about the right ear piercing is that you learned how to pierce ears and made your left ear to match and you can remember one of the best gifts you were ever given was the gateway.
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 joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
3/2/17
1/19/17
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
///
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
///
12/13/15
Bonus Track 2
waiting for the button to be pressed for the awesome release of good work to be done, good baby sweet barbecue jesus on a spit, push the damn button that turns that light from red to green, honey bear!
///Django Django - (Wor) you have to know who you are wearing your leash for and when that alarm goes... you know you have to go from zero to all in .2 seconds. i hate waiting. rumble rumble rumble. it is not time to ring the bell yet. i cannot wait for the next project to sink my teeth into. it's gotten to a point of physical discomfort thinking about it. i cannot wait to see the next house. i am going to eat it with great glory by moonlight and teeth large enough to fit a megalodon skeleton
///Django Django - (Wor) you have to know who you are wearing your leash for and when that alarm goes... you know you have to go from zero to all in .2 seconds. i hate waiting. rumble rumble rumble. it is not time to ring the bell yet. i cannot wait for the next project to sink my teeth into. it's gotten to a point of physical discomfort thinking about it. i cannot wait to see the next house. i am going to eat it with great glory by moonlight and teeth large enough to fit a megalodon skeleton
6/20/15
Memories
Designing the fish line and hook system around my notebook in high school. A marvel of engineering. Should it get out of my hands for any reason, uncorking it without knowing how the lines were connected led to a four pointed fish hook whipping around it's spine to snag whatever hands held it. I hoped someone would try to open it to hear their wail. Now it's pretty fun to not have to design ridiculous booby traps.
4/26/15
Facebook Birthdays, Selfishness, The Spacetime/Lovetime Continuum, and Death Stalking
Well, I do believe we will kick this off with birthdays and keep it in order. Maybe not entirely, but we'll give it a shot.
Birthdays are great most of the time. Essentially it's like having a second New Year celebration, unless your birthday falls on New Year's day. It's kind of cool that certain days be claimed. Certain should be claimed. There are so many of them you have to devote to being part of society it's cool that you can have your own and it's pretty interesting that there are days claimed of themselves where you, as a person, are forced to look up and away from everyone else and recognize that you are all just people and as such part of a single entity (country, nation, religion, belief, or just part of a grander scale of bodies in space rotating, dying off, being born, at a regular and calculable, to a mind demolishing degree, [God bless the collective scientific mind] interval).
When you are small, birthdays are celebrated. When you get older, birthdays are celebrated. Good grief I'm already trying to think of a macro I can program to type birthdays. Let's call them bdays. It's nearly as fatiguing to type as it is to read. Where were we, as you get older bdays are celebrated. Eventually, I think because of the enormous obstacle of longevity ... didn't the average age for death expand massively from like 35 to 65 in a stretch of helter skelter centuries? Or was it a handful of decades less than a century ... cannot remember the history lessons exactly, but the obstacle of longevity was overcome on a large scale like feeling the X-1 break the sound barrier over a soundtrack stretched out over a week with rumbling bass against the soles of your feet instead of over a fraction of a second. Are you seeing it? The soundtrack of the first sonic boom, to scale it perhaps better and with greater accuracy, over a few days instead of a fraction of a few seconds of silence and then THWOOM!
Suddenly people weren't dying when they were supposed to. The celebration of birthdays continued because you never knew. Someone, many someones, were still dying viciously early. If you made it beyond a certain age the birthday party would become a routine thing, but then you still didn't live that long and everyone else knew it even if you didn't so the birthday party would retain significance throughout much of your life because if you made it beyond the beginning the end was not that far away. The space/time continuum of your existence was a fairly small swatch of fabric in a quilt of human lives demanding not only close contact, close ties. The bday continued. The swatches grew larger.
To present day. I will not bore you with compartmentalized electro society and the kindness of strangers and asynchronous communication. We're all on the same page, on the same planet, at the same time. Birthdays are a lot less significant. The stretch of life between birth and death has become a sea of time and space instead of a droplet. Living to age five was awesome. Living to 10 was nearly a miracle. And on and on until you died at the ripe and tender age of 45 by incurable infection or bodily injury of one sort or another. Fast forward and communal life ends at 18. At the most. If you decide to or are pushed to it ends four years after that. Same cycle, larger scale.
If you make it to 13 everyone pretty much backs off and says "alright, this one should make it a good stretch." Birthday parties every year until 13. Then a few makes and misses. Things may come up in the schedule or life barring them. It's fine. It's no big deal Essentially you don't need to have another birthday party until you are about to die, but we've been having parties for so many years for so long before because you weren't out of the woods until you were 20 and then at 20 the parties tapered off until 40 when everyone knew you were probably going to drop dead soon and then they came back with a vengeance. So we still try to have parties through the teens until 20. We set an arbitrary mark at 20. Twenty is when you are officially your own problem. If you want to kill yourself afterwards, no one will blame you. If anything they'll blame themselves for somehow screwing up a gestation period of 20 years. Not that it's not impossible to screw up. I've seen it happen and those people should blame themselves. Moving on though: after 20.
After 20 the people throwing you parties are the people in that middle ground where it is so ingrained that every step must be a party because every step has been a bday party in the past back when the scale was all shrunk up. Those people are throwing you parties because people threw them parties and the people they learned to throw parties from had parties thrown for them all the way back to when that party was also a wedding ceremony because you only had a solid 20 ahead of you to try to get a family going before you were killed by a hoof to the face trying to the milk the cow that morning and forgot to warm up your hands first because the whooping cough all night really took you off your morning game. The parties are meaningless. They try to flavor them up with "hey, you can drink now" but you could drink before, it was just a little bit harder.
Fast forward to the mid twenties and the only people still celebrating birthdays as celebrations instead of acknowledgements are the people still looking back to when birthdays meant something and desiring to keep them alive as an active denial that the space/time fabric is growing and much faster than originally supposed or hinted at by the people who celebrated your birthdays as iconic moments in everyone you've ever known (it really was everyone you ever knew because your swatch of fabric was very small when you were small too) and sometimes everyone they knew too's lives. The fabric continues to stretch. The stretch grows beyond the realm of sight.
The only way you know there is anything out there is if there is a thread you are holding or if the person units and units away is managing to vibrate space and time on your plane and at your level of harmonic excitement. For all you know they are vibrating as hard as they can, however your lack of synchronized or harmonic phase or anything close to it to at least cause distortion to be investigated further and at most cause perfect reception is obliterating all abilities of detection. Your birthday strikes.
You jump up and down on your birthday signal and there is one, two, ten harmonies where there were few before. Not as many as you were young and not as many as when you will be close to death. You are excited on your enormous swatch of space and time and communicate back. Quickly though, you realize the distance is so great that nothing you say will bear any significance to the senders. By the time it arrives much has changed and will continue to change at a fair rate, but absolutely quickly enough that keeping up will be virtually impossible and an occupation unto it's own. The space/time is so bloated it is enough only to know that you exist in a sea of existence. The birthdays must be celebrated though! Every last one of them!
Though, nothing more. Wholeheartedly, every last birthday must be celebrated, but please do not be upset if you do not receive a facebook birthday message. It's nothing personal. It is not selfish. It is not "well I sent him one and he didn't send me one back so we're not friends anymore and if he sends me one I'm not going to send him one back" ... like no. Don't be that. That's trite.
