I came today to the internet with a simple question, within the domain of the AP stylebook, which variation is preferred; cacti, or cactuses?

My interest would usually be dim, but with the distant memory of a article whining on fluidity of language in writing, a case was made that pluralisation of the latin variation ( -i ) were to be avoided. Or possibly the other way around. See, I can’t remember, and herein lies much confusion. Besides, AP style rules are sometimes counterintuitive, but well-meaning, and and take their beauty from being consistent and far-reaching. That is to say, they are detailed, are accepted and followed (or at the very least, understoon) in most places.

Geddit

Anyway, all answers that I have gotten to my query have left me entirely without any measure of satisfaction. The fauxperts of the internet have not deemed it appropriate to understand the question, but would rather bicker on the validity of the words themselves, and automatically jump to their conclusion, not through a conversation on matters of style, readability and flow, but on basis of their own narrow vocabulary.

These twats, that don themselves hood and mortarboard and pretend to be the sacred guardians of proper language on the internet, are a thorn in my eye. Hiding behind their precious tomes, trying desperately to hammer language into something static and permanent.

I’m not saying that the actual, real AP guys are bad. They’re cool.

I’m just saying, you internet spelling nazis need to get your heads out of your asses, and start producing something moderately useful. Also, please stop assaulting innocent internet users with grammar and spelling corrections.

Litt er fordi ingenting skjer, og jeg sjelden har så mange tanker og følelser som nødvendigvis trengs å deles. Mye «hvorfor har ikke jeg to X kromosom?», «hvem er jeg?», «tenk at alle andre er som meg, med selvbilde og sanseinntrykk ogogog.. hvordan?», «hva er språk?». Ja, sånne ting som de tafatte fra filosofistudiet vifter rundt som cheap parlor tricks. Ikke at alle der er tafatte, men duforstår? Anyway. Mesteparten er fordi jeg lekte på twitter en dag, og så fant jeg en liste som blir kuratert (ordbok.no <3) av en av de menneskene. De som er store og mektige, og som jeg litt sånn respekterer.

Uten forvarsel eller tid til å venne seg til idéen at en av de leser hva jeg skriver, så blir det gjerne at jeg får litt kombinert presentasjons- òg prestasjons-angst, og da er det best å bare holde kjeft, og vente til det går over (det går egentlig aldri over, du blir bare lei av å vente, og en morgen bare våkner du og finner noe annet å rette usikkerheten din mot).

Stemmen i hodet sier at hun sikkert bare har glemt å fjerne meg fra listen.

Ellers da, Mathias? Går det bra med deg?
Jooo. Ja. Egentlig. Kan ikke klage. Klager jeg nå, så kommer vel antinissen og skaller meg ned med en eiserne Kopfnuss +5. Savner første sesong av Grey’s Anatomy. Savner energien, viljen og tillatelsen til å rette meg mot det jeg vil.
Jaok. Var egentlig ikke interessert. Fortell meg om Bergen.
Bergen? Bergen var, ah, et herlig avbrekk. Jeg makter egentlig ikke å legge i ord, hvor herlig det var å le, å smile. Må bare få det sagt, at den turen var fornøyelig, og den blå steen er fortsatt ikke direkte blå, men det virker som om byen har polert den siden sist, så den har et noe klarere blåskjer i regnværet. Er sikkert noe de gjorde som følge av dette.

bee tee dubs, funnet ut at jeg liker the likes of Pink Floyd, Yes, og King Crimson. Vet ikke hva jeg gjør med denne informasjonen.

Tjue poeng til den som klarer å gjette hva jeg fikk flest kommentarer fra norsklærerne mine  om. Tips: Begynner med «A» og slutter med «snitt».

«At de våger å snakke til meg.»

Jeg reiser meg i senga og ser meg rundt. Jeg prøver å snakke til meg selv.

Mathias?
Ja?
Si noe.
Hva da?
Hvasomhelst. Bare, si noe
…

Jeg blir rastløs. Finner klær og går til kjøkkenet og baker scones til frokost. Baking. Okkupasjonsterapi. Nesten.

Jeg kjeder meg, så resten av dagen ligger jeg foran TVen. Klarer ikke lese. Ikke interessert i å bevege meg, men TVen kjeder meg. Jeg stirrer mest i taket. Taket er fint. Flatt. Hvitt. Jeg slipper å tenke. Jeg kan gjøre dette en stund. Det er fint.

