I was walking down Monroe Center, on my way to the Grand Valley Pew Campus to catch the 50 bus to Allendale yesterday, when while on my way a would-be crafty veteran in the most literal sense came out of an indian style position on the ground and bothered me for the audacious sum of 98 cents. Do you know how difficult it is to make 98 cents in a passing act that doesn’t create a transaction of the most awkward nature? I especially do not know how to perform this egregiously nuanced act. It stands out from the flock so terribly, at least absurdly, in the sphere of basic human interactions that actually taking the time to think of what coins comprise the sum of 98 cents seems fucking mind-bending.
“Let’s see, if I can find three quarters, two dimes, and three pennies — I think I can get manage it,” I said. I don’t think I actually meant to say that, but it was definitely the point at which I had to go all in and actually try and dig out the change. This mean’t a whole lot more things I wasn’t ready for this morning. Other things were more pressing on my mind that literally talking to someone so early in the morning like this was way too difficult. Theres women, homework, newspaper, going to the bar, going to shitty arts events downtown that are sad and have a depressing amount of people show up to gripe about how hard it is to be creative in a downturn economy and myriad other things. I just want to tell them, “reality is were never fucking going to be N.Y., L.A., San Francisco, or Miami, shit I’m convince a place like Havana has more artistic culture and will continue to always have more than some place in a satellite, midwestern city. Shut the fuck up!” It feels hypocritical to say because I care a lot about feeling some kind of traditional kindredness to pursuits in artists realms, those of serious virtue, say achieving a clarity in achieving a sense of place within written forms that rivals the profundity of time fabric theory. Next to that all other things seem less meaningingful. I don’t think I’m explaining that right. Not at all actually. But when I first cracked the pages on Michel Foucault’s dreams and existence I was not ready for the language and I felt stupid trying to stumble through the roughly 200 page book with no sense of up or down in the human psyche, I was just wandering.
“Could you help a couple of salty sea-dogs out with 98 cents Sir?” He repeated. Again I thought alright, I’ll just give him a dollar. By the time I realized the oldest bum trick in the world had just been classically delivered on me actually worked, I was indeed rocked to my self-obessed, semiconscious soul — completely lame brained.
an example of a master at deception and trickery
I am a terrible blip and a rotten highlight in an otherwise too charming version of the world. I don’t think it’s of some extension of the imagination to say, I feel so lucky to able to just sit here and mock the world in a place that can rarely be explained because of its ever expanding depth and breadth of history and development that common english can’t begin to describe it. Obviously this is the internet. Just as Kip Dynamite might say, “Yes I love technology, but not as much as you, you see. But still I love technology,…always and forever, always and forever,”. If you don’t know what this means, then I’m sorry I ever even took the time to write it down. And if you’ve read this far, I’m sorry. I can only hope you read rather fast. I say good day!
Last night I thought I was concerned with what the readers of this blog care about. This afternoon the sentiment is decidedly different. I just don’t. While perusing the interwebs for something to get all uppity about I decided that it would be plenty more beneficial for me to just find things I like, post them, and then tell you why these things are great and also the best bits of our culture. I suppose what I really mean to say is that I’m going to execute extreme pretension and close-mindedness to give you a taste of exactly what I think you should be viewing. Starting with 
Where the Bears Dance 
