Monday, November 08, 2004

my arse is capable of more flush

gord downie owns the good title. i can't think in terms of catharsis & arses. just don't have that in me. maybe he doesn't either, maybe the real share of the title goes to our good friend smack. heroine.

i feel as if i died and was reborn in some cat whinging, pre-ordered modern life washing industrial state where whirring, thrumming and high pitched multi-octave shrills are just the white noise by which we tune our radios.

some part of me craves a bout of atavistic lavishness, but the other parts marshalling each limb and appendage, respectively, refuse to engage. unable to summon even a whiff of fight in me i just sit and endure.

and read some. I'm reading Against Love, a full out thermal nuclear polemic against, well, love. but, more than against love it seems against extreme long term coupling. the likes of which i have never attained, nor most of us will, and still it requires a 200 page polemic.

i will forgive the author as it's both entertaining and insightful.

moderns like you and i, bereft of the salvation from the original sin, but still laden with it's mythology, thrust headlong into an overtly complex paradox of society vs individual are rallying the wagons around love. or so the jist goes.

and i'm inclined to agree with her estimation that our entire society is built around the idea that love is the absolute end of living. and someone unable to love, or un-willing is a tragic failling of both humanity and the individual. lofty.

she draws, thus-far, a compelling argument around love (read: coupling) as the lynchpin of domestication (both societal and practical) in otherwise ferral humans. That, we learn from the crib that compliance is traded for love.

she has, in my own mind, inexorably linked the idea of "maturation" being a synonym for "You repress --insert value here--" and in an astoundingly tight 8 page rant about the criteria for entering the shrine of coupledom she outlines the value of maturation within.

repression is just turning the knife yourself, for a killer who is too busy to do the dirty work. Ask the catholics about that.

fascinating book. i have concerns about what dials she is turning in my head, where it might end off, and how it may stain my underwear once it's digested --to avoid any hopes of maturity i felt compelled to insert a poo reference ala south park or

and, like all polemics the point is not the content,rather the fire of thought they light under your ass--please excuse me while i go extinguish the flames of thought scorching my anus.

and yet another act of rebellion (which, by her argument is what adultery is, and further the only true expression of individuality remaining in this will trade my identity for a collection of shopping preferences age) against maturation tagged on to the end for you.

Posted by ruzz on November 8, 2004 at 03:05 AM in the ramblin | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Saturday, August 28, 2004


i was smokin just moments ago. smokin smokin, y'know. and i was watchin this little blacknyellow jacket wasp inspect the garbage bag left out. and thinkin, this guy, man, he's not afraid to get dirty for his master. he aint worried that the other wasps will think less of him for garbage pickin. nope, doesn't even cross his little wasp mind.

he's commited to the team.

then i got to thinkin, you know, on a pounds per square inch, or size per square pound, or well, just in relation to size vs fear, i'm not sure there is more general public panic over any living thing. Oh sure, some places they have their fear delicacies. no question. Florida and their brown recluse spiders, or texas and their itty bitty bitty scorpions (cuz like women, the smaller the more punch), and even like china and their terrifically tiny capitalists. see. there's always going to be some regional specific thingamabob to rouse the fear of the unwashed masses. always.

but what carries over, what has the real market penetration (ooooh i like that word) is wasps.

I know you're granny don't give no mind to them. She shooshes them away and they listen, but, granny had a lifetime of getting stung and shooshin to really perfect her art. i mean, man, all she had was christ, grandad coppin a feel in between shifts in the coal mine and the wasp shoosh. so really, she could focus on her art.

that's why it looks so casual.

you think if you go out for a night with a trained killer it's all stress and panic? no, he just gives em two hugs n a kiss (two to the belly one to the mellon) and that's that. no stress. no panic. it's old hat, like you thinking about cleaning the bathroom. you've done it enough it just doesn't have the stopping power it used to.

you still get stopped though, dontja?

so, okay, maybe we won't get anywhere with granny "i gave my family fortune to the mormons" or with those human abberations the bee lovers, but on the whole, no other thing on the planet has more fear bouncing between it's tiny translucent wings.

so then i'm figurin, well, if you take that there learnin about fear and you mix it with the new learnin about commitment, you quickly realize that when the two are put together, and you add a dab of direction, well you've got yourself a recipe for whatever the hell it is you like to eat.

you've got a system you could work to rule the world man.
dr. evil style.

see, if i could get to be the king of the wasps (in a loveless-sexless marraige with the queen, i hope) and those loyal as fuck garbage pickin fear packin little bastards were doing my bidding.. well let's just say your virgins wouldn't be safe no more. ya hear?

i figure, maybe after a year of devirginizing nymphs from around the world, putting out a duets rap album with slick rick and coaching the leafs to a cup i would get bored.

but then, you come in. you loyal readers. then you could rule the world through my comments box man. yeah, it would be like, you say, hey, lets rename russia to ruzzia and presto, next day the map makers are IPOing all over the damn place.

we could change the world you and me.

think on that while i try to figure how the hell to get that queen to go down on me without leaving her hind parts embedded in my fun stick.

Posted by ruzz on August 28, 2004 at 03:13 PM in the ramblin | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

it's been so quiet in here

20040824_000956_0031this day has been rife with quiet. nothing moving. nothing doing. i even forgot to put on tunes for most the day. it feels like i would imagine a day of preparing for something sombre might feel. nothing sombre on the immediate horizon but it still fills me up all the same.

i drink silence and it coats my belly.
we ready for war.
we ready for fall
we ready
for tomorrow.

watched wag the dog last night. first time in 10 years i've watched it and man it rocked my planet. oh sure, i want to shag anne heche, but who doesn't?

and deniro was more like an actor, less like the fuckball he's become, and hoffman, well hoffman was perfection.

dennis leary was deep into the 14th minute of his fifteen minutes of fame when wag the dog filmed but i stlil liked him. thought he was good even. I always thought he had skill. he just couldn't seem to land the right stuff.

i would like to see leary come on West Wing and shake things up.
too bad it's not cool to like him anymore.
i'm all about cool.

today's quiet was research. getting back into the app development (windows) and moving away from web stuff for a bit next month and i have to get my brain around the shift. it aint going to be like screwing your ex, no, all the parts are new and different.

whatever. i got past the panic attack and moved on to the okayhowthefuckdoesthiswork? phase and thats good. once i get there everything will be fine.

it's cold in here, in my shanty, come over and hang out.. won't you?

bring some fuckin candles man.

ps. i miss watching tv. whatever happened to tv? seemed like it was really going to be something.

Posted by ruzz on August 24, 2004 at 07:58 PM in the ramblin | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Saturday, August 21, 2004


she's just not down
if she was down
shed be down
and she aint down

no down.
not her.


Posted by ruzz on August 21, 2004 at 09:21 PM in the ramblin | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack