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Jan. 1st, 2010 | 12:00 am


Except for a few entries, you must be my friend to view my journal.

Comment to be added. Maybe.


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Why did I start playing it, again?

Oct. 27th, 2009 | 01:50 pm
I am: apatheticapathetic

Granted, I shouldn't be spending my time playing Pokemon Silver.

I've been playing it on my handheld -- the Dingoo A320. It runs a modified linux appropriately called Dingux. I have my fun little Game Boy emulator on there and I'm just going to town on those little Japanese creatures.

16 hours into the game, I press the shoulder button and right on the D-pad. I had no idea that this was the emulator's hotkey for "Load Saved State." I had been using the game's native save function. I hadn't used a save state since the beginning of the game. This wiped out my progress.

I quit. This is probably a good thing.

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My life according to David Bazan

Jul. 29th, 2009 | 11:12 am
I am: blankprocrastinating
Sound: Goldfinch

Use only songs from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions. Pass it on to the people you like (including me). You can't use the artist I used. Try not to repeat a song title. It's a lot harder than you think! Repost as "My Life According to (ARTIST NAME)".

Pick Your Artist:
David Bazan

Are you male or female?
Big trucks

Describe yourself:
Shit talker

How do you feel?
Eye on the finish line

Describe where you currently live:
Arizona (feels like it right now)

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
Suspect fled the scene

Your favorite form of transportation:

Your best friend is:
When they really get to know you they will run

Your favorite color is:
Pink and brown

Your favorite item:
Hot girls

What is the weather like?
Indian Summer

Favorite time of day:
Start without me

Your favorite music-genre:
Political Science

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?
Slow and steady wins the race

What is life to you?

Your relationships:

Your fear:
Let down

Your inspiration:
Priests and paramedics

What is the best advice you have to give?
Never leave a job half done

If you could change your name, you would change it to:
Metal Heart

Thought for the day:
Simple economics

How I would like to die:
The Poison

My soul's present condition:

My Motto:
Keep swinging

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Jun. 6th, 2008 | 09:28 am
I am: bouncybouncy
Sound: Louie Armstrong



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Mar. 2nd, 2008 | 02:33 pm



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A post inspired by Hilary's ridiculous campaign

Feb. 24th, 2008 | 11:23 pm


Obama is not a veteran and can't get the job done.

In time, Hilary moved on from this attack because it means fuck-all to democratic voters. The fact that he does not have the Washington networking that Hilary does is even a selling point for many.

Obama is a plagiarizer.

Obama has received flak from Hilary about plagiarizing a speech by Deval Patrick.

You can see the comparison here:

Funny, Deval Patrick is one of Obama's national co-chairs.

His response:

Oddly enough, at the end of this debate, we see something hypocritical:

Obama is playing dirty.

Hilary's accusation that an Obama mailer attacked her unfairly:

An interesting photocopy of a Clinton mailer:

Obama's response:

I simply see a petty, ineffective campaign on Clinton's part.

This picture sums it up, for me:


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Sword and Shield

Apr. 27th, 2007 | 08:40 am


New song! It's called Sword and Shield.

Comment if you'd like me to send it to you.

LyricsCollapse )


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And so, the man in black began to speak.

May. 9th, 2006 | 11:36 pm
Location: Tumlar - The Ice Tower
I am: blankContemplative
Sound: Small Towns Burn a Little Slower


The universe offers a paradox too great for the finite mind to grasp. As the living brain cannot conceive of a nonliving brain – although it may think it can – the finite mind cannot grasp the infinite.

The prosaic fact of the universe’s existence single-handedly defeats the pragmatist and the cynic.

The greatest mystery the universe offers is not life but Size; Size encompasses life. The child, who is most at home with wonder, says: Daddy? What is above the sky? And the father says: The darkness of space. The child: What is beyond space? The father: the galaxy. The child: Beyond the galaxy? The father: another galaxy. The child: Beyond the other galaxies? The father: No one knows.

You see? Size defeats us. For the fish, the lake in which he lives is the universe. What does the fish think when he is jerked up by the mouth through the silver limits of existence and into a new universe where the air drowns him and the light is blue madness? Where huge bipeds with no gills stuff it into a suffocating box and cover it with wet weeds to die?

Or one might take the point of a pencil and magnify it. One reaches the point where a stunning realization strikes home: the pencil point is not solid; it is composed of atoms which whirl and revolve like a trillion demon planets. What seems solid to us is actually only a loose net held together by gravitation. Shrunk to the correct size, the distances between these atoms might become leagues, gulfs, eons. The atoms themselves are composed of nuclei and revolving electrons. One may step down further to subatomic particles. And then to what? Tachyons? Nothing? Of course not. Everything in the universe denies nothing; to suggest conclusions to things is impossible.

If you fell outward to the limit of the universe, would you find a board with a fence and signs reading DEAD END? No. You might find something hard and rounded, as the chick must see the egg from the inside. And if you should peck through that shell, what great and torrential light might shine through your hole at the end of space? Might you look through and discover our entire universe is but part of one atom on a blade of grass? Might you be forced to think that by burning a twig you incinerate an eternity of eternities? That existence rises not to one infinite, but to an infinity of them?

Perhaps you saw what place our universe plays in the scheme of things – as an atom in a blade of grass. Could it be that everything we can perceive, from the infinitesimal virus to the distant Horsehead Nebula, is contained in one blade of grass... a blade that may have existed for only a day or two in an alien time-flow? What if that blade should be cut off by a scythe? When it began to die, would the rot seep into our own universe and our low lives, turning everything yellow and brown and desiccated? Perhaps it’s already begun to happen. We say the world has moved on; maybe we really mean that it has begun to dry up.

Think how small such a concept of things makes us! If a God watches over it all, does He actually mete out justice for a race of gnats among an infinitude of races of gnats? Does his eye see the sparrow fall when the sparrow is less than a speck of hydrogen floating disconnected in the depth of space? And if He does see... what must the nature of such a God be? Where does He live? How is it possible to live beyond infinity?

Imagine all of the sand in a vast desert and imagine a trillion universes – not worlds but universes – encapsulated in each grain of that desert; and within each universe an infinity of others. We tower over these universes from our pitiful grass vantage point; with one swing of your boot you may knock a billion billion worlds flying off into darkness, in a chain never to be completed.

Size defeats us...

-Abridged from The Gunslinger


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