It's quite simple. The world is not going to end because Donald Trump was elected. The offices will struggle to accomplish anything because the policies don't work, don't exist, or both. They'll distract the American public for four years with scary this and that. Throw in a war on something at home and more involvement in a war somewhere else. Start the next election cycle highlighting how everything that went wrong was because everyone else screwed it up and the country wasn't ready for real change yet and it would take at least four years to undo nonexistent office corruption and then you have Donald Trump re-elected and nothing gets done again on a platform of "every magical thing that can't be done or makes no sense, but makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, will get done this time". Some people get a lot richer. Most people don't. Tons of imaginary money changes bank accounts, a bunch of people get sick, some businesses collapse, the environment takes a hit, international relations trip over themselves, segregation gets worse, and then a Democrat is elected again when a few more people jump over to the other side of the aisle because they don't want to be associated with the consequences any more and they're tired of trying to explain how their ideas worked, but didn't, but obviously absolutely did, but actually data can be manipulated to say anything of course, so... you know... allow my colleague to explain.
No need to leave the country. Just yawn and go back to sleep and wake up 8 years from now. Things will be worse. Trying to change them will be impossible until the people holding the levers have to step away and everyone has a fresh, 8 years long, understanding of what is and is not to be feared and challenged instead of what they've been distracted or tricked or worn down into believing. Yep, 8 years sounds about right for the messaging and programming to finally fade. Just try to live the best life you can in the meantime and do what you can to keep your life and loved ones from collapsing under the weight of lunacy and if we're all lucky 4 years will be all it takes for folks to snap out of the flash & magic show.
Then with that Democrat, everyone on the other side will start clamoring "what about us" even though their lives under so and so Republican, locally or nationally, didn't get much better because it literally can't get much better without extracting freedoms from other people (liberties and justices have to come from somewhere eventually), but they'll see other lives improving because there is literally that much space for improvement without taking away anything from anyone else. "Injustice, inequality, we deserve better too" the other side will say and the flash and magic show parade will come crawling over the horizon with their flags and music and swaying tents like a fantastical parade from outer space and it'll start over again and the only thing you can do is hope enough was done before it arrives that much of the work will still be standing when it finally dissipates.
///Paranoia Agent - (Ending Credits) oh, calliope
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 jerk stores. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jerk stores. Show all posts
1/1/15
Are You 8 Years Old?
Sometimes things happen in life and you continue to trip over them mentally. The constant tripping makes us more and more upset and before we know it we're pacing and running our fingers over our scalps and shaking our heads and then shaking our arms and hands at empty air.
What follows is one of those things. Do you hear yourself when you say to me it's my fault for saying "yes, help yourself" when you ask me if you can have a portion of something I have. Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? Are you fucking eight years old? You do understand taking almost all of the thing you asked if you could have a portion of is the same thing as stealing, correct? Do you believe that I am two years old? Do you snicker to yourself and say something in your inner monologue like "teehee, I'm going to take way more than I should, but he won't notice because I'll leave a little bit and even if he does notice he can't say anything because I didn't take everything, teehee."
Are you eight years old? You're older than I am. Do I actually have to walk you by the hand and take out exactly how much you are allowed to have and set it aside and then hide the rest of what I have just to be sure that if I leave the room more won't disappear into your pockets? I don't really consider having some consideration to be an adult attribute. It's a communal attribute that manifests at all ages. A hallmark of civilized community. A certain level of trust afforded to someone you consider to be a member of your community, much less a friend as well. Friendship should, if anything, heighten that attribute within yourself.
What the hell is wrong with you. Do you hear yourself? You have the nerve to say "you obviously don't want me in your home" after I tell you I can't have you over because you basically steal from me when what is clear is that you obviously don't consider being in my home or my friend to be a part of your community. Are you kidding me? Be playful, be imaginative, be a little immature and fresh from time to time, but do not fucking steal from me and expect me to nod along and say "aw shucks, you're right. I should've known if I was at all considerate toward you I would end up broke and hungry. I'll be on my toes next time, a-hyuck."
Be a better person. Have some consideration. Life's not free and friends don't fall from the sky everyday. You'll find yourself without community fairly swiftly. Don't be that shifty and somehow all too casual eight year old in the room always looking to see how far and for how much you can take people. Chances are very good you are known and it's only a matter of time.
What follows is one of those things. Do you hear yourself when you say to me it's my fault for saying "yes, help yourself" when you ask me if you can have a portion of something I have. Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? Are you fucking eight years old? You do understand taking almost all of the thing you asked if you could have a portion of is the same thing as stealing, correct? Do you believe that I am two years old? Do you snicker to yourself and say something in your inner monologue like "teehee, I'm going to take way more than I should, but he won't notice because I'll leave a little bit and even if he does notice he can't say anything because I didn't take everything, teehee."
Are you eight years old? You're older than I am. Do I actually have to walk you by the hand and take out exactly how much you are allowed to have and set it aside and then hide the rest of what I have just to be sure that if I leave the room more won't disappear into your pockets? I don't really consider having some consideration to be an adult attribute. It's a communal attribute that manifests at all ages. A hallmark of civilized community. A certain level of trust afforded to someone you consider to be a member of your community, much less a friend as well. Friendship should, if anything, heighten that attribute within yourself.