The fabric of the Spacetime/Lovetime continuum is such: fractal in portions and quilt in others all flexed over a membrane of space/time. I remember you. You remember me. When was the last time we spoke? A lot has changed since then. We met each other during core formations. If we're friends, there's something we liked when we looked at each other then. Everything that's happened since then has been a branch or tree or fork or formation of adaptations and evolutions and events since then. If I liked you then I'll probably like you now, but I may need to trace back a little bit to understand the face I'm looking at now. Within you and myself. That affinity will still be there. Fractal. Some parts are still quilt. Have not changed at all, only grown larger and harder to see across. Accentuated, in some respects conflated, but all there as it was when it was 20 and believing death was around the corner because birthdays are a big effing deal, yeah!?
Some sections remain as quilt. All of relative directions are the same. My relationship is the same. My relationship to those directions remain the same as my portion of spacetime/lovetime expands. The way that I will engage is across signals and waves that no longer ripple the shores of what used to be square plots. Now they are jagged and hooked and crystaline. "Why did you not wish me a happy birthday? I leapt with all of my might to shake the webs and graphs. I burned out my transmitter dish and everyone answered. Why didn't you?" I am bleeding in, but that's alright. I will take in for a moment: my fractal development has not reached with the same fervor or life that others around me have grown. Their swatches have been broken apart with year to year modification, willing and driven, while mine, willing and driven as well have been outpaced by the shear stretch of space/time, around which spacetime/lovetime is beholden.
"Why did you not wish me a happy birthday on facebook or in real time?" Part of the reason is that you know, roughly, where I am, across the stretch. Is you vibrate hard enough, I will pick it up. If I vibrate as hard as I can, it will be picked up, maybe, and defuse. More than that, the additional complications of your growth will require a degree of decoding to whom you also vibrate and I hate being explained. Also, the time that I am existing in is the same time as the last time we saw each other and spent time together for a very heavy degree. The characteristics, for all the stationary portion of quilt knows, being referenced, lauded, and celebrated, have very little to do with the current you and in fact may be portions so far back in the space and time we both occupied that they may be abhorred by the current continued people synchronized and harmonizing with your spacetime/lovetime.
I really do hope it does not come across selfish. It's anything but that. Who wants a person several iterations behind the rest of their peers appearing on their timeline without any warning beyond the blind celebrations, appearing ne'er before nor after, popping their head in the door to yell at them to live their lives to the fullest or drop a witt or a jab and zip away. Or message them about a part of their life so incredibly irrelevant that .... well, you get the picture. If anything, whatever comes of announcing your birthday on facebook is enjoyable. I used to try to wish a happy birthday to every single person I actually met in person whose notification came up, but I realized I was just diluting the pool of communications they should be receiving and that's far more important than reciprocation. Reception is a lot more valuable from stationary (as time and space grows and complications continue to thrive [wives, husbands, children, careers, mobilization, freedoms] the unstoppable movement toward greater complication reduces drastically the stationary ability to receive). Projection, the opposite value shift. There is no selfishness. The relationship is appropriate and beneficial and also removes discomfort in bringing out the telescope that can pierce space/time to see a time capsule floating in square space and see from where the current coordinates came.
Since having the birthday though, I've been consumed with thoughts of aging. Once the party faded, I was struck, over a morning cup of tea, that from here on out, maybe for a few years more there will be time to improve upon my frame, from here on out the best I can do is ward against sudden physical catastrophic failure. The brain is it's own beast and will be susceptible to its own sudden failures, the much more important part of the aspects of being to protect the muscle and bones. That prospect is frightening.
I am very quickly approaching the tipping point of being able to self destruct on purpose will be more difficult than waiting for an accidental failure or fault in the normal operation. The idea that I will start to have to approach my body each day as an explosive device that requires constant disarming instead of as a device I must operate that is occasionally exceptionally demanding to pilot and often prone to conditions that lead to explosions or other massive exothermic failure is a tad frightening. It's difficult to frame or explain, I will attempt.
My expected life span is 60 to 70 years. I assume some of the rage inside of me will drive me another decade. Perhaps reflection will drive me another five. Desperation could drive me another five and hate could bring me across the finish line at angry, lucid, "where are my !@#$ing hover cars" 100 in the, of course, mind blowing year 2085, yelling at my robot nurse who simply amps my morphine and changes the channel to the meme network that just plays meme generator failures in fastforward with nature wide lens porn shots sprinkled in between and every now and then the base thumper strapped to the base of my skull goes off with a brief thud.
60 is the target with full apparatus to choice. If I ever lose the ability to choose whether I live or die, put me down. If I end up in solitary confinement I'll eventually find a way to kill myself. You're virtually dead. Just waiting for space to catch up with time as you've been, shall we say, fast forwarded. Part of why... okay, I'm getting ahead of myself. Collect. Rewind. Go.
Passing my 30th birthday I realized my body will likely begin, or begin the process of shut down, that will lead to death three to four to five decades from now. Time flies. As I sipped my morning die and blew the steam off the top of it and checked up on the news and weather and sports box scores it hit me that some piece of my body my fail at a moments notice in the coming years and perhaps less than that. It was tremendously frightening. I was afraid to go to work. I work alone and have preferred to work alone for many years now. Suddenly working alone comes with added risks that will compound as time progresses. If you fall off of a ladder or spear yourself with a section of pipe because that muscle group or nerve system or other simply failed to respond to your intent you will have little to know time to call for help or bring or drag your frame to safety or at least the possibility of survival. Suddenly your chances of surviving that car accident or freak mechanical accident symptomatic of daily engagement with machines (the more you fly the more likely it is there will be an air catastrophe, but you can't be struck by a bolt out of the blue if you're thirty feet below ground) go down dramatically as you become more frail and susceptible. That's 100% out of your control
is what I realized. You cannot suddenly begin hiding inside of a padded safe with provisions and a supply of oxygen. Everyone dies. You will more than likely or at least even odds buy the farm by no fault of your own as much as genetics or intent or negligence once you pass 30. Every day you leave your house with a little less ability is one day slightly more dangerous than the last. So you will work yourself ragged to try to keep that fraction at zero, even Stevens. Every morning it will slip a little bit and you have to do a little bit more to push the numerator back over the denominator. It'll work for a while. In some cases a good long while until the growth in the denominator comes too fast and too regularly pinging and updating. When your body let's go, you can still just brute force the math and bend your own time and space to whatever you want to imagine it to be. The only reason why it will flex is because other people are leaping up and down and the fabric itself has grown so thin it can be distorted through pure force of will from either end of the spectrum of passions love and hate. Until the stitches sewn when you were born finally snap and every one on facebook wishes you a farewell.
I did get wrapped up in the narrative for a bit, you see why bridging 30 and taking time to throw a few stones skipped on the river is important to me. I'm not upset. I'm in love and scared and aware and dreaming all at once and I never want to leave that bridge. I haven't forgotten you. For many, though, it is true, I can be spoken with or to, but I cannot speak to you. On my birthdays I am reminded.
Let's put some Christmas lights on that.
