Knowing what you are and what you're not is where it begins, that's the baby step. There's nothing wrong with being a baby. Complaining let's you know, if you've ears for it, that you are not necessarily happy with the way things are or how they're going. Everyone's a baby. At some point. Everyone complains.
The option is to take the turn or drive the motivation straight over the edge and hope you land somewhere nice. Hope you land in something like a pillow factory or a bin of sand, or just anything more forgiving than concrete. Take the turn. Complain like a baby and then adjust. You can take your authenticity to the grave with you or you can exist within it. Sounds pretty simple. It's a bit more complicated, unfortunately. Sometimes you just have to realize that you are striped and a tiger and sometimes imaginary in a pack of lions. Doesn't mean you have to be at war with the lions. You're both after the same things. There's nothing wrong with that. You've honed your way and they've honed theirs and you're on the same field now so you have to learn how to play together effectively that you not step on one another's paws and sink teeth too close together on the same kill.
It's "go protocol." It's trigger pull. It's losing my train of thought and getting heckling from the rest of the committee and continuing to ball because YOURE NOT THE BOSS OF ME YOU @#$%S.
Fight through the noise. Embrace the sound. Love who you want to. It does not matter if they love you back. You have the right to love whomever and whatever you choose to, whomever and whatever you can't refuse to. If they cannot respect that, it's their loss. In a world lessed for loves lost, why waste it? Let it fly. Untenable as it may be, let it fly. Let it fly! Allow it to cross the distance that must be enforced for whatever reasons are reasonable. Include a few that are not.
Remain authentic. Stick to the protocol. You have not lived as long as you have by ignoring protocol. When the Go sign says go, go! Think twice, for sure. "Fo Sho!" does not mean for show. I can put on a fantastic show when I want to. I can put on a show for the fucking ages. Fo sho means for sure and it's pretty much a miniature pact. A handshake and a signature of gumption. With no risk comes no reward and you know what comes without whisk? I do. I'll give you another second to guess. Time's up. Without whisk you get a big old cup of pineapple pulp and undissolved sugar at the bottom of your pitcher of pineapple tea. Gross. Also, really hard to drink.
Obey Go Protocol. Stay authentic. Bow to be courteous, not to fit better. If you win the single combat and fit well, you'll hate them later because they will know what you did. They will talk about the event, if not active, in passing. You will know too.
The combination is not friendly. They are not looking for maps the same way you do. The same way you are. Do not expect assistance when you go. Do not expect support. Do not armor for resistance either. You were invited for a reason. You were on their wing for a reason. That reason may not be for back up should combat come down. That reason may not be for mounting an assault that day. That reason may not be for humor or for "to hell with them"s. You may never know what that reason's reasoning inside their head was, but there was a reason.
So go. Go! Stay authentic. There was something asked of you. Think about what you've asked of them in return by answering the howl. The details will work themselves out, if they do. The details will work themselves out, if they don't pull your card again. Through the noise, through the fire, through the poise, through the ire. For once,
allow yourself to see it their way and do not Chameleon. Do not lock up. For @#$%s sake, remain authentic. Uncertainty is a bitch, be certain of this.
///Girl Talk - (Ask About Me) chapter one... still writing the jacket
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 debt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label debt. Show all posts
6/17/14
Over Simplification and the Missing Link and Father's Day
Something's missing. I know something is missing because I am not grasping a few concepts correctly. I can be as small minded as I want to be, sure. I am a bit frightened of using all that I can produce, see control issue. I suppose it is easier for me to take as small a perspective as possible. I can't do whatever I want to do. If I did whatever I wanted to, this would be a very different world, or I would be stone dead in the ground wishing I had rethought doing whatever I wanted to do.
I had many and, some, long thoughts about my father. I hate saying that. That word. Makes me grind my teeth. It was a road that had to be reevaluated, and no I am not going to kick cans in anger here. It was a very positive approach couched mostly in pure analysis and attempting to see it from outside my head and look in at the relationship, while it still existed, from a third party.
What I started to think about and completed was that he may have seen some things from before my memory begins. My memory begins around preschool, kindergarten. I can't recall much of anything, virtually nothing, from before that and cannot vouch or insist I was one way or another. What I came to was that he may have seen something in me and my ways then and made an attempt to push the tracks this way and that way as I got older. Maybe. I'll never know because I asked and was refused, flat. Father's day. What a hoot.
I do know I am missing something. Not information. Yes information. My history is thoroughly incomplete. I have to remind myself and update my tabs on who's kicked the bucket. I'm fine with that. Less interference. I am missing something about being a proper citizen and holding down a job and, let's put it blank, growing up. My concept of growing up is not aligned with what I believe the general population's concept of being growed up is. But, I do know I can't do whatever I want. That's wrong. I can't fish all day, that ones easy to know. I get that. I have to wear pants and clothing in general. I get that too. I must participate. That one's clear as well. I am missing a, on it's outside, simple bridge. I cannot keep offering disclaimers. To do that is akin to handing out passports. Far too reckless.
