A Cure for [IN]sanity? F.O.L. Nation

Lookout! In the fraying electric nights of pre-spring break, insanity will knock on your door and sell you a fresh batch of Annoyance/Clairvoyance, a nice mix if you ask me. The cubed world of Berkeley pulsates madness--and a new idiom begins to arise from this technicolor, networked world.

WTF are you talking about? She cracked an egg wHere? When the heterosexual couple fails, 5 hour traffic jams prevent you from seeing straight. Apparently many people are crazy. And the smile grows.

From two minds comes an explosion of abbreviated sorrow, luxurious transcendence, and caustically whimsical rants. When will you see that it's everywhere? All around us? This is it. Have a seat.

Good timez = the fact that we can RECOGNIZE the repeating patterns around us. Bad times = the fact that Perf City inevitably fades along with Dancer status. Keep up now if you can-- we are deep in the throws of FOL NATION, a new land of worries, laughs, and meta-commentary. Fuck everything I write.

FOL: the collective group act of "fucking our lives." Can be a destination, an exclamation, or a verb.

But you see, FOL'in is not and cannot just be negative. In its performative state, it's a gleeful and reckless celebration of the suckiness of our lives, that we somehow find ironic, strange, and demonically wonderful. A chase that never ends. And because of this, it cannot be a lamentation. The shittiness that we willingly address makes the SPEECH ACT of declaring FOL a glowing, contagious, and addicting process that repeats, ad infinitum.

Nietzsche's Becoming-- searching for rational causes for sorrow is only a symptom of FOL's status ON ITS OWN... but inevitably, to keep going, celebrating this weird territory that only our minds can grasp, the ying yang twins (Hint: Your worthy speakers!) are re-wrting CYL (Celebrating Your Life) into a back-handed FOL that really GAF's (Gives a Fuck) - cuz in the end, we really do GAF.

"Therefore:" Fucking the world is an affirmation and act that functions as a CELEBRATION-- an odd and repeating process of contradictory realizations. By FOL'ing, we are dishing out a back-handed CYL dripping in irony and cloaked in closet brilliance,
amounting to an utter destruction of linear relationships.

What we are doing is dangerous, and you shouldn't try this at home. Make sure you have a chain saw, some peanut butter, and a tape recorder before going any further.

There are no relationships. All life is becoming. We think we have something real-- we dish out our souls, our hopes, our fake Disney dreams and receive a fat slap of predicted illness ~ it is beautiful. Hoping to reach Dancer Status (and leave our human roots behind), we always take the wrong path and end up where we started. Maybe that's because there isn't a destination?

THE NONSENSE BEGINS TO MAKE SENSE. Think about it. Nonsensical sense. "Oh, a nice & neat contradictory dualistic state. Been there. It's apparent in all of Godard's films-- a Brechtian approach, really." Oh, REALLY? Really, Governor Blagojevich? Not so fast. It's a little deeper than mere Simultaneous Living.

Much Ado About nothing! That's what it's all about. Each word I type yells -- please, read me, I am REAL, I am tangible, I am a point that you should and need to take into your pocket and carry with you. Resist. Resist. Retort.

We are steeped so deep in blood that is not ours, and we laugh at the blood that others celebrate out of their vaginas, creating tasty monologues that keep the UC revenue flowing (no pun intended). Along with this, the hopes, dreams, and lies of a binary stereotypical view of relationships flourish, as Women are Otherized, genders are separated, and the dichotomy of power reigns supreme. We want to break this solid, safe, and common path, and hop out of the Dali Llama line to construct our own peace bells. Giggle Giggle. "You are so funny," she says as she glances away from his powerful gaze. But I am all Woman! Hear me roar! No need, I can picture it, really.


So, we operate on the borderline of sanity and sanity--the EDGE, not to be confused with the guitarist from U2. What's scary and exciting is that ALL OF THIS (*motions with hands*)-- all of it-- seems absurd. Non-linear. Angst-ridden. Slow down, slow down, slow down. Maybe we are declaring war against a different type of idoling, taking the language from our philosopher buddies that chill in the texts we read before the midterms, and mixing it into a continual flux of New Speak? Come on, come. FOL with us.

The IDOLING of clean cut relationships is so prevalent. We want sense, we want it to be rational and predictable, when really it's all an icky mess of GOOOOOOOOO. You had an accident? What does that mean? GOOOOO!

Yes, staticity of reason and definitions and defining life through a structure as if life and living have anything at all to do with structure is utterly wasteful-- please, put it in the compost. Or recycle it. But nor do we preach! What this is instead is poetry-- do I have to spell out the humor? Ok, fine. H-U-M-O-R.

This is IT. If you're still here, you're HERE.

The "thisness" of life - being in tune with a murky, underwater frequency that bounces between MIDTERM-ESSAYS and toils part time when it's only NECE-SSARY/we aren't exactly high, but we aren't exactly low/ with one joint left, we only need one blow.

We are in reality, at last thats what it seems to me/ But really... F M L
because I'm william tell/thats right i shot that arrow and hit that
apple/i didnt kill my bro so i took two swigs of snapple.


Last night was bananas, but more so platanos/ 'cuz who needs English when
you're wearin' no zapatos???
(shoes)
shoeeeez

This is hardcore nooshing, another breed/FOL'ing, not assasin's creed.

