the catch tray release on your three-hole-punch hitches and you accidentally release 600 tiny dots of paper into the wild.
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 pen and paper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pen and paper. Show all posts
6/8/17
10/21/13
Giddy Up
I've been trying to chart my work books, but I don't want to see them. At all. Fantastic difficulty. I did the first class and the reminder came up to do the second class and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Part of it is horror. Part of it is blatant stupidity. Part of it is just not wanting to know how much further I am going to have to work to get back to zero.
I just want to put my fist through something. Anything! Not even through, but just break my hand. Null it. But I need my hands, both of them. And I need the ability to ambulate. I need my knees and my elbows and I have to protect them the same way people protect their investments. It breaks my heart sometimes knowing that I can't do what I need to do. It makes me cry a lot. I won't go to "it's not fair" because it's just a fact. I could probably cut a finger off. I think I would save it. Maybe eat it. Cook it somehow like a ham hock. Stew it or something. It's tantalizing and aggravating because I know where the knuckles join and have cut limbs apart before but I don't trust my left hand to operate the scissors on my right hand. Maybe just the pinky.
Gauging my pain threshold. I'm still not sure where it is exactly and I probably shouldn't be losing sleep about it, but I am. I think I get that from my father. How far are you willing to go before you jump to get what you need. Would I have to cauterize it myself? Probably. I don't know why I need to do these things, but I do and its getting more powerful and harder to swallow it down between suggestions. I don't know what that means! It scares me. It's getting harder to pretend to be normal. Normative? Baseline. Nullification. Talked to Martin about that for a while. It was a good conversation.
Relying more and more on emulation and I'm afraid I will be found out. Not about being gay or anything that trivial, but being found out about being a fucking psychopath. I want blood all the time, I don't care how it comes. I need help. I need assistance and I keep saying I can run this car until the wheels fall off, but I've been rolling on brake discs forever. So many years.
It would be easier if I was not aware of the degeneration, but I think a piece of the awareness has lent itself to a belief that I'm making it up and even as I'm speaking I know it sounds contrived. It isn't. It's motor and I know less and less how to change the fucking oil. I don't know what to do about it. I know where to go, but you better believe I'm not going there. Like I need more debt, don't make me laugh. I'll spit ice tea everywhere. I'm not getting interned again! No! I will never put down the ax! If you want it out of my hands you better be fucking prepared to take it from me.
I'm not a gun, but I will put one between your eyes and kiss you while I do it if you think it was going to be that easy. Don't touch me. Do not fucking touch me. Ever. I will break your fingers one by one while I sit on your chest so you don't move too much. Escalation. Take the escalator back down.
I know what's wrong with me, but I need a checkup and I don't know where to get one without the internment trap. I'm not doing that again. We're not doing that again. Just handle it. Just grab your ears and pull up your socks and eat it. Life hasn't been all that bad to me. I'm just tired of having to emulate to squeak by. Doing it by the skin of my teeth and I'm pretty sure some people have started to see through it so I have to work harder at it because the people that I do love I love dearly and want to keep them and want them to keep me to and the last thing that should happen is giving them a reason.
It's tough. Everything worth having is hard. Is a myth. Perpetuated by people who think "difficult" is possession in the material sense or the kid rearing sense. Everything worth having is hard in the interpersonal intrapersonal sense. Having ground you do not need to give inside your skull is worth having. Maintaining relationships with the people you care about and trust is worth having. Put in work, no doubt, but put in secondary work too.
///Amon Tobin - "Back from Space" I wish I could fly, but not just to the atmosphere, to the stars. I want to explore the Oort cloud and be the first man to land on an asteroid and be out there in the zero cold and see the sun without atmospheric interference. I want to see Jupiter up close at all costs and I want to die out there. But I'm stuck here. And have to keep coming back to this fucking planet every time I wake up. Bullshit.
