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Blogs
| Tomlop's Blog |
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Main | Displaying 15 results per page |
| The following is a list of Tomlop's blog entries, in reverse order |
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High School Freshman vs. Creationist |
Tuesday, March 16, 2010 (05:44:14) |
This is a link Matt sent me. I read it over and wrote out a reply, point by point. I'll let you guys be the judge of who won.
http://www.abovetopsecret.com/forum/thread163678/pg1
My response:
1. Bird wings formed from the evolution of dinosaur arms into stronger, more flexible appendages. Next point, fuck face.
2. No, biologists don't just place similar looking species next to eachother. Ever heard of fucking genetics, ass hole? Next point, fuck face.
3. This has nothing to do with evolution, my dear fuck face. But since we're here, actually, life has been created in labs, you disingenuous self-mutilator. Next point, fuck face.
4.Complete ignorance of the idea of mutations in the gene pool. When an individual is conceived, the gene mutates. Good mutation=better adaptation to their environment=higher survivability=existence. Also, not all animals follow the XX/XY sex chromosome system. Fuck, this is stupid. Next point, fuck face.
5. This DNA "error-checking system" is not perfect. Mistakes are common. I thought nothing was perfect except for God? Next point, fuck face.
6. The amount of energy the Sun throws at us is enough to power Evolution. While entropy does indeed apply to the Sun, the scale by which it is affected is too large to have a significant effect on biology for billions of years. Next point, fuck face.
7. DNA replication errors, ass hole. Next point, fuck face.
8. Once again, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with Evolution you stupid piece of shit. It has yet to be proven that energy had ever not existed in the past, and the Big Bang would've had enough concentrated energy to form matter as we know it. See, you assume that matter and energy are two different principles, when they're really not. Matter is essentially made of energy. Do positive and negative charges in protons and electrons ring a bell? It's called electromagnetism. Next point, fuck face.
9. While the Martian environment was very similar to Earth's in their early stages, it's much different now. Mars is farther from the Sun, and it's smaller, so it retains and receives less energy. Despite all this, life could still be on Mars, just in less conspicuous places, such as beneath sheets of ice at the poles. Still, nothing to do with Evolution, abiogenesis is chemistry, so next point, fuck face.
10. We are most definitely NOT alone. Just because there are no signs of intelligent life that we have found yet doesn't mean there's no life, or even intelligent life. Who's to say other intelligent beings utilize radio signals to communicate? Perhaps they've learned to use gamma radiation, or microwave radiation, or perhaps some other apparatus that humans cannot yet comprehend? This still hasn't got shit to do with evolution fuck face, and you're all out of chances.
Just read the addendum. Evolution has nothing to do with Geology. I mean WHATSOEVER. And actually, granite doesn't cover the entire Earth, just the continental plates, as it is less dense than basalt, which makes up the oceans. According to Matt, this addendum is based on a book by a dude named Gentry. He found these halos in calcite dikes, not granite, which completely dispels them as evidence even remotely affecting the age of the Earth.
And actually, the reason that humans can't produce granite is because it's an intrusive igneous rock, in that, it forms when magma is injected into other rock and cools. Scientists CAN show it's origin from magma, sweet, sweet fuck face. |
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Bloody Writer's Block from Hell. |
Saturday, March 13, 2010 (05:10:27) |
My free time at school usually consists of me writing something, a screenplay, a poem, a short story, something to add on to my numerous initiated novels, something. Lately my free time has consisted of me staring at a blank piece of lined paper and thinking about something to write. I've written ONE thing in the past two weeks, and I'm really debating whether I should post it because it was quite rushed and I'm unsure of its quality.
On a lighter note, I got Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Book of Genesis from my uncle. There is a bizarre passage in their about multiple gods having sex with women to create the Nephilim. It puzzled me. There's also another bizarre passage about Noah inventing wine, getting drunk, sleeping in the nude, having his son walk in and see his schlong and go tell his brothers about it, and then cursing his son for seeing his schlong. I'm telling you, some of the stuff in the Bible is weird.
So yeah, if you can come up with good ideas for short stories or something, I will thank you a million times and cite you wherever I post that short story. Please help me. The writer's block hurts. |
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Victory. |
Monday, March 08, 2010 (08:55:52) |
Matt and I just got a staff pick for our semi-popular collaboration "Lebowski'isms." We did a lot of better collabs, I suppose that one just leavened the mood that was fairly heavy and passionate from the other poems. Anyways, this is my first staff pick and I is very excite in instance of now. So excite, grammar of mine is deteriorate. Yarghhhhh.
