Empirical Wisdom Pt 2: A Reevaluation of Stagnation in the Face of Something Chemically Tangible

Upon further review, it seems as if this idleness cannot be attenuated with more focused and empirically reliable pharmacological agents. I will have to revise my hypothesis in lieu of a failed experiment in which the NAcc was successfully stimulated, yet repetition failed, one still lacked his muse and one still remained stagnant. In future studies, it may be important for researchers to possibly place the subject in environments that provide more stimulation than one's living room.

Medical Opinion < Empirical Wisdom

I have been lacking my muse. Someone once asked me what it was like to have writers' block. I replied with "It feels like drunk." Only, come to think of it, it doesn't feel like drunk. It feels like melancholic stagnation. Anterior motion will shake this illness and repetition will once again be mine save for my poetic short-comings --these are often compensated for by a trip to the ol' medicine cabinet, but I digress. I blame this idleness on a failed psychopharmacological experiment in which I acquiesced with a charming young nurse to take benzonatate as a cough suppressant for a respiratory infection rather than the tried and true, promethazine/codeine combination. I should have made a case that mu- and kappa- opioid receptor agonism will not only treat my cough and improve my current sleep dysfunction, but also keep me out of a depressed state, which this ill-bred and base benzonatate has successfully induced. Woe is me for I wish to do absolutely nothing but languish over the misfortune of neglecting my poor Nucleus Accumbens.

Repartee of the Day ending with a big Touche!

Diogenes of Sinope: The Real Hero of Greece

It is easy to overlook the greatness of a homeless man who spent his life in a bathtub carrying around a lamp in search of an honest man when you have three of the biggest jerks running around Greece spreading their philosophical filth like a venereal disease at a sorority party. Yes, I'm talking about that unholy triumvirate of assholes, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. While the mainstream posits that Socrates's contributions to philosophy are deeper than the Nietzschean abyss, I argue that the best thing he ever did was drink the kool-aid at his own going away party. Let's face it, Socrates is the walking, babbling personification of an inquisitive migraine whose craft is finding a million different ways to say absolutely nothing. He should have written his Apology on being so inconsiderate and having to make me write countless papers on his work throughout college, when surely I would have rather been writing it on how one could disprove a Platonic theory by simply plucking a chicken.
Diogenes of Sinope, though similar in many aspects to Socrates, differed substantially in his overall badassedness. While Socrates was put on trial and sentenced to death for "corrupting the youth", Diogenes the dog devoted his life to defacing the currency of Athens, putting suckers in their places and warning the children of prostitutes not to throw rocks in crowds lest they hit their fathers. Diogenes feared no man (though he would argue that those who crossed his paths were not men, but rather, just bathers), urinated on scoundrels, defecated in the streets and masturbated as he pleased, wishing it were only possible to alleviate his hunger by merely rubbing his stomach. Let's also remember that Diogenes was never the cause of tedious papers.

Übermustache

If it is so that an organism lives solely to exert its dominance over another living organism, then it must be true that Nietzsche's mustache is the hairy embodiment of Der Wille zur Macht. From the below, one can certainly deduce that man has indeed been overcome.

100 Beers of Hebetude

It seems like 100 years since I've suffered the lethargy of an intellectual swoon. Now that it is certain that I will not be attending graduate school this year, I say it's high time to get back on the ol' horse, ascend from the bottomless pit of stupor, make war against the mindless and overcome them with my cerebral prowess, thus getting the academic party started right.

Meditation on Motivation

I always question the motivation behind everything. Why do people do what they do? It is a question that's plagued an idle populous for millenniums. The stoics say that in order to understand one's actions, one must understand their essence. As per Aristotle, an individual does what it desires to be. As per Ice Cube in the prelude to Natural Born Killaz, "because I can".

I've always said that a person will always do what he or she wants based on the anticipation of reward. There is no ultimate rhyme or reason for anything; the reward received upon fulfillment of the desire supersedes all else. Upon further review, however, what can be more simple and pragmatic than an action performed by the mere ability to perform said action. That said, we have no use for philosophizing where a garden certainly requires tending.

