Body Autonomy and things worse than death
Is there anything worse than death?
five am and I just woke up from a dream about intentions
someone in the dream asked me what my intentions in life were
and I said to keep on wiping my ass as long as I can
and when I can no longer wipe my ass
let me die with dignity
in the meantime where can I find a fucking job?
well it is nice work if you can get it
but even if I can't fuck no more
I could still use a part time job
six billion people on earth and they all want freedom and dignity and a job
another dream about Zero Motor Freight I think.
To tell the truth I don't care if I get a job, i just need the money
I got work to keep me busy
oh yes trying to save the world is very busy work
Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
Moderator: stilltrucking
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stilltrucking
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Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
I got to have a job
never mind the dignity
I need a job
preferably in manufacturing consumer goods
but I would settle for a job working in a landfill
we all need jobs
because there is still too much stuff
in the ground to be extracted
wasted resources unless we use them
I believe in progress
never mind the dignity
I need a job
preferably in manufacturing consumer goods
but I would settle for a job working in a landfill
we all need jobs
because there is still too much stuff
in the ground to be extracted
wasted resources unless we use them
I believe in progress
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SadLuckDame
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- Joined: September 17th, 2009, 8:25 pm
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
Jack, I knows I put a damper on your threads with all my girlie flirts and stuffs, but damn-it I miss you and don't likes staying away. You could get a job in journalisms, writing to peoples about what peoples got going on...like an informant. I'd buy your paper 
My dreams less colorful without all my interactings, that's the truth.
I still dream, only I'm dreaming mostly about work matters, if you can believe it.
We do all gotta work to keep our sanity I thinks, keeps us pulled together or at least that's what I'm getting out of it. I'd lose it, if I lost it.
Missing you.
My dreams less colorful without all my interactings, that's the truth.
I still dream, only I'm dreaming mostly about work matters, if you can believe it.
We do all gotta work to keep our sanity I thinks, keeps us pulled together or at least that's what I'm getting out of it. I'd lose it, if I lost it.
Missing you.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
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stilltrucking
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- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
I would rather be in Philadelphia, or be a poet.
I miss Molly Ivins
I miss Molly Ivins
I dearly love the state of Texas, but I consider that a harmless perversion on my part, and discuss it only with consenting adults. Molly Ivins
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stilltrucking
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- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
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Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
thank you for taking the time to read and reply
in a spirit of Freindship
I am still a news junky
I wonder what Henry would say about that
in a spirit of Freindship
I am still a news junky
I wonder what Henry would say about that
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
Yes life is good again. Thank God for governor Perry's Texas miracle I found two jobs. I hardly have time to scribble here anymore. But thanks to some idiot I have had a few days off to scribble here. Some idiot went around a curve at eighty miles and hour and dinged up my car so bad I had to put it in a body shop for a week.
Thank G d for flirty girly ways, you make me feel like Molly just smiled at me.
I hardly ever dream about sex. Or at least I hardly ever remember those dreams. Yes I guess most of my dreams lately have been about work too, in one form or another.
My best dreams my worst dreams
all my dreams
they just come naturally like the first breath of a baby
Thinking of a song John Prine wrote about being a loneyl Pfc in an army barracks late at night.
flurt away dame u
never putz a damper on my dreams
"like the love hidden deep in your heart"
John Prine, Donald and Lydia
"there were spaces between donald and what he said , strangers had forced him to live in his head"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuqMPBwIB-w
Thank G d for flirty girly ways, you make me feel like Molly just smiled at me.
I hardly ever dream about sex. Or at least I hardly ever remember those dreams. Yes I guess most of my dreams lately have been about work too, in one form or another.
My best dreams my worst dreams
all my dreams
they just come naturally like the first breath of a baby
Thinking of a song John Prine wrote about being a loneyl Pfc in an army barracks late at night.
flurt away dame u
never putz a damper on my dreams
"like the love hidden deep in your heart"
John Prine, Donald and Lydia
"there were spaces between donald and what he said , strangers had forced him to live in his head"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuqMPBwIB-w
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SadLuckDame
- Posts: 4216
- Joined: September 17th, 2009, 8:25 pm
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
I don't know what to name this new fear of saying the wrong thing,
if I were playing chess right now, it'd be this long pause and the worry I'd lost before I'd lost.