Read this poem by Matt. He put a lot of work into it and it's not getting the reception it duly deserveth.
"Do you see how they speak of us?" |
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Alex Jones is an idiot |
Monday, March 01, 2010 (08:13:32) |
| What, are you looking for a justification of this statement? It's self affirming. |
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Awesome screenplays (again) |
Tuesday, February 16, 2010 (03:44:13) |
More screenplays. I am an octopus.
Boricua Soul: An examination of the Puerto Rican culture and lifestyle, centering on a young man in New York and his roommates, a single mother living on the island, and elderly woman whose world is rapidly changing.
Ten Dead Reds: Satire about the McCarthy era, involving two spies contract to kill ten blacklisted celebrities.The twist is, however, they must first prove they are communists. Things go awry.
Throughout the Years: A very tricky idea I've had for a while, about 4 men living in different times who all lack something. There is a reclusive writer who is also mute, a musician who is addicted to heroin, a visual artist who is evicted from his home, and a schizophrenic that lives in a hotel room infinitely paid for by the money from his grandmother's will.
The Horrid Earth: When Cronos, the father of Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon, retakes his throne on Mount Olympus, Zeus and Hades escape (Poseidon is killed) and conquer the Earth to gather an army in order to confront their father. (this was a hard synopsis to write)
Kaigen: Conceptualized by my brother, Daniel, Kaigen tells the story of a post post-apocalyptic(two "posts" for a reason) world that becomes a battleground for Heaven and Hell. A very epic tale with very heavy religious overtones and a mixture of Arab and Asian influences in the world's culture.
Infinite Empires: In an alternate past (during the middle ages) three empires that control the entirety of the world wage war whilst attempting to quell domestic revolutions. An allegory of World War II.
The Last Round: Examination of the fraternal relationships that develop in the world's forgotten watering holes, as well as an examination of the extent to which a friendship will last.
Did you guys hear about George Clinton's novel? Spoiler, the whole thing was an acid trip. |
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Conversation with a white supremacist |
Tuesday, February 16, 2010 (02:36:04) |
The other day, my brother had an incredibly short conversation with a member of the aryan brotherhood while other people were standing around them. This is an approximation of that conversation. I think it speaks wonders for how hypocritical the aryan brotherhood is.
[Enter Nazi A-hole and Everybody else]
Nazi A-hole: "So, one time, I was fucking this dude in the joint..."
Everybody else: "What the fuck?"
[Exeunt] |
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Rubberneckers |
Sunday, February 07, 2010 (05:52:12) |
All the people slowing down to see
The crumpled wreck of what could be
Somebody's final living place
Thank your god that he took them, not you.
You know that's something he won't do
Because his plan is full of grace.
How we hate to contemplate our death.
We're telling ourselves lies instead.
God knows there is no other place.
With our most basic instinct to live
Still strong against the hope gods give;
A mind that thinks in opposing ways.
Some of the best lyrics I've ever seen
From this song |
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It Takes a lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry |
Thursday, February 04, 2010 (01:32:00) |
I ride on a mail train, babe
Can't buy no thrill
Well, I've been up all night
Leanin' on the window sill
And if I die
On top of the hill
If I don't make it
You know my baby will
Don't the moon look good mama,
Shinin' through the trees?
Don't the brakeman look good mama,
Flaggin' down the Double E?
Don't the sun look good
Comin' down over the sea?
Don't my gal look fine
When she's comin' after me?
The wintertime is coming
The windows are filled with frost
I went to tell everybody but I
Could not get across
Oh, I wanna be your lover baby
I don't wanna be your boss
Don't say I never warned you
When your train gets lost |
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Gratification |
Saturday, January 30, 2010 (00:20:40) |
| I don't understand why a beautiful, soft spoken, mentally stable girl would want to be with me, an unattractive, mentally insane...thing? Oh well, I'm not complaining. |
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Double Obituary |
Thursday, January 28, 2010 (21:37:00) |
Howard Zinn
August 22, 1922 - January 27, 2010
Howard Zinn is best known for his magnum opus, A People's History of the United States, which tells the history of America from the point of view of "America's women, factory workers, African Americans, Native Americans, working poor, and immigrant laborers." However, he was more than a historian, he was as well an accomplished playwright and a truly influential social activist. He died of a heart attack during, though not while viewing President Barack Obama's State of the Union Address. This is morbidly ironic. He was 88 years old.
