"You try to come at me, but you have no idea what you're in for. I don't sleep like an ocean. I don't sleep like a stone. I don't sleep like a mountain. I sleep like death. If you want to try and touch me, if you want to try to test me, understand you are coming to death's door and I just might answer.
Come at me as many times as you want. Five minutes from now, ten minutes from now, 24 hours, a week, or a year from now, the results going to be the same. You try to get under my skin with your chirping and whining about what should happen and how things should go and complaining for attention. Well you've got it and trying to push my buttons is about the dumbest thing you could've done. You jump up and down about how the next minutes should go, so let me tell you how they will go: you're going to scream and shout and dance around with your flash and noise and I am going to reach out with my reaper's fist and put you to death faster than switching off a lamp.
If you want a rematch, I expect it. I'll be ready. When you think you're big and strong and start pounding at your own chest, shouting "look at me, hey what about me", I will be there to bury you again, and again, and again until I get tired of your nuisance. When I do, don't expect me to simply switch you off. Expect me to break you into bloody pieces and scatter you to the wind so that no one will have to hear you run your sorry mouth ever again."
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.
1/23/16
Year End Playlist 2015
January - MF Doom - Lightworks
February - Beck - Soldier Jane
March - Starkey - New Cities (feat. Hitomi)
April - Big Sean - Paradise (extended)
May - AWOL Nation - Hollowmoon (Bad Wolf)
June - Odesza - Memories That You Call (feat. Monsoonsiren)
July - Dan Deacon - Wham City
August - Dem Gettaway Boyz - Imma G (Memory Tapes remix)
September - Hot Chip - No Fit State
October - Gorillaz - Dracula
November - Drax & Scott - Sublime (Darkstar Mix)
December - JJ Doom - Guv'nor
The honorable mentions in very particular order. The higher up, the closer to the final cut.
Dirty Projectors & Bjork - When the World Comes to an End
Kodak to Graph - Pleistocene
Deltron 3030 - Stardate (feat. Joseph Gordon Levitt)
Kendrick Lamar - Backseat Freestyle
The Knife - Rock Classics
This was the year of the wolf divining new methods of self governance. Rewriting it's own rules and amending it's doctrine. Enjoy. Honorable mentions tell no tales and get no links. If you want to talk to them, you can find them in the clink. A little place where we keep half ideas. Things we fear. Say it three times and they'll appear. The body you thought stayed buried is floating by the pier. Next time, put more concrete in the socks. Everyone stopping by is not a bot.
It was, though, one of the roughest and strangest and smoothest to date. With the year end look and this, the bookend to 2015, the only thing to do is look ahead to two thousand oh one and six.
///the year is written. let it go. thank you for loving me. thank you for being there. one of these days we may be eating at the big table. in the meantime, you know you have a place at mine where the reeds are just high enough and the shade just thick enough for no one to notice we're there by their fire too.
February - Beck - Soldier Jane
March - Starkey - New Cities (feat. Hitomi)
April - Big Sean - Paradise (extended)
May - AWOL Nation - Hollowmoon (Bad Wolf)
June - Odesza - Memories That You Call (feat. Monsoonsiren)
July - Dan Deacon - Wham City
August - Dem Gettaway Boyz - Imma G (Memory Tapes remix)
September - Hot Chip - No Fit State
October - Gorillaz - Dracula
November - Drax & Scott - Sublime (Darkstar Mix)
December - JJ Doom - Guv'nor
The honorable mentions in very particular order. The higher up, the closer to the final cut.
Dirty Projectors & Bjork - When the World Comes to an End
Kodak to Graph - Pleistocene
Deltron 3030 - Stardate (feat. Joseph Gordon Levitt)
Kendrick Lamar - Backseat Freestyle
The Knife - Rock Classics
This was the year of the wolf divining new methods of self governance. Rewriting it's own rules and amending it's doctrine. Enjoy. Honorable mentions tell no tales and get no links. If you want to talk to them, you can find them in the clink. A little place where we keep half ideas. Things we fear. Say it three times and they'll appear. The body you thought stayed buried is floating by the pier. Next time, put more concrete in the socks. Everyone stopping by is not a bot.
