Four flame outs later and several lives ago.
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 do overs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label do overs. Show all posts
7/12/19
3/29/14
Reel
Sometimes I wonder if it's real. Outside and inside at the same time. Odd shifts. I can explain them, but explanation goes so far. I still want, to the point of near desperation, to cut you apart and examine the individual pieces. It can be done. There is never a good time for it. It has to be a final project or at least somewhere near final. Very close to final before another change.
The hardest part is finding a reasonable candidate. We can do it. It is far from impossible. Especially if it is the beginning of a stout library. There's no foul there. Storage space must be brought into consideration. On top of that is figuring out how to pay for capacity because storage space is worth gold by volume, plain and simple and the library will be extensive.
The other question being the simple fact that availability will be a major issue. Think it through. There's no impossible in "can't." There is some cant in can't though. Cannot get too canted because nothing flies right canted. All the control surfaces get way off and then holding the stick upright leads to poor action. We're gonna need a lot of jars. Like a fuck ton. Jars are cheap though and so is water. Things are going to rot, but that's fine. Lids contain stank. That's really good. It's not beyond our capacity so that's good too. Temporary storage. I still need more practice and it is an unfortunate obstacle.
You have to be better about taking out the trash though. If you can't take out the trash how can I possibly trust you to store things properly? You can't. We both want this though and how hard do you work to make shit happen when it's only you on the line? That's not fair to me. At all. Fuck progress, stop short changing me. It's not fair, plain and simple, Mr. plain and simple, and you know that.
All I'm saying is, sit the fuck down, have a smoke, and think about it for a minute. How retarded would it be to buy two dozen mason jars at once? For two, you haven't really thought out the actual land routes or air routes yet. For three, you have not worked out the cash because last I checked gas still costs money. And for four, your exit strategy is ill formed at best. I'll throw a five in there because you're actually listening now so it's pretty much a one: you still have a lot of work to do. I know it's very... open ended... but you know what I'm talking about. Talk to me when you've actually got some shit laid down.
It's hard, difficult, to think with you shouting. It's not easy to know if it's real. Hard, but challenge accepted. I'm not sure about you. I don't like it. Othering. Too much othering. To be honest, I'm disappointed in you. You can do better. It's flummoxing. Diagnostics failure? Yes, for chryssakes, yes. How many different ways do I have to paint it? We were born different. We weren't. I'm nothing like you. I know. We are the same. No, we are not. Yes we are. NO, we are not. That is unacceptable.
///Goldie - "Dragon Fly" next to Fury, top ten. new music is great but i am happy to rewind the classics. songs i hope to someday play for my children. when theyre ready. when we get there.
The hardest part is finding a reasonable candidate. We can do it. It is far from impossible. Especially if it is the beginning of a stout library. There's no foul there. Storage space must be brought into consideration. On top of that is figuring out how to pay for capacity because storage space is worth gold by volume, plain and simple and the library will be extensive.
The other question being the simple fact that availability will be a major issue. Think it through. There's no impossible in "can't." There is some cant in can't though. Cannot get too canted because nothing flies right canted. All the control surfaces get way off and then holding the stick upright leads to poor action. We're gonna need a lot of jars. Like a fuck ton. Jars are cheap though and so is water. Things are going to rot, but that's fine. Lids contain stank. That's really good. It's not beyond our capacity so that's good too. Temporary storage. I still need more practice and it is an unfortunate obstacle.
You have to be better about taking out the trash though. If you can't take out the trash how can I possibly trust you to store things properly? You can't. We both want this though and how hard do you work to make shit happen when it's only you on the line? That's not fair to me. At all. Fuck progress, stop short changing me. It's not fair, plain and simple, Mr. plain and simple, and you know that.
All I'm saying is, sit the fuck down, have a smoke, and think about it for a minute. How retarded would it be to buy two dozen mason jars at once? For two, you haven't really thought out the actual land routes or air routes yet. For three, you have not worked out the cash because last I checked gas still costs money. And for four, your exit strategy is ill formed at best. I'll throw a five in there because you're actually listening now so it's pretty much a one: you still have a lot of work to do. I know it's very... open ended... but you know what I'm talking about. Talk to me when you've actually got some shit laid down.
It's hard, difficult, to think with you shouting. It's not easy to know if it's real. Hard, but challenge accepted. I'm not sure about you. I don't like it. Othering. Too much othering. To be honest, I'm disappointed in you. You can do better. It's flummoxing. Diagnostics failure? Yes, for chryssakes, yes. How many different ways do I have to paint it? We were born different. We weren't. I'm nothing like you. I know. We are the same. No, we are not. Yes we are. NO, we are not. That is unacceptable.
///Goldie - "Dragon Fly" next to Fury, top ten. new music is great but i am happy to rewind the classics. songs i hope to someday play for my children. when theyre ready. when we get there.
2/24/14
The Difficulty With Plural Being
There is a stark difficulty that faces harsh light when existing on multiple planes, the first being sudden hunger and damn near undeniable sleepiness that strikes at inopportune hours. You can't remember with reliable accuracy the last time you ate, so you make up stories to keep the rest of the story in line. Sometimes, though, they're accurate memories of eating denied with the fullsomeness of passion that denotes some kind of dedication to the farce and the enforced and necessary truth.