Alright, we've lost it, it's true. FOL is beyond reason and comprehension, and begs other dimensions of time and
space. Firstly (and lastly), i think we should all agree that we have alternate selves living simultaneously on a distant planet-
skyline of red plateaus.

Into the Aether-- the Dust-- this conversation explodes. So as you try to figure out what the FUCK just happened- just ask yourself: why is so much emphasis placed on the "right person," the "right time," and the "right delivery"? You could really just DGAF through midterms and learn more in college by FOLing the failings and triumphs in a constant state of joy--

But yes, there is one moral: and that is that there is none. As we strive to figure out the question to #25 on the test: Please choose one of the following for your identity:
- Human
- Dancer

...we cross it out and instead write: I'm Human Dancer. Suck it. A state of constant becoming-- Neither human, nor a dancer, nor dancing human (nor a human-looking dancer wearing a leotard)--- I'm Human DANCER. Digest that.

The singularity of stupid lyrics limits the plurality of coexistence. Grammar needn't stick around for this one. I'll catch ya later, hit me up if you want Yogurt Park... (Did I just wave bye to Grammar? Maybe)

So stop in mid-air for a bit-- look at what really sucks in your life, and laugh at the beautiful inevitability of it.

Welcome to F.O.L. Nation, "Where everything that can go wrong, Does (repeatedly)" Population: 2.

Mayors (running unapposed: Katie Felber and Erika Budrovich).

PAYCE!

The Real Question is: Am I the only one?

Is it a secret, malicious, common instinct to belittle humanity?

Ultra-paranoia: the state in which one is overly-conscious of his or her inner mental workings, and that everything outside is a symptom of some larger disease that plagues society.

I love humanity, but on the whole, people annoy me. Strike that, reverse it. Caffienated hours upon hours sitting, watching your computer screen digest the regurgitated learnings of the building you hangout at for four years-- the good stuff is in the grass, down below the university library, waiting to be said behind a wall of smiles.

For the most part, this is depressing shit, but it's also great. There's nothing I love more than opening up my juicy laptop and typing whatever enters the Real-Ill-Nasty-Shit of my mind-- but then again it's not really "my" mind, if you're looking at it objectively. Objectively? Fuck-jectively. Oh yes, let us become attuned to the beautiful Becoming process of humans that surround us-- I am not a Hater, I'm a Muser-- but please, if we all are thinking it, why not say it?

I'm bored to be a human, and would rather be a dancer, but the external obligations of humanity push me forward on a roller-coaster that is operated by Doctors and Lawyers who love to diagnose my "random, weird" thoughts as symptomatic of a larger sociological disposition toward the Bourgeoise culture, as I am a by-product of it. Words, Words, Words.

All of this shoots at you-- who are you?-- begging to differ, flirting in the back, filtering these snippets of colorful thoughts through a newsfeed sponsored by your own network, your own school, your own neighborhood. We all have ties, I get that, but we all have Lies too, and I'd like to eliminate that. Do you realize your life goes too fast? Do you realize that so much is lost underneath assumptions, pointed glances, unspoken feelings, and misdirected anger? Yeah, you probably do. I want everything to be neat too but it's grossly ugly, messy, glorious, and exploding. On and on, on and on, inside your eyes.

I resist the idea that there is ONE person out there for me-- I am a naive, overly rational, hopeful, smart, and neurotic human being, lost in my own thoughts, in the way in which I perceive the world, in Self, in Ego, in Subjectivity. I love everything else though. Yeah. I dig, dig, dig it all but still am unhappy at the root of my being, and please, Dali Llama, let me enjoy my suffering and not try to locate the "root" cause of it and eliminate it through a rigorous practice of meditation that just straightens out the mental knots, and does not address them. I could sit for hours and type up the thoughts that go through my mind, and so could You, but where does that leave us?

Where does that leave us when we're sitting at a table across from one another, both wildly alive at the Lies that circle around us, but at the same time gleefully happy and our ability to grab life with a rope and pull it in around us--

Where does that leave us when we are walking by one another and not even aware that the ipod tunez blasting into our ears are really the same, but different frequencies?

Where does that leave us when one of us is hopefully unexperienced in the realm of Aether/Magic/Love/Holding Hands- and is left with a DVD box set of Woody Allen flicks mixed with Katherine Heigel nothings, building an edifice of Romance in our minds based on quoted movies that deliver profits worth more than your house (your Life?)

Yeah, so much more would be easier without this negotiation between the Inner and Outer worlds. I know I can't change it, and I'm not saying I want to-- I don't even know what it is I just argued for. It's alright with me, if you wrap your arms around me, but it's not alright when you say you "understand," when understand is just a 3-syllable word for "Can I get Wit You?" She's hot. Oh, perfect. Now this has become a relationship schpeal. She's hot. Yeah, so? Do you want to date her hotness? Does her hotness satisfy your onlooking neighbors and brosefs who look on in a faded state of approval? Probably.

I love guys, yes. But I hate the culture that has produced such a lying-game-of Hookup/Friend/Girlfriend ladders. If it were up to me, I'd be best friends, lovers, sisters, wives with the man I meet-- Oh fuck, I feel a Vagina Monolgue coming on.

Speak your own language, nearly impossible. But adapt? Easy. Too, too easy to adapt and Noosh with your surroundings, it all becomes a joke. So yeah, null and void, everything that is coming out of my hands is tired-angst-speak. I'm always down to sing, and more importantly, I'm always down for some Seinfeld.