What the hell is wrong with you. Do you hear yourself? You have the nerve to say "you obviously don't want me in your home" after I tell you I can't have you over because you basically steal from me when what is clear is that you obviously don't consider being in my home or my friend to be a part of your community. Are you kidding me? Be playful, be imaginative, be a little immature and fresh from time to time, but do not fucking steal from me and expect me to nod along and say "aw shucks, you're right. I should've known if I was at all considerate toward you I would end up broke and hungry. I'll be on my toes next time, a-hyuck."
Be a better person. Have some consideration. Life's not free and friends don't fall from the sky everyday. You'll find yourself without community fairly swiftly. Don't be that shifty and somehow all too casual eight year old in the room always looking to see how far and for how much you can take people. Chances are very good you are known and it's only a matter of time.
11/25/13
Atari
Going back in time to enjoy the things I love. It has been strange hanging out with people I've only just met and their siblings. The day before was silly violent and antagonized by the middle child in her family. Her being the middle child and antagonizing everyone around her. She was the back end of an eight banger. It was difficult to identify and made more hilarious by our friend asking if he could bang her older sister. I'm pretty sure it was not up to me or her sister's fiance. Pretty sure whether or not she wanted to get mucky was and still is completely up to her. You can come along for the ride if you want to.
"I've sucked enough dicks in my life." ~ Tammy
We had this ongoing bet about how long it would take before she ran to history no one else knew, and I chimed in,but it was half hearted. I just wanted to belong in the conversation. Not a pissing contest of abuse as much as a revisiting of the things that inform and continue to inform our existence. It's kind of like driving a car. Think about it this way: put in 40 degrees of left input to your road facing wheels and they will turn fifteen degrees. Learning compensation. Learning how much you actually do burn when you proclaim you've torched it to soil.
It really is that simple though and that laughable and that much more enjoyable than trying to slug away one for one. That much more enjoyable than trying to get one unit of output for each understood unit of input. Existence does not work that way. There are boosters constantly. Whether you like it or not, everything that you do is boosted and amplified upon reception. It's the combat feedback loop. I hit you. How hard did I hit you? Seven? Six? How hard will you hit me back? At least a six. What will I feel a six is? Put a number on it. At least a five, but you don't know so tag me at least at a six, but that six comes in at an eight because I already ate a six and you know that because you've been hurt before and know what a six feels like and know I probably played it soft and a jump cut is in order.
Into the flame, into the fire. I have a lot of love pent up and no way to spend it. Why you no want to cuddle no more?
Fucking cowards.
Sometimes we have to back off because we know they will take it the wrong way and run with it. Does it hurt to be alone? Sure. Does it hurt enough to make changes? No. One thing I've learned about myself is that distance is still necessary. What I view as an appropriate relationship is still not, by and large, viewed the same way and it's not heartbreaking the way it used to be. It used to break me apart in fantastic ways and now it's more of a "okay, we're here right now. Option A, B, and J." Cash out now, because two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps and we're at J anyway.
I'm getting back to the things I love and it's been difficult. It's been a battles by turn. I have been trying not to think about it, but the successful artists I know had a pretty solid backing before they had outside backing making their whiles worth something. I want to cut their faces off and wear them and drink the blood that trickles into my mouth while I talk behind their skin and I want to be able to talk to them about it, but "that's not okay." And still they call themselves artists and photographers in the meantime never having actually known what the mean times really are. I'm no teacher, but I am willing to crash course them.
Stop cock teasing me. Stop front loading me. I cannot handle that kind of nonsense. Take your vacations and enjoy your languages, but do not fucking... ....I'm going to war. There are rules. Aligning with my own. Measures not drastic.
Deterioration. Leaving memories at least as fast as they come. I drive toward new ones as constantly as I can because there really is nowhere else to be and I am okay with that. It's a riot. I feel silly sometimes bending over to pick up the shards of myself and sometimes the entire exercise feels machinated. What I really want to do is tattoo you and have you tattoo me whatever you want. Battling down the brain chiggies. The glitch farm.
I could look back in time, but it won't change the view. The hardest I ever cheated was kissing another woman and being truthful about it. What makes you okay? Violently successful people who don't understand how they were set up to succeed aggravate me. Everything they know are things I should have known when they did, but had to learn later because, like those post coin op machines with the news on their face, I had no coins to insert and no nudge on top of that to pay attention to them and am now taking notice and am now earning quarters to slot in and am now getting up to speed with and am not mad about it. A little sorry, but not mad.
Through the TV eye. A wrecka. I said "hey!" Being bummy with no standards is okay. I'm not going to hurt you if you promise not to hurt me. Dhali Lama and llama beans and trying to be profound in every little thing. It's silly. The outside world bleeds in and the inside world bleeds out and really i just want you to say you're sorry. Even that will be and is meaningless because I won't remember it until I'm steamed and wishing I was not so forgettable.
Power. Something cosmic. It takes a lot out of me to be here and I know it takes a lot out of you to be here with me. Diet on anxiety. I wish I could fill my stomach whenever I wanted to, but I've been grained to the scale of rice to need as little as possible and digest want as a hack hazard that is a crumple zone. I want to be a foodie. I really do. Up chucked bringing to do more with less.
Every time I get something new to me I expect it to break down immediately or somehow fail me because no one gives something valuable to them up for grabs. Except people like me who do not deal in currency. Your word is your word. Your bond is your bond. Everything starts and ends at that initial hand shake. No farther and no less. Things new to me are things old and decrepit to others. Not a revitalization as much as a re-purposing. There is love in that.
