Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in I'm clever because my name is an artistic phrase's LiveJournal:

[ << Previous 20 ]

Tuesday, January 20th, 2009
3:55 pm	yeah, fuck it, I said it God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Tuesday, January 6th, 2009
3:38 pm	You're not going to believe this. Amy Winehouse's version of "You're Wondering Now" is better than The Specials'. I now must compare it to the original, by the Skatalites.
Thursday, December 25th, 2008
4:12 am	First Cut What a fuck. What an absolute fuckface. I have no one but myself to blame for this. To put myself knowingly and willingly within such proximity of this. I thought these thoughts while furiously scrubbing the toilet with my scrub brush. As I did so, a droplet of the toilet-water mixed with bleach cleaner flew up from the bowl into my left eye. I then thought, "Holy fuck, that's going to hurt. This is going to hurt." I remained, waiting. It never came. No pain. No pain whatsoever, just some pungent smell of onions. What a fuckface. The first cut is the deepest.
Monday, December 22nd, 2008
12:07 am	The generation of words is an automatic compulsion for some of us. What does that even mean? ------------------------------------------------- POME: This lurker was hating on me, sayin', "Motherfucker you still post on Livejournal!" I replied, "Motherfucker you still read Livejournal!" This conversation never happened, but I imagined it. ------------------------------------------------- Shame and pain, shame and pain. Lots of strange thoughts have been prowling around my dome lately. I honestly can't even focus right now. I think I'm going to bed soon. First I'm going to continue a re-read of the "His Dark Materials" trilogy--that's that Golden Compass shit for those of you who don't know. I never saw the movie. Had to read the books for an Adolescent Lit class years ago when I was still an English major. This urge comes from my completion of the Twilight series, and the empty feeling such completion entails. You mean there's nothing else? I guess there is--the stolen, leaked version of Midnight Sun that's now up on the official site. But the author apparently intends to complete and publish it, once everybody's forgotten about it. She appears to have shitty taste in music and relies heavily on classic canon literature. But goddamn, did I dive dickfirst into those books. All of 'em. I read the last and longest one in maybe 3 days. Ethical vampire teenage romance suspense phenom books. That's what I read now. Tonight I found some old poetry I wrote in the months before I moved to Tallahassee. Out of the seven I found, 1.5 were acceptable. Okay, fine, 2 of them. That spoken-word-synthesizer fuckery was awful. I don't know what exactly went wrong, but it involved an inattentive "soundman" and missed cues. And the worst part about it is last night at the Eclipse Lucy's old man Jack showed up wearing the SAME exact outfit I "performed" in. That motherfucker appears to be still beefing with me. I could be wrong. I don't know, is someone beefing with you when they talk to everyone in the circle you're standing in except you? Talking to your older brother and his friends, but not you? And there's no point in a false introduction, because everybody knows everybody knows. I almost said something last night. I was almost like, "Hey dog, my girlfriend bought me that same fuckin' sweater from Old Navy! Hey, P.S.-- Are we still beefing?" It's a shame, too, I love that sweater. I'm still going to wear it, just not out to Riverside. An almost unprecedented wave of job dissatisfaction broke over me today. I'm a few sad months away from trying to pick up that paid internship I turned down and taking out massive student loans. The field I'm entering pays well, I'm just skerred of debt. Ain't scared of death, but scared of debt. Arms are sore. I hurt more these days--physically, that is. Maybe it's the 24 hour days. Those have been put on hold (I think). I guess I should be happy about it, but I barely give a damn. It'll all depend on the aches and pains and if they go away. Definitely need to consider knee protection of some sort. Lefty especially hurts, I'm thinking due to gradual awakening of a long-dormant drunken-car-wreck-induced injury. I jumped up to close the back doors today and when I landed both knees felt like fire. Doctors? No, don't trust 'em. Yes, I'm insured. I think I don't have any money for it (see above)? And I don't want to be lectured? It's like, I know I'm an idiot? Also, I'm worried about how many days off from schoolwork I'd have to take for surgery. Not on the knees, I mean on the thing that's made me even more self-conscious than I already was. That one's a triple whammy. It's like... ...Good God, I'm not talking about that here. Anyway, I was worried about myself. Because I think I might soon become much better at my job. Which means I'll be deader inside. Guess I kind of already mentioned that, huh? Well, fuck you, you didn't have to read this far.
