we're the recycling generation. living in the crisis age. we do not create original ideas for we believe there to be none left. so we recycle. reuse. we recycle everything. every aspect of past generations. past ideas. we take and alter an idea. we manipulate them. mutilate them. till they're unrecognisable and we feel that they may pass as an original idea. or until we believe that it's different enough to be considered artistic interpretation. we do not have anything of our own but this habit of recycling. i mourn our unborn children. the next generation. they'll have nothing. they'll keep recycling because that is all we will be able to teach them. much like our parents had nothing to teach us but what they watched on television. the tv generation gave birth to the recycling generation. we take everything they have. and all other things past. we recycle shakespeare. we recycle 80s camp. we recycle 80s music. 70s music. 60s music. 50s music. we recycle our parents and their parents and the parents of everybody we know. we recycle everybody we know. if they have an idea we recycle it. we're not the only ones, every generation has done it's share of recycling. but we only recycle. nothing more. we do not create because we could not be taught to have an imagination. we could not be taught to have an imagination because our parents didn't have one. we didn't lose our imagination to television and video games. we could never be given an imagination because our parents lost their's. those of us lucky enough to know somebody who remembers imagination put it to use recycling old ideas into media for the rest of our generation. they don't realise it's just a recycled idea so we seem to be great artists. but we're not. we don't know the meaning of art. we don't know how to create. only recreate. we're a generation of recreationists. recyclers. we're the recycling generation. living in the crisis age.
every event in our lives is magnified and blown out of proportion and pixelated beyond recognition until it resembles a crisis. a process much similar to those of the sasquatch and loch ness monster photos. there's something in the photo, but we don't know what it really is so all we can do is assume that it could be what they say it is. it's not familiar so we can only believe what those who were there have to say about it. a crippling habit of ours. we don't create, only recycle, and we can't determine what's created, recycled or recreated, manipulated or mutilated, composed or decomposed. if it's unclear it must be what they say it is. we rely on them. and they take advantage of us. they control us through that inability to know for ourselves. much like the catholic priests and the illiterated serfs. if we don't know we can't argue. and few enough of us know that we're too scattered to have the strength to make a difference.
to be continued. altered. reattempted. reused. revisited. rewritten. and ultimately recycled.
25.12.08
14.11.08
fuck...
i'm self centered, arrogant, and pretentious. everything i think or speak pertains only to me or myself. i'm disrespectful and disgusting. nauseating. i'm closed minded and everything that doesn't pertain to me i find unimportant and trivial, even false, and i disregard it completely. and i hate myself for being this way. for realising that i am this way. i don't deserve to exist. i shouldn't exist. but i do. so be it. let it be. puke your heart out and let it be. fuck all of you.
4.11.08
the sickness of existence.
http://tuesmonpetitecouchon.blogspot.com/2008/11/vote-fuck-you.html
hence i've given up on politics. so many things need to happen. so many things (next to all of them) aren't what they're called. fucking misnomers. it's all such a fucking scam. sham. and i alone can't do anything to change it. so i've done what comes naturally to me and a startling majority: i've given up. i choose to focus my energy on other more trivial tasks that allow me an easy out should my ways be questioned. =) such a happy existence... all i have to do equal a damn right parenthese and everything is just dandy. i could spend my life fighting for a cause. the outcomes of which are: a) nobody hears or listens to what i have to say, b) people do listen, no changes actually come about and i go down in history as a hero who dedicated his life to such and such a cause, c) somebody kills me and i become a martyr against my will, or d) changes do come about, only i'm either dead or too old and decrepit to know what happened so i still die unrequited. personally that's not for me.if that's such a bad thing oh well i guess. there's my easy out. my thoughts for all they may or may not be worth.
so many people would say that life is better, more fulfilling, more worthwhile if you dedicate your life to some cause. personally i'm selfish i guess. i'd rather do things for myself. dedicate my life to myself. not that i'm the most important person, but just because i've found in my short 18 years that i'm happier living for myself rather than society. of course there are certain things that come with more difficulty in such a position. finding employment is one such thing. and maintaining relationships can also be difficult with this stance. i can't count the number of people i've driven away with my antisocial bullshit. but i don't change. i won't change. i don't feel that i should have to comprimise myself and my values, morals, whatever the fuck you want to call them, to survive in this world. especially a country like america which is founded on freedom. i should be free to do what i will so long as i'm not harming other people.
