The Perfect Invasion [Photo]

The perfect moment is just that, a moment. If you could see me, whoever I am. It is not like the movies, it is not all skin and bones. Just c’mon love… let’s shoot up the moon.

This image was taken in Japan Center, San Francisco. Miraculously, that kid crossed me when I was preparing my camera phone for a picture. The whole thing just lasted a moment, but that’s all that it took for perfection to exist, and for the computer to register the desired image. I knew yesterday would turn out to be a lucky day.

I Will Fuck Your Mother Poster

“I will fuck your mother” is the only thing I think of when I stare at the font Archer. This font was created for Martha Stewart’s magazine, so go figure. Oh, yeah, the whole point behind this exercise is to play with immature dialog that doesn’t match with the clean aesthetics.

—–

Funny AIM conversation with my buddy Ed when I’m trying to explain this

Alex
11:05 PM
ed!
11:05 PM
wanna see how i deface archer’s beautiful message?
11:05 PM
Link To URL
Yahoo!
niong
11:07 PM
haha
11:08 PM
i have this show on my netflix queue. i think i already like it
Yahoo!
Alex
11:08 PM
no no
11:08 PM
i mean, archer font
11:08 PM
i defaced the font
Yahoo!
niong
11:08 PM
ah of course
Yahoo!
Alex
11:08 PM
martha stewart’s dream of beauty and decency
11:08 PM
flushed down the metaphorical toilet.
Yahoo!
niong
11:09 PM
sorry, tony was talking about it last week
11:09 PM
lol at your mother’s kerning is too tight

TED Video: Simon Sinek <3s Himself

By now, if you are a white person with pseudo-intellectual tendencies in the United States, you might be familiar with TED conferences. TED is the closest thing non-hybrid Americans will ever come to stumble upon an intellectual concept outside of college.

I was listening to Simon Sinek’s TED talk earlier today, and I couldn’t help but to feel uncomfortable. Simon (born in England) is this quasi-intellectual who rode on the wave of fame and fortune with the success of his one book: “Start With Why: How Great Leaders Inspire Everyone To Take Action.” Simon sure has created a name for himself talking about leadership. His main idea is the concept of the “golden circle” that illustrates (in a similar way to Dante’s hell) the levels of human understanding inside a metaphorical circle. In the very center we have the “why,” in the second level is the “how,” and the outer level is all about the “what.” He states that effective communication focuses on the “why,” and he expands from there.

What’s problematic about Simon is that, even though the premise of his talk is the “why,” I can never understand why he’s doing this. His motivation seems to be more about the “what.” He is all about finding results for the sake of results. As an effervescent salesman he tries to repackage an old marketing concept by throwing in a couple of buzz words like “leaders” and “action” to make his ideas pop. But his lack of sincerity is apparent, and can be appreciated in many of the comments users have written in the TED website. Simon seems to be more in love with himself and his empty rhetoric, than with the ideas he’s “spreading.” In his talk, he doesn’t focus on the applications of leadership and simply offers a template for mental manipulation of the masses. At least Machiavelli was less hypocritical when writing The Prince. Simon sounds more like an Apple Fanboy trying to rationalize his love for good marketing.

What really ticked me off though is how he brings up the Law of Diffusion of Innovation, just after he’s talking about virtuous leadership. He contextualizes this law inside the realm of consumption and standing in line for hours to get a new iPhone. Seriously? Is this his interpretation of leadership? Simon is giving a gold star to all those people who are followers. Just because you are an early adopter, that doesn’t mean you are less of a follower than the late adopters. In fact, some might say that weak minds who are more easily manipulated are the ones adopting early technologies. He is grouping in the same metaphor Martin Luther King Jr.’s supporters and bored bourgeois with a surplus.

Is this really what contemporary intellectuals are getting off on nowadays?

iDiots – The Yellow Pages… Under The Influence

A lot of San Franciscans just received the deprecated Yellow Pages this week. Watch as Yarin and I try our best to deconstruct our guide and find a use to one of the last pinnacles of analogue technology. Was our exploration reduced to a big and entertaining FAIL? Watch and find out.

