You cut ties. Awesome. You had to cut ties because they gave you no other recourse. Not so awesome. The greatest thing though, the silliest, giggliest, thing about it is that you didn't have to burn their house down to make your own. One step at a time, sugar sugar. You're getting old, but you're doing it. You're doing it.
I still remember winning the spelling bee when no fourth grader at P.S. 19 had beaten a fifth grader and all I got was the apple Ms. Smith gave me after. I watched my little sister lose her spelling bee bid and they took her to toys r us to buy a doll, batman with the belt buckle that extended out and wrapped around foes and you pushed the button on his back and it would reel them in for a beatdown or snatch him up. I saw knife bob and wanted it so hard, but she got her batman based on the first movie, was that Tim Burton?, and loved it and every time I saw her playing with hers it made me wonder if I did good enough.
Ain't no thing now. It is. I still think about that apple and wonder what they were trying to teach me in not taking me to Toys R Us. I threw out the medal. The pewter stunk up my nose and I got sick of looking at it.
P.S. 19, my favorite school. Kickball and wallball, the two best games ever invented.
///Tom Vek - "If I Had Changed My Mind" would I be here? I think that's missing from work, official recess times.
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 pop off valve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop off valve. Show all posts
6/21/13
Captions Less Pictures, Bagging, Girls, Cracked Year, and Making Time
I saw a zebra printed Cadillac coupe today. I saw it coming around the S curve, my favorite turn in the road in the two mile city where I live, and I was in awe from the get. "Who is so ballsy as to paint their car in zebra camouflage print and rock it like: this is how I always dress" is what was going through my mind. Then it got closer. The car had a blacked out grille, but I could see a Cadillac logo nested in there, completely blacked out. I looked harder while it got closer and I realized it was going, far and away, over the 25 mile-per-hour speed limit for the main road in my city and there was another blue Cadillac in its shadow going just as fast. That's when it hit me: "its a test mule!"
Sometimes car manufacturers will throw a new suspension geometry and engine and transmission underneath an old cowl and body work to shake it out and make sure it does what its supposed to do. I thought that might be what it was, so I didn't go for my camera. There are thousands of pictures of test mules and chasis that won't match when it comes to production or even car shows that are wrapped in zebra camo and it was nothing special, until I started to make out the lines.
The lines did not match up to anything I saw before. Two doors. Shorter C pillar. Thin B. A really long A. The thing was going pretty fast, but once I could start to see past the clutter of the zebra print I knew it was something new. I ripped at my pockets and threw off my backpack to try and find my phone so I could take a picture of it. It blew past me, with the chase car in tow and I was getting ready to chase it down just in case the streetlight changed. The lines were awesome. Way better than the last Cadillac coupe, but the light did not change and it went on. The exhaust note was kind of weird, but I'm sure they'll fix that in post. Watching it blow away, I knew I would never see it again. Possibly never see another prototype in action again, underneath the zebra wrap. If I do, from whatever distance, I know I should get my camera ready just in case. I don't know why I love machines so much. I do. I envy them. So damn sexy. So damn easy. So damn difficult at the same time.
I was going to tell my friends about it. The backlog of knowledge was overwhelming. They're good people, but they wouldn't get it. They wouldn't get it and on top of it all there was no picture. What I would be talking about would be a caption without a picture. I'd ramble on and on and on and in the end I would say something like "whatever, you had to be there." My heart shook watching it slip by like a knife into skin. The thing itself was so beautiful. Once my brain resolved the lines of the machine, I felt like a cheetah caught sleeping while a gazelle pranced on by in a giant Sunday flower hat on its way to church. Missed meals.
I'm not bagging on myself though. It's the first time that's ever happened. It wasn't a mule. It wasn't a prototype. It was the body design that will probably see production. I guess part of me just wanted to be as cool as everyone else who breaks photos on the car blogs and magazines. What it brings me to is bagging on things. "Baggin." Where does that come from? I found myself saying it the other day after thinking about something I said earlier to someone.
It's the writer in me. When you know you're a writer, you think about what you thought about when you said what you said and why you said it that way instead of another way. I don't count myself as a writer anymore. I see myself as a tool. Sometimes as a tool and sometimes as a tool. A tool that sometimes produces. Maybe I'm just a producer. Hah, no. I hate producing. A tool that generates? Yes. I'm a generator. Autonomic generator, that's as far as I can take ya, do you wanna be a part of, oh yes, yeah, I'm on it.