It is not even like me to think about these suches, more it's like me to have reactions all day.
To remedy this anxiety, I went out in search of a new puzzle today. Found a 1500 piece of a sea-side village, partly with the poorer section and crumble that I've a heart for and partly a dreamy section going mysteriously about it's mysteriousness up in the edge of the mountain and cliffs. I thought it a perfect way to house hunt, since I'm not truly house hunting, but I do dream it.
Take me home, kinda thing.
I could flit and flirt, flit and flirt with ya on the constant, it seems so natural, like I've always known you. Only I worry you'll disappear.
I don't know what I'm about at the moment.
Sweet dreams my friend Jack.
See ya in A.M.
Sleepy from shopping all day.
if I were playing chess right now, it'd be this long pause and the worry I'd lost before I'd lost.
It is not even like me to think about these suches, more it's like me to have reactions all day.
To remedy this anxiety, I went out in search of a new puzzle today. Found a 1500 piece of a sea-side village, partly with the poorer section and crumble that I've a heart for and partly a dreamy section going mysteriously about it's mysteriousness up in the edge of the mountain and cliffs. I thought it a perfect way to house hunt, since I'm not truly house hunting, but I do dream it.
Take me home, kinda thing.
I could flit and flirt, flit and flirt with ya on the constant, it seems so natural, like I've always known you. Only I worry you'll disappear.
I don't know what I'm about at the moment.
Sweet dreams my friend Jack.
See ya in A.M.
Sleepy from shopping all day.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
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stilltrucking
- Posts: 20646
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
I been listening to a Confederacy of Dunces audio book again
I listen to it when I go to bed, takes me back to how I used to fall asleeo as a kid listening to the old radio programs, what I listen to in my sleep has a way of seeping into my dreams some how. Well anyay I just...
Woke up from a dream about masturbation. You would have to know the novel to understand why I would be dreaming that while listening to the book. In the dream I was in baltimore, I was trying to get home to the other side of town but all the streets were blocked because of flooding, the flooding was caused by black swampy looking water that was seeping up from underground.
Also
In the dream I was pushing a library cart.
There is a statue of Ignatius J Reilly in New Orleans
Flirting don't mean nothing dame
flirt all you want
my heart belongs to myrna minkoff
saying the wrong thing
as for some reason I am thinking of an ofter mispelled word
sandwitches.
don't worry about it
From the Introduction to a Confederacy of Dunces, He is my catfish
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Walker Percy's Foreword to A Confederacy of Dunces
Perhaps the best way to introduce this novel -- which on my third reading of it astounds me even more than the first -- is to tell of my first encounter with it. While I was teaching at Loyola in 1976 I began to get telephone calls from a lady unknown from me. What she proposed was preposterous. It was not that she had written a couple of chapters of a novel and wanted to get into my class. It was that her son, who was dead, had written an entire novel during the early sixties, a big novel, and she wanted me to read it. Why would I want to do that? I asked her. Because it is a great novel, she said.
Over the years I have become very good at getting out of things I don't want to do. And if ever there was something I didn't want to do, this was surely it: to deal with the mother of a dead novelist and, worst of all, to have to read a manuscript that she said was great, and that, as it turned out, was a badly smeared, scarcely readable carbon.
But the lady was persistent, and it somehow came to pass that she stood in my office handing me the hefty manuscript. There was no getting out of it; only one hope remained -- that I could read a few pages and that they would be bad enough for me, in good conscience, to read no farther. Usually I can do just that. Indeed the first paragraph often suffices. My only fear was that this one might not be bad enough, or might be just good enough, so that I would have to keep reading.