Jack, Marla, & The Free-Range Chicken

In pursuit of love, pleasure, and adoration. Charles Manson and all these cult guys live annoyed by two horrible facts: their followers are not their top choice candidates, and they are unemployed.

I am Jack. Unemployed, M.S. ridden, horny and arrogant. Since the nightmares disappeared, all I want to do is fuck.

I honestly thought when I became disabled, that I would have ended up turning into an extreme urban camper, aka homeless. I thought I’d never get laid again, and I that no new beginnings would ever come my way. But life has a way of unwinding, and almost as sure as an end, there is a new start. Living with an open schedule, gave me time to be free. I could finally achieve my full potential… to become an asshole. Like Timon and Pumba said: “When the world turns it’s back on you, you turn your back on the world.” The devil had a hold on me.

But when I first got sick, my first instinct wasn’t to just become an asshole. Assholes are brewed.

Emma was a total cunt to me. She barely put out, and she never helped me with anything. Every time I would have an “M.S. episode” of intense pain, a moment in which walking seemed impossible, she would just hand me a bucket for me to pee in, and a loaf of bread so I wouldn’t starve. Then she would just go off to party. She had lost her initial intense interest in me, since she realized Marla was out of the picture.

Women, like chickens, only want the worm that’s dangling from someone else’s beak.

One day, Emma went off to Burning Man, and I never heard from her again.

—

My M.S. diagnosis soon came after the nightmares stopped. Multiple Sclerosis really messes with you. It is caused by damage to the myelin sheath, the protective covering that surrounds nerve cells. When this nerve covering is damaged, nerve impulses are slowed down or stopped. This is progressive and it is linked to deep depression. People who have it, end up waking up one day without any strength left in their pain ridden bodies.

My so-called pathetic future.

—-

Then along came Lisa.

Lisa was my first attempt to farm sex.

Sexual relations aren’t that difficult to find, but let’s face it, the older you get, the lazier you become. When you hit 30, you want to either be married, or to pay a woman in the corner to let you dip your nugget into her sauce. We humans thrive at creating shortcuts for everything. We transform our environment in the most complex way, with hopes of simplifying things. An oxymoron if you ask me. We could go out and hunt for our food, but as soon as a little bit of surplus comes our way, we outsource the hunting. Then of course, hunters get lazy, and resort to farming.

Same thing with sex and attractions. You realize you can either go hunt for your daily dose of cunt, and end up failing half of the time, or you can farm sex by getting married. If you have more money, then you can just rent different “spots” where you can park your car in. But most people feel inclined to buy a “spot” rather than rent… something along the lines of not trusting the additional tenants, and it being cheaper in the long run.

—

“So Lisa, I hear you have a twin, eh?”

“I do. If I were to die, no one would miss me, because there’s another one of me out there.”

I place my hand on your thigh, and squeeze hard. “I’d miss you.”

You sit on my lap and wrap your legs around me, I feel like a shark after smelling blood. Dilated pupils, filled with desire. It is not personal, you are just beautiful. I wrap my hands around your neck and strangle you, nailing you against the bed, like Christ on a cross, you happily accept your fate. You carry my sins within you, and wash away my transgressions. I give you $100 without you even asking for them, I feel much better now. Almost forgiven.

—

The day Marla truly left the picture was the day I accepted she hit rock bottom, it was the day she would no longer agree to fuck me. She was too in love with drugs. No joke or conversation would have us connect. So, I called her family, told them everything she did, how she depleted her trust-fund, and they ended up institutionalizing her for good. White people cannot forgive badly spent money. Marla is currently undergoing electroshock therapy specialized in adopted children. Doctors know adopted folk are a special type of… is “mentally ill” still PC to use?