To dager senere, og jeg tror jeg er klar for å høre fra andre igjen. Smilet er ikke tomt, og jeg kjeder meg ikke. Bare rumlelydene er igjen.

Drømte at jeg tok livet av meg selv. Ikke at drømmer betyr så mye. Burde ikke se så mange syke serier, eller ha tungmetall som bakgrunnsmusikk.

Jeg er ikke trist eller noe. Sannsynligvis ikke. Definitivt ikke. 21. Hvit. Norsk. Er på toppen av verden. Ingenting er galt. Må bare minne meg selv på det. Forteller meg selv, at så lenge jeg sier at jeg er smådeppa, så kan det ikke være sant. Da bare forblir det en av de utallige løgnene mine. Slipper å ta stilling til den delen av meg. Tror det er til det beste, for det er jo egentlig ikke noe galt.

Hvordan kan man be folk slutte være hyggelige? Hvordan kan man fortelle de, at det er «ok at du ikke hater meg, bare ikke fortell andre om meg.»?

Nå vet jeg hvorfor jeg elsker The Doctor. Jeg har mitt svar.

men nå er jeg egentlig bare litt sur. Du skjønner, her forleden endte jeg opp med å spise en ferdigpizza, og for meg er det bare det siste man gjør. I alle fall det siste man innrømmer til andre(men det første man blogger om). Står på prix med pizzan i handlekurven, og jeg kan se alle de dømmende blikkene. “Frossenpizza? Jaja. han e jo gut. ekje å forventa at han kan lage seg  orntli middag.”

Hører de skeptiske stemmene i hodet “sånt du blir feit av.”, “dette smaker ikke godt engang.”, “fyfaen, du er så jævlig lat.”, “haterdeghaterdeghaterdeg”

Ah, skammen. Welcome back, old friend. Savnet deg. Kos. Klemz.

Ikke at det er så veldig feil. Er ikke så altfor flink på sånn middagskokeri. Foretrekker å bake. Kaker og sånt. Brød. Vet ikke hvorfor. Måtte jevne ut det store ego-hullet etterlatt av pizzaen, så i går begynte jeg på nok ett sånt “nå skal vi lære å lage kake med flere lag!”-prosjekt. 3 kakebunner. 2 kollapset i ovnen. Skuffelse. Jaja. Tror jeg skal bruke de to misfostrene til å lage … cupcakes eller noe. Alt er mulig.

så ligger jeg liksom på senga og skal skrive blogginnlegg. må bare påpeke at dette er sykt ukomfortabelt. lita seng, og må liksom ligge litt på diagonalen for å få plass til meg+pute+laptop. Trenger flere puter for å løfte brystkassa opp til en mer komfortabel stilling. Så utrolig mange tabs i firefox. spennende blogger og annet dilldall jeg egentlig vil se, men akk så lett det er å bare trukke cmd+Q og alt er bortevekk. friheten er bare sååå langt vekke.

Faen.
Har ikke fått sove skikkelig på 7 uker eller noe. Sær Münchentur etterfulgt av et par nattevakter har gjort litt med søvnrytmen min, men ville jo være ille å skylde på denslags. Tror humøret mitt har mesteparten av skylda. Det var liksom en jævlig god idé å sitte oppe og se på visjon norge hele natta. eller bake nake. supper er noe jeg best lager om natta.
bakvendtland. Går til sengs rundt klokken 3, og våkner som etter en powernap. Klar for handling. Ulempe? Hm joja. sovner midt på dagen. Hukommelsen skranter. Folk maser om ting jeg har sagt, avtaler vi har blitt enige om, men som jeg ikke husker har skjedd. Ting jeg har sagt. Vinteren slutter å bli magisk, og begynner å bli slitsom, når du er oppe om natta, ikke klarer å lese i mer enn en time om gangen, fryser i varmen og er ekkel og klam i kulden.

oh, ja. jo, du kom vel sikkert hit for å fnise over mitt utuktige forhold med det engelske språket. Mitt storoffensiv mot godt språk, hvis du så vil. Here you go:

«The winter hath begat an ominous air.»

