Marvin K Mooney Quotes

Would you ever purposefully misappropriate syntax?

I was once a Webelo scout; but then they refused to give me a badge for smoking cigarettes so I quit.

This story was not written for people who do not know what I'm talking about.

I am paralyzed. This is not me. I am an invention created by an invention, which was created by an author whose name appears at the top of this text. If you have not read Baudrillard, you should stop reading this and go seek him out right now.

I will be in the afterlife, which as we all know controls the actual life. I will haunt you for the rest of your life until you die and then when you get to the afterlife I will continue to bother you for all of eternity. I am not your subconscious talking, I'm your indecision. Should you give up now? Should you say fuck you Marvin K. Mooney! I abhor your personality! But a personality is what constitutes this voice speaking, but I'm not speaking am I? I am a construction of words on a page. I am forever mute. I am forever the equivalent of hieroglyphics. My intentions are completely different. Valuing more group decision requiem. They will thrive in this. My game defends with absolute confusion. Lurid phantasm, very good defensive ballclub.

You see... the cave is a metaphor, a tool, an illustration. The formula for its accurate representation is something like S2=(2^2)+1. As I just pasted that formula into this document I realized I do not speak math and therefore could not read that formula aloud were I ever in a situation like a reading where I would need to say the formula out loud. I don't know what S means or what S2 equals, nor do I know how to pronounce that little upside-down V between the pair of 2s. If you speak math, then you know what it means.

I began writing this story by subverting the dominant discourse, but that did not last long. My story decided to assert its independence. I tried to rupture all vestiges of received form, but my story fought back. It wanted to go live with its Aristotelian parents. "I'm sick of being experimented on," it said. "What's so lame about catharsis?" Then it stormed out of the barber shop, mid trim, and fumbled down the sidewalk, weak from surgery, thin in description, gaping with holes, and absolutely riddled with bruised sentences. I watched it with binoculars, but decided not to chase after it. I never liked that story anyway.