Rejecting life's intrinsic complexities is not a way forward. It is a system failure. Simplification. Keep it simple, stupid, only gets one so far before the wall of sound and input comes calling and breaks your nose. The mission for simplicity begins to damage the ability to engage, with necessity and vigor, peers, idols, fam, friends, and the rest of the grid.
Simplification denies and is denial when forced too far. I understand that better now, but not completely. No where near completely. I'm not alright with the concept and it makes me smile to say and hear it from our own mouth. We are not simple. We are bright. We are sharp. We cannot use simplicity as a device for protection. A way to consume information at a pace appropriate for us. A way to do what we want. Gain access to what we want. Appropriate. Unacceptable. It's neither sly nor sneaky. Plain dumb.
I suppose I will cut my tongue out one of these days. It can be a weapon. A technique. Believe it or not, I need to learn how to use communication better, more efficiently. Maybe I'll learn sign language. I think I'll be better for it. Better than learning another verbal language. That way at least when I'm ready to have it removed I'll be prepared to talk in other ways. I've been using sign language for quite some time, but not the official one, anyway. I've been using my sign language, exclusive to me and my country and my time zone. Hello there, and welcome to the rest of the world.
///T-Pain & Early Cuyler - "I Like Driving In My Truck" ...i like driving in my truck...
I had many and, some, long thoughts about my father. I hate saying that. That word. Makes me grind my teeth. It was a road that had to be reevaluated, and no I am not going to kick cans in anger here. It was a very positive approach couched mostly in pure analysis and attempting to see it from outside my head and look in at the relationship, while it still existed, from a third party.
What I started to think about and completed was that he may have seen some things from before my memory begins. My memory begins around preschool, kindergarten. I can't recall much of anything, virtually nothing, from before that and cannot vouch or insist I was one way or another. What I came to was that he may have seen something in me and my ways then and made an attempt to push the tracks this way and that way as I got older. Maybe. I'll never know because I asked and was refused, flat. Father's day. What a hoot.
I do know I am missing something. Not information. Yes information. My history is thoroughly incomplete. I have to remind myself and update my tabs on who's kicked the bucket. I'm fine with that. Less interference. I am missing something about being a proper citizen and holding down a job and, let's put it blank, growing up. My concept of growing up is not aligned with what I believe the general population's concept of being growed up is. But, I do know I can't do whatever I want. That's wrong. I can't fish all day, that ones easy to know. I get that. I have to wear pants and clothing in general. I get that too. I must participate. That one's clear as well. I am missing a, on it's outside, simple bridge. I cannot keep offering disclaimers. To do that is akin to handing out passports. Far too reckless.
Rejecting life's intrinsic complexities is not a way forward. It is a system failure. Simplification. Keep it simple, stupid, only gets one so far before the wall of sound and input comes calling and breaks your nose. The mission for simplicity begins to damage the ability to engage, with necessity and vigor, peers, idols, fam, friends, and the rest of the grid.
Simplification denies and is denial when forced too far. I understand that better now, but not completely. No where near completely. I'm not alright with the concept and it makes me smile to say and hear it from our own mouth. We are not simple. We are bright. We are sharp. We cannot use simplicity as a device for protection. A way to consume information at a pace appropriate for us. A way to do what we want. Gain access to what we want. Appropriate. Unacceptable. It's neither sly nor sneaky. Plain dumb.
I suppose I will cut my tongue out one of these days. It can be a weapon. A technique. Believe it or not, I need to learn how to use communication better, more efficiently. Maybe I'll learn sign language. I think I'll be better for it. Better than learning another verbal language. That way at least when I'm ready to have it removed I'll be prepared to talk in other ways. I've been using sign language for quite some time, but not the official one, anyway. I've been using my sign language, exclusive to me and my country and my time zone. Hello there, and welcome to the rest of the world.
///T-Pain & Early Cuyler - "I Like Driving In My Truck" ...i like driving in my truck...
6/22/13
4 Years Is a Lifetime, Music, and Summer What?
Sometimes I wake up and it's hard to believe it's been four years since I made it clear of the 24 years that came before when it comes to my parents. When people ask about them, I'm still tempted to say they died. They are dead to me, but just because they're dead in my mind doesn't make them dead in real life, even though it would be great if they were. It's hard to believe I ever did love them. I suppose I once did. My mother anyway. Is it better to be feared or loved? They decided it was better to be feared. It is easy to receive gratitude for putting out a fire. I suppose it is easy to cling to those firemen and women rescuing you from that fire and believing you owe them a life debt. A water debt. A blood debt.
It is easy, until you find out, when the blinders come off, that they set that fire that took your body down to it's foundations. Then it's not so easy. When that sun dawns and the city you've been inhabiting in the dark comes into sharp relief and you realize you've been living downtown for 24 years and didn't know it and from the tallest skyscraper there you can't even see the city limits, you cry. And I did. For years. I wanted to jump back then. Break my heart on the pavement into beads of pomegranate flesh crushed. I didn't.