///Kiln - "The Colorfreak" far enough away from aphex to call it's own
Birthdays are great most of the time. Essentially it's like having a second New Year celebration, unless your birthday falls on New Year's day. It's kind of cool that certain days be claimed. Certain should be claimed. There are so many of them you have to devote to being part of society it's cool that you can have your own and it's pretty interesting that there are days claimed of themselves where you, as a person, are forced to look up and away from everyone else and recognize that you are all just people and as such part of a single entity (country, nation, religion, belief, or just part of a grander scale of bodies in space rotating, dying off, being born, at a regular and calculable, to a mind demolishing degree, [God bless the collective scientific mind] interval).
When you are small, birthdays are celebrated. When you get older, birthdays are celebrated. Good grief I'm already trying to think of a macro I can program to type birthdays. Let's call them bdays. It's nearly as fatiguing to type as it is to read. Where were we, as you get older bdays are celebrated. Eventually, I think because of the enormous obstacle of longevity ... didn't the average age for death expand massively from like 35 to 65 in a stretch of helter skelter centuries? Or was it a handful of decades less than a century ... cannot remember the history lessons exactly, but the obstacle of longevity was overcome on a large scale like feeling the X-1 break the sound barrier over a soundtrack stretched out over a week with rumbling bass against the soles of your feet instead of over a fraction of a second. Are you seeing it? The soundtrack of the first sonic boom, to scale it perhaps better and with greater accuracy, over a few days instead of a fraction of a few seconds of silence and then THWOOM!
Suddenly people weren't dying when they were supposed to. The celebration of birthdays continued because you never knew. Someone, many someones, were still dying viciously early. If you made it beyond a certain age the birthday party would become a routine thing, but then you still didn't live that long and everyone else knew it even if you didn't so the birthday party would retain significance throughout much of your life because if you made it beyond the beginning the end was not that far away. The space/time continuum of your existence was a fairly small swatch of fabric in a quilt of human lives demanding not only close contact, close ties. The bday continued. The swatches grew larger.
To present day. I will not bore you with compartmentalized electro society and the kindness of strangers and asynchronous communication. We're all on the same page, on the same planet, at the same time. Birthdays are a lot less significant. The stretch of life between birth and death has become a sea of time and space instead of a droplet. Living to age five was awesome. Living to 10 was nearly a miracle. And on and on until you died at the ripe and tender age of 45 by incurable infection or bodily injury of one sort or another. Fast forward and communal life ends at 18. At the most. If you decide to or are pushed to it ends four years after that. Same cycle, larger scale.
If you make it to 13 everyone pretty much backs off and says "alright, this one should make it a good stretch." Birthday parties every year until 13. Then a few makes and misses. Things may come up in the schedule or life barring them. It's fine. It's no big deal Essentially you don't need to have another birthday party until you are about to die, but we've been having parties for so many years for so long before because you weren't out of the woods until you were 20 and then at 20 the parties tapered off until 40 when everyone knew you were probably going to drop dead soon and then they came back with a vengeance. So we still try to have parties through the teens until 20. We set an arbitrary mark at 20. Twenty is when you are officially your own problem. If you want to kill yourself afterwards, no one will blame you. If anything they'll blame themselves for somehow screwing up a gestation period of 20 years. Not that it's not impossible to screw up. I've seen it happen and those people should blame themselves. Moving on though: after 20.
After 20 the people throwing you parties are the people in that middle ground where it is so ingrained that every step must be a party because every step has been a bday party in the past back when the scale was all shrunk up. Those people are throwing you parties because people threw them parties and the people they learned to throw parties from had parties thrown for them all the way back to when that party was also a wedding ceremony because you only had a solid 20 ahead of you to try to get a family going before you were killed by a hoof to the face trying to the milk the cow that morning and forgot to warm up your hands first because the whooping cough all night really took you off your morning game. The parties are meaningless. They try to flavor them up with "hey, you can drink now" but you could drink before, it was just a little bit harder.
Fast forward to the mid twenties and the only people still celebrating birthdays as celebrations instead of acknowledgements are the people still looking back to when birthdays meant something and desiring to keep them alive as an active denial that the space/time fabric is growing and much faster than originally supposed or hinted at by the people who celebrated your birthdays as iconic moments in everyone you've ever known (it really was everyone you ever knew because your swatch of fabric was very small when you were small too) and sometimes everyone they knew too's lives. The fabric continues to stretch. The stretch grows beyond the realm of sight.
The only way you know there is anything out there is if there is a thread you are holding or if the person units and units away is managing to vibrate space and time on your plane and at your level of harmonic excitement. For all you know they are vibrating as hard as they can, however your lack of synchronized or harmonic phase or anything close to it to at least cause distortion to be investigated further and at most cause perfect reception is obliterating all abilities of detection. Your birthday strikes.
You jump up and down on your birthday signal and there is one, two, ten harmonies where there were few before. Not as many as you were young and not as many as when you will be close to death. You are excited on your enormous swatch of space and time and communicate back. Quickly though, you realize the distance is so great that nothing you say will bear any significance to the senders. By the time it arrives much has changed and will continue to change at a fair rate, but absolutely quickly enough that keeping up will be virtually impossible and an occupation unto it's own. The space/time is so bloated it is enough only to know that you exist in a sea of existence. The birthdays must be celebrated though! Every last one of them!
Though, nothing more. Wholeheartedly, every last birthday must be celebrated, but please do not be upset if you do not receive a facebook birthday message. It's nothing personal. It is not selfish. It is not "well I sent him one and he didn't send me one back so we're not friends anymore and if he sends me one I'm not going to send him one back" ... like no. Don't be that. That's trite.
The fabric of the Spacetime/Lovetime continuum is such: fractal in portions and quilt in others all flexed over a membrane of space/time. I remember you. You remember me. When was the last time we spoke? A lot has changed since then. We met each other during core formations. If we're friends, there's something we liked when we looked at each other then. Everything that's happened since then has been a branch or tree or fork or formation of adaptations and evolutions and events since then. If I liked you then I'll probably like you now, but I may need to trace back a little bit to understand the face I'm looking at now. Within you and myself. That affinity will still be there. Fractal. Some parts are still quilt. Have not changed at all, only grown larger and harder to see across. Accentuated, in some respects conflated, but all there as it was when it was 20 and believing death was around the corner because birthdays are a big effing deal, yeah!?
Some sections remain as quilt. All of relative directions are the same. My relationship is the same. My relationship to those directions remain the same as my portion of spacetime/lovetime expands. The way that I will engage is across signals and waves that no longer ripple the shores of what used to be square plots. Now they are jagged and hooked and crystaline. "Why did you not wish me a happy birthday? I leapt with all of my might to shake the webs and graphs. I burned out my transmitter dish and everyone answered. Why didn't you?" I am bleeding in, but that's alright. I will take in for a moment: my fractal development has not reached with the same fervor or life that others around me have grown. Their swatches have been broken apart with year to year modification, willing and driven, while mine, willing and driven as well have been outpaced by the shear stretch of space/time, around which spacetime/lovetime is beholden.
