Knowing what you are and what you're not is where it begins, that's the baby step. There's nothing wrong with being a baby. Complaining let's you know, if you've ears for it, that you are not necessarily happy with the way things are or how they're going. Everyone's a baby. At some point. Everyone complains.
The option is to take the turn or drive the motivation straight over the edge and hope you land somewhere nice. Hope you land in something like a pillow factory or a bin of sand, or just anything more forgiving than concrete. Take the turn. Complain like a baby and then adjust. You can take your authenticity to the grave with you or you can exist within it. Sounds pretty simple. It's a bit more complicated, unfortunately. Sometimes you just have to realize that you are striped and a tiger and sometimes imaginary in a pack of lions. Doesn't mean you have to be at war with the lions. You're both after the same things. There's nothing wrong with that. You've honed your way and they've honed theirs and you're on the same field now so you have to learn how to play together effectively that you not step on one another's paws and sink teeth too close together on the same kill.
It's "go protocol." It's trigger pull. It's losing my train of thought and getting heckling from the rest of the committee and continuing to ball because YOURE NOT THE BOSS OF ME YOU @#$%S.
Fight through the noise. Embrace the sound. Love who you want to. It does not matter if they love you back. You have the right to love whomever and whatever you choose to, whomever and whatever you can't refuse to. If they cannot respect that, it's their loss. In a world lessed for loves lost, why waste it? Let it fly. Untenable as it may be, let it fly. Let it fly! Allow it to cross the distance that must be enforced for whatever reasons are reasonable. Include a few that are not.
Remain authentic. Stick to the protocol. You have not lived as long as you have by ignoring protocol. When the Go sign says go, go! Think twice, for sure. "Fo Sho!" does not mean for show. I can put on a fantastic show when I want to. I can put on a show for the fucking ages. Fo sho means for sure and it's pretty much a miniature pact. A handshake and a signature of gumption. With no risk comes no reward and you know what comes without whisk? I do. I'll give you another second to guess. Time's up. Without whisk you get a big old cup of pineapple pulp and undissolved sugar at the bottom of your pitcher of pineapple tea. Gross. Also, really hard to drink.
Obey Go Protocol. Stay authentic. Bow to be courteous, not to fit better. If you win the single combat and fit well, you'll hate them later because they will know what you did. They will talk about the event, if not active, in passing. You will know too.
The combination is not friendly. They are not looking for maps the same way you do. The same way you are. Do not expect assistance when you go. Do not expect support. Do not armor for resistance either. You were invited for a reason. You were on their wing for a reason. That reason may not be for back up should combat come down. That reason may not be for mounting an assault that day. That reason may not be for humor or for "to hell with them"s. You may never know what that reason's reasoning inside their head was, but there was a reason.
So go. Go! Stay authentic. There was something asked of you. Think about what you've asked of them in return by answering the howl. The details will work themselves out, if they do. The details will work themselves out, if they don't pull your card again. Through the noise, through the fire, through the poise, through the ire. For once,
allow yourself to see it their way and do not Chameleon. Do not lock up. For @#$%s sake, remain authentic. Uncertainty is a bitch, be certain of this.
///Girl Talk - (Ask About Me) chapter one... still writing the jacket
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 training. Show all posts
Showing posts with label training. Show all posts
3/22/14
Hanging Up the Suit
It's an unfortunate, necessary, and beautiful time. The time is the one to hang up the space suit. The time to hang orbits closer than circumstance demands. It's okay. It's just Spring. We'll get through it and to the dead and live wires of Summer. It will be pleasant.
People will travel far and wide and countries will entertain them and landscapes you may never see will splatter across pages and it will be pleasant because they went there for themselves, but they cared enough to go there for you too and that's a neat thing.
Don't say proxy. It isn't. Don't get down on yourself for traveling that way though. There is no shame in approximations. Never forget that. You'll have your chance for wanderlust, be it given or taken. Wait, but in the middle times allow yourself to enjoy.