Thursday, November 13th, 2008
7:17 pm	Tarsha = golden. Take that, malice! take care of you when you're passed out right there when you're in yo glass house 'Bout to fail a Calculus test, ya'll. All this shit can't drag me down, I'm soon to see my girl.
Monday, November 3rd, 2008
3:45 am	minderaser feel my brain stretching out. It's 3-40 am which is to say (were it a few days ago) 4.40 am and in already-low brain activity level, I took a double of BEAM. Beam, Jim. James Beam, colonel James Beam Whiskey. So I didn't think anything involving this here Sam Beckett festival at UNF would involve me. So I was wrong. I skipped class Thursday night to go to a guest speaker presentation. The guy's name was Herbert Blau. A student, or old person, asked Mr. Blau [longtime old favorite professor of one of my favorite professors, Clark Lunberry (who apparently according to my older brother Brian considers me one of his favorite students, because of my PASSION. Always seems busy these days, I wonder if he's disappointed in me for coming back to the same school with Information Technology as my new Major--or if I'm disappointed with my sellout self and projecting that onto Clark), Mr. Blau being the director of the pretty goddamn important 50's or 60's performance of "Waiting for Godot" at San Quentin Prison. So some buddy asked him about Nostalgia in Beckett, and he responded with some words, a phrase, a good public speaking example that ended with these specific words: "...a longing not for what was, but for what could have been." Or something like that. I think that's why I love me some Beckett. I love that--that false nostalgia. I think about and sort of "miss", for every possibility...What if Jenn kept her two-tone longhaired dyejob? What if I kept true to English/Creative Writing as a career (life) path? What if Dad stayed? What if Ma never got sick? This strange and yet natural longing. I'm not even looking at the keyboard now. My head is down, I wonder if I'll fall asleep in this position, at this keyboard. My stomach certainly feels like shit. I can hear Jeremy still awake, in the adjacent room, in his bedroom. He sure is stirring a lot for somebody who went to bed a while ago. Maybe all my clickety-clacking on the keyboard is what's keeping him up. My poor battered stomach suggests grilled cheese. It could certainly use some attention, after the foodlessness of last week. Don't fucking fret, I ate at least once every day. Wish I could say the same for my poor withering bff, though, and good god is it painful to watch someone kill themselves so. Grilled cheese it is. Goodnight, sunlight.
Tuesday, September 30th, 2008
4:51 pm	It's good to see you...Good to see you getting fat. Seriously today I heard this bullshit exchange: Bitch1: Hey, Trav! Trav : Hey Beck, Hey Brit! That's all. Fuck them. From now on, call me "Moh". No, not "Mo" or "Moe", call me "Muhh" Gasp with an M. As always I think of significant shit I want to write about on here, then when time comes all I submit is dribble. I'd just had a good idea or two back there but at some point creative footwork became such a goddamned burden to me. Last night I slept a raggedy hour and a half thanks to all the homework. Here's hoping I'll actually finish what's left tonight. 904 apartment shopping tomorrow. Don't fret--you won't see often this ugly mug in yer neighborhood. Jerusalem and I have settled on the lazy way out, and are barely crawling past the point I've been stuck at for so long. Breaking away was the best thing I've ever done, and because of that being back sucks twice as hard. This one's dedicated to Travis, Becky, and Brittany. Thanks for reminding me of what a failure I am.
Tuesday, September 9th, 2008
4:54 pm	Most of my friends voting for Obama are also signing the petition against the new facebook. You can't just be half-assed about this change thing, ya'll. Shave your heads while you're at it. These rules don't apply to me. I blog/facebook/timewaste far too much when I've carved out a semester for myself that includes a gap betwixt my classes. The Federal Government is fuckin' up. I resubmitted my FAFSA indicating I received LESS aid in '07 than I originally submitted. They say this INCREASES my "Estimated Family (or Financial--I can't remember) Contribution" making me now ineligible for that Pell Grant. The Fams ain't paying for shit, Uncle Sam. They're only providing a roof over my head for the next three or four weeks. That ain't shit. LAPTOPS AIN'T FREE, UNCLE SAM. How'm I gonna be a computer programmer without a computer? (Read: --> LLLLLLLAAAAAAAUUUUUUUNNNNNTTTTTTTT) O the soul, erodes erodes.
Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008
7:22 pm	R.I.P. Claude. Memories: Punching him in the kidneys one night somewhere near Parental Home Road Decking him out with a sweet-ass eagle hood decal and Social D bumper sticker Finding "I love Black People" removed from his bumper one night after work Crashing him into a horsefaced woman whose boyfriend was a cop Being stranded with him in Madison for goddamned hours Standing atop him and screaming to shoot me instead of Dan or Steve Picking him up from adorable old Henry's Radiator shop and such. I'll miss you, zombie car.
Tuesday, August 26th, 2008
5:26 pm	Last night I realized how badly I miss the place I didn't realize was home.
Tuesday, May 20th, 2008
2:21 pm	O God!
Friday, March 28th, 2008
11:58 am	noos The new Atmosphere album will be named, "When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold". Hilarious. Between now and the last time I updated I attended my first funeral. A guy I worked with, a real outcast bastard who had been trying to turn over a new leaf. The guy hadn't been drinking for six months, transferred to a new store to get full-time and was really engineering a turnaround. He died in his sleep, born two years to the day before me. From what I hear he originated the strange practice of 3am stock crew call-and-response, strange and surreal, strange and obscene. I could not work the way I do without this practice. I don't want an open-casket funeral. His body looked so uncomfortable, crammed in that tiny casket. He didn't look like Ash Price, he looked like a wax replica. Fuck that. I don't want much money spent on my burial. Spend what you need to remember me by, but don't pay what they want you to. I vouched for cremation til I heard they charge you more for it. Put me in a pine box. Don't delay the inevitable. I want more money spent on my wake than on any other part of the process. That would be the best 'bon voyage' I could have. People getting all sorts of drunk, drinking whiskey, laughing and telling stories. I'd rather have a Roast than a funeral. Fuck. Anyway, soon I learn whether or not I'm allowed in FSU. Sure as hell hope so. Peace be with ya'll.
Monday, February 25th, 2008
11:09 am	TCP/IP freely they say i'm losing weight but if that's the case why is it all so heavy? i'm surprised my knees don't shake i wake at two am, then go to work. i repeat, go to work. 9 hour days, no break. i chose this. i wouldn't change this i need this. need to break this body to match this mind i cannot find solace without some sort punishment. i must. i must i don't know why it's much like staying humble for when the meek take the planet only everybody seems to forget there's a hefty tax on inheritance and what the fuck is that? explain to me why she misses the pot belly. what is that, am i new misconstrued bhudda belly a sign of happiness? stree e e e eam. stream stream streeeam, whenever i want you, all i have to do i'm sure you knew- no matter how many hoops you jump through i can/will and have found you again on working: don't let me use it as an excuse, it's not so hard, i probably only do it to get that 'i don't know how you do that, man' or to chance a glimpse of that woman with the tattooed hands the free-wheelin' church of j.r. "bob" dobbs; on the internet i'm as witty as sage francis.
Saturday, February 23rd, 2008
1:35 pm	the sad/pathetic internet Apparently, this happened the last time I sat down to write up a livejournal: "fueled by: love experience pomes regina spektor all that's happened lately good company iTunes music and words. I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord but you don't really care for music, do ya? Hallelujah. How many of you? How many reading this now? Remember or feel something... do you? My brothers...bless them, all of them. Brother Brian trying so hard this time. I really felt for him, making such dedicated attempts..." I can't say for sure, but I believe I wrote that drunk off wine in habibi's bedroom, shortly after Christmas. These words have been in cyberspace purgatory since then. I logged in to update and it asked me if I wanted to restore from a saved draft. Some server out there is courteous enough to hang onto these words just in case I didn't mean to abandon them after all. RIP so_howsyourgirl, if not for its eloquence for its graphic design. Yes, I did indeed just pour out a virtual 40 for a fallen internet soldier. Monday I attempt to argue my way into Florida State University. Wish me luck, lurkers.
