Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
3/29/14
That Instant
you realize you're not a fan of lyrics in music and prefer instrumentals near to a fault and are still ever obsessed with churning them out and refining them.
Reel
Sometimes I wonder if it's real. Outside and inside at the same time. Odd shifts. I can explain them, but explanation goes so far. I still want, to the point of near desperation, to cut you apart and examine the individual pieces. It can be done. There is never a good time for it. It has to be a final project or at least somewhere near final. Very close to final before another change.
The hardest part is finding a reasonable candidate. We can do it. It is far from impossible. Especially if it is the beginning of a stout library. There's no foul there. Storage space must be brought into consideration. On top of that is figuring out how to pay for capacity because storage space is worth gold by volume, plain and simple and the library will be extensive.
The other question being the simple fact that availability will be a major issue. Think it through. There's no impossible in "can't." There is some cant in can't though. Cannot get too canted because nothing flies right canted. All the control surfaces get way off and then holding the stick upright leads to poor action. We're gonna need a lot of jars. Like a fuck ton. Jars are cheap though and so is water. Things are going to rot, but that's fine. Lids contain stank. That's really good. It's not beyond our capacity so that's good too. Temporary storage. I still need more practice and it is an unfortunate obstacle.
You have to be better about taking out the trash though. If you can't take out the trash how can I possibly trust you to store things properly? You can't. We both want this though and how hard do you work to make shit happen when it's only you on the line? That's not fair to me. At all. Fuck progress, stop short changing me. It's not fair, plain and simple, Mr. plain and simple, and you know that.
All I'm saying is, sit the fuck down, have a smoke, and think about it for a minute. How retarded would it be to buy two dozen mason jars at once? For two, you haven't really thought out the actual land routes or air routes yet. For three, you have not worked out the cash because last I checked gas still costs money. And for four, your exit strategy is ill formed at best. I'll throw a five in there because you're actually listening now so it's pretty much a one: you still have a lot of work to do. I know it's very... open ended... but you know what I'm talking about. Talk to me when you've actually got some shit laid down.
It's hard, difficult, to think with you shouting. It's not easy to know if it's real. Hard, but challenge accepted. I'm not sure about you. I don't like it. Othering. Too much othering. To be honest, I'm disappointed in you. You can do better. It's flummoxing. Diagnostics failure? Yes, for chryssakes, yes. How many different ways do I have to paint it? We were born different. We weren't. I'm nothing like you. I know. We are the same. No, we are not. Yes we are. NO, we are not. That is unacceptable.
///Goldie - "Dragon Fly" next to Fury, top ten. new music is great but i am happy to rewind the classics. songs i hope to someday play for my children. when theyre ready. when we get there.
The hardest part is finding a reasonable candidate. We can do it. It is far from impossible. Especially if it is the beginning of a stout library. There's no foul there. Storage space must be brought into consideration. On top of that is figuring out how to pay for capacity because storage space is worth gold by volume, plain and simple and the library will be extensive.
The other question being the simple fact that availability will be a major issue. Think it through. There's no impossible in "can't." There is some cant in can't though. Cannot get too canted because nothing flies right canted. All the control surfaces get way off and then holding the stick upright leads to poor action. We're gonna need a lot of jars. Like a fuck ton. Jars are cheap though and so is water. Things are going to rot, but that's fine. Lids contain stank. That's really good. It's not beyond our capacity so that's good too. Temporary storage. I still need more practice and it is an unfortunate obstacle.
You have to be better about taking out the trash though. If you can't take out the trash how can I possibly trust you to store things properly? You can't. We both want this though and how hard do you work to make shit happen when it's only you on the line? That's not fair to me. At all. Fuck progress, stop short changing me. It's not fair, plain and simple, Mr. plain and simple, and you know that.
All I'm saying is, sit the fuck down, have a smoke, and think about it for a minute. How retarded would it be to buy two dozen mason jars at once? For two, you haven't really thought out the actual land routes or air routes yet. For three, you have not worked out the cash because last I checked gas still costs money. And for four, your exit strategy is ill formed at best. I'll throw a five in there because you're actually listening now so it's pretty much a one: you still have a lot of work to do. I know it's very... open ended... but you know what I'm talking about. Talk to me when you've actually got some shit laid down.
It's hard, difficult, to think with you shouting. It's not easy to know if it's real. Hard, but challenge accepted. I'm not sure about you. I don't like it. Othering. Too much othering. To be honest, I'm disappointed in you. You can do better. It's flummoxing. Diagnostics failure? Yes, for chryssakes, yes. How many different ways do I have to paint it? We were born different. We weren't. I'm nothing like you. I know. We are the same. No, we are not. Yes we are. NO, we are not. That is unacceptable.
///Goldie - "Dragon Fly" next to Fury, top ten. new music is great but i am happy to rewind the classics. songs i hope to someday play for my children. when theyre ready. when we get there.
