They are wonderful. The down side is they can lock you up with inaction. They can make you distant and untouchable. They can make you a perpetual daydreamer. They are not real. They can bring you to a place, after running over every possible iteration of futures and their trees and branches, nothing will be able to surprise you. Not now, not ever. Everything becomes old faster than you can possibly age without introducing performance enhancing drugs to your body's ability to restore itself. Nothing will ever surprise you if you go down the road. Why choose? Take every fork in mind. Every fork. And the forks beyond them and beyond them too. Die 200 deaths, live 200 lives. Imagine them all!
The up shot is, 24 iterations out, you may land upon a world that is in perfect tune and natural balance so incredible to be immediately discredited. Upon review, it revolves, it sits still, it moves only when touched, and it's gravity is its own and its poles its own. You explore and find an object or idea that defies everything you knew and live in and is contained within itself in eternum. You stumble upon a number that is a number and not at once. A quantity unquantifiable. A thing, brought 24 levels backward in to your three dimensional time locked existence, that will vanish the moment you return home. An idea that only exists in that space.
So hunt. Hunt! Thought experiments are wonderful. Yes, many things will not surprise you. Many things in your "now" will lose their luster and zest, but should you come upon that perfectly imbalanced mirror sphere that only spins counterclockwise that turns the universe if you attempt to put your fingertips or tongue on it to make it move clockwise because gravity and space time need not apply at the door you have to exit before entering, they are worth it. Every second. Every minute. Every hour in dreams.
///The Cure - "Burn"
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.
Showing posts with label academics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label academics. Show all posts
7/23/16
12/13/15
Caps Locked, Similar
I think the biggest thing to get out of the way was talking about how locked up I was becoming. It still governs everything and every choice that I make. The way that my mind works. I don't like to think of it as a disability, it is. Talking to my eternal optimist. The children are in the classroom. It's a bit soggy and untrue, but it is you too!
It really is. Will you dance with me? We can have a fabulous time, a gorgeous time, a wonderfurousfantabugloriousshanannigonkulous time. HAHAHAHA oh yes, oh yes. No bass necessary if you are willing to cut a rug. Down butler street to penn avenue to the point and back up the river trail underneath 40th street bridge and up top on 62nd to watch the sun rise. Kill em, kill em, kill em, ac dc-s? That was a good drum break.
Some things make me smile and I don't want to back everything over it like trying to kill a raccoon you hit at five A.M. If hand outs are coming out lets enjoy them and be one with the weekend. No? Obviously, you have no nerves in your extremities because I defy you to try and find hard drugs that are not spray paint and brick based at this hour.
///Starkey - (Eris) up from the depths
It really is. Will you dance with me? We can have a fabulous time, a gorgeous time, a wonderfurousfantabugloriousshanannigonkulous time. HAHAHAHA oh yes, oh yes. No bass necessary if you are willing to cut a rug. Down butler street to penn avenue to the point and back up the river trail underneath 40th street bridge and up top on 62nd to watch the sun rise. Kill em, kill em, kill em, ac dc-s? That was a good drum break.
Some things make me smile and I don't want to back everything over it like trying to kill a raccoon you hit at five A.M. If hand outs are coming out lets enjoy them and be one with the weekend. No? Obviously, you have no nerves in your extremities because I defy you to try and find hard drugs that are not spray paint and brick based at this hour.
///Starkey - (Eris) up from the depths
10/16/15
At the End of the Seventh Week (damage report)
Out of the fog of wars, asked for and not, comes the final damage report.
The total bill:
1 fractured left jawbone submandibular fossa.
1 dislocated left jawbone condylar process.
1 dislocated left jawbone coronoid process.
The total paid:
1 healed jawbone submandibullar fossa.
1 healed jawbone condylar process.
I don't think the coronoid process will ever heal correctly.
Total bill:
Zero $.
Constant pain in the coronoid process, but bearable and adaptable.
Final result:
No crippling pain.
Unforgettable pain. The kind of pain every morning and every evening and every time I think about eating. However, the kind of pain that will remind me to be a better a person. The kind of pain that is unforgettable and good in its way because it will diffuse further scuff ups and other opportunities to speak my mind whenever I feel like, be it the thrill of getting ice cream or the the assuage of killing off the thrill of murdering someone else because I ... a good deterrent. There are only so many ways to explain so many things. This one is adequate.
I can eat. I can chew. I can tear. I can exercise. I can use the rest of my body. I refuse to incriminate myself. And I will not start here.
The healing has been amazing. I am able to smoke again. I wake up every morning feeling like a railroad spike has been shoved through my skull from the left side, right up through my ear, behind my eye socket and I've never had a migraine by definition, but this must be close to it.
I choose to let it go.
I choose to move on.
I have to.
Head hunters don't lead good lives.
I am furious and love struck and oh so amber and rose and pink in the joy of being able to wake up with 90% of my function back and if that's as good as it gets, hell baby, I got off lucky. I will take that and dance and swing hammers and think about the next time and maybe I will strike first or maybe I will disarm myself before what you are carrying becomes an issues, but for fucks sake, it is good to be able to laugh free again.
The final damage report is this:
Mistakes were made on one side. Mine. I ate it. I came out on the other side, tempered and galvinized. A shorter fuse and a shorter leash too. I expect less of other people and more of myself. And that is flipping pretty good for a prognosis of a wire job.
I've known what it is to not be able to speak for days at a time, not because you couldn't, because you were literally locked closed. A blindness. I've known unprovoked hate in the shade of unbridled happiness. Your spectrum is Roy G, Biv. Mine is unspeakable in its range and color and temperature and length. It has no name yet and I may not be able to give it a convenient one.
I now have the power to teach, and I will not. Unless you press me.
///TV on the Radio - (Lovers Day) of course, there are miracles... the people we think you are. give me the keys to your hiding place
The total bill:
1 fractured left jawbone submandibular fossa.
1 dislocated left jawbone condylar process.
1 dislocated left jawbone coronoid process.
The total paid:
1 healed jawbone submandibullar fossa.
1 healed jawbone condylar process.
I don't think the coronoid process will ever heal correctly.
Total bill:
Zero $.
Constant pain in the coronoid process, but bearable and adaptable.
Final result:
No crippling pain.
Unforgettable pain. The kind of pain every morning and every evening and every time I think about eating. However, the kind of pain that will remind me to be a better a person. The kind of pain that is unforgettable and good in its way because it will diffuse further scuff ups and other opportunities to speak my mind whenever I feel like, be it the thrill of getting ice cream or the the assuage of killing off the thrill of murdering someone else because I ... a good deterrent. There are only so many ways to explain so many things. This one is adequate.
I can eat. I can chew. I can tear. I can exercise. I can use the rest of my body. I refuse to incriminate myself. And I will not start here.
The healing has been amazing. I am able to smoke again. I wake up every morning feeling like a railroad spike has been shoved through my skull from the left side, right up through my ear, behind my eye socket and I've never had a migraine by definition, but this must be close to it.
I choose to let it go.
I choose to move on.
I have to.
Head hunters don't lead good lives.
I am furious and love struck and oh so amber and rose and pink in the joy of being able to wake up with 90% of my function back and if that's as good as it gets, hell baby, I got off lucky. I will take that and dance and swing hammers and think about the next time and maybe I will strike first or maybe I will disarm myself before what you are carrying becomes an issues, but for fucks sake, it is good to be able to laugh free again.
