Wednesday, June 23, 2010
A URL of Intense Technical Poetry of which I am Informing The World Entire (as it is of Singular Importance...AH's!) 6/23
The following is my URL on my Tagged.com profile: http://tagged.com/neophyticdotcomergiven
Monday, June 21, 2010
Advertisement;Self....Magic Bus...Comment On. Built-in Instant Comment/Ad 6/21
I don't want to cause a fuss, but can you ride my magic bus? That is, visit, join and follow my goddamn blog? I have no comments, no readers, no followers-nothing! This is unfortunate, for I am a nice, funny, interesting, wonderful, wondrously intelligent, great person, and a damn good writer to boot...therefore you or someone (especially considering I have had the courtesy to follow your blog and that of others, as well) should read, comment on and follow mine...or at least check it out and vote on my polls that I made. Something, anything. I hate having to advertise myself in this way, plus like almost force people to look at it...but it is fine, good, intelligent, wholesome and normal...if a tad intellectual, and it should be read and commented on. So, as I have had the courtesy to comment on and follow your blog, the very least you could do is follow mine. Thank you very much. Goodbye. Follow, read, comment. Bye :)
My Resume 6/21/2010-Monday; Et Cetera,
Douglas Earl Cate
Contact Information
Email Address: dougcool66@yahoo.com
Website: http://writerlypainterlykitteryman-dcool27.blogspot
My Profile and Personal Paragraph
I am a very interesting, intelligent individual who often takes the initiative in any and all work-related matters. Thus, I do not always have to be ordered about...unlike some people, people who constantly need to either delegate or relegate...neither one applies to me, I am a hands-on sort of person; which is somewhat of a contrast given my overall immensity of intelligence, but despite that palatial gloriousness of word, thought, action and deed and speech, I can be just as manual as the most menial, unlettered sort. However, I would prefer not to, and would prefer to have my less tangible talents be given a chance to thrive. However, such is not always possible in this world of ours, which I understand-for I am nothing if not also a realist.
Employment History : 1999-2009
Sacker [From 3/2006 to 2/2009]
Market Basket
Portsmouth, NH
At this job I:
Retrieved Carts
Provided Customer Service
Sacked Items,
Disposed of Refuse
Cleaned
Mopped
Followed Orders
Reorganized Shelved Items
Worked Closely with The Grocery/Stocking Department
Performed Various Occasional Odd Jobs
Etc.
Freight Clerk [From 8/2005 to 12/2005]
Kaybee Toys
Kittery, ME
At this job I:
Unloaded Trucks
Priced Items
Arranged Items
Opened Packages
stocked shelves,
Cleaned
Mopped,
Customer Service
Disposed of Refuse,
Etc
.
Sacker/Deli Clerk [From 10/2002 to 1/2004]
Market Basket
Portsmouth, NH
At this job I:
Sacked Items
Sliced Meats and Cheeses
Cleaned
Retrieved Carts
Mopped,
Provided Customer Service
Disposed of Refuse,
Item and Shelf Rearrangement
Etc.
Cashier [From 4/2001 to 7/2002]
BJ's Wholesale Club
Portsmouth, NH
Cashiering,
Cart retrieval
Customer service,
Refuse disposal
Cleaning
Mopping,
Item Replacement
Food Prep,
Etc.
Recovery Clerk [From 6/2000 to 10/2000]
BJ's Wholesale Club
Portsmouth, NH
Cart retrieval
Cleaning
Item Replacement
Replacement
Mopping
Customer Aid
Refuse Disposal
Shelf Organization
Etc.
Sales Associate [From 7/1999 to 9/1999]
Converse, Inc.
Kittery, ME
Sales
Customer Service
Cleaning
Refuse Disposal
Mopping
Vacuuming
Cashiering
Stocking
Inventory,
Etc.
Education
High School Diploma [ From Sep-1998 to Jun-2001]
Marshwood High School
South Berwick, ME
GPA: 2.84 High Grades in: Introduction to Film and British Literature
Five other classes attended.
HS [ From Sep-1997 to Jun-1998]
R.W. Traip Academy
Kittery, ME
GPA: 2.35 .
Seven Courses Attended
Contact Information
Email Address: dougcool66@yahoo.com
Website: http://writerlypainterlykitteryman-dcool27.blogspot
My Profile and Personal Paragraph
I am a very interesting, intelligent individual who often takes the initiative in any and all work-related matters. Thus, I do not always have to be ordered about...unlike some people, people who constantly need to either delegate or relegate...neither one applies to me, I am a hands-on sort of person; which is somewhat of a contrast given my overall immensity of intelligence, but despite that palatial gloriousness of word, thought, action and deed and speech, I can be just as manual as the most menial, unlettered sort. However, I would prefer not to, and would prefer to have my less tangible talents be given a chance to thrive. However, such is not always possible in this world of ours, which I understand-for I am nothing if not also a realist.
Employment History : 1999-2009
Sacker [From 3/2006 to 2/2009]
Market Basket
Portsmouth, NH
At this job I:
Retrieved Carts
Provided Customer Service
Sacked Items,
Disposed of Refuse
Cleaned
Mopped
Followed Orders
Reorganized Shelved Items
Worked Closely with The Grocery/Stocking Department
Performed Various Occasional Odd Jobs
Etc.
Freight Clerk [From 8/2005 to 12/2005]
Kaybee Toys
Kittery, ME
At this job I:
Unloaded Trucks
Priced Items
Arranged Items
Opened Packages
stocked shelves,
Cleaned
Mopped,
Customer Service
Disposed of Refuse,
Etc
.
Sacker/Deli Clerk [From 10/2002 to 1/2004]
Market Basket
Portsmouth, NH
At this job I:
Sacked Items
Sliced Meats and Cheeses
Cleaned
Retrieved Carts
Mopped,
Provided Customer Service
Disposed of Refuse,
Item and Shelf Rearrangement
Etc.
Cashier [From 4/2001 to 7/2002]
BJ's Wholesale Club
Portsmouth, NH
Cashiering,
Cart retrieval
Customer service,
Refuse disposal
Cleaning
Mopping,
Item Replacement
Food Prep,
Etc.
Recovery Clerk [From 6/2000 to 10/2000]
BJ's Wholesale Club
Portsmouth, NH
Cart retrieval
Cleaning
Item Replacement
Replacement
Mopping
Customer Aid
Refuse Disposal
Shelf Organization
Etc.
Sales Associate [From 7/1999 to 9/1999]
Converse, Inc.
Kittery, ME
Sales
Customer Service
Cleaning
Refuse Disposal
Mopping
Vacuuming
Cashiering
Stocking
Inventory,
Etc.
Education
High School Diploma [ From Sep-1998 to Jun-2001]
Marshwood High School
South Berwick, ME
GPA: 2.84 High Grades in: Introduction to Film and British Literature
Five other classes attended.
HS [ From Sep-1997 to Jun-1998]
R.W. Traip Academy
Kittery, ME
GPA: 2.35 .