"So... your car ist Kaput... and your girlfriend is gone... and dein Haus they have sold..."

Date: 23 Oct 2009

Today I greeted my buddy the fruit vendor. He asked me how things were and with a shrug and a smile, I replied with the ever so crass remark “Good… I’ve got my health”. Turning around, I shuddered at the thought that I, of all people, would reply with such a platitude, as if having one’s health in good shape is the fountainhead of life satisfaction and enjoyment. The audacity! I thought about an old blog entry I wrote; if memory serves me correct, it was for my creative writing class. The blog entry was quite raffish in its youthful attack, albeit not as fast or loud as Charles Bronson, but just as inchoate and raw.
I don’t recall the specifics of the blog, however the incident today adumbrated the ill-feelings that I, the perpetual hypochondriac, held fast against the masses that believe one’s state of contentment should be determined by robust mental hygiene and/or salutary blood chemistry. I’ll spare my reader of a lengthy, well-nourished discourse in concluding that the latter is more important than the former. In my older age, sage rears its ugly head, though admittedly, in the vein of that asshole of Athens, I do not know much at all.
Despite my ignorance, I can surmise that one's "health" is a sound determinant of overall life satisfaction. One can argue on and on for the contrary on the grounds that despite not having a terminal illness, there may be profound levels of human suffering, and thus one's suffering overrides one's physical well being. But then again, who precisely is suitable to appraise the quality one's suffering, and in doing so, tip the scale in either direction? And if one were to appraise said suffering, then surely, if aforementioned appraisal is examined closely, it will become apparent that in an episode of suffering, acute or chronic, there is not a sound mind.

Zum Prost!

Concerning the Standardized Joust between our Knight of Diligence and the Wretched Giant of Prometria in the Province of Midtown Eastphalia.

Our history begins after the Knight of Diligence overcame the enchantment of Dionysus and recounts the tale of how our bold and dauntless hero slayed the GRE giant. The courageous Knight of Diligence began his journey to meet the Giant of Prometria, which is said to be near the province of Midtown Eastphalia. Adorning himself in his armor, refulgent and true, he packed his provisions and with his trusty instruments of battle, set off into the cold, and miserable streets of Nueva Yorkshire in search of this reckless behemoth described only by third parties, since the second and first never possessed the fortune of having survived their encounters. Tales of this giant and its mammoth stature and unholy acts stretch worldwide, particularly in those cultures and communities where standardized jousting is considered an academic rite of passage.
Our history shows that our doughty hero blazed through the streets of Nueva Yorkshire in search of this feared, ill-bred beast in order to vanquish this monster and in doing so, right some wrongs, assist damsels in distress and kill as many chivalrous birds with as little stones possible. His first trial en route to destroying this beast's world was the disruption in underground service to Midtown Eastphalia! With little time before the beast would render itself unavailable for battle, our hero rushed back to his campground to retrieve his steel pony and ride it into the sunrise of Neuva Yorkshire to the province of Midtown Eastphalia. Even at the risk of expending such necessary energy, it was crucial that our hero made it in time! At this point, a carriage was hailed and in his native tongue, our hero was able to convince this carriage driver to drive him to the beast that paralyzed the bodies which carried the ears that received this cursed name.
Upon arriving to the province of Midtown Eastphalia, our valiant Knight of Diligence turned down his iPod and dug into his bag of provisions for a snack that would give him some extra energy during this standardized joust. He could hear the palpitations of a foul heart and the noxious odor of the body this heart gave life to. Oh how he couldn't wait to exterminate this heart with a few quick thrusts with his trusty lance.
Peregrinating through Prometria, our hero successfully completed the tasks of identifying himself by his birth name to the ugly and tall security guardian at the front desk, and then checking into the jousting center, and even found a minute to help a damsel in distress as he picked up an article of clothing that fell from her locker. After completing these feats, our hero drew his lance and mounted his desk chair finally ready to vanquish this soulless villain of Prometria. Face to face, our antagonist stood not as tall as your average giant, and definitely not as foul or odorous. In actuality, our antagonist, porcelain of skin-tone and rather aloof looking, resembled a machine with its astonishingly digital gait. Not wishing to prolong this cowardly computer-looking wretch's inevitable lashing, our hero boldly hit "proceed" and this joust began!
Because of tight security, no one can tell with certainty what occurred in this jousting center of Prometria, but one can safely assume that myriad feats of chivalry were performed, wrongs were righted and more damsels in distress were helped when they took notice of our hero running out of the testing center with such elation, that surely our fell beast, however robotic of gait, would have smiled. This history, as recounted by the trustworthy and venerable Herodoltus, suggests that our hero thoroughly undressed the giant and proceeded to destroy him with swift swings of his sword and powerful thrusts of his lance. The story recounts that our hero pinked this giant approximately 1,280 times in various parts of its inhuman anatomy.
This is where our history of the slaying of the Giant of Prometria leaves off. We do not know what boons were received or adventures our hero engaged in after this epic standardized joust, but one can surely surmise, given our Knight's misfortune that he, the gallant Knight of Diligence, was possessed once again by the spirit of Dionysus and his magical enchantments.