I walked. I ran. And then I walked some more when my lungs and legs quit. I camped. I broke into abandoned homes and raided food and threw it in my back pack and kept going. I slept on concrete and hid in basements when creatures roamed and cached weapons to defend myself. Taught myself how to use them, because the day you come face to face with the monsters will be the day you are least prepared to fight for your life and the blood in your veins and your heart beat. I walked for years until the buildings and bridges grew smaller. The shells of "civilization" as I knew it grew fewer and far between, and one day I was outside of it all, on a hill top looking back in and I could see the towers so tall back then. I could see the flag poles and radio towers atop the things so massive they crowded out the sky and blanked the stars at night with their ferocious brilliance.
And it's strange to be outside of it. Strange to feel myself breathing. There was a time, right after I took myself away from it all, that it felt odd not to be hurt. I felt like my skin didn't fit. My face didn't feel like my face. It was difficult to walk, like my legs forgot how to do it in this new frame unburdened. It felt strange to stand up straight. Strange to deal with my bosses because I was constantly afraid that they might hit me if I messed something up or forgot to do something or did what they wanted, but they changed their minds halfway and did not tell me. It never occurred to me that people are not supposed to be allowed to do that to other people. It never occurred to me that people are not naturally inclined to do that necessarily. It never occurred to me that there would and could be legal recourse for me if they did. Shedding the things, piece by piece, that I once thought to be absolute truths of power relationships and interchange with "authority".
It was a difficult transition and four years removed from it, it feels like a lifetime away. The longest four years of my short life. I've done so much living, it amazes me and I love it. I love being able to look forward without immediate apprehension. Some days I wake up and my first thought is "so this is what everyone else has been feeling like all this time." I wish that I did still retain the good memories from when I was little. I've spent so much of myself and so much time eradicating the bad ones, but you can't pick and choose when it comes to that. There are huge blank spaces in my memory now. Massive expanses that I should have some recall about, but I don't. Struggle with whether that's a good or bad thing comes up sometimes, but I'd rather recall nothing than wake up sweating at night.
A choice I decided to make. The most vivid memories still remain, both good and bad; the worst of the worst and the best of the best. Every time I speak to my siblings something new and minor comes to light for better and for worse and I forget all over again. Strike it from the library. Continue on my way. I feel like, really for the first time in a long time, like I'm going the right way and ... there's no price to put on peace. Peace at any cost. Call it selfish. Call it whatever you want to. There's beauty in grace and grace is not killing your parents to square your own books.
There's music stored up in there. I have about 120 tracks and sounds and machine sounds stocked up. I really do want to do it, I haven't made the time to learn. Really learn. I'm passion infused about it. I need it. I'm terrified of failure the same way I used to be years ago when I first decided to share and open myself up to criticism. Not just open myself up, but open myself up to criticism on something I thought I was pretty good at. Music is an entirely different bucket. I want to do it, I've taken the first steps, and now I just have to make one foot follow the other. Never did download that manual for the autoharp. It's not collecting dust though. Every few days, I drag it out from under my bed and lay it down and pluck it's strings and see what comes out of it, but I'm happy to be a dabbler. And unhappy to be just.
Beats, notes, and rhythms in my head and the struggle, I know, will be exhausting. It's a problem of effort and I know that's a me problem, not an environment problem. I've had some trouble with scheduling. Trying to keep yourself out of trouble by sleeping on a max schedule will only drive you so far. Eventually you have to step out of safety if you want to accomplish anything. No one ever won a football game by kneeling down in the first quarter. Crunch time is never convenient and I can't imagine the force of the crush that will drive me to try and I don't want to experience it. I'll get on it someday. To do lists grow long like finger nails. Eventually you have to cut it down or at least paint them.
On another note, you know it's summer when the girls are out in flip flops and the guys are losing their shirts. That's the usual metric. Everyone is out in their Ed Hardy tees and old men are jogging, red skinned, down the middle of side streets and kids are pushing their strollers and little carnivals with tractor trailer ferris wheels start popping up. You know it's summer when you can't get a spot to fish on the river shore if you show up any later than noon on a Tuesday. Opening your car door is like opening an oven door and you sweat from the effort of fixing yourself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. You know it's summer when you head down to the basketball court and you'd rather stand than sit when you're not playing because the asphalt is just that hot.
The real tell about summer, though, is when the ladies start to come out doors in shorts and Ugg boots. I have no idea when that nonsense caught on. What I do know is that every year it happens. Inevitably. It makes no sense. I am a huge fan of form following function, but there is no function to it! None whatsoever! I am taking a stand against it. I was walking down to the gas station in the middle of the day and a nub wearing Uggs and a jean jacket strolled by on the other side of the street and I tried to contain it, but I couldn't. I guffawed for a second, choked, and then laughed at the top of my lungs. It's okay though. She's doing her and I'm going to do me. No big deal.
