Delicate enough to crush a butterfly.|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Substandard Superhuman's LiveJournal:
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|Friday, April 13th, 2029|
Welcome to version three of my journal
-- now with twenty times the trivial content, designed entirely to entertain my fellow unfocused intellectual dilettants.
Every now and then, I post bad pulpy fiction and weird pompous poetry to timewalk
(becoming steadily less obvious as entries are converted to friends-only-visibility), as well as jumbled pseudosensical flotsam to zeromancer
. I maintain the defunct fatum_ferox
communities. I'm the author of wishthedevil
, and co-author of eobiont
is a syndicated feed of my graphic design work. Production of said work has entered a period of dormancy, due to life-complexity issues.NOTICE:
I will un-friend you if you gush about any of Joss Whedon's "work" or about Lost
. If you think that's shallow or unreasonable... then what the Hell were you doing looking at my journal anyway?
|Friday, March 7th, 2008|
|live like a wire
Greetings from the wasteland.
What's different from the last time I spoke here? Let's see.
I'm back in my home town. I'm currently a sophomore at university, majoring in anthropological linguistics. I also work at the university and live on campus, so my world is pretty small right now. My job can be taxing at times, but is mostly acceptable. I volunteer my time at the university museum, cataloging reference materials. I've made some very great friends, and I've gotten back in touch with someone I had been trying to find for a long time. I help organize canoe trips down the Rio Grande (when there's water in it).
That's about all.
I hope you are all doing well. Current Mood: okay
|Monday, September 25th, 2006|
|Friday, September 22nd, 2006|
|Monday, September 11th, 2006|
|The Day that Was the Day
I swear to you that if I lived a thousand years
I could not be more crammed with dubious souvenirs
Today, I'm not reminded on my own of acts of terror nor pompous and self-serving holiday declarations. Every day of your life that is -- on the surface, on the calendar -- designated with a particular meaning has behind it in great repetition and variety alike many other days. Many of which were probably better. Many of which were probably worse.
I keep hearing "the day the country died" intoned like a mantra, like a prayer, like the brainless rally-cry of drones at work.Oompa loompa doom-pity-do.
|Monday, August 21st, 2006|
Reply and I'll give you a letter.
Find five songs that start with that letter.
Post them to your journal.dobhar_chu
sentenced me to P
. To supplicate the chaos deities, I'll spin the ol' wheel and list the first five "P" tunes that Winamp spits out on random playback of my entire audio library.
Current Mood: sedated
- Perpetuum Mobile; A Musical Joke Op. 257 (Johann Strauss)
- Pirates / Soldier Boy (Clannad)
- Prophecy (Front Line Assembly)
- Pure Morning (Placebo)
- Power (Razed in Black)
|Tuesday, August 1st, 2006|
|Hoocha hoocha hoocha... lobster.
Got the tedious-sounding administrative secretary job at the university.
HOORAY getting paid in a bone-dry small town job market.
BOO dealing with students.
HOORAY two free classes per semester.
And so forth. Current Mood: employed
|Friday, July 21st, 2006|
|Nate vs. The Car Insurance Phone Robot (round two)
Current Mood: REDRUM
- It: "What do you want to do next? You can say: 'make a payment,' 'review current statement,' 'access a different account,' or 'verify last payment.' If you're finished, say 'goodbye.'"
- Me: "Goodbye."
- It: "I didn't understand that response. You can say: 'make a payment,' 'review current statement,' 'access a different account,' or 'verify last payment.' If you're finished, say 'goodbye.'"
- Me: "Good. Bye."
- It: "I think you want to make a payment. Is this correct? You can say 'yes' or 'no.'"
- Me: "Tell me if this sounds like a phone hanging up."
- It: "I didn't understand that response. You can--"
- fin. exeunt omnes. initiate twelve-county killing spree.
|Monday, July 17th, 2006|
|Come play the shellgame with the madman.