I just want to put my fist through something. Anything! Not even through, but just break my hand. Null it. But I need my hands, both of them. And I need the ability to ambulate. I need my knees and my elbows and I have to protect them the same way people protect their investments. It breaks my heart sometimes knowing that I can't do what I need to do. It makes me cry a lot. I won't go to "it's not fair" because it's just a fact. I could probably cut a finger off. I think I would save it. Maybe eat it. Cook it somehow like a ham hock. Stew it or something. It's tantalizing and aggravating because I know where the knuckles join and have cut limbs apart before but I don't trust my left hand to operate the scissors on my right hand. Maybe just the pinky.
Gauging my pain threshold. I'm still not sure where it is exactly and I probably shouldn't be losing sleep about it, but I am. I think I get that from my father. How far are you willing to go before you jump to get what you need. Would I have to cauterize it myself? Probably. I don't know why I need to do these things, but I do and its getting more powerful and harder to swallow it down between suggestions. I don't know what that means! It scares me. It's getting harder to pretend to be normal. Normative? Baseline. Nullification. Talked to Martin about that for a while. It was a good conversation.
Relying more and more on emulation and I'm afraid I will be found out. Not about being gay or anything that trivial, but being found out about being a fucking psychopath. I want blood all the time, I don't care how it comes. I need help. I need assistance and I keep saying I can run this car until the wheels fall off, but I've been rolling on brake discs forever. So many years.
It would be easier if I was not aware of the degeneration, but I think a piece of the awareness has lent itself to a belief that I'm making it up and even as I'm speaking I know it sounds contrived. It isn't. It's motor and I know less and less how to change the fucking oil. I don't know what to do about it. I know where to go, but you better believe I'm not going there. Like I need more debt, don't make me laugh. I'll spit ice tea everywhere. I'm not getting interned again! No! I will never put down the ax! If you want it out of my hands you better be fucking prepared to take it from me.
I'm not a gun, but I will put one between your eyes and kiss you while I do it if you think it was going to be that easy. Don't touch me. Do not fucking touch me. Ever. I will break your fingers one by one while I sit on your chest so you don't move too much. Escalation. Take the escalator back down.
I know what's wrong with me, but I need a checkup and I don't know where to get one without the internment trap. I'm not doing that again. We're not doing that again. Just handle it. Just grab your ears and pull up your socks and eat it. Life hasn't been all that bad to me. I'm just tired of having to emulate to squeak by. Doing it by the skin of my teeth and I'm pretty sure some people have started to see through it so I have to work harder at it because the people that I do love I love dearly and want to keep them and want them to keep me to and the last thing that should happen is giving them a reason.
It's tough. Everything worth having is hard. Is a myth. Perpetuated by people who think "difficult" is possession in the material sense or the kid rearing sense. Everything worth having is hard in the interpersonal intrapersonal sense. Having ground you do not need to give inside your skull is worth having. Maintaining relationships with the people you care about and trust is worth having. Put in work, no doubt, but put in secondary work too.
///Amon Tobin - "Back from Space" I wish I could fly, but not just to the atmosphere, to the stars. I want to explore the Oort cloud and be the first man to land on an asteroid and be out there in the zero cold and see the sun without atmospheric interference. I want to see Jupiter up close at all costs and I want to die out there. But I'm stuck here. And have to keep coming back to this fucking planet every time I wake up. Bullshit.
12/17/11
Low Lighter
I've been mulling craft over. Disappointed in the body so far. I try to grade myself week to week. Did I nail it? Did I glance it? Did I make something I can stand behind? The answers are easy in a lot of fields. Harder in writing. One thing I miss about college was workshops. Sure, half the people there are only there because they need to have creative arts credits or just needed something to add to their schedule they could coast through. That's the major difference between writers and other people. At least at that level.
The classes are only as hard as you make them. Writers make them some of the hardest classes they've ever taken. Other people don't. Humanities and social studies is like that. How deep do you want to drive into the subject matter? The same goes for many of the other largely subjective classes offered at university.
I've been asked more than once and probably too many times how a person, or how I, know that I am or they are a writer. The answer can be answered fairly simply in many different ways using very simple, and also very personal, tests. I am not saying the answer to the question is simple. It's always complicated, but can be simplified in terms of the writing being done. One of the tests, I believe, is the level of dissatisfaction with "good enough." Not the good enough that tells you that item A or B is amusing or digestible to other people, but the good enough that hits the points and edges, lines and graphs, of the things you want to map. If that lack of good enough directs you to work harder than you are a writer. If that lack of personal good enough draws you to an "oh well, I tried" sort of answer than you are probably not a writer, but did manage to put words together into a coherent string. I dunno. It's tough. Goes without saying at this point.