It was, though, one of the roughest and strangest and smoothest to date. With the year end look and this, the bookend to 2015, the only thing to do is look ahead to two thousand oh one and six.
///the year is written. let it go. thank you for loving me. thank you for being there. one of these days we may be eating at the big table. in the meantime, you know you have a place at mine where the reeds are just high enough and the shade just thick enough for no one to notice we're there by their fire too.
Conor McGregor versus A Big Mac
"You're old. You're done. You're days are finished. Look at you, you cannot even stand up straight. If the king of burgers is what you are, then I am the God who shot you out of his left nostril not thinking people would come across your smear on my universe and take any interest at all.
I'm here to tell you that I am here to clean up this nonsense. I am here to wipe you out of existence and the mat is my kleenex. Don't talk to me about longevity. Finishing you is going to be the saddest ten seconds mankind has known in ages. When I'm done with you, there'll be nothing but a shell and I'll smash that too.
If you people want to see a fight, come to my locker room and watch me @#$% this thing... this garbage... out of my ass. Big Mac, when it's over, you're not coming back, because this time I'm going to remember to flush."
I'm here to tell you that I am here to clean up this nonsense. I am here to wipe you out of existence and the mat is my kleenex. Don't talk to me about longevity. Finishing you is going to be the saddest ten seconds mankind has known in ages. When I'm done with you, there'll be nothing but a shell and I'll smash that too.
If you people want to see a fight, come to my locker room and watch me @#$% this thing... this garbage... out of my ass. Big Mac, when it's over, you're not coming back, because this time I'm going to remember to flush."
Pleasant Misunderstanding
We are familiar with term "clapped." To get shot, to get fired, the past part of the act of clapping, being ugly in appearance as though you have been shot up or through a war or battle.
The whole thing with it being used as a term for getting fired or canned, let go, is the one I sort of misunderstood because it's really used as an extension of getting shot or shot down.
The way I saw and see it, in terms of getting fired, is this way: a person gets up and goes in to work to punch in or give their daily speech or state of the company address and before they can say anything at their podium or sit down in their chair, everyone around the office or in the audience simply begins clapping. Non stop. At maximum volume. As though the person being fired has accomplished a cure for cancer or orchestrated permanent world peace. The clapping continues so loud and so violently that the person being fired cannot deliver their speech or continue any more work to the point that their initial jubilation and happiness, as the applause boil over all around them, eventually turns into dismay and confusion, and then utter grief when they finally realize no one wants to hear or see them and that standing ovation is actually their curtain call and they are forced, in a sea of riotous applause, to shuffle into the sunset.
I think that's a much better vision for "clapped" when it comes to someone getting fired. It's got some comedy and nuance to it that the other definition completely lacks.
The whole thing with it being used as a term for getting fired or canned, let go, is the one I sort of misunderstood because it's really used as an extension of getting shot or shot down.
The way I saw and see it, in terms of getting fired, is this way: a person gets up and goes in to work to punch in or give their daily speech or state of the company address and before they can say anything at their podium or sit down in their chair, everyone around the office or in the audience simply begins clapping. Non stop. At maximum volume. As though the person being fired has accomplished a cure for cancer or orchestrated permanent world peace. The clapping continues so loud and so violently that the person being fired cannot deliver their speech or continue any more work to the point that their initial jubilation and happiness, as the applause boil over all around them, eventually turns into dismay and confusion, and then utter grief when they finally realize no one wants to hear or see them and that standing ovation is actually their curtain call and they are forced, in a sea of riotous applause, to shuffle into the sunset.
I think that's a much better vision for "clapped" when it comes to someone getting fired. It's got some comedy and nuance to it that the other definition completely lacks.
1/18/16
Thant Instant
you realize you've been popping off at the mouth about things that you've been digging up from the core and no one gets your tangent.
1/16/16
The Best Thing
about contract work, mercenary work, is that whatever the outcome when it ends well it is for everyone's benefit. The merc gets their life changing bounty. The job gets their goal fulfilled. It is a common symbiosis, but the joy of its moment is rare, difficult to come by, and hard to find, to boot. When it gets nailed down, you feel it in your bones for days. It's like infinite gummi bears and christmas light chandeliers all packed in to a handshake.