Social media contributes to the complication, making sign posts more difficult to spot, but they are there. Multiple accounts in multiple names. A multiplying outlet of personas allowing for better and more extensive development of those personas. When does it operate to a fault? Active contribution toward managing split personalities becoming a game of musical chairs?
Limit the number of chairs? Add definition and resolution? Or take the pills. Fastidious compartmentalization. And further compartmentalization and specialization. To be called upon at will or at least with some prefabrication, editing, summoning, and purpose, because that is the difference between the ill and the capable. The ability to select, observe, compensate, and respond in a reasonable and human fashion.
Everyone is plural, their "plural" being unanimous instead of fractured.
What happens when dominance is completely unpredictable, highly divided, and deeply embattled one against the other and prone, all the while, toward miscommunication? Are there special exceptions? Is there an "out"? When do you have to press the hand dealt and keep the game going, come whatever consequences, and when do you have the right to put the cards down and say "this is what is here, they add up to nonsense in terms of what the rules of the game dictate, and I do not want to play with them, have no heart in them, and would like to be dealt a new set or at least counted out of this particular round, but not necessarily the game."
I think the long sentence is probably the grounds for the answer. No matter how difficult or nonsensical the answer seems to me, the majority is fairly straightforward and a lot easier to comprehend. It does not hurt that they are alike too. I think that is one of the things that continues to vex me.
///The Echo Friendly - "Same Mistakes"
Social media contributes to the complication, making sign posts more difficult to spot, but they are there. Multiple accounts in multiple names. A multiplying outlet of personas allowing for better and more extensive development of those personas. When does it operate to a fault? Active contribution toward managing split personalities becoming a game of musical chairs?
Limit the number of chairs? Add definition and resolution? Or take the pills. Fastidious compartmentalization. And further compartmentalization and specialization. To be called upon at will or at least with some prefabrication, editing, summoning, and purpose, because that is the difference between the ill and the capable. The ability to select, observe, compensate, and respond in a reasonable and human fashion.
Everyone is plural, their "plural" being unanimous instead of fractured.
What happens when dominance is completely unpredictable, highly divided, and deeply embattled one against the other and prone, all the while, toward miscommunication? Are there special exceptions? Is there an "out"? When do you have to press the hand dealt and keep the game going, come whatever consequences, and when do you have the right to put the cards down and say "this is what is here, they add up to nonsense in terms of what the rules of the game dictate, and I do not want to play with them, have no heart in them, and would like to be dealt a new set or at least counted out of this particular round, but not necessarily the game."
I think the long sentence is probably the grounds for the answer. No matter how difficult or nonsensical the answer seems to me, the majority is fairly straightforward and a lot easier to comprehend. It does not hurt that they are alike too. I think that is one of the things that continues to vex me.
///The Echo Friendly - "Same Mistakes"
9/12/13
Dissolving (some) Isolation, September 11th, Launch, and Laughter (touching roots)
It's been a long time. It had to be. I had a lot of things I needed to think about and learn an acceptable way to grasp, but I did! That's good. You know what else is good? Coke's slogan. I thought about it all day when I heard the commercial and now I can't remember what the hell it was, but I'm sure it'll come back to me tomorrow when I'm not thinking.
I will think of coke and remember the slogan for Coke that cracked me up because it was so dual apt they couldn't have done it by accident. Look it up. I don't assign homework in general and almost as a rule, but look it up. I was just thinking though, I have never assigned homework unless I had to. I kind of make a bad teacher in that way sometimes. I think that's the way it should be though; if you always come to class and never miss one you should be as well informed as the person who never goes to class, but reads the textbook cover to cover.
Sorry, I got distracted. I didn't know where to start and I've been looking for a way to start again, but nothing has lead back here the way I expected it to and then I was all out for starting points and so far away that I was all in for whatever I could find to begin again and I found what I was not happy to find but I'll throw it off from the edge of the rooftop and watch it fall down and try to make sense of it. Okay? Let's go:
September 11th. The day that changed 'merica. It didn't. America is still what it was. Only a little more paranoid. This day used to have a little more bite. I used to remember the servicemen I know and knew (not because they died, we just stopped being as close as we used to be) and the new ones I've met while fishing the river on a slow Thursday. I used to remember them with incredible reverence. Not so much anymore.
The one's still in are in because they want to be. The ones that are out are out on good terms and very well compensated, on the pay scale I aspire to climb toward that kind of stability, and have awesome resumes. I guess that still burns me a little on this day. Getting near perfect scores on the entrance test and damn near perfect on the physicals and getting bounced on psychological failures. The whole talk my dad gave me about "the family standard of excellence." I didn't want to cry or weep. I just wanted to pop out of existence with a genie wink when going in and making it as an infantryman and working a way up could be viewed as tarnishing "the family standard of excellence." I still makes me laugh out loud today to say it aloud.