Seven Courses Attended
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Untitled, Unfinished Short Horrific Story....at least for now 6/17, 6/20
There is a tiny town along Route 7, and placed along the Ohio-West Virginia border, in Ohio, called Clarington. And somewhere, about a mile into on the eastern side, the side closest to the Ohio River-which ever since 1830 has been as black and opaque as soot, this is a rest stop and a small, nondescript plaza housing only a motel. The sky was black (as it always was these days; at night and during the day) when Jacob Golden pulled his scavenged dull-gray 1986 Buick Century off of the asphalted rod of Route 7 and into the Brockaway's Motel's squarish parking lot. Of course, as all things were now, it was deserted. Some snow began to fall, but it just as dull-gray as the paint on the Buick-but there was nothing outlandish about that; that was quite commonplace. Inside the faded burgundy interior of the Buick, Jake, a tall, balding, stoop-shouldered man in his late forties, sat smoking an ancient, stale cigarette and flicking on his headlights and torn rubbery wipers sequentially. Although the windows of the Buick were rolled down, the interior of the car was redolent with the sickening, yellowish scent of stale tobacco and nearly befogged with grayish cigarette smoke. This was the last cigarette of the last pack that Jake had......which, incidentally was also the last cigarette in the world, or at least continental America. And he should've known, too, for ever since that day, two years ago, Jake had scoured the U.S. looking for more-and there were none. And no more were ever going to be made-not ever. The oddest thing about his two-year trek, not all of which had been in the Buick; only about half of that journey had been done with this particular vehicle: the original had been a flesh-colored, wood-paneled 1979 Chrysler Lebaron Town and Country Station Wagon which had actually been his car, for the Buick wasn't his, had never been, but it felt like it was "his" now after a year of travel with it; still, the oddest thing about this quest whose only goal seemed to be the finding of (more) cigarettes, was the fact that for most of his life, he had been a staunch, patent nonsmoker.....but that had been before. Now, there was only this car, this one, lone, last smoldering cigarette, and the cold certainty that he was one of the last people in America. He knew that he wasn't the only survivor and inhabitant left, but he was the only sane, good, normal one-of that he was sure. His travels crisscrossing America had more than confirmed that to him. No; America had become a vast, mostly deserted wasteland, and all the cities and towns, from California to New York and Maine to Florida and all points between, while technically still intact, were in ruins. He didn't know about those municipalities and metropolises in Alaska and Hawaii, however-he had never been to them. Not even before. Besides, he hated Canada and was afraid of the ocean. Not all water and bodies of it thereof mind you; no, just and only oceanic bodies.....so, he had been summarily confined to the contiguous 48 states. Not that he minded; for no, he didn't. There were millions of miles, tens of thousands of towns and cities-most deserted-for him to explore. Plus, endless miles of terrain-for America was nothing if not vast; vast enough for him, for any one person. He knew that in 200 years, let alone 2 he wouldn't ever see it all, but now, in this new world of which he was practically the sole inhabitant, he must perforce be nomadic, constantly moving, even in the winter. But though it was nearly winter now, he tarried in Clarington, a town on the border with West Virginia, which he had lately departed. In fact, in the east, behind him, some vast brownish, forested hills loomed like great mountains, and they were clearly West Virginian. All the area around him, in front of him, was vast and flat and hairy with once-green grass-and there was, naturally, nothing remotely tonsorial about these plains: they were gray or white or yellow, blank, cold, decumbent, disheveled, dead. But, with the exception of the gray Ohio grasslands, that was all before him. One that hadn't changed that he always basked in, remembering it wistfully from his boyhood, was the purplish tint that ever and anon suffused the sky and lay over the land at dusk, at twilight and it was quickly nearing that time now. As the car slowly rolled into and began to sluggishly traverse the parking lot, headed for the squat brown wing of the motel, Jake looked forward up and beyond, at the purple light beginning to distill and disseminate itself in the mostly black sky...but during the day is was more like a gray or perhaps it was dun-colored. Another odd thing, a thing that, like the purplishness, should have changed but didn't, hadn't, was the fact that, somehow, all the electricity was still active, still flowing, still brightening the devoid cities of America. Thus, all of Clarington, or most if it anyway, was lit up and sparkling-even the neon sign of the oddly named Brockaway's Motel was on, spilling it's pinkish, waxen light onto the swiftly darkening parking lot. The Buick rumbled along, finally halting it's traversal in a slanted perpendicular space directly in front of the simple, sparse brownish facade of the dormitory-like motel wing. Jake sat, contemplatively smoking the rancid cigarette and scanning the motel through the smoky glass of the Buick's windshield, listening to the roar of the gusty wind outside-and the roaring heater, blasting heat on the inside......................
A Musing Concerning the Musical/Emotional Dynamic of The Rolling Stones's Recordings 6/20
It seems to me that, at least in and through and with their 1960's music, The Rolling Stones, are the definitive summer music. I mean, there is something about or in the recordings that they made in 1964-1969 that somehow are evocative, almost all of them, of summertime. Whenever I hear certain of their songs I immediately think of summer and I also flashback momentarily to a summer in my past, which is odd for as much I like or ever liked the Rolling Stones, I don't think that I listened to too much of their music as a child...especially in the summer. So perhaps it was the actual intent of The Rolling Stones to, at that particular time, create music that would be highly reminiscent of and tinged with the balminess and the paradisaical memories of, summer-but then, maybe not. All that I can say with any definitiveness is that that is how I feel about it, that is what I think about it. I don't know really how others view their music emotionally. One other thing that I have to say though is, for some reason, even the best of their music in the 1970's is more evocative to me of the winter than any other time; it is not like it's previous decadal predecessor, it too does not spring summer (no pun or paragrammatic sequence intended, I assure you) immediately to mind. Their music in the 1970's in addition to becoming more stentorian, became gloomy or in the case of "Paint It Black," gloomier. I don't know why this was or is, but that is how I feel about much of their 1970's music, that of it that I can tolerate that is. For they did do some rather poor music in the 1970's, especially after 1975. But I guess that is just my opinion, too-and unlike the origins of my thoughts that their 1960's music is evocative of summertime, my wintry observations of their 1970's stuff, with a few exceptions, is in fact traceable and sensible: I listened to much of their 1970's recordings in winter, primarily the winter of 1999....so that particular observation of mine about their work then is more based on a mnemonic, hypnagogic reaction and opinion than anything else, thus, I can't say definitively if they intended the music they recorded during that time to be evocative of the winter.....but I think I can say that my personal feelings have no bearing on the summery evocation of their 1960's music...though admittedly, I heard some of that for the first time, or the first, important time, the time I really listened and appreciated and was lost in it, in summer. But then, hey, summer is a damn good time, isn't it? And perhaps much of the (1960's) music of The Rolling Stones is, too, then, huh? And that is all that I have to say on that particular subject.
Certain Observations Relating to the Existence, Makeup and Antecedents of Anglo-American Rock in the 1970's 6/20
Certain Observations Relative to the Existence, Composition and Antecedents of certain Anglo-American Rock Bands (i.e. Aerosmith) of the 1970's
(Note: I am unfortunately very poor and rarely adequate, concise, provocative or poetic when it comes to the forming of titles for my works. This is a terrible shortcoming for a man who wishes to become a true writer to have. But, other than giving even my fiction very professorial, doctoral titles, scientific titles or ones that are too sparse, inchoate, lifeless and incomplete, I have a hard time composing and readily appending useful, workable, exciting titles to my various works....thus, this odd, too-scientific title and this subsequent note/apology/explanation)
I have made a certain observation, a partly authorial musing, really: That Aerosmith is, for all of its good or bad music, nothing more than an amalgam that is two parts Led Zeppelin, one or two parts The Who, and most especially and significantly, four parts The Rolling Stones (but mostly Aerosmith is just a mixture of Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones...even if the members themselves won't admit to that; and thus, you might just as well as say: That Steven Tyler is little more than a combination, a compound that combines fairly equal parts of Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey and Mick Jagger...with the main totality and sum of that amalgam being comprised chiefly of just Plant and Jagger!).
(Note: I am unfortunately very poor and rarely adequate, concise, provocative or poetic when it comes to the forming of titles for my works. This is a terrible shortcoming for a man who wishes to become a true writer to have. But, other than giving even my fiction very professorial, doctoral titles, scientific titles or ones that are too sparse, inchoate, lifeless and incomplete, I have a hard time composing and readily appending useful, workable, exciting titles to my various works....thus, this odd, too-scientific title and this subsequent note/apology/explanation)
I have made a certain observation, a partly authorial musing, really: That Aerosmith is, for all of its good or bad music, nothing more than an amalgam that is two parts Led Zeppelin, one or two parts The Who, and most especially and significantly, four parts The Rolling Stones (but mostly Aerosmith is just a mixture of Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones...even if the members themselves won't admit to that; and thus, you might just as well as say: That Steven Tyler is little more than a combination, a compound that combines fairly equal parts of Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey and Mick Jagger...with the main totality and sum of that amalgam being comprised chiefly of just Plant and Jagger!).
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Information Concerning a Hot, Original New Band (That I Just Happen To Be Member of) 6/12
Check out my band (the one that my brother and I started) on Soundclick.com! We are called Squidnunc..check it out..plus, our comedy is on there, too!
What Songs I've Listened To or Am Listening to on Grooveshark.com 6/12
- And, also: Star Star by The Rolling Stones; 2000 Light Years From Home by The Rolling Stones; and finally, Citadel by The Rolling Stones!
-
Dcate27 And, also: Hide Your Love by The Rolling Stones; Winter by The Rolling Stones; Can you Hear the Music by The Rolling Stones; ...... - Dcate27 And, also: DOO DOO Doo Heartbreakers by the Rolling Stones; Angie by The Rolling Stones; Sliver Train by the Rolling Stones...
- Dcate27 And, Dancing with Mr. D by The Rolling Stones; 100 Years Ago by The Rolling Stones; Coming Down Again by The Rolling Stones; ........
- Dcate27 And, Black Angel by The Rolling Stones; Turd On The Run by The Rolling Stones; If You Can't Rock Me by The Rolling Stones....
- Dcate27 And, Tarkio Road by Brewer and Shipley; Go Back by Crabby Appleton; All down the line by The Rolling Stones.......
- Dcate27 And, It's Only Rock N" Roll by The Rolling Stones; Going Home by the Rolling Stones; Gimmie Shelter by The Rolling Stones; ..........
- Dcate27 And Manchester, England by and from Hair; Timothy by the Buoys; 100Years Ago by the rolling stones; Doo doo Doo Heartbreakers by TRS....
- Dcate27 Colored Spade by and from Hair; I'm Black by and from Hair; Hold the Line by Toto; Never been any Reason by Head East........
- Dcate27 I wish I could tell what I'm listening to, what I've listened to, but it would be too long a list! I guess, though I could try!
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Stroudwater's Plaza is actually called the Lafayette Plaza-Who Knew? A Comment&Correction
The Stroudwater's Plaza (that houses Ethan Allan, Philbricks Farm Fresh Market, ME and Ollie's Cafe, Ethan Allan, Adobe Home Furnishings, Planet Fitness and Others) is actually named The Lafayette Plaza; Who Knew?