Laugh as often as possible. Regardless of what you perceive, it is important. Do not hesitate. Explain later. You'll thank me some day. Or never. Regardless, don't waste your time taking things too seriously. Don't be a naysayer. Be a slight naysayer. Half of what is suggested is worth pursuing logically. Half of that is worth pursuing purely rationally. Half of that is worth pursuit in dreams and half of that is worth pursuing at the edges of plausible. Half of that is worth pursuing in extrema and half of that is worth pursuing light out. What's left is worth an idle thought, and half of that is worth creating in dreamland.
Dreamland is another story. 100% of dreamland is worth dreamland's pursuits, but what manifests inside dreamland,trickled down from perception is worth all dreamland can give.
I guess part of what I'm finding hard to believe is that I am able to be loved. I am able to love, but I am not familiar with being able to be loved and am distanced enough from the lack of rationale to understand that there may be no actual actionable item or series of actions or stockade behind the signal. No response found. None adequate to the task.
Formed structures of understanding maybe. On top of that is the implied threat of compromising integrity. How far am I, are we, supposed to go into the contract without a full understanding of implied risks? I dunno. I have no idea. Can I be faulted for extreme reluctance, knowing possible outcomes? It's not like jumping out of a window or spitting into the wind or pissing in an alleyway between two homes I have no part of. Those variables are known.
It's tremendously difficult to hang up the suit. I could've watched the last real snow fall for days instead of hours. It ended. So many questions. So many tirades. So much unrealized fuel and no where to burn it safely.
Are you really happy?
"Happier than I've ever been."
God fucking damnit, just tell me straight.
I still have the kill list (the capable list) for when I've gone as far as I can and I know that I can go no farther, freedom wise. I look forward to its execution. I look forward to my own progress too. As far as it can be taken too. I am sure, though not limitless, that's foolish, it is farther than I know now.
///Unkle - "The Answer" days without headache. I am trying very hard to make up and down of junk experience and important existence and meaningful relationships rendered dead outside of my hands for reasons I don't fucking know and do know and all the time all I really want is to leap from the tallest cliff I could find myself on some run and live to tell you about what it was like to hit the ground and survive. We're hanging up the space suit for a while. Not happy about it. At all.
People will travel far and wide and countries will entertain them and landscapes you may never see will splatter across pages and it will be pleasant because they went there for themselves, but they cared enough to go there for you too and that's a neat thing.
Don't say proxy. It isn't. Don't get down on yourself for traveling that way though. There is no shame in approximations. Never forget that. You'll have your chance for wanderlust, be it given or taken. Wait, but in the middle times allow yourself to enjoy.
Laugh as often as possible. Regardless of what you perceive, it is important. Do not hesitate. Explain later. You'll thank me some day. Or never. Regardless, don't waste your time taking things too seriously. Don't be a naysayer. Be a slight naysayer. Half of what is suggested is worth pursuing logically. Half of that is worth pursuing purely rationally. Half of that is worth pursuit in dreams and half of that is worth pursuing at the edges of plausible. Half of that is worth pursuing in extrema and half of that is worth pursuing light out. What's left is worth an idle thought, and half of that is worth creating in dreamland.
Dreamland is another story. 100% of dreamland is worth dreamland's pursuits, but what manifests inside dreamland,trickled down from perception is worth all dreamland can give.
I guess part of what I'm finding hard to believe is that I am able to be loved. I am able to love, but I am not familiar with being able to be loved and am distanced enough from the lack of rationale to understand that there may be no actual actionable item or series of actions or stockade behind the signal. No response found. None adequate to the task.
Formed structures of understanding maybe. On top of that is the implied threat of compromising integrity. How far am I, are we, supposed to go into the contract without a full understanding of implied risks? I dunno. I have no idea. Can I be faulted for extreme reluctance, knowing possible outcomes? It's not like jumping out of a window or spitting into the wind or pissing in an alleyway between two homes I have no part of. Those variables are known.
It's tremendously difficult to hang up the suit. I could've watched the last real snow fall for days instead of hours. It ended. So many questions. So many tirades. So much unrealized fuel and no where to burn it safely.
Are you really happy?