In this case I read on. And on. First with the sinking feeling that it was not bad enough to quit, then with a prickle of interest, then a growing excitement, and finally an incredulity: surely it was not possible that it was so good. I shall resist the temptation to say what first made me gape, grin, laugh out loud, shake my head in wonderment. Better let the reader make the discovery on his own.
Here at any rate is Ignatius Reilly, without progenitor in any literature I know of -- slob extraordinary, a mad Oliver Hardy, a fat Don Quixote, a perverse Thomas Aquinas rolled into one -- who is in violent revolt against the entire modern age, lying in his flannel nightshirt, in a back bedroom on Constantinople Street in New Orleans, who between gigantic seizures of flatulence and eructations is filling dozens of Big Chief tablets with invective.
His mother thinks he needs to go to work. He does, in a succession of jobs. Each job rapidly escalates into a lunatic adventure, a full-blown disaster; yet each has, like Don Quixote's, its own eerie logic.
His girlfriend, Myrna Minkoff of the Bronx, thinks he needs sex. What happens between Myrna and Ignatius is like no other boy-meets-girl story in my experiences.
By no means a lesser virtue of Toole's novel is his rendering of the particularities of New Orleans, its back streets, its out-of-the-way neighborhoods, its odd speech, its ethnic whites -- and one black in whom Toole has achieved the near-impossible, a superb comic character of immense wit and resourcefulness without the least trace of Rastus minstrelsy.
But Toole's greatest achievement is Ignatius Reilly himself, intellectual, ideologue, deadbeat, goof-off, glutton, who should repel the reader with his gargantuan bloats, his thunderous contempt and one-man war against everybody -- Freud, homosexuals, heterosexuals, Protestants, and the assorted excesses of modern times. Imagine an Aquinas gone to pot, transported to New Orleans whence he makes a wild foray through the swamps to LSU at Baton Rouge, where his lumber jacket is stolen in the faculty men's room where he is seated, overcome by mammoth gastrointestinal problems. His pyloric valve periodically closes in response to the lack of a "proper geometry and theology" in the modern world.
I hesitate to use the word comedy -- though comedy it is -- because that implies simply a funny book, and this novel is a great deal more than that. A great rumbling farce of Falstaffian dimensions would better describe it; commedia would be closer to it.
It is also sad. One never quite knows where the sadness comes from -- from the tragedy at the heart of Ignatius's great gaseous rages and lunatic adventures or the tragedy attending the book itself.
The tragedy of the book is the tragedy of the author -- his suicide in 1969 at the age of thirty-two. Another tragedy is the body of work we have been denied.
It is a great pity that John Kennedy Toole is not alive and well and writing. But he is not, and there is nothing we can do about it but make sure that this gargantuan tumultuous human tragicomedy is at least made available to a world of readers.
[For more information on Walker Percy, please visit The Walker Percy Project.]
I listen to it when I go to bed, takes me back to how I used to fall asleeo as a kid listening to the old radio programs, what I listen to in my sleep has a way of seeping into my dreams some how. Well anyay I just...
Woke up from a dream about masturbation. You would have to know the novel to understand why I would be dreaming that while listening to the book. In the dream I was in baltimore, I was trying to get home to the other side of town but all the streets were blocked because of flooding, the flooding was caused by black swampy looking water that was seeping up from underground.
Also
In the dream I was pushing a library cart.
There is a statue of Ignatius J Reilly in New Orleans
Flirting don't mean nothing dame
flirt all you want
my heart belongs to myrna minkoff
saying the wrong thing
as for some reason I am thinking of an ofter mispelled word
sandwitches.
don't worry about it
From the Introduction to a Confederacy of Dunces, He is my catfish
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Walker Percy's Foreword to A Confederacy of Dunces
Perhaps the best way to introduce this novel -- which on my third reading of it astounds me even more than the first -- is to tell of my first encounter with it. While I was teaching at Loyola in 1976 I began to get telephone calls from a lady unknown from me. What she proposed was preposterous. It was not that she had written a couple of chapters of a novel and wanted to get into my class. It was that her son, who was dead, had written an entire novel during the early sixties, a big novel, and she wanted me to read it. Why would I want to do that? I asked her. Because it is a great novel, she said.
