Wednesday, 3 March 2010

Autopilot

First thing's first, let's turn off the music. Damn, there's some idiot sitting next to me, watching a movie without any headphones or anything. Wait, am I doing this correctly? Should check the English 111 website. Be right back, mind shutting off, oh, it's countdown day, 3...2...1...0. Back!
I should be doing this for more than an hour, or even for an hour. That's way too much, no one is ever ever going to read it. Should that matter, though? What was the point of this exercise? I guess I understand the surrealists and Breton for using the automated writing techniques - helps you spit it all out. Slipknot. Haha, avant-garde nu-metal, that's a good one. Anyway, back to my thoughts. Am I guiding them and giving them a narrative or is it still a free-flowing ride? I don't know, no one knows, life is so fucked up. Bossanova, jazz pictures, shift-delete. There, was that better? Maybe. Love. Nat. Pants. I sometimes stop to think, that's when my writing turns itself off. I mean, this automated thing, right. Might as well just continue to typing as quickly as possible and not thinkg about a thing. Close my eyes. There, that's better, fuck the semicolons and punctuation marks I'm gonna ignore them. Maybe keep the stops to make sense out of stuff. There its all good now, no apostrophes either. Damn, put a comma there. And again. Thats it enough. Now my typing looks really douchy, I think I should keep on doing punct. marks, just in case. Makes me less douchy. Douchebag, douche-pants, pomo-pants, so many possibilities. Life is soooo full of opportunities, why aren't we using them? And why are we using them? Why do my thoughts start trailing to philosophy? Why couldn't I just go blank.... Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank. Oh, I can, it wasn't that difficult. Shit, this is so bad, my superego just came back from sleep and I can't help but think about how much this sucks and how I'm going to delete it as soon as I present it to class. Shitty superego, bad boy, bad boy. What if Freud was wrong? What if his psychoanalitical theory was all wrong? What is wrong? I don't know, art is good. Art is nice, I love art. Science - yeah, kind of, but art does science in the butt. Marie Antoinette - why does Arvin have such a huge crush on her? And who is he anyway? Who is anyone? My English 111 class wtfpwnzorz. Seriously. Hahaha, wtfpwnzorz - haven't used that in at least half a decade. I'm ooooooold. ='( Almost 20. Feel like it's time to die. How will I party and get laid when I'm no longer in college? Guess that's the beauty of life - constantly finding new ways to have fun and get laid. What's the name of that guy? Gabrielius liked him. I liked him, my dad liked him. Naa... Not Nabokov, not Orwell, not Huxley, American, the great grumpy American who wrote Slaughterhouse 5. Shiiiiiiiite, ba-leeeeeed dat, Lil' Wayne, I completely forgot the guy's name, contemporary American writer... Yadda yadda, Super Mario Bros., still don't remember the name. Oh, just remembered I have music on. Some jazz, Mahavishnu Orchestra is playing. Like them. Not as much as Weather Report, though. And Miles Davis, that man is Goooooood. God is crazy. Does he have intestines? Kundera answered that, I guess. I hate my country. It's going to be taken over by crazy-ass conservatives. Whyyyyyyyyyy? Sure, recognising a different world-view is nice and dandy, but what if it's stupid? It is stupid and lame and perverted. Is that my liberal bias? I guess, I guess I can eradicate it, but do I want to? Is that what I want? Does it even matter? Sure it doesn't. Love matters, I guess. My poem about Spanish class matters, I guess. I guess, I guess, I guess. Repetition is repetitive. It is also hypnotizing. Self-therapy, Joe the Fucker, if Sarah Palin ever says that, I'll vote for her. And then kill her so that we wouldn't have to deal with her batshit-crazy dumbfucks. How can the most powerful nation on the planet seriously take that bitch? Hooooooooooow? I like how I can be offensive here, since a) no one is going to read it; b) it's art, it's poetry, it's immune to that stuff. IDDKDFA - I remmber, Doom cheats. Yeah, Quake II, cool game. I remember how my dad used to play "Aladdin" and when he would die, I would cry so badly (was still a child back then). Oooh, I used what's it called, what are they called? Exclamation marks, no, semi-colons, no, aaaah, parentheses, yeaaah. Did you know that a male succubus is an incubus? Holy shit! That's Jake's favorite band. And my friend's Max's. Heh, why do I bother? Incubus, Dragon Ball Z, gosh, I wish we lived in a world chock full of Dragon Ball Z. I mean, we do, in a way, but I wish I could fly and go super-saiyan, sheeeeet, SSJ3 has the bestest hair ever. Want want want! Speaking of hair, why do I bother? Why do I get these expensive fancy-pants hairdos? Doesn't make any sense. Then again, why not? It's fun, it's experimentation with your own body. Yeaaah, I make sense again. See, it's not that hard? Once you get rid of all the pretense and simply strip yourself down, you're you and me's me. What a great feeling that is, I wish we could live our entire lives like that. And I wish I had a girlfriend. Would be niiiiice. It's so lame to not have a girlfriend when spring comes. I mean, come ooon, the season was practically built for that. Emotions, love, sexuality, penetration, perversion. Haha, that's a funny case of my mind going astray and superego kicking in again. Owch, my ass hurts, have been sitting too long. Guess it's time to stop. What good did this writing do to me? Not much. Haven't discovered any deeply profound psychological insights into the human condition. Nah-ah. Haven't really produced anything artistically significant. Nah-ah. Haven't done much, but haven't really not done anything. I feel calmer now, in a bit of a Zen state. It's nice. And I remembered spring and got rid of sentimental nostalgia. Go me!!!!!!

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