"Happier than I've ever been."
God fucking damnit, just tell me straight.
I still have the kill list (the capable list) for when I've gone as far as I can and I know that I can go no farther, freedom wise. I look forward to its execution. I look forward to my own progress too. As far as it can be taken too. I am sure, though not limitless, that's foolish, it is farther than I know now.
///Unkle - "The Answer" days without headache. I am trying very hard to make up and down of junk experience and important existence and meaningful relationships rendered dead outside of my hands for reasons I don't fucking know and do know and all the time all I really want is to leap from the tallest cliff I could find myself on some run and live to tell you about what it was like to hit the ground and survive. We're hanging up the space suit for a while. Not happy about it. At all.
1/26/14
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..."
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..."
9/21/10
Out From Somewhere
I've been gone for a spell. I feel like I've been waiting for something that I can't explain. A lot happened recently but the good news is my black box friend is back. Repairs have been made and I can make art again finally. Been a rough few days. I saw something weird in the back yard. I haven't had writer's block as much as things simply halted. To restart though, I found a message on my phone that I have no recollection of leaving myself.
Message follows:
I called you 5 times and you never call me back. Left a video message of you putting french fries in a cup of peanut butter and then another of your spread legs and wet pussy. You blonde pink edgy bitch. Your friend brunette eats right. Hates the gross food we like. Chastises me in front of you. What are you doing. Staring at someone i have no business looking at. The cat can talk. Tells me to im to vervo. He smells like sewage. Tells me that vervo have him his idea that got him elected. Why do you keep flipping me off? Do we still have a thing going? Itll ad a seven game series. Ive seen you eat them like that every week. A toy gun in the library shooting water at perverts. Jim is dead. I killed him but no one knows. I was jealous. His body was destroyed after i pushed him into the machines gears. I ignore her calls until italk to the cat. Now i go out of my way to see her.they go to a club and invite me but dont tell me its collared shirts only they dont let me out of the car until they stop to pick up girls though i try to jump off while the car moves.its the second time. I walk home past the college campus i used to call home and see faces that dont remember me. Its frustrating but freeing. I give up on them.
I don't know when I wrote that. I was trying to sleep the other day and the whole room felt like it was vibrating and all of the blinds opened and this thing walked through the backyard. Freaked me out. I've been sleeping with the lights on since then.
Well anyway. I think the thing is I've gotten so used to watching static in my mind it's been difficult getting up the guts to reach my fingers up to the bare rod where the knob used to be and change the channel, but I'm doing it. Because I'm guts. I'm adventure. I'm the spirit of everything motivated by discomfort and the things unseen. It's not really a question of what's over the next hill as much as it is a question of how long do I have to sit here waiting for my muscles to knit from the last 80 miles I've walked. Speaking of walking I actually got sunburned from all the god damn walking I've had to do while job hunting. I don't think I'm meant to have a job. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I've still got my wanderlust and between writing and wandering that's all my heart really wants. Trouble is the rest of my body.
///KMFDM - "Last Things"
8/30/10
Fifth Grade Word Finds and (Sort of) Free Art
Remember fifth grade and the substitute teachers and their mountains of copies of crossword puzzles with subject themed words to keep all the kids busy and the game all of the smart kids played where they competed to see who could finish all of the copies and win their free time first? Remember the other game the smart kids who didn't give a shit about extra time to do their homework in class because having homework to do was a great excuse to get away from having to spend time around their shitty parents played where instead of finishing crosswords they tried to find legitimate instances of curse words, the more rank the better? That just came to mind as I was thinking about myself (as usual) and I was thinking about the things in me that are different, which led to thoughts about picture finds where you look at two pictures and try to find what's different between them and that lead to thinking about word finds and that led to all of the wonderful hours in fifth and sixth grade I spent doing word find puzzles and circling "ass" instead of being taught anything by anyone because the teacher called in sick again because the kids are a bunch of bastards. They were still passing out crosswords and word finds in 7th grade and 8th grade now that I think about it. I raced through the pile a few times, but it was bullshit. It was not uncommon to have a teacher say "put your head down and take a nap if you like" as though I didn't get sent to bed without dinner often enough. Napping wasn't high on my list of favorite things to work hard for.
