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 fire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fire. Show all posts
7/12/19
1/8/16
The Year End Look
Never forget that any day you do not think about killing yourself is a pretty damn good day. Let's run the damage report to begin. One concussion. One fractured jaw. Pretty okay. What the hell, did we learn? What is the outlook on this year? I am afraid of saying "I don't know." It's all there. I don't want to sift through it. Slug through it. I want to try to take my reference point from the year end look to begin 2015 and see where we go; so let's go!
First of all, caution paid off. Before the major injury to my face, everything was humming on the hardware. When you suffer a debilitating injury, a person cannot help slipping into ways to deal with that pain. No friends were lost and no new real friends were won. Relationships grew deeper and more sovereign. The realization that the only person who can take care of you at the bottom line, when bone strikes metal, is you and the only person you can rely on absolutely, the only person you can control with high fidelity is you. Everyone else are variables. Your friends will help you and attempt to intercede and interject. Some who do are tourists. That is acceptable. Emotional tourism is a fact of life.
Nice guys finish last, but they finish clean and if that means something to your heart then it is absolutely worth pursuing. You cannot wear hats that do not fit before they blow off in the wind or constrict the blood vessels in your forehead hard enough to give you a migraine. Through the incident, I learned that I am a violent person at heart, but the jacket around that bullet is a jacket formed in a forge of love, kindness, emotion and the ability to feel. Sure, sometimes you feel nothing and sympathy and empathy are things I have to manufacture, but I realized very quickly, unable to eat, laugh, smile, frown, grimace, sneeze or cough, that manufactured or not, however you arrive at it, rage and violence is not the way to go. Thinking back on it, had I lashed out and taken the governors off of myself and won the day instead of trying to talk it through and getting cold cocked, I would be sitting at home afraid to go out at night, worried that someone I did something to still remembers and is looking for me and I have no idea what their faces look like. In retrospect, I am fine with the outcome and more comfortable in my own skin for it. I know the switch is there. They do not. That is all the security I need. Sometimes I ask myself if I am being too nice. I ask myself if I am behaving too well. I shrug. I tell myself I am not a rat on a sinking ship. Certainly, I am not the king of the rats. There is much more to do with my life than project my violent heart on the screens of the world around me. What happens when the video skips and the rainbow scaled dragon leaps across the screen and azure clouds belching constellations and weapons blueprints? Focus less on projections and more on allowing that mean streak to roll. Why guide it? Kick back and watch the waves break and listen to the sound. A person doesn't stand at the sea's lip and scream at the waves. Attempt to enjoy it, understand where they are from, listen to the sound, and watch the sun set. Nice guys finish last; violent guys finish dead.
I am pressing myself toward creating music. A good friend of mine is fairly deep into the art and it is intriguing. I didn't talk about it much last year because I didn't expect it to come forward in the ways that it did. I didn't compose a single story last year. I did, but I did not write a single one down. There is no writer's block. Task lock engaged pretty hard through the year. What I thought would be three months off turned into three, then four, months of person to person tasking. Exchanging information at a very high rate. Person to person relationships are still amazing difficult to me to this day. I can do it. I CAN do it. It takes heaven, earth, and hell out of me to make it happen. It is like cutting off one's own digits one at a time. Day by day. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit. Fingernail. Knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit.
On the cusp of actual free time, I am typing with nubs. The fingers are growing back. Healing the psychological wounds. It's amazing to think about how I am still alive. Think about the conversations that lead to continuing to soldier on. There were two very bad psychological breaking points that I did not see coming. I know it does not mean that I am getting better. It doesn't mean that I'm getting worse either. I haven't abandoned writing. It's grown distant. More intangible than it's ever been. "What's the point?" When so many outside forces are bearing down on you and you don't answer the phone and it goes 'click'. I laugh and cry because you never know if the next phone call is going to be the one in the chamber.
The year was severely back loaded with surprises and paperwork. I am still working on the sleeve of scarification. I still use the strokes on my face as a daily reminder to never forget what I cannot go back to. I am envious sometimes that some people have "home"s. I nearly slipped up. It was a phenomenal year for seeing my sister. She is wonderful and sprite. The suggestions creep in: open the door a little. Do not. Do not ever. I remind myself each morning that I am where I am with what freedom and freedoms I do have by, to coin my father's phrase "pruning." To let them back in is to let years and years of work fall away. The garden is not beautiful. It is in animal and entity. Do stellar objects have a soul and intent? Yes. I will not subject myself to it again. Ever. I will never go back. "I don't hate you either, but I really don't like you." The kind phrase he put together after I finally told him I didn't hate him. I wasn't lying. No one was asked to be born. You cannot hate your point of origin. It is you. Whether you like it or not. The only thing separating him from outright hate is the blood connection.
If you will, allow me this thought experiment:
Your memories begin where they will. Your father is just some guy you are forced to live with for the first 24 years of your life. Can you hate him? Yes. Now, that guy happens to be the person who impregnated the womb you came out of. You realize you would not exist, save for his cock. Can you hate him? Well, we're all here now and conscious. Yes and no. If there is a flake, a sliver, a hair between hate and intense "fuck him and his whole set up" to quote Josh Norman, yes. The only thing stopping me from outright hatred is the unfortunate fact that he decided to create another person with her (which holds her culpable too; is where the pass card comes in, but the general manager and the head coach come and go as a pair). It is kind of funny to wonder who the owner is. I laugh thinking about a god as the team owner. God is like "what the fuck, we need to move this franchise and clean house." The commissioner is saying, god's god, is saying "aye Danny, you've got to do something with this team, ticket sales are bombing."
The early months of the year was a fantastic cruise of steady work and hand tools. When everything boiled down to getting people to talk to one another and getting people to a place to sign forms, things got dicey. I left a few relationships behind in 2015. I realized I will never be my brother's equal and he will never see the world through my lens. Same thing with my older sister. If I never see either one of them again I will not be better for it, but I will never be worse for it either. Not the case with my little sister. Every time I get to see her I learn something new and a new way to be. My family doesn't shrink year by year. The depth of my connection with the folks around me that I can call and respond with as family grows. No love has been lost, though some has changed as their relationships to their loved ones and their religions changes.
I think, as we loop around the year and close in on the last things, we are moving in an appropriate direction. The death threats are real. Make no mistake. My love for the friends that I can call family in my new colony is real. My love for my little sister is real. My ambivalence toward my elder siblings is real. As I get older, my tolerance for pain increases as a function of my diminishing indestructibility. I feel sad for connections that burned out faster than I thought they would, but everyone has their own lives and what is convenient and warm and loving to you is harassment and pipe dreaming and gaudy and ancient and plastic and misplaced to them.
The reason no one talks to you may be because your ability to survive is so tightly tied to your ability to carry a conversation with yourself and the other human beings around you are polite enough, kind enough, human enough, to not interrupt.
The takeaway from 2015 is that we are more conscious than ever before. We still feel and we still can. We can love and we can hate and we will take caution. Our days are numbered and taking the most out of each one is not important at all. We will never be famous. We will never be complete. Our family is not the family we were born into, but we can run operating systems on top of each other to make a complete system. You're not born alone and you will not ever, ever, die alone. Waste your breath, waste your time, but do not trick yourself into believing a moment is ever wasted in putting down your hammer, your knife, your gun, your fire, your heart string marionette, your pen, your piss jar, your hat with matching gloves, your shoes, your cigarette, your car keys, your lube, your teeth, your comb, eyeshadow, rubber band, your space suit, your glasses, your sword, your helmet, means nothing.
2015 taught me about faith in people. Faith in friends. They don't have to know everything about you to know where you are from. They don't have to tell you what you mean to them to understand you should pick up the damn phone now and then. Sometimes it works the opposite way. You don't have to worry your pretty head about tabs. They're watching and waiting the same way you are. Fires on hillsides miles apart on the same planet. Give them the credit due yourself. I love you. It was a good year. The friends that I do have and the friends that I can call family sincerely, from Houston to NYC to California to Washington to Baltimore to Michigan... well, it's America off of the top of my head... ain't no family overseas. The point is this: I am not alone in 2015.