Bagging. I thought about it way too much. Bagging. To bag on someone. Bag on something. The Urban Dictionary was no help. What I think it means, as I've understood it, is to understand that what you are going up against is not at all what you wanted or needed and so you bag. You bag your street clothes because there's no work to be done. No actual work. Bag your street clothes. Whatever was thought to be done was already done or otherwise not doable, so bag your street clothes because the minute you get there is the same minute you know you didn't need to be there. Bag your drugs. The minute you get there and get a feel for what's going on you know you didn't need to be there, but you are, so you might as well enjoy the time you've already set aside. Get to a good place and everything else will follow for you. Maybe not for them, for you it's golden. Bag your expectations. Bag 'em up. Bag 'em up. Take them home with you and flush them down the toilet when you get there. Bag your lunch. Remember how they said you were going to eat good when you got there and lunch turned out to be finger sandwiches and punch and sandwich cookies? Nope, because I brought my own from home and I gotta tell you this chipped ham sandwich with springs and spicy brown mustard and pepperoni tastes so much better than. Bagging.
Hedging is bagging. Hedging is bagging with a backhand because everyone knows when you're doing it. Everyone knows, once you bag, that you came in with low expectations and those expectations played out. It's not an insult to get bagged on. If anything, besides an insult, it says your friends love you enough to show up at all and your enemies did too. To see you fail, maybe. Faces get scarce the older you get when life changes veins. We all know that. Most of us know that. At least make their ticket fee worthwhile. It's not easy to bag. Sometimes you have to take a chance. Everyone bags sometimes. Sometimes bagging on someone or something is as simple as making back up plans or coinciding plans so there can be an ejector seat button that lands you somewhere more comfortable. Nothing wrong with bagging. Most of the time.
Girls are crazy. I'll just say it. They are. I sat through a very long exposition about how some other girl was going crazy and kicked people out of her house even though it wasn't her house or her right to kick anyone out (I would have felt the same if it was a guy doing it and relating the story). While she was telling the story,I kept remembering all of the times she went ape shit while we were hanging out. A diagram. A verbal diagram. Ladies take note. They don't teach you this in college orientation. They only teach the rape threshold.
1 drink: Guys) alright it's official. Girls) Did I get my ride home set up?
3 drinks: Guys) what time is it. Girls) oh my god, why is no one dancing?
6 drinks: Guys) games? how about yes! Girls) i feel sick. this is the song I requested!
9 drinks: Guys) game two, muthafucka! I rule you. Girls) this is fun. I'm having fun. Can you see my tits? I can see my tits. I bet he can see my tits.
11 drinks: Guys) game two, I'm up! Girls) what are you guys playing? Can I play?
14 drinks: Guys) game three, I'm in. Fugg that. I'm winning this round. Girls) You look great, what are you talking about? Oh my god, I go to the same place!
16 drinks: Guys) hah, no way. what he should have done in that fight is... Girls) oh please. That's bullshit. You're better than that. Have you seen my shoes yet? They're discount, but...
22 drinks: Guys) no, let me show you. Okay, okay, okay, let's finish this. We're too grown up to fight... unless you want to. Girls) [throwing up and/or passed out.... if not the latter, forward to the next...] I'm tired/want to go home/what time is it/i'm fine {not fine}.
24 gender war
Girls are crazy. It was simply hilarious though, hearing a woman rail against another about her behavior at a party and it was a kettle calling the pot black. I kept snickering while she was relating the story and getting really into it and painting her as this kind of horrible villain. At the same time, I was thinking about her moments and she's a fiery girl too. It was beyond me to try to explain to her that she did the exact same things except she was hanging out in my place and there's no way to kick anyone out of my house so she left and tried to kick her boy toy out of my place by proxy, but the attitude and acclimation that I have is: if you want to stay you can stay; if you want to leave you can leave. It's that simple. Feel obligated if you want to. If you don't then don't. If you're invited in, you're in for as long as you want to be. I'll do what I want and you can do what you want and if you over step I'll let you know. If you don't over step I'm good too. It might become uncomfortable for you and that's fine with me. I'll be comfortable. Do what makes you. If you don't like it, cash out. No one's holding you here so don't feel obligated, because I don't. Girls are crazy.
I miss my crack year. It was fun. A couple bars closed near me. You'd think they'd have the courtesy to let their patrons know. I miss the not knowing. The not knowing where you're going to get it. Those were the original adventure times... hold on... gotta change to headphones with better bass response... not knowing where you were going to wake up, but knowing who you were going to wake up with because there literally was no one else. I loved it. Still do love it. We're not low lifes. Don't put us there. Every night was time well spent. Now it's like those plastic chatter wind up teeth, except you're sitting on them. They're in your chair. All wound up. Every time you get up to do something, your butt holding them fast shut, they go off. CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHATATATATATARATATARATATATARATATARATARAATARATARAT. Wish they whispered. They don't.