Email with the subject line "your future, night flower" turns out to be spam offering pharmaceutical relief from that modern analog to the Black Death itself: erectile dysfunction. This makes me grumpy on a planet-smashing
scale. Lucky for everyone I shrewdly opted to become a penniless derelict in lieu of turning this high-powered IQ toward a particle physics degree.
While terrorizing heptite
last night, it occurred to me (in much the same way that dog shit on the sidewalk "occurs" to your shoe) that despite the failure and consequent death-n-decay of fatum_ferox
, I still have an exhibitionistic urge to publically document my madness.
So, until my attention span once again disintegrates like an overzealous tourist in a bubbling sulfrous caldera, I'm'a be emitting a regular stream of chatter here about my "artistic" "influences" (like anyone "gives" a "crap"), like so:
|Creatures of Light and Darkness|
| ||Session 9|| ||Haunted|
|It's an epic poem about egyptian mythology. It's a semiotic puzzle and a science-fiction fugue. It's hopeful and fatalistic. It's about what happens when the universe is overcrowded with gods, angels, immortals, and paradox-spawned sorcerous families. Virtually everything I've ever written has been saturated with remnants of the first impression I took from this book decades ago.|| ||Okay, it's true. I watch bad horror flicks like they're spraying cancer-vaccine into my eyeballs; I have watched literally over a thousand bad horror movies in the last decade. Of that vast field of crap, there have been five horror flicks in my life that have actually scared me. Session 9 scared the Hell out of me. It's both a psychological drama and a chilling ghost story that miraculously doesn't devolve into a Scooby Doo mystery. Watch it. Watch it alone. In the dark. With the back of your neck exposed to the unlit room behind you.|| ||Beyond my belief that Annie is one of the most talented musicians who has ever lived, her "Haunted" album is a work of insane art. The album itself is a fugue, a canon, a network of stories and themes. It's a soundtrack to her brother's first novel. It's a personal threnody on the death of her father. Her lyrics make me grin like a possessed china doll, and the reaction caused by her voice is Pavlovian in scope and unfit for documentation.|
|Monday, July 10th, 2006|
|Let there be noise.
. Jabber integration with LJ accounts. Highly developmental right now, but interesting to play with. No major snags with Gaim 1.5 (so far (that I've seen)).
Pointed out by labyrinthman
|Thursday, June 15th, 2006|
And even from the grave, the bony hand of Blockbuster reaches out to fist me from behind.
Blockbuster won't provide letters of employment. They won't do their own employment verification. They've sold all the employee records to "The Work Number." If you get in there, as an employee, you have no way to access your own records. Not allowed. I worked at two different locations, with 3.5 different job titles -- I have no idea if what I'm putting on the resume or the application meshes with what these fools are verifying.
But that probably doesn't matter much, because if you put the number down on a job application, the prospective employer calling "The Work Number" has to whip out a credit card and give them $11 (at the end of a lengthy registration process) to hear your employment verification. Local merchants get two minutes into the call, and then wipe their asses with my resume.
Electronically-processed applications won't accept "The Work Number"'s hideously bloated phone-number-and-employer-code-and-emplo
yee-code string as a valid phone number, and most have no place to note additional information.
Five years of my life burned away, grinding retail, and I can't even put it on a resume.
I think I'm going to snap. Current Mood: nihilistic
|Monday, June 12th, 2006|
I swore I'd never return to this place.
Yet here I am, homeless, jobless, friendless, leaning on the family that I rejected, hoping my eventual first paycheck will pull across the finish line before my credit card hits 100%.
Oh my life.
|Monday, May 29th, 2006|
|Six Weird Habits
Six weird habits I have. (via phinnia
1. I chew. I chew on things you wouldn't think of chewing on. I go through whole baggies of those little plastic flossers in record time. I chew Sharpies and cellphone antennae and ceramic fork handles and the little metal hooks intended for hanging tea cups (though, of course, not while they're affixed to the underside of the cabinet). I gnaw on virtually anything I can fit in my mouth. It's a distressing and horrible habit. Unlike most compulsive chewers, however, I cannot chew on pencils -- so gross.