Thursday, December 6th, 2007
11:49 am	Bad Decisions, 12/07 December 6th, 11:50 am. Fueled by frustration at self, inspired by -failure to complete a few math homeworks online on-time (probably won't matter anyway, have a pretty good average in the class--will do math to calculate exact impact soon) -algebra teacher, for being unsympathetic to lack of internet at home as reason for not completing said homework (only because he said those of us who showed up and stayed for the whole class period would get an extra push on our grades. i been one of those in spite of my better judgement, since I could've stayed at home and done just as well if not better on all the work having been distracted by this man's slow Southern drawl and propensity for making errors which he expects the class of uneducated students to correct for him) -difficulty of final project for webpage authoring class (can't get three inline images to line up without using the "align" element but this page has to be XHTML strict compliant. also have hard time figuring out how to align a div element; hatred of robots, hatred of self flaring) have decided to put whiskey and coffee and hope it'll help me figure out the problem with the html. Just for old time's sake. Gotta work at 3am, but me and boo are going to see "I'm Not There" tonight anyway. Meant to ramble about Dylan a little bit last time, but got sidetracked. Ah well. I'll update later as to the results of this whiskoffee experiment and its effect on my internet work ethic.
Tuesday, December 4th, 2007
10:59 am	disorganized religion i think it's fair to say i have trouble organizing my thoughts (i get it from my momma) she "suffers" from a form of frontal-lobe dementia but the word don't quite seem to fit that much to me as she for the most part seems content all the time. 'cept she goes into these sad lost little fits, but i get those too pretty regularly momma's biggest form of suffering is over small things. trifles, like "you didn't get the birthday card i sent you?" and she says it in this puppy-dog way as if to say "oh noooooo" so she doesn't really suffer so much. word choice changes everything, the word suffer is a sympathy generator. suffer the little children, etcetera. dude at work in his very backwoods way started complaining that Christmas was getting too commercialized, but the way he said it he made it sound like he'd been alive at all before it was commercialize. he's thirty. he and i have beastie boy lyric rap-offs at four in the morning while we stock shelves at the grocery store he's much bettern me in that respect but anyway, says things from me time to time that just don't merit how cool i act on the surface about them. like fer instance, i said they should play "gramma got runover by a reindeer" during xmas and he says "you're part of the problem" and i wonder if he says shit like that to me on purpose or because he thinks/knows i won't do/say anything back because most patronizing shit he says goes over my head/in one ear out the other (defense mechanism where I double-check what people say before concluding whether i should be offended or not and by the time i realize maybe i should it's too late and we're on another subject) i think i get it from my momma. my thoughts overwhelm me pretty regularly i think things would be easier if i could just stop thinking but do i really want the easy way out? saying things like "my mother suffers from frontal-lobe dementia" to me doesn't tell the (whole/nothing but)truth, when compared to "my momma's crazy, you'd love her, she sings these weird little songs on a whim and you can never tell if the songs are real and from her childhood or if she just made them up, she used to race young italian guys in her cadillac with her nephews in the backseat, she's the only white lady at an all-black church, she prays for my salvation and means and believes in it and i love her. "i think i inherited a few things from her not in the material sense (as she don't have much) but in the sense that when i hear the word 'mother' i start singing the danzig song, i carry things around in plastic bags, i always say/think i'm fat no matter what people tell me, i'm dopey and kind of odd and sometimes for no reason i get lost in a gone little world of sadness no one can seem to understand because i usually talktalktalk but in these fits i just stare with a troubled look off into the distance and people i love will ask me are you okay and what i can't seem to say is 'no, i'm real sad and i don't know why' so instead what comes out is either 'yeah, yeah, i'm fine' or 'yes, goddammit' (i'd prefer to say the former more often but i think the latter comes out more frequently which i think has to do with my father, since i can't imagine my mother saying anything malicious, not since the inciting incident in the dramatic adaption of my life i ain't written yet), we both have blue eyes and blotchy red skin." didn't mean to go off on a tangent there, but as I said, i have difficulty keeping my thoughts organized. i think i get that from being spoiled as a little kid then shuffled around as a little kid. really it's not just my thoughts that i can't keep organized, it's everything. aunt cathy would roll her eyes if she saw my room my schoolbooks my tattoo my spending habits this entry and god bless her for that.