3/28/14
What Was Meant and What Was Done
I have a hard enough time sleeping at home, let alone sleeping in other places. Always believing I am going to be raped again for passivity or robbed or worse. They're coming for you. They always are, it's just that sometimes you get to see them coming and sometimes you do not.
I'm not afraid of death. That's silly. Everyone dies. Everyone suffers. I've gifted you the daylight hours so stay out of my evening. Is simple enough to say. Much more complicated to live by. Why is it necessary? A matter of control? To an extent. A matter of provocation? Also, to an extent. Consider it a dictation of terms.
If I am to die, let it be beneath a sun. That's not asking too much. Constantly hunted, can a body be blamed for wanting a reversal of roles? Outfoxed the ghosts.... this time.... not really. Still outside. Every time I open my front door they're there. Monsters underneath the bed, if you will. Acceptable terms of endearment.
I don't understand. Call me atheist or call me fractured. Or call me by my name so that I know you are and are not a glitch trip. I'll appreciate it. I may not say so, but I'll appreciate it. I may not say so because I know they're listening too and watching too and it took them some years to be vocal as they are and a division had to come or risk carrying on with, for lack of a better term, phantoms.
Paranoia has been nibbling. I've been thinking very long and very hard about a reasonable solution. What we came to was, this year, we will wear a straw woven hat. It'll look good on me. And that's something! Something to roll on with.
No one means to stand watch all night. Everyone breaths a little easier knowing another one has passed and the weapons can be laid down again because the sun is a very very very reliable and undeniable night light.
///Sneaker Pimps - "Wife By Two Thousand" mr. noename
I'm not afraid of death. That's silly. Everyone dies. Everyone suffers. I've gifted you the daylight hours so stay out of my evening. Is simple enough to say. Much more complicated to live by. Why is it necessary? A matter of control? To an extent. A matter of provocation? Also, to an extent. Consider it a dictation of terms.
If I am to die, let it be beneath a sun. That's not asking too much. Constantly hunted, can a body be blamed for wanting a reversal of roles? Outfoxed the ghosts.... this time.... not really. Still outside. Every time I open my front door they're there. Monsters underneath the bed, if you will. Acceptable terms of endearment.
I don't understand. Call me atheist or call me fractured. Or call me by my name so that I know you are and are not a glitch trip. I'll appreciate it. I may not say so, but I'll appreciate it. I may not say so because I know they're listening too and watching too and it took them some years to be vocal as they are and a division had to come or risk carrying on with, for lack of a better term, phantoms.
Paranoia has been nibbling. I've been thinking very long and very hard about a reasonable solution. What we came to was, this year, we will wear a straw woven hat. It'll look good on me. And that's something! Something to roll on with.
No one means to stand watch all night. Everyone breaths a little easier knowing another one has passed and the weapons can be laid down again because the sun is a very very very reliable and undeniable night light.
///Sneaker Pimps - "Wife By Two Thousand" mr. noename
3/23/14
Dear (_____)
Dear time,
we should be more discerning in how we meet and leave each other. Not that either one of us is particularly feather fanned in our displays, but we need to have fewer feathers hanging out there in bright colors and more feathers dedicated to flight. Waste makes haste or something like it. Let's do lunch, but not because we're supposed to because we wasted dinner the day before. Let's do lunch, time, because it's available this go 'round.
we should be more discerning in how we meet and leave each other. Not that either one of us is particularly feather fanned in our displays, but we need to have fewer feathers hanging out there in bright colors and more feathers dedicated to flight. Waste makes haste or something like it. Let's do lunch, but not because we're supposed to because we wasted dinner the day before. Let's do lunch, time, because it's available this go 'round.
3/22/14
Hanging Up the Suit
It's an unfortunate, necessary, and beautiful time. The time is the one to hang up the space suit. The time to hang orbits closer than circumstance demands. It's okay. It's just Spring. We'll get through it and to the dead and live wires of Summer. It will be pleasant.
People will travel far and wide and countries will entertain them and landscapes you may never see will splatter across pages and it will be pleasant because they went there for themselves, but they cared enough to go there for you too and that's a neat thing.
Don't say proxy. It isn't. Don't get down on yourself for traveling that way though. There is no shame in approximations. Never forget that. You'll have your chance for wanderlust, be it given or taken. Wait, but in the middle times allow yourself to enjoy.
Laugh as often as possible. Regardless of what you perceive, it is important. Do not hesitate. Explain later. You'll thank me some day. Or never. Regardless, don't waste your time taking things too seriously. Don't be a naysayer. Be a slight naysayer. Half of what is suggested is worth pursuing logically. Half of that is worth pursuing purely rationally. Half of that is worth pursuit in dreams and half of that is worth pursuing at the edges of plausible. Half of that is worth pursuing in extrema and half of that is worth pursuing light out. What's left is worth an idle thought, and half of that is worth creating in dreamland.
Dreamland is another story. 100% of dreamland is worth dreamland's pursuits, but what manifests inside dreamland,trickled down from perception is worth all dreamland can give.