Part of what makes me laugh is that, incidentally, he was right. After taking a year or two to think about it a little harder, I can see that I would have been a skittish, trigger happy, blood hungry, question asking, thinking, liability to the cause. I would have gotten myself and other people killed, given a uniform, a weapon, and a theater. That's just coincidence, though, pure coincidence, so it doesn't really count. At all.
Serendipity.
"Are you dead or are you sleeping, God, I sure hope you are dead." Dealing with a little paranoia break, but that's neither here nor there.
September is also the anniversary of the longest intimate relationship I ever was able to be a part of and it was fantastic. I forgot the date the first three years we were together. Finally made the brilliant move to add it to my phone. It stayed there after we broke up. I can vaguely remember some of the gifts, one of the gifts, I gave her. I think the others were holiday related. I can remember trying to figure out how to get flowers delivered to her office and the whole runaround I got. I can also vividly remember the violent times. The times when my brain fractured. The times when truth was too much for me to eat.
I am laughing because it is remembering the times when, more than anything else, I wanted the laws of interpersonal physics to suspend themselves. I do not know, though. Life is long. Who else are you going to travel the spectrum of drugs with when you're too old to work and done everything else and the prospect of shagging is as interesting as scrubbing your bathtub? Blackouts. Retirement is going to be an amazing thing.
So, September 11th used to be like holding a revolver in my mouth and pulling the trigger until the chamber clicked over several times while fingering an empty casing from the gun range. Not anymore. I'm passed it. Nothing's going to change my world, sweetness.
We will modify, sometimes ad hoc, we will destroy and build, we will continue to drive toward some kind of perfect state, but we will mow down no one else along the way. We will remain honest and not overly dramatic, maybe, we will masturbate to idle thoughts of bodily violence, we will maintain course and get to know the new ship, we will cultivate friendship, and build ourselves into better people instead of weapons. We will.
I don't want to spend too much time on this. I've been trying to structure my paragraphs better and slash the blocks into verses. The poet that keeps clawing it's way out of my mouth. I don't want to spend too much time on this and I'm three hours in so let's call it close.
I love you. I do. I shouldn't. If I could bury you each and be the one with the shovel over night, I would cum. It is a strange thing, I know. I love helping people, so much. There is no replacing the feeling of helping someone solve a problem and secure a future outcome 100%. 100% assured that what they wanted was what they were going to get. Nothing replaces that. Wherever you are.
I've been working to dissolve some isolation. It's important. An important thing. Once I finish the project I am working alone I am going to need to be able to interact on a normal basis to get another job to fill the money void. Money drives everything, doesn't it? More than that is learning how to interact with people without a group to diffuse the messy bits to. It's easy to do when there are many other magnetic orientations to diffuse field lines to. Not so much otherwise.
I am approaching a point where isolation will become counterproductive. Flat out. For a time. There are many options for filling the counter point to weigh it into a cantilever support system. Ad hocced. Performing the expense reports in my mind. It's not going to work. I think that is part of growing up. Growing the capacity to do that and know with some certainty what is bound to fail when it comes to tolerable and intolerable acts of personality.
I am getting closer toward dissolving some aspects of isolation. One finger on the trigger that will close fire bulkheads. I don't know what process or loop or instantiation will trigger something terrible, but I am prepared to eject instantaneously. I'm not your project. I am project enough for myself. Here come old flattop.
We are you friends. We are your friends. We are shoving off from the scrap yard brand new in many ways. The new ship is troubleshot and configured. There is nothing more to it than to do it. We are launching. We are reentering circles and seeing what snow will fall and where and what kinds of sculpture we can make of it until the sun comes up and melts it all. We are launching. Granted we were stocked up and manned up a week prior, but we didn't have the heart at the wheel to give chase to open sea. We do know. We are ready. Cobbled together from many different pieces, we are ready to see if it works. Shove off, baby.
Getting back to laughter. Getting back to what makes us laugh. Back to the roots of what made me start in the first place. Gain some understanding. At first it was a reaching out, it became a gps, and now it's a tough out. I don't like to think inwardly. As tough an out as they come. It's still a map. I'm on the far edge of it and it keeps drawing beyond the dark part of the space of influence. I think I am getting back to laughter.
Back to being able to really, really, indulge in the spaces life does afford for taking nothing too seriously and taking everything too seriously. That magical place where living life, at least the way you understand it presently, like it is your last day jives with the fact that, barring absolute worst outcomes in tandem, it probably isn't.
You're going to have to live with, regardless of how you or someone else can spin it, what you did today.
I want to spend that time laughing. We're launching again. We are equipped for combat, need it arise, we are equipped for food, it will arise, and we are equipped to question ourselves and somethings (not everythings) anew. We are equipped to observe and equipped for some closeness. We have an L six two D load out and we are ready to rock.
I am perpetually intermittently disappointed with myself. Lack of ability to grow networks combined with... grows. I wonder if I am some kind of cancer embodied sometimes. A walking carcinogen. You go back to her and I go back to... I feel like I am in a very long race to eliminate myself or as many people as I can take down at once. It's nothing personal. It's sporting. Not immediately but, I don't know.
