Blue Saturday

sober translation. i thought the woman was throwing herself at me and because i thought she was disabled it felt like i wd be taking bad advantage. but it wd have been a different kind of advantage taking if i'd sussed she was just pissed and since i was pissed too it mightn't have led very far but maybe farther than a brotherly walk home and goddamit why didn't i get a number?

feel bad all day every day

the semester's done. went to the art museum w/ another classmate, looked at the exhibit of byzantine art and talked about shit. feels nice.

http://www.cornwallcommunitynews.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/Popping-Champagne-cork.jpg

yeah well, obviously beauty and truth aren't in any way mutually inexclusive. I just dunno which i prefer, or rather it's a circ-by-circ decision. Much rather my boss was beautiful, like.

when he says beauty is truth is he saying both are in the eye of the beholder or both are objective presences in the world? i think this is the knot Keats meant you to find un-untieable

aslo, is the flapjack the perfect symbol for the wholesome, flavourless tedium of unproductive work?

i am practising or embracing doing just enough to get by in all situations, i'm pretty comfortable with it

mdf byproducts are alright for termites but i like to think that we're a lil higher up the food chain tbph, p sure keats is with me on this one.

I figure he was arguing on universal scale, if he wasn't then he ought have said so and damn the rhymin scheme, this is why i distrust poetry as a method of conveyance, did he really mean that or did it just scan nicely with 'heraclitean' etc etc

flapjacks are like what i imagine goes in horses' nose-bags

if i was being dead honest i'd guess Keats was trying to talk about a universal truth but he overlooked the possibility that he was relativising truth instead of universalising beauty. aslo the fact that poetry is an untrustworthy medium for philosophy kinda tips the balance in favour of beauty over truth imo

poetry as medium that compromises truth is neatly the nub of the matter, but i'm not crediting him with meta on it tbph

All for truth from my philosophers, beauty from my poets, uncomfortable with such issues as may arise with any overlap, but unfortunately it happens

jeez if i'd remembered last night i have performance reviews to do today then maybe i wdn't feel so woozy and tired and bored this morning

darragh are you telling me what you want is, facts?

german from my horse obv

aslo is it me or is ILX a bit sleepy of late?

german from my whores wd be ok

xp if you could even trust facts these days it'd be something but i mean show me a fact, y'know? And don't give me any maths cos i maxed out on that stuff with ms quigley in 1995

ilx is v quiet, i think we shipped a few out durin the last -gate, also footy crowd dwindling, those ppl otm obv

maths isn't facts is it, it's axiomatic

i was just bringing Hard Times into it cos iirc it's a book about truth and beauty being irreconcilable and Dickens thinks people should get off their backsides and join the circus or something

Performance Review is such a pointless exercise carried out in bad faith by people who don't understand what they're doing so it can be filed away somewehre and shown to an inspector who isn't going to look at it at some future date

lately i've been questioning this whole "human beings" project i mean has anybody thought it thru? it doesn't seem to be going anywhere or doing anything important and it's making an awful lot of paperwork for somebody

even culture mostly feels like a chore of late.

written language is ok, might be onto something there. everything feels like such pointless busy-work tho, why the hell can't people learn to sit still and shut up for a bit?

i dunno if you attempt any kind of objective review yr father gets v agitated, is my experience, and tbh this may well be one of those universal truth things we were looking for

Hard Times, the best thing about it is that he's giving you one big fuckoff clue in the title what yr english class is goin to be thru the entire term you get to listen to yr classmates (higher level english group b, ie aim for it but tbh we expect you lot to drop down at some stage lol) 'read' it aloud while you manufacture sleepy snot beside a radiator designed by gilliam's set guy and decorated by rob zombie.

you wdn't live in a place furnished and built like an institutional space so how the hell do they expect you to work in one?