Still though, come on! Really? Watching it from the corner of my eye all I could think about was gross, stanky, lady feet. I don't care how pretty your face is, guy or girl, but if your feet stank something awful or are horribly deformed or even noticeably deformed, that's a deal breaker. Call me shallow. I don't mind, but there has to be limits. Still chuckling while I walked into the gas station I was at a loss as to what planet that was considered attractive.
I'm not the style police. 90% of what I wear serves a function and a purpose and if that purpose or function requires something off putting or ugly, hey... go f#$% yourself. Form will always follow function for me. If I happen to net up some good form along the way it's just the bonus. I love summer. I love the absurdity of it all. I got into a long back and forth with a girl friend about style. Sometimes I do make style considerations when it comes to choosing the best function/form ratio. She was dressed to the nines and I asked her why she would put herself into such nice clothes. Turned out she just wanted to dress up on a Friday. I scratched my beard. She elaborated. "Sometimes I'm just in the mood to feel a little different."
I got it, then. When function governs there's less room for expression. Everything can't be mechanical the way I want it to be or would like it to be. Input equals output not always and it shouldn't always be. Reproduction being what it is and kind of necessary. Hard wiring. And there I go, back to the mechanical. I can't help it. She had a point though. After the conversation I felt myself starting to want to be a slacks and button up guy. She explained that even though she was dressed to the teeth with shiny earrings, they were still her play clothes because if anything bad happened to them, they're not her actual dress clothes. I might try to wear button up shirts more often. Without buttoning them. To pull that off I'll probably need pants without latex paint all over them. That takes money. Maybe not. I love function.
I'll have quiet dreams about wearing dumb slacks and ripping the crotch out of them doing what I do. In the meantime, I'll just do me and wear what I want. I guess, in very short retrospect, I respect that Ugg jean jacket girl. If I see her again I'm still going to laugh. The same way people probably laugh at me strolling down the main drag in clothes with no form, scratching their heads like "did you look at a mirror before you left your house or did you grab the first four garments you could find on your floor and jump out of your door to conquer the world?"
And that's how you know it's Summer.
Kisses. Later on, kids.
///Ladytron - "Soft Power" ...daylight is the enemy... I love the night. Everything smells wet and good at night. I want to sleep by the river again and talk to the fish while the fire goes out.
It is easy, until you find out, when the blinders come off, that they set that fire that took your body down to it's foundations. Then it's not so easy. When that sun dawns and the city you've been inhabiting in the dark comes into sharp relief and you realize you've been living downtown for 24 years and didn't know it and from the tallest skyscraper there you can't even see the city limits, you cry. And I did. For years. I wanted to jump back then. Break my heart on the pavement into beads of pomegranate flesh crushed. I didn't.
I walked. I ran. And then I walked some more when my lungs and legs quit. I camped. I broke into abandoned homes and raided food and threw it in my back pack and kept going. I slept on concrete and hid in basements when creatures roamed and cached weapons to defend myself. Taught myself how to use them, because the day you come face to face with the monsters will be the day you are least prepared to fight for your life and the blood in your veins and your heart beat. I walked for years until the buildings and bridges grew smaller. The shells of "civilization" as I knew it grew fewer and far between, and one day I was outside of it all, on a hill top looking back in and I could see the towers so tall back then. I could see the flag poles and radio towers atop the things so massive they crowded out the sky and blanked the stars at night with their ferocious brilliance.
And it's strange to be outside of it. Strange to feel myself breathing. There was a time, right after I took myself away from it all, that it felt odd not to be hurt. I felt like my skin didn't fit. My face didn't feel like my face. It was difficult to walk, like my legs forgot how to do it in this new frame unburdened. It felt strange to stand up straight. Strange to deal with my bosses because I was constantly afraid that they might hit me if I messed something up or forgot to do something or did what they wanted, but they changed their minds halfway and did not tell me. It never occurred to me that people are not supposed to be allowed to do that to other people. It never occurred to me that people are not naturally inclined to do that necessarily. It never occurred to me that there would and could be legal recourse for me if they did. Shedding the things, piece by piece, that I once thought to be absolute truths of power relationships and interchange with "authority".
It was a difficult transition and four years removed from it, it feels like a lifetime away. The longest four years of my short life. I've done so much living, it amazes me and I love it. I love being able to look forward without immediate apprehension. Some days I wake up and my first thought is "so this is what everyone else has been feeling like all this time." I wish that I did still retain the good memories from when I was little. I've spent so much of myself and so much time eradicating the bad ones, but you can't pick and choose when it comes to that. There are huge blank spaces in my memory now. Massive expanses that I should have some recall about, but I don't. Struggle with whether that's a good or bad thing comes up sometimes, but I'd rather recall nothing than wake up sweating at night.