The final damage report is this:
Mistakes were made on one side. Mine. I ate it. I came out on the other side, tempered and galvinized. A shorter fuse and a shorter leash too. I expect less of other people and more of myself. And that is flipping pretty good for a prognosis of a wire job.
I've known what it is to not be able to speak for days at a time, not because you couldn't, because you were literally locked closed. A blindness. I've known unprovoked hate in the shade of unbridled happiness. Your spectrum is Roy G, Biv. Mine is unspeakable in its range and color and temperature and length. It has no name yet and I may not be able to give it a convenient one.
I now have the power to teach, and I will not. Unless you press me.
///TV on the Radio - (Lovers Day) of course, there are miracles... the people we think you are. give me the keys to your hiding place
8/4/13
Change, Other Peoples Clothes, Top Down Sun Up, and Attack
I think that's how I got good at defense. Attacking is an entirely different bag. Attack, attack, attack! Get on it! I don't do call and response all that well. I do response. A lot of my growing up and formative whatevers was response, not call. I was raised not to call and it's been a hedge maze trying to get out of it. When I do call it's usually over top of what I was calling for and it's blunderbussy. Killing a fly with a hammer instead of a swatter and then I have to fix the hole in the wall left behind. It's been fun learning though, learning how to call the right way when calls need to be made and learning that response shouldn't be the only way to integrate myself into lives, because they have lives too and waiting until you're screaming and bleeding out of the eyes is no way to go about inserting yourself into conversation. I still need distance in a bad way, but a good way. It keeps them safe and it keeps me safe from misunderstandings and not so shuffle crowds and that's a good thing. The fewer the things flowing in the better I can handle, and then it's not a frag of choice. I hate getting hooked on forks. STOP GIVING ME CHOICES WITHOUT CHANCES TO BREAK UP BAD ONES! That's my only qualm with the United States of Aye Merica. The land of one time opportunity for too many of us. I'd swing less opportunity for more chances any day.
If I could go back in time I wouldn't punch myself in the face or shake myself by the shoulders. I'd kiss me. Hard and furious and little me would be like "what the fuck, man!" and then I'd tell him "it gets rougher, harder, longer, and more ridiculous. You're going to fire a staple through your hand by accident and it's going to suck, but you're going to try to get out of work early and it's going to be one of the worst days post parents that you'll hate. It'll heal up alright and nearly seamless and your boss will be proud of you for getting things done, but you're gonna wish you took more time on the project. Just sayin'. You're gonna hate it for about two minutes, but you're gonna kiss the blood and move on." Poof! Time traveling me peaces out and little me scratches his eyebrow and mumbles "no way."
I'm wearing other people clothes from goodwill. They're great! Half the stuff I have on makes me wonder what could provoke someone to give them up. I haven't bought myself a jacket in a long time. It's been years and I hadn't really thought about it until now. It was always my mother, well, not always. Sometimes my dad would pass me one. I still miss my Bell Atlantic jacket sometimes. That thing was the tits. Furry pockets, double layered body and a knit collar. Loved it. Don't love how I got it (from my father, I hate saying that, but it's true. I hate thinking about "I came from that"s cuz it makes me sick and it probably shouldn't, still heated, still gotdamn heated, it's not gonna die, but I actually want it to. If he wants to apologize, my terms are teeth. Not all of them. But give me one of your kanines and apology accepted. Until then, and only because you outright refused me.... twice, til death), but that jacket was everything you could want in a jacket. Nice and tough outer with ... aw, it's not leather... trying to think of the word... the outer was made of the stuff good work pants are made of. The cuffs were knit too, just like the collar. And you can't beat the Bell Atlantic logo on the chest. So good!
I'm wearing other peoples clothes and it feels nice. It feels right. It feels good to have new things that I bought on my own with my own tastes instead of for all kinds of purpose. Purposeless clothing rocks. Why do you have that jacket? No reasons beyond my own. It tickles me to say that. Everything has been so purpose driven toward survival and managing damage and matching in, but this time, this jacket isn't about matching in or history or family or learning how to run with the silverfish, it's just about wearing what I want to wear. The thing about goodwill though, the darker side, is wondering about if some of my stuff is going to end up at one when for one reason or another, cut short, or left standing still, my things get out of time. Is someone going to be eyeing my baseball jersey who also loves the number 78? I'm not mad about it, but I wish I could meet them so we could talk about our affinity for 78 and how it came about.
Top downing it. I tried to go ground up and I couldn't provoke myself to make the change to oemfail, so I'm taking it from the roof down and it hurts. Thematics don't work backwards no matter how hard you try to grow them that way. I do enjoy the brighter motif. I really do. We're gonna grow the font into a better color and adjust the images, but sometimes you just have to go into a room and sit down in it to begin to understand where it's coming from. The same thing goes for people. You'll never get a good read from afar. Top downing it because I've been boxed out and there is no other option. And I'm okay with that.
I don't like change. Change is stupidly difficult. Sometimes routine will betray you and catch you not paying attention and I think I like that worse. I can be manipulated and gulled and switch backed fairly easily, but I like to think of it as a trade off. A trade off I am willing to take. Unwillingly at times. Taking it though. Brighter and brighter. Years behind and still in meta jail with my fingers through the fence, but making keys.
///Mackelmore - "White Walls" .... lean back... the more I listen to his album the more I enjoy it
If I could go back in time I wouldn't punch myself in the face or shake myself by the shoulders. I'd kiss me. Hard and furious and little me would be like "what the fuck, man!" and then I'd tell him "it gets rougher, harder, longer, and more ridiculous. You're going to fire a staple through your hand by accident and it's going to suck, but you're going to try to get out of work early and it's going to be one of the worst days post parents that you'll hate. It'll heal up alright and nearly seamless and your boss will be proud of you for getting things done, but you're gonna wish you took more time on the project. Just sayin'. You're gonna hate it for about two minutes, but you're gonna kiss the blood and move on." Poof! Time traveling me peaces out and little me scratches his eyebrow and mumbles "no way."
I'm wearing other people clothes from goodwill. They're great! Half the stuff I have on makes me wonder what could provoke someone to give them up. I haven't bought myself a jacket in a long time. It's been years and I hadn't really thought about it until now. It was always my mother, well, not always. Sometimes my dad would pass me one. I still miss my Bell Atlantic jacket sometimes. That thing was the tits. Furry pockets, double layered body and a knit collar. Loved it. Don't love how I got it (from my father, I hate saying that, but it's true. I hate thinking about "I came from that"s cuz it makes me sick and it probably shouldn't, still heated, still gotdamn heated, it's not gonna die, but I actually want it to. If he wants to apologize, my terms are teeth. Not all of them. But give me one of your kanines and apology accepted. Until then, and only because you outright refused me.... twice, til death), but that jacket was everything you could want in a jacket. Nice and tough outer with ... aw, it's not leather... trying to think of the word... the outer was made of the stuff good work pants are made of. The cuffs were knit too, just like the collar. And you can't beat the Bell Atlantic logo on the chest. So good!