1/10/16
1/8/16
The Year End Look
Never forget that any day you do not think about killing yourself is a pretty damn good day. Let's run the damage report to begin. One concussion. One fractured jaw. Pretty okay. What the hell, did we learn? What is the outlook on this year? I am afraid of saying "I don't know." It's all there. I don't want to sift through it. Slug through it. I want to try to take my reference point from the year end look to begin 2015 and see where we go; so let's go!
First of all, caution paid off. Before the major injury to my face, everything was humming on the hardware. When you suffer a debilitating injury, a person cannot help slipping into ways to deal with that pain. No friends were lost and no new real friends were won. Relationships grew deeper and more sovereign. The realization that the only person who can take care of you at the bottom line, when bone strikes metal, is you and the only person you can rely on absolutely, the only person you can control with high fidelity is you. Everyone else are variables. Your friends will help you and attempt to intercede and interject. Some who do are tourists. That is acceptable. Emotional tourism is a fact of life.
Nice guys finish last, but they finish clean and if that means something to your heart then it is absolutely worth pursuing. You cannot wear hats that do not fit before they blow off in the wind or constrict the blood vessels in your forehead hard enough to give you a migraine. Through the incident, I learned that I am a violent person at heart, but the jacket around that bullet is a jacket formed in a forge of love, kindness, emotion and the ability to feel. Sure, sometimes you feel nothing and sympathy and empathy are things I have to manufacture, but I realized very quickly, unable to eat, laugh, smile, frown, grimace, sneeze or cough, that manufactured or not, however you arrive at it, rage and violence is not the way to go. Thinking back on it, had I lashed out and taken the governors off of myself and won the day instead of trying to talk it through and getting cold cocked, I would be sitting at home afraid to go out at night, worried that someone I did something to still remembers and is looking for me and I have no idea what their faces look like. In retrospect, I am fine with the outcome and more comfortable in my own skin for it. I know the switch is there. They do not. That is all the security I need. Sometimes I ask myself if I am being too nice. I ask myself if I am behaving too well. I shrug. I tell myself I am not a rat on a sinking ship. Certainly, I am not the king of the rats. There is much more to do with my life than project my violent heart on the screens of the world around me. What happens when the video skips and the rainbow scaled dragon leaps across the screen and azure clouds belching constellations and weapons blueprints? Focus less on projections and more on allowing that mean streak to roll. Why guide it? Kick back and watch the waves break and listen to the sound. A person doesn't stand at the sea's lip and scream at the waves. Attempt to enjoy it, understand where they are from, listen to the sound, and watch the sun set. Nice guys finish last; violent guys finish dead.
I am pressing myself toward creating music. A good friend of mine is fairly deep into the art and it is intriguing. I didn't talk about it much last year because I didn't expect it to come forward in the ways that it did. I didn't compose a single story last year. I did, but I did not write a single one down. There is no writer's block. Task lock engaged pretty hard through the year. What I thought would be three months off turned into three, then four, months of person to person tasking. Exchanging information at a very high rate. Person to person relationships are still amazing difficult to me to this day. I can do it. I CAN do it. It takes heaven, earth, and hell out of me to make it happen. It is like cutting off one's own digits one at a time. Day by day. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit. Fingernail. Knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit.
On the cusp of actual free time, I am typing with nubs. The fingers are growing back. Healing the psychological wounds. It's amazing to think about how I am still alive. Think about the conversations that lead to continuing to soldier on. There were two very bad psychological breaking points that I did not see coming. I know it does not mean that I am getting better. It doesn't mean that I'm getting worse either. I haven't abandoned writing. It's grown distant. More intangible than it's ever been. "What's the point?" When so many outside forces are bearing down on you and you don't answer the phone and it goes 'click'. I laugh and cry because you never know if the next phone call is going to be the one in the chamber.
The year was severely back loaded with surprises and paperwork. I am still working on the sleeve of scarification. I still use the strokes on my face as a daily reminder to never forget what I cannot go back to. I am envious sometimes that some people have "home"s. I nearly slipped up. It was a phenomenal year for seeing my sister. She is wonderful and sprite. The suggestions creep in: open the door a little. Do not. Do not ever. I remind myself each morning that I am where I am with what freedom and freedoms I do have by, to coin my father's phrase "pruning." To let them back in is to let years and years of work fall away. The garden is not beautiful. It is in animal and entity. Do stellar objects have a soul and intent? Yes. I will not subject myself to it again. Ever. I will never go back. "I don't hate you either, but I really don't like you." The kind phrase he put together after I finally told him I didn't hate him. I wasn't lying. No one was asked to be born. You cannot hate your point of origin. It is you. Whether you like it or not. The only thing separating him from outright hate is the blood connection.