"Why did you not wish me a happy birthday on facebook or in real time?" Part of the reason is that you know, roughly, where I am, across the stretch. Is you vibrate hard enough, I will pick it up. If I vibrate as hard as I can, it will be picked up, maybe, and defuse. More than that, the additional complications of your growth will require a degree of decoding to whom you also vibrate and I hate being explained. Also, the time that I am existing in is the same time as the last time we saw each other and spent time together for a very heavy degree. The characteristics, for all the stationary portion of quilt knows, being referenced, lauded, and celebrated, have very little to do with the current you and in fact may be portions so far back in the space and time we both occupied that they may be abhorred by the current continued people synchronized and harmonizing with your spacetime/lovetime.
I really do hope it does not come across selfish. It's anything but that. Who wants a person several iterations behind the rest of their peers appearing on their timeline without any warning beyond the blind celebrations, appearing ne'er before nor after, popping their head in the door to yell at them to live their lives to the fullest or drop a witt or a jab and zip away. Or message them about a part of their life so incredibly irrelevant that .... well, you get the picture. If anything, whatever comes of announcing your birthday on facebook is enjoyable. I used to try to wish a happy birthday to every single person I actually met in person whose notification came up, but I realized I was just diluting the pool of communications they should be receiving and that's far more important than reciprocation. Reception is a lot more valuable from stationary (as time and space grows and complications continue to thrive [wives, husbands, children, careers, mobilization, freedoms] the unstoppable movement toward greater complication reduces drastically the stationary ability to receive). Projection, the opposite value shift. There is no selfishness. The relationship is appropriate and beneficial and also removes discomfort in bringing out the telescope that can pierce space/time to see a time capsule floating in square space and see from where the current coordinates came.
Since having the birthday though, I've been consumed with thoughts of aging. Once the party faded, I was struck, over a morning cup of tea, that from here on out, maybe for a few years more there will be time to improve upon my frame, from here on out the best I can do is ward against sudden physical catastrophic failure. The brain is it's own beast and will be susceptible to its own sudden failures, the much more important part of the aspects of being to protect the muscle and bones. That prospect is frightening.
I am very quickly approaching the tipping point of being able to self destruct on purpose will be more difficult than waiting for an accidental failure or fault in the normal operation. The idea that I will start to have to approach my body each day as an explosive device that requires constant disarming instead of as a device I must operate that is occasionally exceptionally demanding to pilot and often prone to conditions that lead to explosions or other massive exothermic failure is a tad frightening. It's difficult to frame or explain, I will attempt.
My expected life span is 60 to 70 years. I assume some of the rage inside of me will drive me another decade. Perhaps reflection will drive me another five. Desperation could drive me another five and hate could bring me across the finish line at angry, lucid, "where are my !@#$ing hover cars" 100 in the, of course, mind blowing year 2085, yelling at my robot nurse who simply amps my morphine and changes the channel to the meme network that just plays meme generator failures in fastforward with nature wide lens porn shots sprinkled in between and every now and then the base thumper strapped to the base of my skull goes off with a brief thud.
60 is the target with full apparatus to choice. If I ever lose the ability to choose whether I live or die, put me down. If I end up in solitary confinement I'll eventually find a way to kill myself. You're virtually dead. Just waiting for space to catch up with time as you've been, shall we say, fast forwarded. Part of why... okay, I'm getting ahead of myself. Collect. Rewind. Go.
Passing my 30th birthday I realized my body will likely begin, or begin the process of shut down, that will lead to death three to four to five decades from now. Time flies. As I sipped my morning die and blew the steam off the top of it and checked up on the news and weather and sports box scores it hit me that some piece of my body my fail at a moments notice in the coming years and perhaps less than that. It was tremendously frightening. I was afraid to go to work. I work alone and have preferred to work alone for many years now. Suddenly working alone comes with added risks that will compound as time progresses. If you fall off of a ladder or spear yourself with a section of pipe because that muscle group or nerve system or other simply failed to respond to your intent you will have little to know time to call for help or bring or drag your frame to safety or at least the possibility of survival. Suddenly your chances of surviving that car accident or freak mechanical accident symptomatic of daily engagement with machines (the more you fly the more likely it is there will be an air catastrophe, but you can't be struck by a bolt out of the blue if you're thirty feet below ground) go down dramatically as you become more frail and susceptible. That's 100% out of your control
is what I realized. You cannot suddenly begin hiding inside of a padded safe with provisions and a supply of oxygen. Everyone dies. You will more than likely or at least even odds buy the farm by no fault of your own as much as genetics or intent or negligence once you pass 30. Every day you leave your house with a little less ability is one day slightly more dangerous than the last. So you will work yourself ragged to try to keep that fraction at zero, even Stevens. Every morning it will slip a little bit and you have to do a little bit more to push the numerator back over the denominator. It'll work for a while. In some cases a good long while until the growth in the denominator comes too fast and too regularly pinging and updating. When your body let's go, you can still just brute force the math and bend your own time and space to whatever you want to imagine it to be. The only reason why it will flex is because other people are leaping up and down and the fabric itself has grown so thin it can be distorted through pure force of will from either end of the spectrum of passions love and hate. Until the stitches sewn when you were born finally snap and every one on facebook wishes you a farewell.
I did get wrapped up in the narrative for a bit, you see why bridging 30 and taking time to throw a few stones skipped on the river is important to me. I'm not upset. I'm in love and scared and aware and dreaming all at once and I never want to leave that bridge. I haven't forgotten you. For many, though, it is true, I can be spoken with or to, but I cannot speak to you. On my birthdays I am reminded.
Let's put some Christmas lights on that.
///Kiln - "The Colorfreak" far enough away from aphex to call it's own
12/23/14
Are You My Mommy?
Look for answers and we will give you rush. Full on the face. Full b l u s h. It's very unpleasant. It's very taken aback. It's very lyric song.
I think I'm ten kinds of thousand push toward ten kinds of peach blush,
I think I know
what's ten kind cuz.
I think I know what's ten kind huuuutsch.
Rabbit in the whole. Bot a fox for a troll.
Got ten kinds of the golden rule
for the scroll.
A shark for lagoon. Got a mother#$%^er
harp for the wound. A way to say everything
is tiny violin for fingertips on a spoon.
Flak in the air.
Body bags going home.
How about instead of putting up a plaque
set a gnome.
Light a candle. Change what you're wearing.
Think about how you'll be dressed
when you're burr9ed.
Are you my mommie? I know you can't be. Can you?
Working hard and hardly working.
Are you my mommy?
On top of the junk yard
picking up pieces and putting together a great vinyl.
Are you my mommy?
Ms. Lady, are you my mommy?
Beautiful, no.
Are you my mommy?
No! Stop!
Are you?
No.
I found something I thought you may like. No. I will take a look. Are you my mommy? No. I will see. Will you see? Yes, I will see. Are you my mommy? No, but I will see.
I think I'm ten kinds of thousand push toward ten kinds of peach blush,
I think I know
what's ten kind cuz.
I think I know what's ten kind huuuutsch.
Rabbit in the whole. Bot a fox for a troll.
Got ten kinds of the golden rule
for the scroll.
A shark for lagoon. Got a mother#$%^er
harp for the wound. A way to say everything
is tiny violin for fingertips on a spoon.
Flak in the air.
Body bags going home.
How about instead of putting up a plaque
set a gnome.
Light a candle. Change what you're wearing.
Think about how you'll be dressed
when you're burr9ed.
Are you my mommie? I know you can't be. Can you?
Working hard and hardly working.
Are you my mommy?
On top of the junk yard
picking up pieces and putting together a great vinyl.
