Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters
socratic

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I'm experimenting with different types of voice, okay?

The Fireflies in Riverside Park are out in force, and they explain perfectly why it was that people once believed in magic. Those little flecks of yellow, sparkling in the moonlight, provide a phospheresent counterbalance to the vast stone, glass, and steel monuments that make up the majority of Manhattan. It's funny how nature's beauty always manages to poke it's way through the concrete jungle. Insects, pigeons, falcons, dandelions poking their way through cracks in the concrete. Mankind is capable of producing objects of extraordinary beauty. Buildings of architectural genius, paintings that challenge and engage the eye and mind, quadruple harmony in syncopated time. We're still amateurs in comparison to nature. We can make all the murals and sonnets and pretty little advertising jingles we want, but it's not going to compare to sunsets or orchids or the way a girl's skin stretches over her cheekbones when she laughs. Check and mate. We've got 57 varieties of ketchup? Nature's got like 40,000 different types of beetles. It's had a few billion years and it's been busy as hell, cranking out different forms of life and unspoiled environments at a rate so fast that it's going to take us at least another century to destroy it all. Look at the Rainforest, man. It's an environment so complicated and teeming with variety that it makes the internet look like a third grader's fingerpainting in comparison. We can't compete with that.

Of course I haven't even mentioned Nature's trump card, it's automatic check mate, yet. That would be tits. Simple, soft, round and perfect. Whatever shit we come up with in the future, you know none of it's going to compare to a really nice pair of natural titties. It doesn't matter what accomplishment you want to roll out, we're dead at the starting gate.

Humankind: The wheel

Nature: Titties

H: The Sistine Chapel

N: Titties

H: Fire, no wait, that's yours. Umm....Chocolate Souffle.

N: Titties.

H: The theory of relativity.

N: The mechanics underlying the theory of relativity. And titties.

H: The combined canons of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Shakespeare, The Bible, and Michaelangelo.

N: Titties. And Ass.

H: Ahh fuck it, you win.

I'm convinced that there are aliens out there, that they planned to bomb the shit out of us, and set up a nice colony of ant-people or whatever the fuck they look like down here. They were all massed out there just beyond the atmosphere with their cloaking devices and shit on, and then they discovered the Spice channel. Now every evening it's the same thing. "General Maktiktak, shall we prepare the partical beam for deployment?"

"Not tonight Kitkara. I hear Alyssa Milano's rack is going to be on Skinemax tonight. Maybe afterwards." Seriously, folks, the fact that the Olsen Twins just turned 18 and will undoubtably eventually doff their clothing for the camera in order to cling to the last remnants of their fading fame is the only thing standing between us and utter annhiliation at this point. I truly believe that.

Seriously, though, ladies. You think that guys are only interested in your breasts because we're just mindless pigs who are only capable of thinking with our dicks. That's not true at all. We're interested in your breasts because we appreciate the finer things in life. You girls undervalue your titties because you've had them since you were like 12 (back then you actually WERE interested in them. Little girls can't wait to get their first bras, they're not worrying about backaches or catcalls. They have their priorities right.) and they're just not interesting to you anymore. Familiarity breeds contempt. Robert Frost didn't sit around reading his poetry to himself all day after he finished writing it, and Helen Hunt doesn't spend 24/7 staring at her gorgeous knockers. It's the same reasons that guys don't wake up every day, look down at the ugly mushroom/snake looking thing hanging from our groin area and scream in horror. We get used to it after awhile. We're not the only ones who appreciate titties though. Girls, why do you think your cat is always around, always looking at you, while you're changing clothes? Do you think it's a happy coincedence? They know what they're doing. And you ever seen one of those commercials where the damsel in the low cut gown is twirling around in the forest singing, sticks up her finger, and has a bird perch on it chirping happily? He's not enticed by her dulcet tones, he's trying to sneak a peek at the twins from the best possible vantage points.

Let you in on another little secret. Babies don't really like breastmilk. Can't stand the stuff. Think about it, would you rather drink the warm concoction that shoots out of a cow's udder or the processed refrigerator cooled deliciousness that's fortified with Vitamin's A and D? Formula tastes about 20x better. So why do babies drink the warm nasty stuff that comes from their mothers' bodies? Lack of choice is part of it, but it really comes down to the delivery system. I know that I'd suck down cod liver oil like there was no tomorrow if it came out of a tit. There's a reason that nature didn't put the mammary glands in a woman's armpits. Figure it out.

Tits, man. Nature's big "Top this you hairless monkeys" middle finger to the creative efforts of humanity. I'm telling you.

On a more serious note, I do feel bad for mentioning that characteristic about the young fellow I met yesterday. I've always thought of myself as the type of person who doesn't get caught up in celebrity, especially peripheral celebrity, and I still believe that to be true. I've been racking my brains for an explanation for that reaction and the best thing that I can come up with is that I think there's a lot of comedic potential there. I don't want to exploit it, because he's a real person to me now, but there are dozens of jokes to be mined, and not just of the cheap "How often does he say Luke, you are my father? What kinds of birthday cards does he get from Grandpa Vader? Do they say 'Dear Grandson, you are another year older today and I couldn't be prouder. Well I could, but your father wouldn't want me to mention how. If you ever want to come up to the Deathstar to visit your old pop pop I might get a chance to explain to you some of the wonderful opportunities that the Dark Side has to offer, but while you're living under his roof you should be good and stick to the light." variety. Maybe I'm just making excuses, but I do believe that I'm at least a little bit restrained when it comes to the starstruck stuff and would be even if I encountered someone with serious wattage, like a Dustin Hoffman or a Kumar Pallana.

Today was pretty much wasted except for this entry. I didn't sleep right and when I don't sleep right I can't write right. I'm wide awake right now and brimming with creativity, but I'd better get to sleep so I can restart my cycle properly and be productive tomorrow. I'm going to start the Job Hunt in ernest again on monday and give over the next couple of day and night cycles to working on the various projects I have going on. I feel like I'm sharpening up, can you tell from the journal entries that I'm starting to get my creative feet back under me again or is it just in my mind? Feedback is always good.

I've been watching the Oxygen network a little bit, and I'm man enough to admit it. Can somebody explain to me why so many of the little vignette network promos they do are focused on manbashing, shoes, and shopping? If it's truly supposed to be a network for women does it really need to fall into those stereotypes and talk about shoegasms? I'm not saying it has to be all breast cancer and underrepresentation in congress, but I'm not sure why executives who program for women seem to believe that they should be portrayed as as shallow, depraved, and sexist as males are. If the point of feminism is "Hey, we can be boorish too" then it's the most self-indulgent and destructive movement on the face of the earth. I don't really believe that IS the point, but it's hard to tell from a lot of media outlets that at least claim association with the feminist cause. Elizabeth Cady Stanton didn't spend her life fighting for political opportunity so chicks could throw their vote away on the candidate with the best hair, or if she did then she might as well have stayed in the kitchen barefoot and learned how to cook a really smashing cobbler.
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