Another Way

Another way to think about it is in terms of shows.

How many shows are you willing to play?  If you play 24 shows in a year, you've done well.  If you play 36 shows in one year, it was worth it.  If you play 48 shows in one year it was a blast.  If you play 50 plus shows in a single year, you've gone above and beyond the call of duty.

If you play 100 and more shows of what makes up the bones of you, you've gone beyond what anybody asked you to do.  Everything else is just exploration and





///

Thought Experiments

They are wonderful.  The down side is they can lock you up with inaction.  They can make you distant and untouchable.  They can make you a perpetual daydreamer.  They are not real.  They can bring you to a place, after running over every possible iteration of futures and their trees and branches, nothing will be able to surprise you.  Not now, not ever.  Everything becomes old faster than you can possibly age without introducing performance enhancing drugs to your body's ability to restore itself.  Nothing will ever surprise you if you go down the road.  Why choose?  Take every fork in mind.   Every fork.  And the forks beyond them and beyond them too.  Die 200 deaths, live 200 lives.  Imagine them all!

The up shot is, 24 iterations out, you may land upon a world that is in perfect tune and natural balance so incredible to be immediately discredited.  Upon review, it revolves, it sits still, it moves only when touched, and it's gravity is its own and its poles its own.  You explore and find an object or idea that defies everything you knew and live in and is contained within itself in eternum.  You stumble upon a number that is a number and not at once.  A quantity unquantifiable.  A thing, brought 24 levels backward in to your three dimensional time locked existence, that will vanish the moment you return home.  An idea that only exists in that space.

So hunt.  Hunt!  Thought experiments are wonderful.  Yes, many things will not surprise you.  Many things in your "now" will lose their luster and zest, but should you come upon that perfectly imbalanced mirror sphere that only spins counterclockwise that turns the universe if you attempt to put your fingertips or tongue on it to make it move clockwise because gravity and space time need not apply at the door you have to exit before entering, they are worth it.  Every second.  Every minute.  Every hour in dreams.




///The Cure - "Burn"

That Instant

You get excited that the gadget you ordered from China is absolutely zipping around the globe and is in Connecticut already until you remember the abbreviation for Connecticut is CT, not CN, and also it makes no sense to fly around two continents and an ocean when the Pacific is right there and, yep, it is still making its way through China.

Helmet, Armor, Time, Money, Love.

The kind of love that lasts forever.
The kind of love that outlasts explanation.

Yep, that kind.

The inexplicable kind.  The kind that cannot be explained by an affinity for a God or the affinity for a person.  The everlasting, gut punching kind.

The kind that makes you change your ways even though changing your ways has nothing to do with how you express it, kind of love.  The sort that makes you wish you could be a different person.  The kind of love that makes your heart break when there are no more words to say what it is you had to say when you had to say it.  Hell, the mouth only has so much capability inside of it.

That kind of love.

The kind that changes how and what you do despite the fact that change now has no affect on your outcomes, and you do it anyway.

That kind of love.

The kind that tells you explicitly: SEX IS NOT GOING TO HELP OR HELP FIX THIS. and you do it anyway, because you enjoyed snuffling her private parts and she enjoyed yours, snuffling, just that much.  It turns into a private secret box,  permanent.  Oh, please!  Open it up to more!  To more!  Nope.  That's all you will get to know.  Forever.

Mind, body, and soul.  You are cut off.  Wander the waste lands.  Find an amalgam.   Find a new war to fight.   A new fart to sniff.  The embassy is closed.

Write songs about love and body parts and knowledge and loss and wars won.  Write them to whomever.  You'll find your way.  Eventually.  Eventually, having sex on our grave, I will think about you.  And

how I came
to be here.

Change, Other Peoples Clothes, Top Down Sun Up, and Attack

I think that's how I got good at defense.  Attacking is an entirely different bag.  Attack, attack, attack!  Get on it!  I don't do call and response all that well.  I do response.  A lot of my growing up and formative whatevers was response, not call.  I was raised not to call and it's been a hedge maze trying to get out of it.  When I do call it's usually over top of what I was calling for and it's blunderbussy.  Killing a fly with a hammer instead of a swatter and then I have to fix the hole in the wall left behind.  It's been fun learning though, learning how to call the right way when calls need to be made and learning that response shouldn't be the only way to integrate myself into lives, because they have lives too and waiting until you're screaming and bleeding out of the eyes is no way to go about inserting yourself into conversation.  I still need distance in a bad way, but a good way.  It keeps them safe and it keeps me safe from misunderstandings and not so shuffle crowds and that's a good thing.  The fewer the things flowing in the better I can handle, and then it's not a frag of choice.  I hate getting hooked on forks.  STOP GIVING ME CHOICES WITHOUT CHANCES TO BREAK UP BAD ONES!  That's my only qualm with the United States of Aye Merica.  The land of one time opportunity for too many of us.  I'd swing less opportunity for more chances any day.