A few days ago, I journeyed to and through Kittery and Portsmouth and Newington and Dover and Somersworth, and one of the places I liked the most and stayed the longest, perhaps recalling my many visits to that locale and it's plaza back in the days when the linear structure housed such notables as Stroudwater Books and Cafe and Pier One Imports (though I must confess that I never went into Pier One; nor it's current replacement: Ethan Allen, and it's neighbor: Adobe Home Furnishings; nor even a great many other stores that are housed within that odd, linear plaza that sits up on a hill overlooking Route One and Lafayette Road below), was the plaza known then and now as Lafayette Plaza-much like the plaza further along Lafayette Road which once housed Rich's and Shaw's is called Southgate Plaza. The interesting thing about this is that, until that day, I had not known the true name of that plaza! In the post that first mentioned it and primarily because it was talking about Stroudwaters and how I missed it, I did not give that plaza a name, yet it has one. Fascinating, huh? Especially when you couple it with the fact that for and in all the long years I have known of and gone to that particular plaza, I have never known that name, not once! But this springs to mind a whole new question: If that plaza has a name and every other plaza in Portsmouth that I know of has a name, then why doesn't the plaza located at 1500 Lafayette Road which houses such notables as Market Basket, Movie Scene and Rite-Aid, among many others, seem to have a name? In all that place, I don't think I have ever seen or heard of or read or found a sign, like the little, green and white metallic, rectangular sign on the bushy median at the entrance to the Lafayette Plaza that bears that selfsame name upon it. So, does that and the other Portsmouth Market Basket Plaza, the one on Woodbury Avenue, which also doesn't seem to have an official name or sign designating and proclaiming it, do they also have names? One day, I will describe the area around the Lafayette Plaza and the Plaza itself in far greater detail, for it is an interesting, strangely beautiful place, and one that seems to merge the urban and suburban with the rural, campestral and swampy. I often have gone, as I did on Monday or Tuesday, to the Qwik Stop Mobil Filling Station and Convenience Store, located along the edge of Lafayette Plaza; but that is another story and one that, despite the thousands and thousands of stories, real and fake, true and fictional, that I could tell, will no doubt be told one day, so I see no reason to continue on about it now. It is saved for another time...and not the Sometime Time, either-lol!
A few days ago, I journeyed to and through Kittery and Portsmouth and Newington and Dover and Somersworth, and one of the places I liked the most and stayed the longest, perhaps recalling my many visits to that locale and it's plaza back in the days when the linear structure housed such notables as Stroudwater Books and Cafe and Pier One Imports (though I must confess that I never went into Pier One; nor it's current replacement: Ethan Allen, and it's neighbor: Adobe Home Furnishings; nor even a great many other stores that are housed within that odd, linear plaza that sits up on a hill overlooking Route One and Lafayette Road below), was the plaza known then and now as Lafayette Plaza-much like the plaza further along Lafayette Road which once housed Rich's and Shaw's is called Southgate Plaza. The interesting thing about this is that, until that day, I had not known the true name of that plaza! In the post that first mentioned it and primarily because it was talking about Stroudwaters and how I missed it, I did not give that plaza a name, yet it has one. Fascinating, huh? Especially when you couple it with the fact that for and in all the long years I have known of and gone to that particular plaza, I have never known that name, not once! But this springs to mind a whole new question: If that plaza has a name and every other plaza in Portsmouth that I know of has a name, then why doesn't the plaza located at 1500 Lafayette Road which houses such notables as Market Basket, Movie Scene and Rite-Aid, among many others, seem to have a name? In all that place, I don't think I have ever seen or heard of or read or found a sign, like the little, green and white metallic, rectangular sign on the bushy median at the entrance to the Lafayette Plaza that bears that selfsame name upon it. So, does that and the other Portsmouth Market Basket Plaza, the one on Woodbury Avenue, which also doesn't seem to have an official name or sign designating and proclaiming it, do they also have names? One day, I will describe the area around the Lafayette Plaza and the Plaza itself in far greater detail, for it is an interesting, strangely beautiful place, and one that seems to merge the urban and suburban with the rural, campestral and swampy. I often have gone, as I did on Monday or Tuesday, to the Qwik Stop Mobil Filling Station and Convenience Store, located along the edge of Lafayette Plaza; but that is another story and one that, despite the thousands and thousands of stories, real and fake, true and fictional, that I could tell, will no doubt be told one day, so I see no reason to continue on about it now. It is saved for another time...and not the Sometime Time, either-lol!
Brief Probably Futile Musing on Lack of Hits, Friends, etc. 6/11
You know, it is immensely interesting, even funnily ironic to note that even though I belong to, read or follow a veritable boatload of bloggers, I have no followers or readers! Now, isn't that just a fucking laugh...a laugh and a half? I hate to seem so bitter, impolite and vicious, but what the fuck is with those other people? I mean, I read, maybe even comment on, their ridiculous nonsensical, pappy, pithy, familial, pharmaceutical offal, their drivel and their respective doggerel......and yet I, a beacon, a fucking oracle, a pundit, a wag, a whatever you want and need me to be, a chameleon, an improviser, a writer true and supreme of any and all things...I, I, have no motherf**king followers or readers. Not to be self-effacing or self-doubting, but why? Is there something wrong with me and my original, true, cool, poetic, fine, fancy, intelligent, incisive, powerful, great blogs? Perhaps the real problem is that I am too intelligent, my vocabulary and sentence-structure too refined for their precious asses. If I myself am an ass, I am an ass only because of the vile stupidity of others. Here I am, a great writer, whose sense of everything is hyper-attuned and poetic and poignant and potent, and yet, no one reads me...and even if they do, they do not follow me nor comment on me. Well, I am getting to the point where this blog, while still existing, will be only for me, and all others can go fuck themselves! And, by the way, I don't normally talk or write like that, but I do not enjoy being ignored...even by morons, thus, I am angry now and when angry I write and talk scurrilously and with overmuch invective. Well, that's all I have to say for now. Bye.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Am I Now or Have I Ever Been An Involuntary Late-Bloomer (especially with regard to dating and sex)?
Answer: Yes, I am. Sorry if that upsets you. It was not ever my choice and I fought desperately to make it different, to be in step with everyone else, but no dates nor sex nor sex partner were forthcoming or pending, nor do they seem to be nowadays, so here I am, posting this and fuck you if you think or do or say otherwise! I have attempted to be and wanted to be a regular bloomer, with regard to the aforesaid things, but apparently some certain element of my character is an obstacle to the sort of pleasure and happiness that I often see all around me. Thus, I am bitter, and with good reason, too. In the end, it is not my fault, but rather, that of someone else-for, it is not like I didn't try. For I did. The End. FU.
Has the Vileness of Most Contemporary Relationships Among My Peer Group Made Me want An FB?
Has the vileness of most contemporary relationships forced me to actively seek a fuckbuddy over and instead of a girlfriend? Sadly, yes.
Apology for the Last-RE: Poor Grammar and Spelling (not mine, officially, though) 6/10
I merely seek now to apologize for my previous post in that it seemed to make me seem like an ungrammatical, uneducated, illiterate moron. Those of you that know me and have read my blogs will know that this can not be true, or if true, was out of step with my general character, which is mostly consistently erudite and Frasierian. Thus, I find it important to express some remorse or at least rationalize and explain my seeming grammatical blunders in my previous posts. They were the copied and pasted posts of a girl who, while perhaps attractive, has no sense of grammar, apparently. Besides, my overabundant intellect is present in those posts, too, beneath the ridiculousness of that girl. Well, now you all know. And I can go back to writerly hibernation, for none of you seem to be following or reading or listening to or commenting on my words, so all is infused with a tint of futility, yet not even indicating this seems to remedy the vile situation, that of silence and inactivity, in which I currently find myself. I have no readers nor followers...yet.
Superabundantly Expanded Addition of and to the Former Post; or, Correcting Grammar and Attacking Shitty Mores 6/10
Yuuh Nah Im Rite When I Say Yuuh Gf Is A Poser.! Because I Was Rite With The 1st One And Ill Be Rite With The Next One And Im Rite About Thez Whon Ha
Mood: O6.O6.1O O6.O6.1O
41 seconds ago from Mobile
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Translation into English (a service, Nessa, that I will provide for free): "You know I'm right when I say your girlfriend is a poser! Because I was right with the first one and I'll be right with the next one and I'm right about this one. Ha." (Again, no payment or thanks required for the furnishing of this service that I gave you.)l
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Douglas
Douglas:
Translation into English (a service, Nessa, that I will provide for free): "You know I'm right when I say your girlfriend is a poser! Because I was right with the first one and I'll be right with the next one and I'm right about this one. Ha." (Again, no payment or thanks required for the furnishing of this service that I gave you.)
Mood: O6.O6.1O O6.O6.1O
41 seconds ago from Mobile
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Translation into English (a service, Nessa, that I will provide for free): "You know I'm right when I say your girlfriend is a poser! Because I was right with the first one and I'll be right with the next one and I'm right about this one. Ha." (Again, no payment or thanks required for the furnishing of this service that I gave you.)l
Submit
*
Douglas
Douglas:
Translation into English (a service, Nessa, that I will provide for free): "You know I'm right when I say your girlfriend is a poser! Because I was right with the first one and I'll be right with the next one and I'm right about this one. Ha." (Again, no payment or thanks required for the furnishing of this service that I gave you.)