I haven't been disappointed with the effort as much as the second effort. I usually relied on working with criticisms to see where things were failing and where things work better. Part of learning how to write is learning how to simulate workshops within yourself. Time consuming stuff. What I have been doing is working on very short time scales. Hours instead of days and weeks and months. The pressure works well at sharpening the blade or at least keeping it sharp, but does not do enough, for me, to make progress. So I'm working on a new idea, an old one, but new to the times, on a new channel. A low line.
I've been riding the high line for a very long time and the problem is it does not leave enough time for gestation and things get excessively hit and miss and I'm not happy with that. I have to give myself time to step away and look at it again and punch it right in the craw until it's disfigured and see how I can make it better and then do it better and then look at it again. Give things time to precipitate. I haven't given myself that time partly because I over estimated what I can do (arrogance), but also because running back over what you've done is rarely pleasant. It's not fun or enjoyable to see how badly you put something together and that's a lack of discipline.
So a second Auralport is coming at a much lower line. It's not going to be about cranking out and pushing forward as much as it will be trying to put one gem together in a week. We're going dual channel. A thing for every place and a place for everything. Or something like that. Just trying to satisfy the urge to put pen to paper and make it something worth seeing just once. I want desperately to be better at it, but all I've got is me, so we're gonna figure this shit out and make something ill.
///Bowery Electric - "Freedom Fighter" ... cue dreams.
The classes are only as hard as you make them. Writers make them some of the hardest classes they've ever taken. Other people don't. Humanities and social studies is like that. How deep do you want to drive into the subject matter? The same goes for many of the other largely subjective classes offered at university.
I've been asked more than once and probably too many times how a person, or how I, know that I am or they are a writer. The answer can be answered fairly simply in many different ways using very simple, and also very personal, tests. I am not saying the answer to the question is simple. It's always complicated, but can be simplified in terms of the writing being done. One of the tests, I believe, is the level of dissatisfaction with "good enough." Not the good enough that tells you that item A or B is amusing or digestible to other people, but the good enough that hits the points and edges, lines and graphs, of the things you want to map. If that lack of good enough directs you to work harder than you are a writer. If that lack of personal good enough draws you to an "oh well, I tried" sort of answer than you are probably not a writer, but did manage to put words together into a coherent string. I dunno. It's tough. Goes without saying at this point.
I haven't been disappointed with the effort as much as the second effort. I usually relied on working with criticisms to see where things were failing and where things work better. Part of learning how to write is learning how to simulate workshops within yourself. Time consuming stuff. What I have been doing is working on very short time scales. Hours instead of days and weeks and months. The pressure works well at sharpening the blade or at least keeping it sharp, but does not do enough, for me, to make progress. So I'm working on a new idea, an old one, but new to the times, on a new channel. A low line.
I've been riding the high line for a very long time and the problem is it does not leave enough time for gestation and things get excessively hit and miss and I'm not happy with that. I have to give myself time to step away and look at it again and punch it right in the craw until it's disfigured and see how I can make it better and then do it better and then look at it again. Give things time to precipitate. I haven't given myself that time partly because I over estimated what I can do (arrogance), but also because running back over what you've done is rarely pleasant. It's not fun or enjoyable to see how badly you put something together and that's a lack of discipline.
So a second Auralport is coming at a much lower line. It's not going to be about cranking out and pushing forward as much as it will be trying to put one gem together in a week. We're going dual channel. A thing for every place and a place for everything. Or something like that. Just trying to satisfy the urge to put pen to paper and make it something worth seeing just once. I want desperately to be better at it, but all I've got is me, so we're gonna figure this shit out and make something ill.
///Bowery Electric - "Freedom Fighter" ... cue dreams.