If you will, allow me this thought experiment:
Your memories begin where they will. Your father is just some guy you are forced to live with for the first 24 years of your life. Can you hate him? Yes. Now, that guy happens to be the person who impregnated the womb you came out of. You realize you would not exist, save for his cock. Can you hate him? Well, we're all here now and conscious. Yes and no. If there is a flake, a sliver, a hair between hate and intense "fuck him and his whole set up" to quote Josh Norman, yes. The only thing stopping me from outright hatred is the unfortunate fact that he decided to create another person with her (which holds her culpable too; is where the pass card comes in, but the general manager and the head coach come and go as a pair). It is kind of funny to wonder who the owner is. I laugh thinking about a god as the team owner. God is like "what the fuck, we need to move this franchise and clean house." The commissioner is saying, god's god, is saying "aye Danny, you've got to do something with this team, ticket sales are bombing."
The early months of the year was a fantastic cruise of steady work and hand tools. When everything boiled down to getting people to talk to one another and getting people to a place to sign forms, things got dicey. I left a few relationships behind in 2015. I realized I will never be my brother's equal and he will never see the world through my lens. Same thing with my older sister. If I never see either one of them again I will not be better for it, but I will never be worse for it either. Not the case with my little sister. Every time I get to see her I learn something new and a new way to be. My family doesn't shrink year by year. The depth of my connection with the folks around me that I can call and respond with as family grows. No love has been lost, though some has changed as their relationships to their loved ones and their religions changes.
I think, as we loop around the year and close in on the last things, we are moving in an appropriate direction. The death threats are real. Make no mistake. My love for the friends that I can call family in my new colony is real. My love for my little sister is real. My ambivalence toward my elder siblings is real. As I get older, my tolerance for pain increases as a function of my diminishing indestructibility. I feel sad for connections that burned out faster than I thought they would, but everyone has their own lives and what is convenient and warm and loving to you is harassment and pipe dreaming and gaudy and ancient and plastic and misplaced to them.
The reason no one talks to you may be because your ability to survive is so tightly tied to your ability to carry a conversation with yourself and the other human beings around you are polite enough, kind enough, human enough, to not interrupt.
The takeaway from 2015 is that we are more conscious than ever before. We still feel and we still can. We can love and we can hate and we will take caution. Our days are numbered and taking the most out of each one is not important at all. We will never be famous. We will never be complete. Our family is not the family we were born into, but we can run operating systems on top of each other to make a complete system. You're not born alone and you will not ever, ever, die alone. Waste your breath, waste your time, but do not trick yourself into believing a moment is ever wasted in putting down your hammer, your knife, your gun, your fire, your heart string marionette, your pen, your piss jar, your hat with matching gloves, your shoes, your cigarette, your car keys, your lube, your teeth, your comb, eyeshadow, rubber band, your space suit, your glasses, your sword, your helmet, means nothing.
2015 taught me about faith in people. Faith in friends. They don't have to know everything about you to know where you are from. They don't have to tell you what you mean to them to understand you should pick up the damn phone now and then. Sometimes it works the opposite way. You don't have to worry your pretty head about tabs. They're watching and waiting the same way you are. Fires on hillsides miles apart on the same planet. Give them the credit due yourself. I love you. It was a good year. The friends that I do have and the friends that I can call family sincerely, from Houston to NYC to California to Washington to Baltimore to Michigan... well, it's America off of the top of my head... ain't no family overseas. The point is this: I am not alone in 2015.