They go ritttttereretetetet and I second guess what I'm doing and wonder if I could do it better breathing it, because some things I can. I don't know if that makes addiction. I don't want to know the answer. I just kicked paint. That was harder than kicking rock. Bad things, really bad things are still too fresh in my head from kicking it. At least with paint everything got super buttery. Like, seeing light, sunlight, made me taste green butter buds with fuzzy tips on my tongue when I saw leaves of plants and leaves of flooring interlocking. Endless energy came to me like I was whispering into the ear of Zeus himself when I was smoking. Something above and away beyond cannabis. There's no replacing that. I wish I could, but there is no way beyond it past pretending it never happened. You sit on that set of spring activated teeth and they don't go off until you stand up and then doubts crowds in hard and fast. Hundred million ----ing strong like a riot where your brain meets your mouth. How your ears get hot when you're about to fuck except it's right there in the back of your skull where you can't scratch and you know if you did itch it the entire thing you are trying to do will treat you so good you will never troll craigslist again looking for the desparate night flyer fuck to help you feel better without the peace between your lips. Fuck.
I miss the time I spent already. Only 4 years removed from abuse. 4 years of being myself. 4 years of knowing how to be and who I am and how to enjoy and how not to be. Her name came up in my head today. I was walking. It came up right after I saw the zebra and I was thinking about one times. I'll live it down. I will. She was nothing. I like to think I got lucky.
Growing up fast. I will give his name that shall never be spoken this one credit: he once said to me "you didn't have time, or you didn't make time" that was before he beat me for not cleaning my room. It stuck with me for different reasons than. What it taught me was that sometimes you just have to make what it is that you want. If you're always short of coke by the end of the week and have to go through the hassle every friday, what you should be doing is budgeting out to double or triple up your order. If you keep running out of fresh fruit by mid month, you need to buy the unripe fruits and mix them in with the ones ready to eat so that by week three you're golden.
A little planning goes a long way. You will find a way to make time for the things that you want. You will make time. What you do with that time is debatable. Once you have that time it's a matter of control. It's a matter of control and liberation because that freedom comes at cost to your doorstep and there's no way to flip it for profit out of the gate. Photoshoot? Writing? Sleeping? Everything that you paid to get that time free bears down guns blazing, Which bullet strikes your heart is not up to you. At least not as often as the wounds would love it to be.
Life is viscous.
Life doesn't care.
Life is what you can make out of it.
Life does not turn the other cheek. Ever.
Don't kid yourself.
Love yourself.
Never. Ever.
Lock yourself
into fear.
///Hot Chip - "You Ride, We Ride, In My Ride" its out here I may find my reasons for. ... found some distance. The distance that I needed to be... whatever the hell it is I am supposed to. Still figuring it out. Ghosts have returned. Hallucinations. I want the simpler times. But where you're going you never really come back from. Some of you comes back. A little bit always stays out there. I just wonder when the numbers run over years what it is that adds up to. How far away is it do you have to stay to make sure everyone else is safe.
Sometimes car manufacturers will throw a new suspension geometry and engine and transmission underneath an old cowl and body work to shake it out and make sure it does what its supposed to do. I thought that might be what it was, so I didn't go for my camera. There are thousands of pictures of test mules and chasis that won't match when it comes to production or even car shows that are wrapped in zebra camo and it was nothing special, until I started to make out the lines.
The lines did not match up to anything I saw before. Two doors. Shorter C pillar. Thin B. A really long A. The thing was going pretty fast, but once I could start to see past the clutter of the zebra print I knew it was something new. I ripped at my pockets and threw off my backpack to try and find my phone so I could take a picture of it. It blew past me, with the chase car in tow and I was getting ready to chase it down just in case the streetlight changed. The lines were awesome. Way better than the last Cadillac coupe, but the light did not change and it went on. The exhaust note was kind of weird, but I'm sure they'll fix that in post. Watching it blow away, I knew I would never see it again. Possibly never see another prototype in action again, underneath the zebra wrap. If I do, from whatever distance, I know I should get my camera ready just in case. I don't know why I love machines so much. I do. I envy them. So damn sexy. So damn easy. So damn difficult at the same time.
I was going to tell my friends about it. The backlog of knowledge was overwhelming. They're good people, but they wouldn't get it. They wouldn't get it and on top of it all there was no picture. What I would be talking about would be a caption without a picture. I'd ramble on and on and on and in the end I would say something like "whatever, you had to be there." My heart shook watching it slip by like a knife into skin. The thing itself was so beautiful. Once my brain resolved the lines of the machine, I felt like a cheetah caught sleeping while a gazelle pranced on by in a giant Sunday flower hat on its way to church. Missed meals.
I'm not bagging on myself though. It's the first time that's ever happened. It wasn't a mule. It wasn't a prototype. It was the body design that will probably see production. I guess part of me just wanted to be as cool as everyone else who breaks photos on the car blogs and magazines. What it brings me to is bagging on things. "Baggin." Where does that come from? I found myself saying it the other day after thinking about something I said earlier to someone.