Yuuh Nah What Sucks Is When Yuuh Really Lyhked Someone Buh Then Yuuh Go To Find Out After Yuuh Dated Them That They Were A Poser.! Ima justa sayinq
Mood: O6.O6.1O O6.O6.1O
10 minutes ago from Mobile
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Nessa, you seem like a nice girl, and I hate to correct you, but this grammar and spelling, lack of punctuation and over-capitalization of all words and letters, it is just atrocious! (And sorry to patronize you, but that means "bad"!) I hope you will take steps to learn to create an understandable, readable, sensible sentence in the future. Let us please respect our great language...or else, use another.l
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I will now attempt to not only correct your atrocious sentence, but to translate it into English, verbatim: "You know what sucks is when you really liked someone but then you go to find out after you dated them that they were a poser! I'm just saying." Also, all girls do this-not the poor spelling, capitalization and grammar, but rather, the dating of morons who they only realize are and were and will forever be poseurs and morons after they've dated them. This is the scourge of our times and why great, witty, handsome, wonderful men like myself can not seem to find a girlfriend, nor even a fuckbuddy, which the vileness of contemporary relationships has forced me to seek more actively than a girlfriend.
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Douglas
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Nessa, you seem like a nice girl, and I hate to correct you, but this grammar and spelling, lack of punctuation and over-capitalization of all words and letters, it is just atrocious! (And sorry to patronize you, but that means "bad"!) I hope you will take steps to learn to create an understandable, readable, sensible sentence in the future. Let us please respect our great language...or else, use another.
Mood: O6.O6.1O O6.O6.1O
10 minutes ago from Mobile
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Nessa, you seem like a nice girl, and I hate to correct you, but this grammar and spelling, lack of punctuation and over-capitalization of all words and letters, it is just atrocious! (And sorry to patronize you, but that means "bad"!) I hope you will take steps to learn to create an understandable, readable, sensible sentence in the future. Let us please respect our great language...or else, use another.l
Submit
I will now attempt to not only correct your atrocious sentence, but to translate it into English, verbatim: "You know what sucks is when you really liked someone but then you go to find out after you dated them that they were a poser! I'm just saying." Also, all girls do this-not the poor spelling, capitalization and grammar, but rather, the dating of morons who they only realize are and were and will forever be poseurs and morons after they've dated them. This is the scourge of our times and why great, witty, handsome, wonderful men like myself can not seem to find a girlfriend, nor even a fuckbuddy, which the vileness of contemporary relationships has forced me to seek more actively than a girlfriend.
*
Douglas
Douglas Just Now
Nessa, you seem like a nice girl, and I hate to correct you, but this grammar and spelling, lack of punctuation and over-capitalization of all words and letters, it is just atrocious! (And sorry to patronize you, but that means "bad"!) I hope you will take steps to learn to create an understandable, readable, sensible sentence in the future. Let us please respect our great language...or else, use another.
It is my intent to write about the Sometime Time that I believe is imminent. I feel I should admonish all of the populace as to the potential detriment of the sometime time. Sometime, that time may be coming, and when that Sometime Time arrives, it will be quite sometime before anyone gets to a clock to find out what time it is (you see, I like jokes and I hate constantly filling out reports and profiles and other utter shit about myself. Yes, I am fairly great, but that does not mean that I only want to talk and write about myself within stupid established parameters all day long; perhaps if I could create the parameters within which I must stand and by which I must abide, then I might be more willing to engage in utter nonsense of this variety. However, that is not the case here, so I wrote a joke instead).
(Note: The following is an addition to my previous note and could just as well be entitled: "A Description of The Potential Stranding: A Premonitory Reverie" Well, enjoy, for here it is: )
Black, rubbery shreds, lying castoff on the roadside, among the mica and the myriads of glinting, argent quartz that speckled and pebbled the asphalt. Maybe one or two of the shards would become airborne, flying high, wide and crazy and land with a hollow but potent thud deep among the weedy lot that housed an octagonal sumac thicket of tremendous size. Perhaps the arc they would describe as they went aloft would be a wild, wide circle of some sort. Perhaps it would seem that the sumac thicket had been pelted by the blackish shreds. The wind might blow among them, turning them, twisting them, moving them, pushing them along so that they seemed like a tumbleweed, and the area near them like a desert, like that wide, longitudinal lot some miles to the southeast, closer to the edge and the coast of the town, that once contained a local convenience store of great renown and the mountainous midden of accumulated greyish dirt and gravel that lay at the extreme end of that dusty, dirty, scruffy weedy lot. A lot fringed with hirsute tufts of verdant grass, clinging to the edges and growing profusely without check. Dancing chaotically, seductively in the seaborne breezes that buffeted that littoral area. That might be his fate, to be stranded, lost and alone, ignored and among the vacant lots and tiny copses, all scruffy with weeds, that dotted that escarpment-rife, oddly terraced and descending to the orbicular hub of the town: The Kittery Traffic Circle; an area whose center was open and free, but whose sides and fringes were havens of swamps, wooded hills, gravelly ridges and weedy, empty, dusty lots. It was not a pleasant thought. He hoped fervently that it was not a premonitory in anyway. Just a farfetched, paranoid thought-nothing more. He would not end up in weedy lot, bordered by structural eyesores like that nearby crumbling, faded, ancient, peeling filling station and the lines and blobs of sumac trees, some faint and dreamy in the bluish haze created by the sense of distance, others rearing up like some tropical, nemoral beast, ready to immolate him or any intruder. This thought, with the exception of the portion that compared close sumac thickets to a behemoth that would devour him, was much more realistic, reassuring and comforting, sans any and all of the pathetic, cringing moribundity of the previous one. Maybe the nearby lots that lingered on the sides of the sloping, convex hill had a stark, morbid, terrible poetic beauty, but that did not mean that he wanted to be lingering forever or even ephemerally among them.
Posted by Dcool27 at 9:57 AM
Black, rubbery shreds, lying castoff on the roadside, among the mica and the myriads of glinting, argent quartz that speckled and pebbled the asphalt. Maybe one or two of the shards would become airborne, flying high, wide and crazy and land with a hollow but potent thud deep among the weedy lot that housed an octagonal sumac thicket of tremendous size. Perhaps the arc they would describe as they went aloft would be a wild, wide circle of some sort. Perhaps it would seem that the sumac thicket had been pelted by the blackish shreds. The wind might blow among them, turning them, twisting them, moving them, pushing them along so that they seemed like a tumbleweed, and the area near them like a desert, like that wide, longitudinal lot some miles to the southeast, closer to the edge and the coast of the town, that once contained a local convenience store of great renown and the mountainous midden of accumulated greyish dirt and gravel that lay at the extreme end of that dusty, dirty, scruffy weedy lot. A lot fringed with hirsute tufts of verdant grass, clinging to the edges and growing profusely without check. Dancing chaotically, seductively in the seaborne breezes that buffeted that littoral area. That might be his fate, to be stranded, lost and alone, ignored and among the vacant lots and tiny copses, all scruffy with weeds, that dotted that escarpment-rife, oddly terraced and descending to the orbicular hub of the town: The Kittery Traffic Circle; an area whose center was open and free, but whose sides and fringes were havens of swamps, wooded hills, gravelly ridges and weedy, empty, dusty lots. It was not a pleasant thought. He hoped fervently that it was not a premonitory in anyway. Just a farfetched, paranoid thought-nothing more. He would not end up in weedy lot, bordered by structural eyesores like that nearby crumbling, faded, ancient, peeling filling station and the lines and blobs of sumac trees, some faint and dreamy in the bluish haze created by the sense of distance, others rearing up like some tropical, nemoral beast, ready to immolate him or any intruder. This thought, with the exception of the portion that compared close sumac thickets to a behemoth that would devour him, was much more realistic, reassuring and comforting, sans any and all of the pathetic, cringing moribundity of the previous one. Maybe the nearby lots that lingered on the sides of the sloping, convex hill had a stark, morbid, terrible poetic beauty, but that did not mean that he wanted to be lingering forever or even ephemerally among them.