I don't know what 2016 will bring. I am taking on new jobs and expanding limits of circuitry and I am afraid. It is going to be messy by my standards. The outlook is heavy and hardline and will take a focus I have not had to muster before. The bonus will be a new body for this red dragon. And, and, and, no one will have to die to get there, yeah? Yeah! How good is that. How great is that. It will not be nose to the grind stone. 2016 will be about how far do you trust me? I promise you that you will not be able to throw me that far. I weigh upwards of 185 pounds. It's only going to get heavier as I get back into the gym after being forced to take three months off when I screwed up and got my face fractured. How far can you throw 200 pounds? Joking. I do think trust will come into play in a big way this year. Trust in caution, trust in going through the motions of writing to find my muse again, trust in friends to standby and trust in friends to see their vision along their lines and do what is asked of me without question.
Let's make 2016 about trust and make progress on our scarification sleeve.
Let's do it. It's not going to be comfortable. It's not going to be easy. If you want easy, kill yourself.
///How To Dress Well - "Us In The Sense of Forever"
///*the year end playlist up next
First of all, caution paid off. Before the major injury to my face, everything was humming on the hardware. When you suffer a debilitating injury, a person cannot help slipping into ways to deal with that pain. No friends were lost and no new real friends were won. Relationships grew deeper and more sovereign. The realization that the only person who can take care of you at the bottom line, when bone strikes metal, is you and the only person you can rely on absolutely, the only person you can control with high fidelity is you. Everyone else are variables. Your friends will help you and attempt to intercede and interject. Some who do are tourists. That is acceptable. Emotional tourism is a fact of life.
Nice guys finish last, but they finish clean and if that means something to your heart then it is absolutely worth pursuing. You cannot wear hats that do not fit before they blow off in the wind or constrict the blood vessels in your forehead hard enough to give you a migraine. Through the incident, I learned that I am a violent person at heart, but the jacket around that bullet is a jacket formed in a forge of love, kindness, emotion and the ability to feel. Sure, sometimes you feel nothing and sympathy and empathy are things I have to manufacture, but I realized very quickly, unable to eat, laugh, smile, frown, grimace, sneeze or cough, that manufactured or not, however you arrive at it, rage and violence is not the way to go. Thinking back on it, had I lashed out and taken the governors off of myself and won the day instead of trying to talk it through and getting cold cocked, I would be sitting at home afraid to go out at night, worried that someone I did something to still remembers and is looking for me and I have no idea what their faces look like. In retrospect, I am fine with the outcome and more comfortable in my own skin for it. I know the switch is there. They do not. That is all the security I need. Sometimes I ask myself if I am being too nice. I ask myself if I am behaving too well. I shrug. I tell myself I am not a rat on a sinking ship. Certainly, I am not the king of the rats. There is much more to do with my life than project my violent heart on the screens of the world around me. What happens when the video skips and the rainbow scaled dragon leaps across the screen and azure clouds belching constellations and weapons blueprints? Focus less on projections and more on allowing that mean streak to roll. Why guide it? Kick back and watch the waves break and listen to the sound. A person doesn't stand at the sea's lip and scream at the waves. Attempt to enjoy it, understand where they are from, listen to the sound, and watch the sun set. Nice guys finish last; violent guys finish dead.
I am pressing myself toward creating music. A good friend of mine is fairly deep into the art and it is intriguing. I didn't talk about it much last year because I didn't expect it to come forward in the ways that it did. I didn't compose a single story last year. I did, but I did not write a single one down. There is no writer's block. Task lock engaged pretty hard through the year. What I thought would be three months off turned into three, then four, months of person to person tasking. Exchanging information at a very high rate. Person to person relationships are still amazing difficult to me to this day. I can do it. I CAN do it. It takes heaven, earth, and hell out of me to make it happen. It is like cutting off one's own digits one at a time. Day by day. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit. Fingernail. Knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit.
On the cusp of actual free time, I am typing with nubs. The fingers are growing back. Healing the psychological wounds. It's amazing to think about how I am still alive. Think about the conversations that lead to continuing to soldier on. There were two very bad psychological breaking points that I did not see coming. I know it does not mean that I am getting better. It doesn't mean that I'm getting worse either. I haven't abandoned writing. It's grown distant. More intangible than it's ever been. "What's the point?" When so many outside forces are bearing down on you and you don't answer the phone and it goes 'click'. I laugh and cry because you never know if the next phone call is going to be the one in the chamber.