A choice I decided to make. The most vivid memories still remain, both good and bad; the worst of the worst and the best of the best. Every time I speak to my siblings something new and minor comes to light for better and for worse and I forget all over again. Strike it from the library. Continue on my way. I feel like, really for the first time in a long time, like I'm going the right way and ... there's no price to put on peace. Peace at any cost. Call it selfish. Call it whatever you want to. There's beauty in grace and grace is not killing your parents to square your own books.
There's music stored up in there. I have about 120 tracks and sounds and machine sounds stocked up. I really do want to do it, I haven't made the time to learn. Really learn. I'm passion infused about it. I need it. I'm terrified of failure the same way I used to be years ago when I first decided to share and open myself up to criticism. Not just open myself up, but open myself up to criticism on something I thought I was pretty good at. Music is an entirely different bucket. I want to do it, I've taken the first steps, and now I just have to make one foot follow the other. Never did download that manual for the autoharp. It's not collecting dust though. Every few days, I drag it out from under my bed and lay it down and pluck it's strings and see what comes out of it, but I'm happy to be a dabbler. And unhappy to be just.
Beats, notes, and rhythms in my head and the struggle, I know, will be exhausting. It's a problem of effort and I know that's a me problem, not an environment problem. I've had some trouble with scheduling. Trying to keep yourself out of trouble by sleeping on a max schedule will only drive you so far. Eventually you have to step out of safety if you want to accomplish anything. No one ever won a football game by kneeling down in the first quarter. Crunch time is never convenient and I can't imagine the force of the crush that will drive me to try and I don't want to experience it. I'll get on it someday. To do lists grow long like finger nails. Eventually you have to cut it down or at least paint them.
On another note, you know it's summer when the girls are out in flip flops and the guys are losing their shirts. That's the usual metric. Everyone is out in their Ed Hardy tees and old men are jogging, red skinned, down the middle of side streets and kids are pushing their strollers and little carnivals with tractor trailer ferris wheels start popping up. You know it's summer when you can't get a spot to fish on the river shore if you show up any later than noon on a Tuesday. Opening your car door is like opening an oven door and you sweat from the effort of fixing yourself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. You know it's summer when you head down to the basketball court and you'd rather stand than sit when you're not playing because the asphalt is just that hot.
The real tell about summer, though, is when the ladies start to come out doors in shorts and Ugg boots. I have no idea when that nonsense caught on. What I do know is that every year it happens. Inevitably. It makes no sense. I am a huge fan of form following function, but there is no function to it! None whatsoever! I am taking a stand against it. I was walking down to the gas station in the middle of the day and a nub wearing Uggs and a jean jacket strolled by on the other side of the street and I tried to contain it, but I couldn't. I guffawed for a second, choked, and then laughed at the top of my lungs. It's okay though. She's doing her and I'm going to do me. No big deal.
Still though, come on! Really? Watching it from the corner of my eye all I could think about was gross, stanky, lady feet. I don't care how pretty your face is, guy or girl, but if your feet stank something awful or are horribly deformed or even noticeably deformed, that's a deal breaker. Call me shallow. I don't mind, but there has to be limits. Still chuckling while I walked into the gas station I was at a loss as to what planet that was considered attractive.
I'm not the style police. 90% of what I wear serves a function and a purpose and if that purpose or function requires something off putting or ugly, hey... go f#$% yourself. Form will always follow function for me. If I happen to net up some good form along the way it's just the bonus. I love summer. I love the absurdity of it all. I got into a long back and forth with a girl friend about style. Sometimes I do make style considerations when it comes to choosing the best function/form ratio. She was dressed to the nines and I asked her why she would put herself into such nice clothes. Turned out she just wanted to dress up on a Friday. I scratched my beard. She elaborated. "Sometimes I'm just in the mood to feel a little different."
I got it, then. When function governs there's less room for expression. Everything can't be mechanical the way I want it to be or would like it to be. Input equals output not always and it shouldn't always be. Reproduction being what it is and kind of necessary. Hard wiring. And there I go, back to the mechanical. I can't help it. She had a point though. After the conversation I felt myself starting to want to be a slacks and button up guy. She explained that even though she was dressed to the teeth with shiny earrings, they were still her play clothes because if anything bad happened to them, they're not her actual dress clothes. I might try to wear button up shirts more often. Without buttoning them. To pull that off I'll probably need pants without latex paint all over them. That takes money. Maybe not. I love function.
I'll have quiet dreams about wearing dumb slacks and ripping the crotch out of them doing what I do. In the meantime, I'll just do me and wear what I want. I guess, in very short retrospect, I respect that Ugg jean jacket girl. If I see her again I'm still going to laugh. The same way people probably laugh at me strolling down the main drag in clothes with no form, scratching their heads like "did you look at a mirror before you left your house or did you grab the first four garments you could find on your floor and jump out of your door to conquer the world?"
And that's how you know it's Summer.
Kisses. Later on, kids.
///Ladytron - "Soft Power" ...daylight is the enemy... I love the night. Everything smells wet and good at night. I want to sleep by the river again and talk to the fish while the fire goes out.