I don't know what 2016 will bring. I am taking on new jobs and expanding limits of circuitry and I am afraid. It is going to be messy by my standards. The outlook is heavy and hardline and will take a focus I have not had to muster before. The bonus will be a new body for this red dragon. And, and, and, no one will have to die to get there, yeah? Yeah! How good is that. How great is that. It will not be nose to the grind stone. 2016 will be about how far do you trust me? I promise you that you will not be able to throw me that far. I weigh upwards of 185 pounds. It's only going to get heavier as I get back into the gym after being forced to take three months off when I screwed up and got my face fractured. How far can you throw 200 pounds? Joking. I do think trust will come into play in a big way this year. Trust in caution, trust in going through the motions of writing to find my muse again, trust in friends to standby and trust in friends to see their vision along their lines and do what is asked of me without question.
Let's make 2016 about trust and make progress on our scarification sleeve.
Let's do it. It's not going to be comfortable. It's not going to be easy. If you want easy, kill yourself.
///How To Dress Well - "Us In The Sense of Forever"
///*the year end playlist up next
First of all, caution paid off. Before the major injury to my face, everything was humming on the hardware. When you suffer a debilitating injury, a person cannot help slipping into ways to deal with that pain. No friends were lost and no new real friends were won. Relationships grew deeper and more sovereign. The realization that the only person who can take care of you at the bottom line, when bone strikes metal, is you and the only person you can rely on absolutely, the only person you can control with high fidelity is you. Everyone else are variables. Your friends will help you and attempt to intercede and interject. Some who do are tourists. That is acceptable. Emotional tourism is a fact of life.
Nice guys finish last, but they finish clean and if that means something to your heart then it is absolutely worth pursuing. You cannot wear hats that do not fit before they blow off in the wind or constrict the blood vessels in your forehead hard enough to give you a migraine. Through the incident, I learned that I am a violent person at heart, but the jacket around that bullet is a jacket formed in a forge of love, kindness, emotion and the ability to feel. Sure, sometimes you feel nothing and sympathy and empathy are things I have to manufacture, but I realized very quickly, unable to eat, laugh, smile, frown, grimace, sneeze or cough, that manufactured or not, however you arrive at it, rage and violence is not the way to go. Thinking back on it, had I lashed out and taken the governors off of myself and won the day instead of trying to talk it through and getting cold cocked, I would be sitting at home afraid to go out at night, worried that someone I did something to still remembers and is looking for me and I have no idea what their faces look like. In retrospect, I am fine with the outcome and more comfortable in my own skin for it. I know the switch is there. They do not. That is all the security I need. Sometimes I ask myself if I am being too nice. I ask myself if I am behaving too well. I shrug. I tell myself I am not a rat on a sinking ship. Certainly, I am not the king of the rats. There is much more to do with my life than project my violent heart on the screens of the world around me. What happens when the video skips and the rainbow scaled dragon leaps across the screen and azure clouds belching constellations and weapons blueprints? Focus less on projections and more on allowing that mean streak to roll. Why guide it? Kick back and watch the waves break and listen to the sound. A person doesn't stand at the sea's lip and scream at the waves. Attempt to enjoy it, understand where they are from, listen to the sound, and watch the sun set. Nice guys finish last; violent guys finish dead.
I am pressing myself toward creating music. A good friend of mine is fairly deep into the art and it is intriguing. I didn't talk about it much last year because I didn't expect it to come forward in the ways that it did. I didn't compose a single story last year. I did, but I did not write a single one down. There is no writer's block. Task lock engaged pretty hard through the year. What I thought would be three months off turned into three, then four, months of person to person tasking. Exchanging information at a very high rate. Person to person relationships are still amazing difficult to me to this day. I can do it. I CAN do it. It takes heaven, earth, and hell out of me to make it happen. It is like cutting off one's own digits one at a time. Day by day. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit. Fingernail. Knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. Another knuckle. At the palm? Next digit.
On the cusp of actual free time, I am typing with nubs. The fingers are growing back. Healing the psychological wounds. It's amazing to think about how I am still alive. Think about the conversations that lead to continuing to soldier on. There were two very bad psychological breaking points that I did not see coming. I know it does not mean that I am getting better. It doesn't mean that I'm getting worse either. I haven't abandoned writing. It's grown distant. More intangible than it's ever been. "What's the point?" When so many outside forces are bearing down on you and you don't answer the phone and it goes 'click'. I laugh and cry because you never know if the next phone call is going to be the one in the chamber.
The year was severely back loaded with surprises and paperwork. I am still working on the sleeve of scarification. I still use the strokes on my face as a daily reminder to never forget what I cannot go back to. I am envious sometimes that some people have "home"s. I nearly slipped up. It was a phenomenal year for seeing my sister. She is wonderful and sprite. The suggestions creep in: open the door a little. Do not. Do not ever. I remind myself each morning that I am where I am with what freedom and freedoms I do have by, to coin my father's phrase "pruning." To let them back in is to let years and years of work fall away. The garden is not beautiful. It is in animal and entity. Do stellar objects have a soul and intent? Yes. I will not subject myself to it again. Ever. I will never go back. "I don't hate you either, but I really don't like you." The kind phrase he put together after I finally told him I didn't hate him. I wasn't lying. No one was asked to be born. You cannot hate your point of origin. It is you. Whether you like it or not. The only thing separating him from outright hate is the blood connection.
If you will, allow me this thought experiment:
Your memories begin where they will. Your father is just some guy you are forced to live with for the first 24 years of your life. Can you hate him? Yes. Now, that guy happens to be the person who impregnated the womb you came out of. You realize you would not exist, save for his cock. Can you hate him? Well, we're all here now and conscious. Yes and no. If there is a flake, a sliver, a hair between hate and intense "fuck him and his whole set up" to quote Josh Norman, yes. The only thing stopping me from outright hatred is the unfortunate fact that he decided to create another person with her (which holds her culpable too; is where the pass card comes in, but the general manager and the head coach come and go as a pair). It is kind of funny to wonder who the owner is. I laugh thinking about a god as the team owner. God is like "what the fuck, we need to move this franchise and clean house." The commissioner is saying, god's god, is saying "aye Danny, you've got to do something with this team, ticket sales are bombing."
The early months of the year was a fantastic cruise of steady work and hand tools. When everything boiled down to getting people to talk to one another and getting people to a place to sign forms, things got dicey. I left a few relationships behind in 2015. I realized I will never be my brother's equal and he will never see the world through my lens. Same thing with my older sister. If I never see either one of them again I will not be better for it, but I will never be worse for it either. Not the case with my little sister. Every time I get to see her I learn something new and a new way to be. My family doesn't shrink year by year. The depth of my connection with the folks around me that I can call and respond with as family grows. No love has been lost, though some has changed as their relationships to their loved ones and their religions changes.
I think, as we loop around the year and close in on the last things, we are moving in an appropriate direction. The death threats are real. Make no mistake. My love for the friends that I can call family in my new colony is real. My love for my little sister is real. My ambivalence toward my elder siblings is real. As I get older, my tolerance for pain increases as a function of my diminishing indestructibility. I feel sad for connections that burned out faster than I thought they would, but everyone has their own lives and what is convenient and warm and loving to you is harassment and pipe dreaming and gaudy and ancient and plastic and misplaced to them.
The reason no one talks to you may be because your ability to survive is so tightly tied to your ability to carry a conversation with yourself and the other human beings around you are polite enough, kind enough, human enough, to not interrupt.
