random thoughts on cleaning, writing, the mind
The world is a wonderful place.
So here I am, in this wonderful place, freezing my ass off.
And yes, I realize it is in the seventies outside (and in the low sixties inside), yet still, I find myself shivering. Perhaps that has something to do with whatever malady is afflicting me, perhaps, bollocks all, that now includes chills. This does not, needless to say, leave me what one would call thrilled. On the upside, sometime soon I should have a rather nifty coat. I won that really nifty Soviet coat. For a hefty price, however, far more than I could afford if I had actual expenses to worry about. Really, though, I should not be spending anything on frivolities and shiny objects. Yet I do, that bothers me. Bothers me that I seem to lack the basic self-control required to function successfully in a capitalist society. So, I’m done with paypal until anything by Abney Park or Ego Likeness comes on sale. And even then, I might be required to wait a little while due to the scarcity of funds--having a job would be nice, but…well, I’m having trouble keeping my head above water as it is, and adding employment (though it could be secured) to academics when I am this near finishing things up in a satisfactory manner could seem unwise, cocksure, if you will.
And I’m pretty much broke now, not that I was rolling in cash before, but I had a buck or two to play with if need be. This means, unless a sack of money happens to drop from the sky, that I’ll be avoiding the steampunk convention in Chicago this November…though it has nifty discussion groups and an author I’m a fan of…it lacks a band, and, well…bands make those things worth going to. And I’d be quite annoyed if Abney Park happened to sign on late in the game, quite annoyed. Well, another rather nifty coat--for the moment I am wrapped in the most amazing and splendid of coats, it even has Royal Engineer buttons. I’m also wearing my Soviet cavalry hat, flaps down, if that gives you an idea of how focking cold I am. And since none of these nice things appear to be working, I’m assuming that the coldness is not due to something in the air, but rather an imbalance of humors, perhaps I have too much black bile. Perhaps not enough. I’m going to attempt to clean things now, due to a realization that I really have no excuse for living in a pile of books and clothing when I could be residing somewhere that is actually aesthetically pleasing. I try for a certain aesthetic, and would almost achieve it, if not for the squalor that spreads itself about the floor, the backpacks and half-filled satchels flung about the place, the neatly folded clothes covering crates of books in an order known only to certain parts of my mind. Boxes overflowing with printouts and articles I thought at one time might be worth reading, a number of National Geographics, some harvested for pictures, others kept around for the stories in them. Some for the maps. I like maps, a lot, in case the vest pocket full of maps didn’t give you that impression. Half my ceiling is covered in posters, prints, and maps of different parts of the world, I think tonight I might cover up more of said ceiling with various bits of portraiture and the like. I regret that I’m not in an art history course, despite Coleman being a dick, I felt like I definitely learned something. Though, come to think of it, I’m definitely learning things this semester, what with lectures from Rory, Meserve, and Gimello of the Awesome Mustache. [8]{|. So…yeah.
Eventually I’ll make a foray onto Amazon to order various things for various people. Then perhaps I’ll watch a movie--if so, it will be The Last Samurai, as I am on this Japanese history kick, and while the movie has some historical errors and foibles, it will distract me from the fact that I start another week of school tomorrow morning (well, actually, tomorrow afternoon at 1:55...did I mention how much my schedule rocks this semester, because it does…aside from German, but that is just because I do not like language courses, they try my patience).
Anyway, I also want to just write for awhile. So I’ve reached a bit of an impasse then, clean or write, write or clean. While I could do both, and the reasoning portion of my brain knows that is quite possible, the other portions of my mind apparently still think that I must pick one or the other. I am rather annoyed with these portions of my brain, nice as they are for the most part, as they should really attempt to behave better when their faculties are called upon. There is also the portion of my brain which tells me that what I want to do is travel to England (right now, apparently), I have to constantly implore this bit of grey matter that eventually I will, but since I lack the necessary things to bring on such a trip (money, mode of transportation, and my lover), said trip will have to wait until all those things align with the rest of my small cosmos. Again while I sit here and do nothing, I have that lingering feeling that I should be writing something great--I’d love to be one of those guys who could just sit down and churn out a staggering work of total genius that impresses the members of the literary and publishing communities, impresses them so much that they hand me tons of cash and tell me to write whatever I want. Hell, doesn’t even have to be tons of cash, I’d be satisfied as all get-out with whatever pittance said theoretical benefactors tossed my way--but…well, I’m not one of those guys, and do not possess, at the present time, for perhaps this type of talent can be cultivated, the talent necessary to secure said commendations and shiny objects from the world at large.
Anyway…I’ve forgotten what I sat down to write about in the first place…
So…tah.