11/29/12
That Instant
you realize you are going to go do something you've gotten good at but that you do not like to do, and it is no longer optional. The choice is gone. And all of your happy songs will have to be learned again and all of your happy places will have to be overtaken again. Let's make it a short trip. I just got back to loving myself, I'm not about to give that away for a forgiven debt.
Last times, sugar.
Last times, sugar.
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.
1/9/10
so i dont have to fucking talk to myself
well we're back. again. a lot has changed. a lot has stayed the same. no more girl friend, just friend who does not want to talk to me for the depth of our former relationship. yay. sarcasm. living in a very divisive... divided place. pretty sure this is gonna be the last fracture for the parents. fine. seems life is defined by fractures and scars. its a matter of whether or not we want to call them sentimental or call them scars.
so im back on here. so i dont have to fucking talk to myself in my head. nothing good is ever said in there. there are good ideas but they are formed by me. nothing good ever happens in the other dialog. and i hate having to sit and listen to it. eventually you cant distinguish who is telling who to shut the fuck up.
the hardest part about stabbing is the initial shock of breaking the skin. i mean not slashing but stabbing. once you get past that the rest is gravy. or gory. gory gravy? different tools for different jobs. so what do we want to talk about today. im not sure... well lets kick off with projects. where is the other project standing. suspended indefinitely apparently. how about the other project... still working on it? yes. slowly. the third project? when free time strikes so shall it strike me to work on it. half the time. double promise. which actually only means that both promises are half as strong as a regular promise. too much glue spoils the joint. any model builder worth his oats should know that.
any other goals? saving. money. 4000. settle all person to person debts and move somewhere and pay two months rent and find a job. that is all. thats all? yes. i think. i hate you. anything else new? stop burning bridges. setting a fire and walking away is not necessarily burning a bridge. they dont all rage out into holocausts. but you certainly believe they do. paranoia? hardly. okay. buying cigarettes? dunno yet. maybe later. cya.
///bjork - "i miss you (sunshine mix)" yeah i do. its too often difficult to explain, but this time its simple. i like you better than i like me. just that easy.
so im back on here. so i dont have to fucking talk to myself in my head. nothing good is ever said in there. there are good ideas but they are formed by me. nothing good ever happens in the other dialog. and i hate having to sit and listen to it. eventually you cant distinguish who is telling who to shut the fuck up.
the hardest part about stabbing is the initial shock of breaking the skin. i mean not slashing but stabbing. once you get past that the rest is gravy. or gory. gory gravy? different tools for different jobs. so what do we want to talk about today. im not sure... well lets kick off with projects. where is the other project standing. suspended indefinitely apparently. how about the other project... still working on it? yes. slowly. the third project? when free time strikes so shall it strike me to work on it. half the time. double promise. which actually only means that both promises are half as strong as a regular promise. too much glue spoils the joint. any model builder worth his oats should know that.
any other goals? saving. money. 4000. settle all person to person debts and move somewhere and pay two months rent and find a job. that is all. thats all? yes. i think. i hate you. anything else new? stop burning bridges. setting a fire and walking away is not necessarily burning a bridge. they dont all rage out into holocausts. but you certainly believe they do. paranoia? hardly. okay. buying cigarettes? dunno yet. maybe later. cya.
///bjork - "i miss you (sunshine mix)" yeah i do. its too often difficult to explain, but this time its simple. i like you better than i like me. just that easy.
8/5/09
i walk to work. no. NO, youre not listening. 08/05/09
they are turning it into the worst fucking investment ever. you know the thing. that thing that "no one can take away from you." that thing that unlocks the power and magic of learning. that thing that lets you make 35K a year on average. yeah, that thing. fucking education. the worst fucking personal investment ever. no one should be saddled with this personal burden. ever. its a fucking business.
they let you sign yourself up (and hopefully one of your parents too) to recieve a bacterial infection. Since you cant pay your way or get perfect grades and be in every club (probably because you're a normal fucking person with real concerns in life from a less than absolutely supportive and financially endowed family and youre probably in that big square part of the standard distribution of human beings under the age of 25) the rules clearly state that if you receive this infection you can go to college. the infection degrades your health and your prospects and your financial reputation and your bank account for up to 30 years and is removed if you pay the people that gave you the infection the cost of tuition plus an arbitrary amount of additional money so that they dont have to work and can go on vacations to exotic places and pay for their kids to go to college. but if you dont pay them back and pay for their vacations, and their kids to go to college, within 30 years, sometimes as little as 15, then the infection metastasizes and kills your work life, financial, family life, and cuts you off from all sources of material/meaningful help.
actual phone call today. keep in mind i answer at least 4 of these a day. I recieve between 8 and 12 every god damn day. "hi im calling on behalf of ers a collection company for UIC. we're calling about 6k you owe. will you be able to close that out today?"
"no. of course not. if i was able i would have done so months ago."