I guess part of what I'm finding hard to believe is that I am able to be loved. I am able to love, but I am not familiar with being able to be loved and am distanced enough from the lack of rationale to understand that there may be no actual actionable item or series of actions or stockade behind the signal. No response found. None adequate to the task.
Formed structures of understanding maybe. On top of that is the implied threat of compromising integrity. How far am I, are we, supposed to go into the contract without a full understanding of implied risks? I dunno. I have no idea. Can I be faulted for extreme reluctance, knowing possible outcomes? It's not like jumping out of a window or spitting into the wind or pissing in an alleyway between two homes I have no part of. Those variables are known.
It's tremendously difficult to hang up the suit. I could've watched the last real snow fall for days instead of hours. It ended. So many questions. So many tirades. So much unrealized fuel and no where to burn it safely.
Are you really happy?
"Happier than I've ever been."
God fucking damnit, just tell me straight.
I still have the kill list (the capable list) for when I've gone as far as I can and I know that I can go no farther, freedom wise. I look forward to its execution. I look forward to my own progress too. As far as it can be taken too. I am sure, though not limitless, that's foolish, it is farther than I know now.
///Unkle - "The Answer" days without headache. I am trying very hard to make up and down of junk experience and important existence and meaningful relationships rendered dead outside of my hands for reasons I don't fucking know and do know and all the time all I really want is to leap from the tallest cliff I could find myself on some run and live to tell you about what it was like to hit the ground and survive. We're hanging up the space suit for a while. Not happy about it. At all.
People will travel far and wide and countries will entertain them and landscapes you may never see will splatter across pages and it will be pleasant because they went there for themselves, but they cared enough to go there for you too and that's a neat thing.
Don't say proxy. It isn't. Don't get down on yourself for traveling that way though. There is no shame in approximations. Never forget that. You'll have your chance for wanderlust, be it given or taken. Wait, but in the middle times allow yourself to enjoy.
Laugh as often as possible. Regardless of what you perceive, it is important. Do not hesitate. Explain later. You'll thank me some day. Or never. Regardless, don't waste your time taking things too seriously. Don't be a naysayer. Be a slight naysayer. Half of what is suggested is worth pursuing logically. Half of that is worth pursuing purely rationally. Half of that is worth pursuit in dreams and half of that is worth pursuing at the edges of plausible. Half of that is worth pursuing in extrema and half of that is worth pursuing light out. What's left is worth an idle thought, and half of that is worth creating in dreamland.
Dreamland is another story. 100% of dreamland is worth dreamland's pursuits, but what manifests inside dreamland,trickled down from perception is worth all dreamland can give.
I guess part of what I'm finding hard to believe is that I am able to be loved. I am able to love, but I am not familiar with being able to be loved and am distanced enough from the lack of rationale to understand that there may be no actual actionable item or series of actions or stockade behind the signal. No response found. None adequate to the task.
Formed structures of understanding maybe. On top of that is the implied threat of compromising integrity. How far am I, are we, supposed to go into the contract without a full understanding of implied risks? I dunno. I have no idea. Can I be faulted for extreme reluctance, knowing possible outcomes? It's not like jumping out of a window or spitting into the wind or pissing in an alleyway between two homes I have no part of. Those variables are known.
It's tremendously difficult to hang up the suit. I could've watched the last real snow fall for days instead of hours. It ended. So many questions. So many tirades. So much unrealized fuel and no where to burn it safely.
Are you really happy?
"Happier than I've ever been."
God fucking damnit, just tell me straight.
I still have the kill list (the capable list) for when I've gone as far as I can and I know that I can go no farther, freedom wise. I look forward to its execution. I look forward to my own progress too. As far as it can be taken too. I am sure, though not limitless, that's foolish, it is farther than I know now.
///Unkle - "The Answer" days without headache. I am trying very hard to make up and down of junk experience and important existence and meaningful relationships rendered dead outside of my hands for reasons I don't fucking know and do know and all the time all I really want is to leap from the tallest cliff I could find myself on some run and live to tell you about what it was like to hit the ground and survive. We're hanging up the space suit for a while. Not happy about it. At all.
The Best Thing
about that perfect sneeze is that, whether the world makes sense or not, for like ten seconds it doesn't matter because your sinuses are perfectly clear and your nerves are buzzing and everything went to stars for ten uncontrollably awesome seconds.
Passports
Visitors are always welcome, but those passports expire same day. It didn't always used to be that way, but the policy has grown out of necessity. An offshoot of the "protection" arc. Is it necessary? Yes. If you pick up nothing from the course of life you've never lived and one of the things I've picked up is the fact that passports should not be granted on a long term basis. Complete citizenship.
I'm sure part of the passport policy's origin lies in mental dysfunction and it's many symptoms, but part of it also lies in a love for the ones worth loving and preventing them from being damaged by the many symptoms more numerous expressions. If you do insist on being issued a passport I can only stand in your way for so long. I used to go out of my way to issue them, until the activity bit me in the ass so hard I could not deny the recklessness with which I was stamping books. So I stopped stamping books.