but no. america, land of the free, doesn't particularly like me. sure i can have my thoughts, and dress how i like, and spout what i want to spout about whatever i want to spout about, but it seems so far in my life that if that's the way i plan to lead my life i'm going to be forever stuck living with my mother with no job, etc. etc. etc. it seems that eccentricity comes at a price. i'm not willing to pay that price however, or comprimise my eccentricity. my eccentricity isn't eccentricity to me: it is me. in my eyes, i am what i do. i am what i say i am. i am.
i am. period. i just, plain and fucking simple, no bells no whistles, i am. i exist. at times that thought nauseates me. existence as a whole nauseates me from time to time. the fact that it's so simple yet complex. every moment in our lives is. the moment doesn't exist. everything in it does though. moments, and minutes, and hours, days, weeks, years, months. time. it's a concept invented by man to chronicle it's adventures. it's a filing system. what's real, what exists, is what's in those moments. as you read this you exist. your desk exists. your computer exists. the electrical impluses within it exist. the words you're reading however. they don't exist. the image of them exists. but the words themselves are only an idea. and ideas do not exist. think about that. ideas. the thoughts in your head. they don't exist unto themselves. they are entirely a part of you. you exist. but your thoughts are just energy. the energy exists, but not the thought.
and our thoughts, even us period, have no specific purpose in this world. everything that exists does so with no order or if there is an order it's not for any specific reason. everything just is. in a big jumble of people and trees and air and molecules and energy and everything is bouncing off itself and everything else and it doesn't matter if it's random or ordered, because it'll still continue to bounce and jump and spin around and around with no final destination. every existent ends up where it dies and that's it. once it's dead it is no more. people die and they cease to exist. trees die and the tree ceases to exist. it becomes a corpse. but the tree is gone. the person becomes a corpse and is gone. the person does not exist. it has become a corpse. that corpse will be buried because people do what they will. they have their thoughts and beliefs which ultimately mean nothing, but they take the corpse and bury it somewhere. and eventually that corpse ceases to exist. it becomes the dirt which is around it. it becomes feces. it becomes minerals. it becomes decor. whatever. but the corpse ceases to exist. are you nauseous yet?
take the people who have gone down in history. the people remembered forever. they don't really exist. that person who said this important thing, and did these important things, and dedicated his life to such and such an important cause, doesn't exist. depending on who that person is, the corpse that once was his body still exists. but that person ceased to exist the moment he died. and the idea of that person never existed in the first place. pictures of him in newspapers existed, though only the picture. the image. the ink on the paper. printed words about him existed. not as words but only as ink on paper. the person and all the ideals he represented do not exist. so what's the point of becoming that person? all they have to show for it are some bones and some ink on paper. and they don't exist any longer so they can't even show that much for it.
it may sound like bullshit, but if you think about it it should make sense. the question i ask, or have been asked is: if everything ceases to exist at the moment of death what's the point of doing anything until then? my answer to that question is simply, whatever satisfies you. i personally don't care if what satisfies you is raping 7 year old girls with morning stars while filling their eyes with mace and 15 day old crusty cum. that personally doesn't satisfy me in the least, in fact it makes me nauseous. but it's not my place to tell you what the appropriate way to live your life is. yes i believe that it is a very bad thing to do. i don't believe that other people should have to suffer for you to have a fulfilling life. but it's not my place to stop you. i don't believe it's anybody's place to tell you how to live your life, but it's not my place to stop them from telling you that. satisfaction doesn't have to be a pleasure activity, or a leisure activity. it doesn't have to benefit you in any way other than making you satisfied with what your life means to you. ghandi was satisfied with his life. that was wonderful. jeffrey dahmer may have also been satisfied with his life. that's just as wonderful. neither life would be satisfying for me, but it did the trick for them, so who am i to say they're wrong? they're not wrong. nobody's wrong unless they're lying to themselves. authenticity. be authentic. be true to yourself and your beliefs. if you are then even the sickness of existence should be bearable.