The takeaway from 2015 is that we are more conscious than ever before. We still feel and we still can. We can love and we can hate and we will take caution. Our days are numbered and taking the most out of each one is not important at all. We will never be famous. We will never be complete. Our family is not the family we were born into, but we can run operating systems on top of each other to make a complete system. You're not born alone and you will not ever, ever, die alone. Waste your breath, waste your time, but do not trick yourself into believing a moment is ever wasted in putting down your hammer, your knife, your gun, your fire, your heart string marionette, your pen, your piss jar, your hat with matching gloves, your shoes, your cigarette, your car keys, your lube, your teeth, your comb, eyeshadow, rubber band, your space suit, your glasses, your sword, your helmet, means nothing.
2015 taught me about faith in people. Faith in friends. They don't have to know everything about you to know where you are from. They don't have to tell you what you mean to them to understand you should pick up the damn phone now and then. Sometimes it works the opposite way. You don't have to worry your pretty head about tabs. They're watching and waiting the same way you are. Fires on hillsides miles apart on the same planet. Give them the credit due yourself. I love you. It was a good year. The friends that I do have and the friends that I can call family sincerely, from Houston to NYC to California to Washington to Baltimore to Michigan... well, it's America off of the top of my head... ain't no family overseas. The point is this: I am not alone in 2015.
I don't know what 2016 will bring. I am taking on new jobs and expanding limits of circuitry and I am afraid. It is going to be messy by my standards. The outlook is heavy and hardline and will take a focus I have not had to muster before. The bonus will be a new body for this red dragon. And, and, and, no one will have to die to get there, yeah? Yeah! How good is that. How great is that. It will not be nose to the grind stone. 2016 will be about how far do you trust me? I promise you that you will not be able to throw me that far. I weigh upwards of 185 pounds. It's only going to get heavier as I get back into the gym after being forced to take three months off when I screwed up and got my face fractured. How far can you throw 200 pounds? Joking. I do think trust will come into play in a big way this year. Trust in caution, trust in going through the motions of writing to find my muse again, trust in friends to standby and trust in friends to see their vision along their lines and do what is asked of me without question.
Let's make 2016 about trust and make progress on our scarification sleeve.
Let's do it. It's not going to be comfortable. It's not going to be easy. If you want easy, kill yourself.
///How To Dress Well - "Us In The Sense of Forever"
///*the year end playlist up next
5/9/15
Less Than Stellar Habits
I've developed the habit of not breathing while I'm driving. Cruising down Allegheny boulevard beside the river with a ton of straightaways, I noticed it. My right hand resting on the stick shift started to go numb. That was when I realized I wasn't breathing. That was also when I sucked a breath in at 45 miles per hour on a two lane with a rumble strip. It's really hard not to process space and time as opportunities to wreck and die. I'm trying to unlearn it. Breathing is very important, especially while driving. I'm not scared of many things. I thought I'd conquered my fear of the road once I started whipping my horse, but I hadn't. I have been holding my breath since all this time whenever situations got even remotely hairy. It makes me a worse driver, not a more cautious one. Constant silent panic that locks up a body. The world is terrifying at speed. But I love speed. But it's terrifying. But it's gorgeous. Wrestling with circumfact.... am I going to die in a flaming ball of twisted metal? Ignore the landing lights. They are not landing lights! Oooh tunnel vision. Stick your head out of the window and suck it in. Canyon run. Someday soon. Don't go too heavy on the gas. I want driving to be fun again.
///Hotchip - "You Ride, We Ride, In My Ride"
///Hotchip - "You Ride, We Ride, In My Ride"
3/14/15
Bah
Engage the suppo meta super chim gank ja ja ja hahaha ckck la la la jhjh gohgoh fukjj aooao uiw way of looking at things. Or make a hard break, no?
It's been a very long time, we know. All of us know. It's been a long time for a reason and we support that reason whatever that reason may be and however that reason came to be. We support it. It has taken a lot of force to bring everyone to the table. Hell, it's taken a lot of brute force simply to bring us all to the table, let alone a table.
Some of us want to wave around our individuals flags. I am fighting, as the selected individual to represent our collective passport, to wave a single one, but everyone wants to be heard so, I guess I will step away for the song, it's a rarity, but feels appropriate:
well that did not take long to fail. As soon as the spotlight descended they scattered like cockroaches. Big surprise. Machinations of my brain. Faults and artifacts you say. I say. Could it be that the prices I would have to pay should they be named may be so high that I cannot let their names loose anymore or must erase the names as soon as I have let them loose should they be known and summoned on an account other than my own I and I alone should feel the repercussions or should I say that even having mentioned them I should now fall under their disgrace and suffer the consequences in utter paranoia and I should I now tell you that having disclosed that much information the knowledge alone will tell the body and mind collective to brace for impact that other worldly souls should be (this is all in a Britton accent) coming down upon my head?
No. Some of that's true. Most of it's not. I know a lot of what happens inside my head is my own fault. I know a lot of it is not and if I could pluck your eye balls out of your head and implant them into mine you'd want to kill yourself to. Every day. Maybe not every hour. Sometimes some hours people you surround yourself with help you to forget what is all around.
You can all laugh and drink and I drink to forget but not to forget my circumstances or anything like that. I get it. I didn't do good in school and I missed out on trade school by going to learning school and I couldve jumped out of it if I'd known or had the balls to do it instead of taking everything I was force fed, because being a mechanic is tip top, but I didn't so... whatever.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
I drink to forget my father and the senseless beatings and I drink to forget the fact that I can't see straight into a vagina and I drink that I cant see straight at children because they give me the heebee jeebees every time I'm alone with them and I can't stop imagining what a giant penis feels like in a tiny weewee or if a tiny wenis gets hard or if they know or if I knew back then if someone was cleaning me or just being fucking weird or if there's someone who should be on my end of days "I'm going to scoop your motherfucking eyeball out with a margerine plastic knife" or not or if patting one of them bastards on the back is too much contact or too little or if I should shuffle on down to Maryland and kill my father and just have it out, take my time, and have a happy weird time with a kid of my own eventually and explain to him or her that you'll never meet your father because he's dead because I killed him.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
A friend of mine keeps saying "bah" and I think he's doing it in part because I told him saying "it is what it is" is the Pittsburgher, PAer, way of saying "I dunno" northeaster-ish. Northeaster shit. You could just say ellipsis but that's too many penstrokes, yeah? Yeah is an ellipsis too. Dot dot doooooooooooooooooooooooooooot. To other thoughts along the same train, not quite a hard break, however hard enough to change the frames position along the wall to be noticeable. Hard enough to be, should someone visit, a highlight in the tour to the tune of "you've changed."
So we're here and we've arrived and I will borrow in the meantime a "bah."
I cannot tell you how much I've loved you but I can tell you how much I've missed you.
It's good to work. It's good to work at what you love. It's better when the work brings me closer to you.
Breaking trail. Breaking silence. Breaking my heart for you. I miss you every day. You have no idea how much I wish multitasking was an actual thing.
Keep streamlined. Stay feathered. The wind is screaming aginst your nose and mine too. Feather through the days and weeks.
///Unkle & Sparklehorse - (Maria Gur Cover [Insane Lullaby]) ....upon a podium.... you're charming and you're brave
It's been a very long time, we know. All of us know. It's been a long time for a reason and we support that reason whatever that reason may be and however that reason came to be. We support it. It has taken a lot of force to bring everyone to the table. Hell, it's taken a lot of brute force simply to bring us all to the table, let alone a table.
Some of us want to wave around our individuals flags. I am fighting, as the selected individual to represent our collective passport, to wave a single one, but everyone wants to be heard so, I guess I will step away for the song, it's a rarity, but feels appropriate:
well that did not take long to fail. As soon as the spotlight descended they scattered like cockroaches. Big surprise. Machinations of my brain. Faults and artifacts you say. I say. Could it be that the prices I would have to pay should they be named may be so high that I cannot let their names loose anymore or must erase the names as soon as I have let them loose should they be known and summoned on an account other than my own I and I alone should feel the repercussions or should I say that even having mentioned them I should now fall under their disgrace and suffer the consequences in utter paranoia and I should I now tell you that having disclosed that much information the knowledge alone will tell the body and mind collective to brace for impact that other worldly souls should be (this is all in a Britton accent) coming down upon my head?