I'm wearing other peoples clothes and it feels nice. It feels right. It feels good to have new things that I bought on my own with my own tastes instead of for all kinds of purpose. Purposeless clothing rocks. Why do you have that jacket? No reasons beyond my own. It tickles me to say that. Everything has been so purpose driven toward survival and managing damage and matching in, but this time, this jacket isn't about matching in or history or family or learning how to run with the silverfish, it's just about wearing what I want to wear. The thing about goodwill though, the darker side, is wondering about if some of my stuff is going to end up at one when for one reason or another, cut short, or left standing still, my things get out of time. Is someone going to be eyeing my baseball jersey who also loves the number 78? I'm not mad about it, but I wish I could meet them so we could talk about our affinity for 78 and how it came about.
Top downing it. I tried to go ground up and I couldn't provoke myself to make the change to oemfail, so I'm taking it from the roof down and it hurts. Thematics don't work backwards no matter how hard you try to grow them that way. I do enjoy the brighter motif. I really do. We're gonna grow the font into a better color and adjust the images, but sometimes you just have to go into a room and sit down in it to begin to understand where it's coming from. The same thing goes for people. You'll never get a good read from afar. Top downing it because I've been boxed out and there is no other option. And I'm okay with that.
I don't like change. Change is stupidly difficult. Sometimes routine will betray you and catch you not paying attention and I think I like that worse. I can be manipulated and gulled and switch backed fairly easily, but I like to think of it as a trade off. A trade off I am willing to take. Unwillingly at times. Taking it though. Brighter and brighter. Years behind and still in meta jail with my fingers through the fence, but making keys.
///Mackelmore - "White Walls" .... lean back... the more I listen to his album the more I enjoy it
5/10/13
What Makes You Laugh 2
This cracked me the hell up yesterday. As a kid I always had trouble with math. I remember sitting in the temporary trailer classroom in my AP history class. It was near the end of the year and the teacher was taking some of his sick days. He may have actually been sick. I don't remember. He was kind of an intense guy. Everywhere he walked he walked like he was walking into a steady fifteen mile an hour headwind. He couldn't have been more than five foot six, so the combination of the fast and choppy gait and the constant forward lean he rocked combined to create this Charlie Chaplin silent film physical comedy that left people giggling in his wake.
Advanced Placement history was hard enough, but he wasn't there he would leave worksheets for the less than competent place holder substitutes. There was a steady stable of substitutes so the substitute you had for German two would in all likelihood be the same one you had a few weeks later for chemistry. Their job wasn't to teach, it was to keep order first and foremost. If you learned anything while they were there it was incidental. The worksheets were usually word finds and other time killers. I don't know why they didn't just pass out crayons and blank paper. Wait, I do know. The number of people who could keep themselves busy inside of poorly airconditioned trailers without devolving into the chaos of recess could be counted on one hand. Maybe two. The worksheets that time around were math problems.
I sat near the front. Parents orders, and there was the standing threat that they might check up on you at any moment and if you weren't there or sitting where they told you to sit there would be a body tax to pay when you got home. So I'm sitting near the front with this xerox of math problems that's faded blue because school infrastructure updates itself about as often as government infrastructure. Are those basically the same thing? I don't know why I think of them as different things. Maybe it's just the division of public and private that happens so glaringly once you finish high school and realize there was a private system when you were just a pint too, but you were light years away from it then and student loans come preying as soon as you can make that decision yourself.
Anyway, I'm sitting near the front and getting nowhere. I got beyond the first few algebra problems because they were easy. I remember getting stuck on this problem that had X and Y on both sides of the equal sign and I was going crazy trying to figure out who the hell would torture someone with that kind of difficulty. Just start off with the Xs over here and the Ys over there, but how will the children learn about life's complexities if they can't fit the building in their heads? I couldn't. Half the classroom was, by then, devolving into a dozen different conversations and spoon fighting and pencil fighting and laughter everywhere and I'm just trying to think because I was told if the worksheet was finished, I could start my homework. If I finished my homework I could go outside as soon as I got home and the faster you could get out of the house and go play and ride all afternoon and not be around the dead air in that building and the anxiety couched inside the better off you were. Can't get into trumped up trouble if you're not around to get pegged on made up charges.
The substitute teacher came over after several minutes and asked me if I was okay. I said yeah, of course, just trying to think. Turns out I had my eyes closed and my head on my desk and I was rubbing the worksheet on the short naps of my hair and it was making this paper on velcro loop sound that was loud enough to distract him at his desk. I liked the sound. I didn't like being interrupted. To me it was really soothing. It was helping me focus and draw away from the noise of being there and the difficulty I was having and it kinda sounded like the noise the wind makes when you're in a car with the window down and it goes fwoosh by your ear. Beautifully white noise. As soon as he snapped me out of it I couldn't get back there. I ended up making little drawings of airplanes for the rest of my answers and turned it in at the end of the day. The answers didn't matter that much. Check, check minus, check plus. It was mostly a way of taking attendance.
Yesterday though, I was in a similar way. I couldn't get the windows I was working on to stay up. I spent hours reading up on the product. I installed them correctly. Insulated them correctly. Nothing over tightened, nothing under done. There was a slight bowing, but it shouldn't be affecting the sashes the way it was and it was driving me crazy. Every time I adjusted them I had to take the window out of the frame, adjust the settings, put the window back in and test it. Hours into this I began to zone out and go over all of the steps I covered over the last few days, from demolition to installation to fine tuning to the now. Going over the entire ocean of knowledge accumulated over that time and evaluating each nodule for a potential mistake. While I was doing the sun went down. There were no blinds in the window.
Sometimes to help myself think these days, an extension of my head rubbing habit from yesterday, I rub and cup my dick. It's not a pleasure thing, but it kind of is. Hearing the sound of the paper rubbing against my skull and feeling that movement and motion put me in a good place to think straight. I don't rub things on my skull as much anymore, but I do enjoy rubbing my crotch when I'm trying to figure out and navigate particularly difficult things that require brain power. I guess when my bodies happy, my head is freer to roam.
So I'm standing in front of this window, staring blankly into space and eyes defocused to the point where all I can see is my vague shilouette, while I pound the details of why the hell nothing I'm trying to do with the window sash springs seems to be working, and one hand all the way down my pants cupping my cock and bulls and giving them a little go, and it comes to me: it's vinyl! If the screws won't work and the springs cannot be moved or adjusted manually, just shim the frame in and that'll create the pressure to keep the window from falling on its own. Eureka!
I break out into this massive grin and my eyes come back into focus and I look through my reflection into the darkness beyond the glass with my dick in my hand and the sixty something year old neighbor two yards over is scowling directly at me with a cigarette in his hand with a look of disgust so intense I have not seen anything remotely like it since the last time I "disappointed" my dad and was there face to face to see his closed mindedness It was hilarious. My brain immediately searched its data banks for the universal sign language of "oh my god, I was not jerking off to you just now!" but it came up blank so I just carefully took my hand out of my pants, turned off the light and walked out of the room... into the next room over which also had a light on... so I pretty much hid behind the wall of the door until he finished smoking and went back in his house. I laughed so hard I almost pissed my pants. Speaking of which I once pissed my pants outside of a bar and the guy who was my ride wasn't done yet so I had to go back in and sit down at the bar and my pants made this ridiculous squishing sound and I had to explain myself. Not a single person there was as upset as that guy was standing out in his yard yesterday night.
Cracked me the hell up yesterday.