hence i've given up on politics. so many things need to happen. so many things (next to all of them) aren't what they're called. fucking misnomers. it's all such a fucking scam. sham. and i alone can't do anything to change it. so i've done what comes naturally to me and a startling majority: i've given up. i choose to focus my energy on other more trivial tasks that allow me an easy out should my ways be questioned. =) such a happy existence... all i have to do equal a damn right parenthese and everything is just dandy. i could spend my life fighting for a cause. the outcomes of which are: a) nobody hears or listens to what i have to say, b) people do listen, no changes actually come about and i go down in history as a hero who dedicated his life to such and such a cause, c) somebody kills me and i become a martyr against my will, or d) changes do come about, only i'm either dead or too old and decrepit to know what happened so i still die unrequited. personally that's not for me.if that's such a bad thing oh well i guess. there's my easy out. my thoughts for all they may or may not be worth.
so many people would say that life is better, more fulfilling, more worthwhile if you dedicate your life to some cause. personally i'm selfish i guess. i'd rather do things for myself. dedicate my life to myself. not that i'm the most important person, but just because i've found in my short 18 years that i'm happier living for myself rather than society. of course there are certain things that come with more difficulty in such a position. finding employment is one such thing. and maintaining relationships can also be difficult with this stance. i can't count the number of people i've driven away with my antisocial bullshit. but i don't change. i won't change. i don't feel that i should have to comprimise myself and my values, morals, whatever the fuck you want to call them, to survive in this world. especially a country like america which is founded on freedom. i should be free to do what i will so long as i'm not harming other people.
but no. america, land of the free, doesn't particularly like me. sure i can have my thoughts, and dress how i like, and spout what i want to spout about whatever i want to spout about, but it seems so far in my life that if that's the way i plan to lead my life i'm going to be forever stuck living with my mother with no job, etc. etc. etc. it seems that eccentricity comes at a price. i'm not willing to pay that price however, or comprimise my eccentricity. my eccentricity isn't eccentricity to me: it is me. in my eyes, i am what i do. i am what i say i am. i am.
i am. period. i just, plain and fucking simple, no bells no whistles, i am. i exist. at times that thought nauseates me. existence as a whole nauseates me from time to time. the fact that it's so simple yet complex. every moment in our lives is. the moment doesn't exist. everything in it does though. moments, and minutes, and hours, days, weeks, years, months. time. it's a concept invented by man to chronicle it's adventures. it's a filing system. what's real, what exists, is what's in those moments. as you read this you exist. your desk exists. your computer exists. the electrical impluses within it exist. the words you're reading however. they don't exist. the image of them exists. but the words themselves are only an idea. and ideas do not exist. think about that. ideas. the thoughts in your head. they don't exist unto themselves. they are entirely a part of you. you exist. but your thoughts are just energy. the energy exists, but not the thought.
and our thoughts, even us period, have no specific purpose in this world. everything that exists does so with no order or if there is an order it's not for any specific reason. everything just is. in a big jumble of people and trees and air and molecules and energy and everything is bouncing off itself and everything else and it doesn't matter if it's random or ordered, because it'll still continue to bounce and jump and spin around and around with no final destination. every existent ends up where it dies and that's it. once it's dead it is no more. people die and they cease to exist. trees die and the tree ceases to exist. it becomes a corpse. but the tree is gone. the person becomes a corpse and is gone. the person does not exist. it has become a corpse. that corpse will be buried because people do what they will. they have their thoughts and beliefs which ultimately mean nothing, but they take the corpse and bury it somewhere. and eventually that corpse ceases to exist. it becomes the dirt which is around it. it becomes feces. it becomes minerals. it becomes decor. whatever. but the corpse ceases to exist. are you nauseous yet?
take the people who have gone down in history. the people remembered forever. they don't really exist. that person who said this important thing, and did these important things, and dedicated his life to such and such an important cause, doesn't exist. depending on who that person is, the corpse that once was his body still exists. but that person ceased to exist the moment he died. and the idea of that person never existed in the first place. pictures of him in newspapers existed, though only the picture. the image. the ink on the paper. printed words about him existed. not as words but only as ink on paper. the person and all the ideals he represented do not exist. so what's the point of becoming that person? all they have to show for it are some bones and some ink on paper. and they don't exist any longer so they can't even show that much for it.