Time elapsed, time remaining.
There was this one time I set my cat's whiskers to flame, not understanding that he was made of fur. The whiskers caught and burned down to his coat and we were both surprised at how fast it was able to go. Needless to say, or perhaps, for everyone's sake, we never got that ticky tacky mad again, but if I need to I know some good out of the way spots to bury you if you want to roll those dice. I'm a bad liar and a good forgetter. Push upstairs ;")
I will play asteroids with you for days.
///Daedelus - "My Beau" at night, I think of you and do not call because our wars are different and mounting a head after a battle means something wildly different to me than it does to you, no slight
"I've sucked enough dicks in my life." ~ Tammy
We had this ongoing bet about how long it would take before she ran to history no one else knew, and I chimed in,but it was half hearted. I just wanted to belong in the conversation. Not a pissing contest of abuse as much as a revisiting of the things that inform and continue to inform our existence. It's kind of like driving a car. Think about it this way: put in 40 degrees of left input to your road facing wheels and they will turn fifteen degrees. Learning compensation. Learning how much you actually do burn when you proclaim you've torched it to soil.
It really is that simple though and that laughable and that much more enjoyable than trying to slug away one for one. That much more enjoyable than trying to get one unit of output for each understood unit of input. Existence does not work that way. There are boosters constantly. Whether you like it or not, everything that you do is boosted and amplified upon reception. It's the combat feedback loop. I hit you. How hard did I hit you? Seven? Six? How hard will you hit me back? At least a six. What will I feel a six is? Put a number on it. At least a five, but you don't know so tag me at least at a six, but that six comes in at an eight because I already ate a six and you know that because you've been hurt before and know what a six feels like and know I probably played it soft and a jump cut is in order.
Into the flame, into the fire. I have a lot of love pent up and no way to spend it. Why you no want to cuddle no more?
Fucking cowards.
Sometimes we have to back off because we know they will take it the wrong way and run with it. Does it hurt to be alone? Sure. Does it hurt enough to make changes? No. One thing I've learned about myself is that distance is still necessary. What I view as an appropriate relationship is still not, by and large, viewed the same way and it's not heartbreaking the way it used to be. It used to break me apart in fantastic ways and now it's more of a "okay, we're here right now. Option A, B, and J." Cash out now, because two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps and we're at J anyway.
I'm getting back to the things I love and it's been difficult. It's been a battles by turn. I have been trying not to think about it, but the successful artists I know had a pretty solid backing before they had outside backing making their whiles worth something. I want to cut their faces off and wear them and drink the blood that trickles into my mouth while I talk behind their skin and I want to be able to talk to them about it, but "that's not okay." And still they call themselves artists and photographers in the meantime never having actually known what the mean times really are. I'm no teacher, but I am willing to crash course them.
Stop cock teasing me. Stop front loading me. I cannot handle that kind of nonsense. Take your vacations and enjoy your languages, but do not fucking... ....I'm going to war. There are rules. Aligning with my own. Measures not drastic.
Deterioration. Leaving memories at least as fast as they come. I drive toward new ones as constantly as I can because there really is nowhere else to be and I am okay with that. It's a riot. I feel silly sometimes bending over to pick up the shards of myself and sometimes the entire exercise feels machinated. What I really want to do is tattoo you and have you tattoo me whatever you want. Battling down the brain chiggies. The glitch farm.
I could look back in time, but it won't change the view. The hardest I ever cheated was kissing another woman and being truthful about it. What makes you okay? Violently successful people who don't understand how they were set up to succeed aggravate me. Everything they know are things I should have known when they did, but had to learn later because, like those post coin op machines with the news on their face, I had no coins to insert and no nudge on top of that to pay attention to them and am now taking notice and am now earning quarters to slot in and am now getting up to speed with and am not mad about it. A little sorry, but not mad.
Through the TV eye. A wrecka. I said "hey!" Being bummy with no standards is okay. I'm not going to hurt you if you promise not to hurt me. Dhali Lama and llama beans and trying to be profound in every little thing. It's silly. The outside world bleeds in and the inside world bleeds out and really i just want you to say you're sorry. Even that will be and is meaningless because I won't remember it until I'm steamed and wishing I was not so forgettable.
Power. Something cosmic. It takes a lot out of me to be here and I know it takes a lot out of you to be here with me. Diet on anxiety. I wish I could fill my stomach whenever I wanted to, but I've been grained to the scale of rice to need as little as possible and digest want as a hack hazard that is a crumple zone. I want to be a foodie. I really do. Up chucked bringing to do more with less.
Every time I get something new to me I expect it to break down immediately or somehow fail me because no one gives something valuable to them up for grabs. Except people like me who do not deal in currency. Your word is your word. Your bond is your bond. Everything starts and ends at that initial hand shake. No farther and no less. Things new to me are things old and decrepit to others. Not a revitalization as much as a re-purposing. There is love in that.
Time elapsed, time remaining.
There was this one time I set my cat's whiskers to flame, not understanding that he was made of fur. The whiskers caught and burned down to his coat and we were both surprised at how fast it was able to go. Needless to say, or perhaps, for everyone's sake, we never got that ticky tacky mad again, but if I need to I know some good out of the way spots to bury you if you want to roll those dice. I'm a bad liar and a good forgetter. Push upstairs ;")
I will play asteroids with you for days.
