A Drunk is a…

brass player.
A Shiker Iz A Bloyzer-Shpiler from Frank London’s Klezmer Brass AllStars.
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April Fool(’s Day)

Some delectable foolisms:

A fool and his money are soon elected.
― Will Rogers

I have great faith in fools ― self-confidence, my friends would call it.
― Edgar Allan Poe

I still believe that peace and plenty and happiness can be worked out some way. I am a fool.
― Kurt Vonnegut

Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain ― and most fools do.
― Benjamin Franklin

The greatest pleasure of [being with] a dog is that you make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.
― Samuel Butler

If at first you don’t succeed, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn’ fool about it.
― W.C. Fields

Don’t approach a goat from the front, a horse from the back, or a fool from any side.
― Yiddish Proverb

A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.
― Douglas Adams

I wasn’t born a fool. It took hard work to get this way.
― Danny Kaye
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Chili

I thank God for chili. Chili is even better than a shameless self-promoting blog. It makes up for being only almost as good by being completely honest. But honestly, when I moved to New York, my room was so small the bed bugs were hunch-backed! But honestly… ahem. Gotta find a better line of gab than this…
Alright. I could live on chili. I love it. It’s spicy, it makes me fart all day, it gives me garlic breath… no vampire from one of these ‘young adult reader’-books is ever going to even approach me. I exude an aura of unbitableness.
Listening to Le Pop from Katzenjammer, by the way.
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Angst

Existential angst. Fear of living, for what it might do to you. God only knows what will happen! The deepest wounds, the greatest happiness! Joy so strong it threatens to tear you right apart, sorrow so low it seeps in to the marrow of your bones and makes death seem welcome… it’s all one, the pain and the delight. Heavy duty stuff, that. Your brain will squirm under the weight of it all.
Don’t hold yourself back, dive in to it, damn you! Fuck the consequences. You’ll never get anywhere if you keep sandbagging your life. Building little lines of defense as if you could hold back a wave that defies your understanding, haha, good luck with that, old boy. It’ll wash over you no matter what you do, and you should be thankful for the fact. All that defensive behavior will just drive you in to a corner you can’t get out of, and the wave is coming… traps in every corner, every corner a trap.
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There is no way for you to have beauty if you fear ugliness. You can’t live if you fear death. You can’t climb the mountain if you’ve never been in a valley. Stating the obvious, am I? Is it so obvious? Maybe it is, but human beings are really great at ignoring the obvious. And even the obvious, in its insidious way, has a thousand little permeations that will trip you up if you think about them too much. Stop thinking, let it happen.
Let the wave wash over you, though it may be full of grit and gravel. It’ll roll you tit over heal, smash you down on to the hard sand, suck you back down in to the water. You’ll struggle up out of it, the worse or the better for wear… but in any case you will be alive!

Can’t Wipe the…

sardonic smile from my face. What a bastard I am. A superior little fuck. Wipe that smile from my face, please.
That is why I love… love. It is the only thing which can wipe that asshole smile from my face. It is the only thing which can move me to be human. Warmhearted. It is the only thing which can make me believe in something more, something beyond the everyday human foolishness which I encounter.
It’d be nice when I encountered this foolishness only in others, but that ain’t the case. The same foolishness is in me. I try to keep it in check, without much success. Again and again I say to myself: don’t be a fool! If there is any pitfall in life you can avoid, then this one! You’re a smart fellow, you can do it!
Yeah, sure.
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Levels