Posted by Dcool27 at 9:57 AM
He drove along the road, sunlight shining down onto the hardtop, green leaves gilded auriferous by the sun. In looking at his oblong, rectangular rearview mirror, he could not only see those things he and his car had left behind, like the long, wide stretch of road behind him, but also his face, on which were placed his sunglasses and he could see more reflections through them, too. The road was on a manmade ridge that extended for at least two miles and that passed through an area thick with either trees or plains and open spaces. He had gained access to the road from a ramp a few miles back, one that led from his old neighborhood. Along certain sides of the road, there were a few stands and thickets of those tropical-looking, razor-bladed, top-flowering sumac trees. He drove straight for the road was linear itself and he played the music on his component vehicular cd player very obstreperously. The song was anthemic, the great "I Just Want To Celebrate" by Rare Earth, that had been recorded and released long ago, in 1970. Of course, this was forty years later. And the music coming out of most people's stereos was contemporary and it was then either rap or country and that was about it. It seemed like no one listened to good, listenable, real and pleasant music anymore-just crap. So much metaphorical excrement poured forth from contemporaneous stereo speakers. But not his. He hummed along with the music, and tapped his long, gaunt fingers on the rim of the circular blue-vinyl steering wheel. Soon, the song changed. It was replaced by "I Know I'm Losing You" also by Rare Earth-for he was listening to a seven-track Rare Earth compilation-but which had originally been done by The Temptations, yet obviously the two versions were vastly different; and besides, he didn't that he had ever heard the Temptations's version, anyway. It seemed the definitive and most incendiary and visceral rendition of the lyric was that performed by Rare Earth. There was a primal quality, a stark, stunning urgency to the music and it pounded and pulsated, like a great, rhythmic heart. It was the quintessential summer day: glorious, gilded and bright with aureate sunlight. Chiarscuro seemed omnipresent. Branches waved delicately but noticeably in the balmy sea-toned breezes. He had just dropped his bratty brother off at his seaside-appointed place of employment; not a culinary paradise, even though it was a restaurant; and had gone on an almost intentional tour of his past, as he skirted through fair Kittery, land and harbor, home and nation supreme of his youth. Part of that tour, that now, though he was still in Kittery, seemed almost concluded as he sped along the linear conduit to Eliot, Route One Bypass, in other words, yet part of that tour of memory lane had included a brief drive past his childhood neighborhood. Things had changed severely in that environ, and as he drove by at better than thirty, he briefly contemplated stopping and going up the hilly driveway and knocking on the door of his once-home, asking to look inside, saying he used to live there as a child, that he grew up there, and he thought all this as he stared up at the tan-yellowish facade of the apartment building in which he grew up. That however, had been more than five minutes ago, and a whole other song had been blaring stentorian from the speakers or "I Just Want To Celebrate"-the ultimate anthem of summertime and youth and happiness-had just begun to blaze and scream and pound, emitting, emanating from his oblong, posterior-located speakers. Often they created a pulsing wall of stentorian sound, something that was almost deafening and unbearable for the rear passengers; when there were rear passengers, that is. Thankfully, that was not often, so he could blare his music (good music, music that deserved to be, that should have been blared and broadcasted all around; unlike the other crap squirming around, squeezing out of tainted speakers nowadays) as much and as loud as he wanted to, and if the windows were down, then the obstreperousness of it had virtually no detrimental effect on him. The intrusive, reverie-disturbing noisy whir and roll of the rear tires came wafting in, and irritated him, bringing him out of his little reverie. Even turning up the volume would not help to drown out that awful sound, that faintly ominous sound. It was a noise that could only conjure up images of stalls and stops and crashes by the roadside. Horrible visions of being stranded alone and helpless even beneath the flawlessly, cloudless blue sky and the balmy, auriferous sun, with the dulcet chirping of treed birds all around him, and no help and one or both of his posterior rubbery radials fragmented and splintered. Paranoid yet not entirely unwarranted images like these flooded his mind, disrupting it, addling it, ruining his happiness, drowning out and concealing the demulcent strains of his music. Yet, he shook it off somehow. Perhaps by supplanting a memory or two from his childhood-the very memories that came flooding back so much, so often now, so hard and crushing, even the best and happiest of them. They were unbidden, involuntary and staggering in their power and realness. They had an almost tangible quality-they were even more powerful than sense-memories; perhaps because they were not composed of merely one sense, but all of them simultaneously, inundating and overwhelming his beleaguered brain with a terrific, detrimental surplus of data. Thankfully, in the midst of this deluge, he managed to maintain paltry but necessary control of his vehicle. Otherwise, his death would have been assured. An assured and honest event. Yet he had a certain amount of luck-as last night's brush with the local law had shown almost unequivocally. But that was another story. All that remained now was to arrive home, in Eliot, and leave the sweet, pleasant, semi-humble detritus of his past, and of fairest Kittery behind. Despite the fact that among other things, other acts, he longed to walk around his old neighborhood, roving across the breadth of it (or at least of it's outskirts) via the large sidewalks that fronted almost every yard and home in that area. But he couldn't; his day would be far too busy today. Too many things-few of them really fun or healthy or beneficial-to do. Though he was rather passive usually, this overstock of errands and activity had become a diurnal process now. One that, being quotidian, was far too frequent. But at least it got him out of the house, away from the charming but deadly computer-on which he spent way too much time; but then, didn't also his whole generation? A computer generation if there ever was one. He descended the hill, the one that had previously afforded a wide and grand view of the Kittery Traffic Circle, 7-11 and Dairy Queen and the beautifully-landscaped circular greensward in the midst of it all, and the swamps, hills and forests ringing it all, the one that now showed nothing but a screen of thick trees and bushes, with large and small thickets of sumac and single stands of sumac chiefest among them, and joined the artery of Route One, in the forked junction where the two disparate thoroughfares met, and headed along it, up it's rambling ramp, to home. From what and where was once his home. His home-his only true home.
A Yearned-for Time and Locale: A Essayistic, Descriptive, Autobiographical Writing O' Mine 6/06
If there is one bookstore that I spent a lot of time at that I miss and yearn for more than any other, with the possible exception of Laureate's, it is Stroudwater's Books, which used to be located on Lafayette Road/Route One in Portsmouth, NH at and in a plaza where I often spent much time as a younger child. It was one of the first places that I saw and began to read some of the books by some of the authors (Stephen King chief among them) that would delight, terrify and greatly influence me as a writer and as a reader-a voracious, ravenous reader. It was clearly a forerunner to Barnes N' Noble-even as old as that supposedly is-in that it had a cafe of sorts towards it's rear. I went to that cafe once or twice and one memorable time, had my first cappuccino, which I hated. I remember that somewhat adjacent to the cafe section, there was a large segment of the store devoted to the selling and display of used books-some of which, many of which I got over time. I used to go to that plaza that housed it (a plaza that now sports such eclectic, outlandish places as Planet Fitness, Kinko's Copies, Londonderry Pianos, Ethan Allan or Pier One, and Philbricks Farm Fresh Market...in fact, Philbricks stands on the exact spot on which Stroudwaters once-in 1993 to 1999-stood), back in the days when I was like six or seven or so and Woolworth's was still extant. Yet, after Woolworth's closed it's doors, I did not really go to that plaza again until Stroudwater's opened. So there was like at least a two or three year gap between the last time I was at Woolworth's and the first time I was at Stroudwaters, which I went to once or twice with my diminutive Freshman gym class in 1998 when Mr. Buzzel coached it. But that is yet another story, a mere fabric that is a part of the vast tapestry of my life and the mini-arras built into it that housed my history with Stroudwaters and all the special memories I had of that place-the entire layout of which I can recall extraordinarily, photographically well. I could easily describe it right down to the tiniest detail, even though it has been about eleven years since I was last there. In fact, I can remember one of the last times I went there. It was in July or August of 1999 and I bought my first copy of the LOTR trilogy there...though of course, that was not the first book or books I ever bought there. Still, I could tell many a story about that time and that place. And that area-for not only could I describe the interior of the store, but the exterior, the surrounding environment, the roads and the parking lot, the soaring radio antenna behind it, and the radio station that sat adjacent to it, and the Margarita's Mexican Restaurant that flanked the opposite, far end of it; all that and more could I describe and will I describe...later, in another post. For now, let this suffice.
Posted by Dcool27 at 1:36 PM
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+ On The Seeming Futility of Things In General: A Je...
+ Additional Addendums, Emendations, and Amendments ...
+ Brief Addendum 6/06
+ Do Video Games Suck?
+ Are Video Games Better and More Important than Rea...
+ Are Video Games Good?
+ The Nocturnal Incursion: An Unfinished Minimalisti...
+ Christian Nighttime Basketball: A Satirical, Minim...
+ Scans of the Rentunan System: A Science Fiction St...
+ The Preposterous Tale of the SB Bench and Tree (Un...
+ A Quick Story Idea 6/05
+ Antisemitism in America; Especially in The (oft-li...
+ Recent GOM Oleaginous Spillage: Conspiratorial or ...
+ A Brief Addendum of Sorts RE: Problems in Relation...
+ A Previously Elusive Conclusion I Drew Earlier Thi...
+ Just a Few Celeritous Miscellaneous Thoughts 6/04
+ Acting Corridor and Conduit to Eliot and Portsmout...
+ The Two or More Arizonan Trees that Form the Gatew...
+ A Short Description and Vicarious History of What ...
+ 1990's=1970's?: A Brief Symposium, Expose, Essay a...
+ A Reply/Comment on Facebook Outlining a Few Distin...
+ WIthout the Store...Waiting for My Mother: A Brief...
+ The Past (My Past) and The Landmarks, Boundaries a...
+ Certain Missed, Longed-For Things, Places, People....
+ Various Observations (Not Observances, for those a...
+ Myself and My Ideal Dating or Even, Sex, Match: Us...
+ How the Mundane and Everyday Can Become Extramunda...
+ A Retraction of the Former, with New Editorial Ext...
+ A Tour of My Mindset at Various, Sundry Whiles, et...
+ Concerning Travels at Night in Kittery and Portsmo...
+ The Vault-A Tale of Terror, Horror, the Unknown an...
+ An Unfinished Story called: :"The Night, The Howl...
+ Chronicle of my life in K: 1988-1998. PT I-An Intr...
+ A Post Afire-A Tale in However Many Parts as I wan...
+ An Object Rediscovered, Unearthed; or, It Was His-...
