Is it raining now? I have no idea.
I had a chance a couple weeks ago to get an office spot near the window in our office. I put it off, and now we've got a new guy and he got the spot. BASTARD. I remain next to the door, where any illicit internet use is immediately apparent to entering officials. ALT+TAB, don't fail me now.
Anyways, I am writing from the early half of what is to be one of my "Great Lost Weekends" of the semester. This Lost Weekend can be categorized as a Class 1 Type, meaning it is lost because it technically does not exist; it is an extension of the actual week, even a concentration thereof in terms of I'm just going to be working on a fucking big fake glycerol fed biodiesel plant design all day, all night, all tomorrow. 'S the way it roll.
Let it be known that I have a sense of imagination. I used to have these rubber stamp things in 1st or 2nd grade, and they were like of all these fonky alien parts, like eyes and claws and stuff, and you could make "drawings" with them bounded only by your creative juices and the shapes of the stamps. I also had many Ed Emberly books on how to algorithmically draw people and cars and such. As time progressed I learned how to write songs based on the unbounded genre limitations offered by the punk-pop template. Through college I learned that it was more creative to emulate post-genre things, since being "post" was indicative of transcending the old guard, breaking new ground, and very often being "angular". So creativity I understand. I "get" that.
That said, I am offended by these "imaginary" plants I am supposed to design. They are being developed with no concern for the imaginary environment or the imaginary foundations of our society at large. Imaginary sulfur content is blatantly ignored, and the displacement of imaginary residence or hazards to the imaginary ecology are patenlty dismissed as inconsequential. Not only that, but the plant is very boring. No kick-ass snack rooms or corner arcades for plant workers to destress with foosball or a vintage Sunset Riders arcade game. I would tell what it does consist of, but I am actually still unsure of that. I think I need two separate reactors, but that might not be enough. My imaginary staff has not gotten back to me yet.
That said, I think after this week a rejuvination of my creative spirits will be in order and as such I plan on box-setting it out yet once again (pending paychex) with the forthcoming Wire box. Angular. Not-imaginary.
Hopefully it will also keep me ready for a real Class 2 Lost Weekend, which involves assorted cocktails of a potent nature so as to obliterate a timeline of weeks past and future, effectively writing their own present on the blank slate of my unconscious.
Now, back to the void.
Anyways, I am writing from the early half of what is to be one of my "Great Lost Weekends" of the semester. This Lost Weekend can be categorized as a Class 1 Type, meaning it is lost because it technically does not exist; it is an extension of the actual week, even a concentration thereof in terms of I'm just going to be working on a fucking big fake glycerol fed biodiesel plant design all day, all night, all tomorrow. 'S the way it roll.
Let it be known that I have a sense of imagination. I used to have these rubber stamp things in 1st or 2nd grade, and they were like of all these fonky alien parts, like eyes and claws and stuff, and you could make "drawings" with them bounded only by your creative juices and the shapes of the stamps. I also had many Ed Emberly books on how to algorithmically draw people and cars and such. As time progressed I learned how to write songs based on the unbounded genre limitations offered by the punk-pop template. Through college I learned that it was more creative to emulate post-genre things, since being "post" was indicative of transcending the old guard, breaking new ground, and very often being "angular". So creativity I understand. I "get" that.
That said, I am offended by these "imaginary" plants I am supposed to design. They are being developed with no concern for the imaginary environment or the imaginary foundations of our society at large. Imaginary sulfur content is blatantly ignored, and the displacement of imaginary residence or hazards to the imaginary ecology are patenlty dismissed as inconsequential. Not only that, but the plant is very boring. No kick-ass snack rooms or corner arcades for plant workers to destress with foosball or a vintage Sunset Riders arcade game. I would tell what it does consist of, but I am actually still unsure of that. I think I need two separate reactors, but that might not be enough. My imaginary staff has not gotten back to me yet.
That said, I think after this week a rejuvination of my creative spirits will be in order and as such I plan on box-setting it out yet once again (pending paychex) with the forthcoming Wire box. Angular. Not-imaginary.
Hopefully it will also keep me ready for a real Class 2 Lost Weekend, which involves assorted cocktails of a potent nature so as to obliterate a timeline of weeks past and future, effectively writing their own present on the blank slate of my unconscious.
Now, back to the void.
posted by Quincy Hoist at 1:31 PM
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