To help me and to help you. I want nothing to do with you, not because I want nothing to do with you, but because I can have nothing to do with you. It is, in all actuality, just actually, very simple. Or not. At least to me. I don't understand what I have to offer you. Further from that understanding, is getting that it is okay to have nothing to offer you explicitly. I don't get it. Guilty. I still have yet to grasp that. Does that make me wrong to reject closeness?
Fear of change? Yeah, sure. That's already established. I hate change like I hate playing with a board of objects wired to voltage. Why does this one shock me now when it didn't on the last go round. Fucking scientists. Fucking psychologists. Fucking experiments. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or what I am to do or is an acceptable response. So I am myself and I worry if that self at that time is acceptable or not. After the fact. Paying forward to increased anxiety.
Everything a study. Too plodding. Too thorough. And knowing letting go is an option. Still and caged. Not caged, but trying to figure out how to gift wrap appropriately. Gift wrap in a way that will be received to expectation.
Visitors from other lands. No one belongs here except the ones born here. It's a simple fact that helps me make the most of my interactions. It's an understanding that helps me make sense of where froms and how tos. They could never live here and I could never live out there for too long. The things chasing me to sleep. Not over thinking it or taking on some stance of god failure or "waaah, no one gets me," just adding up without trying to be ridiculously deterministic.
What shines brightest are those willing to dive in and take the chance that I'm wrong, which is wholly possible, pending my own ability to give them a chance to do so and also pending on my ability to accept a "no" on whatever grounds they find necessary or pertinent or fact. I'm not sure I'm ready to do the first yet and I damn sure am not ready for the second.
My heart is made of glass. I know this. My brain is made of glass too. Which one is a person to trust less? Beats the hell out of me. Let's find out. "You don't belong here. What are you doing here?! What is your objective??""
///Bowery Electric - "Electro Sleep" a lull in the battle
I'm sure part of the passport policy's origin lies in mental dysfunction and it's many symptoms, but part of it also lies in a love for the ones worth loving and preventing them from being damaged by the many symptoms more numerous expressions. If you do insist on being issued a passport I can only stand in your way for so long. I used to go out of my way to issue them, until the activity bit me in the ass so hard I could not deny the recklessness with which I was stamping books. So I stopped stamping books.
To help me and to help you. I want nothing to do with you, not because I want nothing to do with you, but because I can have nothing to do with you. It is, in all actuality, just actually, very simple. Or not. At least to me. I don't understand what I have to offer you. Further from that understanding, is getting that it is okay to have nothing to offer you explicitly. I don't get it. Guilty. I still have yet to grasp that. Does that make me wrong to reject closeness?
Fear of change? Yeah, sure. That's already established. I hate change like I hate playing with a board of objects wired to voltage. Why does this one shock me now when it didn't on the last go round. Fucking scientists. Fucking psychologists. Fucking experiments. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or what I am to do or is an acceptable response. So I am myself and I worry if that self at that time is acceptable or not. After the fact. Paying forward to increased anxiety.
Everything a study. Too plodding. Too thorough. And knowing letting go is an option. Still and caged. Not caged, but trying to figure out how to gift wrap appropriately. Gift wrap in a way that will be received to expectation.
Visitors from other lands. No one belongs here except the ones born here. It's a simple fact that helps me make the most of my interactions. It's an understanding that helps me make sense of where froms and how tos. They could never live here and I could never live out there for too long. The things chasing me to sleep. Not over thinking it or taking on some stance of god failure or "waaah, no one gets me," just adding up without trying to be ridiculously deterministic.
What shines brightest are those willing to dive in and take the chance that I'm wrong, which is wholly possible, pending my own ability to give them a chance to do so and also pending on my ability to accept a "no" on whatever grounds they find necessary or pertinent or fact. I'm not sure I'm ready to do the first yet and I damn sure am not ready for the second.
My heart is made of glass. I know this. My brain is made of glass too. Which one is a person to trust less? Beats the hell out of me. Let's find out. "You don't belong here. What are you doing here?! What is your objective??""
///Bowery Electric - "Electro Sleep" a lull in the battle
3/19/14
That Instant
you first realized the drawing could be bigger than the paper and the paper was just a window on the drawing and you had the freedom to be as close to the object or as far away as you wanted and your little eyes went huge and the world you knew as a kid exploded .
3/17/14
Concepts and Compulsions (the third star on the right)
There was a definite shift from the factory perspective to the machine level perspective. I'm not sure exactly when it happened and I do think it was a shift in the correct direction. It was a shift that granted more personhood, more agency, more personality to what is continuing. Obviously the factory still exists and maybe not as obviously the dreaming door is still there near it's basement and used frequently, but not documented as thoroughly as I would like, but that's a matter of preference and amplitude.