Monday, November 19th, 2007
1:23 pm	talk wordy to me *get up *i woke up this mornin and realized there is no job i'd ever want to spend my whole life doin (cause i don't have the patience) *i been thinkin as i age (no gray) only 23 years old but already i've become someone i once told myself i would never be *not that bein me is such a bad thing, it just sucks to go from "aw, shucks" to "sho nuff" and then find out that rhymin' as i know it isn't what it's all about ... * O MY GOD i'm sick of sob stories *everybody envies every life but their own nobody thinks to stop mopin' and get open (spend some time alone) ... You might recognize that one. There's a similar line / idea in this song by Glue, Adeem goes, "How come I'm 23 years old and already wondering when it's going to end?" One thing I've never forgiven {NAME OF PERSON I WAS ONCE BETTER FRIENDS WITH} for was losing that album (as well as my copy of SLAM) and being so goddamn nonchalant about it. Not being genuinely sorry at all. Playing it off like it wasn't a big deal. For SLAM, he gave me a DVD in exchange, at least, but what I received was a documentary about spirituality in hip-hop featuring a bunch of artists I like, that I felt was mediocre at best. What I lost was an awkwardly told fiction story movie that meant a goddamn lot to me personally, the lead actor played by one of the artists interviewed in the documentary. What's offensive is the idea that the two pieces of art were interchangable. What infuriated me was that before it was stolen from him he never fucking watched it, it just sat there gathering dust and negligence on floor of his car. I didn't care that I lost the movie, it was only about ten bucks (though I still haven't bought another copy yet--why?). Anti-confrontational Mohammad X Tarsha didn't even realize how angry he was, thus internalization. Same thing with "Seconds Away". But to be fair, he gave me a book of poetry and a CD that I did the same thing with. The poems I read, didn't feel, let get all fucked up and casually offered them back long after the fact. The CD I got a big kick out of, had private dance parties to and everything, but returned it in a much destroyed fashion, many scratches upon its surface. So in that respect, he and I are even. What is the significance of my including that whole paragraph rant? Perhaps it's a test. To see if he's reading, and feels guilty or anything. Because whether or not he actually reads this, I can use it against him in my mind. I can say, "I KNOW you fucking read that livejournal post and the fact that you haven't even said anything in the realm of I'm sorry makes me hate you! I have something to use against you now, to villify you in the hearts and minds of my peers!" In reality, he might never read it, and even if he does, might not feel bad for it, might not feel anything for it, might not ever think or say anything about it. Each of those previously listed options is less and less realistically going to happen. So tell me then, what the fuck is the point of me putting it on the internet? Do I expect something to come of it? Do I wish to evoke sympathy by putting it up? My relevant answer to my own hypothetical question is nobody cares, boy. Right now you should focus on showering and going to work. Because you have bills to pay. Besides, you know you're only posting in the livejournal to have some ironic twists and multiple layers to the real life story of your life, so that when you are old and have more free time you'll have better things to write about in the self-written story of your life. The two are very drastically different stories. To at least two of the people I believe to be reading this currently, I intend to call you before the end of the month. If you feel compelled to mention this entry, we'll talk about it. I can't promise the conversation will make any sense at all, because I'm much more articulate when I have the power of editing on my side (but that's why I love stream-of-consciousness writing sans editing so much--rant fer another day...). Can't be nervous on the internet, now can we? We'd lose too many cool points. Peace.
Tuesday, November 6th, 2007
5:00 pm	pome, vaguely edited streams streamin' media immediately alleviated the need i had for somethin' good, that is a bad need for somethin' good ('cept i wish you would) but these streams are made of deez and nuts only go so far by themselves, gettin' busted and whatnot a robot 'swhat i felt like and if you feel like you can eliminate the need for people in your life altogether you just need money and more logic than heart. heart ain't currency, it seems, else i'd be a rich man but i feel like a bitch, man, cause i'm in a rough situation and find the need for a helpin' hand but i swore i had it all figgered out at some point point-blank planks i walked and mighty tall tales i talked and rocked the jockin' b-ball jams, but a man's a man and gots goddamns, gotdamn, man i wish you would. see these people here they paired me up with a kid 19 fresh outta high school momma payin' all his bills for him ain't got no job don't pick up after himself when i leave and comeback my food's gone my clothes are in his room the smoke detectors are all undone and that wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't so dumb like me i'm the one with the scooter but he reminds me of dumb and dumber. called home to get some kind of consolation or somekind of solution to this situation but at the end of me and auntie's conversation i just somehow felt guilty for reason that when evaluated afterward don't make sense or don't help, anyway. like, why should i feel guilty? i am guilty of: -being had by paradigm properties -being lied to by a roommate -moving out here i guess and -ostracizing those people i trusted most but on that last one was it me? was it them? was it the booze or the other thing? was it gettin' beat up? was it gettin' broken into? why don't I trust anybody save one? maybe because one saved me.  'swhy she's one, second to none.  little competitive and/er possessive at times but i get jealous too and i'm in some forreal-ass love. love to me means taking in the good and the bad and you all ask/comment about me allegedly losing weight it's because in spite of things being far from perfect i was raised on some far from perfect so pretty good is pretty good to me and i got some pretty good love going on these days, thank (god) once, as a former aspiring robot with softdick in internet hands i thought love was an illusion created by the human mind and as such should be disregarded. then, i thought everybody who says that is lonely after all. now i feel (and it's kinda funny indeed) that at the end of a hard day people find some reason to believe. turns out i am people after all.
