Wreaking havoc inside the box

Talk about bananas

otismofo — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 21:34:38 +0000

I received a bulletin on myspace from one of my friends regarding a giant banana potentially floating over Texas for a month, in a part of the atmosphere where it affects no air traffic and is engineered to hover only above Texas.

http://www.geostationarybananaovertexas.com/en.html

I get it. I admire the ambition and the imagination. I understand why these people feel compelled to do this engineer/art/social project. I even understand why they chose Texas. It’s genius. It’s funny. I’d laugh for a couple of days if I lived there, but then I would be sort of sad.

I feel it is wrong.

I like to escape people and sit places where I can’t see a sign of wretched humanity. I would try to escape, only to be hounded by the vision of a ridiculous, irreverent floating banana. The open sky is a man’s last refuge from the presence of other men. Its vastness is a canvass to contemplate dreams and build castles. I think a giant banana will intrude on productive thoughts from thoughtful people. You are trying to think, but subconsciously “banana” is interjected every time the monstrosity catches your eye.

The banana is rude and should not be allowed to hover for more than a few days.

It’s also scary because they are introducing technology that could inspire advertising agencies to also take to the skies. Imagine a hovering Tampax over your hometown. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Missing San Diego

otismofo — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 18:35:53 +0000

The grey sky looms low, clouds roll, winds blow.

I stand solo in the frigid air, bare feet freezing on the concrete below me.

I cross my arms and shiver; I am not accustomed to winter despite once living in Virginia.

And now I have returned, my indian summer’s spurned. The sun-kissed glow is slowly ceding to pallid form.

I hold my palms up to catch what drops for now it has begun to snow.

bureaucracy = inaction at it’s most inactive and I HATE IT!

otismofo — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 02:15:20 +0000

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

That is the sound of frustration captured on a keyboard.

*throws hands up in the air*

Who is the father of the BASTARD State Department? I want to talk with him about his offspring’s predilection for confusing, thwarting, and baffling any citizen’s attempt for communication and his offspring’s monolithic propensity.

In other words, I CAN’T CONTACT THE BASTARD.

All I want is my goddamned Certificate of Birth Abroad, my FS-240. I can’t get my Virgina license, a car, a job, social services, without it. I sent all the information that was requested on the government website, including a cashier’s check for $30. And I waited. And waited. And waited. I felt I waited too long. The government website does not have a phone number for the State Department’s department that deals with these things. I found the number on another website. I called it.

WHOA! I get an automated answer and the first thing the disconnected male voice says is there are additional items needed that are not listed on the government website. SHITE!!!! Ok so I just need to send that stuff. Right? I wait for the options, I find the appropriate one and press “7″. CLICK. It hung up on me. So I try other extensions, I would get a hold of a person, who would then transfer me to another person, who in turn would transfer me to another person who would transfer me to another extention that ended in VOICE MAIL. I try dialing a number off. I try calling the passport division. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

So I e-mail and call my district’s delegate to the US House of Representatives, Thelma Drake. No response from her either. I am going to discourage ANYONE from voting for the bitch.

I am not going to bug the Senator Warner, instead, I am going to attempt to contact our district representative for the Virginia Senate, Bob Tata. He lives right down the street. I am hoping he can persuade the BITCH to help me out.

If worse comes to worst, iI will carry my ass to DC and stand outside the building to which I mailed my request, yelling “GIVE ME MY FS-240 or GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK!”

Sleep is wrong.

otismofo — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 15:14:31 +0000

Vise-jawed (sawing teeth whilst sawing logs,) I wrest faceless apparitions of familiarity the old ghosts’ haunting grounds, ripping layers of nearly transparent gauze off old guarded wounds and scabs are pulled; they bleed anew. Each movement, mechanized to repeat the outcome of the input, feels like I am running up descending escalator steps while looking at my feet. I exert extraneous effort and expect to control the events that ensue. Strings are knotted taut to my fingers and though they each digit twitches with intention, the strings hang loose, attached to naught. Rather, I am tethered by a shadowy, orphic rope towing me through the shades of my psyche. And though trawled through the darkness against my volition, I am in a familiar place and the cord that binds me also bulwarks. So when I fathom falling down the chasm, or being flung into the heavens and I am helpless to the acceleration, I have no trepidation that my corporeal body will be smashed to fragments on hard ground. I am helpless, really. My mind sees fit best that I acquiesce; I have no choice but to accede. Though my unconscious effort attempts to steer me down the path I should tread to be released, I am constantly misdirected and end up waking entwined and raveled in my blankets, sweaty and grievous, shaking my fist at a mere dream.

Everybody is a writer

otismofo — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 23:02:50 +0000

As I read all these blogs, I realize that I am not quite a real writer. My grammar and syntax could be more in tune. My only saving grace is my ability to describe the things around me in writing. I would liken my writing skills to an ear trained musician that never learned how to read music, who compose songs people enjoy, but who also makes errors that can be pointed out by experts. I am not an expert writer, just a dabbler.

Since I write daily, I believe I should start learning more about proper grammar and sentence structure. While I am at it.

Leaving myspace.

otismofo — Sun, 28 Jan 2007 00:18:01 +0000

Sometimes it’s proper to grow up. I’ve been writing my daily escapades on myspace for a couple of years now. That’s fine and dandy. My friends have dubbed me the “madblogger.” No topic is ever sacred and I don’t care. I have nothing to hide. I post about nudity, everyone’s interested. I post about debauchery and heavy metal and I get replies. But politics? sociology? economics? religion? government? philosophy? anthropology? civics? government? These topics that should spawn educated discourse elicit few responses from the Gen X/Gen Y gimme-gimme group that have been my peers. I need new peers. As I rapidly digest new information on a daily basis, I have no one to partake in the laughter I derive from general human buffoonery that exists on so many planes.

I had one man that satisfied my need to communicate with a like mind, but we started dating and then he dumped me because I am a sporadic spitfire and too quick to debate the facts. I am demanding and manipulative. If someone can’t prove themselves right and I disagree, I will go out of my way to attempt to prove them wrong (someone once told me I should be a lawyer; I considered it for a while. I even started studying for the LSAT. That would mean I’d have to network and associate with other lawyers. I have decided I would rather eat a shoe with dogshit on it: it would certainly be easier to digest and leave a better taste in my mouth.)

Now I am back to being a single cynical miscreant doling out mindrot to others and having big thoughts swirl around in my pea-brain.

I found this site randomly, it seems fine. I like the layout and the fact it has spell check so I don’t have to type all these blogs in Word. I am not quite sure where I am going in this new found arena of words , but I suppose this is a start.

So here I am, madblogger, blogging along until someone notices because I don’t intend on telling anyone I personally know that I exist in another realm.

So long myspace! It’s been swell.