///Daedelus - "My Beau" at night, I think of you and do not call because our wars are different and mounting a head after a battle means something wildly different to me than it does to you, no slight
11/6/11
Cycling, Greyhounds, Inherited Vision and Home
Walking home from the Greyhound station downtown I was sincerely struck by the beauty of the river and my new home town. I haven't really felt homesick for a place as much as I feel homesick for Pittsburgh whenever I'm gone for a long time. It's not like I miss the people. I can count the number of people that I see and know on one hand that's gone through a meat grinder and lost two digits. I get homesick for the atmosphere. The lack of pomp and circumstance. Of course there's the college town part of Pittsburgh, but the part plays a lot bigger than it is. I don't miss that scene or the people that frequent it religiously all that much.
Sure it was great to play drinking games and have laughs and dress up on halloween and all that shit. Sure it was great to get anxious on Sunday when you know papers are due and oh so many tests next week and I haven't studied at all but you know you'll do well enough to get a decent grade, but you need something to worry about so you don't feel like a waste of life and loan money, or trust fund money, or whatever the fuck money has gotten you in there. I do miss the drinking games and the general camaraderie largely absent in life after age twenty two when people decide what they really want to do and the doing of that thing does not include meeting you every weekend to exchange war stories and play fighting and choruses of the songs you have in common and hitting on the birds. Everyone grows up eventually and it makes me sad, because my investment schedule definitely does not include the things people my age are supposed to value which puts me at direct odds with what those people want to do. Not by choice. Everyone inherits vision to some degree and I was fortunate or unfortunate enough to inherit a vision of the future that is not worlds apart, but different enough to make common ground a scratch and tumble affair at best. I don't know where to find the people that share my vision, because I spent all of my time with people who didn't share that vision, but shared temporary past times that I thought would last forever.
People aside I get homesick for the fabric of where it is that I am. The smell of it. The starry sky that just won't quit. The bridges and hills and the chopped sidewalks. The bad architecture and the good and the fact that the people there make it work and shut the fuck up about it. The low rent, maybe low brow, of it all. The fact that I don't have to make 20,000 dollars to live a life with amenities and enough security to know that I won't be ass out on the street living out of bus station rest rooms if I don't pull in 32,000 dollars a year, much less 18,000. I miss that I can go do just about anything I want a couple times a month if it's expensive and most everything else I can do at will when I'm there and working.
As I'm walking home and crossing the last bridge across the river to my town I can see the stars sitting in the water like giants blue white lilly pads looking for frogs and it's the calmest I've seen it in a while and, yeah, it made me misty. No neon lights, no car clogged Saturday night streets. Just hills rising on either side dotted with orange street lights and a few windows and an empty bridge. The moon on my shoulder, the river at my feet. It was beautiful. It is beautiful. I could walk out to that bridge every day and it would never get old. The only thing I wanted more was a joint, a cooler with a couple 40s, and a fishing rod to pass the time til sunrise. I love Pittsburgh. She makes me wicked homesick.
The only downside was the Greyhound ride from Philadelphia. I took the fools gold. I grabbed the open seat with a few open seats around it and sure enough a family sat around me. A couple of fat mothers and their snotty kid and baby and dazed and confused husband. Not a problem. I had headphones. So I thought. Immune to crying stinky children being changed in the aisle. The real problem was the extremely portly mother. Nothing against big girls, but if you can't sleep on a red eye without falling over on the person next to you and wedging your purse into my hip and lolling your arms against my ribs, I will have a problem with you.
The worst part wasn't that she baby talked to the baby for two hours. My problem wasn't that the baby kept smacking my arms and kicking my thighs while I tried to make myself as small as possible. My problem wasn't even that she refused to acknoledge that allowing her baby to run rough shod over a complete stranger was probably a bad idea, as I had to continuously repeat aloud "do not strangle them" to keep myself in my seat and facing away. Verbal reminders keep me in line. My problem was that she kept leaning herself on me with enough perfume to hide a skunk in her vagina and have the world none the wiser.
Honestly, I would rather people smelled like people. People stink. It's part of being human. Everybody has their odor. I can deal with it. Hell, I wrestled in highschool. Ever been in a practically air tight, pad walled, wrestling room for three sweaty, teen funked, hours with unwashed knee pads, shoes, singlets and sweats everywhere? Hell, ever been locked in a 90 degree house with elephantine parents spending entire days sweating into a couch with the windows locked tight and you on the top floor where all the heat and stench gathers regardless of what you do? People stink. I would rather smell your feet after a twenty mile run than stomach whatever essence of flower musk from some far off land synthesized in a lab and sprayed on rabbits. It was hard enough to breath. I had to get out on the rest stop and smoke just to get the odor out of my nostrils for ten minutes before diving back into the air freshened nightmare.
Eventually, between the run amok children, the lolling woman leaning me so hard into the wall I thought I would pop through the emergency window like a turd through a clenched bum hours away from a stall, and the perfume I took the passive aggressive route. I read a book. I was the only one on the bus reading. Got the book out and hit that light switch and within an hour the seat next to me was vacant. Had to pat myself on the back for that act of cunning. And then I put the arm rest down for good measure. I can sleep sitting stock still. Doesn't bother me. Luckily enough it bothered them enough to get every last one of them to piss off.
But anyway, wanted to mention cycling. I almost high sided the other day. A low side fall is alright. You take the shortest path from your seat to the ground. Not terrible usually. High siding is a different story. High siding is flipping over the top of your cycle. Not laying it down and going down with it, but hitting something or wrenching it in such a way that you come over the top and land. Hard.