"well the account has been... is delinquent" (i made the fucking payment to keep it out of collections the business day before... but hey its my "deadbeat" word against their "without fault" system. the account was never delinquent before either hence its newly minted arrival at ers) "and we need to close it out immediatel-"
i interrupt her "look, if i had the money i would give it to you. i just started a new job a couple of weeks ago and making barely enough to pay rent, keep my phone on, and pay out my 600 a month in student loans" (my job pays about 19k before chicago and fed taxes)"i cand do some kind of payment plan."
while we're talking my phone rings again and its AES on the other line. calling about one dollar and eighty fucking cents, i shit you not.
"well sir, how much do you make" exasperation tinges her voice. "im not authorized to do a payment plan until i know that along with your mortgage or rent."
"well i make 19k and my rent is 200 a mo" i live wth my gf. it should be 450 but shes letting it slide for now
"thank you sir" she interupts me
"well wait a minute" i interupt her "hold on a sec. i have 70k in student loan debt. doesnt that matter?"
silence. then "well its not really a part of our equations. we do our calkalations based on housing and income" WHAT THE FUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS? how fucking caniving is that? well next time ill just lump the 6 to 7 hundred a month i pay out to student debt in with my rent.
"based on what i calkalated can you make a 234 dollar good faith payment today?"
"no, if i could do that i would have just paid UIC directly and avoided all this mess."
"can you make a 100 dollar payment?"
"i dont know. maybe."
"okay i need your routing number and check number" WHAT!
"no, i said maybe. i need to do some calculating too and find out what i can afford to pay. i dont have any debt information in front of me because im at work right now"
"do you have your check book?"
"no im at work. im standing at the front counter right now, at my job, so i can make money to pay you people."
"well can you go and get it on your lunch break?"
"no, i walk to work. i cant get home and back here on my lunch break."
"well cant you just give me the routing number?"
what the fuck. listen to the words coming out of my fucking mouth!!!
"no, im at work. i dont have a car. if i could afford a car i could afford to pay you people."
pohone rings again. guess who? its ers. on another line. in another office. calling about the same fucking thing. literally to the T. i switch and then switch back to cynthia.
"i am car less. i have a hard enough time just keeping my phone on just so i can get calls from you people six times a day. i walk to work. i dont have my checkbook because when i left i planned on going to work. not to the bank. its what i do on week days."
"well can you call me tonight then so we can discuss this matter?"
"there isnt much else to discuss unless you're coming up with smaller monthly payments. i need to go home and review some information and my finances and ill get back to you as soon as i can and hopefully itll be with good news."
literally twenty minutes later phone rings again. ERS. about the same thing. i tell the new lady i just talked to cynthia. must be a fake name because she had no fucking clue who that was. i tell her everything i told the first lady. she tries to play the "oh i know youre struggling but i just want to help you. do you have a routing number today? well call me back tomorrow at 9am." which turned right before she hung up to "ill call you tomorrow at 9am." which i promptly corrected
"dont call me. ill call you with information."
but she tries to play the "i identify with your position and want to do whats best for you and my company and get this resolved as quickly (left out satisfactorially) as possible" but i wasnt buying it. they always do that. see the thing is... that person on the other end doesnt fucking identify with you. they dont know what it feels like to get these calls year after fucking YEAR after FUCKING YEAR. they have no fucking clue. and thats why i want to strangle them. i want to put their eyes in meat grinders. i want to beat their children till their skin comes off in wet sheets. i want to pull their teeth out one mm at a time, suck the ripped nerve ending out of it and spit it into their empty eye sockets. they have no idea what its like to not sleep... to grind your teeth... to jump everytime your fucking phone rings.... to miss job opportunities because you didnt recognize the incoming calls number... agonize over spending 99 cents on a fucking piece of candy because it might make or break you that month.
its a fucking industry. and every day this goes on. it makes me wish more and more. that i hadnt aspired to anything more than dropping out of highschool and learning how to fucking dig ditches, flip burgers, and never look past the end of my own dick. fuck education. thats how the lending situation as it stands today makes me feel. its gonna take decades before i can even dream about telling my future kids differently. let alone anyone else who asks me for advice. the wonderful usa is pay to play. and you better be fucking prepared to pay or your fucked. they might not smash off the back of your head with a hammer and fuck your gray matter today... but theyll get you. they got nothing but time.
///nine inch nails - right where it belongs (year zero): yeah i get that feeling sometimes trent. your a poet and a scholar, but mostly you're just honest.
they let you sign yourself up (and hopefully one of your parents too) to recieve a bacterial infection. Since you cant pay your way or get perfect grades and be in every club (probably because you're a normal fucking person with real concerns in life from a less than absolutely supportive and financially endowed family and youre probably in that big square part of the standard distribution of human beings under the age of 25) the rules clearly state that if you receive this infection you can go to college. the infection degrades your health and your prospects and your financial reputation and your bank account for up to 30 years and is removed if you pay the people that gave you the infection the cost of tuition plus an arbitrary amount of additional money so that they dont have to work and can go on vacations to exotic places and pay for their kids to go to college. but if you dont pay them back and pay for their vacations, and their kids to go to college, within 30 years, sometimes as little as 15, then the infection metastasizes and kills your work life, financial, family life, and cuts you off from all sources of material/meaningful help.
actual phone call today. keep in mind i answer at least 4 of these a day. I recieve between 8 and 12 every god damn day. "hi im calling on behalf of ers a collection company for UIC. we're calling about 6k you owe. will you be able to close that out today?"