Jerome David "J.D." Salinger
January 1, 1919 - January 27, 2010
J.D. Salinger is an American author, known for his reclusive nature following the controversy of his most famous novel, The Catcher in the Rye. Its themes of adolescence and loneliness find it a special place in my own heart. Though many people hate the novel, I will always love it, and I will always remember J.D. Salinger. He died of natural causes at the age of 91. |
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"In Memorium" |
Tuesday, January 26, 2010 (08:05:45) |
"The past year began with a bang. The two previous years were spent in emotional exile and at the beginning of the year, a car crash literally shook my world at it's foundation. You know, events of that nature have a irrefutable effect on both the mind and the spirit. You can trick yourself into believing a goddess rests at your feet when in reality you truly see the aging foot prints of every whore you've ever known, but wickedness let's 'em continue to creep on in. This is nothing new. This would not make this past year unique in any way, but once I had truly recovered from this incredibly psychological crash, I came to open my eyes when various matters significant to my own nature were concerned. The world was being viewed with another set of eyes. This isn't too bizarre. I believe it is common for those who come so close to death to see the essence of life completely different than those who have yet to embrace such tragedy, but the truth is it is no tragedy! It is bliss, sweet bliss, the end of ignorance, the beginning of something new, or that is what I'd like to believe because in reality, I came to conquer many vices, but I keep falling for the same old parlor tricks. I get better at it every day. There hasn't been this much progress in any other year in my life. Many things changed in the world, within me, within those close to me. I saw my dark side get the best of me at times, but it was necessary because it was needed for growth. This past year was insane, enlightening, amazing, depressing, and full of happiness. In about 4 days, I will celebrate the day that I got into the car accident that played its role in erasing the demons so I may embrace a most inspiring future. I am pretty sure that I don't have most of this figured out. In fact, I probably never will. Truth be told, the lot of you would've pissed your pants in an attempt to figure out what to do after a near-death experience, so I think I'm doing pretty good and I intend on pursuing more of this bittersweet goodness. This year put an end to the darkness, but it is in no way an ending, but rather a beginning of something that is morbidly uncertain, and I'd have it no other way."
-My brother Daniel |
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Late Film Reviews from 2009 |
Thursday, January 21, 2010 (06:18:00) |
This is late because I'm a bad person. It features both movies that I saw in theaters last year, as well as movies that I couldn't see until the new year that stuck out. I hope you enjoy, and any thoughts would be appreciated.
Rating system:1-10, 5 is average, anything above that is above average, anything below that is below average. You no like, you no have to.
Taken - 4.5/10
I didn't like Taken. It was far too generic, far too predictable, and Liam Neeson's performance was disappointing. Perhaps the only redeeming part of this movie was the fairly good action sequences, but that's not what I look for in a movie. But that's just me.
Dance Flick - 0/10
If you see this movie, I guarantee you you will attempt suicide at least once. The jokes are unimaginative and cheap, the acting is horrendous, and you walk out hating humanity.
Funny People - 7.5/10
I sincerely enjoyed this movie for the simple fact that it isn't the typical Judd Appatow-Seth Rogen comedy; it's truly heartfelt. This movie has a great script with great lines and the best performance I've seen from both Rogen and Adam Sandler. That's a truly powerful statement, because I can't stand Adam Sandler. Reign Over Me, The Wedding Singer, and Punch Drunk Love were good, but Click? Mr. Deeds? Billy Madison? Come on you guys. Funny People is probably the best Sandler movie with it's poignant display of the inadequacy that generates comedy.
Gran Torino - 9.5/10
YES! This is a near perfect movie. Great dialogue, great plot(although only slightly predictable at times, and great Clint Eastwood. His performance in this movie is fucking great, and while no one else was really all that good, he makes up for it. This movie was unjustly snubbed in the Oscars. I liked this movie more than Slumdog Millionaire, which reminds me...
Slumdog Millionaire - 8.5/10
This movie makes you want to jump up and dance along with Dev Patel in the credits. It's really that uplifting, and while the movie's message definitely diverted from the book(amazing read by the way, better than the movie in my opinion) it still succeeds with a different message. Sure, it's no Godfather or Taxi Driver, but Slumdog Millionaire is still one hell of a movie.
Doubt - 8/10
Holy crap, Phillip Seymour Hoffman played a priest accused of pedophilia. Although he seems to fit that role perfectly. In all seriousness though, he and Meryl Streep are astounding in this movie. Not only that, but the script is amazing too. The worst part of this movie though was how slowly it moved along. But then again, what should one expect from a movie that takes place in a Catholic School?