It's the writer in me. When you know you're a writer, you think about what you thought about when you said what you said and why you said it that way instead of another way. I don't count myself as a writer anymore. I see myself as a tool. Sometimes as a tool and sometimes as a tool. A tool that sometimes produces. Maybe I'm just a producer. Hah, no. I hate producing. A tool that generates? Yes. I'm a generator. Autonomic generator, that's as far as I can take ya, do you wanna be a part of, oh yes, yeah, I'm on it.
Bagging. I thought about it way too much. Bagging. To bag on someone. Bag on something. The Urban Dictionary was no help. What I think it means, as I've understood it, is to understand that what you are going up against is not at all what you wanted or needed and so you bag. You bag your street clothes because there's no work to be done. No actual work. Bag your street clothes. Whatever was thought to be done was already done or otherwise not doable, so bag your street clothes because the minute you get there is the same minute you know you didn't need to be there. Bag your drugs. The minute you get there and get a feel for what's going on you know you didn't need to be there, but you are, so you might as well enjoy the time you've already set aside. Get to a good place and everything else will follow for you. Maybe not for them, for you it's golden. Bag your expectations. Bag 'em up. Bag 'em up. Take them home with you and flush them down the toilet when you get there. Bag your lunch. Remember how they said you were going to eat good when you got there and lunch turned out to be finger sandwiches and punch and sandwich cookies? Nope, because I brought my own from home and I gotta tell you this chipped ham sandwich with springs and spicy brown mustard and pepperoni tastes so much better than. Bagging.
Hedging is bagging. Hedging is bagging with a backhand because everyone knows when you're doing it. Everyone knows, once you bag, that you came in with low expectations and those expectations played out. It's not an insult to get bagged on. If anything, besides an insult, it says your friends love you enough to show up at all and your enemies did too. To see you fail, maybe. Faces get scarce the older you get when life changes veins. We all know that. Most of us know that. At least make their ticket fee worthwhile. It's not easy to bag. Sometimes you have to take a chance. Everyone bags sometimes. Sometimes bagging on someone or something is as simple as making back up plans or coinciding plans so there can be an ejector seat button that lands you somewhere more comfortable. Nothing wrong with bagging. Most of the time.
Girls are crazy. I'll just say it. They are. I sat through a very long exposition about how some other girl was going crazy and kicked people out of her house even though it wasn't her house or her right to kick anyone out (I would have felt the same if it was a guy doing it and relating the story). While she was telling the story,I kept remembering all of the times she went ape shit while we were hanging out. A diagram. A verbal diagram. Ladies take note. They don't teach you this in college orientation. They only teach the rape threshold.
1 drink: Guys) alright it's official. Girls) Did I get my ride home set up?
3 drinks: Guys) what time is it. Girls) oh my god, why is no one dancing?
6 drinks: Guys) games? how about yes! Girls) i feel sick. this is the song I requested!
9 drinks: Guys) game two, muthafucka! I rule you. Girls) this is fun. I'm having fun. Can you see my tits? I can see my tits. I bet he can see my tits.
11 drinks: Guys) game two, I'm up! Girls) what are you guys playing? Can I play?
14 drinks: Guys) game three, I'm in. Fugg that. I'm winning this round. Girls) You look great, what are you talking about? Oh my god, I go to the same place!
16 drinks: Guys) hah, no way. what he should have done in that fight is... Girls) oh please. That's bullshit. You're better than that. Have you seen my shoes yet? They're discount, but...
22 drinks: Guys) no, let me show you. Okay, okay, okay, let's finish this. We're too grown up to fight... unless you want to. Girls) [throwing up and/or passed out.... if not the latter, forward to the next...] I'm tired/want to go home/what time is it/i'm fine {not fine}.
24 gender war
Girls are crazy. It was simply hilarious though, hearing a woman rail against another about her behavior at a party and it was a kettle calling the pot black. I kept snickering while she was relating the story and getting really into it and painting her as this kind of horrible villain. At the same time, I was thinking about her moments and she's a fiery girl too. It was beyond me to try to explain to her that she did the exact same things except she was hanging out in my place and there's no way to kick anyone out of my house so she left and tried to kick her boy toy out of my place by proxy, but the attitude and acclimation that I have is: if you want to stay you can stay; if you want to leave you can leave. It's that simple. Feel obligated if you want to. If you don't then don't. If you're invited in, you're in for as long as you want to be. I'll do what I want and you can do what you want and if you over step I'll let you know. If you don't over step I'm good too. It might become uncomfortable for you and that's fine with me. I'll be comfortable. Do what makes you. If you don't like it, cash out. No one's holding you here so don't feel obligated, because I don't. Girls are crazy.