Thursday, September 27th, 2007
10:57 am	don't kno much about much to do about booker t washington d see deez nuts almonds cashews rules everything around me cream puff daddy don't hit me no morse code dotnet work that ass girl friend of my enemy is my public supermarket value word word word. used to be a gamer. then i was a fag. then i was a theater kid. then i was a drifter. always was a dreamer. now i'm a man, a man a man oh man. these're all just words, folks, don't take no stock in them. stock clerk style, now i'm a man i miss something or do i i don't know man felt good last night to escape the trappings of my own mind. jokes and jokes and are jokes a valid escape from reality? word word word. misinterpretation nonconformist kids just want to be understood but when someone tries to understand them they don't believe push them away it's a defense mechanism. that make it okay? not in a business sense. "business sense" to me is a funny phrase don't make much sense to me. in order to be successful you gotta fuck somebody else over, in some way. take advantage of them in some way. seems kind of self-oriented in the long run. who do you trust? why? is that a good enough reason to? who's the judge of that? what's wrong with being self-oriented? it was always funny to me when i took words from one context and put them in another. for instance, the phrase "black comedy" in one meaning is dark humor, jokes made about death and sadness and such. in another meaning it's comedy for and by black people. "black" people. in spike lee's Malcolm X when he does the dictionary thing, it all of a sudden seemed so wrong, like I shoulda stopped calling people black. but do you know black people? have you ever referred to a black person you know as "african-american" while not kidding? i'm sitting next to an african-american right now. i don't think i've reconciled the getting jumped thing. I got physically assaulted by three random black dudes one night last year in Riverside. I was talking on the phone, they stopped in front of me and asked what I was lookin at. I said what are you lookin at. When I tell this story some people say "you shouldn't have said something back". I think that's a moot point, I think I would've gotten jumped no matter what I said. I've had this verbal opinion seconded. I could've sworn I asked them what I did in some manner of shouts. Probably went like, "what the fuck, man, what the fuck, man" but what it meant was along the lines of "i didn't do anything to deserve this, why are you attacking me?" and the response was "you stupid, cracka" and what I think that meant was "you shouldn't have come around here by yourself pretending to be comfortable if you weren't prepared to deal with the consequences." This type of shit turns people into racists. I bet right now if you're reading this you might feel at least a twinge of sympathy. Don't. All I have to do is change two or three details and it's a different story altogether. Everyone I told asked me if my assailants were black or white. In the interest of truth I said black, but I almost regret telling the truth. I could've said, "it doesn't matter. Wrong place, wrong time." I don't know what the truth is anymore. But just because I find myself extremely nervous around thugged-out black dudes these days doesn't mean I want to support the justification I've heard all my life for racism against black people. All you have to do is change the colors around. If I was a black kid and my attackers were white, it's a different story altogether. I think that shit's retarded. I don't even know how the hell I got here (as usual--where my mind's at?) but I'll end on a good note. Why do I still love black people? Well, you know what they say. You always love what hurts you the most.
Tuesday, September 25th, 2007
11:20 am	I'm very busy, but I do have the luxury of whatever free time it takes to type a blog entry. Does not process, does it? Kind of pointless, ain't it? Unless of course I'd like to be perceived as busy whether or not I actually am. On the philosophical tip: Is there such thing as objective truth? If so, prove it to me.