Not that the world needs any help in generating suffering - in fact, one might suspect it was set up to do precisely that. To what end, I wouldn't know.
But I was thinking, and not for the first time. About this. I think often, you smarmy bastard.
Anyway. I was thinking: advertising is supposed to make people want stuff. No argument there. Does it really accomplish that? Maybe. Sometimes.
How many of you have watched old commercials, or seen old ads? Some? Usually they dissapear after a few weeks or months. But like great works of art, great advertisements should work for all time, for anyone who sees them. I'm not going to say I know of any, but there must be some.
So what you do is this: you simply submerse people in great old ads. Posters from the early 1900s. Newspaper spreads. Tv ads. Old newsreel bits. And especially focus on products that are no longer in existence. If the ads work, the people exposed should develop some desire for something that they cannot have.
Can you profit from this? Perhaps. Probably not directly. But is it fun? Yes. Oh, yes.
What? You can't possibly think it's undeserved? Christians and Buddhists both teach that one should be seperate from earthly desires, right? Presumably, longings for such earthly and transitory things are bad. So, this will have no effect on those people who have their priorities straight. Moral people, in other words. It is thus a perfect plan, for it punishes only the wicked. Heheheh.
Unfortunately, there is no guarantee it'd work, and worse yet, people are very clever. Those old products would probably be recreated and sold again, until people quickly remembered why the product failed in the first place. Does that mean the people would stop wanting those products, even with great ads? Or does it mean people already experience longing for things that no longer exist? Perhaps this system is already somewhat in effect....
It's an interesting idea.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
An interesting day
I already posted this to Myspace a few days ago, but I figured it'd last longer here. And people seemed to enjoy reading it, so I'll preserve it.
First order of business: Are you familiar with memory sticks, or flash cards, or whatever you want to call them? I have a SanDisk cruzer micro, 256 megs. I rely on it to carry files around, and it's pretty good.
No, I haven't sold out, but am definitely interested in doing so. This particular product is one I would be glad to advertise: it is awesome. Sure, it holds files and all that, nice, nice, whatever. But the other night, I went to do laundry. I was very tired, and kind of hurrying. I emptied my pockets, and usually I sort of inventory what I've got to make sure it's all there - but not that time. So the next morning I'm putting stuff in a clean pair of pants, and notice my flash card is missing. This distresses me, because that thing cost me $30, and it's really convenient. I figure it must've fallen out of my pocket at school, because the seats in some classrooms are sort of awkward, especially if you're trying to get comfortable, and so I figured I'd never see the thing again. It wouldn't matter if it was a $2 pen I lost - I'd feel terrible about losing something I still could've used. Heh. I am cheap.
Later in the day..., well, you know what's coming. I went to get my laundry out of the basket. I saw metal. I dug through my clothing. Sure enough, it was my flash card. It went through both the washer and dryer, and looked actually better than it did before. It was shinier. So, after I touched it to make sure it didn't have any charge, I plugged it into the USB port - and the damn thing worked!
That's impressive.
In other news...
Usually, one would think being attractive was a good thing, and yesterday (Monday 30th Jan.) I must have been especially good-looking (or something?). People just kept looking at me, and when I was at the pool, the lifeguard just couldn't seem to get her eyes off me. Of course, maybe she just thought I was crazy. That happens too. Heh. Probably pretty often.
So, after I was done swimming, I of course went back to the locker room and showered off. Now, I don't especially care about being naked - it's not like I'm showing off anything new or unusual. I mean, hell, we're all naked under our clothes, right? So I usually don't get dressed until I'm all the way dry. I was standing there, toweling off, and I see this runty half-retarded looking little guy walking down the corridor towards me. Nothing unusual about people walking down corridors, but I hated him at first sight. He is just one of those people you instinctively want to hurt. Maybe you've never felt that, and if so, you're very lucky. He's apparently walking to the showers, and was naked as well. I began walking to the urinals, and as he passed me by, I noticed he was looking at my crotch.... Well, his gaze was a bit more specific than that.