I miss my crack year. It was fun. A couple bars closed near me. You'd think they'd have the courtesy to let their patrons know. I miss the not knowing. The not knowing where you're going to get it. Those were the original adventure times... hold on... gotta change to headphones with better bass response... not knowing where you were going to wake up, but knowing who you were going to wake up with because there literally was no one else. I loved it. Still do love it. We're not low lifes. Don't put us there. Every night was time well spent. Now it's like those plastic chatter wind up teeth, except you're sitting on them. They're in your chair. All wound up. Every time you get up to do something, your butt holding them fast shut, they go off. CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHET CHATATATATATARATATARATATATARATATARATARAATARATARAT. Wish they whispered. They don't.
They go ritttttereretetetet and I second guess what I'm doing and wonder if I could do it better breathing it, because some things I can. I don't know if that makes addiction. I don't want to know the answer. I just kicked paint. That was harder than kicking rock. Bad things, really bad things are still too fresh in my head from kicking it. At least with paint everything got super buttery. Like, seeing light, sunlight, made me taste green butter buds with fuzzy tips on my tongue when I saw leaves of plants and leaves of flooring interlocking. Endless energy came to me like I was whispering into the ear of Zeus himself when I was smoking. Something above and away beyond cannabis. There's no replacing that. I wish I could, but there is no way beyond it past pretending it never happened. You sit on that set of spring activated teeth and they don't go off until you stand up and then doubts crowds in hard and fast. Hundred million ----ing strong like a riot where your brain meets your mouth. How your ears get hot when you're about to fuck except it's right there in the back of your skull where you can't scratch and you know if you did itch it the entire thing you are trying to do will treat you so good you will never troll craigslist again looking for the desparate night flyer fuck to help you feel better without the peace between your lips. Fuck.
I miss the time I spent already. Only 4 years removed from abuse. 4 years of being myself. 4 years of knowing how to be and who I am and how to enjoy and how not to be. Her name came up in my head today. I was walking. It came up right after I saw the zebra and I was thinking about one times. I'll live it down. I will. She was nothing. I like to think I got lucky.
Growing up fast. I will give his name that shall never be spoken this one credit: he once said to me "you didn't have time, or you didn't make time" that was before he beat me for not cleaning my room. It stuck with me for different reasons than. What it taught me was that sometimes you just have to make what it is that you want. If you're always short of coke by the end of the week and have to go through the hassle every friday, what you should be doing is budgeting out to double or triple up your order. If you keep running out of fresh fruit by mid month, you need to buy the unripe fruits and mix them in with the ones ready to eat so that by week three you're golden.
A little planning goes a long way. You will find a way to make time for the things that you want. You will make time. What you do with that time is debatable. Once you have that time it's a matter of control. It's a matter of control and liberation because that freedom comes at cost to your doorstep and there's no way to flip it for profit out of the gate. Photoshoot? Writing? Sleeping? Everything that you paid to get that time free bears down guns blazing, Which bullet strikes your heart is not up to you. At least not as often as the wounds would love it to be.
Life is viscous.
Life doesn't care.
Life is what you can make out of it.
Life does not turn the other cheek. Ever.
Don't kid yourself.
Love yourself.
Never. Ever.
Lock yourself
into fear.
///Hot Chip - "You Ride, We Ride, In My Ride" its out here I may find my reasons for. ... found some distance. The distance that I needed to be... whatever the hell it is I am supposed to. Still figuring it out. Ghosts have returned. Hallucinations. I want the simpler times. But where you're going you never really come back from. Some of you comes back. A little bit always stays out there. I just wonder when the numbers run over years what it is that adds up to. How far away is it do you have to stay to make sure everyone else is safe.
5/20/13
We Were Looking for Highspeed
spent some time in the foundry. It was important to do. Part of the importance was simply getting the shakes out. Along the path of life I managed to convince myself that it was too hard to use my drawing pad to make drawings instead of doing them on paper but what I realized, after weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks of procrastination, was that I was putting it off to do paper because I knew I would never really try to pick up paper the same way I can pick up the convenience of a drawing pad. Partly because I don't have the pens or pencils I like in my house and at arms reach when I want them, and partly because I don't have scrolls of paper big enough to do what I want to do when I want to do it, and partly because both of those things allow me the saving grace to not have to burden myself with the torture of stepping outside my own skull, and that last one is the big one.
I love living by dreamlight still. It's a wonderful thing. Not without it's own limitations, but when you live in there you never have to worry about showing someone else what it was that you saw while you were there. You never have to do the work. On top of that you never have to slug your way through misinterpretation when you do try to translate dream code into real code and the circuits short out half way and you get flustered and start sweating because you know they know it didn't really happen but it did I swear if I can just show you how it all went down. You're never burdened with that. But it's the same principle as the principle of the fact of the matter and on and on being that you can't get in trouble if you're not conscious. Which is true.