No. Some of that's true. Most of it's not. I know a lot of what happens inside my head is my own fault. I know a lot of it is not and if I could pluck your eye balls out of your head and implant them into mine you'd want to kill yourself to. Every day. Maybe not every hour. Sometimes some hours people you surround yourself with help you to forget what is all around.
You can all laugh and drink and I drink to forget but not to forget my circumstances or anything like that. I get it. I didn't do good in school and I missed out on trade school by going to learning school and I couldve jumped out of it if I'd known or had the balls to do it instead of taking everything I was force fed, because being a mechanic is tip top, but I didn't so... whatever.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
I drink to forget my father and the senseless beatings and I drink to forget the fact that I can't see straight into a vagina and I drink that I cant see straight at children because they give me the heebee jeebees every time I'm alone with them and I can't stop imagining what a giant penis feels like in a tiny weewee or if a tiny wenis gets hard or if they know or if I knew back then if someone was cleaning me or just being fucking weird or if there's someone who should be on my end of days "I'm going to scoop your motherfucking eyeball out with a margerine plastic knife" or not or if patting one of them bastards on the back is too much contact or too little or if I should shuffle on down to Maryland and kill my father and just have it out, take my time, and have a happy weird time with a kid of my own eventually and explain to him or her that you'll never meet your father because he's dead because I killed him.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
A friend of mine keeps saying "bah" and I think he's doing it in part because I told him saying "it is what it is" is the Pittsburgher, PAer, way of saying "I dunno" northeaster-ish. Northeaster shit. You could just say ellipsis but that's too many penstrokes, yeah? Yeah is an ellipsis too. Dot dot doooooooooooooooooooooooooooot. To other thoughts along the same train, not quite a hard break, however hard enough to change the frames position along the wall to be noticeable. Hard enough to be, should someone visit, a highlight in the tour to the tune of "you've changed."
So we're here and we've arrived and I will borrow in the meantime a "bah."
I cannot tell you how much I've loved you but I can tell you how much I've missed you.
It's good to work. It's good to work at what you love. It's better when the work brings me closer to you.
Breaking trail. Breaking silence. Breaking my heart for you. I miss you every day. You have no idea how much I wish multitasking was an actual thing.
Keep streamlined. Stay feathered. The wind is screaming aginst your nose and mine too. Feather through the days and weeks.
///Unkle & Sparklehorse - (Maria Gur Cover [Insane Lullaby]) ....upon a podium.... you're charming and you're brave
5/12/14
Simulations, Run Times and Control
Simulation is an art form. Everyone's guilty. Shut up, you're guilty. Every compromise is another exhibit, another piece of evidence, but you're nothing wrong for it. It means that you are reading and absorbing. Where structure rattling shifts occur are when you've overstepped is all. That's fine. If it's not, it should be. Deception is not an art. Deception is a skill. There's a difference.
Simulation is an art form and a means of communication and should be maintained. Not must be, but should be. It's a token. It's a tipped hat. There is no fault with simulation. To read, to understand, to emulate, to produce circumstances in which the assumed can thrive, with or without the other's knowledge, is an art and, furthermore, to be absorbed in the simulation wholehearted is to complete it, and to find completion being a crime is simply absurd. Refuse crime.
To the larger point, bottling sounds of my thoughts through snippets offered through social media is not whoring. It is simulation refined and semi-successful and semi-failure. I am comfortable with that and uncomfortable at the same time. The act, itself, plays directly into the multifacet self. The concept of conscious faced through planes of a gem cut (or not) through experience and trying to catch the most acceptable light from the most appealing angle not because there is a drive to appeal and appease and assure, because there is, within the contract of citizenship to this planet, a very very important subtext and rule line x, dash alphabet, dot n, that says you can either participate or margin.
The approach to social media is always a tricky one. Not for offering opportunities for criticism; for offering opportunities for connection. There is much less value in not offering a front door and at the same time expecting the line to run from there, down to the sidewalk, and around the corner. A certain amount of simulation must happen. Consider it something akin to taking the temperature of a moment. Consider it too, an argument that specialized and targeted results diminish the quality of the simulation each and every time that impetus is to be obeyed and deviation will be cause for changes not, surface, necessary.
Hunting for ghosts should be saved for television. Things go bump in the night. Dealing with things that go bump in the night should not be necessary, and is. I'm not celebrating it. Have lust for the ones you don't dare. Few things truly scare me in life. It is part production. Part assumption of past fears like putting on clothes so those around you can feel more comfortable being around and talking the same way you can talk and fearing the same way you can fear. If there is a subtext, a foot note, to the experience it is that I saw someone who truly scared me because I never laid eyes on it before and it has me rattled because I never want to see it again.
I saw, for lack of a better term, a ghost. I have no idea how to explain it. It was not a ghost or a spirit. It was not an after image burned onto my retinas so I happened to wake up two hours later and blink a lot and rub the corner of the eye snot away and coughed to make sure I was awake. It was something I hope to never see again and it burned me on the inside simply to lay eyes on it.
I got out of bed and walked around it and it kept saying "you can fly in your sleep" and I do not know what it meant. You can fly in your sleep. You can fly in your sleep. It only came up to near chest height. I kept walking around it to make sure it was three dimensional. I was running tests, mental tests, to be sure that I was not asleep and that it was not a figment and it kept talking and did not hold the usual humanoid, warped and not, shapes or the usual animal, warped and not, shapes.
To pin my psychological misgivings current on its existence feels like a cop out. It's there though, watching me and I desperately would like to do something about it. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to sleep knowing it can enter my apartment with no sound. Where did you come from?! Go away! Go away! I have not seen it since its first appearance, but I feel it. It makes my skin itch. How do I kill you?
I've grown comfortable with some of them to the point where I can say hello, nod, and continue on. They're almost like family or pets or even, I'd go so far as to say, fixtures like lamps or hat racks and sometimes they yap, but it's getting easier to ignore them. Not easier, but second nature through strict training. My breath is still snatched away now and then when they are where they are not supposed to be and the agreement that I assume is broken because they and my own paths cross without warning and my face is not our face and they are.
I don't want to go to sleep. I am afraid it will visit again. I am much more afraid that it is a returned. I'm not prepared to deal with that. My techniques and knowledge have advanced enough to protect against signs and travelers and after images and beckonings and name calling and interpolations and ringers and false alerts and I ... ... don't know it and I cannot be caught engaging it and ......... I should not be talking about it. I have to. For record. To help me better. As far as I go. The lights will be kept on. Fear no man. It is, this I know, no man.
I had an odd dream. I dreamt I had a sex change surgery. Except the Earth, this planet, was so far advanced, or smoothed, that all outward adornment went by the wayside. To the point where nature and tech apexed to an uncomfortable coexistence. To the point where every injury, every modification, needed no bandage and had no boundary for it's obviousness. We were sitting at a hookah bar and passing a cigarette between each of ourselves and someone commented that my penis looked better where it was and we railed for a minute and then got home sick and wished we'd telecommuted to the outing instead because we liked our new body a lot, but no one stuck up for us so we smoked some more instead. Then we blinked and when our eyelids opened we were not on sand world again.
We were walking down a street where each and every person walked too, fully clothed, but the backs of their heads were all torn out, blown out, by something. Grapefruit sized holes. Deer slugs? Their eyes were fine. Their faces for the most part. Whatever went in must have gone through their mouths. Everything smelled like take out food Bronx tenements. It was queasy.
I'm not saying it's the return of the monster. It's not. I am afraid. I am dreaming. I am sleep walking. I am not sleep walking. You are not sleep walking. You are reading this. Pause here. Whatever it was you were thinking about doing, pause here for at least five minutes, but not more than ten. Whatever it was, it will be back. You can handle it. Do not be afraid. No crying. No hiding. If it can get in, it can do more and it has chosen not to. Do not talk to it. Do not engage it. Do not engage it. Do not engage it. Do not name it. Do not listen to it. Listen without hearing. Always remember.
