The Ethos of The Project

As projects continue to mount up incomplete the motor pool continues to grow.  The airfield continues to sprawl.  The docks, the compounds, the factories, the underground sites, the developers, the researchers, the caf staff, the janitors, the resource department, the policing, the eateries, the sourcing, the contractors, the licensing, it all sprawls and becomes their own cities.  Their own threaded lives to live each birth to death.  Transportation hubs and power grids.  Interlaced reasons and reasoning.

All of them existing in suspended animation.  Adjusting a blade of grass here.  Striking a cloud there.  Moving the sun a few degrees and running over every detail on that continent's sunsetting side.  Moving the sun a few degrees back and seeing it again for reference before putting it back where it was and tilting its axis a half degree so the flock of early evening moths make a little more sense.  I want to live in them in a universe of suspended animation.  I have to finish them.  As you work on them and take on new ones that universe reaches higher and higher resolutions and once they cross into the realized that's the end.

The generator stops and something new exists.  The snow globe must collapse.  The means must see their end.  Everything that was in there is now in there.  I can't keep joyriding through the suspended animation universe.   It's time for them to go.  Time to take apart the cities that sprang up around them.  There'll be other cities to build and populate.  I tell myself "it'll be fun."




///Nina Simone - "Feeling Good (Bassnectar Remix)"

Thought Experiments

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

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

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




///The Cure - "Burn"

Birthday

Thinking about everything that may or may not be coming your way.  Thinking about everything you have left behind.  Everything you pretend to leave behind.  Everything, born new, you try to make and force people to think you've grown beyond.  You haven't. ?Yoiu are ertarded,-=  /You are retarded.  You have grown and changed, but what you are is still thoroughly flawed.  You did not pass "go."   You fought for it.  Triumphed even.  You did not pass inspection.  I am pissed and in love.
I do not invoke accents.  It bleecx.  It bleeds.  Remind a self that I am just like you.  Horatio!  /
I feel horribly deaf.  Root for.  Poesis.  Root for Poe. Sunrise is a /default.  One eye.  Bumper, crumple, zone5.





///The Postal Service - "We Will Become Silhouettes (remastered)"

A Very Confused Moment

Confuzzlry.   It's not bad, but it's not good either.  I took my truck for a routine fill up.  I've yet to put a full tank in her and I thought the day might be the day to push the needle full to "F".  It was not the day.

Traffic was terrible and all of the legal side routes were taken and you can't hop curbs no matter your clearance level.  I stared at the curbs.  My head up display showed the alternate route and I had to keep pressing cancel, breathe easy, and listen to radio.  Clutch out.  Clutch in.  Clutch out.  Clutch in.  Clutch out.   Oh, wait!  No, nothing moving.   Clutch out.  Clutch out.  It was not my day to be had and I was not going to be had on this day.  No sir.  No thanks.  I'll wait.

Get to the pumps and every stall is taken and my baby is thirsty as hell.  Even I can taste it.  I set it to hover mode and blocked all ways of ingress and egress.  Except one.  Sure enough that stall cleared out and I took two glances and shot the gap backwards.  Full reverse!  Aye aye, captain.  I can't hear you!  Aye aye, captain!

Straight into the path of a little rabbit car.  We had a face to mirror to windshield to face show down.  One of the times when having a giant rusty hook hitch bolted to your truck frame helps.  It's that extra incentive to "do you really want this through the hood of your car?"  I slipped her in to the open stall, easy as cake.  Or pie.  Take your pick.  The point is, if you talk to her well, the battleship has hunter killer maneuverability.  You have to suss it out though.  And know her limits.

Gassing up, my eyes went upward too.  I started to day dream while fueling the tank and I really wished for rain or at least snow, but I'll settle for rain.  I heard it.  Rattle rattle rattle asphalt rattle and I smiled very wide.  And then I noticed that it was not raining.  The woman on the other side of the pump was staring at me.  I smiled and winked back.  She kept staring.

That's when I realized gasoline was pouring all over the side of the truck and collecting in a great pool beneath my feet.  "Oh?"  is what I said.  It kept pouring.  I looked at her and she wasn't staring anymore.  I looked at the sky and it was in fact not raining.  I looked at the front tank's hatch and it was indeed pouring gasoline everywhere beginning six dollars ago.

I cut the feed and adjusted the nozzle and gasket.  Perfect pour.  She started drinking real well with no spills.  I cast my eyes around to see who else saw and then I realized everybody gets one.  Two fudges in five years is not bad.  It's not good, but it's not bad either.

How'd you die?  Freak gasoline fight accident.  I couldn't help chuckling while I pulled away.  A good horse is a happy horse.  The things I do for you, truck.  You owe me one.

The cockpit reeks of gasoline now.  No shoes in the house!