How you got to being unconscious is the tricky part, but once you get there you are literally unable to fuck anything up. There's something to be said for that. The being comatose. The being asleep. Part of why I prize it like I do. The best way to do no wrong is to be unable to do no wrong. So I spent some time though and made a picture that I like and also do not enjoy looking at because it did not turn out the way I wanted to or the way I saw it in my head and more over it is now subject to other opinions that I can or may not listen to, but it's not like I'm making a career so I care and then I don't off and on and more importantly if I simply went to bed instead of drawing the entire issue would be moot. That's me. Butters.
I'm glad I went back inside it though. I had to. I couldn't not do it. Things were gestating for months and needed out. It was time not spent unwell, and there's something to be said for that and I'm saying it now. Or at least trying to. I care because you do. You care because I do. We care because the infinite point of no one does not care? Trying to balance out the word game. It's funny. She's funny. But if you're going to be a recluse, at least try not to be reckless is all I'm saying. If you're house is going to burn down, at least take good pictures.
Twas' fun though.
I don't know what it all means with regard to the original mission. I don't know if I'm gaining or losing ground or if it matters. I'm still trying to lay down the blueprint, not so much to prevent me from recurring farther along down the line of history, and not so much to cut off what created me, and not so much to bring about some sort of internal change, but just to lay down track so someone like me can at least know what may or may not be ahead of them (but more than likely is). That's really part of what I do live for. Delusional or not. I enjoy going to sleep and laying my head on a pillow knowing that maybe, on down the line, I helped someone not completely self destruct. Or at least postpone it a day or two.
If what I do and have done tells one boy that it's not necessarily over when it should have been, but it's also written once it's written and the best you can do is operate within that frame and engage and rejoin society to the best you can do and the rest is garbage time and uncontrollable and largely unpleasant, but unavoidable, then I did something right. Sometimes you get bad gear from the get and that will be how it is. A perpetual game of catch up if you let yourself be consumed by it. Personally, I'm still hoping for the off chance of a nuclear apocalypse. And that's a long, long, long, bet these days. I also thought, though, with my luck, I'd be the first one to die in an Earth purging event. The first person shot in the face by some ultimate virus cleansing crew because I happened to develop a bad cough the day before shit hit the fan. Ha! that would be my luck though.
Just know, you're not alone. I tell and believe the same within myself.. We'll meet again some day, sweetheart, and when we do we will tear this planet down to it's foundations by any means available. And it will be classy as hell.
///Amon Tobin + "Rosies" so where do you wanna go?
12/4/12
Thinking Around Yourself Is Not Easy (fear)
I have been trying to think around myself. It has not been easy. To say the least. Part of what has made it so difficult is realizing that I am occupying so much of my own space. Where as space time is largely infinite, I have had a hard time parsing my own space and my own time in that webbing. Experience is infinite. Infinitely divergent and convergent on the same scale. The difference comes when you start to look at a person as fragment or a single stitch, a wave particle behaving more particulate than wave, on the scale of outcomes. Something that you can cure me of. No, not really. Nothing that I wouldn't do for you differently.
I have been trying to think around myself. I have been trying to dig myself out of the weird hole of self absorption and have experienced some success. There has been some allure in exploring the dark side of the moon and what have you, but that has come as quite ancillary to everything else I would like to do, but has also occupied so many cycles, it's almost become laughable.
The standoffs between my drawing tablet and my gaming remote have grown to epic proportions. As they should. Given the variables. I knew they would. There are so many usb ports and only so many preoccupations. I've grown a little sad though. Not because I can't get everyone of me to work in concert. Not because the voices have been so gotdamn loud I can't hear myself think sometimes. Not because I want time to flow in reverse. Not because I am stupidly heart broken too often and no amount of huffed paint will make it feel better long enough. Not because four hour masturbation sessions laden me with enough shame to bury an elephant with no trace of a corpse or burial ground.
I've grown a little sad, because I know, with the pills available, my outcomes might be entirely different, and I've given them not a lick of a try. Not that I don't want to. I absolutely do. It's not like I'm going to magically lose my creativity or penchant for metaphor. Might lose some sex drive, but it's not like I'm getting laid every five seconds. It's a choice and I understand that. It's a choice I'm not comfortable making. What if I don't like the new me?
Better question: what if the new me is less acceptable than the old me. I don't mean in terms of dalliances and persuasions or anything like that, but how hilarious would it be if the new me was completely straight? I just don't want, in a big way to rediscover myself. At some point you get too old for that and I don't want to be in a position where I'm okay with being fucked up constantly and managing, but I also don't want to be in a completely artificial position that I can love because it's artificial and enjoyable and normal, because as much as I love fitting in, I love being genuine.