+ A Brief Temporal Lament In Verse...no, not really....
+ A Wave Between Two-A Slight Anonymous Romance In B...
+ A Concise Note on Quotidian Writing and My Attenda...
+ On Necropolises; and My Odd, Minute Fascination wi...
+ Temporality versus Location: A Study in Brief of K...
+ A Swift, Laconic Missive Criticizing and Drawing A...
About Me
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Dcool27
I am a human being, and I exist...strangely, unprecedentedly enough!
View my complete profile
If there is one bookstore that I spent a lot of time at that I miss and yearn for more than any other, with the possible exception of Laureate's, it is Stroudwater's Books, which used to be located on Lafayette Road/Route One in Portsmouth, NH at and in a plaza where I often spent much time as a younger child. It was one of the first places that I saw and began to read some of the books by some of the authors (Stephen King chief among them) that would delight, terrify and greatly influence me as a writer and as a reader-a voracious, ravenous reader. It was clearly a forerunner to Barnes N' Noble-even as old as that supposedly is-in that it had a cafe of sorts towards it's rear. I went to that cafe once or twice and one memorable time, had my first cappuccino, which I hated. I remember that somewhat adjacent to the cafe section, there was a large segment of the store devoted to the selling and display of used books-some of which, many of which I got over time. I used to go to that plaza that housed it (a plaza that now sports such eclectic, outlandish places as Planet Fitness, Kinko's Copies, Londonderry Pianos, Ethan Allan or Pier One, and Philbricks Farm Fresh Market...in fact, Philbricks stands on the exact spot on which Stroudwaters once-in 1993 to 1999-stood), back in the days when I was like six or seven or so and Woolworth's was still extant. Yet, after Woolworth's closed it's doors, I did not really go to that plaza again until Stroudwater's opened. So there was like at least a two or three year gap between the last time I was at Woolworth's and the first time I was at Stroudwaters, which I went to once or twice with my diminutive Freshman gym class in 1998 when Mr. Buzzel coached it. But that is yet another story, a mere fabric that is a part of the vast tapestry of my life and the mini-arras built into it that housed my history with Stroudwaters and all the special memories I had of that place-the entire layout of which I can recall extraordinarily, photographically well. I could easily describe it right down to the tiniest detail, even though it has been about eleven years since I was last there. In fact, I can remember one of the last times I went there. It was in July or August of 1999 and I bought my first copy of the LOTR trilogy there...though of course, that was not the first book or books I ever bought there. Still, I could tell many a story about that time and that place. And that area-for not only could I describe the interior of the store, but the exterior, the surrounding environment, the roads and the parking lot, the soaring radio antenna behind it, and the radio station that sat adjacent to it, and the Margarita's Mexican Restaurant that flanked the opposite, far end of it; all that and more could I describe and will I describe...later, in another post. For now, let this suffice.
Posted by Dcool27 at 1:36 PM
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* ▼ 2010 (44)
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+ A Yearned-for Time and Locale: A Essayistic, Descr...
+ Information: Facts Regarding Me-My Literary Output...
+ Currently Untitled (IDK>>>WTCT,OK) 6/06
+ On The Seeming Futility of Things In General: A Je...
+ Additional Addendums, Emendations, and Amendments ...
+ Brief Addendum 6/06
+ Do Video Games Suck?
+ Are Video Games Better and More Important than Rea...
+ Are Video Games Good?
+ The Nocturnal Incursion: An Unfinished Minimalisti...
+ Christian Nighttime Basketball: A Satirical, Minim...
+ Scans of the Rentunan System: A Science Fiction St...
+ The Preposterous Tale of the SB Bench and Tree (Un...
+ A Quick Story Idea 6/05
+ Antisemitism in America; Especially in The (oft-li...
+ Recent GOM Oleaginous Spillage: Conspiratorial or ...
+ A Brief Addendum of Sorts RE: Problems in Relation...
+ A Previously Elusive Conclusion I Drew Earlier Thi...
+ Just a Few Celeritous Miscellaneous Thoughts 6/04
+ Acting Corridor and Conduit to Eliot and Portsmout...
+ The Two or More Arizonan Trees that Form the Gatew...
+ A Short Description and Vicarious History of What ...
+ 1990's=1970's?: A Brief Symposium, Expose, Essay a...
+ A Reply/Comment on Facebook Outlining a Few Distin...
+ WIthout the Store...Waiting for My Mother: A Brief...
+ The Past (My Past) and The Landmarks, Boundaries a...
+ Certain Missed, Longed-For Things, Places, People....
+ Various Observations (Not Observances, for those a...
+ Myself and My Ideal Dating or Even, Sex, Match: Us...
+ How the Mundane and Everyday Can Become Extramunda...
+ A Retraction of the Former, with New Editorial Ext...
+ A Tour of My Mindset at Various, Sundry Whiles, et...
+ Concerning Travels at Night in Kittery and Portsmo...
+ The Vault-A Tale of Terror, Horror, the Unknown an...
+ An Unfinished Story called: :"The Night, The Howl...
+ Chronicle of my life in K: 1988-1998. PT I-An Intr...
+ A Post Afire-A Tale in However Many Parts as I wan...
+ An Object Rediscovered, Unearthed; or, It Was His-...
+ A Brief Temporal Lament In Verse...no, not really....
+ A Wave Between Two-A Slight Anonymous Romance In B...
+ A Concise Note on Quotidian Writing and My Attenda...
+ On Necropolises; and My Odd, Minute Fascination wi...
+ Temporality versus Location: A Study in Brief of K...
+ A Swift, Laconic Missive Criticizing and Drawing A...
About Me
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Dcool27
I am a human being, and I exist...strangely, unprecedentedly enough!
View my complete profile
Prefatory/Explanatory Note:
In providing you with this secret, sensitive information, I must first forewarn you that most of my work, all of it, really, is unpublished and of all the many hundreds or thousands of writings that I have composed, perhaps as many as forty are no longer in my possession. I have lost a few over the years-some to accident, some to other things...none of which are all that important right now. All that remains, then, now that the prefatory matter is concluded, is to merely list the things I have written. Not, naturally by title, but by category and number. Here are those figures, then (and remember, they are just estimates, I have not yet obtained the true amounts):
Novels: about five...of which four are completed.
Stories and Short Stories: 239, at least...of which seventy are completed.
Songs: 749....of which most are only on tape in audio recordings, they are not, most of them written down.
Poems: 100...of which about 50 are completed.
Essays: 250...of which about 100 or more are completed.
Autobiographical episodes: 59...of which probably 29 are completed.
Sketches (both short plays and very short stories): 75....of which 12 are completed.
Jokes, comical routines, puns, etc: About 350...of which just about all (both audio only and written only) are complete.
Journalism and Diarism (that is, journal and log and diary entries): 157...of which all about ten are completed, perhaps.
And the list, of current and ancient material, stretching back to at least 1992, goes on. And on, and on. On top of all of this plenteous literary or poetic material, there is also about 1000 story and novel ideas, layouts, notes, etc. Truly, I am one of the most productive and prolific and prolix writers, ever. Yet still unknown, even on here...on sweet ol' blogspot.com. And besides all this, and not to be overly arrogant or self-inflating, but: there is also many other talents that I possess. Too many, really. And in most of them I am unfortunately rather rusty. Like my improvisational, impromptu, improvisatory talents, for instance. Yet once, they were there. And now, they are latent at best. I could of course easily trace the origins of this, but that is not the point of this. Being a list is the point and reason for being of this. On this subject there is nothing more to say. At least, not now.
Posted by Dcool27 at 1:06 PM
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* ▼ 2010 (43)
o ▼ June (43)
+ Information: Facts Regarding Me-My Literary Output...
+ Currently Untitled (IDK>>>WTCT,OK) 6/06
+ On The Seeming Futility of Things In General: A Je...
+ Additional Addendums, Emendations, and Amendments ...
+ Brief Addendum 6/06
+ Do Video Games Suck?
+ Are Video Games Better and More Important than Rea...
+ Are Video Games Good?
+ The Nocturnal Incursion: An Unfinished Minimalisti...
+ Christian Nighttime Basketball: A Satirical, Minim...
+ Scans of the Rentunan System: A Science Fiction St...
+ The Preposterous Tale of the SB Bench and Tree (Un...
+ A Quick Story Idea 6/05
+ Antisemitism in America; Especially in The (oft-li...
+ Recent GOM Oleaginous Spillage: Conspiratorial or ...
+ A Brief Addendum of Sorts RE: Problems in Relation...
+ A Previously Elusive Conclusion I Drew Earlier Thi...
+ Just a Few Celeritous Miscellaneous Thoughts 6/04
+ Acting Corridor and Conduit to Eliot and Portsmout...
+ The Two or More Arizonan Trees that Form the Gatew...
+ A Short Description and Vicarious History of What ...
+ 1990's=1970's?: A Brief Symposium, Expose, Essay a...
+ A Reply/Comment on Facebook Outlining a Few Distin...
+ WIthout the Store...Waiting for My Mother: A Brief...
+ The Past (My Past) and The Landmarks, Boundaries a...
+ Certain Missed, Longed-For Things, Places, People....
+ Various Observations (Not Observances, for those a...