The idea of them being up in an office having meetings without me and being forced to listen in to get news of what direction the committee was going grated on me pretty hard and I was getting very upset about not being included on their decisions so I am taking some agency back because I have to live here too and what they make affects me immediately as soon as it leaves the factory doors because I am the consumer primary and the keeper and owner. The deed's in my name. Just saying. I can't have them wrecking up the place and deciding when and where they want to work inside the building and the child is going to do what he will, and I can't keep stopping everything to go look for him (which is easy to say because he's right in front of me now and he won't hold my hand, but I've got his pinky and his pain tolerance is nowhere near mine and it doesn't need fixing or adjustment, it just needs held), but I will because I can't keep watch all of the time and he knows when to sneak out better than I know when to check on him.
I took the map of the warehouse and exploded it. Took the map of the iron works and exploded it into pieces and came up with a better way to organize and run diagnostics on its ability to function on it's own. Not off any grid, but function as a thing properly connected and fed by mainlines. The concept was lurking in the back of my mind and took a back seat to the foundry, the assembly line, but the stock house allowed far too much space for engineering weapons and tools that built better tools for building war machines. I'm still trying to get the spacing right. Getting to a point where we know what all of the parts are doing at all times is very difficult and throws error messages and blows out the lights sometimes. I would like to believe I am getting close to a master approach.
I've adopted a more mechanical concept. The electric layer and the machine layer. All into a sandwich. It's like a massive circuit board with steam punk getting the outside layer to talk to the inside layer. Communications are still a little bit shoddy, but I think I'm getting the response times right. Or at least more correct and that's more steps in a direction so I'm comfortable with not drowning. Control itself has not been an issue except in extreme cases or cases that I would call extreme sensory nodes. Times and instances of overwhelming input from the outside surface that over powered the gears ability to translate it into valid input to the inside surface. And then it just goes harmonic spitting back weird settings to the machine layer that does not know how to place it in three dimensions that makes sense to the surface and then the surface burps up colors and lights and structures and the entire layout of the city is completely off and the gps sends some bastard down a sidewalk that ends at a cornfield because that road was paved over fifteen years ago and broken up ten years ago and filled in and sodded and there've been 9 annual fairs there and the whole thing smells like carnies and animal poop vaguely to this day.
So now it's all a circuit and machine. Taking Occam to it to a degree. Keep it simple, stupid. It's not a committee, it's a group of parts, pieces, and controllers and they work together at all times. Yes, not all on the same page, but they are in constant communication despite what I thought before. They are in constant communication and the child is a hardware addition with poor pin alignment so as he comes and goes and is present or not, he may not always be detected by the system proper, but he cannot be confirmed or denied. I still do wonder where he goes when he does not register. I wonder if he is listening or not. Prick. WHERE ARE YOU?
Anyway, I can't allow myself to be consumed with his location. I can, but I would prefer not to. I do. We love it when he's around. God, what is he doing now? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING. I'll wait. It's all I can do. All any of us can do. I'll hunt him down. 'S'cool. But basically I took the time to rearrange components into a different, not necessarily new, configuration that allows for greater mobility and flexibility and diminishes destructive passion. Never again. Not yet, anyway. That plan is under double keyed authentication, minimum.
I've gotten away from paper again. I don't know how to feel about it because it's not pure laziness. It's a distaste for the purity to an extant and a feeling of reversion to another extant. I'm not sure where or if the two can be balanced or with what. You must commit to one or the other or both will suffer? No. There is dual dedication. I believe it is a problem of efficiencies and developing a left hand where the right hand has become the left and the left the right and I am partially consumed with teaching the right to do the things the off hand was forced to do. I am okay with that. That is a matter of more practice only, not malfunction. Or to put it another way, no abandonment of duties inside the factory. No idle mills, simply users unaccustomed to their new devices and methods.
I thought back to when I knew something was off with my upbringing. It happened back in elementary school when Mrs. Hymenlokuvar was rubbing my back in kindergarten when I ran from the station wagon, when I was sure it was okay to run after my mom and pop pulled away, all the way to my seat in the classroom. It is one of the few childhood (childhood referencing 2nd grade to birth) memories I can recall that did not end in violence. She rubbed my back for what felt like minutes, but was probably seconds. I remember her being very weirded out that I could show up for class at table three with a healthy sweat going. That was when I began to feel something was off. I liked it though, I remember that. I remember the soothing nature to it and how her hand felt like it was sucking heat off of me so I could run at a much better temperature and it felt terrific.
When I was sure something was off was when I ... was washing dishes at the sink on Taylor street and my parents were going at it about something I cannot remember. Something about Barnabus. Or was his name Barnaby. I don't know. He was the upstairs neighbor and we weren't allowed to play with his kids or something, what I do know, regardless of the details is hearing my dad say "he's listening to us" and then them two leaving the room. It was strange. I wanted to leave the kitchen too, but I had my assignment. Learning all of the creaks in the floor so you could get to the bathroom without disrupting them when you had to pee at night and couldn't hold it or when you wanted to talk to your sisters and you had a whole house to navigate in the dark without bumping into anything too loud.