Poseidon: The Hater-God of all Haters.

O bitter and haterous God of spite!
Poseidon, save thy tempests fast for foes
In strength devoid and in spirit impaired.
Foul born fruits of rancorous loins, this stir
Thou cast, is weak at best, defiled and soft,
Begrimed in turbid waters, guised by stout
Gusts, fickle as fine, feminine nature.
Thy tasks I shall face, with valiant grace,
and may one suggest, for thy face to save,
that it be wise for a trifling knave to
Direct thy scornful slings and arrows cross
T'ward the regal game that smites thee proper.

Or perhaps, hater of all things righteous
And those of stature bad-ass, it is I
Demanding of disparagement, since I
Surmount thy squalls with my diligence due
And treat thy tumult as trite and timeworn.
For what thou may believe a daunting task,
This paladin perceives as no great feat:
"Just another day livin' in the hood,
Just another day around the way", G.

Regarding the Peculiar Events that Befell the Knight of Diligence on Ol' Hallow's Eve

Dionysian enchantment has once again proven to be one of the worthiest adversaries ever faced! I woke up, blinded by an immense headache and then spent the next 15 minutes trying to regain my sight despite the mighty hammer of Thor reigning terror in my cranium. Perhaps he mistook the vastness of my knowledge with that of the great Jormundgard's whopping expanse!
Once I shook this blindness, I decided the best way to begin this adventure in Hangover curing was to wash myself clean of the debauchery that bathed me in filth only a few hours prior. Disrobing, I noticed that there were markings so foreign to my person (however familiar to my character). The words "Fucking" and "Elite", as if by magic, had been scrolled across my torso! These foul beasts of Dionysian enchantment! Equally as mysterious was the lipgloss that I found in my back pocket. No rest for these merciless scoundrels and their ceaseless chicanery!
While preparing the morning's spoils: a bacon, egg and spinach omelet, I had some time to think about what evidence I could obtain in order to accurately recount the mysterious goings-on of last night. Immediately, as the light bulb in my head did click, so did the hope for clarity! Video footage! Vague images popped in my head of sexy cowgirls, chisled giants and oh no...! tabatas air squats/beer chugs in my underwear! One of many tasks this hero had to perform, though unfortunately, the history in my head has been erased by these enchanters and their magical memory erasing abilities which are no match for even the most valiant of knights in all the history of knight errantry.
This morning leaves me with not much to be recalled, however I can safely deduce that having woken up this morning, I have successfully completed all challenges faced and have somewhere along some lines, righted some wrongs and helped out some damsels in distress while adorning my suit of body armor. Therefore, with the satisfactory knowledge of having survived these adventures, I deem myself the victor, though my head resounds differently. All day I have been in a fog but finally, I have decided that there is only one way I am going to surmount these fell remnants of Dionysian enchantment and that is to journey to the Castle of Lobo and celebrate my amazing feats by gluttonously gorging on a mammoth plate of breakfast tacos filled with egg, cheese, guacamole, rice, beans and salsa.

The Knight of Diligence 1, Hangover 0.