Category: conversational

(Allegedly) Happy

Rocking around the clock is my commercial mantra (for lack of a better one). It’s got that smarmy hint of entendre without actually going smutty on the reader/recipient of jargon/vernacular–just snarky enough catch on with the younger faux-hipster set, while simultaneously being too naïve for the true hipster set. The thing about hipsters: they are a necessary force for good in this universe, though somewhat impossible to deal with on a regular basis. Even your typical fair-weather hipster will acknowledge this paradox of existence, as they’re (allegedly) happy just to be included in the conversation at all.

Stimplet (Heathen’s Cross)

There's something concerning a something or other (or maybe some nothing) that's legible enough to the incorrigible spunk-o-trons--something of a conundrum waged against the unwashed masses (though how many masses were ever truly washed in the first place?).

Within the marketplace usually resides a stimplet or a heathen's cross, neither typically reserved by your dollar store general, though the most unorthodox practitioners beg to differ with one another at the water coolers (especially when they're not as fond of Jeopardy as they once were (post-Trebek and all)). 

Taking out one's emotional and intellectual aggression may be the only recourse that these folks have at a time like this.
The ritual that "normal" adults traditionally take for granted (the grunting and bellowing and raving to get their animal stirrings out of their systems for the sake of the ol' poke-n-sleep maneuver) is losing its luster. 

Jeopardy-inclined individuals with less of a proclivity for such things must feel the constant torment of boundaries established almost solely due to prior intellect, though the subsequent lack of sexually-transmitted maladies is quite desirable (as the quarterly "gal-up" polls would indicate).

Lightening

The exquisite misfortune of running into such a plucky, unlucky band of stooges (we can get into their whole deal at a later date) seems to have gotten my blood boiling just enough to reach the base camp upon which many valiant knights have trodden, though few have ever reached that precipice and thought “maybe I should turn around while the going is good, no sense in letting my head get too big.” You know, someone whose head inflates to the size of a respectable novelty beach ball isn’t the sort of person who also would have considered bringing a helium tank along for the lightening of average air density within said cranial cavity, rendering him utterly unfeasible for casual rock concert use.

MonkeyMoney®

Who told you the Kerplunketts had more to say about a particular sauce pan or arbitrary bagel strategy than I do? They don’t know a damn thing about honorary ombudsmen or the never-ending sequence one would normally associate with a guerrilla Cruella Deville kinda thing.

But one must not distract from the fact that innumerable steel MonkeyMoney® generators–installed gradually over the course of the past several generations–have only now begun to bear fruit in the way their creators had intended from the start.

It would appear as though our sanctimonious steelsmiths have contrived their “fix” to the public discourse just enough to lull the unthinking masses into a period of deceptive comfort that swiftly comes to a close as the recipients of the easy life (white people) are rudely awoken (but rarely awakened).

Just Gregs

All the glorious Steinham impressions done over the years by various people named Greg (not Gregory, just Greg) have accomplished nothing more than stoking the flames of prejudice.

I’m unsure why it’s just Gregs, to be honest. Craigs have names eerily similar to Gregs, yet they’re never culpable for any of the insane crap that Gregs seemingly can’t stop themselves from doing. Wait a minute, could that mean that Craigs have been longtime instigators of Gregs? Do they commit casual inconsistencies and blame them on the Gregs by default?

What could possibly be the reason here? To find out, I’m interviewing a lifetime Craig who specifically told me one time (over macchiatos) that he hates Gregs’ guts.

Me: Okay, but which Greg do you specifically hate the most?

Craig: Oh no, it’s all of them. I guess I didn’t make myself clear the first time

Me: Ah, that explains the vagueness of your threats.

Craig: Yeah, those “Greg” dudes don’t understand how to handle a true monosyllabic name. They were given a trisyllabic name at birth, and one way or another they managed to bastardize it to the point where you’re left with a foreshortened nub of a name that has no real meaning or context. It’s what you would name your dog, dude.

Me: Damn Craig, you really have some strong feelings about this. Is there anything else you might want to get off your chest at the moment?

Craig: No, that was really just about it. Although I do have somewhat of a bone to pick with balsamic vinegar. Are you sweet? Are you savory? What the hell are you, man?!

Me: Wow, you have some interesting priorities.

The High Road

An intricate series of hoofprints
on the stale lithograph
we’ve come to call home
has bled insignificantly–
but not unnoticeably.

Yes, that’s correct. Hoofprints
have bled just enough
for this observer to comment.

Now, I’m aware that there are countless crackpots
who espouse the virtues of anti-vaxxers and birthers,
and this would be right up their alley.
However, I choose to take the high road.

A wise individual once told me
that the low road is the slipperiest,
because the maintenance people need to mop
more often than on the high one

(they have the kind of smelly chemical
floor cleaner that doesn’t dry as quickly
(and they’re always out of wet floor signs)).

Strange New World

Hey folks, hope you’re all doing well in this strange new world we inhabit. This is a checking-in kind of post, where I spill my guts about my creative progress.

I suppose it would have been a good idea to make some kind of goal for this year, but that all flew out the window around these parts in about mid-March. My enthusiasm for the craft suffered, which is funny when you consider that I was doing less to occupy myself than ever before (which you’d think would contribute to a more robust oeuvre, but I ended up atrophying more than anything).

I’ve had plenty of times in the past where I’ve fallen into a ravine of amotivational behavior, and this here pandemic was all I needed to justify my paltry output.

That all being said, I’ve decided to retroactively give myself a goal to accomplish–one that’s already been accomplished! Wow, I did it!

The goal I’d just concocted is/was to reach 1,031 total posts by Halloween, 10/31/2020. Yes, I’m aware that this dating style is backwards for some of you, but it was just too convenient not to use.

The main takeaway from my creative career has been to stop seeking significance in every little detail of every little thing. Of course you can extrapolate and discover the innate meaning of the universe in pretty much anything, but those things need to be brought to life in order for you and others to dissect it in such an insane manner. My issue has always resembled getting bogged down in the significance of the idea/piece before actually composing it (sometimes without even jotting down a single word, losing it forever).

That makes for a nice segue into my new-ish passion of drawing! I’ve posted 15 drawings (as of this post) in the past 3-4 weeks, which has really been a nice cushion for helping me to exploit the algorithms.

Aside: I’ve always been aware of the power of algorithmic computing, but I’ve chosen to ignore it because I’m either too stubborn or I think my work will suffer as a result of the “interconnectivity” and “engagement”. Who even knows anymore? I’ve decided to cave in and tag the bejesus out of my work now, and I feel that all traffic is good traffic (unless it’s a bot or something, but WordPress is a great engine for helping me identify organic viewership anyway, so whatever).
Additional aside: the number of unique tags assigned to my posts has shot up to over 8,300, and soon I’ll be able to say “IT’S OVER 9,000!!!!!!”

The execution of my drawings has definitely improved since the beginning of quarantine and all that jazz, so I figured I might as well exploit those skills on the intarwebs, as they’ve been met with universal praise in my personal circles. But that drags us into the conversation about people’s friends and families blowing smoke up their artistic asses even if the work sucks. I’ve always had that kind of thought on the back burner when people compliment my work, since I have a perfectionist bent (and perfection is impossible, so that kinda sucks).

In conclusion, I’ve become inspired to keep on chugging with my work. Even though the internal naysaying is just as strong as ever, this feels like a sustainable model for providing “content” to “the world”. The fact that I have to refer to my work as “content” kind of makes me want to vomit, but I suppose we need to exist within the times.

Cheers, everyone!

-Aidan