I am trying to remember, trying very hard, to remember the name of the one I gave away to a friend and the price (I do remember that torture) I paid when he called him through text messages. It needn't be repeated. Once was enough. Learn from mistakes. To this day I do not think he realizes how far open I had to be to do that and how stupid I was to do that. Learn from mistakes.
I am trying very hard to remember and I can't and you know what? I am happy it is struck from memory. I am happy I can review the pages of notes and review the eye reel and find no hints. It means I did something right. I remember the weeks and the forced in closeness and needing to give for what I received and splitting cigarettes on the balcony and looking at the enormous clockwork gears ticking over behind the tree line near Bloomfield and the memory tape ends there and I do not want to discover what was buried there ever again.
///The Grid - "Crystal Clear (Clear Water Revival Mix)" Henry remembered his mother and preferred not to.
Simulation is an art form and a means of communication and should be maintained. Not must be, but should be. It's a token. It's a tipped hat. There is no fault with simulation. To read, to understand, to emulate, to produce circumstances in which the assumed can thrive, with or without the other's knowledge, is an art and, furthermore, to be absorbed in the simulation wholehearted is to complete it, and to find completion being a crime is simply absurd. Refuse crime.
To the larger point, bottling sounds of my thoughts through snippets offered through social media is not whoring. It is simulation refined and semi-successful and semi-failure. I am comfortable with that and uncomfortable at the same time. The act, itself, plays directly into the multifacet self. The concept of conscious faced through planes of a gem cut (or not) through experience and trying to catch the most acceptable light from the most appealing angle not because there is a drive to appeal and appease and assure, because there is, within the contract of citizenship to this planet, a very very important subtext and rule line x, dash alphabet, dot n, that says you can either participate or margin.
The approach to social media is always a tricky one. Not for offering opportunities for criticism; for offering opportunities for connection. There is much less value in not offering a front door and at the same time expecting the line to run from there, down to the sidewalk, and around the corner. A certain amount of simulation must happen. Consider it something akin to taking the temperature of a moment. Consider it too, an argument that specialized and targeted results diminish the quality of the simulation each and every time that impetus is to be obeyed and deviation will be cause for changes not, surface, necessary.
Hunting for ghosts should be saved for television. Things go bump in the night. Dealing with things that go bump in the night should not be necessary, and is. I'm not celebrating it. Have lust for the ones you don't dare. Few things truly scare me in life. It is part production. Part assumption of past fears like putting on clothes so those around you can feel more comfortable being around and talking the same way you can talk and fearing the same way you can fear. If there is a subtext, a foot note, to the experience it is that I saw someone who truly scared me because I never laid eyes on it before and it has me rattled because I never want to see it again.
I saw, for lack of a better term, a ghost. I have no idea how to explain it. It was not a ghost or a spirit. It was not an after image burned onto my retinas so I happened to wake up two hours later and blink a lot and rub the corner of the eye snot away and coughed to make sure I was awake. It was something I hope to never see again and it burned me on the inside simply to lay eyes on it.
I got out of bed and walked around it and it kept saying "you can fly in your sleep" and I do not know what it meant. You can fly in your sleep. You can fly in your sleep. It only came up to near chest height. I kept walking around it to make sure it was three dimensional. I was running tests, mental tests, to be sure that I was not asleep and that it was not a figment and it kept talking and did not hold the usual humanoid, warped and not, shapes or the usual animal, warped and not, shapes.
To pin my psychological misgivings current on its existence feels like a cop out. It's there though, watching me and I desperately would like to do something about it. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to sleep knowing it can enter my apartment with no sound. Where did you come from?! Go away! Go away! I have not seen it since its first appearance, but I feel it. It makes my skin itch. How do I kill you?
I've grown comfortable with some of them to the point where I can say hello, nod, and continue on. They're almost like family or pets or even, I'd go so far as to say, fixtures like lamps or hat racks and sometimes they yap, but it's getting easier to ignore them. Not easier, but second nature through strict training. My breath is still snatched away now and then when they are where they are not supposed to be and the agreement that I assume is broken because they and my own paths cross without warning and my face is not our face and they are.
I don't want to go to sleep. I am afraid it will visit again. I am much more afraid that it is a returned. I'm not prepared to deal with that. My techniques and knowledge have advanced enough to protect against signs and travelers and after images and beckonings and name calling and interpolations and ringers and false alerts and I ... ... don't know it and I cannot be caught engaging it and ......... I should not be talking about it. I have to. For record. To help me better. As far as I go. The lights will be kept on. Fear no man. It is, this I know, no man.
I had an odd dream. I dreamt I had a sex change surgery. Except the Earth, this planet, was so far advanced, or smoothed, that all outward adornment went by the wayside. To the point where nature and tech apexed to an uncomfortable coexistence. To the point where every injury, every modification, needed no bandage and had no boundary for it's obviousness. We were sitting at a hookah bar and passing a cigarette between each of ourselves and someone commented that my penis looked better where it was and we railed for a minute and then got home sick and wished we'd telecommuted to the outing instead because we liked our new body a lot, but no one stuck up for us so we smoked some more instead. Then we blinked and when our eyelids opened we were not on sand world again.
We were walking down a street where each and every person walked too, fully clothed, but the backs of their heads were all torn out, blown out, by something. Grapefruit sized holes. Deer slugs? Their eyes were fine. Their faces for the most part. Whatever went in must have gone through their mouths. Everything smelled like take out food Bronx tenements. It was queasy.
I'm not saying it's the return of the monster. It's not. I am afraid. I am dreaming. I am sleep walking. I am not sleep walking. You are not sleep walking. You are reading this. Pause here. Whatever it was you were thinking about doing, pause here for at least five minutes, but not more than ten. Whatever it was, it will be back. You can handle it. Do not be afraid. No crying. No hiding. If it can get in, it can do more and it has chosen not to. Do not talk to it. Do not engage it. Do not engage it. Do not engage it. Do not name it. Do not listen to it. Listen without hearing. Always remember.
I am trying to remember, trying very hard, to remember the name of the one I gave away to a friend and the price (I do remember that torture) I paid when he called him through text messages. It needn't be repeated. Once was enough. Learn from mistakes. To this day I do not think he realizes how far open I had to be to do that and how stupid I was to do that. Learn from mistakes.
I am trying very hard to remember and I can't and you know what? I am happy it is struck from memory. I am happy I can review the pages of notes and review the eye reel and find no hints. It means I did something right. I remember the weeks and the forced in closeness and needing to give for what I received and splitting cigarettes on the balcony and looking at the enormous clockwork gears ticking over behind the tree line near Bloomfield and the memory tape ends there and I do not want to discover what was buried there ever again.
///The Grid - "Crystal Clear (Clear Water Revival Mix)" Henry remembered his mother and preferred not to.
5/4/14
Love
"I love you so much." Everyone's heard it before. Everyone's been there, done that. The kind of love I feel for you is the sort that forces me to roll up a newspaper and smack myself on the nose and hiss "No! You are not allowed to do that. Don't eat them! And don't you dare try to figure out a loophole to gain the same sensation through different means. They won't appreciate it and you know better. NO!" Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. It makes me laugh a little bit when it works out well. Smack, smack. Thank the maker for the guy who invented free weights. It helps burn things off. I wish someone was holding my leash. I have to keep my ears open for when the rattle of the woven plastic gets noisy and I know I'm moving too fast and am liable to outrun my vision. If someone were holding the other end of it, problem solved. Unless they are dragged streetlong behind me. Problem multiplied. I love you so much. I want you inside of me so that I can see you all of the time, whenever I wanted to, and you could see me to. I can't eat you, though. Besides, if you were mated to my atoms you could never escape. Everyone must escape from time to time. It's for our own good. I love you so much. Bring your teeth. Let's find something beautiful. I'll roll with you, but let me howl.