Over the years I have become very good at getting out of things I don't want to do. And if ever there was something I didn't want to do, this was surely it: to deal with the mother of a dead novelist and, worst of all, to have to read a manuscript that she said was great, and that, as it turned out, was a badly smeared, scarcely readable carbon.
But the lady was persistent, and it somehow came to pass that she stood in my office handing me the hefty manuscript. There was no getting out of it; only one hope remained -- that I could read a few pages and that they would be bad enough for me, in good conscience, to read no farther. Usually I can do just that. Indeed the first paragraph often suffices. My only fear was that this one might not be bad enough, or might be just good enough, so that I would have to keep reading.
In this case I read on. And on. First with the sinking feeling that it was not bad enough to quit, then with a prickle of interest, then a growing excitement, and finally an incredulity: surely it was not possible that it was so good. I shall resist the temptation to say what first made me gape, grin, laugh out loud, shake my head in wonderment. Better let the reader make the discovery on his own.
Here at any rate is Ignatius Reilly, without progenitor in any literature I know of -- slob extraordinary, a mad Oliver Hardy, a fat Don Quixote, a perverse Thomas Aquinas rolled into one -- who is in violent revolt against the entire modern age, lying in his flannel nightshirt, in a back bedroom on Constantinople Street in New Orleans, who between gigantic seizures of flatulence and eructations is filling dozens of Big Chief tablets with invective.
His mother thinks he needs to go to work. He does, in a succession of jobs. Each job rapidly escalates into a lunatic adventure, a full-blown disaster; yet each has, like Don Quixote's, its own eerie logic.
His girlfriend, Myrna Minkoff of the Bronx, thinks he needs sex. What happens between Myrna and Ignatius is like no other boy-meets-girl story in my experiences.
By no means a lesser virtue of Toole's novel is his rendering of the particularities of New Orleans, its back streets, its out-of-the-way neighborhoods, its odd speech, its ethnic whites -- and one black in whom Toole has achieved the near-impossible, a superb comic character of immense wit and resourcefulness without the least trace of Rastus minstrelsy.
But Toole's greatest achievement is Ignatius Reilly himself, intellectual, ideologue, deadbeat, goof-off, glutton, who should repel the reader with his gargantuan bloats, his thunderous contempt and one-man war against everybody -- Freud, homosexuals, heterosexuals, Protestants, and the assorted excesses of modern times. Imagine an Aquinas gone to pot, transported to New Orleans whence he makes a wild foray through the swamps to LSU at Baton Rouge, where his lumber jacket is stolen in the faculty men's room where he is seated, overcome by mammoth gastrointestinal problems. His pyloric valve periodically closes in response to the lack of a "proper geometry and theology" in the modern world.
I hesitate to use the word comedy -- though comedy it is -- because that implies simply a funny book, and this novel is a great deal more than that. A great rumbling farce of Falstaffian dimensions would better describe it; commedia would be closer to it.
It is also sad. One never quite knows where the sadness comes from -- from the tragedy at the heart of Ignatius's great gaseous rages and lunatic adventures or the tragedy attending the book itself.
The tragedy of the book is the tragedy of the author -- his suicide in 1969 at the age of thirty-two. Another tragedy is the body of work we have been denied.
It is a great pity that John Kennedy Toole is not alive and well and writing. But he is not, and there is nothing we can do about it but make sure that this gargantuan tumultuous human tragicomedy is at least made available to a world of readers.
[For more information on Walker Percy, please visit The Walker Percy Project.]
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SadLuckDame
- Posts: 4216
- Joined: September 17th, 2009, 8:25 pm
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
I started the puzzle last night, got it all framed out and today I began with the blue sky, the mountains against it...just a nice line of trees. Been roasting an organic whole chicken with herbs all day.
Just feels cozy, warm and nice.