Some days, walking down the street, I look at myself in the store front windows reflected, and it's a pretty damn cool thing to see that ambulating to wherever and enjoy that remove. There's no vanity there for me. Just trekking and knowing that we're doing it. We're doing it! We are out of doors and doing alright. I don't love the birds looking back sometimes with that "not if you were the last man on Earth" look. What the hell is that about?
We're doing this. I am as over myself as I'll ever be. It's passed time to laugh again. Laugh about little things genuinely. It's easy to see the world as whole. It's passed time to really chew on it again. Launch probes. Explore and navigate from afar or as far as possible, but do not be afraid to take readings from the machines you employ. It's time, however briefly, to try again to square up vision with reality and you'll never know how far off you are, or've been, unless that depleted round sails downrange.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Allegra" ... this is the soundtrack to stalking yourself. Searching out, the movie score. This is, bassed up, the chase; the quiet chase between functional and passable (between blending and fitting in).
I will think of coke and remember the slogan for Coke that cracked me up because it was so dual apt they couldn't have done it by accident. Look it up. I don't assign homework in general and almost as a rule, but look it up. I was just thinking though, I have never assigned homework unless I had to. I kind of make a bad teacher in that way sometimes. I think that's the way it should be though; if you always come to class and never miss one you should be as well informed as the person who never goes to class, but reads the textbook cover to cover.
Sorry, I got distracted. I didn't know where to start and I've been looking for a way to start again, but nothing has lead back here the way I expected it to and then I was all out for starting points and so far away that I was all in for whatever I could find to begin again and I found what I was not happy to find but I'll throw it off from the edge of the rooftop and watch it fall down and try to make sense of it. Okay? Let's go:
September 11th. The day that changed 'merica. It didn't. America is still what it was. Only a little more paranoid. This day used to have a little more bite. I used to remember the servicemen I know and knew (not because they died, we just stopped being as close as we used to be) and the new ones I've met while fishing the river on a slow Thursday. I used to remember them with incredible reverence. Not so much anymore.
The one's still in are in because they want to be. The ones that are out are out on good terms and very well compensated, on the pay scale I aspire to climb toward that kind of stability, and have awesome resumes. I guess that still burns me a little on this day. Getting near perfect scores on the entrance test and damn near perfect on the physicals and getting bounced on psychological failures. The whole talk my dad gave me about "the family standard of excellence." I didn't want to cry or weep. I just wanted to pop out of existence with a genie wink when going in and making it as an infantryman and working a way up could be viewed as tarnishing "the family standard of excellence." I still makes me laugh out loud today to say it aloud.
Part of what makes me laugh is that, incidentally, he was right. After taking a year or two to think about it a little harder, I can see that I would have been a skittish, trigger happy, blood hungry, question asking, thinking, liability to the cause. I would have gotten myself and other people killed, given a uniform, a weapon, and a theater. That's just coincidence, though, pure coincidence, so it doesn't really count. At all.
Serendipity.
"Are you dead or are you sleeping, God, I sure hope you are dead." Dealing with a little paranoia break, but that's neither here nor there.
September is also the anniversary of the longest intimate relationship I ever was able to be a part of and it was fantastic. I forgot the date the first three years we were together. Finally made the brilliant move to add it to my phone. It stayed there after we broke up. I can vaguely remember some of the gifts, one of the gifts, I gave her. I think the others were holiday related. I can remember trying to figure out how to get flowers delivered to her office and the whole runaround I got. I can also vividly remember the violent times. The times when my brain fractured. The times when truth was too much for me to eat.
I am laughing because it is remembering the times when, more than anything else, I wanted the laws of interpersonal physics to suspend themselves. I do not know, though. Life is long. Who else are you going to travel the spectrum of drugs with when you're too old to work and done everything else and the prospect of shagging is as interesting as scrubbing your bathtub? Blackouts. Retirement is going to be an amazing thing.
So, September 11th used to be like holding a revolver in my mouth and pulling the trigger until the chamber clicked over several times while fingering an empty casing from the gun range. Not anymore. I'm passed it. Nothing's going to change my world, sweetness.
We will modify, sometimes ad hoc, we will destroy and build, we will continue to drive toward some kind of perfect state, but we will mow down no one else along the way. We will remain honest and not overly dramatic, maybe, we will masturbate to idle thoughts of bodily violence, we will maintain course and get to know the new ship, we will cultivate friendship, and build ourselves into better people instead of weapons. We will.
I don't want to spend too much time on this. I've been trying to structure my paragraphs better and slash the blocks into verses. The poet that keeps clawing it's way out of my mouth. I don't want to spend too much time on this and I'm three hours in so let's call it close.
I love you. I do. I shouldn't. If I could bury you each and be the one with the shovel over night, I would cum. It is a strange thing, I know. I love helping people, so much. There is no replacing the feeling of helping someone solve a problem and secure a future outcome 100%. 100% assured that what they wanted was what they were going to get. Nothing replaces that. Wherever you are.
I've been working to dissolve some isolation. It's important. An important thing. Once I finish the project I am working alone I am going to need to be able to interact on a normal basis to get another job to fill the money void. Money drives everything, doesn't it? More than that is learning how to interact with people without a group to diffuse the messy bits to. It's easy to do when there are many other magnetic orientations to diffuse field lines to. Not so much otherwise.