Are you my mommy?
Ms. Lady, are you my mommy?
Beautiful, no.
Are you my mommy?
No! Stop!
Are you?
No.
I found something I thought you may like. No. I will take a look. Are you my mommy? No. I will see. Will you see? Yes, I will see. Are you my mommy? No, but I will see.
7/15/12
Redesigns and Motions and All Kinds of Crazy S--- (with disclaimers)
The summer redesign of Auralport is coming. It's in the factory works right now, as we speak. It's been autumn way too long over there and frankly the browns are starting to get to me and darken everything I do when I am there. I need some green going on. Some color to reflect the growth and all that. More importantly I need to incorporate some pinks and purples. Yeah, it'll look a little gay, but that's what I am. Sue me. For gayness. Cuz if you try to sue me for anything else you will find pretty quickly that I am, as they say in the business, "judgement proof". Not saying you won't win the case. All I'm saying is what you win will be a big happy bag of nothing. Except maybe self satisfaction. However, you can go home knowing that the only reason I am judgement proof is because I have nothing to take. But more importantly (this just keeps going on, right?) the only reason why I have nothing to take is because of the decisions you made that put me in a position to have nothing. So basically we're even.
Not really though. I got off scott free (where the hell did that saying come from? a reference to free balling in kilts maybe? I dunno) after a fashion. You got to screw me or at least feel like you taught me a life lesson. So we're even right? Nah, I'm going to cut your face off and feed it to you the next time I see you. LOL that is happening. Which is why I can't see you. Because I will make a sincere attempt on your life. Jokes aside. I will kill the weaker of the two of you. Do not come to my house, parents. Because I will kill you. I hope that's clear enough.
So anyway. The redesign is coming and I'm really looking forward to it. The hard part is trying to find a good shot of nature to work with. I'm out there all of the time, but I just have to remember to bring a camera one of these days. So many pictures to take. So little time. I looked into dslr-s and realized pretty quickly there is no way in hell I could afford one. There is a way, I just lied, there is a way, but if I ever ponied up the money I would have to spend it on a car first. Which brings up other mommy daddy issues but I'm not going into that. I am. Just this once. Caps locked. WORST GRADUATION GIFT AND SUBSEQUENT CHAIN OF EVENTS EVER, I HOPE YOU HANG YOURSELVES IN SEPARATE ROOMS OF THAT SHITHOLE YOU LIKE TO CALL A HOUSE.
Okay, so, not to be entirely bipolar on this. I would like to present a motion to do some art. Everyone at the table, yay or nay my friends. Yes, we are taking a vote. All present? Alright then, moving forward on the motion to attempt some cartooning. All in favor, say aye. All opposed? Let the record show that the motion is passed.
I've got my fingers back into poetry and short stories again. God knows I damn near had to handcuff myself and blindfold my eyes to do that. It had to be done though. A life without creation is self destruction. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing with facebook at this point. For me it kind of does well as real time memoirs. It all depends on how far back the record will go. If the timescale ends after so many years, it's pretty much useless in that regard. I hope it doesn't. I'm pretty much writing a book on there, though some probably think I'm just a loon. Which is fine, because I kind of am. I gave up on trying to find the secret of life because I know the guy who knows the guy who has it. It's frustrating because he gave it to me once and knew that I wouldn't remember. So I have to try again, but now he knows that I know so I'm going to have to pull some kind of double fake to get it this time.
So what is the crazy shit. The really really junk that still makes go "wait a minute, what?" There isn't any. Smiley face. Not today. Alright here's one. Just one. I woke up in a trap house again. I used to call them house parties until a friend of mine introduced the concept of the trap house and I had a little revolution in perspective and was like "that makes absolute sense." Mostly because it does. That is exactly what they are. Which explains a lot about how the people in there behave. Yeah, I felt like a nub the first time it happened. But now, it's just like, "alright, got all your shit? okay, time to roll." Where was I going... so yeah I woke up and rolled out and someone said "Hobbes, where you goin?" as soon as I got out the door, and I was like ... yeah, that's my gotdamn name. And I realized alot of the people I used to know, don't know that I changed my name. So I let them call me by my old name, fam aside, because they just don't know. And I'm okay with that, I think. For now. It's not legal, but what is?
///Beck - "Devil's Haircut" pistols are pointing at a poor man's pocket, and he don't give a fuuuuuuuuu
Not really though. I got off scott free (where the hell did that saying come from? a reference to free balling in kilts maybe? I dunno) after a fashion. You got to screw me or at least feel like you taught me a life lesson. So we're even right? Nah, I'm going to cut your face off and feed it to you the next time I see you. LOL that is happening. Which is why I can't see you. Because I will make a sincere attempt on your life. Jokes aside. I will kill the weaker of the two of you. Do not come to my house, parents. Because I will kill you. I hope that's clear enough.
So anyway. The redesign is coming and I'm really looking forward to it. The hard part is trying to find a good shot of nature to work with. I'm out there all of the time, but I just have to remember to bring a camera one of these days. So many pictures to take. So little time. I looked into dslr-s and realized pretty quickly there is no way in hell I could afford one. There is a way, I just lied, there is a way, but if I ever ponied up the money I would have to spend it on a car first. Which brings up other mommy daddy issues but I'm not going into that. I am. Just this once. Caps locked. WORST GRADUATION GIFT AND SUBSEQUENT CHAIN OF EVENTS EVER, I HOPE YOU HANG YOURSELVES IN SEPARATE ROOMS OF THAT SHITHOLE YOU LIKE TO CALL A HOUSE.
Okay, so, not to be entirely bipolar on this. I would like to present a motion to do some art. Everyone at the table, yay or nay my friends. Yes, we are taking a vote. All present? Alright then, moving forward on the motion to attempt some cartooning. All in favor, say aye. All opposed? Let the record show that the motion is passed.
I've got my fingers back into poetry and short stories again. God knows I damn near had to handcuff myself and blindfold my eyes to do that. It had to be done though. A life without creation is self destruction. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing with facebook at this point. For me it kind of does well as real time memoirs. It all depends on how far back the record will go. If the timescale ends after so many years, it's pretty much useless in that regard. I hope it doesn't. I'm pretty much writing a book on there, though some probably think I'm just a loon. Which is fine, because I kind of am. I gave up on trying to find the secret of life because I know the guy who knows the guy who has it. It's frustrating because he gave it to me once and knew that I wouldn't remember. So I have to try again, but now he knows that I know so I'm going to have to pull some kind of double fake to get it this time.
So what is the crazy shit. The really really junk that still makes go "wait a minute, what?" There isn't any. Smiley face. Not today. Alright here's one. Just one. I woke up in a trap house again. I used to call them house parties until a friend of mine introduced the concept of the trap house and I had a little revolution in perspective and was like "that makes absolute sense." Mostly because it does. That is exactly what they are. Which explains a lot about how the people in there behave. Yeah, I felt like a nub the first time it happened. But now, it's just like, "alright, got all your shit? okay, time to roll." Where was I going... so yeah I woke up and rolled out and someone said "Hobbes, where you goin?" as soon as I got out the door, and I was like ... yeah, that's my gotdamn name. And I realized alot of the people I used to know, don't know that I changed my name. So I let them call me by my old name, fam aside, because they just don't know. And I'm okay with that, I think. For now. It's not legal, but what is?