it may sound like bullshit, but if you think about it it should make sense. the question i ask, or have been asked is: if everything ceases to exist at the moment of death what's the point of doing anything until then? my answer to that question is simply, whatever satisfies you. i personally don't care if what satisfies you is raping 7 year old girls with morning stars while filling their eyes with mace and 15 day old crusty cum. that personally doesn't satisfy me in the least, in fact it makes me nauseous. but it's not my place to tell you what the appropriate way to live your life is. yes i believe that it is a very bad thing to do. i don't believe that other people should have to suffer for you to have a fulfilling life. but it's not my place to stop you. i don't believe it's anybody's place to tell you how to live your life, but it's not my place to stop them from telling you that. satisfaction doesn't have to be a pleasure activity, or a leisure activity. it doesn't have to benefit you in any way other than making you satisfied with what your life means to you. ghandi was satisfied with his life. that was wonderful. jeffrey dahmer may have also been satisfied with his life. that's just as wonderful. neither life would be satisfying for me, but it did the trick for them, so who am i to say they're wrong? they're not wrong. nobody's wrong unless they're lying to themselves. authenticity. be authentic. be true to yourself and your beliefs. if you are then even the sickness of existence should be bearable.
3.11.08
29.10.08
nostalgia
summer's over.
one more end in my life.
newton's third law
is just a bit slow to act.
"for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction"
for every loss in my life
i should have an equal gain
should i not?
well i'm just about
to fall and drown
in nostalgia again
emotion wearing through
the apathetic mask
usually so rational
now with a quivering voice and lip
welled up eyes glassy
lost in thought
drowning in nostalgia as well
this proud man
always self made
bed ridden
unable to make himself
such a swift decay
four months
now they just want him
comfortable
i know what that means.
and i shrug it off
but there's more
what really happens after?
not to him
but to the rest.
it's going to be a long winter. a long bad winter. it's the end of an era. it's the end of one of the summers of my life. i keep slipping into nostalgic pools of consciousness. i need to start walking more carefully. i have to be carefull not to run too fast. and i need to learn not to panic when i do fall. that i can just tread nostalgia long enough to swim over to the edge of the pool and climb out. but nostalgia is thicker than water. and i've got weaker lungs than i should. but i can climb out. i know i can. i think... my grandfather is dying of a brain tumor. he's bed ridden in his living room. and i'm on night watch. i sit up with him all night to make sure he sleeps well. my grandmother and her sister in law can't stay up that late. it's depressing. seeing them in this state. all of them. i've only known my grandfather to go to a hospital once in my life. and now he's bedridden and almost incoherent. i've never seen my grandmother so emotional and nostalgic. and i've never seen such affection on this side of my family as i'm seeing between my grandfather and his sister. twin sister. it's getting to me, but it's not unbearable. but other stressors outside of the family are always a factor. and if they get to be too great then i may be a little fucked. i just hope that the outside world comes to my aid this time and does something to help me for once. there's so much shit going on at once. my grandfather dying. my cousin's father is schizophrenic in an asylum for recovery and his parents are trying to take my cousin away from my grandmother. they're the reason his father is in an asylum and they want to fuck his head too. it's just ridiculous. and the stress my grandmother is under right now. it's amazing she can get out of bed in the morning or answer the phone. such admirable strength really. such conviction. but i can see her buckling. so i sit up all night watching my grandfather die. i didn't get a chance to with my other one. my father didn't want me around it. one decision of his that i do resent. the rest i don't care about. but that one. it does bother me. i'll never get around to telling thim though. whatever. it doesn't matter. fuck it. life goes on. always.
one more end in my life.
newton's third law
is just a bit slow to act.
