eeyore

2001-11-23T15:24:00.000Z

Cambridge music faculty lecturers all seem a little puzzled when you ask them intelligent questions - puzzled, with an air of
incomprehension, as if they can't quite work out what's just happened.

AH! A student in my class WOKE UP and THOUGHT about something I just read from my notes and may have even tried to STUMBLE TOWARDS an UNDERSTANDING of the subject! MY GOD, what if they've been READING all those BOOKS I put on the READING LIST! - What if they've FOUND the LIBRARY and worked out how to TAKE NOTES! What if they have EVEN THE MEREST GLIMMER OF SUSPICION that the ACTIVITY I've been passing of as lecturing is REALLY just SLEEP-DEPRIVED DRIBBLING! MAYBE they even have IDEAS of their OWN! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO! The most DOOM-MONGERING BIO-GENETICS GREEN ACTIVIST never thought that DNA TRANSPLANTATION would give VEGETABLES CONSCIOUSNESS! ... AHHHHH ... [collapses on floor, whimpering]

2001-11-08T20:47:00.000Z

Is a Critian halfway between a Cretan and a Christian? Quite how you bisect a point is another question. An evangelical Cretan would presumably tell you how wonderful lying though your teeth all the time can be ... and an evangelical Christian?

Not quite Nietzschean italics, but then, I'm far too camp for that ...
And, obviously, I missed the distinction between Cretan and cretin. Triple portmanteau.

The trouble with being simultaneously drunk and postmodernist is that applying alchol-induced juxtaposition of concepts and words to postmodernistdiscourse produces a result identical to the original: drunkenness merely makes obvious to everyone the incomprehsibility of neo-speak.

(mania today is? what? sustained? I think not. Just that sleeping 4.15-9.15am, then 10.15am-1.15am lets you ignore most of the day, and survive to evening. not worth it.)

2001-11-02T20:05:00.000Z

Sod all to say today.

2001-10-30T04:37:00.000Z

The question of emergence may be approached by enfolding different procedural modalities within the techno-poetic mechanism. why bother? - but then he's been reading Chanan's Musica Practica (1994)

An invocation is an articulation in both senses — an utterance, and a joining together of elements. An invocational machine is all joins, with many virtual elements. Its instructions articulate data through a series of foldings. They pass through fold upon fold of layers in hardware and software. As patterns with no permanent material expression, invocational entities have a quasi-magical fluidity. Invoked simulations are liquid architectures: ‘a landscape for rational magic’ (Novak 1992: 226).guess what this comes from .... Not so much "a landscape for rational magic" as an opportunity to drain research funds from the state whilst producing unlimited bullshit.

How do they write these sentences? Maybe they don't have pissed-off Cambridge examiners at the back of their minds ...

2001-10-30T03:36:00.000Z

This sentence exists merely to help the net-presence of Max Brandt and his unjustly-forgotten oeuvre.

2001-10-30T03:27:00.000Z

Remind::.self.future.action
-post Nietz
-screw the colours
-fill with inappropriate and disturbing imagery from the deep recesses of my mind 'n' memory
-must have at least _one_ pissed donkey clutching 1.5l Smirnoff Red label.
-list of achievments
-definitions of irony, wit, sarcasm, misery, depression, self-hatred, isolation and arrogance.
-virulent atheistic vitriol
-die

2001-10-30T03:13:00.000Z

The idea that for any sustained period of time I might put a small amount of mental effort into the construction of sentences that people, including yourself, might ever consider reading, let alone get anywhere near the end of before their miserable, boring little lives run out their short and unhappy courses to the full, is not even worth thinking about.

The above sentence proves that your thought is worthless, but you knew that already: this sentence merely exists to inflict upon you once again the fact that your stupidity, ignorance and lack of perception are so serious that people such as myself have to point out what you should have known at least 11 seconds ago (and if it takes you any longer to read this far, don't even bother to rip out your eye-sockets, teeth and brain - they'll have disintegrated into an amorphous pulp before you get anywhere near the floor).

Isn't life fun. No, it's not a question, idiot - no comma, see? It's just a little post-syntactical: re-ordering realises results.

Overheard in a book: "Although I write verse myself, I find certain poets less likeable than all the tenors together."

2001-10-26T00:50:00.000Z

The form suggests: "Post to eeyore"
Why bother? Your handwriting doesn't even deteriorate as your mental state slowly plunges into the happy heights of oxymoronic rapture. (put that sentence all on one line and it looks quite good; read it: think again.) Today I discovered (that) I can't even write birthday cards anymore, not in the way I used to encounter the word "write", anyway. At least with deconstructivist post-modernism and collage techniques, it doesn't really matter if you aren't emotionally engaged in the "birthday" "celebrations" ("Like four-letter words, scare quotes have had their face worn off through overuse", (source)) - you just play about a bit on the surface of the paper, sign your name, and hunt for a stamp in detached indifference. I'm sure there is less to life than typing up a small proportion of my alienation from the world-historical spirit, especially at 1.50am.

2001-10-15T01:23:00.000Z

Not so miserable. Maybe due to its being 2.15am. Having read all the crap people put on these things, I can't bring myself to add any more to the overwhelming futility of the universe.

2001-10-11T19:08:00.000Z

I think I'll go and feel depressed for a bit, then I'll go and stare at one of my walls, then maybe after that if I'm feeling energetic enough I'll write something. Or not. Heidegger is overrated - Weimar aesthetics needed his romanticism, but we postmoderns don't. And he's tedious.

There - just look what misery can do for you.