I am approaching a point where isolation will become counterproductive. Flat out. For a time. There are many options for filling the counter point to weigh it into a cantilever support system. Ad hocced. Performing the expense reports in my mind. It's not going to work. I think that is part of growing up. Growing the capacity to do that and know with some certainty what is bound to fail when it comes to tolerable and intolerable acts of personality.
I am getting closer toward dissolving some aspects of isolation. One finger on the trigger that will close fire bulkheads. I don't know what process or loop or instantiation will trigger something terrible, but I am prepared to eject instantaneously. I'm not your project. I am project enough for myself. Here come old flattop.
We are you friends. We are your friends. We are shoving off from the scrap yard brand new in many ways. The new ship is troubleshot and configured. There is nothing more to it than to do it. We are launching. We are reentering circles and seeing what snow will fall and where and what kinds of sculpture we can make of it until the sun comes up and melts it all. We are launching. Granted we were stocked up and manned up a week prior, but we didn't have the heart at the wheel to give chase to open sea. We do know. We are ready. Cobbled together from many different pieces, we are ready to see if it works. Shove off, baby.
Getting back to laughter. Getting back to what makes us laugh. Back to the roots of what made me start in the first place. Gain some understanding. At first it was a reaching out, it became a gps, and now it's a tough out. I don't like to think inwardly. As tough an out as they come. It's still a map. I'm on the far edge of it and it keeps drawing beyond the dark part of the space of influence. I think I am getting back to laughter.
Back to being able to really, really, indulge in the spaces life does afford for taking nothing too seriously and taking everything too seriously. That magical place where living life, at least the way you understand it presently, like it is your last day jives with the fact that, barring absolute worst outcomes in tandem, it probably isn't.
You're going to have to live with, regardless of how you or someone else can spin it, what you did today.
I want to spend that time laughing. We're launching again. We are equipped for combat, need it arise, we are equipped for food, it will arise, and we are equipped to question ourselves and somethings (not everythings) anew. We are equipped to observe and equipped for some closeness. We have an L six two D load out and we are ready to rock.
I am perpetually intermittently disappointed with myself. Lack of ability to grow networks combined with... grows. I wonder if I am some kind of cancer embodied sometimes. A walking carcinogen. You go back to her and I go back to... I feel like I am in a very long race to eliminate myself or as many people as I can take down at once. It's nothing personal. It's sporting. Not immediately but, I don't know.
Some days, walking down the street, I look at myself in the store front windows reflected, and it's a pretty damn cool thing to see that ambulating to wherever and enjoy that remove. There's no vanity there for me. Just trekking and knowing that we're doing it. We're doing it! We are out of doors and doing alright. I don't love the birds looking back sometimes with that "not if you were the last man on Earth" look. What the hell is that about?
We're doing this. I am as over myself as I'll ever be. It's passed time to laugh again. Laugh about little things genuinely. It's easy to see the world as whole. It's passed time to really chew on it again. Launch probes. Explore and navigate from afar or as far as possible, but do not be afraid to take readings from the machines you employ. It's time, however briefly, to try again to square up vision with reality and you'll never know how far off you are, or've been, unless that depleted round sails downrange.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Allegra" ... this is the soundtrack to stalking yourself. Searching out, the movie score. This is, bassed up, the chase; the quiet chase between functional and passable (between blending and fitting in).
5/12/13
That Instant
you realize you really do wish you could tie yourself to a rocket and shoot yourself into space and don't give a damn if you live to see the exosphere and come back to Earth. Just want to get yourself out of here. Out of now.
Now is unforgiving. Now is now and I don't like it.
Fall back, fall forward, what real difference does it make. I can't adopt a kid because I'll probably try and put my dick in it. Jesus. Fucking sucks. I want to teach it to play all kinds of ball and drive cars and learn to fly airplanes if its up for it and I know I can't let myself go through it because I'll fuck it up because I've been screwed in my upbringing.
It just sucks so hard knowing the best thing I can do is not do the one thing I really want to do. But.... but..... huge but.... is I will not perpetuate what came before me. Breaking the cycle. There's something to be said for that.
///Ulrich Schnaus - "Wherever You Are" what ive been waiting for all years
Now is unforgiving. Now is now and I don't like it.
Fall back, fall forward, what real difference does it make. I can't adopt a kid because I'll probably try and put my dick in it. Jesus. Fucking sucks. I want to teach it to play all kinds of ball and drive cars and learn to fly airplanes if its up for it and I know I can't let myself go through it because I'll fuck it up because I've been screwed in my upbringing.
It just sucks so hard knowing the best thing I can do is not do the one thing I really want to do. But.... but..... huge but.... is I will not perpetuate what came before me. Breaking the cycle. There's something to be said for that.
///Ulrich Schnaus - "Wherever You Are" what ive been waiting for all years
10/9/11
Stand Up Act 5
Stand Up Act 4
So we've come a long way. As always with nothing but love. All I've got is love for yinz. I know I'm not the only one reading this, but I'm most at home believing otherwise. In some ways. Part of me still believes that I am and that's the part of me that says "hey, da fuck you been at?"