///Beck - "Devil's Haircut" pistols are pointing at a poor man's pocket, and he don't give a fuuuuuuuuu
9/6/11
Money, Cash, Power, 'Spect... it's a Trap
I have been battling. Not the usual demons. Battling the allure of money and respect. The two usually come in a dime pair. And it's nice. I recently realized I was using it's and its in the inverse of how they're supposed to be used because I rememorized a mnemonic device incorrectly. One of those times when you say to yourself "yeah I remember that from elementary school," but your memory is actually completely backwards and remanufactured from parts and pieces of things that actually happened. So I am trying to make an effort to reitify the memorization. Only this time forwards. Comma usage is still playing fast and loose like law dogs in westerns. Anyway, been struggling with the potential for success.
Blowing the costs out of success way out proportion. Thinking things like, well if I am successful how will I be able to live in an apartment that costs more to live in and is slightly smaller than the one I currently occupy? The answer is: the extra money will be what you can apply to owning a runabout and getting out to other places so you'll be spending less time cooped up anyway. But that's not the answer in my head. In my reason, it is the answer. In my head the answer reads more like... well you know. I need not jump it that hard.
I guess with making more money I won't qualify for my hundred dollars of food stamps that has become less a mark of shame and more like "holy shit, it is the eighth of the month and time to buy all the foods I've been dying to buy for the other twenty days out of this month, jesus christ no more peanut butter and jelly and pasta." The truth is I hate eating out. With a passion. Not because it costs more for no reason because for whatever reason tipping motivates service instead of service motivating service (I'm just incorrigibly service oriented) and for some reason getting what you pay for only applies in the food sector. I hate eating out because I hate having people make food for me, as though I am somehow above making my own vittles and prone to being upset if said vittles aren't ready in five minutes or less. I am a creature of patience. Violent, violent patience. I am content to wait very, very, long periods of time to get desired results... ...sometimes quietly, sometimes silently, sometimes very loudly, but at the end of the day I will accept having to fold my hands for a time and wait out results, if not for seeing the fruits of my labor then for the reappearance of opportunities past or yet to come. I did always like the tortoise. Fast hands, slow feet, can't lose.
I practice making fists throughout the day. Throwing fists. I keep an eye on my footwork too. I suppose maybe I am a little obsessive compulsive, but only toward the end of self preservation. It was kind of hilarious, the job application for temporary day to day labor. I believe it asked no less than eleven times if I though fighting was important, or if I thought the ability to win a fight was important, or if I thought the ability to defend one's self in a fight was valuable. I answered the questions honestly and then accidentally scrapped the test (given with an inferior keypad interface, it really was an honest lucky mistake) and then asked the branch manager what was up with all the questions about fighting. He clued me in and told me to answer no, not ever, for all the fighting questions regardless of experience or training or ability. Apparently temp labors brawls are less the exception and more the rule. Regardless, the upside of being conscious of how you place your feet on a moment to moment basis makes you less susceptible to slip and falls when you are focusing on other things.
Just one of those sorts of things I guess having to use your body as the foundation of your livelihood instead of your brain makes you conscious of. I'm kind of inclined to go back to using my body more, but I wouldn't know where to start here. This place kind of frowns on that, hilarious enough as it is probably two cuts above a slum, but I'm not here to argue. One less trap.
Getting back to that though, I'm having some trust issues. Massive ones. Questions bouncing around. "If you were me, with everything you have at your disposal would you say yes to the offer being given you from your mouth to me, me being you?" Questions like that. I don't really know when I'm being used. I damn sure don't know when I'm being abused. The not knowing hurts more than the knowing. The discovery hurts more than both combined. I don't know if people are or aren't, but I wish they would just tell me. That's the upside of selling. It's clean cut. This is what's going to happen, this is why, and this is what it's going to cost you. That is the danger of friends. Nothing is clean cut like that. That's probably why the people I count as friends has thinned so much. That and just being a crazy fuck. Laughing too loud. Neighbors banging on walls. Laughing harder. Sigh. It's good to be live. Better to be alive. I'm working on that.
Money, cash, power, and respect. Everybody wants it. I want to be money so I can get cash and be granted enough power to sway enough respect to buy some land and a home so I will have no need of money, cash, power, or respect and can just be. There's no trap in that.
My stable of friends. Wow. I don't know. That's a lie. I do know. I like to say I don't know so I can imagine it's larger than it is. It's teensy. Oh god, I just tried to rattle it off and got to four, counting family members. Is that even something I can fix? Does it need fixing? To that, I can honestly say I don't know. If I stepped off my spaceship, when I do step off my spaceship, there are essentially four people who can relate to me, but who I can also relate to honestly and semi-openly... on a sit down basis. Everything is open over the waves. You can turn that off. When you're with someone, you can't turn that off. It's there. I am there. I want your eyes. It's very different. Sadly different. World changingly different. I think that's the nice thing that opens me up when I'm talking to you that I don't get to experience otherwise. You can turn me off. Unsubscribe. Break up. All that wonderful shit and I don't have to know and you don't have to know and we're just the same with or without eachother. The beauty of. The fantasia. The crazy fucking nasty wonderful idea sex one night standiness of it all. It's not always that. But sometimes. Whatever, it's fun. Ive nothing to justify. And everything to justify to myself. I assume you realize we are arguing.
We've agreed we'll keep on because the dreams have been to die for. They really have. They've been the sorts of things a body could wish to never wake up from. But, it's a trap, isn't it? Maybe not. Maybe I just have to accept that there are benevolent forces beyond myself. People that don't know me, that don't want to punish me once they do get to know what I am. People that don't want to me punish myself, that are trustworthy beyond a shadow of any doubt and worth more, in fact, than all the trust I could muster if I turned every cell toward the task.
a kid can dream.
///Gorillaz - "On Melancholy Hill" Five hours to get this out. Happy to put my thoughts to good use. Unhappy I couldn't do more. Bed and jobs beckon. can't wait til I'm a housewife with nothing to do but tend after bastards, count my government checks and bide the time until I'm raking in Rowling esque millions when I have nothing to do but write and feeding myself is last on my list of major concerns. So melancholied. So half finished. I wish I was sipping brew on a plastic beach.
Blowing the costs out of success way out proportion. Thinking things like, well if I am successful how will I be able to live in an apartment that costs more to live in and is slightly smaller than the one I currently occupy? The answer is: the extra money will be what you can apply to owning a runabout and getting out to other places so you'll be spending less time cooped up anyway. But that's not the answer in my head. In my reason, it is the answer. In my head the answer reads more like... well you know. I need not jump it that hard.
I guess with making more money I won't qualify for my hundred dollars of food stamps that has become less a mark of shame and more like "holy shit, it is the eighth of the month and time to buy all the foods I've been dying to buy for the other twenty days out of this month, jesus christ no more peanut butter and jelly and pasta." The truth is I hate eating out. With a passion. Not because it costs more for no reason because for whatever reason tipping motivates service instead of service motivating service (I'm just incorrigibly service oriented) and for some reason getting what you pay for only applies in the food sector. I hate eating out because I hate having people make food for me, as though I am somehow above making my own vittles and prone to being upset if said vittles aren't ready in five minutes or less. I am a creature of patience. Violent, violent patience. I am content to wait very, very, long periods of time to get desired results... ...sometimes quietly, sometimes silently, sometimes very loudly, but at the end of the day I will accept having to fold my hands for a time and wait out results, if not for seeing the fruits of my labor then for the reappearance of opportunities past or yet to come. I did always like the tortoise. Fast hands, slow feet, can't lose.
