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 Now online (1)big ...and 93 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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for some time now i´ve encountered someone whose bare existence is so radical he has forced me to question the way i think and care about the world and the people living in it. the incredible ranting man. is he a superhero, a real superhero? with an actual realistic superpower, not like the superpowers, that are fun, but have no real value. i mean where is the world´s benefit for you to fly through the clouds, laser-unbutton girls with your eyes or melting someones phone in the sub? this man posesses real power. The power to touch you within. I cant remember the first time i saw him, maybe i saw him running up or down the street with his briefcase. Or i heard him shouting while i was in the park with my girlfriend. His voice too far away to understand what he was saying, but unmistakingly knowing the wrong that was being done. The pain this man feels. weltschmerz. He constantly is in an argue, hasting in one moment, suddenly stopping and turning talking back at someone whose intransigency could not be helped. I thought he may be rehearsing, using the streets as a stage or doing somsort of a live art. but the man is art himself, the street is his stage, bypassers a baffled audience. Some people look down, when he angrily yells, pretending not to hear him calling erdogan or other head of states just men, reciting praises of dictators and warmongers. everything in the media we try not to think too much about, apart from the 60 seconds share of prime time news before our favoutrite shows. Dont look, dont react, dont talk to him, hes a lunatic, a radical or worse and his madness spreads like a disease, if you make eyecontact,it seeps directly into your perfectly tuned ignorant brain. run quick, his voice is getting louder! |
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i hope he finds solitude, lives a life between his rants, i dont know, i only know him as the ranting man, when he strips his cloak and shows his true color and makes his speeches like an ironic howard beale. whenever i see him i think about the way i look at other people,the way i chose to perceive the world and maybe i adjust my perfectly to ignorance tuned boxy brain, and if it is just for a tad bit. by the look on the peoples faces he appears to be a menace, a lunatic, a nuisance, to some an inspiration and to me a true hero. |
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do you have ranting men or women in your area? |
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^ I am my local areas ranting man, i just do it under my breath |
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there is a local ranting old man around here on wheel chair, he goes mad after teenagers and they mock him since he cant move. the last time i saw him was during the europeans, the day italy went out. he said 'A GLASS OF WINE!' and me 'go italy' |
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we all know teenagers are the root of all evil. i never was a teenager of course. |
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be proud and shout, hypie |
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im more of a mutterer, i was stuck behind this old dithering woman behind the chemist today, im a patience person, but she was trying my patience, so i muttered to myself, when i wait ages waiting for cars to cross the road i mutter "jesus christ" |
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eye contact is definitely a high-bandwidth mechanism, but it wouldn't transmit anything of any sense without rhythm |
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the perception of time is elastic. time flies like an arrow, when you're having fun. fruit flies like a banana, if the summer pun is over. things go into slow motion when another hunter weaves into moving traffic, attempting to beat you to the food. your clock rate spikes and your latency plunges, slow motion, slow motion. the context of a situation determines the tempo, and consequently one needs a sort of elastic grid mechanism that can invisibly expand and contract with the flexibility of chronos v. kronos. |
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crossing the road on foot, when there's traffic. look at the traffic. step to the curb. your leap is imminent. everyone sees it; slows. or is it imminent? is it ~really~? you're lingering. they figure you've changed your mind. they speed up. you step off. chaos. a washing machine full of ill-tempered cats. no, that's not how you do it, wrong, bad dog |
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i'll scale all the way up from a mutter to a yell. today i was at the fat food depot in the spot after the thing. a solid archetype of pam from archer at age 49 rolls up in a fatmobile next to me and parks in the handicap slot, which has the additional side-effect of blocking everyone trying to leave the drive-thru. not enough to stop them, but enough to irritate them solidly. my windows are up and i say aloud: "oh, yes, you're handicapped alright -- mentally." i didn't mutter. i announced it firmly and clearly. windows open, sure, that's a mutter. but they were up, so i scaled up my resentment. the fesitivities continued as she methodically began dumping at least three plastic fat depot cups full of ice and soda or something out her window onto the parking lot. did she change her mind? were they the previous three drinks she had at at 7am? it was 7:30am or so. another driver, annoyed from her obstruction of the egress, tried to cut off moving traffic. middle fingers about. all this lady's fault. she is still dumping shit onto the parking lot. i deliberately jam my fat muffin down my gaping maw and stare at her. i adjust and slacken my posture; get comfortable to keep staring. she probably feels it by now. she's gotta. i keep it up. chew. chomp. she finishes being a boor and puts it in reverse. i rotate and keep staring. i finally catch her eye. i really don't give a shit, i just think it's funny to do to hair ladies what they do to me when i catch them doing stuff that doesn't even tick the meter on my weird gauge. |
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