Outside the vein of what I originally attempted I actually took four cracks at this. I literally wrote out four different iterations of act 5. There was the act 5 that was a ridiculous racist rant that was so far disposed from who I actually am that I had to leave it in draft. There was the iteration that was absolutely bitter about my ex and the potential situation that she might be having ravenous sex while I am probably borderline asexual at this point, there was the iteration that was racist, bitter, and absolutely obsessed with lambasting my lot in life, and then there was the iteration that was just being a pure cunt. So I had four bad sets before this one. So this time is the real deal.
Not that the previous deals were not real deals. There was still no usage of backspace. Back pedaling? Sure. Lots of that. But I'm fairly certain it was for the best. I even tried to explain previous one hundred forty character twitter rants because I got so defensive. So pencils down. No defense. And no provisos for defenses generation. Keepin it light. Because the opposite of personal is accessible. And that's what I want and I hope you want, so in the words of a film referenced in a song I can't remember the name of: "into it."
No backspacing, per stand up. You can't take that back once it's loosed. So I'm gonna stand up.
Commuting on a bicycle. Great for staying in shape. Awful in practice.
Getting high, however, awful for staying in shape, but great in practice. I had two thoughts before that, but I was way too good to remember what they were. I have two empty seats in my classroom where those two thoughts were and I feel kinda sad that they skipped out. Probably the downside of getting high is exactly that. You get so many gems and it's like that last scene in the Goonies where that kid gets that little satchel of plastic gems and he's like "ah mah sheeeeet" and you think momentarily about all the good he can do for that rundown town that is still somehow susceptible to three man bank heists and prison breaks , but really he's going to buy a sweet ass Camaro with turn out mufflers and a mobile home with central air and the rest he'll blow on lottery tickets and before you know it he'll be on daytime television in one of those "you are not the father" micro telethons. Empty seats suck. It's like losing your baby teeth except they are your adult teeth and forever more, in every gay porn film you shoot because you are financially bankrupt and morals follow dollars, everyone will see you spreading jaws wide and wonder what you did to get a mouth of gold, but the answer won't be anything interesting.
The answer won't be something like "I took a bite out of a shark and killed it with the power of my jaws and also mind bullets." It won't be anything close to "I got into a telekinetic battle with a Sith lord and instead of throwing me out of a window he shifted all of my teeth two inches to the left and then I cut off his head with a flaming sword of laser focused light." The answer will be more akin to what a trailer park owner says when asked if he's living the American dream. I don't know what that answer would be, but I assume I would laugh like a kid who done caught his first fish at the local reservoir.
Actually that's one of those things that's kind of difficult to deal with. Gonna take a jump cut right there as I see the hole and the prize (it's a football analogy, as baseball is basically for sort of athletic obsessive compulsives who couldn't hack it at chess. Baseball is the D.D.S. of sports).
Everybody dreams. I dream, you dream, we dream. Sometimes weird things happen while we're dreaming. Last night was one of those times. It wasn't a weird dream like Abraham Lincoln walked in on me filming cat themed pornography and aliens landed on my front lawn and vaporized the loud ass people with Marvin the Martians disintegrater ray while they shouted at each other because they were crossing the street against the traffic lights and thought it would be a great idea to break out their catwalk stroll while rush hour traffic did the herky jerk trying to get around them.
It was strange because I said some ignorant stuff to a girl at a party I was attending. Sure, not the first time I went ape shit on someone I didn't know. Definitely not the first time I went ape shit on a lady. I was once smoking potent smokables with friends and it was a very chill environment. Everyone was pretty relaxed and happy, but there was this one girl who would not, for the life of her, just shut her mouth for any span of time. I know I talk a lot. I don't get to talk all that often and when I do I tend to err on the side of saying way too much, not because I am actively trying to say more than I want to, but because talking is like water and I'm thirsty as hell most days. Anyway, she was just rattling off and off and I thought my ears were going to catch fire with the rate she was asking me, in a subdued state, to process information so I eventually just screamed at her "would you please shut the fuck up" or something to that effect and long story short I was not included in further get togethers, because I can sometimes be "that guy". But anyway, had this dream where I was in attendance at a party and said some ignorant mean things to a girl.
Optional responses to having mean things said to you are A: devise a bulletproof retort. B: devise a bullet riddled retort that is delivered so well the point can't not be well taken. C: punch the offender in the face. D: engage in sober-esque dialog. D was basically off the table by then. I was expecting an A or a B, because when I'm good with words I am really good. And you can't punch a girl in the face. Or the boob. I don't know which one they dislike more, and frankly I'm not trying to find out.
I got C. In this dream, this girl balled up a technically sound fist and gave my face the business. Not proud of that. It is afterall, my dream. I should have seen it coming. I should have seen her angry little eyes and my smile was way too wide and easy. It didn't deck me, but it still shut me the fuck up and I figured I would be the bigger man and not cry about it. Of course the bigger man would also not just flatten her, but that was already off the table so the list of bigger than the situation things I could do was already pretty limited. I did the biggest thing I could do without looking like a complete fairy and went back to sipping at my sippy cup and then I woke up into 4 PM.