///Blind Boys of Alabama - "Amazing Grace" run run run run run run run run r
///Blind Boys of Alabama - "Amazing Grace" run run run run run run run run r
10/23/13
Bed Time Story 2 (51 text messages to my sister)
It was a routine
take off. The sun was low and behind, about to tuck itself to bed behind the
Monmut mountains edging the salt basin of the Campmine desert
She prepared as usual when her alarm went off at five p.m. playing loud, nudging her out of dreams
It was her favorite song. Slow jazz but not easy listening. The woman on the record asked, in her bowling ball tenor rolling across the jazz lounge smoke through flower hats and bow ties "how are youuuu, todaaaaayayeaye. I came here to playaaaaayeaye"
She didn't light up after her hand swiped the red digited clock off her night stand
Today was the same, but a little different. The city lights would be on beneath her. The stars would wink to life above her, but the X-two two four around her was on her maiden record attempt and her nerves were steel.
At the edge, a mistake of any proportion could be fatal. Nerves were unreliable. Senses, however, could get her back home
The briefing went well. She painted her nails a vioently subtle purple while her black coffee steamed in its styrofoam cup while the lieutenant went on and on about the fighter/bombers specifications in front of the touch screen while she tried to find a comfortable way to sit in a plastic folding chair in a room too hot and not think about where in hell the annual budget went
Janice already went over the six hundred page manual twice and knew it backwards and front. she could've Built the damn thing in the time the briefing took.
She blew on her fingertips and sipped some more coffee.
Outside of the bubble canopy, the sun laid deep red and orange streaks across the salt flats, bunkers, and air traffic tower where dinosaur fish hundreds of feet long used to swim.
She whistled her song into her respirator, nodding her head and thinking about how good it would be to touch down and take off her twenty pound helmet.
Glancing left and right, runway lights came to life, she reminded herself she didn't have to wait for the weapons crews to load up the hard points on the X-224s wings. Her wings.
It was not a weapons test. It was a dual test of woman and machine and settling in to her cockpit, adjusting her harnesses, she moved her gloved hand to the throttle without a cloud in the sky
"alright, Lionmane, its just you and me today. Be good.". She toggled her radio switch with a wink to her in helmet display, the dual turbines thrumming quiet as an aeroplane is capable behind her head.
"This is Rainbow Nugget, ready for all go on your signal Walking Stick."
The control tower came back, the controller chuckling at her call sign despite himself, "Rainbow nugget, you are clear for go. Be safe out there. Don't scratch the paint."
"I'll bring him back in one piece, you get the wine cooling. I'm gonna need a pick me up when this is over." she winked again at her visor display and took a deep breath.
Without the crackle of the radio, the jet engine buzz was too quiet. Her left hand flew across the dials and switches on her console, yellow lights blinking softly to solid green.
The chime rang through the cockpit. Lionmane X two two four sighing back "I am ready"
She toggled the brake switch, turned on her wing tip and running lights and hauled on the throttle with her right.
The tower half a mile away tore through her vision as the engines screamed. Water condensed on the canopy front, capturing the sun at her back in burned gold droplets as she broke the sound barrier once and then twice.
She winked her radio back on and barked against the breast squeezing gee force: "systems stable. Vertical climb!"
The X-224s landing gear mashed the sand like a drunk through the middle of a street hanging onto their beau for dear life before finally letting go.
The twin tails streaked into the evening sky as she held the throttle at maximum. The Tower, miles behind, came back. "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear. Have you on the board. You are on pace for time to climb record."
"Systems stable!" she barked back, Earth doing everything it could to collapse her lungs
Over her shoulder, as the engines screamed and the composite alloy frame of the X 224 shook, the sun began to rise over the sloping peaks of the Monmut mountain ridge.
The basin beneath her shrank to a football field and then a coin. She held the throttle down. The Tower came back: "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear, you are clear. Looking good."
Janice grit her teeth, "I know!"
The sun shone like mid day. her visor tinted itself, twin contrails scorching upward. "Afterburn!" she shouted as her pressure suit began to force circulation through her limbs.
With all of the strength she could muster she lifted her hand from the throttle, flipped the clear plastic cover from the bright yellow and black deadmans switch and pressed the lime green button at its center
At the base, 30 pounds of TNT went off over their heads. The control tower shook like a twig in a thunderstorm as the lionmanes engines tore the sky apart and two new stars blazed to life in the evening sky.
The Tower came back, "we have you on visual!" unable to contain their calm.
Janice held her thumb to the switch and touched the stick with the gentleness of a mother cleaning a kitten.
The canopy turned, too quickly at first, and more slowly. Janice gave a ferocious glance across the console before risking turning her head away.
The canopy spun at her fingertips and as she climbed the sun set again behind the shadow of her wing tip.
The sky began to darken and the lights of Santa Monica, Las angeles, Eugene, San Antonio, Austin, and Denver grew brighter and brighter. "Where's Mexico city," she chuckle rasped to herself.
"Rainbow Nugget, you've got the record, bring him in whenever you're green." She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the ground.
"I hear!" she barked, not yet ready. The sky turned blue and then black and in that midnight blanket the stars came to life in front of her.
All around they shined with a brilliance that pulled at her heart harder and harder as she held her thumb to the afterburn switch
"Rainbow Nugget, be advised you're running out of air up there."
"Walking Stick, I hear y-" the X- 224s thrashing rumble ceased.
The g forces crushing her body reversed direction and threw her forward hard enough to send her hand through her head up display atop her console, shattering it
"Rainbow we have you losing speed, copy?"
The stars began to spin outside of the canopy. City lights, then stars, then cities again. Her eyes raced, cueing the visor display to go to this and that menu, lines of information and diagrams and maps whipping by. They raced like one hundred horses loosed from their pens across her in helmet display
Steady green lights turned to flashing yellow and then sharp and solid red. "Rainbow, do you copy??"
as her eyes raced they picked out pieces of information. "Flame out," she shouted to herself as she rammed the throttle to zero and worked her hands across the dials.
"Come back?" the Tower shouted through her earpiece.
"Flameout! Walking Stick! Flameout!" She winked at her visor to close the radio link as her hands continued to work furiously.
The X - 224 no longer arrowed upward. It spun end over end until momentum could carry it no further and began its descent. With no more air to feed engines, the lionmane became a fuel filled 3000 pound free falling bomb
"air brakes," she told herself, "now!" her hands flew and the lionmanes frame rumbled with the back up hydraulic systems effort beneath her ejector seat
"im not giving up on you!" she shouted at her console, her eyes flying behind her visor as the stars spinning outside her canopy began to wink out and the sun began to rise again.
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pulled up her backup head up display inside her helmet and caught her heart in her mouth. The zeroes on the altimeter were disappearing much too fast.
She prepared as usual when her alarm went off at five p.m. playing loud, nudging her out of dreams
It was her favorite song. Slow jazz but not easy listening. The woman on the record asked, in her bowling ball tenor rolling across the jazz lounge smoke through flower hats and bow ties "how are youuuu, todaaaaayayeaye. I came here to playaaaaayeaye"
She didn't light up after her hand swiped the red digited clock off her night stand
Today was the same, but a little different. The city lights would be on beneath her. The stars would wink to life above her, but the X-two two four around her was on her maiden record attempt and her nerves were steel.
At the edge, a mistake of any proportion could be fatal. Nerves were unreliable. Senses, however, could get her back home
The briefing went well. She painted her nails a vioently subtle purple while her black coffee steamed in its styrofoam cup while the lieutenant went on and on about the fighter/bombers specifications in front of the touch screen while she tried to find a comfortable way to sit in a plastic folding chair in a room too hot and not think about where in hell the annual budget went
Janice already went over the six hundred page manual twice and knew it backwards and front. she could've Built the damn thing in the time the briefing took.
She blew on her fingertips and sipped some more coffee.
Outside of the bubble canopy, the sun laid deep red and orange streaks across the salt flats, bunkers, and air traffic tower where dinosaur fish hundreds of feet long used to swim.
She whistled her song into her respirator, nodding her head and thinking about how good it would be to touch down and take off her twenty pound helmet.