"no. of course not. if i was able i would have done so months ago."
"well the account has been... is delinquent" (i made the fucking payment to keep it out of collections the business day before... but hey its my "deadbeat" word against their "without fault" system. the account was never delinquent before either hence its newly minted arrival at ers) "and we need to close it out immediatel-"
i interrupt her "look, if i had the money i would give it to you. i just started a new job a couple of weeks ago and making barely enough to pay rent, keep my phone on, and pay out my 600 a month in student loans" (my job pays about 19k before chicago and fed taxes)"i cand do some kind of payment plan."
while we're talking my phone rings again and its AES on the other line. calling about one dollar and eighty fucking cents, i shit you not.
"well sir, how much do you make" exasperation tinges her voice. "im not authorized to do a payment plan until i know that along with your mortgage or rent."
"well i make 19k and my rent is 200 a mo" i live wth my gf. it should be 450 but shes letting it slide for now
"thank you sir" she interupts me
"well wait a minute" i interupt her "hold on a sec. i have 70k in student loan debt. doesnt that matter?"
silence. then "well its not really a part of our equations. we do our calkalations based on housing and income" WHAT THE FUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS? how fucking caniving is that? well next time ill just lump the 6 to 7 hundred a month i pay out to student debt in with my rent.
"based on what i calkalated can you make a 234 dollar good faith payment today?"
"no, if i could do that i would have just paid UIC directly and avoided all this mess."
"can you make a 100 dollar payment?"
"i dont know. maybe."
"okay i need your routing number and check number" WHAT!
"no, i said maybe. i need to do some calculating too and find out what i can afford to pay. i dont have any debt information in front of me because im at work right now"
"do you have your check book?"
"no im at work. im standing at the front counter right now, at my job, so i can make money to pay you people."
"well can you go and get it on your lunch break?"
"no, i walk to work. i cant get home and back here on my lunch break."
"well cant you just give me the routing number?"
what the fuck. listen to the words coming out of my fucking mouth!!!
"no, im at work. i dont have a car. if i could afford a car i could afford to pay you people."
pohone rings again. guess who? its ers. on another line. in another office. calling about the same fucking thing. literally to the T. i switch and then switch back to cynthia.
"i am car less. i have a hard enough time just keeping my phone on just so i can get calls from you people six times a day. i walk to work. i dont have my checkbook because when i left i planned on going to work. not to the bank. its what i do on week days."
"well can you call me tonight then so we can discuss this matter?"
"there isnt much else to discuss unless you're coming up with smaller monthly payments. i need to go home and review some information and my finances and ill get back to you as soon as i can and hopefully itll be with good news."
literally twenty minutes later phone rings again. ERS. about the same thing. i tell the new lady i just talked to cynthia. must be a fake name because she had no fucking clue who that was. i tell her everything i told the first lady. she tries to play the "oh i know youre struggling but i just want to help you. do you have a routing number today? well call me back tomorrow at 9am." which turned right before she hung up to "ill call you tomorrow at 9am." which i promptly corrected
"dont call me. ill call you with information."
but she tries to play the "i identify with your position and want to do whats best for you and my company and get this resolved as quickly (left out satisfactorially) as possible" but i wasnt buying it. they always do that. see the thing is... that person on the other end doesnt fucking identify with you. they dont know what it feels like to get these calls year after fucking YEAR after FUCKING YEAR. they have no fucking clue. and thats why i want to strangle them. i want to put their eyes in meat grinders. i want to beat their children till their skin comes off in wet sheets. i want to pull their teeth out one mm at a time, suck the ripped nerve ending out of it and spit it into their empty eye sockets. they have no idea what its like to not sleep... to grind your teeth... to jump everytime your fucking phone rings.... to miss job opportunities because you didnt recognize the incoming calls number... agonize over spending 99 cents on a fucking piece of candy because it might make or break you that month.
its a fucking industry. and every day this goes on. it makes me wish more and more. that i hadnt aspired to anything more than dropping out of highschool and learning how to fucking dig ditches, flip burgers, and never look past the end of my own dick. fuck education. thats how the lending situation as it stands today makes me feel. its gonna take decades before i can even dream about telling my future kids differently. let alone anyone else who asks me for advice. the wonderful usa is pay to play. and you better be fucking prepared to pay or your fucked. they might not smash off the back of your head with a hammer and fuck your gray matter today... but theyll get you. they got nothing but time.
///nine inch nails - right where it belongs (year zero): yeah i get that feeling sometimes trent. your a poet and a scholar, but mostly you're just honest.
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