2. At least once a week, I'll spend three hours constructing a musical playlist designed to fit my mood, and then listen to only half a dozen songs from it before going back to fullbore randomized shuffle mode. I save the lovingly-assembled playlist, despite a knowledge that it will never again perfectly fit my mood, and will, in all likelihood, never be played again. Similarly, I assemble playlists to use as "soundtracks" for books I'm currently reading, even though I can't actually listen to music while I read; too attention-scrambling.
3. I over-hyphenate. Constantly.
4. I ironically over-stack superlatives and enhancing modifiers and use the word "like" inappropriately, like, an extra super very very lot
when acting sarcastically over-excited. I often forget myself and do this in the company of peripheral acquaintances or strangers, unintentionally making them believe I'm a subliterate halfwit.
5. I throw away the dust jackets for virtually all my books.
6. I sit down to pee. And yes, I am male.
|Saturday, April 8th, 2006|
|How uneventful my life is.
Mom and her pseudo-boyfriend Duane came into town. Sis and I went out to dinner with them, to a place called "Pinnacle Peak." The place is not the most annoying restaurant on Earth, solely thanks to the existence of Shakey's Pizza, Chuck E. Cheese, and that whole stratum of irritation. Anyway, the screenplay for the evening goes like so:
- Mom: "I'll have the 'cowgirl' short loin steak. I've heard this place is famous for it."
- Sis: "I'll have the 'cowgirl' short loin steak. I've heard this place is famous for it."
- Duane: "I'll have the 'cowgirl' short loin steak. I've heard this place is famous for it."
- Me: "Fuck all y'alls. I'll have the brisket. And bring me a trough of gravy."
- Mom: "This steak is crap!"
- Sis: "This steak is crap!"
- Duane: "This steak is crap!"
- Me: "This brisket is great! FSCKING PWNED, BITCHES."
Also, it seems my spectral analysis yields...
...a black hole?
Like this surprises anyone.
|Sunday, March 19th, 2006|
|Streamlining for better fascism.
While I'm usually a heavy proponent of anything that increases terror, chaos, and suffering in the world at large, any and all brits reading this need to apprise themselves of the Legislative and Regulatory Reform Bill
Yeah, the name sounds boring, but we're talking about nothing less than the end of parliamentary government in the UK. Read the article, then get off your butt and contact your MP.
[Pointed out by molotov_bitch
|Saturday, February 25th, 2006|
|Quote of the day.
"Evil is not cute, evil is not sweet and romantic, evil
pops out of oblivion and bitches you out for fucking
with a puzzle box and then shoves you into an iron maiden."
on Tim Burton]
|Tuesday, February 14th, 2006|
My traditional V-Day bilestream has been cancelled this year.
Yes, I still hate it with a hatred of vesuvian magnitude. Yes, I still think it represents a great deal of what's fundamentally wrong with most human relationships (and humans in general).
I'm just finding it difficult to summon up the pestilential winds of rage like I used to. I must be slowing down in my old age.
Soon, I will have mellowed all the way down to merely psychotic. Current Mood: feh
|Friday, February 10th, 2006|
|Friday, January 27th, 2006|
|caff rehab murderdeathkill
This is... day three of my dietary dry-out.
No caffiene. No refined sugars. No raw carbs. Drinking huge amounts of natural fruit juices, because a zero-carb-zero-sugar diet is a quantifiably Bad Thing for a hypoglycemic.
I feel like someone has taken a very flexible fine mesh screen, wrapped it gently around my brain, and is now vigorously fixing it in place with crucifixion nails and a large badly-aimed rubber mallet. Current Mood: kill me
|Sunday, January 15th, 2006|
|Dill pickles in the piñata.
In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that
terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about 2.55, when you know that
you've had all the baths you can usefully have that day, that however hard you
stare at any given paragraph in the papers you will never actually read it, or
use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you
stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and
you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.(Adams, Life, the Universe and Everything) Current Mood: i hate time