It has value. Being genuine. How far around myself am I supposed to think? How far around themselves do other people think? That's the much larger question. I guess the greater difficulty comes in when I try to measure myself against other points of normalcy and I fail to get a reading. It breaks my heart. It really does. It still does. Not blaming anyone. Not finding fault. It just burns my heart steadily. Day to day. Am I that weird? The answer keeps coming back yes and no. And everyone gets to go through life, well, the vast majority, with answers to that question. And I don't.
Maybe I'm not far enough outside myself to answer or maybe I just don't have an answer or maybe the answer is just kind of crappy and I have to deal with it until I die. I don't know. I'll still try. To enjoy what life I got still comin' my way. What else would you expect me to do.
///RJD2 - "Moonlit Skies" Sometimes you just want to be right about something. Just anything. Just get it and nail it dead on for once. It stays a luxury you can't afford, all you can do is convince yourself you were close enough.
I have been trying to think around myself. I have been trying to dig myself out of the weird hole of self absorption and have experienced some success. There has been some allure in exploring the dark side of the moon and what have you, but that has come as quite ancillary to everything else I would like to do, but has also occupied so many cycles, it's almost become laughable.
The standoffs between my drawing tablet and my gaming remote have grown to epic proportions. As they should. Given the variables. I knew they would. There are so many usb ports and only so many preoccupations. I've grown a little sad though. Not because I can't get everyone of me to work in concert. Not because the voices have been so gotdamn loud I can't hear myself think sometimes. Not because I want time to flow in reverse. Not because I am stupidly heart broken too often and no amount of huffed paint will make it feel better long enough. Not because four hour masturbation sessions laden me with enough shame to bury an elephant with no trace of a corpse or burial ground.
I've grown a little sad, because I know, with the pills available, my outcomes might be entirely different, and I've given them not a lick of a try. Not that I don't want to. I absolutely do. It's not like I'm going to magically lose my creativity or penchant for metaphor. Might lose some sex drive, but it's not like I'm getting laid every five seconds. It's a choice and I understand that. It's a choice I'm not comfortable making. What if I don't like the new me?
Better question: what if the new me is less acceptable than the old me. I don't mean in terms of dalliances and persuasions or anything like that, but how hilarious would it be if the new me was completely straight? I just don't want, in a big way to rediscover myself. At some point you get too old for that and I don't want to be in a position where I'm okay with being fucked up constantly and managing, but I also don't want to be in a completely artificial position that I can love because it's artificial and enjoyable and normal, because as much as I love fitting in, I love being genuine.
It has value. Being genuine. How far around myself am I supposed to think? How far around themselves do other people think? That's the much larger question. I guess the greater difficulty comes in when I try to measure myself against other points of normalcy and I fail to get a reading. It breaks my heart. It really does. It still does. Not blaming anyone. Not finding fault. It just burns my heart steadily. Day to day. Am I that weird? The answer keeps coming back yes and no. And everyone gets to go through life, well, the vast majority, with answers to that question. And I don't.
Maybe I'm not far enough outside myself to answer or maybe I just don't have an answer or maybe the answer is just kind of crappy and I have to deal with it until I die. I don't know. I'll still try. To enjoy what life I got still comin' my way. What else would you expect me to do.
///RJD2 - "Moonlit Skies" Sometimes you just want to be right about something. Just anything. Just get it and nail it dead on for once. It stays a luxury you can't afford, all you can do is convince yourself you were close enough.
4/5/10
collected thoughts
ah, ive done it. collected it into a saucer and sipped at it and dissected the taste and synthesized it again into something even more it than it was.
i know why i dont like them. well not even that i dont like them, but why i must refuse to acknowledge them as connected to me in any positive way. ready?
there is no amount of support, no level of compliment, no amount of money, no measurable magnitude of niceness, no increment of politeness, there is nothing any of them can do as long as i am alive that will ever erase what has been done. and because i live with it incorporated into various parts of my heart, soul, mind, and person (as things heal and scar like an arm you can no longer fully extend because of torn cartilage decades ago) there is literally no forgetting. not to say my life is equally endangered as someone with a life threatening physical ailment, but mentally and emotionally its like a virus or cancer, the elimination of which could only be achieved by destroying vital and healthy tissues. and thats why it upsets me. thats why i cant seem to go a month or sometimes a week without having to exert massive energy to hold myself together.
i look forward to old age, when things inside my head start to collapse and wings of the mental archive are buried in the rubble of time. chemicals are like bad white out at best and a blinded surgeon with a two inch scalpel at worst and they only reach but so far. time's reach is unlimited. time swallows everything. i hope time cures me before im in my grave so i can enjoy 100% of the wonder of being alive.