So here I am, in this wonderful place, freezing my ass off.
And yes, I realize it is in the seventies outside (and in the low sixties inside), yet still, I find myself shivering. Perhaps that has something to do with whatever malady is afflicting me, perhaps, bollocks all, that now includes chills. This does not, needless to say, leave me what one would call thrilled. On the upside, sometime soon I should have a rather nifty coat. I won that really nifty Soviet coat. For a hefty price, however, far more than I could afford if I had actual expenses to worry about. Really, though, I should not be spending anything on frivolities and shiny objects. Yet I do, that bothers me. Bothers me that I seem to lack the basic self-control required to function successfully in a capitalist society. So, I’m done with paypal until anything by Abney Park or Ego Likeness comes on sale. And even then, I might be required to wait a little while due to the scarcity of funds--having a job would be nice, but…well, I’m having trouble keeping my head above water as it is, and adding employment (though it could be secured) to academics when I am this near finishing things up in a satisfactory manner could seem unwise, cocksure, if you will.
And I’m pretty much broke now, not that I was rolling in cash before, but I had a buck or two to play with if need be. This means, unless a sack of money happens to drop from the sky, that I’ll be avoiding the steampunk convention in Chicago this November…though it has nifty discussion groups and an author I’m a fan of…it lacks a band, and, well…bands make those things worth going to. And I’d be quite annoyed if Abney Park happened to sign on late in the game, quite annoyed. Well, another rather nifty coat--for the moment I am wrapped in the most amazing and splendid of coats, it even has Royal Engineer buttons. I’m also wearing my Soviet cavalry hat, flaps down, if that gives you an idea of how focking cold I am. And since none of these nice things appear to be working, I’m assuming that the coldness is not due to something in the air, but rather an imbalance of humors, perhaps I have too much black bile. Perhaps not enough. I’m going to attempt to clean things now, due to a realization that I really have no excuse for living in a pile of books and clothing when I could be residing somewhere that is actually aesthetically pleasing. I try for a certain aesthetic, and would almost achieve it, if not for the squalor that spreads itself about the floor, the backpacks and half-filled satchels flung about the place, the neatly folded clothes covering crates of books in an order known only to certain parts of my mind. Boxes overflowing with printouts and articles I thought at one time might be worth reading, a number of National Geographics, some harvested for pictures, others kept around for the stories in them. Some for the maps. I like maps, a lot, in case the vest pocket full of maps didn’t give you that impression. Half my ceiling is covered in posters, prints, and maps of different parts of the world, I think tonight I might cover up more of said ceiling with various bits of portraiture and the like. I regret that I’m not in an art history course, despite Coleman being a dick, I felt like I definitely learned something. Though, come to think of it, I’m definitely learning things this semester, what with lectures from Rory, Meserve, and Gimello of the Awesome Mustache. [8]{|. So…yeah.
Eventually I’ll make a foray onto Amazon to order various things for various people. Then perhaps I’ll watch a movie--if so, it will be The Last Samurai, as I am on this Japanese history kick, and while the movie has some historical errors and foibles, it will distract me from the fact that I start another week of school tomorrow morning (well, actually, tomorrow afternoon at 1:55...did I mention how much my schedule rocks this semester, because it does…aside from German, but that is just because I do not like language courses, they try my patience).
Anyway, I also want to just write for awhile. So I’ve reached a bit of an impasse then, clean or write, write or clean. While I could do both, and the reasoning portion of my brain knows that is quite possible, the other portions of my mind apparently still think that I must pick one or the other. I am rather annoyed with these portions of my brain, nice as they are for the most part, as they should really attempt to behave better when their faculties are called upon. There is also the portion of my brain which tells me that what I want to do is travel to England (right now, apparently), I have to constantly implore this bit of grey matter that eventually I will, but since I lack the necessary things to bring on such a trip (money, mode of transportation, and my lover), said trip will have to wait until all those things align with the rest of my small cosmos. Again while I sit here and do nothing, I have that lingering feeling that I should be writing something great--I’d love to be one of those guys who could just sit down and churn out a staggering work of total genius that impresses the members of the literary and publishing communities, impresses them so much that they hand me tons of cash and tell me to write whatever I want. Hell, doesn’t even have to be tons of cash, I’d be satisfied as all get-out with whatever pittance said theoretical benefactors tossed my way--but…well, I’m not one of those guys, and do not possess, at the present time, for perhaps this type of talent can be cultivated, the talent necessary to secure said commendations and shiny objects from the world at large.
Anyway…I’ve forgotten what I sat down to write about in the first place…
So…tah.