"for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction"
for every loss in my life
i should have an equal gain
should i not?
well i'm just about
to fall and drown
in nostalgia again
emotion wearing through
the apathetic mask
usually so rational
now with a quivering voice and lip
welled up eyes glassy
lost in thought
drowning in nostalgia as well
this proud man
always self made
bed ridden
unable to make himself
such a swift decay
four months
now they just want him
comfortable
i know what that means.
and i shrug it off
but there's more
what really happens after?
not to him
but to the rest.
it's going to be a long winter. a long bad winter. it's the end of an era. it's the end of one of the summers of my life. i keep slipping into nostalgic pools of consciousness. i need to start walking more carefully. i have to be carefull not to run too fast. and i need to learn not to panic when i do fall. that i can just tread nostalgia long enough to swim over to the edge of the pool and climb out. but nostalgia is thicker than water. and i've got weaker lungs than i should. but i can climb out. i know i can. i think... my grandfather is dying of a brain tumor. he's bed ridden in his living room. and i'm on night watch. i sit up with him all night to make sure he sleeps well. my grandmother and her sister in law can't stay up that late. it's depressing. seeing them in this state. all of them. i've only known my grandfather to go to a hospital once in my life. and now he's bedridden and almost incoherent. i've never seen my grandmother so emotional and nostalgic. and i've never seen such affection on this side of my family as i'm seeing between my grandfather and his sister. twin sister. it's getting to me, but it's not unbearable. but other stressors outside of the family are always a factor. and if they get to be too great then i may be a little fucked. i just hope that the outside world comes to my aid this time and does something to help me for once. there's so much shit going on at once. my grandfather dying. my cousin's father is schizophrenic in an asylum for recovery and his parents are trying to take my cousin away from my grandmother. they're the reason his father is in an asylum and they want to fuck his head too. it's just ridiculous. and the stress my grandmother is under right now. it's amazing she can get out of bed in the morning or answer the phone. such admirable strength really. such conviction. but i can see her buckling. so i sit up all night watching my grandfather die. i didn't get a chance to with my other one. my father didn't want me around it. one decision of his that i do resent. the rest i don't care about. but that one. it does bother me. i'll never get around to telling thim though. whatever. it doesn't matter. fuck it. life goes on. always.
1.10.08
confession
i am not philosophical. i am not fucking deep. i am no more superior than the little shit next
door snorting coke off his obviously oblivious mother's bureau. i am no more than an immature,
irresponsible, fucking loser; addicted to myself and shooting up straight ego like a god damned junk
head.i have nothing new to say and no new way to say all the old shit, and i never will. even this
heartfelt, epiphanous confession is trite and worn out as every other hollywood sequel or fuck up.
i am a typical, foul-mouthed, teenaged fuck. i am malnourished. underfed and oversexed. what i
have i did not earn. everything i know has been handed to me. i haven't worked a day in my damned life.
i'm one more digit on the hand that is the population of apathetic, unappreciative, antagonistic,
arrogant, undeserving teenaged parasites, living off what we can take and what is given to us. we are
draining society of all integrity and dignity it ever thought it had. and we are savoring every fucking
drop.
is this natural? is this the way it works? is this life? am i the only one who realises this? or
perhaps it's not a realisation. perhaps it's just a belief. either way, if i'm the only one, there may be
hope for me yet. i say now, relapsing into an ego daze, perhaps i am the one who will open all the eyes.
perhaps i am the redeemer. maybe i am salvation. or maybe this is no more than an ego hallucination. i
can't tell the difference anymore. i'm too far gone...
door snorting coke off his obviously oblivious mother's bureau. i am no more than an immature,
irresponsible, fucking loser; addicted to myself and shooting up straight ego like a god damned junk
head.i have nothing new to say and no new way to say all the old shit, and i never will. even this
heartfelt, epiphanous confession is trite and worn out as every other hollywood sequel or fuck up.
i am a typical, foul-mouthed, teenaged fuck. i am malnourished. underfed and oversexed. what i
have i did not earn. everything i know has been handed to me. i haven't worked a day in my damned life.
i'm one more digit on the hand that is the population of apathetic, unappreciative, antagonistic,
arrogant, undeserving teenaged parasites, living off what we can take and what is given to us. we are
draining society of all integrity and dignity it ever thought it had. and we are savoring every fucking
drop.
is this natural? is this the way it works? is this life? am i the only one who realises this? or
perhaps it's not a realisation. perhaps it's just a belief. either way, if i'm the only one, there may be
hope for me yet. i say now, relapsing into an ego daze, perhaps i am the one who will open all the eyes.
perhaps i am the redeemer. maybe i am salvation. or maybe this is no more than an ego hallucination. i
can't tell the difference anymore. i'm too far gone...