I was coming down a nice winder. Nice tight sweeps in heavy traffic. It's usually not a problem, but I was coming to a tight sidewinder that I flirted with about a dozen times. I pushed it hard and it took it softer on rainy days, but I felt comfortable enough to give the old all or nothing pass. The pace setter. The pass that would define how I judged my future success or failure navigating it in coming months.
Of course there is a fucking minivan charging up my ass. I don't know what it is about drivers. It's like they feel they aren't driving as well as they can unless they can chase down a bicycle as though the bicycle is somehow superior in grip when in fact it is superior in dense traffic patterns and perhaps marginally more nimble, but on open roads all the advantages go to having more contact patches. And an engine. So I take the turn tight. Too tight. I have too much speed and my apex misses the ideal by several feet and I come wide toward the road's shoulder and I can see the early morning gravel from rain wash the night before not yet cleared by a day of traffic and I am coming straight for it with a big white van charging in behind me expecting me to hold the line.
The gravel and sand are two wheels mortal enemy next to ice which usually equals instant low sides, but I see it coming so I'm sliding and correcting and sliding and correcting trying to slow down enough without taking too much of my tires capacity to steer and grip by over braking and as I basically fish tail the curb is coming up and I feel that sick few seconds when you know someone is about to blind side check you straight into the hockey arena boards. As I'm trail braking and correcting I can see my wheels jamming the curb and me flipping into the fence in what would have been the worst accident I've had to date, but I pull it together and recover about six inches out and get up off my saddle and chug with everything I'm worth to keep the van from pasting me.
It sucked. I damn near shat myself with the effort and nerve racking tension. Why do I mention it? In short, certain turns don't care what you're driving or riding. I'm pretty sure part of the reason the van didn't cream me was because she had to slow down to take the bend too and I didn't think about that. The sharpness of it. Had I been riding or driving anything I'm pretty sure the fastest that hairpin could have been taken was probably ten or fifteen miles an hour without aero package grade downforce keeping you glued. And I need to keep that in mind when I'm riding too. I know I can't out maneuver most cars on open sweepers and pins, but I also need to remind myself not to push too hard, because when the turns get tight enough, they can't out maneuver me either. And I guess that's part of the human experience too. When things get tight enough the only thing that matters is how much downforce you can generate, not what drives you.
///Junkie XL - "War" on the road of life there are drivers and there are the driven
Sure it was great to play drinking games and have laughs and dress up on halloween and all that shit. Sure it was great to get anxious on Sunday when you know papers are due and oh so many tests next week and I haven't studied at all but you know you'll do well enough to get a decent grade, but you need something to worry about so you don't feel like a waste of life and loan money, or trust fund money, or whatever the fuck money has gotten you in there. I do miss the drinking games and the general camaraderie largely absent in life after age twenty two when people decide what they really want to do and the doing of that thing does not include meeting you every weekend to exchange war stories and play fighting and choruses of the songs you have in common and hitting on the birds. Everyone grows up eventually and it makes me sad, because my investment schedule definitely does not include the things people my age are supposed to value which puts me at direct odds with what those people want to do. Not by choice. Everyone inherits vision to some degree and I was fortunate or unfortunate enough to inherit a vision of the future that is not worlds apart, but different enough to make common ground a scratch and tumble affair at best. I don't know where to find the people that share my vision, because I spent all of my time with people who didn't share that vision, but shared temporary past times that I thought would last forever.
People aside I get homesick for the fabric of where it is that I am. The smell of it. The starry sky that just won't quit. The bridges and hills and the chopped sidewalks. The bad architecture and the good and the fact that the people there make it work and shut the fuck up about it. The low rent, maybe low brow, of it all. The fact that I don't have to make 20,000 dollars to live a life with amenities and enough security to know that I won't be ass out on the street living out of bus station rest rooms if I don't pull in 32,000 dollars a year, much less 18,000. I miss that I can go do just about anything I want a couple times a month if it's expensive and most everything else I can do at will when I'm there and working.
As I'm walking home and crossing the last bridge across the river to my town I can see the stars sitting in the water like giants blue white lilly pads looking for frogs and it's the calmest I've seen it in a while and, yeah, it made me misty. No neon lights, no car clogged Saturday night streets. Just hills rising on either side dotted with orange street lights and a few windows and an empty bridge. The moon on my shoulder, the river at my feet. It was beautiful. It is beautiful. I could walk out to that bridge every day and it would never get old. The only thing I wanted more was a joint, a cooler with a couple 40s, and a fishing rod to pass the time til sunrise. I love Pittsburgh. She makes me wicked homesick.
The only downside was the Greyhound ride from Philadelphia. I took the fools gold. I grabbed the open seat with a few open seats around it and sure enough a family sat around me. A couple of fat mothers and their snotty kid and baby and dazed and confused husband. Not a problem. I had headphones. So I thought. Immune to crying stinky children being changed in the aisle. The real problem was the extremely portly mother. Nothing against big girls, but if you can't sleep on a red eye without falling over on the person next to you and wedging your purse into my hip and lolling your arms against my ribs, I will have a problem with you.
The worst part wasn't that she baby talked to the baby for two hours. My problem wasn't that the baby kept smacking my arms and kicking my thighs while I tried to make myself as small as possible. My problem wasn't even that she refused to acknoledge that allowing her baby to run rough shod over a complete stranger was probably a bad idea, as I had to continuously repeat aloud "do not strangle them" to keep myself in my seat and facing away. Verbal reminders keep me in line. My problem was that she kept leaning herself on me with enough perfume to hide a skunk in her vagina and have the world none the wiser.