Glancing left and right, runway lights came to life, she reminded herself she didn't have to wait for the weapons crews to load up the hard points on the X-224s wings. Her wings.
It was not a weapons test. It was a dual test of woman and machine and settling in to her cockpit, adjusting her harnesses, she moved her gloved hand to the throttle without a cloud in the sky
"alright, Lionmane, its just you and me today. Be good.". She toggled her radio switch with a wink to her in helmet display, the dual turbines thrumming quiet as an aeroplane is capable behind her head.
"This is Rainbow Nugget, ready for all go on your signal Walking Stick."
The control tower came back, the controller chuckling at her call sign despite himself, "Rainbow nugget, you are clear for go. Be safe out there. Don't scratch the paint."
"I'll bring him back in one piece, you get the wine cooling. I'm gonna need a pick me up when this is over." she winked again at her visor display and took a deep breath.
Without the crackle of the radio, the jet engine buzz was too quiet. Her left hand flew across the dials and switches on her console, yellow lights blinking softly to solid green.
The chime rang through the cockpit. Lionmane X two two four sighing back "I am ready"
She toggled the brake switch, turned on her wing tip and running lights and hauled on the throttle with her right.
The tower half a mile away tore through her vision as the engines screamed. Water condensed on the canopy front, capturing the sun at her back in burned gold droplets as she broke the sound barrier once and then twice.
She winked her radio back on and barked against the breast squeezing gee force: "systems stable. Vertical climb!"
The X-224s landing gear mashed the sand like a drunk through the middle of a street hanging onto their beau for dear life before finally letting go.
The twin tails streaked into the evening sky as she held the throttle at maximum. The Tower, miles behind, came back. "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear. Have you on the board. You are on pace for time to climb record."
"Systems stable!" she barked back, Earth doing everything it could to collapse her lungs
Over her shoulder, as the engines screamed and the composite alloy frame of the X 224 shook, the sun began to rise over the sloping peaks of the Monmut mountain ridge.
The basin beneath her shrank to a football field and then a coin. She held the throttle down. The Tower came back: "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear, you are clear. Looking good."
Janice grit her teeth, "I know!"
The sun shone like mid day. her visor tinted itself, twin contrails scorching upward. "Afterburn!" she shouted as her pressure suit began to force circulation through her limbs.
With all of the strength she could muster she lifted her hand from the throttle, flipped the clear plastic cover from the bright yellow and black deadmans switch and pressed the lime green button at its center
At the base, 30 pounds of TNT went off over their heads. The control tower shook like a twig in a thunderstorm as the lionmanes engines tore the sky apart and two new stars blazed to life in the evening sky.
The Tower came back, "we have you on visual!" unable to contain their calm.
Janice held her thumb to the switch and touched the stick with the gentleness of a mother cleaning a kitten.
The canopy turned, too quickly at first, and more slowly. Janice gave a ferocious glance across the console before risking turning her head away.
The canopy spun at her fingertips and as she climbed the sun set again behind the shadow of her wing tip.
The sky began to darken and the lights of Santa Monica, Las angeles, Eugene, San Antonio, Austin, and Denver grew brighter and brighter. "Where's Mexico city," she chuckle rasped to herself.
"Rainbow Nugget, you've got the record, bring him in whenever you're green." She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the ground.
"I hear!" she barked, not yet ready. The sky turned blue and then black and in that midnight blanket the stars came to life in front of her.
All around they shined with a brilliance that pulled at her heart harder and harder as she held her thumb to the afterburn switch
"Rainbow Nugget, be advised you're running out of air up there."
"Walking Stick, I hear y-" the X- 224s thrashing rumble ceased.
The g forces crushing her body reversed direction and threw her forward hard enough to send her hand through her head up display atop her console, shattering it
"Rainbow we have you losing speed, copy?"
The stars began to spin outside of the canopy. City lights, then stars, then cities again. Her eyes raced, cueing the visor display to go to this and that menu, lines of information and diagrams and maps whipping by. They raced like one hundred horses loosed from their pens across her in helmet display
Steady green lights turned to flashing yellow and then sharp and solid red. "Rainbow, do you copy??"
as her eyes raced they picked out pieces of information. "Flame out," she shouted to herself as she rammed the throttle to zero and worked her hands across the dials.
"Come back?" the Tower shouted through her earpiece.
"Flameout! Walking Stick! Flameout!" She winked at her visor to close the radio link as her hands continued to work furiously.
The X - 224 no longer arrowed upward. It spun end over end until momentum could carry it no further and began its descent. With no more air to feed engines, the lionmane became a fuel filled 3000 pound free falling bomb
"air brakes," she told herself, "now!" her hands flew and the lionmanes frame rumbled with the back up hydraulic systems effort beneath her ejector seat
"im not giving up on you!" she shouted at her console, her eyes flying behind her visor as the stars spinning outside her canopy began to wink out and the sun began to rise again.
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pulled up her backup head up display inside her helmet and caught her heart in her mouth. The zeroes on the altimeter were disappearing much too fast.
She pumped the
fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out
into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
"Fire! You son of a bitch, fire!" The fuel light blinked from yellow to green. The main hydraulic light showed solid green.
She tore her respirator from her face. "Start!" she rested her left hand on her ejector lever and hammered the throttle.
Above the tower a roar tore through the late afternoon sky.
Miles up two contrails ran like rails to the east as one and then another sonic boom rattled windows across state lines.
Janice pulled back on the throttle once the lights held and began a slow and looping decent to the salt basin, her heart still pounding.
She winked her radio on. "This is Rainbow Nugget for Walking Stick"
"Walking Stick here."
"Bringing him in."
"We have you on the board, the field is clear Rainbow Nugget. You've got the altitude record too"
The twin turbines thrummed in Janice's ears as she sighed, "glad to hear it," and winked her radio off.
The debriefing was going to be harsh, but no one could ever take the record away from her.
As the tires on the X 224s landing gear hit the salt and sand and rolled the beast along the runway past the control tower, Janice began to whistle and think about sleep. She sang softly as she shut down the engines "how are you today?" and the sun set behind the Monmut mountains
Gnite. <3 div="" u="">Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
"Fire! You son of a bitch, fire!" The fuel light blinked from yellow to green. The main hydraulic light showed solid green.
She tore her respirator from her face. "Start!" she rested her left hand on her ejector lever and hammered the throttle.
Above the tower a roar tore through the late afternoon sky.
Miles up two contrails ran like rails to the east as one and then another sonic boom rattled windows across state lines.
Janice pulled back on the throttle once the lights held and began a slow and looping decent to the salt basin, her heart still pounding.
She winked her radio on. "This is Rainbow Nugget for Walking Stick"
"Walking Stick here."
"Bringing him in."
"We have you on the board, the field is clear Rainbow Nugget. You've got the altitude record too"
The twin turbines thrummed in Janice's ears as she sighed, "glad to hear it," and winked her radio off.
The debriefing was going to be harsh, but no one could ever take the record away from her.
As the tires on the X 224s landing gear hit the salt and sand and rolled the beast along the runway past the control tower, Janice began to whistle and think about sleep. She sang softly as she shut down the engines "how are you today?" and the sun set behind the Monmut mountains
///Cleveland Lounge - "Drowning (Scuba Mix)" all the best to you on your sleep swim
10/21/13
Giddy Up
I've been trying to chart my work books, but I don't want to see them. At all. Fantastic difficulty. I did the first class and the reminder came up to do the second class and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Part of it is horror. Part of it is blatant stupidity. Part of it is just not wanting to know how much further I am going to have to work to get back to zero.
I just want to put my fist through something. Anything! Not even through, but just break my hand. Null it. But I need my hands, both of them. And I need the ability to ambulate. I need my knees and my elbows and I have to protect them the same way people protect their investments. It breaks my heart sometimes knowing that I can't do what I need to do. It makes me cry a lot. I won't go to "it's not fair" because it's just a fact. I could probably cut a finger off. I think I would save it. Maybe eat it. Cook it somehow like a ham hock. Stew it or something. It's tantalizing and aggravating because I know where the knuckles join and have cut limbs apart before but I don't trust my left hand to operate the scissors on my right hand. Maybe just the pinky.