///yoko kanno - "fish ~ silent cruise" such a sweet beginning. beautiful really. beautiful in the way a storm gathers itself before a warm front so slowly for its scale, reaching up and up into the rafters, before sweeping down onto hot concrete and starved fields. beautiful i guess as a blizzard that forgets itself from time to time. i dont know what my dad wanted to achieve, but he has successfully created a person who hates him with every fiber left at his command. a person who may kill him someday. its a beautiful song.
i know why i dont like them. well not even that i dont like them, but why i must refuse to acknowledge them as connected to me in any positive way. ready?
there is no amount of support, no level of compliment, no amount of money, no measurable magnitude of niceness, no increment of politeness, there is nothing any of them can do as long as i am alive that will ever erase what has been done. and because i live with it incorporated into various parts of my heart, soul, mind, and person (as things heal and scar like an arm you can no longer fully extend because of torn cartilage decades ago) there is literally no forgetting. not to say my life is equally endangered as someone with a life threatening physical ailment, but mentally and emotionally its like a virus or cancer, the elimination of which could only be achieved by destroying vital and healthy tissues. and thats why it upsets me. thats why i cant seem to go a month or sometimes a week without having to exert massive energy to hold myself together.
i look forward to old age, when things inside my head start to collapse and wings of the mental archive are buried in the rubble of time. chemicals are like bad white out at best and a blinded surgeon with a two inch scalpel at worst and they only reach but so far. time's reach is unlimited. time swallows everything. i hope time cures me before im in my grave so i can enjoy 100% of the wonder of being alive.
///yoko kanno - "fish ~ silent cruise" such a sweet beginning. beautiful really. beautiful in the way a storm gathers itself before a warm front so slowly for its scale, reaching up and up into the rafters, before sweeping down onto hot concrete and starved fields. beautiful i guess as a blizzard that forgets itself from time to time. i dont know what my dad wanted to achieve, but he has successfully created a person who hates him with every fiber left at his command. a person who may kill him someday. its a beautiful song.
3/30/10
the thing is
i dont want thank yous borne of common courte-fucking-sy. i dont want you to buy me a fucking lunch of cheap ass fucking fuck me in the ass taste like shit fast food. i dont want you to make yourself food and then offer me some as a fucking afterthought cuz im in the kitchen and your fucking eating and you feel like shit cuz i just washed the god damn dishes youre eating off of you worthless fucking shit prick. i dont want you to fucking pay me. and most of all you cock lick shit on a dick stuck so far up satans bloody acidic asshole from which all that is unholy on this earth was dispensed since time immemorial, i dont want your fucking humor and smiles cuz you think its all fucking gravy cuz it aint. fuck your face hard enough to blow your jaw clear off. i hope thats what happens to you. i hope that when, since you could not do a single god damn fucking no strings attached thing out of the non existent kindness of your steaming pile of horse shit heart, when you do die ill still be around to cut the face off of your corpse and throw it in a fucking river for feral dogs to fucking devour after the fish and vultures are done with it. fuck off. when i leave here itll be too god damn soon before i am forced to see you.
11/5/05
a mutual slump
Subject : a mutual slump
Posted Date: : Nov 5, 2005 4:18 PM
I am very tired of not having money. Demoralizing, disheartening, and depressing is what it's like to have no money. You don't care about much of anything and you don't want to work at anything. But you do work, because that is the only way to get out of the slump of negative dollars.
What about life? I have no wealth, no steady state of capital. I have debt. gobs upon gobs of debt that only work will erase. I tell myself that I am tired of being poor, of being on the higher end of the have nots. I tell myself that my kids are going to have everything that I don't have, but that isn't true. It's just a wish. This is not an emo rant, this is just letting off some of the pressure that stacks up over the years when it becomes more and more clear that you are very likely not going to be "successful, grounded, rich, dateable, married, healthy, a grand parent, a good father, provider, on top, stable." The world isn't out to get me. It also is not out to make amends or make things better either.
Don't tell me life isn't bleak and then tell me I have no way to advance myself upward through the class ranks because its just who I've grown to be. You're lieing to yourself if you think everyone gets a fair crack at anything. Life doesn't suck all the time for anyone, but that does not mean life doesnt suck alot of the time for someone.
Difficult days. Not enough is going to change by the time I graduate and not enough minds will change about who I am, how I work, what I know, and what I believe to make a difference in the paths that have been laid out today. Life is like a box of slant rhymes. Or maybe its like a bowl of soup and some people get silver spoons while other people get stirring rods.
What is there to look forward to? The "mutual slump of body and soul"? New beginnings; don't get too excited about those. they always start right where you left off. There is one thing to look forward to and that is consistency.
They may not leave you, but if they do it'll be for similar reasons.
You'll work hard and it won't count for anything much.
No one will give you anything you haven't earned or won't pay for later.
You will always be the best company you'll know.
Beer will always taste like beer, weed will always get you high, and money will always feel like eels in your back pocket, foreign, uncomfortable, and itching to slip away.
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