The Two Way Metaphor Gate

In building short hand, a degree of expression is reached that can and does generate the rare joy of identity and naming.  Mapping.  Map with as much resolution as can be mustered.  How else can a clearer understanding be reached!  Shouting is not permitted.  How else can a clearer understanding be reached.  How else can a clearer understanding be reached?

From its surface metaphor appears lazy.  Jagged.  Elliptical.  Fragmented.  Excessive.  Dumb.  Misguided.  Glittery.  Vain.  Hyperbolic.  Binary.  From its surface it's a lot of things, directly below perception it is incandescent.  A bit of metal chewed fast and friction enough to trace a retina and leave shades.

It is one of the few things all languages have in common.  A short hand.

Some mental disorders may fall just outside of the curve of the metaphorist.   Not in terms of comprehension, but in terms of time.  Around folks speaking the common language and sparking, some will see the shades and some will project the shades and be able to predict from the point of a sound.

The problem, a problem, arises with metaphor's other power.

In its ability to link ideas and present a universe whose limits, as humans, are the speed of salts in brains and quantum entanglement, it can also cross time.  Places and spaces you've never been and people you've never known.  Places and spaces no one has ever seen and places and spaces heard of dreams.

I guess what I'm saying is consciousness of metaphors power can unleash and enable some ridiculous and unaccounted for futures.  It can describe the present you are in to people you will never meet in the future.   It can describe someone's past you've never met before in all of your days on Earth or in space or outside of the common dimension.  It can define the undefinable.  Free the interned and capture the holy.  It is powerful and infinite.  Innocent and horror.  Dirge and beautiful.

As close to time travel as humans may ever reach.  With metaphor, the past is present - the future too - all in the space of a gesture, a syllable, a smell, a touch - a note.  A one.  A zero.  In sequence.  That's why it is a two way gate.  Futures can be created inside of them and the past can manifest with a breath and a blink through the same swinging door.




///Dirty Projectors & Bjork - (When the World Comes to an End)     for a long time

Fear

I haven't been scared in a long time.   I know that I am going deaf from blasting music.  I know that I am forgetting things intentionally from my childhood and some of being an adult.  The methods of deletion are bleeding across boundaries and I'm beginning to forget things I'm supposed to remember.  Long term memory redactions are becoming short term memory blanks.

I don't know where it ends.  I do know I forced the process on myself.  I don't know which part of it is engineered and which part is a symptom of myself .

I'm afraid.  I'm afraid that I may have caught the tiger by its tail or if it has sunk its teeth into my arm and I don't know it yet because I can't see it.

Reel

Sometimes I wonder if it's real.  Outside and inside at the same time.  Odd shifts.  I can explain them, but explanation goes so far.  I still want, to the point of near desperation, to cut you apart and examine the individual pieces.  It can be done.  There is never a good time for it.  It has to be a final project or at least somewhere near final.  Very close to final before another change.

The hardest part is finding a reasonable candidate.  We can do it.  It is far from impossible.  Especially if it is the beginning of a stout library.  There's no foul there.  Storage space must be brought into consideration.  On top of that is figuring out how to pay for capacity because storage space is worth gold by volume, plain and simple and the library will be extensive.

The other question being the simple fact that availability will be a major issue.  Think it through.  There's no impossible in "can't."  There is some cant in can't though.  Cannot get too canted because nothing flies right canted.  All the control surfaces get way off and then holding the stick upright leads to poor action.  We're gonna need a lot of jars.  Like a fuck ton.  Jars are cheap though and so is water.  Things are going to rot, but that's fine.  Lids contain stank.  That's really good.  It's not beyond our capacity so that's good too.  Temporary storage.  I still need more practice and it is an unfortunate obstacle.

You have to be better about taking out the trash though.  If you can't take out the trash how can I possibly trust you to store things properly?  You can't.  We both want this though and how hard do you work to make shit happen when it's only you on the line?  That's not fair to me.  At all.  Fuck progress, stop short changing me.  It's not fair, plain and simple, Mr. plain and simple, and you know that.

All I'm saying is, sit the fuck down, have a smoke, and think about it for a minute.  How retarded would it be to buy two dozen mason jars at once?  For two, you haven't really thought out the actual land routes or air routes yet.  For three, you have not worked out the cash because last I checked gas still costs money.  And for four, your exit strategy is ill formed at best.  I'll throw a five in there because you're actually listening now so it's pretty much a one: you still have a lot of work to do.  I know it's very... open ended... but you know what I'm talking about.  Talk to me when you've actually got some shit laid down.