Gauging my pain threshold. I'm still not sure where it is exactly and I probably shouldn't be losing sleep about it, but I am. I think I get that from my father. How far are you willing to go before you jump to get what you need. Would I have to cauterize it myself? Probably. I don't know why I need to do these things, but I do and its getting more powerful and harder to swallow it down between suggestions. I don't know what that means! It scares me. It's getting harder to pretend to be normal. Normative? Baseline. Nullification. Talked to Martin about that for a while. It was a good conversation.
Relying more and more on emulation and I'm afraid I will be found out. Not about being gay or anything that trivial, but being found out about being a fucking psychopath. I want blood all the time, I don't care how it comes. I need help. I need assistance and I keep saying I can run this car until the wheels fall off, but I've been rolling on brake discs forever. So many years.
It would be easier if I was not aware of the degeneration, but I think a piece of the awareness has lent itself to a belief that I'm making it up and even as I'm speaking I know it sounds contrived. It isn't. It's motor and I know less and less how to change the fucking oil. I don't know what to do about it. I know where to go, but you better believe I'm not going there. Like I need more debt, don't make me laugh. I'll spit ice tea everywhere. I'm not getting interned again! No! I will never put down the ax! If you want it out of my hands you better be fucking prepared to take it from me.
I'm not a gun, but I will put one between your eyes and kiss you while I do it if you think it was going to be that easy. Don't touch me. Do not fucking touch me. Ever. I will break your fingers one by one while I sit on your chest so you don't move too much. Escalation. Take the escalator back down.
I know what's wrong with me, but I need a checkup and I don't know where to get one without the internment trap. I'm not doing that again. We're not doing that again. Just handle it. Just grab your ears and pull up your socks and eat it. Life hasn't been all that bad to me. I'm just tired of having to emulate to squeak by. Doing it by the skin of my teeth and I'm pretty sure some people have started to see through it so I have to work harder at it because the people that I do love I love dearly and want to keep them and want them to keep me to and the last thing that should happen is giving them a reason.
It's tough. Everything worth having is hard. Is a myth. Perpetuated by people who think "difficult" is possession in the material sense or the kid rearing sense. Everything worth having is hard in the interpersonal intrapersonal sense. Having ground you do not need to give inside your skull is worth having. Maintaining relationships with the people you care about and trust is worth having. Put in work, no doubt, but put in secondary work too.
///Amon Tobin - "Back from Space" I wish I could fly, but not just to the atmosphere, to the stars. I want to explore the Oort cloud and be the first man to land on an asteroid and be out there in the zero cold and see the sun without atmospheric interference. I want to see Jupiter up close at all costs and I want to die out there. But I'm stuck here. And have to keep coming back to this fucking planet every time I wake up. Bullshit.
I just want to put my fist through something. Anything! Not even through, but just break my hand. Null it. But I need my hands, both of them. And I need the ability to ambulate. I need my knees and my elbows and I have to protect them the same way people protect their investments. It breaks my heart sometimes knowing that I can't do what I need to do. It makes me cry a lot. I won't go to "it's not fair" because it's just a fact. I could probably cut a finger off. I think I would save it. Maybe eat it. Cook it somehow like a ham hock. Stew it or something. It's tantalizing and aggravating because I know where the knuckles join and have cut limbs apart before but I don't trust my left hand to operate the scissors on my right hand. Maybe just the pinky.
Gauging my pain threshold. I'm still not sure where it is exactly and I probably shouldn't be losing sleep about it, but I am. I think I get that from my father. How far are you willing to go before you jump to get what you need. Would I have to cauterize it myself? Probably. I don't know why I need to do these things, but I do and its getting more powerful and harder to swallow it down between suggestions. I don't know what that means! It scares me. It's getting harder to pretend to be normal. Normative? Baseline. Nullification. Talked to Martin about that for a while. It was a good conversation.
Relying more and more on emulation and I'm afraid I will be found out. Not about being gay or anything that trivial, but being found out about being a fucking psychopath. I want blood all the time, I don't care how it comes. I need help. I need assistance and I keep saying I can run this car until the wheels fall off, but I've been rolling on brake discs forever. So many years.
It would be easier if I was not aware of the degeneration, but I think a piece of the awareness has lent itself to a belief that I'm making it up and even as I'm speaking I know it sounds contrived. It isn't. It's motor and I know less and less how to change the fucking oil. I don't know what to do about it. I know where to go, but you better believe I'm not going there. Like I need more debt, don't make me laugh. I'll spit ice tea everywhere. I'm not getting interned again! No! I will never put down the ax! If you want it out of my hands you better be fucking prepared to take it from me.
I'm not a gun, but I will put one between your eyes and kiss you while I do it if you think it was going to be that easy. Don't touch me. Do not fucking touch me. Ever. I will break your fingers one by one while I sit on your chest so you don't move too much. Escalation. Take the escalator back down.
I know what's wrong with me, but I need a checkup and I don't know where to get one without the internment trap. I'm not doing that again. We're not doing that again. Just handle it. Just grab your ears and pull up your socks and eat it. Life hasn't been all that bad to me. I'm just tired of having to emulate to squeak by. Doing it by the skin of my teeth and I'm pretty sure some people have started to see through it so I have to work harder at it because the people that I do love I love dearly and want to keep them and want them to keep me to and the last thing that should happen is giving them a reason.
It's tough. Everything worth having is hard. Is a myth. Perpetuated by people who think "difficult" is possession in the material sense or the kid rearing sense. Everything worth having is hard in the interpersonal intrapersonal sense. Having ground you do not need to give inside your skull is worth having. Maintaining relationships with the people you care about and trust is worth having. Put in work, no doubt, but put in secondary work too.
///Amon Tobin - "Back from Space" I wish I could fly, but not just to the atmosphere, to the stars. I want to explore the Oort cloud and be the first man to land on an asteroid and be out there in the zero cold and see the sun without atmospheric interference. I want to see Jupiter up close at all costs and I want to die out there. But I'm stuck here. And have to keep coming back to this fucking planet every time I wake up. Bullshit.
11/24/05
remember, kids... 11/24/05
Subject : remember kids... always turn off the lights
Posted Date: : Nov 24, 2005 8:48 PM
yesterday i came within a hairs breadth of killing myself by christmas lights.
i made a very nice ball of christmas lights and hung them for romantic effect over the center of my room. the set up was a little ghetto. I used a wire from my collapsable hamper to make a nicely sprung spherical shape then wrapped the lights around the wire and then wrapped the wire in a corse clothe sheet often used to cover hospital beds, then draped the whole ball of nonsense from the actual light bulbs in the fixture at the center of my cieling.
genius, no? no.
it wasnt bright enough in the room so i turned on the actual light fixture that came with the place. I left and came back to my building 20 minutes later and as soon as I got out of the staircase on my floor it smelled something like someone left a space heater on all day. hot metal. I walk around the corner and come into my room and see that the smell is in here too.
A few hours later im poking around my room because im bored and i see that a piece of the christmas lights leading from the central ball is out. I look closer and see that the entire ring where the ball is tied up to the light fixture is kind of brown.
I untied the ball from the light fixture and on the inside it is charred black. All of the wires have melted and are crossing eachother and shorting eachother out. The paint was beginning to peel and cinder. Had I just gone to bed My cieling probably would have caught fire while I was sleeping... or if i'd stayed out any longer my building couldve burned down.
now i havent had any epiphanies because of this and i will continue to stay out late and do irrational fun things... ill just make sure i turn off the lights before i go. remember kids... before you do anything, be it bang a woman as large as your bed, masterbate to thoughts of your neighbor while at your window, have a naked dance off with your invisible friend, or leave your room because you just ripped ass and it smells like someone died... always always always turn off the lights first!
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