The year was severely back loaded with surprises and paperwork. I am still working on the sleeve of scarification. I still use the strokes on my face as a daily reminder to never forget what I cannot go back to. I am envious sometimes that some people have "home"s. I nearly slipped up. It was a phenomenal year for seeing my sister. She is wonderful and sprite. The suggestions creep in: open the door a little. Do not. Do not ever. I remind myself each morning that I am where I am with what freedom and freedoms I do have by, to coin my father's phrase "pruning." To let them back in is to let years and years of work fall away. The garden is not beautiful. It is in animal and entity. Do stellar objects have a soul and intent? Yes. I will not subject myself to it again. Ever. I will never go back. "I don't hate you either, but I really don't like you." The kind phrase he put together after I finally told him I didn't hate him. I wasn't lying. No one was asked to be born. You cannot hate your point of origin. It is you. Whether you like it or not. The only thing separating him from outright hate is the blood connection.
If you will, allow me this thought experiment:
Your memories begin where they will. Your father is just some guy you are forced to live with for the first 24 years of your life. Can you hate him? Yes. Now, that guy happens to be the person who impregnated the womb you came out of. You realize you would not exist, save for his cock. Can you hate him? Well, we're all here now and conscious. Yes and no. If there is a flake, a sliver, a hair between hate and intense "fuck him and his whole set up" to quote Josh Norman, yes. The only thing stopping me from outright hatred is the unfortunate fact that he decided to create another person with her (which holds her culpable too; is where the pass card comes in, but the general manager and the head coach come and go as a pair). It is kind of funny to wonder who the owner is. I laugh thinking about a god as the team owner. God is like "what the fuck, we need to move this franchise and clean house." The commissioner is saying, god's god, is saying "aye Danny, you've got to do something with this team, ticket sales are bombing."
The early months of the year was a fantastic cruise of steady work and hand tools. When everything boiled down to getting people to talk to one another and getting people to a place to sign forms, things got dicey. I left a few relationships behind in 2015. I realized I will never be my brother's equal and he will never see the world through my lens. Same thing with my older sister. If I never see either one of them again I will not be better for it, but I will never be worse for it either. Not the case with my little sister. Every time I get to see her I learn something new and a new way to be. My family doesn't shrink year by year. The depth of my connection with the folks around me that I can call and respond with as family grows. No love has been lost, though some has changed as their relationships to their loved ones and their religions changes.
I think, as we loop around the year and close in on the last things, we are moving in an appropriate direction. The death threats are real. Make no mistake. My love for the friends that I can call family in my new colony is real. My love for my little sister is real. My ambivalence toward my elder siblings is real. As I get older, my tolerance for pain increases as a function of my diminishing indestructibility. I feel sad for connections that burned out faster than I thought they would, but everyone has their own lives and what is convenient and warm and loving to you is harassment and pipe dreaming and gaudy and ancient and plastic and misplaced to them.
The reason no one talks to you may be because your ability to survive is so tightly tied to your ability to carry a conversation with yourself and the other human beings around you are polite enough, kind enough, human enough, to not interrupt.
The takeaway from 2015 is that we are more conscious than ever before. We still feel and we still can. We can love and we can hate and we will take caution. Our days are numbered and taking the most out of each one is not important at all. We will never be famous. We will never be complete. Our family is not the family we were born into, but we can run operating systems on top of each other to make a complete system. You're not born alone and you will not ever, ever, die alone. Waste your breath, waste your time, but do not trick yourself into believing a moment is ever wasted in putting down your hammer, your knife, your gun, your fire, your heart string marionette, your pen, your piss jar, your hat with matching gloves, your shoes, your cigarette, your car keys, your lube, your teeth, your comb, eyeshadow, rubber band, your space suit, your glasses, your sword, your helmet, means nothing.
2015 taught me about faith in people. Faith in friends. They don't have to know everything about you to know where you are from. They don't have to tell you what you mean to them to understand you should pick up the damn phone now and then. Sometimes it works the opposite way. You don't have to worry your pretty head about tabs. They're watching and waiting the same way you are. Fires on hillsides miles apart on the same planet. Give them the credit due yourself. I love you. It was a good year. The friends that I do have and the friends that I can call family sincerely, from Houston to NYC to California to Washington to Baltimore to Michigan... well, it's America off of the top of my head... ain't no family overseas. The point is this: I am not alone in 2015.