The Wrestler - 9/10
This movie damn near made me cry. Mickey Rourke kicked Sean Penn in the ass, and I didn't even see Milk, though Matt says he was exceptional. But I don't care, Mickey Rourke's performance beat even Nicolas Cage's performance in Leaving Las Vegas(one of maybe two good movies from mister Cage) which is saying a good deal. This movie is just so real, everything about this movie feels like your standing next to Mickey Rourke as he has a heart attack and when he gets stapled. Which reminds me, some of this movie's scenes might not be for the faint of heart.
Inglourious Basterds - 9.5/10
I love Tarantino. I can't think of any bad movie's he's made except for From Dusk 'Till Dawn. This movie just emphasizes every aspect of Tarantino's film making skills that I love. Inglourious Basterds MASTERS the art of dialoguing. But this movie is lacking in the performance department. Brad Pitt overacts like an SOB while Eli Roth can't act at all. I forgot her name, but the woman who played the German actress/double agent is definitely deserving of a supporting actress Oscar, and is the best performance in this film. The main German antagonist that isn't Hitler is pretty good too.
Let the Right One In - 10/10
We always save the best for last. This film is from Sweden,but I got it on Blu-Ray with English subtitles. Don't watch this with the English dub. It is annoying as hell. This film is amazing. It's a perfect film, in my humble opinion.The performances, the atmosphere, the scripting, all fantastic. In case you need background on this film, because it is quite obscure, I will provide it righhhhhhht here:
A spiteful and violent teenager makes a friend who moves into the next apartment. Soon though, he discovers that she(or he, this will be explained later) is a vampire. Many an insane event occurs and they fall in love, but their relationship is strained due to their conflicting species.Not a movie for thos with weak constitutions.
Read no further: SPOILERS
Now, this movie is based on a novel. Many things were left out of the movie that were in the novel, such as the fact that the vampire girl has been castrated by the pedophile that lives with her. This is implied quickly in one scene though, just as most of the references to the book are quite subtle. The vampire girl whose name I wish I could remember often asks the teenage boy whose name I wish I could remember if he would still like her if she wasn't a girl. This could be referring to her vampirism or her castration. A very complex film indeed.
EDIT: I think her name is Elie. |
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... |
Thursday, January 14, 2010 (06:29:57) |
| My therapist is dead |
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Haitian earthquake time for prostheltysing? |
Thursday, January 14, 2010 (01:56:12) |
There was an earthquake in Haiti yesterday, and while death tolls aren't definite at this point, they are estimated at as much as 100,000. This is, undeniably, a tragedy of horrendous proportions. My family is located in Puerto Rico, which is not far away at all, and that alone scared. But this isn't about them, they aren't in any danger at this point. Numerous people have died, and I'm in no position to blame anyone or anything for what's transpired, but a part of me says this could've been avoided.
I was watching an Associated Press clip on the subject, and in the comments section, I saw a particularly atrocious comment. It basically said that the people of Haiti deserved this disaster because they were "stupid enough to choose to live in an area prone to natural disasters." This statement sent me into a fucking frenzy. That people could be so despicable as to call the victims of unforeseeable event, it was too much to bear. Haiti is an incredibly poor country, first of all. The people who have money leave for the United States with it. The people who don't, for the most part, are forced to stay. Second of all, they didn't "choose" to live there. The French brought African slaves to Haiti, using it as a slave colony.
The mere ignorance of this statement didn't set me off, oh no. In the same comment, this ass hole decided to question, "Why should the Lord intervene?" OH BINGO! SO THE "LORD" IS FUCKING MALEVOLENT! By the way, if any of you are offended by the previous statement, I'm sorry. I'm referring to this dick's interpretation of God. People like this are the most repugnant human beings I can think of. Those who undermine a disaster like this and then justify their position with their "God" are deserving of whatever "Hell" they believe in.
Thoughts? |
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A Voice for the Dead (A short story to warm the heart) |
Friday, January 08, 2010 (07:27:00) |
Comments are mandatory.
Dylan Williams Presents!!!:
A Voice for the Dead
With every star that passed, every moon that died, with every gale that scratched against our windows, something was lost. Our sorrows grew deeper and the days grew shorter. At every passing glance, a blanket of white slush covered every street, killing our joys even more, for we knew that beneath the snow, there lie in wait for us another year of gravel and stone laced with communal poverty of which my father and I were no exceptions.
I suppose I was one of the lucky ones, with an actual bed to lie on. Perhaps it was merely the equilibrium wrought along with my disability. I was mute. I could hear, smell, taste, see, and feel reality. I knew it was harsh, but I couldn’t express this sentiment with the spoken word. I don’t know for sure what caused this muteness. My vocal cords were completely normal. Everything about my anatomy and psychological condition was completely mundane.