Honestly, I would rather people smelled like people. People stink. It's part of being human. Everybody has their odor. I can deal with it. Hell, I wrestled in highschool. Ever been in a practically air tight, pad walled, wrestling room for three sweaty, teen funked, hours with unwashed knee pads, shoes, singlets and sweats everywhere? Hell, ever been locked in a 90 degree house with elephantine parents spending entire days sweating into a couch with the windows locked tight and you on the top floor where all the heat and stench gathers regardless of what you do? People stink. I would rather smell your feet after a twenty mile run than stomach whatever essence of flower musk from some far off land synthesized in a lab and sprayed on rabbits. It was hard enough to breath. I had to get out on the rest stop and smoke just to get the odor out of my nostrils for ten minutes before diving back into the air freshened nightmare.
Eventually, between the run amok children, the lolling woman leaning me so hard into the wall I thought I would pop through the emergency window like a turd through a clenched bum hours away from a stall, and the perfume I took the passive aggressive route. I read a book. I was the only one on the bus reading. Got the book out and hit that light switch and within an hour the seat next to me was vacant. Had to pat myself on the back for that act of cunning. And then I put the arm rest down for good measure. I can sleep sitting stock still. Doesn't bother me. Luckily enough it bothered them enough to get every last one of them to piss off.
But anyway, wanted to mention cycling. I almost high sided the other day. A low side fall is alright. You take the shortest path from your seat to the ground. Not terrible usually. High siding is a different story. High siding is flipping over the top of your cycle. Not laying it down and going down with it, but hitting something or wrenching it in such a way that you come over the top and land. Hard.
I was coming down a nice winder. Nice tight sweeps in heavy traffic. It's usually not a problem, but I was coming to a tight sidewinder that I flirted with about a dozen times. I pushed it hard and it took it softer on rainy days, but I felt comfortable enough to give the old all or nothing pass. The pace setter. The pass that would define how I judged my future success or failure navigating it in coming months.
Of course there is a fucking minivan charging up my ass. I don't know what it is about drivers. It's like they feel they aren't driving as well as they can unless they can chase down a bicycle as though the bicycle is somehow superior in grip when in fact it is superior in dense traffic patterns and perhaps marginally more nimble, but on open roads all the advantages go to having more contact patches. And an engine. So I take the turn tight. Too tight. I have too much speed and my apex misses the ideal by several feet and I come wide toward the road's shoulder and I can see the early morning gravel from rain wash the night before not yet cleared by a day of traffic and I am coming straight for it with a big white van charging in behind me expecting me to hold the line.
The gravel and sand are two wheels mortal enemy next to ice which usually equals instant low sides, but I see it coming so I'm sliding and correcting and sliding and correcting trying to slow down enough without taking too much of my tires capacity to steer and grip by over braking and as I basically fish tail the curb is coming up and I feel that sick few seconds when you know someone is about to blind side check you straight into the hockey arena boards. As I'm trail braking and correcting I can see my wheels jamming the curb and me flipping into the fence in what would have been the worst accident I've had to date, but I pull it together and recover about six inches out and get up off my saddle and chug with everything I'm worth to keep the van from pasting me.
It sucked. I damn near shat myself with the effort and nerve racking tension. Why do I mention it? In short, certain turns don't care what you're driving or riding. I'm pretty sure part of the reason the van didn't cream me was because she had to slow down to take the bend too and I didn't think about that. The sharpness of it. Had I been riding or driving anything I'm pretty sure the fastest that hairpin could have been taken was probably ten or fifteen miles an hour without aero package grade downforce keeping you glued. And I need to keep that in mind when I'm riding too. I know I can't out maneuver most cars on open sweepers and pins, but I also need to remind myself not to push too hard, because when the turns get tight enough, they can't out maneuver me either. And I guess that's part of the human experience too. When things get tight enough the only thing that matters is how much downforce you can generate, not what drives you.
///Junkie XL - "War" on the road of life there are drivers and there are the driven
7/19/07
dear person i snapped at 07/19/07
Subject : dear person i snapped at today
Posted Date: : Jun 19, 2007 12:49 AM
sorry. i know, you probably thought it was the right way to respond to my inane ramblings and i probably shouldnt have taken it so seriously and besides we are coworkers you know? co-workers dont fight. ontop of that we went to get sodas afterward too. it might have been easy for you to fall into a position where the only way to get a word in edgewise was to criticize me directly, and i know it was easy to put you there (if thats what happend at all) because i am very good at carrying on long dialogs with whoever will listen, so im sorry. im sorry because i probably shouldnt have made you feel like a moron for criticizing me and i probably shouldnt have called you a coward and i probably shouldnt have told you to fuck off, so ... my bad.
its not that i dont give a fuck... its just that i have my own short comings when it comes to things like people who use criticism as an in for interaction. i didnt mean to be a jerk, but then again you probably didnt either. you probably just wanted to join in on my never ending monologue... or maybe not... maybe you were just tired of hearing me ramble. i get tired of hearing me ramble sometimes and i know for a fact its not half worth listening to 75% of the time. well maybe fifty percent. what im trying to say is i was wrong to assume you were wrong, but i was also wrong (assuming you were right) by virtue of the way i reacted. sorry again. hope i didnt crush your self esteem by any means. mine is already pretty fragile as it is and would probably implode if i wasnt constantly forcing it outward with my long winded diatribes about how awesome i may or may not be....
anyways... i guess i should say thanks for bringing my longwindedness on the job to my attention. ill try to talk a little bit less while im there. for the rest of the time however i will probably keep on talking. mainly because i like to talk and shutting up is for cowards, introverts, the subjugated and military men/women. i believe that last sentence counts as posturing. performance. but in a good way. call it hyperbole mixed with something along the lines of a lack of self control. i feel compelled to talk so i do and i make it sound like its a great thing. because it is. dont be a communist. bye.