Advanced Placement history was hard enough, but he wasn't there he would leave worksheets for the less than competent place holder substitutes. There was a steady stable of substitutes so the substitute you had for German two would in all likelihood be the same one you had a few weeks later for chemistry. Their job wasn't to teach, it was to keep order first and foremost. If you learned anything while they were there it was incidental. The worksheets were usually word finds and other time killers. I don't know why they didn't just pass out crayons and blank paper. Wait, I do know. The number of people who could keep themselves busy inside of poorly airconditioned trailers without devolving into the chaos of recess could be counted on one hand. Maybe two. The worksheets that time around were math problems.
I sat near the front. Parents orders, and there was the standing threat that they might check up on you at any moment and if you weren't there or sitting where they told you to sit there would be a body tax to pay when you got home. So I'm sitting near the front with this xerox of math problems that's faded blue because school infrastructure updates itself about as often as government infrastructure. Are those basically the same thing? I don't know why I think of them as different things. Maybe it's just the division of public and private that happens so glaringly once you finish high school and realize there was a private system when you were just a pint too, but you were light years away from it then and student loans come preying as soon as you can make that decision yourself.
Anyway, I'm sitting near the front and getting nowhere. I got beyond the first few algebra problems because they were easy. I remember getting stuck on this problem that had X and Y on both sides of the equal sign and I was going crazy trying to figure out who the hell would torture someone with that kind of difficulty. Just start off with the Xs over here and the Ys over there, but how will the children learn about life's complexities if they can't fit the building in their heads? I couldn't. Half the classroom was, by then, devolving into a dozen different conversations and spoon fighting and pencil fighting and laughter everywhere and I'm just trying to think because I was told if the worksheet was finished, I could start my homework. If I finished my homework I could go outside as soon as I got home and the faster you could get out of the house and go play and ride all afternoon and not be around the dead air in that building and the anxiety couched inside the better off you were. Can't get into trumped up trouble if you're not around to get pegged on made up charges.
The substitute teacher came over after several minutes and asked me if I was okay. I said yeah, of course, just trying to think. Turns out I had my eyes closed and my head on my desk and I was rubbing the worksheet on the short naps of my hair and it was making this paper on velcro loop sound that was loud enough to distract him at his desk. I liked the sound. I didn't like being interrupted. To me it was really soothing. It was helping me focus and draw away from the noise of being there and the difficulty I was having and it kinda sounded like the noise the wind makes when you're in a car with the window down and it goes fwoosh by your ear. Beautifully white noise. As soon as he snapped me out of it I couldn't get back there. I ended up making little drawings of airplanes for the rest of my answers and turned it in at the end of the day. The answers didn't matter that much. Check, check minus, check plus. It was mostly a way of taking attendance.
Yesterday though, I was in a similar way. I couldn't get the windows I was working on to stay up. I spent hours reading up on the product. I installed them correctly. Insulated them correctly. Nothing over tightened, nothing under done. There was a slight bowing, but it shouldn't be affecting the sashes the way it was and it was driving me crazy. Every time I adjusted them I had to take the window out of the frame, adjust the settings, put the window back in and test it. Hours into this I began to zone out and go over all of the steps I covered over the last few days, from demolition to installation to fine tuning to the now. Going over the entire ocean of knowledge accumulated over that time and evaluating each nodule for a potential mistake. While I was doing the sun went down. There were no blinds in the window.
Sometimes to help myself think these days, an extension of my head rubbing habit from yesterday, I rub and cup my dick. It's not a pleasure thing, but it kind of is. Hearing the sound of the paper rubbing against my skull and feeling that movement and motion put me in a good place to think straight. I don't rub things on my skull as much anymore, but I do enjoy rubbing my crotch when I'm trying to figure out and navigate particularly difficult things that require brain power. I guess when my bodies happy, my head is freer to roam.
So I'm standing in front of this window, staring blankly into space and eyes defocused to the point where all I can see is my vague shilouette, while I pound the details of why the hell nothing I'm trying to do with the window sash springs seems to be working, and one hand all the way down my pants cupping my cock and bulls and giving them a little go, and it comes to me: it's vinyl! If the screws won't work and the springs cannot be moved or adjusted manually, just shim the frame in and that'll create the pressure to keep the window from falling on its own. Eureka!
I break out into this massive grin and my eyes come back into focus and I look through my reflection into the darkness beyond the glass with my dick in my hand and the sixty something year old neighbor two yards over is scowling directly at me with a cigarette in his hand with a look of disgust so intense I have not seen anything remotely like it since the last time I "disappointed" my dad and was there face to face to see his closed mindedness It was hilarious. My brain immediately searched its data banks for the universal sign language of "oh my god, I was not jerking off to you just now!" but it came up blank so I just carefully took my hand out of my pants, turned off the light and walked out of the room... into the next room over which also had a light on... so I pretty much hid behind the wall of the door until he finished smoking and went back in his house. I laughed so hard I almost pissed my pants. Speaking of which I once pissed my pants outside of a bar and the guy who was my ride wasn't done yet so I had to go back in and sit down at the bar and my pants made this ridiculous squishing sound and I had to explain myself. Not a single person there was as upset as that guy was standing out in his yard yesterday night.
Cracked me the hell up yesterday.
7/15/12
Redesigns and Motions and All Kinds of Crazy S--- (with disclaimers)
The summer redesign of Auralport is coming. It's in the factory works right now, as we speak. It's been autumn way too long over there and frankly the browns are starting to get to me and darken everything I do when I am there. I need some green going on. Some color to reflect the growth and all that. More importantly I need to incorporate some pinks and purples. Yeah, it'll look a little gay, but that's what I am. Sue me. For gayness. Cuz if you try to sue me for anything else you will find pretty quickly that I am, as they say in the business, "judgement proof". Not saying you won't win the case. All I'm saying is what you win will be a big happy bag of nothing. Except maybe self satisfaction. However, you can go home knowing that the only reason I am judgement proof is because I have nothing to take. But more importantly (this just keeps going on, right?) the only reason why I have nothing to take is because of the decisions you made that put me in a position to have nothing. So basically we're even.
Not really though. I got off scott free (where the hell did that saying come from? a reference to free balling in kilts maybe? I dunno) after a fashion. You got to screw me or at least feel like you taught me a life lesson. So we're even right? Nah, I'm going to cut your face off and feed it to you the next time I see you. LOL that is happening. Which is why I can't see you. Because I will make a sincere attempt on your life. Jokes aside. I will kill the weaker of the two of you. Do not come to my house, parents. Because I will kill you. I hope that's clear enough.
So anyway. The redesign is coming and I'm really looking forward to it. The hard part is trying to find a good shot of nature to work with. I'm out there all of the time, but I just have to remember to bring a camera one of these days. So many pictures to take. So little time. I looked into dslr-s and realized pretty quickly there is no way in hell I could afford one. There is a way, I just lied, there is a way, but if I ever ponied up the money I would have to spend it on a car first. Which brings up other mommy daddy issues but I'm not going into that. I am. Just this once. Caps locked. WORST GRADUATION GIFT AND SUBSEQUENT CHAIN OF EVENTS EVER, I HOPE YOU HANG YOURSELVES IN SEPARATE ROOMS OF THAT SHITHOLE YOU LIKE TO CALL A HOUSE.