There really was no satisfying conclusion to finishing all of the crosswords besides the pride of knowing that I beat the pants of Annette with her stupid times table finger counting trick that I didn't learn until last year and promptly forgot. Fuck you Annette. You looked like Meg Griffin five years before Seth McFarlane dreamt her up. Suck on that coaster thick glasses. I hated her when she beat me at anything because she was a total douche about it. To this day when I beat people at anything I can't help but feel that I should have been more encouraging or at least explain to them why they might have lost and how they could have won. That might be even more annoying than simply sticking a finger in their face and saying a hearty "booyah".
Where was I. Crosswords, check. Annette was really smart, but a total bitch, check. Oh yeah, what's different about me. So here's what's different about me now from the me of five years ago in order of importance to me (sorry, this is so me themed today, but I'm not really, but I'd feel guilty if I didn't say something to acknowledge the fact that I'm being really really narcissistic [sort of]):
1: I don't think of myself as a funny person anymore. I used to think I was funny, but I'm not. I'm easy to laugh at and I think I'm fine with that.
2: I'm weird. No two ways about it. I am one of the weird ones and will probably be thought of as one of the creepy ones when I get too old to be weird and when I'm too old to be creepy I'll be one of the pleasantly eccentric ones you try to ignore, but who somehow end up miles away from their home health aide at a highway rest stop asking you for change so they can buy a colostomy bag from the potato chip vending machine.
3: I will probably never be married or will not have kids of my own. This will happen because I've realized I am impossible to start a family with. No really. I dare you to try. My heart is fucking Thunderdome. Raising kids and being with me will be like trying to keep track of the lost kids of never never land. If you were to combine Bill Cosby's sagely aspects, Peter Griffin's story telling, Homer's scheming, Seinfeld's eye for human interaction, and a middle aged Golden Retriever's eagerness to do everything, with a Bull's eagerness to do nothing except watch the world go by and bone constantly you'd roughly have an approximation of day to day life with me. Throw in "unconventional" tastes in design and home decor and art and general errata and my home probably won't even be a safe place to raise a kid from one hour to the next.
4: I will never be a kept man. I'm too damn old. Missed that boat, but it was fun to imagine what could have been had I really stepped up the training back when I first starting writing this and my biggest concern was beards and whether or not to shave my nuts.
5: I share my work openly. In the past I sat on it because I was somewhat embarrassed by it. Now, even better than simply not giving a fuck what people think of it, I honestly feel that it is worth sharing. It's become worth more time and attention than my own. How much time and attention is absolutely up for debate (whether its 1.01 person's T&A or 100 it's still greater than 1). Why more time is needed is also up for debate. Dear universe: I am at a highly impressionable point in my writing career... send me mentors or something. Jesus does not count as a mentor.
6: I've sort of come to understand that the people I grew up with, by and large, did not grow up "with" me. That's taken a lot of getting used to. How the hell to I grow myself into their circles if, apparently, I didn't do it successfully when they were right next to me. Frustrating. It's like everybody I knew went into a hall of mirrors together and somehow I ended up outside of the building in the alley with the alley cats and half eaten funnel cakes and everyone else went out the exit proper and I have no fucking clue how I ended up on the outside of everything.
7: I don't think there's a seven, but it's there for balances sake.
I've got an idea. Send me your address and I'll send you a handwritten poem on heavy stock plain white paper. Seriously. No scheme. No game. No angle. Just some art that'll only cost you the time and effort it takes to shoot me an email. You're address won't get shared (not just because I have no one to share it with but because if I gave someone my address I would want it destroyed immediately after it was no longer in use by the specific person I loaned it to). You won't suddenly have spam roll into your mailbox. I won't randomly show up your door with a handle of Vodka and tell you to drink as you run out to go to work in the morning. You won't get signed up for... well shit I could go on for another thirty lines about what won't happen.
