scribbles and lies - Cutting Room Floor

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Oct. 14th, 2004

09:07 am - Cutting Room Floor

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Not long ago, I was reading through folks' livejournal and Something had clearly Happened because nobody was posting about the usual stuff anymore. There were tales of crazed (and often illicit) sex, sudden and inexplicable changes of political heart, people quitting their jobs and moving across the country and even going overseas to become hired mercenaries and harem girls for rich princes and intelligence agents for foreign powers, strange and exotic pets that can't possibly be legal to own, nervous breakdowns, divine epiphanies, Kafka-like physical transformations, eerie supernatural encounters, abductions by masked men who reek of spices, crimes of passion, bizarre confessions, vows to previously unknown Gods...

In addition to being a totally amazing read, it was sort of scary, especially as I had nothing of comparable madness to put alongside it. And I woke up this morning thinking, "I should totally get on the boat with this, I need to ride this insane wave while it lasts!" but poking about on LJ this morning, I am finally coming to the conclusion that it was just part of my dreams last night.

Or, alternately, you've all gone back and deleted those posts, you tricky bastards, hiding all evidence of the crazy day you had yesterday, leaving me to stew in envy.

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For consideration: wouldn't that be amazing, though, if everyone on LJ went insane on the same day and posted about it?

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From:crisper
Date:October 14th, 2004 05:24 pm (UTC)
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I wonder what the internet equivalent of putting acid in the water supply would be.
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From:ronebofh
Date:October 14th, 2004 06:07 pm (UTC)
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Who could tell the difference?
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From:crisper
Date:October 14th, 2004 06:17 pm (UTC)
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Oh, come now, let's be honest with ourselves: the internet is 10% "we now have a tool with which we can see the most extreme, the most amazing, the most bizarre of human accomplishment" and 90% "we now have a tool with which we can see just how mundane and uninteresting and conventional we all really are". I actually find that sort of reassuring in its own way, but I'm fascinated by the vision of a world in which everyone, EVERYONE on the net, suddenly turns into someone like Ed Light, posting x-rays of his own skull to show the conclusive proof that the New World Order has put chips in it so that their spyplanes can beam mind-control instructions into him.
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From:mister_borogove
Date:October 14th, 2004 06:01 pm (UTC)
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RFC 4666 - Remote Dosage Protocol
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From:janet_harvey
Date:October 14th, 2004 06:52 pm (UTC)
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capital idea

I'm down for insanity
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From:crisper
Date:October 14th, 2004 07:10 pm (UTC)
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On talk.bizarre, for the last decade or so, December 1st has been Fail To Suck Day, when everyone (in theory) puts aside their usual follow-ups and replies and dumb one-liners and instead tries to come up with one, just one, interesting and thought-out original piece of Bizarre.
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From:youarepeterpan
Date:January 5th, 2005 01:36 am (UTC)
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crisper than what?

i'd like to add you to my friends list, and i'm trying to go as close to 100% mutual as i can. so, waddaya say.


yours,
youarepeterpan
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From:sumra
Date:January 5th, 2005 03:03 am (UTC)
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ok, this will be fun. I'll be participating and spreading the word. *sets insanity module on back burner to simmer*
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From:mooing_markeen
Date:January 28th, 2005 04:22 am (UTC)
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Okay, I had a insanely normal day to write about:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/mooing_markeen/88531.html

Actually, it's short, so I'll just post it here:
To start my day off, I took a nice little stroll down to the pyramid in the evening. As I was on the 4.56 step from the bottom, I noticed that the sky had become a mirror of the key of c flat minor. It opened up, and out stepped a 6-pack of little pudding cups that had been marketed by Marilyn Manson two fortnights ago. The 6-pack broke apart, and the pudding blobbed into a thousand flying chalices, dancing through the sundered sky. Then it became a disco, and Ellen Degeneres regarded Edwardo's new socks. At 11:11, time ceased to extend its pelvis any further than the sleeping bag had done 6 months prior. Roirp, the master sitar player, swooned over the pudding with his scatter-brained version of Soundgarden's 'Spoonman.' His exquisite expression of this lovely tune captivated all the standing people, who began to dance, and soon became absorbed into a dark salad of doom. Edwardo poured subtle seasonings of innuendos over the blankets of lettuce and mountains of tomatoes, and tossed the salad until the sky closed back up again. There was salad and pudding for all.

That was my day. Not too far from the ordinary.
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