///Miss Kittin - "Happy Violentine"  .... do you like me [y] [n].  my truck gets moody.  so do i.  red aura'd capital underscore night terrors

Facebook

Facebook is funny.  It's obvious as a bunch of gate switches, on and off.  Zero and one. It's funny because there are so many ways to have full conversations using only gate switches.  It's obvious, but it's still funny imagining an ever flipping map of things and you can hit whichever switches you want to in a side scrolling self describing toggle machine.  It's pretty swell and still funny.  Rudimentary, but a chuckle.  All the positions begin at off.  No point fives.  I'm not sure where I'm going with this, oh yeah, just remembered.  And forgot.  It's back, okay, got it, the hook is that with only being able to describe yourself through on or off it becomes possible to predict what's coming next and it grows formulaic.  For a ball of nerve endings that require routine to survive it becomes a joke.  For a ball of nerve endings that are a ball of fat and salt it's very funny to watch and also to participate.  It's fun I think is what I'm getting at.  Fun to create and fun to acknowledge.  The equivalent of a wave to say that I am me and you are you and "hi, how are ya."  Its neat.



///DJ? Acucrack - "Captain's Waterlog"

Window Shopping

I tried to get happy and fell flat on my face so let's go.  We've tuned up.  We've laid the bones.  It's time to go.  It makes some of myself smile to say it out loud.  Let's go.  The greatest two words in the English language.  Well, one of the greatest pair of words.  Does it count as three?  No.  It does not.  Don't be silly, tripping over imaginary bags trying to catch a bus that left the same hour yesterday.

Count me in.



///Starkey - "Striking Distance"   attitude adjustment in progress.  please wait.

S'not All Guts and Glory

It isn't.  I get overly dramatic.  It is a study.  It is very important to learn and understand appropriate responses, but the study need not dampen the human inside of you.  The human inside of you should never need or be dampened.

To put the darkness forward is a matter of preference, not necessity.  To attack every upcoming day is to ask for a war.  Approach it analog.  It's not coming at you digital.  One or zero or one or zero.  There is so much more that can be done.

The responses do push from one boundary to the other, but it is possible to find a zero beside the one, a one nestled in beside the zero, and start a new language.  That's happy.  Bad in a good way.  It's easier to view digitally, but better to view analog.

Failure is vision.  Wear your eyes.  Use them or be prepared to lose them and cry through your nose because nothing is supporting your eyelids.  Power chords.  I know I get obsessed with damage control.  It's only because damage is very difficult to control.

Damage requires a ton of run cycles and making plans A through G takes a ton of run cycles too.  I do wonder what I look like from the outside in these days.  It's a curiosity that demands attention.  It's not all bad though.  Don't let me get you down.

I have a lot of questions.  As I'm navigating my way through the years and continuing to find new ways to look at the mission and questioning the mission and my own value within the operations frame works, I am finding light not easy to describe.

At least, not easy to describe better without using terms embracing negative pasts.  It kind of strikes me as learning how to compose drawings using negative space.  Instead of tracing the damage and the brush fires limits, tracing the brush.

Tracing the wild life instead of the pelts.  Nature still speaks to me.  Tech and currency still eats me.  People continue to fascinate me though I find them terrifically repellent.  I try to keep one ear on the ground and one up to the sky.

I have to reassure myself that I am fine.  I have to maintain my distance.  I cannot allow distance to dissolve.  What I want cannot be obtained through casual means.  It will take explicit and thorough aggression.  

We are years away.  It's not all guts and glory.  Relax.  Absorb and do not over think.  It's not all bad.  It's not all analysis.  Do not remove the human from inside you.




///Bjork - "Hidden Place"  im simply suggesting

A Friendly Reminder

I was reminded today of what the creative process actually is and also informed or reinformed of what I've been doing.  Kind of a reanimation of what the mission really is and continues to be:

first and foremost and always foremost

We are a blueprint.  We are a map.  A map of the backwoods to go back to personally and also a map forwards for others in similar circumstances and also others who do not know what their circumstances are just yet, that they may not make the same mistakes again and also for the selves that they may understand each other and cooperate efficiently and do less damage to each other while they make their meetings and gravitas and coalesce instead of collide.

second

we are an outlet so that we do not make mistakes heinous and lesser, but mistakes nonetheless.   Travel comes from the front and history is written from behind.  Collision comes when the head and eyes go sidewinder.  There's nothing wrong with telling a good story.  There is something wrong with living a good story.  There is something very wrong with living the same story twice.  There is something very very wrong with not allowing a pop valve in the schematics so the engine does not burn itself into a solid chunk of slag.