I've not read it yet, Jack. I looked for it both in the bookstore and for the kindle, but didn't want to pay the big price on it. Guess I will eventually though. I bought a panda hat for the kiddo yesterday, did some Christmas shopping for them, too. Still didn't have my phone switched on. I'd just rather wait, I s'pose.
I'm enjoying the things I do.
Yes! I'd be the dame saying, like she had, maybe if he was having a woman on hand, he'd not be such the grump. But, I know that only manages to create more problems for him. Add a woman, then ya add the distraction, not the fixer upper.
This year, I too have climbed further from.
Further from interacting, making the cave.
Only interact where I can depend on not letting em glimpse me, they just get my habits, my instincts, my work.
Prolly I'll die this way and no one will know I wrote poetry to a madfish. lol!
Would suit me just fine. Don't likes the attentions or corrections that much.
But, Jack...
Don't go, I always miss you.
I plan to minx it up in one of your dreams
as soon as I learn how.
Just feels cozy, warm and nice.
I've not read it yet, Jack. I looked for it both in the bookstore and for the kindle, but didn't want to pay the big price on it. Guess I will eventually though. I bought a panda hat for the kiddo yesterday, did some Christmas shopping for them, too. Still didn't have my phone switched on. I'd just rather wait, I s'pose.
I'm enjoying the things I do.
Yes! I'd be the dame saying, like she had, maybe if he was having a woman on hand, he'd not be such the grump. But, I know that only manages to create more problems for him. Add a woman, then ya add the distraction, not the fixer upper.
This year, I too have climbed further from.
Further from interacting, making the cave.
Only interact where I can depend on not letting em glimpse me, they just get my habits, my instincts, my work.
Prolly I'll die this way and no one will know I wrote poetry to a madfish. lol!
Would suit me just fine. Don't likes the attentions or corrections that much.
But, Jack...
Don't go, I always miss you.
I plan to minx it up in one of your dreams
as soon as I learn how.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
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stilltrucking
- Posts: 20646
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
"I'd rather have a paper doll to call my own than have a fickle-minded real live girl "
I can send you my library card number for the Corpus Christi library
and you can download the audio book HERE
I can send you my library card number for the Corpus Christi library
and you can download the audio book HERE
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SadLuckDame
- Posts: 4216
- Joined: September 17th, 2009, 8:25 pm
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
Don't ya already gots a paper doll?
I can get it free...Oh man, thank you, Jack.
That is sweet!
I can get it free...Oh man, thank you, Jack.
That is sweet!
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
-
stilltrucking
- Posts: 20646
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
For some reason when I hear that song I think of the J Giles Band Angel of The Centerfold.
I will send you a pm with the number you can download it for a week then it expires and you have to download again.
you will have to download a player for it which is also free,
http://www.overdrive.com/software/omc/
Enjoy
For some reason when I hear that song I think of the J Giles Band Angel of The Centerfold.
I will send you a pm with the number you can download it for a week then it expires and you have to download again.
you will have to download a player for it which is also free,
http://www.overdrive.com/software/omc/
Enjoy
For some reason when I hear that song I think of the J Giles Band Angel of The Centerfold.
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SadLuckDame
- Posts: 4216
- Joined: September 17th, 2009, 8:25 pm
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
I remember the song, but didn't remember the lyrics...haha how nutty.
Thanks for bringing it up so I could look it up.
I wasn't allowed to watch MTV, nor could I listen to the radio, music, etc. unless it was gospel tunes until I was sweet fifteen.
What tunes I watched was Mickey Mouse Club, they did a lot of the oldies, like.
I was pretty sheltered until I found out I was sheltered.
Thank you for the trip to the library.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
-
stilltrucking
- Posts: 20646
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: Body Autonomy, Kierkegaard, Dread and Outhouses
I wish I was in Corpus Christi, I wish I was feeling those warm sea breezes, I wish I was watching the surf roll in, and smelling the ocean, I wish my wishbone was stronger than my back bone
library, my favorite one is in The Abortion a historical romance
library, my favorite one is in The Abortion a historical romance
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