///planetary assaul systems - "gated" wanna know what it sounds like in my brain when my synapses really get my mouth going and i dont talk it out to keep things somewhat organised? it sounds like something going 360 beats per minute with a violin trying to catch every third note while sticking to a 4:4 meter all while an alarm sounds just out of synch enough to make you wish you woke up five hours later in the morning and without having to take a huge dump before you could function. but you still like it because after the first thirty seconds of feeling and hearing that way you start to see how it all fits together better than anything you could have written yourself.
Posted Date: : Jun 19, 2007 12:49 AM
sorry. i know, you probably thought it was the right way to respond to my inane ramblings and i probably shouldnt have taken it so seriously and besides we are coworkers you know? co-workers dont fight. ontop of that we went to get sodas afterward too. it might have been easy for you to fall into a position where the only way to get a word in edgewise was to criticize me directly, and i know it was easy to put you there (if thats what happend at all) because i am very good at carrying on long dialogs with whoever will listen, so im sorry. im sorry because i probably shouldnt have made you feel like a moron for criticizing me and i probably shouldnt have called you a coward and i probably shouldnt have told you to fuck off, so ... my bad.
its not that i dont give a fuck... its just that i have my own short comings when it comes to things like people who use criticism as an in for interaction. i didnt mean to be a jerk, but then again you probably didnt either. you probably just wanted to join in on my never ending monologue... or maybe not... maybe you were just tired of hearing me ramble. i get tired of hearing me ramble sometimes and i know for a fact its not half worth listening to 75% of the time. well maybe fifty percent. what im trying to say is i was wrong to assume you were wrong, but i was also wrong (assuming you were right) by virtue of the way i reacted. sorry again. hope i didnt crush your self esteem by any means. mine is already pretty fragile as it is and would probably implode if i wasnt constantly forcing it outward with my long winded diatribes about how awesome i may or may not be....
anyways... i guess i should say thanks for bringing my longwindedness on the job to my attention. ill try to talk a little bit less while im there. for the rest of the time however i will probably keep on talking. mainly because i like to talk and shutting up is for cowards, introverts, the subjugated and military men/women. i believe that last sentence counts as posturing. performance. but in a good way. call it hyperbole mixed with something along the lines of a lack of self control. i feel compelled to talk so i do and i make it sound like its a great thing. because it is. dont be a communist. bye.
///planetary assaul systems - "gated" wanna know what it sounds like in my brain when my synapses really get my mouth going and i dont talk it out to keep things somewhat organised? it sounds like something going 360 beats per minute with a violin trying to catch every third note while sticking to a 4:4 meter all while an alarm sounds just out of synch enough to make you wish you woke up five hours later in the morning and without having to take a huge dump before you could function. but you still like it because after the first thirty seconds of feeling and hearing that way you start to see how it all fits together better than anything you could have written yourself.
4/17/07
"god called, he wants his sandals back" 04/17/07
Subject : "god called, he wants his sandals back"
Posted Date: : Apr 17, 2007 5:45 PM
yes... god is in fact on the line and would like his sandals back. im just passing along the message. he mentioned something about needing to walk on water and tap dance on eggshells... basically save the world from the forces evil while juggling three chainsaws, two penguins, and spinning a plate on a two hundred foot long broomstick with his nose while lobsters hung from his balls by their claws. all of this while winning a fire ant eating competition and shitting out an entire combination brick and extruded, galvanized, steel factory.
he also mentioned that your over the top attitude is entirely uncalled for and that your ability to walk on water, tap dance on eggshells, impregnate people with the mere thought of sex, and fart out entire arms of a galaxy, does not entitle you to belittle everyone. he suggests you take your head off your shoulders and place it on someone elses for a few minutes to see that, though you could make the universe spin around your little finger while wearing his sandals, you really shouldnt because it makes everyone else around you sick to their stomachs.
he kindly pointed out that you were only supposed to borrow the sandals for ten minutes to go to the bodega for another case of OE and to give the guy outside the store front your change. he even said he looked the other way when you whizzed behind the store hard enough to cut your name twenty feet straight down into the ground and then cut the front off the car you recognized as belonging to that guy who told you to shut the fuck up when you talked out of your ass behind his back.
he was really nice about the whole thing. very respectful. he said you were supposed to be back three days ago... and he also says if you dont return them he will remove the concept of collared shirts from mankind forever... and smite the polo player from every swatch of fabric known to man. just between you and me i think he's a little ticked... and besides, everyone really did like you more before you became a complete douchebag. you should really call him back and let him know what's up. later.
///the future sound of london - "the galaxial pharmaceutical" not a great song, not a top ten playlister, not even a really good song. just some down tempo easiness...to ease the business of isness, cuz as we all are quite aware "OMG my life is so hard, you have no idea" is the anthem of too many people's lives. chill the fuck out.