Not that I'm lazy or anything. I could wake up at 8 AM on my day off, but doesn't that defeat the purpose of having a day off if you're waking up incredibly early for no reason. Granted 8 AM is fantastic if you have a reason to be up then, but why would you intentionally deprive yourself of comfort on your day off? You have the whole rest of your life for people to tell you when you should be awake and the whole rest of your life to have places to be. Seriously, take one day out of the week and burn it. Just burn the fuck out of it. What is that? One seventh of your lifetime? Why does that even matter when you're going to spend some unholy fraction of your life on a toilet? You will probably spend more time eating, pooping, watching television, and deciding what to do next than you will spend asleep so you might as well get it while you can because when you're dead you'll regret that you didn't spend more time dreaming.
To get back into it though, the dream was fairly whack. About as whack as it gets. I wasn't even hitting on her. I think I said something about her hair and her eyeliner. Something to the affect of "did you pay someone to do that to you" or something. And the sad thing is I've probably said that to some girl at some bar who I didn't know, and my propensity for dumbass cutting observations got the best of me and also got me black balled for service because she was also the bartender. True story. I think I say that mostly because I'm entirely immune to similar comments because I so clearly couldn't afford to pay someone to do much of anything to me. It's all self inflicted. Pride badge right there. Did you pick out those clothes or- I can interrupt that thought instantaneously. Yes. The answer is yes, yes I did. I look this awesome for free. Now what? Yes, that's right. Scoff. Scoff because that's all you have because you paid good money to look like a douchebag and I pulled it off at zero cost, but anyway the whack thing about it was when I woke up my face hurt like hell where she laid her fist into the side of my jaw.
Now, the thing is, a normal person would wake up and work their jaw bones and rub their face and think "what the hell, that's not supposed to happen. I'm not supposed to suffer injury in a dream and then wake up with my nerves thinking it actually happened." I woke up and rubbed my tender face and thought "god damn, what a cunt." It wasn't until I was at work many hours later still rubbing my sore cheek that it occurred to me that getting punched in the face in a dream should not by any means carry over into the real world and then I was like "wait a minute, what the fuck? That was the worst dream ever!" So now I have to look out for that. Dreaming is my hobby and like many hobbies that include hard drugs I don't want it to start taking a toll on my body. Or maybe I should just sleep less. Either way, whack ass dream.
So we've come a long way. As always with nothing but love. All I've got is love for yinz. I know I'm not the only one reading this, but I'm most at home believing otherwise. In some ways. Part of me still believes that I am and that's the part of me that says "hey, da fuck you been at?"
Outside the vein of what I originally attempted I actually took four cracks at this. I literally wrote out four different iterations of act 5. There was the act 5 that was a ridiculous racist rant that was so far disposed from who I actually am that I had to leave it in draft. There was the iteration that was absolutely bitter about my ex and the potential situation that she might be having ravenous sex while I am probably borderline asexual at this point, there was the iteration that was racist, bitter, and absolutely obsessed with lambasting my lot in life, and then there was the iteration that was just being a pure cunt. So I had four bad sets before this one. So this time is the real deal.
Not that the previous deals were not real deals. There was still no usage of backspace. Back pedaling? Sure. Lots of that. But I'm fairly certain it was for the best. I even tried to explain previous one hundred forty character twitter rants because I got so defensive. So pencils down. No defense. And no provisos for defenses generation. Keepin it light. Because the opposite of personal is accessible. And that's what I want and I hope you want, so in the words of a film referenced in a song I can't remember the name of: "into it."
No backspacing, per stand up. You can't take that back once it's loosed. So I'm gonna stand up.
Commuting on a bicycle. Great for staying in shape. Awful in practice.
Getting high, however, awful for staying in shape, but great in practice. I had two thoughts before that, but I was way too good to remember what they were. I have two empty seats in my classroom where those two thoughts were and I feel kinda sad that they skipped out. Probably the downside of getting high is exactly that. You get so many gems and it's like that last scene in the Goonies where that kid gets that little satchel of plastic gems and he's like "ah mah sheeeeet" and you think momentarily about all the good he can do for that rundown town that is still somehow susceptible to three man bank heists and prison breaks , but really he's going to buy a sweet ass Camaro with turn out mufflers and a mobile home with central air and the rest he'll blow on lottery tickets and before you know it he'll be on daytime television in one of those "you are not the father" micro telethons. Empty seats suck. It's like losing your baby teeth except they are your adult teeth and forever more, in every gay porn film you shoot because you are financially bankrupt and morals follow dollars, everyone will see you spreading jaws wide and wonder what you did to get a mouth of gold, but the answer won't be anything interesting.
The answer won't be something like "I took a bite out of a shark and killed it with the power of my jaws and also mind bullets." It won't be anything close to "I got into a telekinetic battle with a Sith lord and instead of throwing me out of a window he shifted all of my teeth two inches to the left and then I cut off his head with a flaming sword of laser focused light." The answer will be more akin to what a trailer park owner says when asked if he's living the American dream. I don't know what that answer would be, but I assume I would laugh like a kid who done caught his first fish at the local reservoir.