+ Myself and My Ideal Dating or Even, Sex, Match: Us...
+ How the Mundane and Everyday Can Become Extramunda...
+ A Retraction of the Former, with New Editorial Ext...
+ A Tour of My Mindset at Various, Sundry Whiles, et...
+ Concerning Travels at Night in Kittery and Portsmo...
+ The Vault-A Tale of Terror, Horror, the Unknown an...
+ An Unfinished Story called: :"The Night, The Howl...
+ Chronicle of my life in K: 1988-1998. PT I-An Intr...
+ A Post Afire-A Tale in However Many Parts as I wan...
+ An Object Rediscovered, Unearthed; or, It Was His-...
+ A Brief Temporal Lament In Verse...no, not really....
+ A Wave Between Two-A Slight Anonymous Romance In B...
+ A Concise Note on Quotidian Writing and My Attenda...
+ On Necropolises; and My Odd, Minute Fascination wi...
+ Temporality versus Location: A Study in Brief of K...
+ A Swift, Laconic Missive Criticizing and Drawing A...
About Me
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Dcool27
I am a human being, and I exist...strangely, unprecedentedly enough!
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In providing you with this secret, sensitive information, I must first forewarn you that most of my work, all of it, really, is unpublished and of all the many hundreds or thousands of writings that I have composed, perhaps as many as forty are no longer in my possession. I have lost a few over the years-some to accident, some to other things...none of which are all that important right now. All that remains, then, now that the prefatory matter is concluded, is to merely list the things I have written. Not, naturally by title, but by category and number. Here are those figures, then (and remember, they are just estimates, I have not yet obtained the true amounts):
Novels: about five...of which four are completed.
Stories and Short Stories: 239, at least...of which seventy are completed.
Songs: 749....of which most are only on tape in audio recordings, they are not, most of them written down.
Poems: 100...of which about 50 are completed.
Essays: 250...of which about 100 or more are completed.
Autobiographical episodes: 59...of which probably 29 are completed.
Sketches (both short plays and very short stories): 75....of which 12 are completed.
Jokes, comical routines, puns, etc: About 350...of which just about all (both audio only and written only) are complete.
Journalism and Diarism (that is, journal and log and diary entries): 157...of which all about ten are completed, perhaps.
And the list, of current and ancient material, stretching back to at least 1992, goes on. And on, and on. On top of all of this plenteous literary or poetic material, there is also about 1000 story and novel ideas, layouts, notes, etc. Truly, I am one of the most productive and prolific and prolix writers, ever. Yet still unknown, even on here...on sweet ol' blogspot.com. And besides all this, and not to be overly arrogant or self-inflating, but: there is also many other talents that I possess. Too many, really. And in most of them I am unfortunately rather rusty. Like my improvisational, impromptu, improvisatory talents, for instance. Yet once, they were there. And now, they are latent at best. I could of course easily trace the origins of this, but that is not the point of this. Being a list is the point and reason for being of this. On this subject there is nothing more to say. At least, not now.
Posted by Dcool27 at 1:06 PM
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+ Brief Addendum 6/06
+ Do Video Games Suck?
+ Are Video Games Better and More Important than Rea...
+ Are Video Games Good?
+ The Nocturnal Incursion: An Unfinished Minimalisti...
+ Christian Nighttime Basketball: A Satirical, Minim...
+ Scans of the Rentunan System: A Science Fiction St...
+ The Preposterous Tale of the SB Bench and Tree (Un...
+ A Quick Story Idea 6/05
+ Antisemitism in America; Especially in The (oft-li...
+ Recent GOM Oleaginous Spillage: Conspiratorial or ...
+ A Brief Addendum of Sorts RE: Problems in Relation...
+ A Previously Elusive Conclusion I Drew Earlier Thi...
+ Just a Few Celeritous Miscellaneous Thoughts 6/04
+ Acting Corridor and Conduit to Eliot and Portsmout...
+ The Two or More Arizonan Trees that Form the Gatew...
+ A Short Description and Vicarious History of What ...
+ 1990's=1970's?: A Brief Symposium, Expose, Essay a...
+ A Reply/Comment on Facebook Outlining a Few Distin...
+ WIthout the Store...Waiting for My Mother: A Brief...
+ The Past (My Past) and The Landmarks, Boundaries a...
+ Certain Missed, Longed-For Things, Places, People....
+ Various Observations (Not Observances, for those a...
+ Myself and My Ideal Dating or Even, Sex, Match: Us...
+ How the Mundane and Everyday Can Become Extramunda...
+ A Retraction of the Former, with New Editorial Ext...
+ A Tour of My Mindset at Various, Sundry Whiles, et...
+ Concerning Travels at Night in Kittery and Portsmo...
+ The Vault-A Tale of Terror, Horror, the Unknown an...
+ An Unfinished Story called: :"The Night, The Howl...
+ Chronicle of my life in K: 1988-1998. PT I-An Intr...
+ A Post Afire-A Tale in However Many Parts as I wan...
+ An Object Rediscovered, Unearthed; or, It Was His-...
+ A Brief Temporal Lament In Verse...no, not really....
+ A Wave Between Two-A Slight Anonymous Romance In B...
+ A Concise Note on Quotidian Writing and My Attenda...
+ On Necropolises; and My Odd, Minute Fascination wi...
+ Temporality versus Location: A Study in Brief of K...
+ A Swift, Laconic Missive Criticizing and Drawing A...
About Me
My Photo
Dcool27
I am a human being, and I exist...strangely, unprecedentedly enough!
View my complete profile
Often, especially when we lived in Kittery, a flurry of activity would suffuse my household. People, including my siblings, parents and me, would hustle and bustle about, especially in the morning, in our tiny apartment-one that may have been cramped but that was otherwise great. Great, at least as far as my rose-colored memories of it go. I remember the living room and assorted other zones within the parameters and perimeters of our apartment and how it was tiny and odd-shaped. How the floors were strange and how some sloped upward, whereas others sloped downward. How one floor was plain wood that had an orange tint, and another was mantled with a threadbare carpet of orange, brown and yellow; some spots of which had been worn and rubbed away to giant patches of solid black. A black that no one knew the origin of-not even me. I remember the different sofas that marched across our living room over the years, and the white-silled windows and the playroom, which was like an enclosed indigent veranda. I remember the yard, and it's immensity. I remember the different trees (including "Down-By-The-Tree") that fringed and infused our property thereon. I remember our odd, half-rural, half-urban environ. I remember the layout of everything within it and the two or three streets that allowed for the triangular, insular wooded plateau on which a portion of our property sat. I remember it and more, but just recently unbidden memories have begun to flood back to me, overwhelming me with their intensity. These are all memories that I could not formerly remember...but daily I receive new ones. Or, old ones, I should say. There is more to the story, but until someone expresses an actual interest in hearing it, what point is there in me wasting my time telling it? Telling it to a dead, deaf and lifeless audience who will not respond? No thank you. I will not do that. Not, unless if it for me-which is all that any of these notes/entries/blogs, etc have been so far. Hopefully, the tide will turn soon, and readers will irrupt, perhaps unbidden, materializing and reading and commenting. Until then, I am done. I can only take so much nothingness before I pack up and move on. Thank you, again, for ignoring me and the gilt words that come pouring forth from my pen that like so much floodwater. A floodwater that those who ignore me should be drowned under. Thank you. Have, all of you, please, what dimly passes for a nice day.
I know that it would be really great, even keen, to post some little autobiographical something (a specimen, perhaps; or an episode from my life, from my rather rose-colored and idyllic, Edenic childhood) but if no one reads it, then what is the point? As you may no doubt currently infer, I am an impatient man. Though I have been on delicious, wondrous, heavenly blogspot.com for at least two to three days now, I have no hits and no followers....yet. That deficiency of subscribers I hope to reverse and increase; yet I am not certain if this can be achieved by being overly honest or confessional. After all, in today's modern world of sublime delights and no decadence or sorrowfulness or atrocity or ignorance whatsoever, no one can brook true honesty for long. It is an affront to all people, apparently. They adore their subterfuge. Thus, if honesty and trust are the foundation of all major relationships, why, if everyone abhors it, does anyone bother having an obviously fake relationship? At least, with this blog page of mine, I can finally tell the world at large the truth that they have so conveniently overlooked for so long-especially women; they have overlooked this particular truth for too long, much to the detriment of whatever iotas remain intact of their self-worth and dignity. I might not be so wont to post such thing as this, but jealousy and a ridiculous, uncalled-for feeling of being excluded are potent sensations, sensations that create bitterness that in turn creates a foundation for scrutiny and the basis for a newfound philosophy. One that abhors stupidity and hurtfulness...especially self-hurtfulness. However, this being not the main subject of this particular entry, I will dispense with that topic for the time being. Rather I intended this to be something else. But I want readers and subscribers (most of whom are, no doubt, too fiendishly ignorant and stupid to understand the first thing that I am writing) and I must pander to them, right? So, in essence, what is it that they want? I don't know and being an intelligent man, one who can tell them what they need, not take foolish suggestions from morons, I don't care. The End.
Posted by Dcool27 at 12:24 PM
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+ On The Seeming Futility of Things In General: A Je...