Posted Date: : Apr 17, 2007 5:45 PM
yes... god is in fact on the line and would like his sandals back. im just passing along the message. he mentioned something about needing to walk on water and tap dance on eggshells... basically save the world from the forces evil while juggling three chainsaws, two penguins, and spinning a plate on a two hundred foot long broomstick with his nose while lobsters hung from his balls by their claws. all of this while winning a fire ant eating competition and shitting out an entire combination brick and extruded, galvanized, steel factory.
he also mentioned that your over the top attitude is entirely uncalled for and that your ability to walk on water, tap dance on eggshells, impregnate people with the mere thought of sex, and fart out entire arms of a galaxy, does not entitle you to belittle everyone. he suggests you take your head off your shoulders and place it on someone elses for a few minutes to see that, though you could make the universe spin around your little finger while wearing his sandals, you really shouldnt because it makes everyone else around you sick to their stomachs.
he kindly pointed out that you were only supposed to borrow the sandals for ten minutes to go to the bodega for another case of OE and to give the guy outside the store front your change. he even said he looked the other way when you whizzed behind the store hard enough to cut your name twenty feet straight down into the ground and then cut the front off the car you recognized as belonging to that guy who told you to shut the fuck up when you talked out of your ass behind his back.
he was really nice about the whole thing. very respectful. he said you were supposed to be back three days ago... and he also says if you dont return them he will remove the concept of collared shirts from mankind forever... and smite the polo player from every swatch of fabric known to man. just between you and me i think he's a little ticked... and besides, everyone really did like you more before you became a complete douchebag. you should really call him back and let him know what's up. later.
///the future sound of london - "the galaxial pharmaceutical" not a great song, not a top ten playlister, not even a really good song. just some down tempo easiness...to ease the business of isness, cuz as we all are quite aware "OMG my life is so hard, you have no idea" is the anthem of too many people's lives. chill the fuck out.
12/2/06
better people 12/02/06
Subject : better people
Posted Date: : Dec 2, 2006 8:49 PM
having viewed some clips from saw 1 2 and 3 i realized something: the films dont really inspire people to change. if anything they inspire people to judge. they seem to make it okay to judge others on their actions and life styles almost without any reasonable grounds to do so. brutality and cynicism excercised with such abandon as to defy reason.
yes, there are bad people out there who are squandering their lives, but where does anyone get off giving them so much unreasonable shit about it. life is a terrific and painfilled experience, so why add to bad side of it by creating grief. people have the capacity to change. why form permanent assessments of the entiriety of someone's life when they've only lived half of it? killing people doesnt make other people around them want to change. it might inspire a moment of reflection in people already capable recieving such moments, but beyond that what more can anyone really ask or do apart from killing everyone on the planet? part of living is living with people who live off of others. in alot of ways its how communities survive at all. asking someone to change isn't unreasonable. forcing someone to change is crossing the line.
i dunno. i enjoy living. ive considered suicide. everyone has. everyone makes bad decisions and holds grudges whether they mean to or not. trying to solve that problem is like trying to come up with a cure for being human. if there's anything at all to take away from those movies its that there's no substitute for having a conscience and a perspective that is as near to balanced as your brain can manage to see. the world isnt wholly evil and neither are all the people in it as much as it feels and appears that way sometimes.
also those movies were just gross.
im going to watch Interstella 5555 now... because daft punk makes my heart smile like no other band can.
Posted Date: : Dec 2, 2006 8:49 PM
having viewed some clips from saw 1 2 and 3 i realized something: the films dont really inspire people to change. if anything they inspire people to judge. they seem to make it okay to judge others on their actions and life styles almost without any reasonable grounds to do so. brutality and cynicism excercised with such abandon as to defy reason.
yes, there are bad people out there who are squandering their lives, but where does anyone get off giving them so much unreasonable shit about it. life is a terrific and painfilled experience, so why add to bad side of it by creating grief. people have the capacity to change. why form permanent assessments of the entiriety of someone's life when they've only lived half of it? killing people doesnt make other people around them want to change. it might inspire a moment of reflection in people already capable recieving such moments, but beyond that what more can anyone really ask or do apart from killing everyone on the planet? part of living is living with people who live off of others. in alot of ways its how communities survive at all. asking someone to change isn't unreasonable. forcing someone to change is crossing the line.
i dunno. i enjoy living. ive considered suicide. everyone has. everyone makes bad decisions and holds grudges whether they mean to or not. trying to solve that problem is like trying to come up with a cure for being human. if there's anything at all to take away from those movies its that there's no substitute for having a conscience and a perspective that is as near to balanced as your brain can manage to see. the world isnt wholly evil and neither are all the people in it as much as it feels and appears that way sometimes.
also those movies were just gross.
im going to watch Interstella 5555 now... because daft punk makes my heart smile like no other band can.
1/31/06
the next time (p2) 01/31/06
Subject : the next time someone says PART 2
Posted Date: : Jan 31, 2006 8:03 PM
the next time someone says "what the hell did you spend all of your money on?!"
you should answer by saying you spent it all on 8 inch diameter plastic penises and then refer them to jtstockroom.com
Posted Date: : Jan 31, 2006 8:03 PM
the next time someone says "what the hell did you spend all of your money on?!"
you should answer by saying you spent it all on 8 inch diameter plastic penises and then refer them to jtstockroom.com
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