What will happen: I'll send you a poem. That's it. A new fresh from my mental presses poem and maybe a scribble too. Bam, done. inacinch@gmail.com. and actually, by putting that there I will probably get a ton of spam, but I'm not mad about it. I just like to send people art. It's fun.
Or don't. It's not like I'm going to kill myself or anything if no one does this. I'll just keep doing what I usually do: write poetry, whack off till I fall asleep, wake up in the middle of the night in tears, write a story, knock myself unconscious with five shots of whiskey, wake up at a reasonable hour and repeat. The question is: how much of that is true. The answer is: most of it. Lulz. Anyway. Don't forget to see if you can fill out the crossword puzzle with all expletives. What is life if not a challenge to be more awesome than you were yesterday.
///Cowboy Bebop OST - "Blue" I think my opinion still holds that some of the best music is written and heard and felt in languages that you can't understand specifically because the worst thing anyway can do to some art is make it readily understandable and take away the pleasure of dawning reason and the avenue of organic access each person has to make when no person can make an inroad for the masses. The idea of masslessness comes to mind, but I'm pretty sure that's just more errata and artifice and artifacting. Sometimes I need a good paint chipper for my brain.
There really was no satisfying conclusion to finishing all of the crosswords besides the pride of knowing that I beat the pants of Annette with her stupid times table finger counting trick that I didn't learn until last year and promptly forgot. Fuck you Annette. You looked like Meg Griffin five years before Seth McFarlane dreamt her up. Suck on that coaster thick glasses. I hated her when she beat me at anything because she was a total douche about it. To this day when I beat people at anything I can't help but feel that I should have been more encouraging or at least explain to them why they might have lost and how they could have won. That might be even more annoying than simply sticking a finger in their face and saying a hearty "booyah".
Where was I. Crosswords, check. Annette was really smart, but a total bitch, check. Oh yeah, what's different about me. So here's what's different about me now from the me of five years ago in order of importance to me (sorry, this is so me themed today, but I'm not really, but I'd feel guilty if I didn't say something to acknowledge the fact that I'm being really really narcissistic [sort of]):
1: I don't think of myself as a funny person anymore. I used to think I was funny, but I'm not. I'm easy to laugh at and I think I'm fine with that.
2: I'm weird. No two ways about it. I am one of the weird ones and will probably be thought of as one of the creepy ones when I get too old to be weird and when I'm too old to be creepy I'll be one of the pleasantly eccentric ones you try to ignore, but who somehow end up miles away from their home health aide at a highway rest stop asking you for change so they can buy a colostomy bag from the potato chip vending machine.
3: I will probably never be married or will not have kids of my own. This will happen because I've realized I am impossible to start a family with. No really. I dare you to try. My heart is fucking Thunderdome. Raising kids and being with me will be like trying to keep track of the lost kids of never never land. If you were to combine Bill Cosby's sagely aspects, Peter Griffin's story telling, Homer's scheming, Seinfeld's eye for human interaction, and a middle aged Golden Retriever's eagerness to do everything, with a Bull's eagerness to do nothing except watch the world go by and bone constantly you'd roughly have an approximation of day to day life with me. Throw in "unconventional" tastes in design and home decor and art and general errata and my home probably won't even be a safe place to raise a kid from one hour to the next.
4: I will never be a kept man. I'm too damn old. Missed that boat, but it was fun to imagine what could have been had I really stepped up the training back when I first starting writing this and my biggest concern was beards and whether or not to shave my nuts.
5: I share my work openly. In the past I sat on it because I was somewhat embarrassed by it. Now, even better than simply not giving a fuck what people think of it, I honestly feel that it is worth sharing. It's become worth more time and attention than my own. How much time and attention is absolutely up for debate (whether its 1.01 person's T&A or 100 it's still greater than 1). Why more time is needed is also up for debate. Dear universe: I am at a highly impressionable point in my writing career... send me mentors or something. Jesus does not count as a mentor.