I practice making fists throughout the day. Throwing fists. I keep an eye on my footwork too. I suppose maybe I am a little obsessive compulsive, but only toward the end of self preservation. It was kind of hilarious, the job application for temporary day to day labor. I believe it asked no less than eleven times if I though fighting was important, or if I thought the ability to win a fight was important, or if I thought the ability to defend one's self in a fight was valuable. I answered the questions honestly and then accidentally scrapped the test (given with an inferior keypad interface, it really was an honest lucky mistake) and then asked the branch manager what was up with all the questions about fighting. He clued me in and told me to answer no, not ever, for all the fighting questions regardless of experience or training or ability. Apparently temp labors brawls are less the exception and more the rule. Regardless, the upside of being conscious of how you place your feet on a moment to moment basis makes you less susceptible to slip and falls when you are focusing on other things.
Just one of those sorts of things I guess having to use your body as the foundation of your livelihood instead of your brain makes you conscious of. I'm kind of inclined to go back to using my body more, but I wouldn't know where to start here. This place kind of frowns on that, hilarious enough as it is probably two cuts above a slum, but I'm not here to argue. One less trap.
Getting back to that though, I'm having some trust issues. Massive ones. Questions bouncing around. "If you were me, with everything you have at your disposal would you say yes to the offer being given you from your mouth to me, me being you?" Questions like that. I don't really know when I'm being used. I damn sure don't know when I'm being abused. The not knowing hurts more than the knowing. The discovery hurts more than both combined. I don't know if people are or aren't, but I wish they would just tell me. That's the upside of selling. It's clean cut. This is what's going to happen, this is why, and this is what it's going to cost you. That is the danger of friends. Nothing is clean cut like that. That's probably why the people I count as friends has thinned so much. That and just being a crazy fuck. Laughing too loud. Neighbors banging on walls. Laughing harder. Sigh. It's good to be live. Better to be alive. I'm working on that.
Money, cash, power, and respect. Everybody wants it. I want to be money so I can get cash and be granted enough power to sway enough respect to buy some land and a home so I will have no need of money, cash, power, or respect and can just be. There's no trap in that.
My stable of friends. Wow. I don't know. That's a lie. I do know. I like to say I don't know so I can imagine it's larger than it is. It's teensy. Oh god, I just tried to rattle it off and got to four, counting family members. Is that even something I can fix? Does it need fixing? To that, I can honestly say I don't know. If I stepped off my spaceship, when I do step off my spaceship, there are essentially four people who can relate to me, but who I can also relate to honestly and semi-openly... on a sit down basis. Everything is open over the waves. You can turn that off. When you're with someone, you can't turn that off. It's there. I am there. I want your eyes. It's very different. Sadly different. World changingly different. I think that's the nice thing that opens me up when I'm talking to you that I don't get to experience otherwise. You can turn me off. Unsubscribe. Break up. All that wonderful shit and I don't have to know and you don't have to know and we're just the same with or without eachother. The beauty of. The fantasia. The crazy fucking nasty wonderful idea sex one night standiness of it all. It's not always that. But sometimes. Whatever, it's fun. Ive nothing to justify. And everything to justify to myself. I assume you realize we are arguing.
We've agreed we'll keep on because the dreams have been to die for. They really have. They've been the sorts of things a body could wish to never wake up from. But, it's a trap, isn't it? Maybe not. Maybe I just have to accept that there are benevolent forces beyond myself. People that don't know me, that don't want to punish me once they do get to know what I am. People that don't want to me punish myself, that are trustworthy beyond a shadow of any doubt and worth more, in fact, than all the trust I could muster if I turned every cell toward the task.
a kid can dream.
///Gorillaz - "On Melancholy Hill" Five hours to get this out. Happy to put my thoughts to good use. Unhappy I couldn't do more. Bed and jobs beckon. can't wait til I'm a housewife with nothing to do but tend after bastards, count my government checks and bide the time until I'm raking in Rowling esque millions when I have nothing to do but write and feeding myself is last on my list of major concerns. So melancholied. So half finished. I wish I was sipping brew on a plastic beach.
1/11/11
The Locusts Only Took What They Could Carry
I'm here now on the other side of an ongoing experiment that yielded mixed results. I thought for some time about a fun way to combine the word success with the word failure before moving on to more important things. Well, not necessarily important in the sense of urgency as much as important in the sense of size because clearly there is nothing more urgent than finding a way to successfully combine those two words in their most appealing and natural formation and then be the first one to say the new word. The point is this: things have changed.
Life at a higher resolution has had its benefits and its heels. The bridge has dissolved, but has been replaced with something... something else that is difficult to describe. Do you remember televisions with knobs? You might own one now. Well life has become like a television with knobs and there is a hand, no not even a force that centered, but the grooves in the switch that produce the clicking sound and the firm resistance to the turning of the switch are, no not even worn down, they're simply not there. I tune in and every channel, each channel, isn't seated on the face of the tube and its frustrating. But even that isn't really a close enough descriptor. Instead of conversations there are conversations and monitors and levels and time sequencers and gauges and trackers and feedback switches and time code and frame rates and the picture isn't sitting and no ones shutting up and on top of that there are people coming and going at will and moving things and leaving things and at times I can't remember how to walk and I end up spending twenty minutes of a forty minute walk trying to redevelop a comfortable gait and I can't remember how I forgot in the first place.
The ceiling was full of mouths a few days ago. It was disgusting. They weren't people mouths though. Actually they were kind of like meaty valves or something. They kept popping open and closed with these little clicks and it made my skin itch all morning. And then the next night someone ducked their head into my slightly ajar bedroom door and I thought they would leave, but then he saw me and sidled up to my closet against the wall like i wouldn't know he was there. Luckily my phone went off and the light burned him away, but it still left me slightly shaken. There are a pair of women where I work and a man. They're also bad company. The good news is what?
I moved.
Free. Finally free from continuing abuse and shitty fucking family and it is lovely. Pittsburgh is my home now and probably the only place I know of that will have me outright with little or no reservations at all. Well, not entirely true. There is of course the body of people that I want to be connected with who don't feel the same way for whatever reasons, but that's okay because here I actually have friends who actually want to see me along with a context that actually allows that to happen on a regular basis. I have my own place and a bed too. Not much else, but I don't really mind it all that much. I do still need my soul mate computer, but that reunion will have to wait a little while longer. It does mean that my music and drawing will be extremely limited for a while (amongst other things).
I guess I'm still pretty scattered. I saw pictures today of my old friend. I was supposed to send her family a gift, but that was also right around the time I was cold starting my new life so I never had many consecutive hours to dedicate my brain to it. I'm still going to do it. If there's one thing I do every year I would like that to be it. At least until I know they don't really give a shit. Apparently she was here. In this very city only days ago. I wonder sometimes if I'm excluded because I can't be included. It's upsetting. Not in a broken heart kind of way, but in a "what the fuck I thought we were friends" kind of way. Broken heartedness you can get used to, but the former will always cut me fresh and a little deeper with repetition.
