvian doesn’t have much to do with the point I’m making, but it’s a great word isn’t it? I’ve heard that he gets better; I’ve heard that in his later stories, these nameless horrors come to life, but still, for now, I am frustrated with being on the point of “scarred” but never quite being able to picture the subject of my terror.
Edgar Allen Poe, now he makes you think more then scare. And for some of those, that is a terrifying prospect. No, I’m not trying to be smart, but for some considering the issues raised in his short stories and poetries really is quite daunting. Is the tapping some late night visitor? Did the crow really cry “Nevermore”? Holy shit, is my mind becoming more twisted then my grandmothers cancerous bowels?
But, gah, it did not scare me =/
Maybe my mind is made of impenetrable stone, sturdy and sensible when it comes to these things. Maybe I’m missing that part of my brain that holds fear. Maybe I’m rambling and sprouting nonsense because I’m ill and just wanted to write something?
But maybe… MAYBE I’M ALREADY INSANE!! I HAVE STARED INTO THE ABYSS AND HAD THE ABYSS STARE BACK!! I HAVE GONE WHERE NO SANE MIND RETURNS! MWAHAHA..HAHAHA…HAHAHAAAAA!
Is October over yet?
I’ve gotta stop reading those books 0_0