I personally attribute this to a simple understanding that verbal language would forever be used for abuse and ignorance. I think I believed this early on, but before I was mature enough to realize this, I think it may have just been an even simpler refusal to speak.
After my mother died of pneumonia, when I was four, my father vowed to treat me with the same love and care that he was unable to show her. In essence, I was his new wife. He would spend the forty dollars for a fantastically comfortable mattress for me. This was, of course, some sort of redemption in honor of her, as he would’ve rarely been home during her illness, out working, trying to collect enough money for a doctor visit. But, before he could succeed in this, she died. He felt regret in not showing her his boundless love, that which a man had to show hi s wife in order to truly be considered a man. But she was gone, and he would never love anyone like he had again.
I felt sorry for him. All my father had was me, and I was a disappointment at best. I could not be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a war hero. I could only be a boy who never spoke. And so I never understood why he loved me so, even before his need obligation to me, or his need for closure, as he cared for me even before my mother’s death.
I remember one day when I was nine, when my father took me hunting. I remember the distinct scent of pine and evergreen perfuming the iridescent dance of light among the fallen leaves and needles below us, and those that were still falling, ebbing and weaving throughout the woods. My eyes were ignorant to such beauty, such perfect illuminated truth. I had never been so far from the city streets that marred the north.
As we marched through the forest, my father carried two guns, dark-muzzled and brown-stocked, almost identical to each other, but entirely unique upon first-hand review. We marched for maybe half an hour. Then, my father suddenly ceased our civilian patrol and we sat upon a sturdy log of fallen pine. My father handed me one of the guns. I struggled to support it, because it was almost as big as me.
“That gun’s yours now.” My father said to me, his breath shone in the cold of autumn’s death. “I guess you better know how to use it.” He smiled, regretfully. It hurt him to smile; I could see it in his piercing eyes.
I tried to smile back to him. The strain was almost too much to bear, so I gave up on it.
He showed me how to clean the gun, how to load it, how to aim it, and how to fire it. I felt as though I had learned something, though he was trying to teach me something I was unaware of.
When I was done with my lesson, we went out to find any straggling deer not scared off by my practice shots. It took us all of ten minutes to find one. It was a majestic, tan doe with perked ears and a snowy nub for a tail. She was grazing and she knew we were there, but she seemed to continue in spite of us watching her from a bush close by.
As my father pointed his gun at her, she raised her head, emoting an almost somber seeming indifference to her own demise. She stared into my father’s eyes, and her eyes seemed to tear up in unison with his. My father shot that doe in her eye, and she fell with a resonant thud on the forest’s leafy bedding, and died.
I immediately ran to the animal, carelessly, as my father shouted at me not to run to it until we knew it was truly dead, as I ignored him. My vision was flooded with childish sorrow as I held the doe’s broken skull in my arms and let the scarlet agony coat me until I was covered in its shame, its grief, every emotion it knew. And I knew it felt.
My tears dripped into the open wound, and as I cradled the doe, I whispered softly “Mama, mama,” The words were infantile, and they came with great pain. My tongue twisted itself around each syllable so that they each sounded brand new, as though a newborn was trying to pronounce its first words, as though they were newborn words for the newly departed.
“Mama,” My voice trembled with each drop. “Mama,”
And then, as if from the dark abyss of comfort, my father hugged me and lifted me away from the carcass. As he held me, he pointed to the doe’s leg. It was clearly fractured.
“Its life woulda hadda lot more pain if we hadn’t come along, son.” He said, cradling me like the dead doe’s head.
We made the trek back home, my father carrying me in one hand, and our guns in the other hand,
A week passed, and it was winter. The stars passed, the Moons died, and the gales creaked and shook against our windows. Something was lost to us with each chilly moment in eternity, and I was no exception. I awoke one morning and rubbed my eyes to the glistening sun.
My father was not awake, and there was no crackling of frying bacon or off key singing. There was no sincere smile to greet me in the kitchen, and there was no warmth to guide me into day.
I walked back to the door across from mine, my father’s room. I pressed it lightly and the door squeaked open.
In the pressuring dark of day’s genesis, I saw a caricature of man hang from above my father’s bed. Numbness, fear, and immobility came over me. I knelt down at the foot of the bed and looked up at my father.
Solemn and colorless, he was so beautiful in his decay. I stared at him and cradled myself. No tears left my eyes and no shivers went up my spine. My tongue twisted around itself again and I forced out my final words:
“Mama, mama,” Like a newborn voice for the newly dead. |
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