+ Additional Addendums, Emendations, and Amendments ...
+ Brief Addendum 6/06
+ Do Video Games Suck?
+ Are Video Games Better and More Important than Rea...
+ Are Video Games Good?
+ The Nocturnal Incursion: An Unfinished Minimalisti...
+ Christian Nighttime Basketball: A Satirical, Minim...
+ Scans of the Rentunan System: A Science Fiction St...
+ The Preposterous Tale of the SB Bench and Tree (Un...
+ A Quick Story Idea 6/05
+ Antisemitism in America; Especially in The (oft-li...
+ Recent GOM Oleaginous Spillage: Conspiratorial or ...
+ A Brief Addendum of Sorts RE: Problems in Relation...
+ A Previously Elusive Conclusion I Drew Earlier Thi...
+ Just a Few Celeritous Miscellaneous Thoughts 6/04
+ Acting Corridor and Conduit to Eliot and Portsmout...
+ The Two or More Arizonan Trees that Form the Gatew...
+ A Short Description and Vicarious History of What ...
+ 1990's=1970's?: A Brief Symposium, Expose, Essay a...
+ A Reply/Comment on Facebook Outlining a Few Distin...
+ WIthout the Store...Waiting for My Mother: A Brief...
+ The Past (My Past) and The Landmarks, Boundaries a...
+ Certain Missed, Longed-For Things, Places, People....
+ Various Observations (Not Observances, for those a...
+ Myself and My Ideal Dating or Even, Sex, Match: Us...
+ How the Mundane and Everyday Can Become Extramunda...
+ A Retraction of the Former, with New Editorial Ext...
+ A Tour of My Mindset at Various, Sundry Whiles, et...
+ Concerning Travels at Night in Kittery and Portsmo...
+ The Vault-A Tale of Terror, Horror, the Unknown an...
+ An Unfinished Story called: :"The Night, The Howl...
+ Chronicle of my life in K: 1988-1998. PT I-An Intr...
+ A Post Afire-A Tale in However Many Parts as I wan...
+ An Object Rediscovered, Unearthed; or, It Was His-...
+ A Brief Temporal Lament In Verse...no, not really....
+ A Wave Between Two-A Slight Anonymous Romance In B...
+ A Concise Note on Quotidian Writing and My Attenda...
+ On Necropolises; and My Odd, Minute Fascination wi...
+ Temporality versus Location: A Study in Brief of K...
+ A Swift, Laconic Missive Criticizing and Drawing A...
About Me
My Photo
Dcool27
I am a human being, and I exist...strangely, unprecedentedly enough!
View my complete profile
Posted by Dcool27 at 12:24 PM
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+ On The Seeming Futility of Things In General: A Je...
+ Additional Addendums, Emendations, and Amendments ...
+ Brief Addendum 6/06
+ Do Video Games Suck?
+ Are Video Games Better and More Important than Rea...
+ Are Video Games Good?
+ The Nocturnal Incursion: An Unfinished Minimalisti...
+ Christian Nighttime Basketball: A Satirical, Minim...
+ Scans of the Rentunan System: A Science Fiction St...
+ The Preposterous Tale of the SB Bench and Tree (Un...
+ A Quick Story Idea 6/05
+ Antisemitism in America; Especially in The (oft-li...
+ Recent GOM Oleaginous Spillage: Conspiratorial or ...
+ A Brief Addendum of Sorts RE: Problems in Relation...
+ A Previously Elusive Conclusion I Drew Earlier Thi...
+ Just a Few Celeritous Miscellaneous Thoughts 6/04
+ Acting Corridor and Conduit to Eliot and Portsmout...
+ The Two or More Arizonan Trees that Form the Gatew...
+ A Short Description and Vicarious History of What ...
+ 1990's=1970's?: A Brief Symposium, Expose, Essay a...
+ A Reply/Comment on Facebook Outlining a Few Distin...
+ WIthout the Store...Waiting for My Mother: A Brief...
+ The Past (My Past) and The Landmarks, Boundaries a...
+ Certain Missed, Longed-For Things, Places, People....
+ Various Observations (Not Observances, for those a...
+ Myself and My Ideal Dating or Even, Sex, Match: Us...
+ How the Mundane and Everyday Can Become Extramunda...
+ A Retraction of the Former, with New Editorial Ext...
+ A Tour of My Mindset at Various, Sundry Whiles, et...
+ Concerning Travels at Night in Kittery and Portsmo...
+ The Vault-A Tale of Terror, Horror, the Unknown an...
+ An Unfinished Story called: :"The Night, The Howl...
+ Chronicle of my life in K: 1988-1998. PT I-An Intr...
+ A Post Afire-A Tale in However Many Parts as I wan...
+ An Object Rediscovered, Unearthed; or, It Was His-...
+ A Brief Temporal Lament In Verse...no, not really....
+ A Wave Between Two-A Slight Anonymous Romance In B...
+ A Concise Note on Quotidian Writing and My Attenda...
+ On Necropolises; and My Odd, Minute Fascination wi...
+ Temporality versus Location: A Study in Brief of K...
+ A Swift, Laconic Missive Criticizing and Drawing A...
About Me
My Photo
Dcool27
I am a human being, and I exist...strangely, unprecedentedly enough!
View my complete profile
Ungrammatical, Atrocious, Misspelt Post by A Girl on MS with My Translations, Corrections and Commentary, Pt. I 6/10
Yuuh Nah What Sucks Is When Yuuh Really Lyhked Someone Buh Then Yuuh Go To Find Out After Yuuh Dated Them That They Were A Poser.! Ima justa sayinq
Mood: O6.O6.1O O6.O6.1O
10 minutes ago from Mobile
* comment
* view more
Add comment...
Also, all girls do this-not the poor spelling, capitalization and grammar, but rather, the dating of morons who they only realize are and were and will forever be poseurs and morons after they've dated them. This is the scourge of our times and why great, witty, handsome, wonderful men like myself can not seem to find a girlfriend, nor even a fuckbuddy, which the vileness of contemporary relationships has forced me to seek more actively than a girlfriend. l
Submit
*
Douglas
Douglas Just Now
Also, all girls do this-not the poor spelling, capitalization and grammar, but rather, the dating of morons who they only realize are and were and will forever be poseurs and morons after they've dated them. This is the scourge of our times and why great, witty, handsome, wonderful men like myself can not seem to find a girlfriend, nor even a fuckbuddy, which the vileness of contemporary relationships has forced me to seek more actively than a girlfriend.
*
Douglas:
I will now attempt to not only correct your atrocious sentence, but to translate it into English, verbatim: "You know what sucks is when you really liked someone but then you go to find out after you dated them that they were a poser! I'm just saying."
*
Douglas:
Nessa, you seem like a nice girl, and I hate to correct you, but this grammar and spelling, lack of punctuation and over-capitalization of all words and letters, it is just atrocious! (And sorry to patronize you, but that means "bad"!) I hope you will take steps to learn to create an understandable, readable, sensible sentence in the future. Let us please respect our great language...or else, use another.
Mood: O6.O6.1O O6.O6.1O
10 minutes ago from Mobile
* comment
* view more
Add comment...
Also, all girls do this-not the poor spelling, capitalization and grammar, but rather, the dating of morons who they only realize are and were and will forever be poseurs and morons after they've dated them. This is the scourge of our times and why great, witty, handsome, wonderful men like myself can not seem to find a girlfriend, nor even a fuckbuddy, which the vileness of contemporary relationships has forced me to seek more actively than a girlfriend. l
Submit
*
Douglas
Douglas Just Now
Also, all girls do this-not the poor spelling, capitalization and grammar, but rather, the dating of morons who they only realize are and were and will forever be poseurs and morons after they've dated them. This is the scourge of our times and why great, witty, handsome, wonderful men like myself can not seem to find a girlfriend, nor even a fuckbuddy, which the vileness of contemporary relationships has forced me to seek more actively than a girlfriend.
*
Douglas:
I will now attempt to not only correct your atrocious sentence, but to translate it into English, verbatim: "You know what sucks is when you really liked someone but then you go to find out after you dated them that they were a poser! I'm just saying."
*
Douglas:
Nessa, you seem like a nice girl, and I hate to correct you, but this grammar and spelling, lack of punctuation and over-capitalization of all words and letters, it is just atrocious! (And sorry to patronize you, but that means "bad"!) I hope you will take steps to learn to create an understandable, readable, sensible sentence in the future. Let us please respect our great language...or else, use another.
Doug Kate
That scourge, or plague, of course, is dating and liking and sleeping with and staying with worthless shithole boyfriends, instead of the deserving, handsome, great, wonderful, intelligent, worthy yet still approachable men such as myself. It is self-destructive and self-disrespecting to go out with or even consider going out with such worthless, ... See Morevile, ugly, mean, arrogant, shitbag morons. But what do girls, especially in America, keep on doing, being stupid and dating and fucking these morons! (for only the word "fuck" describes their relations, you could not ever use "make love" or even "sex" to describe such atrociousness).
2 minutes ago ·
Doug Kate
Hopefully, you will all realize now, learn your lesson and correct your insipid and self-destructive former behavior and date those deserving of and worthy of you, so that I don't still need to be writing shit like this.
about a minute ago ·
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