time space warp: 12.2004

angst: blahblahblah

i'm supposed to be reading for my classes or working on my org tasks, but what am i doing downloading mp3s? yeah. procrastination to the max (digression for dorks: le sigh). so that's what my life is full of, supposed to bes, and i love every supposed to be that there is. heh. give me this: i'm supposed to be __________ but i'm ___________. i'll fill up hundreds of those in less than a minute. i'm supposed to be writing an essay but i'm blog posting. i do it so well! hahahaha!

anyway, since enjoying too much has made me feel guilty enough, i shall multi-task. i shall download and listen to mp3s, while blog posting, and i shall get one essay from my org tasks done. this will be my extra challenge for the day. tell you what? i'll come back later and post whatever i've come up with. deal? deal.

quiz.

YAY.

You scored as Shera. Break out those tacky leotards, the Princess of Power is in the house! Suzanne Somers has nothin' on you, Shera.

Shera

83%

Heman

75%

Strawberry Shortcake

75%

Voltron

58%

Smurf

42%

Transformers

33%

Thundercats

33%

Which 1980's Cartoon Character are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

Feeling emo

Every once in a while i do get to find the oldest, most forgotten photos in my computer and i look at them as if i were looking at somebody else's fragment of memory. As if my detachment from the picture I used to keep will eventually erase any semblance of my self on print.

quiz results

so i took another online quiz, and these are what i got:


english literature is love
brought to you by the isLove Generator


heights is love
brought to you by the isLoveGenerator

after Caffeine

for all the people i was with a while ago, who (like i was a few weeks back) are so skeptical about, and to quote Martin my lover and fellow geek, "an honest-to-goodness sci-fi poem! That works!" here is Maurya Simon.

Worf Meets God at the Voyager Laundromat

Because the starship's life-support system
Had begun to malfunction, and he needed
To clear his humanoid head and blaspheme

The command of a superior officer who meted
Out duties like an android with amnesia,
Worf wended his way to the laser-heated,

Faux-folksy but spotless Laundry Arena,
There to expertly expunge the daily dirt
From his uniform, and the cosmic bacteria.

While the crew idled in Stay-Clean shirts,
In a temporarily suspended animation,
He stuffed his jammies, trousers, and shorts

Into a Vacuum-Vulcanizing Star-Station
Maytag, programmed it for starch the scent
Of gardenias, then sat to ponder fusion.

Suddenly there seemed to be a deltoid dent
Buckling the far Arena wall, then a shuddering,
And Worf leaped up, his laser gun clenched

In his huge fist, aimed and ready to fire.
A mirage of sorts, an electron haze coalesced
Slowly into what looked like a Wall St. financier.

(Worf was well-versed in late twenty-first
Century American socio-economic anomalies:
He knew this was a stock broker, or worse.)

The Alien was aglow with galactic pleasantries.
"Who are you?" Worf demanded in his booming voice.
"They used to call me God," the other wheezed,

"But that was long ago. Now I'm just white noise,
an illusion which questing sorts like yourself
call forth unwittingly in troubled times.

"Holstering his gun with a sigh, again Worf
Eased into his chair and said, "Leave me alone.
I can't abide charlatans, and you're the fourth

God-pretender I've met in this millennium.
The other turned himself into a burning bush.
"Won't work," Worf muttered over the Maytag's hum.

The visitor re-formed itself in a dazzling rush
Of sparks: now it appeared as a Klingon vixen,
All Amazonian brawn and steely-eyed machisma.

Worf's jaundiced eye took stock of this vision
Of delight, this female soul-mate warrior,
And his jaw dropped. "I'm not usually given"

To praising anyone, especially a delusion, or
An alien apparition, but you're quite a sight,"
He confessed. The Klingon babe began to purr:

"Listen, Worf. I can be an antidote or anthracite,
A black hole or black widow, God or the Devil,
Or..." a buzzer sounded, then the blinking light

On the Maytag flashed out "Completed Cycle."
Worf snapped his fingers to end the program,
Removed his clean clothes, put them in a bundle.

"I don't believe in supreme beings, holy holograms,
God-the-Almighty, some everlasting Shapeshifter,
Amorphous spirits or anthropomorphic deities. I am,

"Worf continued, "a die-hard, warp-speed agnostic,
And I need to get back to the deck and my commander."
But he paused to take one more long, lustful look

At the buxom Klingon imposter, then he cleared
His throat. "If you can actually prove you're God,
Then I'll become your first starship apostle, my dear.

"But the queenly form was vanishing, even now
As Worf spoke, and in its place there grew
The spitting image of a sadly decrepit Mr. Spock.

"I always wanted to be a poet, but I knew
I'd have to settle for playing God," Spock said.
"Right," Worf grinned, "but I much prefer you

in your former guise. It's easier to idolize."
He turned squarely on his boot heel, exited.
Spock faded; the Arena buzzed on, untelevised.

-- For Robert Falk

mmm... isn't it yummy? well, it might not be as yummy as Caffeine's dense chocolate cake, but what the hell. a quiet, chilly night like this one makes all the reading materials i have amassed from my friends very convenient, orgasmic treats.

time space warp

Wednesday, December 29

angst: blahblahblah

Tuesday, December 21

quiz.

Sunday, December 19

Feeling emo

Saturday, December 11

quiz results

Wednesday, December 1

after Caffeine

* .

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