There is some humor thinking back to how hard I idolized kids when I first broke in to college. "Oh my God, you assholes know everything!" It's a little bit of time compression helping that out. They didn't know everything. Not even close. Well traveled, well heeled? Sure. Capable, adaptable, thorough, and finicky? Sure. Closed and open minded by turns? Also, yes. As time grows longer and leaps of experience compress, it becomes increasingly clear that my peers are just that and no more. No apotheosis necessary. Appreciation yes. I am not just like you, but I will tell you what I fucking am. Closer to your know how than I have any business being given what we are and what you are and where we came from. Fuck you, that's "swagger" and tooth. What's four years to you? I know what it is to me. I wish I knew what it would be to me now eight years ago, though.
I'm a fine pilot, if I may say. I was considering running someone down walking on the side of Will Flynn motorway, but I didn't. Mostly because I was too far from home to be sure I could get home without being pulled over for questioning about the dent in my windshield and the spritz on my hood. Sometimes you have to make business decisions. Plus, I don't have money to get my windshield fixed. That's just silly money management policy!
I embraced metaphor with all my heart through highschool. I think that's when communication fault lines could not be written off anymore as being shy or quiet. I just didn't know how to say it. Didn't know an effective agent to be my stand in for the person between the person that says what I want to say for me. That position was vacant for so long.
Don't mind me if I get weak kneed with words. It's a joy I couldn't experience for a very long time and I am suspect to abuse it.
I wonder sometimes how my Myspace friend DCScompton is doing in Australia. I loved talking to him. Since the migration several years ago we lost touch and I look for him now and then to see if he's still kicking. I would love to move to Canberra. I don't think I would adjust well or I would slot in perfectly. America is not overrated at all, but I think we would have made excellent dual adventurers. I remember asking him about what the compton in his screen name was about and I've been miffed for years because I can't remember. He was a blast to read, but he jumped ship too and somewhere in migrating computers I lost the note that had the address of his page in it, among other things.
Wonder what my therapist is doing? I do too. Jeff is a good guy. He meant well. I do wonder how much of it was general altruism and how much was actual understanding. I never asked him how he was doing or about his family, but I think it was a lot of unspoken understanding that it was none of my business and absolutely off limits for reasons we both knew.
I don't worry about him, but I do wonder about what he kept off the table and why. Why didn't he offer too? Was it because I had to be there? And why did he turn me in that day? Was it concern or was it a matter more akin to protecting job security. I don't think he ever really trusted us. Which is fine. Understandable. I have to understand that we didn't really know each other know each other. He could have, though. I wouldn't have rejected it.
The tracking signal cuts both ways. A ping back is a ping back. Until the signal cuts out. The keys jingling on your pant loop let you know you are traversing reality and they also let reality know that you are crossing space and you have to be prepared to accept that your recognition is also the key not only to an ignition, but to a gate.
It's the third star on the right, straight on 'til morning, can't miss it.
///Steve Miller Band - "The Joker" some people call me a lot of things. there's power in knowing your own name.
The idea of them being up in an office having meetings without me and being forced to listen in to get news of what direction the committee was going grated on me pretty hard and I was getting very upset about not being included on their decisions so I am taking some agency back because I have to live here too and what they make affects me immediately as soon as it leaves the factory doors because I am the consumer primary and the keeper and owner. The deed's in my name. Just saying. I can't have them wrecking up the place and deciding when and where they want to work inside the building and the child is going to do what he will, and I can't keep stopping everything to go look for him (which is easy to say because he's right in front of me now and he won't hold my hand, but I've got his pinky and his pain tolerance is nowhere near mine and it doesn't need fixing or adjustment, it just needs held), but I will because I can't keep watch all of the time and he knows when to sneak out better than I know when to check on him.
I took the map of the warehouse and exploded it. Took the map of the iron works and exploded it into pieces and came up with a better way to organize and run diagnostics on its ability to function on it's own. Not off any grid, but function as a thing properly connected and fed by mainlines. The concept was lurking in the back of my mind and took a back seat to the foundry, the assembly line, but the stock house allowed far too much space for engineering weapons and tools that built better tools for building war machines. I'm still trying to get the spacing right. Getting to a point where we know what all of the parts are doing at all times is very difficult and throws error messages and blows out the lights sometimes. I would like to believe I am getting close to a master approach.
I've adopted a more mechanical concept. The electric layer and the machine layer. All into a sandwich. It's like a massive circuit board with steam punk getting the outside layer to talk to the inside layer. Communications are still a little bit shoddy, but I think I'm getting the response times right. Or at least more correct and that's more steps in a direction so I'm comfortable with not drowning. Control itself has not been an issue except in extreme cases or cases that I would call extreme sensory nodes. Times and instances of overwhelming input from the outside surface that over powered the gears ability to translate it into valid input to the inside surface. And then it just goes harmonic spitting back weird settings to the machine layer that does not know how to place it in three dimensions that makes sense to the surface and then the surface burps up colors and lights and structures and the entire layout of the city is completely off and the gps sends some bastard down a sidewalk that ends at a cornfield because that road was paved over fifteen years ago and broken up ten years ago and filled in and sodded and there've been 9 annual fairs there and the whole thing smells like carnies and animal poop vaguely to this day.