like "hi i'm gonna be spending 7 or 8 hours here today doing some stuff i'm not that invested in for some people who don't really care, cd you maybe make the place a little less ugly and untidy and eyeball-crushing please? kthx"

true but then you wouldnt work at home so tbf tbf

the ugliness is like a place marker? to remind you you're at work?

also tbf it's better than doin such work for ppl who actually care

seriously this is madness, i've got nothing in common with these people, why am i here? i don't even know what i'm achieving. plax was on the money, i need to make rent.

i kindof feel like exactly these things that are being used itt to describe these guys as dicks are exactly why they are good. lack of responsibility. bailing out on the debts they said they would pay. its cathartic and refreshing. the deal was not the deal i thought it was. the fine print was unreadable. i wanted the money but not the job. this is how i feel, bypassing the beaurocracies that displace every responsibility. don't phone in sick because its a busy shift. i don't fucking care. its like epic records. standing on the balcony. i wish i could do that. i still have to fucking wait tables every night. i'm glad somebody can. standing teetering on the edge. two fingers. tie the cord, kick the chair and you're dead. if i call in sick its my fucking coworkers that take the brunt. this is it, the production of innocence. my boss is my best friend. we're all victims. there's something to be said for it. the album is so good as well. all uncontainable id. no love. deep web. wrapped up so tight i can't breath. i need something that punctures it. interrupts these notions of responsibility that are predicated on this particular handshake. i hope i can pay my rent this month.

it bares repeating, it's like he pulled something direct out of my brain. i wanted the money but not the job.

the ugliness is in the eye of the beholder, who can say how each individual is to be inspired eh

oh i know

inspiration is supposed to be as natural as breathing eh? that's a liar of a word right there maybe. unless inspiration = sucking something up that's always been there

it's weird how ingrained the Protestant Work Ethic gets into people, wonder if that's nature or nurture. so many soul doctors tell you how important it is to your mental well-being to get into a nice comfy rut and keep yourself busy/distracted

i'd kill to wake up in the morning with such a useful coping mechanism

even if i got my ideal job of snowboarding on the moon, after 8 years of doing the same thing every day i'd still be bored shitless.

well yeah you'd think. it doesn't seem to be the case for everybody. i guess you're only thinking of doing the same task whereas there's other things that cd make up yr working day, in theory.

varied conversations and interactions as such. personally don't go to work for that stuff.

in fact tbh i want soup and my bed, it's December and it's cold and it's miserable you savages why are we going thru the motions?

work network is down at the moment, internet is still up. surprisingly this has made little difference to my usual routine.

btw good flapjack is the bomb, hope you are not eating bad stodgy stuff, here is my mum's winning recipe:

1/2 pack butter (125g)
8 tbsp/120g demerara sugar
2 tbsp golden syrup (slips more easily off a warm wet spoon)
220g oats (1/3 jumbo, 2/3 normal)
melt butter in a pan, add sugar and syrup, stir well, add the oats, mix well, tip into a baking tray lined with baking parchment (24x33cm or thereabouts) & put in oven gas mk 4 for 20 mins. allow to cool but cut up while still slightly warm.

that's nose-bag and butter imo, am not eating any flapjack bad or otherwise tbh

it's all about the golden syrup. course you could just eat it straight out of the tin.

i used to like rice krispy cakes as a golden syrup transmitter but i don't think i have a v. sweet tooth nowadays

prob with sweet teeth is they fall out

booze and depressive neglect and the cost of dentists has similar effect

even by parental proxy ime, hurrah

teeth are over-rated imo, just give me some soup

too much gradgrinding in yr youth

ilx has been relatively quiet for some time

eventually one must recognize that a new quiescent epoch has arrived, but who is going to bring fire and freshness, the streetfighter pyrotechnics, the new science, the leftfield plays and radical beats that get ilx moving again?

pat finn

paddy power.

quiet-era ilx fails to do its job, if i can't be pummeled into mental numbness by a constant stream of information then WHAT'S THE POINT.

or at least lols