spuriousness

Lets make a glass of water upon a table academic. First and foremost it is important to recognize that the example I give is a singular one in time. The glass was placed on this table made of wood. It was filled just over half way. When I looked at the glass that was just over half-way filled at exactly 28 degrees from center, there appeared a prism. The prism appeared in the middle of the glass that was half-way filled. It turned gently in a clockwise motion that reflected remarkable colors. I became mesmerized by the sight and I thought to myself, "na, those were regular, organic mushrooms." Needless to say, the prism began to spin faster and faster within the glass of water and I took notes the whole way through. A fast moving breeze swept through the room like a racoon in the night. My hair was flying about and the prism moved faster and faster. Suddenly, and without warning there appeared before me a giant pack of Starbursts and a hotdog stand with a soda fountain attached to a shetland pony. I thought, "Hey man, just in time, I am famished and di-a-rhea is one of my favorite things!" I ate and began wondering what happened to the glass with water in it filled just over half-way. Then I remembered, I spilled it reaching for the damn starbursts and it was broken all over the floor. So I went to the cabinet and grabbed another glass and filled it just under half-way. Except this time i filled the glass with Jack Daniels. I figure if I spill this one I will make sure I spill it in my mouth. In this little wash, is it possible that the first glass of water was a representation of my past when I was sucked under by a vicious tide that damn near killed me? Did I hate the glass the water was contained in and used it to represent my hatred for people who take credit for others' ideas? Is my bad spelling an indication of a childhood free from water in general? If so, why? Was my mother evil? Did my father try to drown her as I was forced to watch? You see, there is no such thing as a simple glass of water on a table. There is always a story that surrounds it. There is meaning in even the smallest of things; and it is through these things that academics are born. It is also representative of what it feels like to be in a constant state of spuriousness, discomfort, and instability.

I am social structure, you are a segment of that structure. The bones that are contained within me are made up of ideals that were formulated a long time ago among farmers who thought it prudent to not include an unwilling population of men, women and children, in the idea that all men are created equal. From there was born a style, an elegance of form that was to symbolize ones standing in the community; the white male dominated herarchy of social me and the standards I promote. You will have access to things others will not. You will have a road more readily ran on because you will have on a really cool pair of Nike's that feel like warm chowder on a cold and crispy day flowing down your heavily medicated throat because you live in a cold part of the country where a warm day is 48 degrees; and you are always feeling less than snappy due to your inflamed sinal cavity. You will go to school because I hold the keys to the doors, and I believe in you. You know somethin there large guy? What? The funny thing is....What? I am not real. I am completely made up. I live among the stars in the sky; and in the air you breathe and broadcast over and through. You will go far in life because I believe in you. I am social structure, and you give me life! 98.2 LLc

bite me you sissies!

Academic writing is for sissies who have a natural resistance to experience. They are fence sitters and gatekeepers to an unholy land that is fully enveloped in the black and white cloudiness of bullshit; irritating the masses; influencing the young, while making Joe the Plumber feel inferior. If a kid wants to stick his finger up his nose, then wipe the goobly goop on your new sofa, so be it. Why did he do that? Who gives a shit! How the Hell can anyone experience life when all they do is study it? The time they spend studying would better suit them if for once they decided to tie one on for a couple weeks and experience the wet noodle that is society; but from a more fun loving, alcoholic point of view. This is LLC and I am Audi 2387.

inside, the unseen

From the moment it, whatever it is, is broken down into its finite parts, and then analyzed for future instruction, it then becomes fractional. The pieces cannot function in respect to the larger whole because they all require each other in order to function. The process of analyzing the function of it then becomes obscure and the meaning lost in respect to what is being happened upon. No thing can function in and of itself. It can only function as a function to something, in something, or by something. If manuals are formed as to the benefit of the parts with respect to their function, then those words contained within that manual are useless; they serve no individual purpose in analyzation to the thing. If a part is broken, it is determined so through dysfunction in relation to the thing itself. Organizing thoughts and actions in pieces related to the pieces themselves serves only one purpose, to benefit the writer of the words. This of course does not pertain to mechanical devices such as engines or the body; their parts need to be analyzed and taken down. I am speaking of the unwritten language contained within and about the social being.
The man who relies on functionality through wit and cunning, and not through truth, real truth within the various pieces that make up the body; the unseen, must find himself smart and successful. He then manages his day by the glow of the deceiver who shines brightly in the eyes of the flacid, weak, and Earthly. These people cannot see what they do due to their wit and desire; for it leads and the body follows. It should be that the body cares not to follow, but to lead in the direction of the inside part, the unseen. To analyze something, a man would be better off to analyze that, which cannot be broken, is rarely written about, and hardly understood through the veil of the social life.