If I could go back in time I wouldn't punch myself in the face or shake myself by the shoulders.  I'd kiss me.  Hard and furious and little me would be like "what the fuck, man!" and then I'd tell him "it gets rougher, harder, longer, and more ridiculous.  You're going to fire a staple through your hand by accident and it's going to suck, but you're going to try to get out of work early and it's going to be one of the worst days post parents that you'll hate.  It'll heal up alright and nearly seamless and your boss will be proud of you for getting things done, but you're gonna wish you took more time on the project.  Just sayin'.  You're gonna hate it for about two minutes, but you're gonna kiss the blood and move on."  Poof!  Time traveling me peaces out and little me scratches his eyebrow and mumbles "no way."

I'm wearing other people clothes from goodwill.  They're great!  Half the stuff I have on makes me wonder what could provoke someone to give them up.  I haven't bought myself a jacket in a long time.  It's been years and I hadn't really thought about it until now.  It was always my mother, well, not always.  Sometimes my dad would pass me one.  I still miss my Bell Atlantic jacket sometimes.  That thing was the tits.  Furry pockets, double layered body and a knit collar.  Loved it.  Don't love how I got it (from my father, I hate saying that, but it's true.  I hate thinking about "I came from that"s cuz it makes me sick and it probably shouldn't, still heated, still gotdamn heated, it's not gonna die, but I actually want it to.  If he wants to apologize, my terms are teeth.  Not all of them.  But give me one of your kanines and apology accepted.  Until then, and only because you outright refused me.... twice, til death), but that jacket was everything you could want in a jacket.  Nice and tough outer with ... aw, it's not leather... trying to think of the word... the outer was made of the stuff good work pants are made of.  The cuffs were knit too, just like the collar.  And you can't beat the Bell Atlantic logo on the chest.  So good!

I'm wearing other peoples clothes and it feels nice.  It feels right.  It feels good to have new things that I bought on my own with my own tastes instead of for all kinds of purpose.  Purposeless clothing rocks.  Why do you have that jacket?  No reasons beyond my own.  It tickles me to say that.  Everything has been so purpose driven toward survival and managing damage and matching in, but this time, this jacket isn't about matching in or history or family or learning how to run with the silverfish, it's just about wearing what I want to wear.  The thing about goodwill though, the darker side, is wondering about if some of my stuff is going to end up at one when for one reason or another, cut short, or left standing still, my things get out of time.  Is someone going to be eyeing my baseball jersey who also loves the number 78?  I'm not mad about it, but I wish I could meet them so we could talk about our affinity for 78 and how it came about.

Top downing it.  I tried to go ground up and I couldn't provoke myself to make the change to oemfail, so I'm taking it from the roof down and it hurts.  Thematics don't work backwards no matter how hard you try to grow them that way.  I do enjoy the brighter motif.  I really do.  We're gonna grow the font into a better color and adjust the images, but sometimes you just have to go into a room and sit down in it to begin to understand where it's coming from.  The same thing goes for people.  You'll never get a good read from afar.  Top downing it because I've been boxed out and there is no other option.  And I'm okay with that.

I don't like change.  Change is stupidly difficult.  Sometimes routine will betray you and catch you not paying attention and I think I like that worse.  I can be manipulated and gulled and switch backed fairly easily, but I like to think of it as a trade off.  A trade off I am willing to take.  Unwillingly at times.  Taking it though.  Brighter and brighter.  Years behind and still in meta jail with my fingers through the fence, but making keys.


///Mackelmore - "White Walls"  .... lean back... the more I listen to his album the more I enjoy it

amsterdam is NOT in canada 01/02/06

Subject : Amsterdam is NOT in canda
Posted Date: : Jan 2, 2006 7:06 PM

News to me. Last I heard there was an Amsterdam in canada. There was a red light district with canals and Amsterdam coffee shops and Amsterdam fun and excitement right across our friendly canadian border. Well guess what! LIES ... ALL LIES... there is no amsterdam in canada my friend... not a one... nary a scrap of netherland goodness to be found across that friendly canadian border.

and whats more? there are places that prey upon this misguided knowledge of teary eyed, wet nosed hopeful americans like you and me and call themselves shops directly from Amsterdam! "importers" of that genuine amsterdamanian flavor. So the next time someone says theyre going to amsterdam dont ask them to smuggle back booze and pot in their car because its not going to work... what with the fucking atlantic ocean to cross and all...