third

is what you believe in.  There must be reminders to guide the way toward belief and above all belief systems is a belief in the fellow man.  There is no reason for extinction, not now, not ever, and I wish I understood that sooner.  Caveat being that there are some lined up for it.  Some exceptions.  Though they are very very few, they still exist.  It's an almost bulletproof belief.  Almost bulletproof is as close as can be had, so we'll take it.

fourth

this and her children are outlets.  The majority of the work is still unsung.  This is a manual and the parts and pieces are still, for the most part, in the parts bin.  This is the parts bin, as are her children.  There may or may not be a masterwork coming down the assembly line, but these are the parts.  These are the parts.  These are the parts.  Say it with me: slag.  This is not a summation.

fifth

the real work is done by day.  By night we are exhaust fumes.  The output of what comes from days of combustion and fire and fuel.  Never forget the process.  Never forget that what comes of work unrelated is a photo album and what comes of work ignited can and must be refined.

sixth

never forget the first.  Never forget where the bounds end and further expansion is absolutely mandatory.  Never forget the jail.  Never forget the cell.  Never forget, however pleasant, the yard still exists and the fences are still there no matter how far off they are and how easy it is to miss them, though you need binoculars to see them.  Never forget why the motor does what it does and that you are connected, whatever disagreement it is, objection you have, to it.  Never forget, but also do not fail to work with it, embrace it, and modify to the best of ability.  Because that will be, that failure will be, the end of the game.

Creation will always come from focus, sweat, a clean mind, organization, a healthy garbage heap, and a clean slate near or far.  However warm the fire is, you've nothing until you've walked away to build a pit of your own.  If it takes days, months, years, take the time to move stones and build that pit.  Until you take that time... it's just another fire.





///Bjork - "Hyper Ballad"  ...we live on a mountain...

What Is and Should Not Be

I'm pretty sure, fairly certain, that what I am is asexual.  Ambivalent to any and all ranges of sexual encounters.  Does that make me some kind of freak animal?  No.  Does that make me open to any and all sorts of encounters?  Yes.  Does that make me bored with sex?  Also yes.

It also makes me very disappointed and disinterested in every and all things involving sexual parts.  Interest peaked?  Sure.  Able to love, again, sure.  Able to participate?  Also, again yes.  With enthusiasm?  Of course.

I understand the artistry of it.  The mechanics of it.  The connection as well.  What I am attempting to define is the isness of sex.  I can no longer participate in the action and experience the subtexts of it in a meaningful way.  Meaningful being defined as a further connection or a connection that helps define a further relationship.  For better or for worse I do believe I am evolving into an asexual state.

Monotone perhaps.  Evolution not necessarily meaning some sort of higher or greater sense, but simply a thing not defining the current state.  Every attraction being a curio and nothing more, but being something and meaning something more than the cellar dweller slut.

Maybe meaning something more like "yes this or that feels good, but if an inanimate object could give me that on occasion I would actually marry it and talk to it and have tea with it and sit and watch television with it and adopt a child with it and help he/she learn how to play baseball with it and introduce it one day and explain the birds and the bees and the birds and the wind to it and disclaim immaculate conception to him/her while it sat on a chair beside us" kind of way.

A relentless pursuit of violence through love.  Where that one is divides the ground by gashes and swathes of earth scorched and the question persists: "can you live on this, because I can go lower?"  The question persists: "I have seen the floor and seen yours, are you ready to hold hands and see how deep that rabbit hole goes?"

It is difficult to rake the years and every time we hang out I cannot understand why you did not let go too.  I wonder for seconds if I did something wrong.  I want some times to attack the people you call home because they know nothing and I read them right and, if not, can at least scream to you that they read me wrong and the only thing protecting them from me is you and the respect therein and the laws they built their bullshit on and the same laws keeping me from spilling guts and skating toward the door on intestine.

No one is as intense in person as they are on paper.  That's simple fact.  Give me one day of freedom.  True freedom.  And everything done on that day will remain inside those 24 hours.  I will make tracks and make tracks, and close loose ends, and if you need more than 24 hours to catch me, tough luck because the statute of limitations says so.

I am plushy.  Everyone needs.  Everyone wants.  Each and everyone has something to forget.  Sometimes it is easier to erase everything else than make edits.




///Fergie - (Clumsy)       "...some day, we'll have a two car garage, a tea nook, and a butcher locker..."

That's That

So, the redesign is done. I don't think I'm going to do anything with the font and link colors until the next iteration. Like holding over the quarter panels on a car between generations. I think it looks alright. I'm happy with it. Now I can get back to doing other things, like fixing this:



well, finishing that to make the new header for a new poetry space. One thing at a time. The pace is plodding, I know, but I'm getting there.

Hope it is to taste. The detail work is tremendous. 2000 pixels wide. It's going to be epic when I can show you the full sized designed, but for now you'll have to settle for squinting and using a little imagination, but I promise you it will be ginormous.