Okay, so, not to be entirely bipolar on this. I would like to present a motion to do some art. Everyone at the table, yay or nay my friends. Yes, we are taking a vote. All present? Alright then, moving forward on the motion to attempt some cartooning. All in favor, say aye. All opposed? Let the record show that the motion is passed.
I've got my fingers back into poetry and short stories again. God knows I damn near had to handcuff myself and blindfold my eyes to do that. It had to be done though. A life without creation is self destruction. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing with facebook at this point. For me it kind of does well as real time memoirs. It all depends on how far back the record will go. If the timescale ends after so many years, it's pretty much useless in that regard. I hope it doesn't. I'm pretty much writing a book on there, though some probably think I'm just a loon. Which is fine, because I kind of am. I gave up on trying to find the secret of life because I know the guy who knows the guy who has it. It's frustrating because he gave it to me once and knew that I wouldn't remember. So I have to try again, but now he knows that I know so I'm going to have to pull some kind of double fake to get it this time.
So what is the crazy shit. The really really junk that still makes go "wait a minute, what?" There isn't any. Smiley face. Not today. Alright here's one. Just one. I woke up in a trap house again. I used to call them house parties until a friend of mine introduced the concept of the trap house and I had a little revolution in perspective and was like "that makes absolute sense." Mostly because it does. That is exactly what they are. Which explains a lot about how the people in there behave. Yeah, I felt like a nub the first time it happened. But now, it's just like, "alright, got all your shit? okay, time to roll." Where was I going... so yeah I woke up and rolled out and someone said "Hobbes, where you goin?" as soon as I got out the door, and I was like ... yeah, that's my gotdamn name. And I realized alot of the people I used to know, don't know that I changed my name. So I let them call me by my old name, fam aside, because they just don't know. And I'm okay with that, I think. For now. It's not legal, but what is?
///Beck - "Devil's Haircut" pistols are pointing at a poor man's pocket, and he don't give a fuuuuuuuuu
Not really though. I got off scott free (where the hell did that saying come from? a reference to free balling in kilts maybe? I dunno) after a fashion. You got to screw me or at least feel like you taught me a life lesson. So we're even right? Nah, I'm going to cut your face off and feed it to you the next time I see you. LOL that is happening. Which is why I can't see you. Because I will make a sincere attempt on your life. Jokes aside. I will kill the weaker of the two of you. Do not come to my house, parents. Because I will kill you. I hope that's clear enough.
So anyway. The redesign is coming and I'm really looking forward to it. The hard part is trying to find a good shot of nature to work with. I'm out there all of the time, but I just have to remember to bring a camera one of these days. So many pictures to take. So little time. I looked into dslr-s and realized pretty quickly there is no way in hell I could afford one. There is a way, I just lied, there is a way, but if I ever ponied up the money I would have to spend it on a car first. Which brings up other mommy daddy issues but I'm not going into that. I am. Just this once. Caps locked. WORST GRADUATION GIFT AND SUBSEQUENT CHAIN OF EVENTS EVER, I HOPE YOU HANG YOURSELVES IN SEPARATE ROOMS OF THAT SHITHOLE YOU LIKE TO CALL A HOUSE.
Okay, so, not to be entirely bipolar on this. I would like to present a motion to do some art. Everyone at the table, yay or nay my friends. Yes, we are taking a vote. All present? Alright then, moving forward on the motion to attempt some cartooning. All in favor, say aye. All opposed? Let the record show that the motion is passed.
I've got my fingers back into poetry and short stories again. God knows I damn near had to handcuff myself and blindfold my eyes to do that. It had to be done though. A life without creation is self destruction. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing with facebook at this point. For me it kind of does well as real time memoirs. It all depends on how far back the record will go. If the timescale ends after so many years, it's pretty much useless in that regard. I hope it doesn't. I'm pretty much writing a book on there, though some probably think I'm just a loon. Which is fine, because I kind of am. I gave up on trying to find the secret of life because I know the guy who knows the guy who has it. It's frustrating because he gave it to me once and knew that I wouldn't remember. So I have to try again, but now he knows that I know so I'm going to have to pull some kind of double fake to get it this time.
So what is the crazy shit. The really really junk that still makes go "wait a minute, what?" There isn't any. Smiley face. Not today. Alright here's one. Just one. I woke up in a trap house again. I used to call them house parties until a friend of mine introduced the concept of the trap house and I had a little revolution in perspective and was like "that makes absolute sense." Mostly because it does. That is exactly what they are. Which explains a lot about how the people in there behave. Yeah, I felt like a nub the first time it happened. But now, it's just like, "alright, got all your shit? okay, time to roll." Where was I going... so yeah I woke up and rolled out and someone said "Hobbes, where you goin?" as soon as I got out the door, and I was like ... yeah, that's my gotdamn name. And I realized alot of the people I used to know, don't know that I changed my name. So I let them call me by my old name, fam aside, because they just don't know. And I'm okay with that, I think. For now. It's not legal, but what is?
///Beck - "Devil's Haircut" pistols are pointing at a poor man's pocket, and he don't give a fuuuuuuuuu
6/18/12
Admissions, Missions, Poor Planning, Hobos, and Caught Out
So I didn't plan this particularly well. Not as well as I could have. Given my circumstances and propensity for utter restlessness. I'm in a position where I'm dying to hit the road and run, but I just finished a six pack and I know if I go outside right now and try to do anything, my judgement will couple up with my reckless streak and I'll end up punching a hobo in the face in a train tunnel by the river and possibly getting shanked. Nobody wants that. Especially not the part of me that likes to not get knifed. All I can think about, well not all, but most of what I can think about is getting out in that humid cool air and sucking lung fulls of it. Then again I have to keep in mind the mileage I put on last week and make sure I rest my hooves enough to do it all again this week. So maybe, not poor planning. Maybe out smarting myself while out out smarting myself. Or just poor planning. That's easier to say. I'm about ready to jump out of a second story window.
More importantly though I had to go in and delete some blogs. Projects I had a vision for that never panned out. Sometimes because they were joint efforts with other people and the other people never put in the effort and they metastasized into additional solo projects I couldn't support on my own along with the things I was already doing on the regular (and subsequently killed some of the regular efforts I was bending myself to in the brief time I tried to do both). It is kind of tough to admit. Sometimes things just don't work out anywhere near where I expect them to, which is why I am reluctant to do anything with anybody anymore. Not that their real lives tend to take precedent. Or maybe they do. I have no real idea why anyone stops. I know why I stop and start. I just don't see those same reasons being relevant to others. Not that I'm unique or anything like that. I'm just unique in my limits and strengths. No, I'm kidding. Experience has taught me that is the case. My perceptions of myself, however, may vary.
They went down easy though. I downloaded the ones with enough content to want to reread them at some point. Revisit the prisoners of the digital infomatic time capsulator 9000. I glossed some of them as I downloaded and reviewed and decided yay or nay for axing. What was lost is not worth going over explicitly. What survived is a pair of joint efforts with the real j chen. One not touched in forever and the other edited more recently than I expected, but still a year out from today. I owe it a call back at least. Wait and see, maybe. A wait and see kind of deal. The other survivors were all things with names I could pick up and immediately begin rebuilding or re-purpose, restructure, and give new life to, in light of new efforts forthcoming. There's still Fingerslip (the long gestation writing space), there's Hateitalready (which will be repurposed from a place to rant about new products I hate already into an infrequent comic I've been putting off forever, but have wanted to do for easily three years now), there's Simplelongingundertow (which will be about sex and strictly so), and then the Encyclopediamechanica (a store house for made up tech stuff I want to have available to myself and searchable primarily for story construction and resolution of timeline continuity issues, but available to the public because sometimes the best parts of stories are the gadgets and I want that to be documented... assuming I can write and produce something worth reading and reviewing and delving deeper into [adding a richness perhaps I otherwise could not achieve on a short story budget... I dunno]). Thems the survivors.