I have no idea where to meet people now. I have zero interest in vaginas. Which is also somewhat new. There was some lingering interest even a couple months ago. But I guess I am just gay. Isn't that funny? Well it made me chuckle a little. It's definitely something I never really thought I would say. I still sometimes think back and ask myself "what happened to me?" But maybe it's one of those things like Meyer's Brigs preferences. Just changes over time. Who knows. I'm not really sure where I'm going with that, or most of this.
I suppose I feel like I've escaped from certain destruction in New York and Maryland by cutting off the things the circumstances were latched onto. They've basically fucked me out of 20 years of my life plus however many years it'll take me to reach the earning potential of someone who reached their masters degree and worked in their field for ten years. They've set me back 96k in debt and a five year relationship. I feel like I'm harping, so I'll get to the point.
The point is they smashed and grabbed and smashed and grabbed, but in the end there's only so much they could fit in their clutches and I'm gone away from them for good. Out of reach. Sure my student loans defaulted, but I have nothing that can be taken by the government or a judge. And what I will eventually have will be so small it won't even matter. Sure, they swear they'll cut me off, but I've already been cutoff for the better part of a decade. I didn't escape on my own either. Some friends helped make it happen in a pretty huge way and I owe them each a huge debt of gratitude and dollar bills, but collectively it is quite easy to say they basically saved my life.
I still think about killing myself every other day, but the new potential is so great and unexplored that I can't in good conscience do so and it's been so long since I felt that way. I'm broke, but I'm happy. Life at a higher resolution has its downside and its confusion and its hates and pains and I may need to reaffix filters at some point, but for now I am aware of every passing hour and that awareness is palatable. As a direct result creativity and sanity are suffering, but day to day functionality simply is. I'm proud of myself. A little bit.
I owe you a year end playlist, don't I?
///David Bowie & Philip Glass - "Heroes (Aphex Twin Remix)" We could be. So we were.
Life at a higher resolution has had its benefits and its heels. The bridge has dissolved, but has been replaced with something... something else that is difficult to describe. Do you remember televisions with knobs? You might own one now. Well life has become like a television with knobs and there is a hand, no not even a force that centered, but the grooves in the switch that produce the clicking sound and the firm resistance to the turning of the switch are, no not even worn down, they're simply not there. I tune in and every channel, each channel, isn't seated on the face of the tube and its frustrating. But even that isn't really a close enough descriptor. Instead of conversations there are conversations and monitors and levels and time sequencers and gauges and trackers and feedback switches and time code and frame rates and the picture isn't sitting and no ones shutting up and on top of that there are people coming and going at will and moving things and leaving things and at times I can't remember how to walk and I end up spending twenty minutes of a forty minute walk trying to redevelop a comfortable gait and I can't remember how I forgot in the first place.
The ceiling was full of mouths a few days ago. It was disgusting. They weren't people mouths though. Actually they were kind of like meaty valves or something. They kept popping open and closed with these little clicks and it made my skin itch all morning. And then the next night someone ducked their head into my slightly ajar bedroom door and I thought they would leave, but then he saw me and sidled up to my closet against the wall like i wouldn't know he was there. Luckily my phone went off and the light burned him away, but it still left me slightly shaken. There are a pair of women where I work and a man. They're also bad company. The good news is what?
I moved.
Free. Finally free from continuing abuse and shitty fucking family and it is lovely. Pittsburgh is my home now and probably the only place I know of that will have me outright with little or no reservations at all. Well, not entirely true. There is of course the body of people that I want to be connected with who don't feel the same way for whatever reasons, but that's okay because here I actually have friends who actually want to see me along with a context that actually allows that to happen on a regular basis. I have my own place and a bed too. Not much else, but I don't really mind it all that much. I do still need my soul mate computer, but that reunion will have to wait a little while longer. It does mean that my music and drawing will be extremely limited for a while (amongst other things).
I guess I'm still pretty scattered. I saw pictures today of my old friend. I was supposed to send her family a gift, but that was also right around the time I was cold starting my new life so I never had many consecutive hours to dedicate my brain to it. I'm still going to do it. If there's one thing I do every year I would like that to be it. At least until I know they don't really give a shit. Apparently she was here. In this very city only days ago. I wonder sometimes if I'm excluded because I can't be included. It's upsetting. Not in a broken heart kind of way, but in a "what the fuck I thought we were friends" kind of way. Broken heartedness you can get used to, but the former will always cut me fresh and a little deeper with repetition.
I have no idea where to meet people now. I have zero interest in vaginas. Which is also somewhat new. There was some lingering interest even a couple months ago. But I guess I am just gay. Isn't that funny? Well it made me chuckle a little. It's definitely something I never really thought I would say. I still sometimes think back and ask myself "what happened to me?" But maybe it's one of those things like Meyer's Brigs preferences. Just changes over time. Who knows. I'm not really sure where I'm going with that, or most of this.
I suppose I feel like I've escaped from certain destruction in New York and Maryland by cutting off the things the circumstances were latched onto. They've basically fucked me out of 20 years of my life plus however many years it'll take me to reach the earning potential of someone who reached their masters degree and worked in their field for ten years. They've set me back 96k in debt and a five year relationship. I feel like I'm harping, so I'll get to the point.
The point is they smashed and grabbed and smashed and grabbed, but in the end there's only so much they could fit in their clutches and I'm gone away from them for good. Out of reach. Sure my student loans defaulted, but I have nothing that can be taken by the government or a judge. And what I will eventually have will be so small it won't even matter. Sure, they swear they'll cut me off, but I've already been cutoff for the better part of a decade. I didn't escape on my own either. Some friends helped make it happen in a pretty huge way and I owe them each a huge debt of gratitude and dollar bills, but collectively it is quite easy to say they basically saved my life.
I still think about killing myself every other day, but the new potential is so great and unexplored that I can't in good conscience do so and it's been so long since I felt that way. I'm broke, but I'm happy. Life at a higher resolution has its downside and its confusion and its hates and pains and I may need to reaffix filters at some point, but for now I am aware of every passing hour and that awareness is palatable. As a direct result creativity and sanity are suffering, but day to day functionality simply is. I'm proud of myself. A little bit.
I owe you a year end playlist, don't I?
///David Bowie & Philip Glass - "Heroes (Aphex Twin Remix)" We could be. So we were.
8/8/10
Bits for Flames Front Page is Done!
Click the screenshot to see it close up. I am so thrilled and tired and thrilled. The only thing missing is the "about" and "contact" links. I dropped out that entire poor excuse for a nav bar because it was making the page way too long and chunky and it is awesome without it. God damn, if you could see me smiling right now. I almost don't know what to do with myself. I feel like a kid who just finished a macaroni and glue master piece and I want to show everyone my grimy piece of paper. That's how happy I am.
///Aim-"Fall Break" I am looking forward to an Autumn that'll cool summer's misgivings and rages and bruises.
///Aim-"Fall Break" I am looking forward to an Autumn that'll cool summer's misgivings and rages and bruises.
7/30/07
actually this 07/30/07
Subject : actually this
Posted Date: : Jun 30, 2007 7:30 PM
this is how happy i am
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Posted Date: : Jun 30, 2007 7:30 PM
this is how happy i am
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