Marla, I miss you so much. Your unbridled thoughts were not just beautiful, but a manifestation of Beauty. The flapping birds that lived inside your lungs made me feel at home. No one could cough up a lung like you.

I lost Marla to drugs, but at least drugs didn’t have a penis.

—

To my delight, I find that Lisa’s twin is cute, and word on the street is they both share the same taste in men. They are both social workers, which makes me think they’ll be less mean to me when I’m screaming in pain while M.S. continues increasing it’s hold on me. Lisa, Misa, and myself become really close. When Lisa and I want to fuck, Misa just hangs out in the kitchen, doesn’t come out again until it is “safe.”

Lisa and her twin Misa start bringing girls over to my new low income house every Sunday for drinks and for motivational lessons in life (given by yours truly). This wasn’t initially my idea, but the twins felt like I was an inspiration, or something else condescending like that. I was a true example of someone who was unlucky, but who seemed to be full of knowledge and positive insights. I felt like little African children do when rich travelers give them candy in exchange of having their pictures taken with them. This photo is later used as proof of someone’s good Samaritan nature.

People who don’t have problems, love to squeeze the sunshine out of those who do.

Most of these girls are ugly, but I’m a lonely farmer who doesn’t discriminate. I’m determined to not be left alone in panic and fear of my future very painful death. I just want someone to hold my hand, even if I know the reason they are near me is because of good old fashioned Schadenfreude. They are getting off on my pain the same way I used to get off on others’ pain. As simple as the circle of life.

You can imagine, the girls who visit are all quite gullible. Non of them take my breath away with their beauty or thought process. In fact, a lot of them are chubby, and badly dressed. My sociopathic tendencies take over my lectures as I begin to construct a world of theories for them they soon start to believe to be true. I say I’ve seen “eternity” in my dreams, and that I had been told to share the “good news” with the world.

“The news are… have sex with me, and you too will see the Truth.”

The first time I hinted sexual favors as a path to Nirvana, I held my breath. I said to myself: “Got to keep the poker face.”

My lecture was met with initial silence. I just stayed quiet, took out my medication, and began popping pills. Chewing them seemed to pierce the silence away.

Lisa was the first one to come forward and kiss me in acceptance of what I just said, followed by the other less beautiful girls. When I extend my neck with the intention to kiss Misa, Lisa stops me. She clearly will let me fuck anyone in this room, but her twin sister is off-limits.

This prohibition, has just made her sister 100 times more appealing.

—

I feel satisfied, because regardless of all the adversities that have hit my life, I still manage to build my own little cult. Mama would be proud.

My teachings evolve into me demanding loyalty from the girls. Like animals in the wild, I don’t want anyone else to touch what’s mine. Plus, STIs are gross. I needed to find a way to keep them clean. Of course, I justified this demand with “God told me so.” I felt this worked for a bit, but I knew that, as long as we lived in the city, they’d be tempted to have sex with other men, and this was unacceptable.

Soon enough I felt this desire to isolate them. I just wanted all of us to run away and take care of a farm and fill it with free range chicken. How amazing would that be? To completely free ourselves from this shitty world. Make a living of our own, refusing to risk losing the paradise we have built for ourselves with the perversions and intrusions of tv, technology, and fashion.

Little by little, the girls kept on moving in with me, one by one they vowed their loyalty to the group. I know I’m sounding a bit crazy, but you know it makes sense. Why would a cult leader share? Even the Bible agrees with me: “Thou shall not have any other god but me.”

—

I’m in bed, you come to me. It seems to be you, but I’m not that sure. Your skin gets goosebumps similar to the ones I felt on you at the beginning, but right now it just seems unusual, foreign. Also, your body is unsure. Who am I fucking? I let go. If I don’t say anything, it doesn’t count as lying. If I keep my eyes closed, then there was no betrayal.

I’ve waited for this moment for so long. I often would fuck Lisa thinking of Misa. This doesn’t make sense, because technically speaking they have the same body! However, the mind is a fucked up place, and in this case, my mind is not caring for a body, but for the concept behind a new body… a body that, up until now has been prohibited to me.