3/20/06
back to b-6
Subject : Back to B-6
Posted Date: : Mar 20, 2006 9:11 AM
There is a problem in life. The problem is efficiency. The problem used to be time management.
The problem with my writing used to be that I spent the time I meant to spend free writing monitoring porn downloads instead. Hours upon hours spent, no, /wasted/ watching the gray progress bars of kazaa or the ugly greens of limewire fill up. Salivating for more material to bleed myself dry. Eventually I worked things out so that I would squirt some words between downloads, but even that only allowed for a few minutes of writing a day, because in order to keep the downloads coming you had to search for more and monitor the search window as well as the traffic. This inability to cope with having an erect penis used to destroy my time management.
Not anymore! Now I simply start up kazaa and let it work while I attempt to get my own work done. Therein lies the new problem of efficiency. Now that I've got everything parsed and on schedule the problem has been actually doing what I have alotted my time to do. For instance giving myself an hour to write means five minutes to start my laptop, two minutes to start kazaa, two minutes to find my music, three minutes to get out the power cable and ear phones, five minutes to check my inbox, five minutes to settle in and focus and then the reverse process at the end of the time alottment. Efficiency equals zero because half of the remaining time im adjusting the gadgets and cables and the other half im monitoring traffic to make sure i keep within bandwidth limits and then the other half of the time im distracting myself with the internets many goodies. The centerpiece of all of these problems has been trying to get the writing i want to do done on the laptop. Everything that slows me down is instantly identifiable as being connected to this accursed piece of hardware.
So Im going back to basics. I broke out my old notebook from sophmore year of college and im getting back to writing there instead of trying to use myspace as a way to force myself to write.
I think what i really wanted to say there was: instead of trying to use myspace as a way of forcing myself to write im going to force myself to write by writing. besides, the writing i want to do isn't even related to myspace in a positive way. you dont read blogs to hear poetry or little viniettes or scripts and the groups related to that kind of writing all suck, Ive finally realized, not necessarily because of their members, but because the kind of writing their trying to put into a classic forum format simply does not work.
So its back to basics for this cat. Or otter. Wet otter. Word.
Posted Date: : Mar 20, 2006 9:11 AM
There is a problem in life. The problem is efficiency. The problem used to be time management.
The problem with my writing used to be that I spent the time I meant to spend free writing monitoring porn downloads instead. Hours upon hours spent, no, /wasted/ watching the gray progress bars of kazaa or the ugly greens of limewire fill up. Salivating for more material to bleed myself dry. Eventually I worked things out so that I would squirt some words between downloads, but even that only allowed for a few minutes of writing a day, because in order to keep the downloads coming you had to search for more and monitor the search window as well as the traffic. This inability to cope with having an erect penis used to destroy my time management.
Not anymore! Now I simply start up kazaa and let it work while I attempt to get my own work done. Therein lies the new problem of efficiency. Now that I've got everything parsed and on schedule the problem has been actually doing what I have alotted my time to do. For instance giving myself an hour to write means five minutes to start my laptop, two minutes to start kazaa, two minutes to find my music, three minutes to get out the power cable and ear phones, five minutes to check my inbox, five minutes to settle in and focus and then the reverse process at the end of the time alottment. Efficiency equals zero because half of the remaining time im adjusting the gadgets and cables and the other half im monitoring traffic to make sure i keep within bandwidth limits and then the other half of the time im distracting myself with the internets many goodies. The centerpiece of all of these problems has been trying to get the writing i want to do done on the laptop. Everything that slows me down is instantly identifiable as being connected to this accursed piece of hardware.
So Im going back to basics. I broke out my old notebook from sophmore year of college and im getting back to writing there instead of trying to use myspace as a way to force myself to write.
I think what i really wanted to say there was: instead of trying to use myspace as a way of forcing myself to write im going to force myself to write by writing. besides, the writing i want to do isn't even related to myspace in a positive way. you dont read blogs to hear poetry or little viniettes or scripts and the groups related to that kind of writing all suck, Ive finally realized, not necessarily because of their members, but because the kind of writing their trying to put into a classic forum format simply does not work.
So its back to basics for this cat. Or otter. Wet otter. Word.
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