Eneste grunnen til at jeg fortsatt kan løpe rundt i allmennheten, er at dåsemiklene ikke klarer å bestemme om det er sedelighetsbrigaden eller språkpolitiet som har jurisdiksjon på feltet, men det er grenser for hvor lenge et byråkrati kan krangle. En vakker dag kommer de til å marsjere inn, tre en pose over hodet mitt, og dra meg avsteds til en bunker et sted. Langt vekke fra allmennheten. Kakebuas allmektige renovasjonsfunksjon.

Hah. Inception? Filmen? Jeg vet ikke. Jeg var heldig. Slapp å være alene. Tror det er var en stor del av gleden i filmen. Noen andre.

og nå tilbringer jeg egentlig dagene liggende på gulvet. Venter på at noen skal sende epost eller tekstmelding eller twitter, så jeg kan falle tilbake til det velkjente Panic LIGHT (med 0% sukker og 200% mer aspartam!). Snakker om sosialt stress! Endte opp på tumblr, fulgte noen her og der, og plutselig fikk jeg to følgere, og så to til. Jeg fikk sagt takk til de to første, men de to siste klarer jeg ikke å finne ord til. Burde ikke være så vanskelig å si «Hei! Takk som følger. Dere er fine mennesker», men selv der klarte jeg å feile så miserabelt som man bare kan.

åh, ja. hvis noen kommer hit, så er det vel mest for språket, og litt for sytingen. så jeg kan vel syte litt. Har egentlig mistet lysten til å syte så utrolig intenst over hver jævla lille detalj i hverdagen, meeeeen… Jeg kan jo alltids bruke en time å klage over Dagbladet, når de kaller Angela Merkel statsminister, eller når de ukritisk melder om en studie fra England som foreslår at en hodepinetablett om dagen skal beskytte mot kreft. Drit i at å kalle Merkel for «statsminister» er å misforstå alt alt ALT, eller at å dytte en tilfeldig kreftrelatert studie ut i allmennheten bare er å be om irritasjon (og glem i å linke til studien. jeg elsker å grave gjennom nettet).

Er tilbake med mer engelskspråklig ekstravaganza når jeg føler for det.

I mean, I’m reading some blogs that are out there, and they’re all so wonderfully well-written, that the reclusive bunny of joy, deep within my heart begins jumping up and down with the same anxious intensity as the korean epileptic call girl from that novel about three army doctors. I want to shower them with compliments! They make me want to run off to the distant corners of the earth, meditate in far-off caves, and write lone syllables on moldering pieces of parchment. Practicing the art of verbal expression, so that I may produce just a fraction of the same awesomeness that I’ve found in the many blogs out there.

I’ve think I’ve raved a bit about how my particular writing process goes, but in case you’ve forgotten, here’s the process illustrated. I should give it a nickname, as it follows me wherever I go. As I write this particular paragraph, I’ve reached the third draft, and and hour ago, the whole things was spread out over three documents.

Snugglepuff, devourer of time!

Let’s take a short break. Consider this a respite from my ill-conceived ramblings.

Sometimes I wish I could write about the weird stuff that pops up at work. Failing that, I’ll serve you up a tale of yesterday evening: having settled in back home after work, the phone rang with the number withheld. Answering the call, I heard shallow breathing noises, and then a voice; “Isn’t there somebody who says you should love your neighbour like you love yourself? Good night.” Ah, yes, such is life.

We now continue with our previous misadventures. Onwards!

I still can’t believe I actually get to talk to two of those awesome bloggers. It’s been months, but it’s still almost like the 4AM miracle haze. In other words, delicious! My thoughts really aren’t clear in this matter. They make me want to be a better person.

There’s probably some sort of clever moral that has been discussed and explained in minute detail. Icarus springs to mind. Put in a terrible way, they – as a collective – would be Helios. The motivation and will to improve myself would star as Daedalus, and I will inevitably play the role of Icarus. In my distraught haze, I will fly too high, and as my fingers scurry over the keyboard, desperately looking for letters to form words, my face will contort like so:

HOWEVER! On Friday, July 23rd of 2010, a tweet surfaced on the intertubewebs that proposed an alternative

Rough translation by delicious author of blog : ” In the rain the rock is blue, and that’s what important” (1)

Perchance? What is this claim? Can there be truth to it? Sacre bleu! I’m on it!

