Thursday, March 20, 2014

I don't like you very much

The other day Mr. Shakestown and I were watching some garbage program on the telly when an advert popped up in which a couple was referred to as being a particularly great couple because their strengths and weaknesses balance each other out such that they make one great person.

As someone who is in a relationship that is made up of two. distinct. persons. I find this advert insultuous to my very core. The idea that two people must blob together into one in order to be worthy of praise from some random bloke on the telly is a clearly orchestrated attack on my personal agency and consent.

Yesterday afternoon, as I was putting on my wellies, I caught Mr. Shakestown's glance out of the corner of my eye, and told him plainly, "I don't like you very much, Sir." He replied, because we are so deeply connected that he understands my thoughts and we communicate in our own special (clearly two person-ed) language, "I don't like you very much either, madam."

And oh my dear, how does there, to my knowledge, as of yet, exist no Shakestown erotic fan fiction.

UPDATE: Sisyphus Transcription Project

Great news, all. The day is finally here! With your help (and you do it all for free!) I have completed the entire transcription of the audiobook of John Paul Sartre's [ETA: whoops that other white existentialist dude's] Myth of Sisyphus.

I can't tell you how excited I am that this transcript will soon be listed on Amazon in both kindle and print version! I could not have done it without your help.

And you do it all for free.

All I need to do now is print and paste all of your transcript blocks onto a piece of cardboard so that I see them clearly when I retype the text into Word 95. After saving the file to floppy disk I will take it to a GENIUS I found on craigslist (who, thankfully, does accept payment in the form of cash donated by Shakestownies) and who said that he is pretty sure he can transfer the file to a hard disk and then have his cousin put it onto a CD and then a flash drive. At that point it will be edited for errors by a carrier pigeon who will then drop it into the middle of the ocean where it will be caught by a team of dolphins that will swim it over to the publisher, who *fingers crossed* does not know how to search for already existing books on Amazon.

And all of this just in time for the boulder to roll back down the hill.

Trust me, this is how publishing works. So (this can only be where all of this is headed right?) start saving your cash now so that you can prove you are a social justice warrior by supporting Shakestown by performing the radical act of purchasing already existing books produced by your own labor and the labor of your fellow cult members.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

quartz palace reflector syndrome

What is quartz palace reflector syndrome?

Quartz palace reflector syndrome (QPRS) is a simplified concept I invented to clearly, succinctly communicate in plain, uncomplicated terms the ubiquitous tendency for close-minded persons to form assumptions about and refuse to respect, hire, tolerate, or bestow equal rights upon a group of homo sapiens on the singular basis of their skin pigmentation and/or ancestry.

Quartz is a type of mineral that can be found in the continental crust of the planet earth. It is composed of silicon-oxygen tetrahedra with a Strunz classification of 04.DA.05. There are a multitude of varieties of quartz, of which citrine, rose, smoky, milky, and agate are common examples. (Reference: my many years of experience working in the mineral industry)

When minerals, of which quartz is a type, are reflected within a palace, this creates a syndrome. The syndrome is then functional as a lens through which hatred is applied to individuals (primarily individuals of high pigmentation) without a rational basis. This fallacious lens, when applied at the individual or structural level (whether in the form of overt QPRS or covert QPRS) thus puts people with particular ancestries at a disadvantage and creates disparities among human persons along epidermal lines.

Intro to Cunstronauts: License to Sisyphus Transcription Projects

I am SO EMBARRASSED. Abby Cabbagepatch totes just commandeered my twitter account to post an unexpected tweetstorm of praise upon me. I am so utterly HUMBLED that I just had to modestly repost them all here.

winter outside. AGAIN.

[CN: Meteorology]

SCREAM KICK THE WALL NOOOOOOOOOOOO. It. is. fucking. snowing. IN WINTER. Elevenzilliony.

This is what I have to look at from inside my temperature-controlled HOUSE. Who fucking snows in winter? Like seriously, WTF?!!??!!? Follow your own fucking calendar, Smother Nature.

I don't know how I can seriously be expected to continue sitting at my desk typing indecipherable screeds and taking pictures of myself when it is FUCKING winter outside. AGAIN.

All I have been hearing since NOVEMBER is what a long, horrible cuntwinter this has been. Yeah, ok, fuck your unexamined privilege, doucheflakes. It's fine and great to jizz about the weather and make up insensitive nicknames like "cuntwinter," but until you have lived inside my house, you really have no. fucking. clue. We need to keep in mind that there are people for whom the winter is a real actual obstacle to their creative processes. People who work outside the home, live on the streets, shovel their own sidewalks, or actually have to touch and experience the snow do not understand what it is like for those of us who have to stare out the fucking window and look at it. STOP BEING SNOW, tyrannical special snowflakes. BE. WATER.

OF COURSE, this all happens on the one sacred weekend in which I am to be celebrated as the living reincarnation of Saint Patrick. WTF.

And as if THAT weren't enough I now have icicle penis daggers hanging down from our porch roof.


Reread that again. Icicle. Penis. Daggers. You might as well just pour acid on my face LOL.

So anyway, this is where I have been the past few weeks. If you wrote to me and I didn't write back it's because I've been sitting patiently at my window, taking notes, and policing the weather for tyranny and misogyny. I'll let you know if anything changes. It's a tiresome job, but I guess I'll just add fucking meteorologist to my resume now too. Is there anything I CAN'T do??!? LOL.