So now it's all a circuit and machine. Taking Occam to it to a degree. Keep it simple, stupid. It's not a committee, it's a group of parts, pieces, and controllers and they work together at all times. Yes, not all on the same page, but they are in constant communication despite what I thought before. They are in constant communication and the child is a hardware addition with poor pin alignment so as he comes and goes and is present or not, he may not always be detected by the system proper, but he cannot be confirmed or denied. I still do wonder where he goes when he does not register. I wonder if he is listening or not. Prick. WHERE ARE YOU?
Anyway, I can't allow myself to be consumed with his location. I can, but I would prefer not to. I do. We love it when he's around. God, what is he doing now? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING. I'll wait. It's all I can do. All any of us can do. I'll hunt him down. 'S'cool. But basically I took the time to rearrange components into a different, not necessarily new, configuration that allows for greater mobility and flexibility and diminishes destructive passion. Never again. Not yet, anyway. That plan is under double keyed authentication, minimum.
I've gotten away from paper again. I don't know how to feel about it because it's not pure laziness. It's a distaste for the purity to an extant and a feeling of reversion to another extant. I'm not sure where or if the two can be balanced or with what. You must commit to one or the other or both will suffer? No. There is dual dedication. I believe it is a problem of efficiencies and developing a left hand where the right hand has become the left and the left the right and I am partially consumed with teaching the right to do the things the off hand was forced to do. I am okay with that. That is a matter of more practice only, not malfunction. Or to put it another way, no abandonment of duties inside the factory. No idle mills, simply users unaccustomed to their new devices and methods.
I thought back to when I knew something was off with my upbringing. It happened back in elementary school when Mrs. Hymenlokuvar was rubbing my back in kindergarten when I ran from the station wagon, when I was sure it was okay to run after my mom and pop pulled away, all the way to my seat in the classroom. It is one of the few childhood (childhood referencing 2nd grade to birth) memories I can recall that did not end in violence. She rubbed my back for what felt like minutes, but was probably seconds. I remember her being very weirded out that I could show up for class at table three with a healthy sweat going. That was when I began to feel something was off. I liked it though, I remember that. I remember the soothing nature to it and how her hand felt like it was sucking heat off of me so I could run at a much better temperature and it felt terrific.
When I was sure something was off was when I ... was washing dishes at the sink on Taylor street and my parents were going at it about something I cannot remember. Something about Barnabus. Or was his name Barnaby. I don't know. He was the upstairs neighbor and we weren't allowed to play with his kids or something, what I do know, regardless of the details is hearing my dad say "he's listening to us" and then them two leaving the room. It was strange. I wanted to leave the kitchen too, but I had my assignment. Learning all of the creaks in the floor so you could get to the bathroom without disrupting them when you had to pee at night and couldn't hold it or when you wanted to talk to your sisters and you had a whole house to navigate in the dark without bumping into anything too loud.
There is some humor thinking back to how hard I idolized kids when I first broke in to college. "Oh my God, you assholes know everything!" It's a little bit of time compression helping that out. They didn't know everything. Not even close. Well traveled, well heeled? Sure. Capable, adaptable, thorough, and finicky? Sure. Closed and open minded by turns? Also, yes. As time grows longer and leaps of experience compress, it becomes increasingly clear that my peers are just that and no more. No apotheosis necessary. Appreciation yes. I am not just like you, but I will tell you what I fucking am. Closer to your know how than I have any business being given what we are and what you are and where we came from. Fuck you, that's "swagger" and tooth. What's four years to you? I know what it is to me. I wish I knew what it would be to me now eight years ago, though.
I'm a fine pilot, if I may say. I was considering running someone down walking on the side of Will Flynn motorway, but I didn't. Mostly because I was too far from home to be sure I could get home without being pulled over for questioning about the dent in my windshield and the spritz on my hood. Sometimes you have to make business decisions. Plus, I don't have money to get my windshield fixed. That's just silly money management policy!
I embraced metaphor with all my heart through highschool. I think that's when communication fault lines could not be written off anymore as being shy or quiet. I just didn't know how to say it. Didn't know an effective agent to be my stand in for the person between the person that says what I want to say for me. That position was vacant for so long.
Don't mind me if I get weak kneed with words. It's a joy I couldn't experience for a very long time and I am suspect to abuse it.
I wonder sometimes how my Myspace friend DCScompton is doing in Australia. I loved talking to him. Since the migration several years ago we lost touch and I look for him now and then to see if he's still kicking. I would love to move to Canberra. I don't think I would adjust well or I would slot in perfectly. America is not overrated at all, but I think we would have made excellent dual adventurers. I remember asking him about what the compton in his screen name was about and I've been miffed for years because I can't remember. He was a blast to read, but he jumped ship too and somewhere in migrating computers I lost the note that had the address of his page in it, among other things.