An excursion to the city of Bergen was hastily arranged. A five hour journey it was, but one easily overcome with a book. A short timejump now.

….

The rock!

Arguably NOT blue. More grayish.

Now we must do SCIENCE! to it. Sadly, there was no rain to see, but with inspiration and great deft, artificial rain was acquired from the nearest store.

Ok, see. Now it’s blue. This is odd.

In fairness, it is concievable that the artist had considered that Bergen gets a considerable amount of rainfall throughout the year, and made the rock out of some magic material that exhibits different properties when wet. Now, WHY he would choose to do so is something entirely different. I suppose he just wanted to bother anyone NOT from Bergen.

With this observation made, I will amend my truth. The rock IS blue, if it has been exposed to water.

Oh, well. Now I’m stuck in Bergen, so there’ll be more later. There is science! to be done! Allons-y!

(1) : personal inflection not taken into consideration. Contextual messages may have been dropped. Translation may be inaccurate on the whole. Please confer with your nearest linguist or other qualified professionals

Meine Damen und Herren, aufgrund einer aktuellen Nachricht, möchten wir kurz unser laufendes Programm unterbrechen.

Karl Ranseier ist tot.

Great news! I fired the writing staff! The means there will be more time and cash available for my important blog-age! No, waa-ait. I don’t have a writing staff. I have an orange that speaks to me in tongues. I should fire her. I bet all the citrus cruits are servants of the abdomi- .. abominable Dr. Fu Manchu.

I will write like the father in a novel I read some time ago, and I think it will be a great improvement over my usual fumblings.

It is summer here, and while the weather is not summerlike, there has been some sunlight.

Between my reading and sleeping, I have also been working, and while the work is tiresome, there is sometimes the opportunity to plaster a smile on the face of a customer.

I think this is getting very old, very fast, and I think I should stop this right now.

It’s odd. I’ve made a decision to run. Don’t know where, when or why. Can’t really say it’s a decision, as it feels more like a need. mightbefun. Maybe Raxacoricofallapatorious, or Betelgeuse IV. Probably Glasgow, or the nearest cot. ( Turns out my first stop to satiate this need is Bergen, and from there on it’s all just jumbled. meh. )

Waving my arms now. Imagine the view becoming bright and unfocused. My voice becomes ethereal and ghost-like. A Dalek plunger sticks to your patella. The view begins to shake violently, and the plunger pops off. The lights are flashing now. Your feet touch the ground.

You are in a meadow. and I’m done with the (semi-)autobiographies of the sad, depressed and insane. That didn’t last long. A whoooping ONE visit to the bookstore. More psychotic ravings for me. “yay”

Like Prince Armitage Dakkar’s famous submersible transportation device, updates are forthcoming.

P.S. If you catch that “Prince Dakkar” AND the “forthcoming” note, there will be delicious cookies in your future.

P.P.S This was written sometime around the 6th of June. Temporal contexts may be negatively influenced. Expect some discongruities.

“Deliciously orange!”, the great divisor spoke.
“I had not in my slumber conjured up a more fantastic impression than the one you have served me today. Yes, good tidings to the scribes who have prepared this most savory spectacle.”

Boredom, excited music, sunshine and a vacuum flask of bitter and brown beverage are all on their own fairly impotent, but when joining together like a freakish and limping megazord, they become a revolting force of nature that approaches the qlippoth in malevolent potential.
I suspect most of the blame lies on the excited music. Whatever fiendish deity wields this melodious sonance, does also have a troublesome prowess with lubricating otherwise tiring minds. I suspect she has some sort of cattle prod, with which she viciously pokes imaginations and force them into atavistic fits of rage.
Where was I? Ah, yes. I’m feeling as if I’m not getting a lot of the themes dealt with in the things read. I’m overly sensitive to Weltschmerz, depression, confusion and desperation. I don’t seem to be getting much of the joy in the tales; the continuance of life and the simple beauty that comes with it. I’m barely grasping the hints of it, but I can’t really enjoy them. I find this problematic.

haha

On that, I’m suspecting that my woefully inadequate collection of real-life experiences are much to blame. I suppose I do really life inside some nigh-impenetrable bubble.
This seems like a fitting opportunity to come with some amusing anecdotes on my shortcomings and epic failures in life. Maybe I could put the entirety of some of my non-experiences into a context that would underline my inability to grasp the supposedly more joyous sides of life. ohyeah, still dreaming of my first kiss. Mind you, that’ll never happen.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made interesting experiences, and then opted to block them out, then I suddenly remember that I have weird experiences that I’d rather forget but can’t, so it all seems to moot.