A string of profanities ran through my mind, something along the lines of "what the fuck is your problem, you half-bit queer? You never seen a cock before? Your mother must've been a dumptruck, cause she sure dumped a load when she had you." And other things. You know how thoughts are in the moment - incomplete and only possessing a few words. The ideas are there, but it's only later that they get embellished with coherent speech. I considered how I might turn this sort of thing to my advantage - I could charge people money to look at me - but couldn't come up with anything both profitable and honorable. After I'd washed my hands and weighed myself (did you know that I somehow lose two pounds every time I swim? I really don't get it), I returned to my pile of stuff. That ugly little shit was sitting on a bench right outside the shower, toweling himself, and staring intently at me.
Then my mind replayed the scene, and I looked again. Sure enough, the towel was only covering his crotch. And it seems a certain body part was in need of excessive drying, because he just kept rubbing it. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt - but it was obvious by the towel's outline that he deserved none. And he was still staring. More than that - it was with rapt admiration.
Immediately, I, too, began fantasizing - though probably not in the way he would wish. It occured to me that I would love to know how much damage I could do to someone without actually killing them. It also occured to me that I didn't know how quickly I would be able to carry that out -and that was also worth knowing. An experiment was in order! The satisfaction of hearing his ribs crack, of feeling the obscenely beautiful thud of his head against the concrete wall, the excitement of the rushing chase and the madness of violence - but then, before I was fully aware of it, I had decided to be calm.
I am not sure why, but my line of thought was something like, "he is not an immediate threat. he is disgusting. do you really want to touch that filth? he might actually enjoy it. that makes me want to kill him even more. but he's no threat. they're queer-friendly here...they wouldn't listen to me...i'd likely be caught. since when has that stopped you? but he's so pathetic. he's so worthless it's not worth hurting him."
There it was, calmness. I won't deny I still felt a half-psychotic rage, but it was under control. I looked again; he was still beating off madly with his towel, and he was fully aware of my disgusted glare. I'm not sure if he didn't think I'd figure it out, or what, but there he still sat, pathetic deformed little creature that he was, fucking a towel. I dressed myself. I considered, once I had my shoes on, beating the living shit out of him anyway. "Shoes have better grip than bare feet on the floor, after all", I reasoned. Not that I would've needed it: I automatically look for any justification that'll let me act, that's all. He was so little, though, and so pathetically, laughably worthless...perhaps I thought it far more cruel to do nothing, to allow him to live that way. I really have mellowed with age.
I regret not acting now, in a way. I still wish to do horrifically painful things to him, and I've always wanted to know if I could drive my hand through the soft underside of someone's jaw. I've always been able to hold back enough not to do anything really stupid like that in the past, and I should be able to continue, but I really am pissed off. If I never see him again, that would probably be best.
Heh. I'm glad to have written this down - it's the sort of thing bizarre enough that you start questioning whether it ever really happened. It's also good stress-relief.
So anyway, my point is, being attractive is not always good (though I guess you ladies already knew that). And though I don't mind gay people existing, in some sort of detached, mental way - in reality, I hate fags. Good day.
First order of business: Are you familiar with memory sticks, or flash cards, or whatever you want to call them? I have a SanDisk cruzer micro, 256 megs. I rely on it to carry files around, and it's pretty good.
No, I haven't sold out, but am definitely interested in doing so. This particular product is one I would be glad to advertise: it is awesome. Sure, it holds files and all that, nice, nice, whatever. But the other night, I went to do laundry. I was very tired, and kind of hurrying. I emptied my pockets, and usually I sort of inventory what I've got to make sure it's all there - but not that time. So the next morning I'm putting stuff in a clean pair of pants, and notice my flash card is missing. This distresses me, because that thing cost me $30, and it's really convenient. I figure it must've fallen out of my pocket at school, because the seats in some classrooms are sort of awkward, especially if you're trying to get comfortable, and so I figured I'd never see the thing again. It wouldn't matter if it was a $2 pen I lost - I'd feel terrible about losing something I still could've used. Heh. I am cheap.
Later in the day..., well, you know what's coming. I went to get my laundry out of the basket. I saw metal. I dug through my clothing. Sure enough, it was my flash card. It went through both the washer and dryer, and looked actually better than it did before. It was shinier. So, after I touched it to make sure it didn't have any charge, I plugged it into the USB port - and the damn thing worked!