Wonder what my therapist is doing? I do too. Jeff is a good guy. He meant well. I do wonder how much of it was general altruism and how much was actual understanding. I never asked him how he was doing or about his family, but I think it was a lot of unspoken understanding that it was none of my business and absolutely off limits for reasons we both knew.
I don't worry about him, but I do wonder about what he kept off the table and why. Why didn't he offer too? Was it because I had to be there? And why did he turn me in that day? Was it concern or was it a matter more akin to protecting job security. I don't think he ever really trusted us. Which is fine. Understandable. I have to understand that we didn't really know each other know each other. He could have, though. I wouldn't have rejected it.
The tracking signal cuts both ways. A ping back is a ping back. Until the signal cuts out. The keys jingling on your pant loop let you know you are traversing reality and they also let reality know that you are crossing space and you have to be prepared to accept that your recognition is also the key not only to an ignition, but to a gate.
It's the third star on the right, straight on 'til morning, can't miss it.
///Steve Miller Band - "The Joker" some people call me a lot of things. there's power in knowing your own name.
Sequencer
It's been a very long time. I have no apologies (I do). The growing distance was daunting and becoming a thing alive all it's own. Retreating crash zoom, but we're safe again. Contained. Able to love and much more importantly to pick up threads of circuits and lay them new against the board and chips that have melted, over heated beyond recovery, and reached the end of their service lives and that's good. It's a beautiful thing to open the panel and watch sunlight dazzle every which way against the gold and green and know every thing, multicolored, bent, pinched, blackened, and water seized can go directly to the heap for recycling or trash.
What kept me? What kept you! We've been here forever. If you didn't want me to slam reverse for ten feet and then floor it while you sped ahead to the first hairpin, you shouldn't have said the first one to cross the finish line wins. You could've mentioned... ah whatever, it's a joke, but I'm not funny.
Control is not my strong point, but I try to make it a stronger point and that's something. I'm beginning to understand anew that I will never reach a point where we all agree on anything on a consistent basis. I'm not okay with that. Are you?
I saw him again today. I am not happy about it. I have to be more careful. I think I may have slipped up before and mentioned him by name to a friend again after I told him it would never happen again. He was not happy about it. If I'm not careful we will have to pay for it. I will be. Let's kick things forward. Snap the key off in the ignition. What are you waiting for? You creep me out when you stand still. You look like you're not breathing. You look like you're drowning and I can't swim, hon'. I'm sorry. I should know by now and I don't. It's not going to be alright. Can I snap a photo of my face on the water atop your head? I'll get the angle right so my phone is not visible and it'll be me with Thursday's overcast over my shoulder. I'll make it look good this time around. Not like the first time you made my skin crawl away from my ribs like a window shade when I had to touch your face to be sure you were still there and not a fried up bit of my retina.
Let's enter the sequencer. Let's wind it up. If not now, when? Forget the God damned mission for a minute. Never forget, but do not let it overwhelm you. These are very key pieces. These are very important stages in construction and becoming and missteps will cost, but not more than ghost steps. Engage the sequencer and do not fear yourself. Fear is the mind killer and aboard a destroyer as capable as yours, fear cannot be afforded safe passage.
///El-P - "A Christmas Fucking Miracle" they can never take away what you were born with
What kept me? What kept you! We've been here forever. If you didn't want me to slam reverse for ten feet and then floor it while you sped ahead to the first hairpin, you shouldn't have said the first one to cross the finish line wins. You could've mentioned... ah whatever, it's a joke, but I'm not funny.
Control is not my strong point, but I try to make it a stronger point and that's something. I'm beginning to understand anew that I will never reach a point where we all agree on anything on a consistent basis. I'm not okay with that. Are you?
I saw him again today. I am not happy about it. I have to be more careful. I think I may have slipped up before and mentioned him by name to a friend again after I told him it would never happen again. He was not happy about it. If I'm not careful we will have to pay for it. I will be. Let's kick things forward. Snap the key off in the ignition. What are you waiting for? You creep me out when you stand still. You look like you're not breathing. You look like you're drowning and I can't swim, hon'. I'm sorry. I should know by now and I don't. It's not going to be alright. Can I snap a photo of my face on the water atop your head? I'll get the angle right so my phone is not visible and it'll be me with Thursday's overcast over my shoulder. I'll make it look good this time around. Not like the first time you made my skin crawl away from my ribs like a window shade when I had to touch your face to be sure you were still there and not a fried up bit of my retina.
Let's enter the sequencer. Let's wind it up. If not now, when? Forget the God damned mission for a minute. Never forget, but do not let it overwhelm you. These are very key pieces. These are very important stages in construction and becoming and missteps will cost, but not more than ghost steps. Engage the sequencer and do not fear yourself. Fear is the mind killer and aboard a destroyer as capable as yours, fear cannot be afforded safe passage.
///El-P - "A Christmas Fucking Miracle" they can never take away what you were born with
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