8.9.08
flowers and cigarettes 12.4.07
flowery spray and tobacco smoke
swirl around my fingers
staining them yellow
and perfuming them to choke
swirl around my fingers
staining them yellow
and perfuming them to choke
raw fish and raw flesh
rug burn stains her knees
red as the salmon in the throat
rug burn stains her knees
red as the salmon in the throat
nicotine and endorphins
the violet fluid flows
through skin and bone
to the torrid torched infection
the violet fluid flows
through skin and bone
to the torrid torched infection
icy snow and shut pole
numb feet tinged with pain
while the camera flash
forces the snow blue
numb feet tinged with pain
while the camera flash
forces the snow blue
toilet bowl cleaner and tequila
mr. clean's stomach acid eating the linoleum
fetch him the dandelions from the freezer
echoes of a green day lost
now trapped in this box of metal and freon
shall rouse him from his grotesque reverie
mr. clean's stomach acid eating the linoleum
fetch him the dandelions from the freezer
echoes of a green day lost
now trapped in this box of metal and freon
shall rouse him from his grotesque reverie
flowers and cigarettes
in the night's black
lighted white by ice
now fades down to grey
in the night's black
lighted white by ice
now fades down to grey
god ash 6.5.07
when the god ash falls
from the sky
and there's nothing left
but to say goodbye
it doesn't hurt
i will never cry
will i live?
or do i die?
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choke
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choke
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
where am you?
what are i?
if i go away
will you cry?
the god ash falls
and bites my eye
is this truth?
or a lie?
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choked
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choked
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your life down
but i'm the one who dies
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your lie down
but i'm the one who dies
when the god ash falls
from the sky
and the lights go dim and die
i'm all alone
no you just i
i can't cry
just say goodbye
but i'm done
i can't run
from myself
any longer
the god ash falls
in my mind
as i lie down
and die
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your life down
but i'm the one who dies
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your lie down
but i'm the one who dies
i'm the one who dies
i'm the one who cries
i'm the one who
lies alone
with
no one
to hold
my eyes don't cry
but my heart does try
i lie
i lie
i lie
i lie alone and die
from the sky
and there's nothing left
but to say goodbye
it doesn't hurt
i will never cry
will i live?
or do i die?
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choke
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choke
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
where am you?
what are i?
if i go away
will you cry?
the god ash falls
and bites my eye
is this truth?
or a lie?
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choked
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
so now i'm
running
from myself
i hope you
choked
upon the god ash
and i don't
regret lighting the fire
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your life down
but i'm the one who dies
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your lie down
but i'm the one who dies
when the god ash falls
from the sky
and the lights go dim and die
i'm all alone
no you just i
i can't cry
just say goodbye
but i'm done
i can't run
from myself
any longer
the god ash falls
in my mind
as i lie down
and die
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your life down
but i'm the one who dies
i burned your god down
i burned your house down
i burned your lie down
but i'm the one who dies
i'm the one who dies
i'm the one who cries
i'm the one who
lies alone
with
no one
to hold
my eyes don't cry
but my heart does try
i lie
i lie
i lie
i lie alone and die
first entry...
i will not lie to you. heh. i may tell stories. i may sing songs. but i will never outright lie to you. i may speak from another's point of view. but i will never lie to you. of that you may be sure.
you can also be sure that you exist. i can't be sure you exist. but you can. i can be sure i exist. in fact i am. but you can't ever be sure that i exist. much the same i can never be sure you exist... you see where this might end up. 75 lines futher down and no new information revealed. i may be a philosopher, but i don't mince words. and i don't like to repeat myself.
you can also be sure that you exist. i can't be sure you exist. but you can. i can be sure i exist. in fact i am. but you can't ever be sure that i exist. much the same i can never be sure you exist... you see where this might end up. 75 lines futher down and no new information revealed. i may be a philosopher, but i don't mince words. and i don't like to repeat myself.
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