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| Public displays and what I would do if I really wanted to look back at all of this.
It's like taking a picture and posting it on Facebook, except on Xanga it's a string of ideas and experiences. I give credit to Xanga for trying to appeal to the masses with a more thought-provoking concept of public self-journalizing. Relatively, and when not thought about fully, it's a good idea to try to get people to express themselves more by publicizing their experiences and feelings. There are two things wrong with this:
1. People begin to write for publication and eventually base their writings off their perception of the feedback of the publication. The chances of drawing a significant conclusion to a significant idea are not slim until one relays them to the criticisms of the general public. It's true that ideas and significant ideas stem from the ideas of others, but this is usually through a one-on-one encounter or through a publication in which the author has spent much time with, hopefully making sure that the work is a perfect reflection of their most significant ideas that they established while alone in thought and without the worries of public criticism.
2. People begin to lower their expectations on the definition of significance after writing about their insignificant lives repeatedly. This is a circular effect plays off of number one. While writing, they realize the insignificance of everything they do, try increase the significance of what they actually do with optimistically insecure journal entries. Lives are insignificant when they do not contain purely original ideas.
Two-and-a-half is that you are forced to do everything in one sitting. That's never how it works. Never.
To be continued, maybe. | | |
| The Mona Lisa.
If I were to guess I would say she's definitely not a man, as many people think she is. Men just didn't have hair like that back then and definitely didn't have names like Mona Lisa. And if it's one of the best works of art ever created I really don't think the subtlety of its gender would have any place in it. But then again, there doesn't seem to be any discreet radical opinion on human nature within the painting, so who's to say that it's one of the greatest works of art anyway?
I guess it's just because it's possibly the most ambiguous inanimate object in the world that makes it so great. People look at it, have no idea what it means, take a wild educated guess based on some of the major and minor details of the painting, and come up with completely different interpretations than everyone else. Is that what makes something art? I'm asking you because I have no idea.
One must look at Da Vinci's works and realize that they're impossible to interpret 100%. Even the best interpreters out there come to conclusions on opposite ends of the interpretation spectrum. Everyone ends up looking at Da Vinci's work and thinking "what the hell does that mean?" Da Vinci made revolutionary anatomical discoveries and invented countless revolutionary devices and and machines that we now use every day, but what did he do with his art?
-Benjamin Franklin, penned January 17, 2009.
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| I put the platypus project on a halt and I want to write about why.
My grandma is in critical condition at the hospital with a gunshot wound to her stomach area. She's been in some hospital in Chicago for a few days now and I'm really worried about her.
I should probably note that I'm not really worried about whether she'll live or not, but why rather I'm worried about why she got shot. The police say they found her on the south side of Chicago trying to "sell herself" to children who had just come out of a middle school. She grabbed a boy's arm and wouldn't let go and either the boy's brother or dad shot her, I forgot which. Either way, she went unconscious after losing a lot of blood, but I guess the ambulance got there pretty quick so she didn't die...yet.
My mom said that after grandma gets out of the hospital she'll be going to jail with charges of sexual assault, battery, and possession and suspected distribution of an illegal substance (heroine). This was probably the biggest shock my family has ever had.
Things like this are funny in a way. After the police told us the stories, charges, specific circumstances and whatnot, we went home and looked at photo albums that had pictures of grandma. They were all the usual pictures one would see when looking at old pictures of grandma--in one she was baking cookies and in another she was reading my brother, sister, and I a story when my brother and sister had the chicken pox at the same time and couldn't sleep while at my grandma's house. I was only there because my grandma was nice enough to let me stay awake and listen to her read. There was also another picture of my grandma pushing my sister on a swing.
I just never noticed the holes in the midsection of my grandma's right arm until we looked at the photo album a few days ago.
The funny thing is the holes are there in almost every picture--while she's placing a birthday cake on the table, finger painting with us, etc. It's like she has had this problem all along but covered it up with her love for us.
It looks as if grandma has changed what side of her she wants to show. It might have been her lust for money, middle school boys, her addiction to heroine, a combination of all three, or a combination of those three plus whatever else she has done that nobody but her and her already dead soul know about.
The photos show that she has truly changed. Those grandma-like photos that I already mentioned have somehow transformed into police photos of her sprawled out naked in a pool of blood in the middle of a street. It's funny how the picture actually makes her look innocent, like her innocence I believed she had when I was a little kid. But if you look closely enough, you can see a syringe that she was holding at the time. Yes, she was actually holding a syringe while trying to take the virginity of a little boy. It's as if one can find everything out about my grandma by simply taking a picture of her, although scrutinization is necessary to find the little pieces of information that are more subtle.
I once heard that every time you get a picture taken of yourself, you lose a little of your soul. Recently, my grandpa showed me that my grandma used to be in the magazine porn industry, pre-Bettie Page era. I don't know what's more disturbing: the fact that my grandma no has no soul; the fact that she did porno during WWII (while my grandpa was fighting in Germany); or the fact that my grandpa has kept the magazines for all this time, had each one laminated, and has recently sold one on E-bay for $5,000. | | |
| Platypus entry #3:
Going back to showing my mom one of the talking platypuses--I was really just looking for someone to talk to about the stuff in my first entry (e.g. communicating with another species). I tried to talk to mom about the subject of talking platypuses in hypothetical terms, but that didn't work out too well either.
After failing with that I felt really stupid, but then regained my hopes after coming up with the idea of walking around with a platypus and communicating with it and seeing if anyone notices its ability to talk. I finally got to do this a few days ago. The platypus' name was Don, but preferred to be called Mr. Platypus. We went to Chicago. It was a very cold day.
I'm sad to say that things didn't work out so well; I'm not sure anyone noticed that the platypus was talking back whenever I spoke to it. I guess they just saw a kid carrying a platypus. At least the other platypuses acknowledge us. I thought it was funny how Mr. Platypus knew every single other platypus in the city. We ended up saying hi to every one of them.
I guess what confuses me the most now is that none of the platypuses find it surprising that I know they talk and am able to communicate quite well with them. After being surrounded by human beings who think them non-talkers, I would think they would find me interesting.
I'll update after more progress is made. | | |
| Platypus entry #2:
I talked to my mom about the talking platypuses. Well, at first I brought her to one of the platypuses and showed her. I asked the platypus how his day had been going. He answered, "Fine." I would have to say that the fact that the platypuses never open their mouths/beaks when the speak is another problem, as it does not look like they are talking. The sound just comes from them.
My mom didn't really say anything at first. After the platypus told me how his day had been going, the platypus and I started talking back and forth. My mom eventually told me to "cut it out." She left the room after that.
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