I don't know what 2016 will bring. I am taking on new jobs and expanding limits of circuitry and I am afraid. It is going to be messy by my standards. The outlook is heavy and hardline and will take a focus I have not had to muster before. The bonus will be a new body for this red dragon. And, and, and, no one will have to die to get there, yeah? Yeah! How good is that. How great is that. It will not be nose to the grind stone. 2016 will be about how far do you trust me? I promise you that you will not be able to throw me that far. I weigh upwards of 185 pounds. It's only going to get heavier as I get back into the gym after being forced to take three months off when I screwed up and got my face fractured. How far can you throw 200 pounds? Joking. I do think trust will come into play in a big way this year. Trust in caution, trust in going through the motions of writing to find my muse again, trust in friends to standby and trust in friends to see their vision along their lines and do what is asked of me without question.
Let's make 2016 about trust and make progress on our scarification sleeve.
Let's do it. It's not going to be comfortable. It's not going to be easy. If you want easy, kill yourself.
///How To Dress Well - "Us In The Sense of Forever"
///*the year end playlist up next
Dear (_____)
Dear cloak and dagger drug dealer,
I find it a little bit hilarious that I parked my enormous white truck at the back of a parking lot, to make it easier for other people to park and me to get out of the parking lot, and you saw me run in to the general store and decided it was a perfect opportunity to do business. I was as surprised to see your black, tinted, Cadillac jammed into the last swatch of asphalt behind it at 9:30 and couldn't help smiling at the two gray bearded white gentleman strolling away like it was normal when it became clear that I, black dread folk with a frown because I just wanted to pick up cat litter and get the hell home, owned that truck and was walking directly toward you.
I can't imagine how fast your conversation ended with them or if you thought I would say something to them. I can't imagine the conversation that started inside your head or heads as they strolled away in stiff "just, walking through a parking lot at night. Nothing to see here" lockstep when I fired up the old iron horse and popped my headlights. I hope you don't think I cared. Everyone does what they have to do.
You were very cute. Literally the only thing that could have hid you from view was a giant truck. It was very spy versus spy except no one actually gives a shit around here. I can imagine when you popped your own headlights, as I waited for you to get the hell out of the way so I could back up and cut my wheel and get moving, and then turned off those xenon high discharge whatevers and decided to let me go first that you realized whatever jig you were up to was already up and you may as well wait for me to go.
I can also imagine your thought process as I backed and went forward and backed and went forward, jammed in because you had to park so fucking close to me to get that stealth boat in there in the first place, and my headlights lit up your entire interior while I cussed at the inconvenience... I mean, the alley was literally ten feet away. What's the fucking difference. Pull around and be stealthier or something. "What if he clips us?" "What if he gets out and asks us to move?" "We'll have to shoot him."
I'm glad I got around you. I'm still shaking my head. No one gives a damn. Do your business. Get the hell out. Everybody wins. No need for ridiculous cloak and dagger, hide behind the truck, no one can see us, b.s. There are easier ways to be unseen. Parking a giant black Cadillac with unmistakable headlights behind an enormous truck of a person who just ran into the store for a couple general items when you are relying on someone to meet you and make a transaction and get out before that person returns to their car is a bit silly. I'm just trying to get home, my friend.
Choose better next time. Keep it simple. Laughingly yours,
a working man
I find it a little bit hilarious that I parked my enormous white truck at the back of a parking lot, to make it easier for other people to park and me to get out of the parking lot, and you saw me run in to the general store and decided it was a perfect opportunity to do business. I was as surprised to see your black, tinted, Cadillac jammed into the last swatch of asphalt behind it at 9:30 and couldn't help smiling at the two gray bearded white gentleman strolling away like it was normal when it became clear that I, black dread folk with a frown because I just wanted to pick up cat litter and get the hell home, owned that truck and was walking directly toward you.
I can't imagine how fast your conversation ended with them or if you thought I would say something to them. I can't imagine the conversation that started inside your head or heads as they strolled away in stiff "just, walking through a parking lot at night. Nothing to see here" lockstep when I fired up the old iron horse and popped my headlights. I hope you don't think I cared. Everyone does what they have to do.