Her sister gave me a better blowjob than Lisa was ever able to give me.

—

Free-range chickens await for us! This Sunday we received the good news. One of the girls just inherited a farm and said we could finally make our dreams of purity a reality. It can be just us… forever, or until a natural disaster or the zombocalypse comes and kills us all.

My thoughts trail off. Was it really her and not you? Did you kiss me? Where were you? If it wasn’t you, and it was her, then where were you?

Why do people lie? Is it to be polite? Is it to not burn bridges? Or is it to avoid confrontation at all costs.

—

Lisa keeps on acting weird. Does she know I know Misa in a Biblical way? Lisa is the one I love the most from the group, and I start to feel guilt for not meeting her one demand. Only one thing she wanted, and I couldn’t follow through. Oh Lisa, If it wasn’t for her, my fantasy of never being alone again would have not become a reality. Lisa is my Mary Magdalene… the person who validates my teachings. She takes the initiative and soothes the rest of the cows… I mean, the rest of the girls, by telling them all we speak in our home is the universal Truth, and that what I say must be followed.

I’m stuck in a Charles Pierce’s Firstness loop. And I used to be such a nice guy.

—

The day has come for us to move to the farm of our dreams. All the girls are loading the cars, and I see Lisa crying. I try to console her, but she doesn’t let me touch her. She confesses that she cannot abandon the city; that there are too many things she’d miss, including her dance teacher who she has been sleeping with for a while now, and most importantly for whom she has developed feelings.

The cabin has lost pressure, be ready for yet another emergency landing.

I feel cold, betrayed, but let me just say that I’m not going down like a fool. I can be more manipulative than her. Why? Because I’m smarter and hornier.

We have this talk in which I make her feel worthless; she keeps on crying, trying to break free from my grasp. I just hold her by the shoulders and shake her like a baby, as I keep on destroying her self-esteem, and hopefully her soul. I want her to feel as bad as I feel. She finally runs off, and locks herself in the bathroom.

Catching someone lying is like undressing that part of them that’s the most intimate. Catching someone lying is like being inside of them while they sleep.

—

Misa tells us that she’ll catch us later. She asks me to take the group to our promised free-range chicken land. I hesitate, but eventually get in the car, and we just drive off into the mountains. My eyes lazily follow the scenery, as I ponder on my insecurities. I feel like my superiority as leader of this group has been questioned. Am I no longer the alpha rooster?

Now I’m just left with a bunch of women who aren’t as attractive as Lisa and Misa, without access to the outside world, surrounded by boring trees. I keep on waiting for weeks and the twins never make it. Even though I’m with people, I still feel so alone.

A letter addressed to me is left on our front porch. Misa apologizes because she needs to stay behind and take care of Lisa who took a bunch of Xanax and tried to commit suicide.

I tried to imagine the moment, to somehow be a part of it through my imagination. I fantasized about Lisa calling a suicide hotline, and the person on the other end of the line falling in love with her sultry voice. I imagined AT&T’s crappy reception cutting the call off, making the volunteer very scared, triggering him to post the following on Craigslist’s Missed Connections: “Were you the one yesterday who called the hotline contemplating killing yourself? The call dropped and I don’t know if you died. I guess if you don’t reply, I’ll just think that you are gone.”

—

You know you are attracting the wrong people when your relationships end with someone getting locked up in the nuthouse. Actually, make it the last two relationships. Woah, a new personal record.

Only the insane can love me. This fact has definitely brought doubt to my heart.

I always blamed my girlfriends for being crazy, but maybe I specifically look for unstable women so I can ruin their lives, and have front row seats to their very destruction. But I refuse to believe this is true! This is just like when all proof points to you being guilty, but you really aren’t… Like in that movie. Right?

Now, let’s go farm some chickens. Do we have to buy actual chickens, or do we just start with a bunch of eggs?