That's impressive.
In other news...
Usually, one would think being attractive was a good thing, and yesterday (Monday 30th Jan.) I must have been especially good-looking (or something?). People just kept looking at me, and when I was at the pool, the lifeguard just couldn't seem to get her eyes off me. Of course, maybe she just thought I was crazy. That happens too. Heh. Probably pretty often.
So, after I was done swimming, I of course went back to the locker room and showered off. Now, I don't especially care about being naked - it's not like I'm showing off anything new or unusual. I mean, hell, we're all naked under our clothes, right? So I usually don't get dressed until I'm all the way dry. I was standing there, toweling off, and I see this runty half-retarded looking little guy walking down the corridor towards me. Nothing unusual about people walking down corridors, but I hated him at first sight. He is just one of those people you instinctively want to hurt. Maybe you've never felt that, and if so, you're very lucky. He's apparently walking to the showers, and was naked as well. I began walking to the urinals, and as he passed me by, I noticed he was looking at my crotch.... Well, his gaze was a bit more specific than that.
A string of profanities ran through my mind, something along the lines of "what the fuck is your problem, you half-bit queer? You never seen a cock before? Your mother must've been a dumptruck, cause she sure dumped a load when she had you." And other things. You know how thoughts are in the moment - incomplete and only possessing a few words. The ideas are there, but it's only later that they get embellished with coherent speech. I considered how I might turn this sort of thing to my advantage - I could charge people money to look at me - but couldn't come up with anything both profitable and honorable. After I'd washed my hands and weighed myself (did you know that I somehow lose two pounds every time I swim? I really don't get it), I returned to my pile of stuff. That ugly little shit was sitting on a bench right outside the shower, toweling himself, and staring intently at me.
Then my mind replayed the scene, and I looked again. Sure enough, the towel was only covering his crotch. And it seems a certain body part was in need of excessive drying, because he just kept rubbing it. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt - but it was obvious by the towel's outline that he deserved none. And he was still staring. More than that - it was with rapt admiration.
Immediately, I, too, began fantasizing - though probably not in the way he would wish. It occured to me that I would love to know how much damage I could do to someone without actually killing them. It also occured to me that I didn't know how quickly I would be able to carry that out -and that was also worth knowing. An experiment was in order! The satisfaction of hearing his ribs crack, of feeling the obscenely beautiful thud of his head against the concrete wall, the excitement of the rushing chase and the madness of violence - but then, before I was fully aware of it, I had decided to be calm.
I am not sure why, but my line of thought was something like, "he is not an immediate threat. he is disgusting. do you really want to touch that filth? he might actually enjoy it. that makes me want to kill him even more. but he's no threat. they're queer-friendly here...they wouldn't listen to me...i'd likely be caught. since when has that stopped you? but he's so pathetic. he's so worthless it's not worth hurting him."
There it was, calmness. I won't deny I still felt a half-psychotic rage, but it was under control. I looked again; he was still beating off madly with his towel, and he was fully aware of my disgusted glare. I'm not sure if he didn't think I'd figure it out, or what, but there he still sat, pathetic deformed little creature that he was, fucking a towel. I dressed myself. I considered, once I had my shoes on, beating the living shit out of him anyway. "Shoes have better grip than bare feet on the floor, after all", I reasoned. Not that I would've needed it: I automatically look for any justification that'll let me act, that's all. He was so little, though, and so pathetically, laughably worthless...perhaps I thought it far more cruel to do nothing, to allow him to live that way. I really have mellowed with age.
I regret not acting now, in a way. I still wish to do horrifically painful things to him, and I've always wanted to know if I could drive my hand through the soft underside of someone's jaw. I've always been able to hold back enough not to do anything really stupid like that in the past, and I should be able to continue, but I really am pissed off. If I never see him again, that would probably be best.
Heh. I'm glad to have written this down - it's the sort of thing bizarre enough that you start questioning whether it ever really happened. It's also good stress-relief.
So anyway, my point is, being attractive is not always good (though I guess you ladies already knew that). And though I don't mind gay people existing, in some sort of detached, mental way - in reality, I hate fags. Good day.
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