6: I've sort of come to understand that the people I grew up with, by and large, did not grow up "with" me. That's taken a lot of getting used to. How the hell to I grow myself into their circles if, apparently, I didn't do it successfully when they were right next to me. Frustrating. It's like everybody I knew went into a hall of mirrors together and somehow I ended up outside of the building in the alley with the alley cats and half eaten funnel cakes and everyone else went out the exit proper and I have no fucking clue how I ended up on the outside of everything.
7: I don't think there's a seven, but it's there for balances sake.
I've got an idea. Send me your address and I'll send you a handwritten poem on heavy stock plain white paper. Seriously. No scheme. No game. No angle. Just some art that'll only cost you the time and effort it takes to shoot me an email. You're address won't get shared (not just because I have no one to share it with but because if I gave someone my address I would want it destroyed immediately after it was no longer in use by the specific person I loaned it to). You won't suddenly have spam roll into your mailbox. I won't randomly show up your door with a handle of Vodka and tell you to drink as you run out to go to work in the morning. You won't get signed up for... well shit I could go on for another thirty lines about what won't happen.
What will happen: I'll send you a poem. That's it. A new fresh from my mental presses poem and maybe a scribble too. Bam, done. inacinch@gmail.com. and actually, by putting that there I will probably get a ton of spam, but I'm not mad about it. I just like to send people art. It's fun.
Or don't. It's not like I'm going to kill myself or anything if no one does this. I'll just keep doing what I usually do: write poetry, whack off till I fall asleep, wake up in the middle of the night in tears, write a story, knock myself unconscious with five shots of whiskey, wake up at a reasonable hour and repeat. The question is: how much of that is true. The answer is: most of it. Lulz. Anyway. Don't forget to see if you can fill out the crossword puzzle with all expletives. What is life if not a challenge to be more awesome than you were yesterday.
///Cowboy Bebop OST - "Blue" I think my opinion still holds that some of the best music is written and heard and felt in languages that you can't understand specifically because the worst thing anyway can do to some art is make it readily understandable and take away the pleasure of dawning reason and the avenue of organic access each person has to make when no person can make an inroad for the masses. The idea of masslessness comes to mind, but I'm pretty sure that's just more errata and artifice and artifacting. Sometimes I need a good paint chipper for my brain.
8/12/09
approaches
so i'm learning to approach things from the other side of the counter. i've been in the customer service industry for forever and im so used to being blank and open and receptive when it comes to business transactions that im having a hard time shifting into my managerial retail position. im not used to making declarative statements. im not used to making demands. im not used to asking people when i can expect them in my office. and im not used to trying to provide the best service at the lowest price possible.
that last one is the hardest part. if i cut my profit margins as slim as possible i wont be able to afford to keep the store open and people employed. its just that simple. breaking even on merchandise only covers the cost of merchandise! when its all sold and the register closes for the day what's left to turn the lights on tomorrow, buy my groceries for dinner, pay the window washer, and pay for the internet access and software licenses ill need tomorrow is nothing. nothing is left.
so i need to get used to telling people what something will cost THEM instead of what it will cost ME to make it. Let THEM decide if they like the price before trying to cut out corners (and make things more difficult for myself) to deliver them the same thing except cheaper.
Sure. Thats the kind of thinking that probably fucked GM but it didnt help that GMs customers were fucking idiots who swallowed whatever they shat out. Not so, in my little shop. My customers are sharp and frugal. So I welcome the price bending and look forward to figuring out better ways to do things to keep my work load down, my profits up, and quality high as ever... but if i start off cutting rates ill be out of business before i learn anything. ;P
///dntel - "fear of corners" ironically this song was on when the owner and i had a discussion about how to price an order. unfortunately because i started off cutting so many corners in the labor to produce the shirts the owner advised me that i could not offer a discount on the shirt itself. the price quote doubled. the customers walked out on me (but promised to return... i hope they do!). generally an unsatisfactory resolution. but a learning moment i dont intend to squander. the training continues.
that last one is the hardest part. if i cut my profit margins as slim as possible i wont be able to afford to keep the store open and people employed. its just that simple. breaking even on merchandise only covers the cost of merchandise! when its all sold and the register closes for the day what's left to turn the lights on tomorrow, buy my groceries for dinner, pay the window washer, and pay for the internet access and software licenses ill need tomorrow is nothing. nothing is left.
so i need to get used to telling people what something will cost THEM instead of what it will cost ME to make it. Let THEM decide if they like the price before trying to cut out corners (and make things more difficult for myself) to deliver them the same thing except cheaper.