You were very cute. Literally the only thing that could have hid you from view was a giant truck. It was very spy versus spy except no one actually gives a shit around here. I can imagine when you popped your own headlights, as I waited for you to get the hell out of the way so I could back up and cut my wheel and get moving, and then turned off those xenon high discharge whatevers and decided to let me go first that you realized whatever jig you were up to was already up and you may as well wait for me to go.
I can also imagine your thought process as I backed and went forward and backed and went forward, jammed in because you had to park so fucking close to me to get that stealth boat in there in the first place, and my headlights lit up your entire interior while I cussed at the inconvenience... I mean, the alley was literally ten feet away. What's the fucking difference. Pull around and be stealthier or something. "What if he clips us?" "What if he gets out and asks us to move?" "We'll have to shoot him."
I'm glad I got around you. I'm still shaking my head. No one gives a damn. Do your business. Get the hell out. Everybody wins. No need for ridiculous cloak and dagger, hide behind the truck, no one can see us, b.s. There are easier ways to be unseen. Parking a giant black Cadillac with unmistakable headlights behind an enormous truck of a person who just ran into the store for a couple general items when you are relying on someone to meet you and make a transaction and get out before that person returns to their car is a bit silly. I'm just trying to get home, my friend.
Choose better next time. Keep it simple. Laughingly yours,
a working man
1/3/16
Dear (_____)
Dear American football,
I can understand why you are not beloved by all. We can start at the open invitation to violence; the idea that you don't have to be better than the person you're against in terms of actual skills required to perform your particular task, if you can just outright put them off and maybe out of their ability to do their job. Technically speaking, being a sport means playing your sport, not mauling someone to death in lieu of the ability to perform.
We can go to concussions and human attrition. We can go to the profiteering and cattle. We can also go to the idea that every season has incredible twists and turns that couldn't be written if you had all of the starting elements and the end in hand. Let's harp on that part.
16 episodes. Each one critical no matter how lame the actual episode is. Each one is significant until the season ends and holds little hints and spoilers even though a person can see the likely season finale. Thinking about it, I can see how some people can get frustrated with football fans. I've said it myself about television and cable shows. "How can you keep watching this. It's seven seasons in and you know who lives and who dies at the end every year. Every year is the same. Blah blah blah, oh my gawd it turns out he wasn't dead, only in a coma, or was it amnesia, blah blah blah, the gunman was the sister after all, blah blah blah, it was all a dream, he was driving the car that hit him, aliens abducted the cat!"
Duh! Oh, what a twist, yadda yadda yadda, and superbowl pageant, yaddayaddayadda, and water cooler talk and speculation and rumors until the next season. I can see it, now. More than ever before. American football, I can see how you haven't grown on everyone. Repetitive formulaic television shows, I can see how you haven't grown on everyone. I get it.
Go Steelers,
a fan
I can understand why you are not beloved by all. We can start at the open invitation to violence; the idea that you don't have to be better than the person you're against in terms of actual skills required to perform your particular task, if you can just outright put them off and maybe out of their ability to do their job. Technically speaking, being a sport means playing your sport, not mauling someone to death in lieu of the ability to perform.
We can go to concussions and human attrition. We can go to the profiteering and cattle. We can also go to the idea that every season has incredible twists and turns that couldn't be written if you had all of the starting elements and the end in hand. Let's harp on that part.
16 episodes. Each one critical no matter how lame the actual episode is. Each one is significant until the season ends and holds little hints and spoilers even though a person can see the likely season finale. Thinking about it, I can see how some people can get frustrated with football fans. I've said it myself about television and cable shows. "How can you keep watching this. It's seven seasons in and you know who lives and who dies at the end every year. Every year is the same. Blah blah blah, oh my gawd it turns out he wasn't dead, only in a coma, or was it amnesia, blah blah blah, the gunman was the sister after all, blah blah blah, it was all a dream, he was driving the car that hit him, aliens abducted the cat!"
Duh! Oh, what a twist, yadda yadda yadda, and superbowl pageant, yaddayaddayadda, and water cooler talk and speculation and rumors until the next season. I can see it, now. More than ever before. American football, I can see how you haven't grown on everyone. Repetitive formulaic television shows, I can see how you haven't grown on everyone. I get it.
Go Steelers,
a fan
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