The mission becomes not letting myself get as caught out as I have been. Focus. Hocus focus were to be the names of my cats if I got a pair, but I didn't. I have been a little bit caught out. Caught between reading and reading up on old movies by watching them and reading up on old stories and rewatching (more like studying and breaking down) films I have enjoyed and disliked and plot lines I have enjoyed and passed off as trash and scripts. A lot of time has been spent plotting and planning to the point of compulsion. A lot of time has been spent, yes, dreaming still. That is probably one of my top five primary functions. Dream composition. Now it's time to start making the faces and planes and points and lines intersect. They're all there, even though I'm not always. I had a thought about the sky being the limit, which is patently false. What I came to was that the sky is not the limit, but the sooner you understand that, the sooner you can get to working toward putting yourself in a position where that might actually become the case through some luck, coincidence, and connection. I glass ceiling implies a glass floor somewhere.
Anyway, the point is, what do I have to do to get laid in this town? And more importantly.... you know, I don't think there's a second part to that. At what age do you just forget about getting laid altogether. Cause that shit is distracting. Can I skip to that age? That spot in the timeline where it's not even that you forget about it, but it's that your genitals transmogrify from a point of expression and emotion and even, sometimes, source of soul and self into little more than say a plumbing fixture or decorative coaster. What I do know is that one of these days along my life span I am going to wake up with super powers and the world better hope I die before that day comes because I will be the worst superman ever. Can superman even do crack? Does he have to do supercrack to get an equivalent high? I know there was that one superman movie where he got drunk, but seriously, if he went to a bar he would have to drink the entire bar to get drunk. Unless his powers only apply to mechanical elements. musculo skeletal systems. Worst super power ever. Or just not a great movie. I don't know. The point is, stuff is going to get did. Because the stuff not getting done is gone. Also because if things don't get done I will feel terrible and listless and end up down at the docks again fighting hobos.
///Aphex Twin - "Waxen Pith" think time
More importantly though I had to go in and delete some blogs. Projects I had a vision for that never panned out. Sometimes because they were joint efforts with other people and the other people never put in the effort and they metastasized into additional solo projects I couldn't support on my own along with the things I was already doing on the regular (and subsequently killed some of the regular efforts I was bending myself to in the brief time I tried to do both). It is kind of tough to admit. Sometimes things just don't work out anywhere near where I expect them to, which is why I am reluctant to do anything with anybody anymore. Not that their real lives tend to take precedent. Or maybe they do. I have no real idea why anyone stops. I know why I stop and start. I just don't see those same reasons being relevant to others. Not that I'm unique or anything like that. I'm just unique in my limits and strengths. No, I'm kidding. Experience has taught me that is the case. My perceptions of myself, however, may vary.
They went down easy though. I downloaded the ones with enough content to want to reread them at some point. Revisit the prisoners of the digital infomatic time capsulator 9000. I glossed some of them as I downloaded and reviewed and decided yay or nay for axing. What was lost is not worth going over explicitly. What survived is a pair of joint efforts with the real j chen. One not touched in forever and the other edited more recently than I expected, but still a year out from today. I owe it a call back at least. Wait and see, maybe. A wait and see kind of deal. The other survivors were all things with names I could pick up and immediately begin rebuilding or re-purpose, restructure, and give new life to, in light of new efforts forthcoming. There's still Fingerslip (the long gestation writing space), there's Hateitalready (which will be repurposed from a place to rant about new products I hate already into an infrequent comic I've been putting off forever, but have wanted to do for easily three years now), there's Simplelongingundertow (which will be about sex and strictly so), and then the Encyclopediamechanica (a store house for made up tech stuff I want to have available to myself and searchable primarily for story construction and resolution of timeline continuity issues, but available to the public because sometimes the best parts of stories are the gadgets and I want that to be documented... assuming I can write and produce something worth reading and reviewing and delving deeper into [adding a richness perhaps I otherwise could not achieve on a short story budget... I dunno]). Thems the survivors.
The mission becomes not letting myself get as caught out as I have been. Focus. Hocus focus were to be the names of my cats if I got a pair, but I didn't. I have been a little bit caught out. Caught between reading and reading up on old movies by watching them and reading up on old stories and rewatching (more like studying and breaking down) films I have enjoyed and disliked and plot lines I have enjoyed and passed off as trash and scripts. A lot of time has been spent plotting and planning to the point of compulsion. A lot of time has been spent, yes, dreaming still. That is probably one of my top five primary functions. Dream composition. Now it's time to start making the faces and planes and points and lines intersect. They're all there, even though I'm not always. I had a thought about the sky being the limit, which is patently false. What I came to was that the sky is not the limit, but the sooner you understand that, the sooner you can get to working toward putting yourself in a position where that might actually become the case through some luck, coincidence, and connection. I glass ceiling implies a glass floor somewhere.
Anyway, the point is, what do I have to do to get laid in this town? And more importantly.... you know, I don't think there's a second part to that. At what age do you just forget about getting laid altogether. Cause that shit is distracting. Can I skip to that age? That spot in the timeline where it's not even that you forget about it, but it's that your genitals transmogrify from a point of expression and emotion and even, sometimes, source of soul and self into little more than say a plumbing fixture or decorative coaster. What I do know is that one of these days along my life span I am going to wake up with super powers and the world better hope I die before that day comes because I will be the worst superman ever. Can superman even do crack? Does he have to do supercrack to get an equivalent high? I know there was that one superman movie where he got drunk, but seriously, if he went to a bar he would have to drink the entire bar to get drunk. Unless his powers only apply to mechanical elements. musculo skeletal systems. Worst super power ever. Or just not a great movie. I don't know. The point is, stuff is going to get did. Because the stuff not getting done is gone. Also because if things don't get done I will feel terrible and listless and end up down at the docks again fighting hobos.
///Aphex Twin - "Waxen Pith" think time
7/19/10
Post-Meta-Psuedo Garbage Nonsense
Nearly a year and a half after the fact, I think I finally understand it. A while back, I flew into an absolute rage over an interpretive classroom discussion about Paul Auster's novel City of Glass and how everyone was going on and on about post-modern this and post-modern that and how the book was a post post-modern deconstruction of post-modernism. Then began the talk of the meta-text and the meta-narrator and, for all I care, the twice baked potato and the refried bean. For me, the entire thing hit a boiling point of ridiculousness that has irritated me to this day.
The main thing that absolutely grated me was the lack of creative thought going into the delineation of what is clearly one period of literary construction shifting into a new period of construction. Is the next period going to be meta-post-post-modernism? I feel like a huge part of what is confining the ability to meaningfully describe and analyze literary constructions is that the people who are doing it are being grown into a more and more strictly controlled framework of knowledge. Unfortunately as the tags used to describe the framework are simplified from exacting coordinates into smears of qualitative judgments they become strung together into descriptors for increasingly complex scenarios of literary construction and then you end up with a cloud of tags instead of analysis of an authors's work. And then, peering into the tag cloud and seeing that it is full of largely meaningless word associations in the context of describing what, in this case, Paul Auster's novel does, frustration takes root (at least it did for me).