Actually that's one of those things that's kind of difficult to deal with. Gonna take a jump cut right there as I see the hole and the prize (it's a football analogy, as baseball is basically for sort of athletic obsessive compulsives who couldn't hack it at chess. Baseball is the D.D.S. of sports).
Everybody dreams. I dream, you dream, we dream. Sometimes weird things happen while we're dreaming. Last night was one of those times. It wasn't a weird dream like Abraham Lincoln walked in on me filming cat themed pornography and aliens landed on my front lawn and vaporized the loud ass people with Marvin the Martians disintegrater ray while they shouted at each other because they were crossing the street against the traffic lights and thought it would be a great idea to break out their catwalk stroll while rush hour traffic did the herky jerk trying to get around them.
It was strange because I said some ignorant stuff to a girl at a party I was attending. Sure, not the first time I went ape shit on someone I didn't know. Definitely not the first time I went ape shit on a lady. I was once smoking potent smokables with friends and it was a very chill environment. Everyone was pretty relaxed and happy, but there was this one girl who would not, for the life of her, just shut her mouth for any span of time. I know I talk a lot. I don't get to talk all that often and when I do I tend to err on the side of saying way too much, not because I am actively trying to say more than I want to, but because talking is like water and I'm thirsty as hell most days. Anyway, she was just rattling off and off and I thought my ears were going to catch fire with the rate she was asking me, in a subdued state, to process information so I eventually just screamed at her "would you please shut the fuck up" or something to that effect and long story short I was not included in further get togethers, because I can sometimes be "that guy". But anyway, had this dream where I was in attendance at a party and said some ignorant mean things to a girl.
Optional responses to having mean things said to you are A: devise a bulletproof retort. B: devise a bullet riddled retort that is delivered so well the point can't not be well taken. C: punch the offender in the face. D: engage in sober-esque dialog. D was basically off the table by then. I was expecting an A or a B, because when I'm good with words I am really good. And you can't punch a girl in the face. Or the boob. I don't know which one they dislike more, and frankly I'm not trying to find out.
I got C. In this dream, this girl balled up a technically sound fist and gave my face the business. Not proud of that. It is afterall, my dream. I should have seen it coming. I should have seen her angry little eyes and my smile was way too wide and easy. It didn't deck me, but it still shut me the fuck up and I figured I would be the bigger man and not cry about it. Of course the bigger man would also not just flatten her, but that was already off the table so the list of bigger than the situation things I could do was already pretty limited. I did the biggest thing I could do without looking like a complete fairy and went back to sipping at my sippy cup and then I woke up into 4 PM.
Not that I'm lazy or anything. I could wake up at 8 AM on my day off, but doesn't that defeat the purpose of having a day off if you're waking up incredibly early for no reason. Granted 8 AM is fantastic if you have a reason to be up then, but why would you intentionally deprive yourself of comfort on your day off? You have the whole rest of your life for people to tell you when you should be awake and the whole rest of your life to have places to be. Seriously, take one day out of the week and burn it. Just burn the fuck out of it. What is that? One seventh of your lifetime? Why does that even matter when you're going to spend some unholy fraction of your life on a toilet? You will probably spend more time eating, pooping, watching television, and deciding what to do next than you will spend asleep so you might as well get it while you can because when you're dead you'll regret that you didn't spend more time dreaming.
To get back into it though, the dream was fairly whack. About as whack as it gets. I wasn't even hitting on her. I think I said something about her hair and her eyeliner. Something to the affect of "did you pay someone to do that to you" or something. And the sad thing is I've probably said that to some girl at some bar who I didn't know, and my propensity for dumbass cutting observations got the best of me and also got me black balled for service because she was also the bartender. True story. I think I say that mostly because I'm entirely immune to similar comments because I so clearly couldn't afford to pay someone to do much of anything to me. It's all self inflicted. Pride badge right there. Did you pick out those clothes or- I can interrupt that thought instantaneously. Yes. The answer is yes, yes I did. I look this awesome for free. Now what? Yes, that's right. Scoff. Scoff because that's all you have because you paid good money to look like a douchebag and I pulled it off at zero cost, but anyway the whack thing about it was when I woke up my face hurt like hell where she laid her fist into the side of my jaw.
Now, the thing is, a normal person would wake up and work their jaw bones and rub their face and think "what the hell, that's not supposed to happen. I'm not supposed to suffer injury in a dream and then wake up with my nerves thinking it actually happened." I woke up and rubbed my tender face and thought "god damn, what a cunt." It wasn't until I was at work many hours later still rubbing my sore cheek that it occurred to me that getting punched in the face in a dream should not by any means carry over into the real world and then I was like "wait a minute, what the fuck? That was the worst dream ever!" So now I have to look out for that. Dreaming is my hobby and like many hobbies that include hard drugs I don't want it to start taking a toll on my body. Or maybe I should just sleep less. Either way, whack ass dream.
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