Sure. Thats the kind of thinking that probably fucked GM but it didnt help that GMs customers were fucking idiots who swallowed whatever they shat out. Not so, in my little shop. My customers are sharp and frugal. So I welcome the price bending and look forward to figuring out better ways to do things to keep my work load down, my profits up, and quality high as ever... but if i start off cutting rates ill be out of business before i learn anything. ;P
///dntel - "fear of corners" ironically this song was on when the owner and i had a discussion about how to price an order. unfortunately because i started off cutting so many corners in the labor to produce the shirts the owner advised me that i could not offer a discount on the shirt itself. the price quote doubled. the customers walked out on me (but promised to return... i hope they do!). generally an unsatisfactory resolution. but a learning moment i dont intend to squander. the training continues.
12/23/05
lifetime voyeur 12/23/05
Subject : lifetime voyeur
Posted Date: : Dec 23, 2005 12:06 AM
everyone has their "perverted" side. right? well maybe not. Maybe that's just what i tell myself when i neglect to close my blinds... ever. Its nice though waking up and finding your room full of sunlight, and nothing inspires more poetic thoughts than say a room full of the glow of city lights, a mattress in heaps, bare skin, and nothing else.
to each his/her own. maybe. I can't really explain why this turns me on, but it does. I suppose when I become a kept man my hot blonde in her middle 60s will want to show off everything she does with her sweet, dream boat catch, of a sexaholic kept man, so i suppose its not really a bad thing that I like "showing off" already. Or maybe it is because after all it is a little perverted.
Maybe its just the knowing that something is considered a little perverted that provides the turn on. Maybe thats how everyone feels about everything sexual. If so then I think im just going to go ahead and keep my blinds open. all the time. and hope my future employer feels the same way.
no flash photography please.
the training continues.
12/2/05
i am not anna nicole smith 12/02/05
Subject : I am not anna nicole smith
Posted Date: : Dec 2, 2005 6:37 PM
She is white. I am black. Our similarities pretty much end there. She attempted to make a living with her acting and endless breast enhancements (to the point where she could literally use her tits for extra shelving or a convenient t.v. dinner tray holder or even a nice crevase for catching stray crumbs when eating crunch n munch popcorn while jetting through the l.a. freeways), and only ended up alieniating every living person on the face of the earth except maybe david hasselhoff and a few perverted little kids who had no concept of what a beautiful woman really is anyway. then again david hasselhoff isnt really a person so that leaves like .000000001 percent of the population who could look at her and have thoughts other than murder/divine punishment/"retribution-for-womens-rights-though-i-am-a-die-hard-chauvanist" come to mind.
when she realized she couldnt act and no one was interested in seeing her, naked or clothed, she went gold digging with some dude 63 years her senior who died a year or so after they got hitched. I on the other hand am not banking on anything else except my ability to land that hottie who may or may not happen to be 63 years my senior and even if she did die in the year after i got us hitched and my name in the will it would still be the best damn year she ever had, god damn it! yes, i plan on becoming filthy rich through essentially servicing an older woman, but at least its not a dude, and at least i have her pleasure in mind. when you break it down its like any other job: you put in your time until theyre gone and bam! its time to retire to mutha fuckin rio forever and shag all day and drink all night with a view of one of the most beautiful landscapes on earth.
i mean, consider the alternative: i could work in a nursing home and shag the patients and get nothing out of it but a tiny pay check and union security. now you tell me you wouldnt pick the able bodied old lady with a fat wallet and a horny sand box over that poor bed ridden shmoe who will probably get you fired after your night of illicit passion. hmmmm... tabloid super star > washed up nurses assistant any day if you ask me. anna nicole isnt even a tabloid superstar. She's a pathetic example of excess gone awry and, sadly, very well documented through small distribution media that happens to be tabloidal in nature. she is a failure at life, where as i will be a resounding success because i will set out to do what i have always intended to do instead of pretending to be good at something im not by running around with two extra bald heads grafted to my chest.