Gestating Names

The low line is happening.

slowfluid
fingerslip
sunlance
powerdive
horsemenofthesun
highsequence
memoryanthem
keptaquaintance
throattwine
founderstext

Yes, I spent five hours doing this. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it would have been a lot easier if there weren't fifteen thousand dead blogs with catchy names still alive from 2002 that haven't been posted to in five years. Or, roughly, and my math isn't that great, but fifteen thousand days. Roughly. Probably more. Anyway, there were about three times more names that made it to the final cut. Two thirds were already taken. And five thirds were crappy for various reasons. Too cheap, too easy, too slow, too fast, too complex, too simple, too pandering, too monotone, too soft, too sexual, too written, too base, too serif-ed, too guilded, too quilled, etc, etc. These are the front runners.

The sad thing is, while I'm working on this I come across a ton of dead blogs. A ton of "this is my outlet"s. And they have clearly failed or moved on to other things that distract them or allow them some kind of other outlet or actually physically or maybe emotionally dead or just medicated. Enthralling and disheartening at the same time because I see it and I think "oh my god, I'm just like you, let's be friends" and then I understand they quit or walked away or grew out of it or whatever you want to call it for whatever reason.

The important thing is, the important thing being, the important thing seeing and I will tell you what you see, progress. I already had several design themes in mind and the name that wins out will probably be the one that fits the thema best. I'm not sure that's a word as much as it is a feeling. But yes. Usually it is fairly bad practice to name a color after you identify what color it is, but I am an impressionist and I see definites in swatches and brush strokes and it's much easier to name the thing after it exists instead of creating a name and top downing it.

So I'm thinking saturday will not be a terrible day to launch something new and old and new. It has been a long time coming. It will be fun to get my fingers dirty in adobe again. It's been a while. Too long. Like everything else. Well not even close to like everything else. the important thing is, and i can't stress that enough, the mind work is done. now it's getting down to the actionable items and I am gathering the disparate, the desperate, and the deserters to the factory floor because its not time to make weapons or war. It's time to make... period.


///Kinny and Horn - "Sacred Life" ...love the everything. Just write it all down cuz I don't really care. But I do. And that's why I foster love for the one's I don't dare. Be nice and sacrifice and play nice. Align. The world wasn't won in a day. The world wasn't one in a day. The world wasn't sung in a day. The world wasn't done in day. There's still time. So play.

On the Muckers

Finished the gift. It's strange to not have to worry about it. I get home and the docket is empty. I kick off the muckers and there's no sadness because there's no where else to walk in them. There are places I need to be and things I still need to do, but there is nothing hanging over. It's good and bad. Like a lot of things. It's a hard feeling to express. There's a pretty gaping gash where it was, the gift, and now that there's nothing in there to hold the tide aside it's washed high and hard. I wasn't expecting that. I probably should have been after working on it for so long. It's a backward empty nest kind of thing.

Not that the writing is unimportant anymore. If anything it is more important than it was as there is territory unoccupied and the last thing I need is to have the hunger for discovery eat me alive. I feel like I've been turned loose all over again. Learning what to do with that, because over the course of the work it was something that I unlearned. The timing was poor. Landed right in the holiday let down between Christmas and New Years, but I'm glad I did it. It had to be done. So it's time to dive in again. Time to shoe up the head saw and cut into myself with renewed abandon.

There's work still to be done. Year end looks. The year end playlist. Resolutions. Drawings. Poetry. Fiction. Sleeping. Games. Theories. Maybe even more stand up (but probably not for a while. I can't get my head around it to save my life) Sorry I've been away for so long. Part of finishing was really turning myself toward it with everything I had left after work days and work weeks. I think I miss the gut of the effort as much as the result. It didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted, but it was as close as I was going to get without getting lost in detail work and shoving the deadline to the horizon of another middle year. So we're back on it. I'm back on it. Time to see where the universe ends. Back from space, and off again into the star blacked banner of dreams.

Thought Problem

Problem solving: you have to do laundry to go to work later. If you do laundry you won't have energy to work.To get energy you have to floor.  Flooring requires energy which is already low.  You can buy underwear and socks but that will take the energy and time you wanted to use to floor our you could hand wash but the same problem persists.  Plus if you hand wash you won't have time to both floor and cook and will crash at work and if you floor and then cook you won't have time to hand wash and dry so the only answer is floor then cook then eat then go buy underwear and put it on at work?

I don't know.  What I do know is that if sally has two apples and takes two more from mary, mary should probably give her "the peoples elbow" and while she does that the train from cincinnati to new york will be three hours late because electric trains don't smoke no matter which way the wind blows. And ain't nobody gettin no sleep today.