giornale Archive for December 2007

I Need a Kleenex

posted by snarko on Sunday, December 30 2007

the real snarko's identity crisis

I feel like a box of Kleenex. Or a pair of Levi's. Or a Bikini.

Proper Nouns all reduced to common nouns.

So I go online trying to write a blog based on several articles I've previously written, to find I'm an ADJECTIVE.

How would you like to be reduced to an adjective? Snarko, snark, snarky. One fan used to call me snarkolicious; I liked that.

But these people do not know who I am.

I am the one and only, the original, the TRUE snarko, and I RESENT my name online being reduced to an adjective, an insult... fuck even my enemies are using it for their gain. I have been snarko since 1993 online. No other existed.

The only other reference being C.S. Lewis "Hunting of the Snark" translated into Esperanto, a dead modern language.

And yeah, I got a reputation pretty fast. Mouthy woman, once you finally figured out I wasn't a dude (never lied--you didn't ask in that day). Never afraid to state genuine opinion. Real intelligent, but a tad flaky, and definitely "unconventional".

I used to be in "tech" before "the bust": snarko became a favorite chica online when there were no women here, because I told the Truth--always--and was never afraid of anything. I became engineer cheats on video games (admitted when asked it was for me) and the like.

Fans of what-I-did-as-blog before anything called a blog ever existed called anyone acting like me "snarky".

Like look, I'm NOT flattered. You don't know who I am. If you did and I thought it affection, I wouldn't care. But I've been personally made a GENERIC WORD and then back again.

So now people who don't know me at all, but have seen the word "snarky" online, use "snarko" as the noun version of an insult.

Cuz it got lost as insult, when it used to be an affectionate tease.

THOU SHALL NOT USE THE NAME SNARKO IN VAIN.

I kinda feel like I got put into a blender somewhere? And that the juice stung some of y'all's cuts, so now I'm something to swear at, when YOU DON'T KNOW ME?!

Stings bad enough I went from "on it" to struggling artist thanks to W and Co. You don't have to kick me in the ribs by making my VERY NAME a household insult, when you don't even know me.

I AM SNARKO, and that's no lie. I am a real person, and always have been.

Sherry Monarko. snarko! DUH.

Name created cuz I got sick of my art in the day--more than a decade ago--being labelled "women's art", which is always a step now from "art". And if online--still raw at the time and I'm one of your FIRST artists that created a "user interface"--if I was found female, subject would suddenly change from "what's wrong with your hard drive?" to "what color panties are you wearing right now?"

Truly annoying, when you want to talk about a hard drive. Hence I came up with "snarko"; nothing but a smash of my own full name, which sounds male at first. Like I said, you didn't ask at the time.

REAL ONLINE DEFINITION OF TERM SNARKO:

snarko: Me.

snarky: Someone who acts like me online; usually highly intelligent and unconventional.

I don't like to brag but I changed the friggin' IQ test arguing three questions and winning, okay?

snark: My house.

Wednesday's Child

posted by snarko on Monday, December 10 2007

Autistic Boy Dies Under Dubvious Circumstances

I admit I'm creeped out a bit.

Monday is painting day for me. If I don't get to do it any other day, Monday is reserved for artistic work.

I had terrible nightmares last night. I think they were brought on by inhaling toxic fumes just after a massage. The floating shirt comes later, after the repair to a damaged canvas dries.

This painting--now just an underpainting--isn't one of those nightmares. It's for real. And I'm creeped out, cuz the paint is telling me what to do, and it's as horrible as what's in my head.

One of my graphic design freelance clients told me about something weird on her property. It's out in the country, and a rather large piece of land. She kept noting this reflection of sunlight near where the ravine--yes, the property's THAT large, was. But never investigated, as the entire path to the location was overgrown with briars.

So one day she decides she wants to see her own ravine, gets out a machete, and cuts the path open again.

To find a monkey cage--a big one--with a child's bed in it. That was the sunlight reflection. And notices you can't make a noise here that would be heard outside of the ravine due to the height of the walls.

She knew that the former owner of the property had an autistic son, who died at some point. Her neighbor is a retired detective, now on the "case" (no charges filed at this point).

I never got the photo of that I wanted, but I swear I'm channeling him right now. This painting is so creepy. So hollow. So quiet.

Too quiet.

Okay I think the paint's dry enough for the "sun"...