I’m beginning to sense a recurring theme here.

The chapter structure of Love in the Time of Cholera is odd. It doesn’t seem to deal with matters of time, but with stages of personal development. That’s my sense of it, anyway. The truth is probably something like “it’s arranged alphabetically from the third word of of the 2nd paragraph in even numbered chapters and the 19th word of the first paragraph in odd numbered chapters.”

I realize it may seem an entirely unnecessary exercise, to regale you of the tales of my morning, but it is tangentially related to what I hope to communicated. Related, in as much, as it is part of the first considerations made when the negligee that would soon wrap my cogitation.

To you objections, I say pooh-pooh.

Yesterday, at a very late hour, I was unduly informed that Palestinakomiteen ( weirdo NGO committee that.. oh, you know what, just go to their site. ) intend to picket at Eurovision Song Contest. Uh, guise? Dick move.

I thought I’d be bothered enough by that to fuel a day of rage. This was very wrong.

First thing I see on twitter, is a reference to and old blog post that pokes fun at christians and implicitly those of all faiths. I’m not that bothered. Then there’s the comments section, and suddenly it’s like I’m reading The God Delusion all over again. Although, now it’s been written my a monkey. Through my superior intellect and amazing skills me having read a few of Dawkins’ books, I actually get what their arguments are, it all collapses when they’re not being communicated properly. Dwelling too long on the significance of a unicorn.

One of the most annoying things on this earth, are those irksome atheists that bury themselves in literature that reaffirms their views. They soak up established arguments and construct a dense wall of arrogance around themselves. I know, not all atheists are that obnoxious, but you don’t really need many jerks to ruin it for everybody. It’s hugely problematic, that atheism is somehow the polar opposite of religion, and atheists don’t understand on a fundamental level what religion is about.

Ok, now, without remotely acting out on what religion is about, I’m just going to playfully flirt with definition.

I posit, that religion isn’t theistic by definition. For this, I suggest paganism, wherein gods aren’t gods in the traditional sense, but perhaps better described as manifestations or sums of forces, elements or whatnots. Oh, and that Buddhism thing-y, wherein there is no deity, but rather some concept of infinity ( don’t tempt me. ever. I will spend days on this, and you’re never helpful ).
I also posit, that the sum life could be called a life’s narrative. A story told, wherein one seeks the answer to your life/reality/colour.
From my initial position, I indicate that it is not the deity but what the deity implies that is relevant for it to be labeled “religion”.
ONWARDS IN THIS RAMBLE!
Haha, oky-doky. In a very roudabout way, I’m not going to meld these two, by alluding to a belief that “religion” implies a certain perspective or understanding of the universe, of life and of everything. In theism the infinite deity structures the universe, and imposes some meaning ( no matter how vague or random). Yes. I’m suggesting that atheists are religious, in that they’ve made atheism a firm position – a stance – through which to look at the world. Especially the militant atheists, who seem to grasp to blatant certainty. ( I’m not touching theism. No matter the length of the poker )

AAAAAAAAARGH.
So! Hah! At some point, I was also told of blood type diets! And boy did they NOT help my day.

So, there’s this idea out there, that people of certain blood types might have better lives, if they tried to avoid some things, and eat more of other things. A diet. No, not the japanese diet. waht? no. not the german either. FOOD! You know! A nutritional regiment! Get it? Ok.

Quickly skimming through the wads of pseudoscience, the basic idea is that people with some blood types may react either poorly or badly to lectins, and if it’s bad, then avoid lectins. Rocket science, I know.
Playing along. I accept that people with a antigen may react poorly to some lectins. Not going to bother with the obvious correlation does not imply causation, but rather move on and ask how the poop that turns into O eating protein rich food, A a more vegetarian regimen and B doing for dairy products, when the basic idea is limited to lectins. I’m so annoyed, I’m going to have to get a hold of more descriptive literature and let the weirdo explain this.

This day’s been nothing but annoying. Militant atheists, quit being such monumental shitheads. don’t talk to me about food.