Get rid of the fucking levels, please. Often enough I’ve written about levels and how interesting they are, but when it gets down to the nitty gritty, I make things flat. Reduce it all to one level. At the moment I mean this in the technical sense. You know, technical shit, computers and all.
I get data from all over the world, and I feed it to machines that are supposed to make sense of it. And when they get data that is on many levels, they choke on it, more often than not.
I don’t blame them. If someone were to feed me data that included so many levels, I might choke on it, and no one would think the worse of me, though my brain is far more complex than any software yet invented, so complex that it can even master something we call intuition. So why do people expect that to work with a printing machine, a machine that reduces data to a two-dimensional graphic that someone can look at and understand? These are machines that, in the end, bring ink to paper. It doesn’t matter that the ink is actually not ink at all, but rather artificial resin, or wax, or solvent-based tints. It’s a physical process, dammit. It’s hardware. It’s simple. And though it is guided by software, it’s no wonder that it chokes on levels.
All these levels are only present in our minds, and they have no place in the physical, the real world. At least not in the real printing world. So, no matter what you want to have printed, please, just… just please… get rid of the fucking levels before you send it to the printer.
So much for the technical side, now to the philosophical. Gimme the levels, baby. The more the better. Maybe you’ll force my mind on its knees with them, but I’ll have fun trying to figure them out (well, mostly). Life is not as simple as bringing ink to paper, thank stochastic and the crazed human brain. So, gimme the levels! Make me think, please!
I may not like the truth you speak, but I will think about it. Even if it is a lie, I will think about it. I will take it in my mental hands and turn it hither and thither and look at all the levels and wonder. I’ll pick those levels apart and try to understand them. Why did you make those levels? What do they mean to you, to me? Who are you, that you were impelled to build those levels as you did?
It never ceases to fascinate me: the human penchant to take things apart, to categorize them in to many different little levels. But the most fascinating thing of all is that the actual goal of all this minute analysis is to make an understandable whole. In the end, we want to bring things down to one single level after all. We want to understand everything. We want a formula, a simple statement, that will describe everything. The answer.
That is insane. It’s impossible. Crazy apes! Crazy, stupid apes!
Is that all there is? There’s something in me striving, driving for more. There has to be an answer, it says. I doubt I’ll find it, but someone will, if the human race should be lucky, and survive long enough. Yeah, well, the other side of my coin says, each answer poses new questions. It’s like trying to find the smallest particle… there is alway something smaller yet. And the answer gets smaller and smaller… until there is nothing left but nothing.
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I am anything but alone in this, and I know many people find the answer in God. It’s a simple, flat answer. Belief allows them to live their lives in peace, because they don’t have to think about it anymore. It’s as if they’d been printed on a piece of paper, and that’s it, black on white. Well, maybe there are colors, too, but in any case it’s a done deal. Tempting, isn’t it? Someone printed me, with intent, I am a product, made with something in mind, with purpose. Though I may not understand the purpose, just as ink on paper has no knowledge of what it says, I have a purpose.
Well, I am literally laughing out loud, rolling on the fucking floor at that statement… purpose? You’re kidding me, right? You… *gasp* you can’t mean it seriously? Hahahaaaa…..! Oh shit, I’m gonna die, can’t get no air…! *Gag*
Alright, I survived. I didn’t die from that gut-laugh. My body prevented me from dying for lack of air. It’s part of the paper I’m printed on: my physical body will not allow me to give up. Not for comedy, not for philosophy, not for anything. No matter how hard I laugh or cry over it all, I have to go on. The man in me won’t let me give up.
That man in there, what does he want? I don’t dare forget him, because he is the one who drives me, in the end. He may think about all these things I describe, but basically he has another agenda. He wants to see his children grow, he wants to live and love… the basic things of life. He is an ape, and he knows it. He has no problem with that knowledge. He couldn’t care less about the world at large. He’ll kill to defend his own, and he’ll drink a drop on the way to make the killing easier. He doesn’t give a damn about purpose, provided it’s not his own purpose. He’s been indoctrinated with certain ideals, but he’ll bend them to suit his needs and desires. Slightly. He can’t, after all, jump out of his own skin. Even if he could, he wouldn’t want to. Fortunately he has not been brought up to believe in God, for otherwise he would most likely do so.
He has been brought up in doubt. He doesn’t know, therefor he inquires. Sometimes it makes him unhappy, nevertheless he reminds himself that, as Voltaire put it, doubt is not a pleasant state of mind, but certainty is absurd. On the other hand, it is his sense of absurdity, when he thinks about it, that keeps him from going insane. That, and his belief in love. Belief.
Oh, shit, belief? I might just as well believe in God, or? But for me, God is just a concept. I can’t feel God. I can feel love. You can tell me a thousand times over that love is just a mixture of chemicals in my body and brain that make me feel that way, and intellectually I will pay you heed, but you will never ever convince the man in me. So, when it comes down to it, am I just as bad as a fanatic religionist. My glands rule me, crazy little animal that I am. But I am at least aware of it, and I don’t swear it is the only truth for all of mankind. I wouldn’t go out and kill other people because they don’t love.
However, this is the belief that keeps that crazy little ape in me in line. If it weren’t for that, I would run amok. Without that belief, my life would be worthless, and I would show all the other crazy apes what that means: I’d kill, and kill, and kill… because I don’t like people. They are a bunch of fucking assholes, slaves to greed and idiocy and the feeling of power. Love, that is the most meaningful thing for me. It’s the way I am built, nothing I can do about it. Without love, I’d be a loose cannon.
So, you may be wondering, like me, how I came from levels in print-data to love and death. Just goes goes to show how everything hangs together. Or how a creative mind can establish weird connections. A crazy mind, what the fuck. As usual, you can’t take anything I say at face value. Trickery. The rings under my eyes hang down to my balls, and that is an indication of how seriously you should take my statements. Very seriously, or not at all.
More rum, please.