But also, I think, even more than that, language is becoming more and more compartmentalized so that every single individual scrap of information is developing its own term. Its the opposite of 1984 and Newspeak. I guess as the body of discourse grows, it becomes inevitable that the words and terms and phrases needed to navigate it will grow in complexity and number, but when does that turn into picking tags out of a hat and saying: okay, that's that. That's what it is and it's no longer up for discussion.
That's necessary to an extent because otherwise the body of literary production would quickly out grow the ability to describe its functions, but I suppose my major concern back then was the arbitrary nature of the tagging. The descriptive term seemed to be affixed simply because it wasn't anything else entirely, so clearly it must be post. Which is okay in some respects, but once the thing that was like nothing else began to be emulated how can they also be post-*? They can't be post if they are happening now and in the same vein of the thing like no other thing before it, but like many things after it.
To the point though, I finally understand it. The tagging is not necessarily an effort to describe the thing it is affixed to, as it is an effort to DATE and LOCATE the thing and establish it's relative relationship to the other things surrounding and drawing from and contributing to it. And that's why calling something post-* meta-* and "whatever else describes a relationship of one thing to another"-* is important. The volume of things being produced and the ever increasing pace of new voices and shared information and production is why they are largely meaningless as explicit descriptors beyond the simplicity of "this came after that, but before the other thing." Their use and over use is more a symptom of growth and discussion than it is an indication of a lack of questioning contributors or thoughtful contributors more interested in the material being analyzed than sounding vague chic.
When you get into a group discussion about these things, over simplifications happen and thats when the relational tags begin to be characterized by their interpretive content instead of their connective tissue and you run into things like "that's what it is and that is that", where the things identity is really a matter of opinion and not a matter of course. With relational things it's a matter of perspective. Am I looking north or am I facing south, am I upwind or downwind or in another state altogether. When questions start to point to things like what does it smell and taste like, what does it do, what does it make, what is the sum of its pieces, relational orientations (and by extension the tag system) isn't much help, but is easily misappropriated and taken to task on issues and ideas it might've been meant to solve at its start, but issues and ideas it is hard pressed to positively impact now.
I hope I put my revelation into some meaningful sentences. At least now I know why I was so angry and disappointed almost a year ago. Sometimes it takes a while to see the value in what you would flush away as a token gesture. Sometimes there really is no value and it's a virtual artifact that's simply comfortable to the touch, but once in a while as you turn it over in your hand it becomes clear, at least to you, why it's still circulating from one hand to another.
So Paul Auster, I apologize. You're not a hack. You just filled the plate with more food than people could digest and some of them threw up. You're not around to clean it up, and you shouldn't have to. Governing an audiences reception and analysis of what you do is about as realistic as driving a car by standing on its roof rack and pointing your fingers. The best any of us can do is to let them drive where they may and, if it get's interesting, hold on for the ride.
///Talvin Singh - "Light" Bubbly, but smooth, like a mimosa. Pleasant and unobtrusive and better than that track on Classical Thunder your mom sent you in the hopes that it would somehow feed your brain with genius. Turns out the jewel case made an okay mouse pad once it got good and scuffed from performing coaster duty. Put away the mail order meditation music. Pick up some Singh and enjoy your working, hopefully fizzed, lunch break.
The main thing that absolutely grated me was the lack of creative thought going into the delineation of what is clearly one period of literary construction shifting into a new period of construction. Is the next period going to be meta-post-post-modernism? I feel like a huge part of what is confining the ability to meaningfully describe and analyze literary constructions is that the people who are doing it are being grown into a more and more strictly controlled framework of knowledge. Unfortunately as the tags used to describe the framework are simplified from exacting coordinates into smears of qualitative judgments they become strung together into descriptors for increasingly complex scenarios of literary construction and then you end up with a cloud of tags instead of analysis of an authors's work. And then, peering into the tag cloud and seeing that it is full of largely meaningless word associations in the context of describing what, in this case, Paul Auster's novel does, frustration takes root (at least it did for me).
But also, I think, even more than that, language is becoming more and more compartmentalized so that every single individual scrap of information is developing its own term. Its the opposite of 1984 and Newspeak. I guess as the body of discourse grows, it becomes inevitable that the words and terms and phrases needed to navigate it will grow in complexity and number, but when does that turn into picking tags out of a hat and saying: okay, that's that. That's what it is and it's no longer up for discussion.
That's necessary to an extent because otherwise the body of literary production would quickly out grow the ability to describe its functions, but I suppose my major concern back then was the arbitrary nature of the tagging. The descriptive term seemed to be affixed simply because it wasn't anything else entirely, so clearly it must be post. Which is okay in some respects, but once the thing that was like nothing else began to be emulated how can they also be post-*? They can't be post if they are happening now and in the same vein of the thing like no other thing before it, but like many things after it.
To the point though, I finally understand it. The tagging is not necessarily an effort to describe the thing it is affixed to, as it is an effort to DATE and LOCATE the thing and establish it's relative relationship to the other things surrounding and drawing from and contributing to it. And that's why calling something post-* meta-* and "whatever else describes a relationship of one thing to another"-* is important. The volume of things being produced and the ever increasing pace of new voices and shared information and production is why they are largely meaningless as explicit descriptors beyond the simplicity of "this came after that, but before the other thing." Their use and over use is more a symptom of growth and discussion than it is an indication of a lack of questioning contributors or thoughtful contributors more interested in the material being analyzed than sounding vague chic.
When you get into a group discussion about these things, over simplifications happen and thats when the relational tags begin to be characterized by their interpretive content instead of their connective tissue and you run into things like "that's what it is and that is that", where the things identity is really a matter of opinion and not a matter of course. With relational things it's a matter of perspective. Am I looking north or am I facing south, am I upwind or downwind or in another state altogether. When questions start to point to things like what does it smell and taste like, what does it do, what does it make, what is the sum of its pieces, relational orientations (and by extension the tag system) isn't much help, but is easily misappropriated and taken to task on issues and ideas it might've been meant to solve at its start, but issues and ideas it is hard pressed to positively impact now.
I hope I put my revelation into some meaningful sentences. At least now I know why I was so angry and disappointed almost a year ago. Sometimes it takes a while to see the value in what you would flush away as a token gesture. Sometimes there really is no value and it's a virtual artifact that's simply comfortable to the touch, but once in a while as you turn it over in your hand it becomes clear, at least to you, why it's still circulating from one hand to another.
So Paul Auster, I apologize. You're not a hack. You just filled the plate with more food than people could digest and some of them threw up. You're not around to clean it up, and you shouldn't have to. Governing an audiences reception and analysis of what you do is about as realistic as driving a car by standing on its roof rack and pointing your fingers. The best any of us can do is to let them drive where they may and, if it get's interesting, hold on for the ride.