It's hard, difficult, to think with you shouting.  It's not easy to know if it's real.  Hard, but challenge accepted.  I'm not sure about you.  I don't like it.  Othering.  Too much othering.  To be honest, I'm disappointed in you.  You can do better.  It's flummoxing.  Diagnostics failure?  Yes, for chryssakes, yes.  How many different ways do I have to paint it?  We were born different.  We weren't.  I'm nothing like you.  I know.  We are the same.  No, we are not.  Yes we are.  NO, we are not.  That is unacceptable.




///Goldie - "Dragon Fly"        next to Fury, top ten. new music is great but i am happy to rewind the classics.  songs i hope to someday play for my children. when theyre ready.  when we get there.

Circle Back

I am circling back and taking my time to do it.  Care is the order of the day.  I posted some old stories to Bits.  It's funny sometimes looking at how the composition has changed.  How some of the sentence structure has remained the same and some has mutated.

I edited the names out.  Not for protection against embarassment, but because it was a collective effort and the whole idea about collective effort is not knowing who contributed what to make the final product.  More than that though, I was trying to hide my voice.  I want to rework that story.  It's good, thus far, lower case letter t$$$, but seriously, it is a good start and was a good start to something really violent and heavy and it needs a good twenty to thirty thousand more words to make it polished.  I'm willing to do it.  You know I'm willing to do it.  I just have to do it, and that's why I put it out there.  That, and just to say thank you too to an old friend I ain't talked to in far too long who put a good idea in my head and then vanished.  I'm on the hunt for several a thing.  this is one of them.  Chasing my tail.

The Farce of Human Interest

The upside of funemployment is free time. The downside of funemployment is day time television. I won't come out with a blanket statement about the demographic that watches or is available to watch daytime television on a regular basis, but what I will do is call out the insanity of the supposed human interest story featured on daytime television.

In its thinnest guise it is the paternity specials on talk shows and the daily freak shows created from people with actual problems who somehow think taking their children or families on talk shows will provide some kind of lasting solution to whatever it is that ails them on the inside or maybe just to make a buck and get a tv special pitched at them from TLC. In its thicker, more elaborate manifestations it's the two day back to back experience of the "half ton mom" and the expose' on teenage fight club sex parties and alarmist programs highlighting manufactured cultural tensions and real ones.

And I guess I'm just sick of people calling it human interest. Human interest, the term itself, seems to ask a little more of itself than to simply raise emotion and sympathy and "wow" from the viewer. Human interest should denote a desire or interest to view and understand human-ness or humanity. A term as charged as human interest shouldn't stoop to the ridiculous shallows of daytime television for any reason. Human interest should be about introspection and reflection and I guarantee you the people watching human interest stories are as interested in taking in introspection and reflection as a red head at the beach is interested in taking in an afternoon of sun bathing. Having to be around people purporting to enjoy watching human interest stories is like going to a meeting with 30 yes men. All they're doing is soaking up reaffirmation of their pre-existing beliefs. In the end though, I'm sure that's why the shows are on tv. That and to illicit all of the "wows" and "oh my Gods" from the people that are watching purely for the floor show.

Personally I like to take my entertainment from sports arenas and sit coms. Wow, that sounds snooty. You know what, I'm saying it anyway. It only sounds snooty in the context of the ridiculousness of this modern day reversal. So human interest is an enormous farce that people watch so they can say things and feel connected to problems they don't have and feel a conscience they never acknowledge for the other 130 hours of their week and feel reassured that drugs are bad and teens are dangerous and gangs live in every dark corner of every city and know that they're not so bad because "look at the tv, there're worse people than me." So what.

I don't know. I feel dumber for having brought it up. I suppose the takeaway is: at the end of the day, I just wish we could all stop conveniently naming and pretending and applying euphemisms and have lived with a smidge more awareness of ourselves. I guess it grates me to have to listen to the people that talk to each other and while one rests all they say is "yes" "oh yes" "you know, that's what they say" and then they talk and the other turns into the yes man and by conversation's end no one has actually said anything and no ideas or information has been exchanged. The thing that unnerves me the most is that as personal awareness erodes so does creativity and imagination until the person becomes part of the reciprocating cultural wheel, the ultimate feedback loop, and they're lost as though they never existed.

///Amon Tobin - "Straight Psyche"