///Talvin Singh - "Light" Bubbly, but smooth, like a mimosa. Pleasant and unobtrusive and better than that track on Classical Thunder your mom sent you in the hopes that it would somehow feed your brain with genius. Turns out the jewel case made an okay mouse pad once it got good and scuffed from performing coaster duty. Put away the mail order meditation music. Pick up some Singh and enjoy your working, hopefully fizzed, lunch break.
6/22/10
lit channel and ladytron and poetry
poetry channel is open @ auralport.rss on the right hand side of oem fail. the feed carries the latest bit of poetry ive shared. ill post one a day of all the old ones i wrote up through highschool and into college and then ill start writing and sharing some new ones. the radio dial finally has something else to listen to. im not all questions and rantswers. 7/10ths promise.
doin it this way for two reasons. one: looking back on my old work all i can think is how cheesy and sentimental and terrible it was. but if you ask most writers thats what theyll say about most of their old stuff rereading it years removed. hindsight is 20/20 sure, but it also makes you forget the things that were good about ... well whatever. some of it really is just shitty, but im losing focus again. REASON ONE: (im yelling at myself, yes) i get all the embarrassment out of the way first. reason two: having embarrassed myself beyond repair itll be way easier to write and share new things.
so what else is new? fuck you thats what else. nah im kidding. thats just self loathing pushing out of my throat like a half pound burger bubbling on a pony keg of warm beer. not that i had that today. what did i have today? i had a dream about murder and betrayal and a big orange and black cat. there was a lot of blood. i didnt mean to rat them out, but i didnt want to get shot either. i mean if i had to choose... ill tell you about it. ill write about it. rss for the story site is coming soon. that is 9/10ths a promise. id go so far as to say 10/10ths. we're wonderful together. or dysfunctional. maladjusted. i dont fear god. i fear what god makes people do.
///ladytron - "skools out" you know, movin on from the academic promised land and the baggage and the rails and the contracts and the debts of it all... its been freeing. like truly freeing. like the last time i felt this free was the end of highschool almost a decade ago. the simplicity of this song. the tiny keyboard. the graininess. it captures that feeling. that whiff of undeveloped potential to be and do anything or nothing while you watch the sun set and touch a flame to a cigarette you didnt really earn but are gonna smoke anyway because the moment is right and no one can tell you different because they know it too. its good to let go when you actually have the power to make the choice.
doin it this way for two reasons. one: looking back on my old work all i can think is how cheesy and sentimental and terrible it was. but if you ask most writers thats what theyll say about most of their old stuff rereading it years removed. hindsight is 20/20 sure, but it also makes you forget the things that were good about ... well whatever. some of it really is just shitty, but im losing focus again. REASON ONE: (im yelling at myself, yes) i get all the embarrassment out of the way first. reason two: having embarrassed myself beyond repair itll be way easier to write and share new things.
so what else is new? fuck you thats what else. nah im kidding. thats just self loathing pushing out of my throat like a half pound burger bubbling on a pony keg of warm beer. not that i had that today. what did i have today? i had a dream about murder and betrayal and a big orange and black cat. there was a lot of blood. i didnt mean to rat them out, but i didnt want to get shot either. i mean if i had to choose... ill tell you about it. ill write about it. rss for the story site is coming soon. that is 9/10ths a promise. id go so far as to say 10/10ths. we're wonderful together. or dysfunctional. maladjusted. i dont fear god. i fear what god makes people do.
///ladytron - "skools out" you know, movin on from the academic promised land and the baggage and the rails and the contracts and the debts of it all... its been freeing. like truly freeing. like the last time i felt this free was the end of highschool almost a decade ago. the simplicity of this song. the tiny keyboard. the graininess. it captures that feeling. that whiff of undeveloped potential to be and do anything or nothing while you watch the sun set and touch a flame to a cigarette you didnt really earn but are gonna smoke anyway because the moment is right and no one can tell you different because they know it too. its good to let go when you actually have the power to make the choice.
6/20/10
totally, like, LEGIT legit
okay soooo whatve we gotten ourselves in 7 days of pure knuckle busting, cant-eat-now-cuz-im-so-close-to-getting-this-code-to-work, head banging, brain melting industriousness?
we've got a proto website to replace benegon.com and finally begin to close that chapter of debts owed... but also open the chapter on graphic/web dev resume. i do know that i dont want to do web development as a career. it strikes me as something that is basically what i just spent the last week doing except cycled through in one day all while trying to explain to mba why he shouldnt fire you but it doesnt really matter because you might as well be speaking sign language to a blind man. not that im biased against blind people. they are fine contributors to society.
you want to see it you say? you didnt say that you say? well okay then. i wont waste your time. buuut i will say this: penis penis penis vagina. hahahaha... okay it wasnt all that funny. in fact i didnt actually laugh. i usually do actually laugh, but not that time.
you know what else happened? ive realized that im never actualy going to make it back to school. isnt that ridiculous? but before you go invoking the raging spirit of the cosby
let me just say that it has come to light that their idea was to not provide support for higher education at all. wish i'd known that 7 years ago. note to parents if youve not bothered to listen to anything before now, listen to this: dont push your kids to excel if youre not prepared to support them. all that bullshit about millions of dollars of scholarships for the taking is exactly that. a million dollars sends 10 kids to top tier schools. well whatever im not even going to go into it lest sir cosby punch me in the nuts while im on the john in some kruger-esque nightmare sequence.basically ive realized that my abilities over reached the willingness to help and it doesnt matter how hard you drive the car, if there aint no bridge your ass is toast. unless you're driving a flying delorean and your family physician is one dr. emmitt brown. so if i did go to graduate school the same problems would recur and then i would be 200k in the hole instead of 100k. and i dont give a shit how much you love your job that you get with whatever degree. no amount of fun makes up for that much debt. so ive let the dream go. i dont even know if it was my dream to begin with. so once i do find work itll be off to technical school to learn to be a mechanic and spend my time around cars. cuz i do love cars. ive never shared that... havent i? maybe i did. or maybe we just had a moment.
so fuck school (not fuck learning... learning is good. academic pay to play institutions are bad) and fuck debt. all i really wanted to do was fix and modify and race cars. i dont want to be an engineer and design them. i dont care about the fucking calculus that goes into this and that component. i couldnt give two shits about the electrical engineering that makes a speaker work. sure cars are super computerized now, thats fine. that i can handle gladly if it means i get to work on the older cars too. but god damn it fuck school in the ass with a fist full of syringes brimming with hydrochloric acid.
and that right there is how you rant. did not mean to do that. we were doing so well too. what were we talking about... legitimate absences?
so yeah been away for a while but it was to work and while work i did thinking cuz i cant turn my brain off unless i bang my head really hard and even that is rarely satisfying. haha "even" as though it is supposed to be. i found bones in the backyard. ill probably never stop smoking. how about this? ill stop when life stops wailing on my junk harder than a speed bag at pacquiaos personal gym. youd think youd get used to the rhythm over the years, but i promise you, you dont. you just run out of words and expletives.
ohhhhh wait a minute. almost got away. thats what i was gonna do. i had to apologize to you. rss is happening tonight. im not going to sleep until i make it happen. either rss or direct linkage to the rest of the underverse. and thats when ill say "behold, yall!!!!"
///danger doom - "vats of urine" "for i am a rap god, from beyond the moon." one of many potent hilarious quotations available to your ears through the combination of mf dooms sometimes nonsensical lyrics and danger dooms sometimes nonsensical sampling.
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