$$$$ its all about the benjamins. plus i dont need any enhancing. that shits just shallow in that kind of extreme!11/5/05
a mutual slump
Subject : a mutual slump
Posted Date: : Nov 5, 2005 4:18 PM
I am very tired of not having money. Demoralizing, disheartening, and depressing is what it's like to have no money. You don't care about much of anything and you don't want to work at anything. But you do work, because that is the only way to get out of the slump of negative dollars.
What about life? I have no wealth, no steady state of capital. I have debt. gobs upon gobs of debt that only work will erase. I tell myself that I am tired of being poor, of being on the higher end of the have nots. I tell myself that my kids are going to have everything that I don't have, but that isn't true. It's just a wish. This is not an emo rant, this is just letting off some of the pressure that stacks up over the years when it becomes more and more clear that you are very likely not going to be "successful, grounded, rich, dateable, married, healthy, a grand parent, a good father, provider, on top, stable." The world isn't out to get me. It also is not out to make amends or make things better either.
Don't tell me life isn't bleak and then tell me I have no way to advance myself upward through the class ranks because its just who I've grown to be. You're lieing to yourself if you think everyone gets a fair crack at anything. Life doesn't suck all the time for anyone, but that does not mean life doesnt suck alot of the time for someone.
Difficult days. Not enough is going to change by the time I graduate and not enough minds will change about who I am, how I work, what I know, and what I believe to make a difference in the paths that have been laid out today. Life is like a box of slant rhymes. Or maybe its like a bowl of soup and some people get silver spoons while other people get stirring rods.
What is there to look forward to? The "mutual slump of body and soul"? New beginnings; don't get too excited about those. they always start right where you left off. There is one thing to look forward to and that is consistency.
They may not leave you, but if they do it'll be for similar reasons.
You'll work hard and it won't count for anything much.
No one will give you anything you haven't earned or won't pay for later.
You will always be the best company you'll know.
Beer will always taste like beer, weed will always get you high, and money will always feel like eels in your back pocket, foreign, uncomfortable, and itching to slip away.
10/26/05
stupider than paris hilton
Subject : stupider than paris hilton
Posted Date: : Oct 26, 2005 11:27 PM
i am stupider than paris hilton. this dawned on me today when it occured to me that all of her less savory and reprehensible exploits are actually marketing moves under the guise of being a jetsetting bimbo slut face with too much money and no one to do. In comparison all of my stupidness is actually just me being stupid. I am unmarketable as a human being. At least on the surface i am unmarketable as the lap dog I intend to be.
I suppose if i am going to continue to pursue my career as a kept man i will have to change the targeted bracket of ditzy older women looking for a neat and tidy lap dog papyone. i think my new target will be the prim and prude on the surface older woman looking for the refined but otherwise rough finished husky pinscher mixed breed that chases the mailman, mauls exboyfriends, and over confident yuppies at her cocktail parties and tears up her slippers when she leaves him at home all alone.
that said, i would also like to point at an example of my stupid behavior involving a small friendly scuffle that ended up leaving me with 7 stitches and a scar on my head. damnit! there go my chances of modeling in the upcoming cmu fag pageant. ah well. this move was stupid and did not land me on the cover of tabloids to put my clothing label in the limelight or direct people to watch my new series on mtv to see if i really act this way all the time. i suppose however that it did further my end goal of being a slightly gristled kept man with a swagger that leaves everyday pool boys peeing their little pants and double life bdsm 50+ y/o women wetting their little panties.
nevertheless i still feel more stupid than paris hilton. and that is one dumb bitch. i need a marketing staff on my side to spin my life into a staple of pop culter and give me cool things to say and then patent/trade mark them into icons that appear in trend riding television shows, commercials, and sex ads. FUCK how will i ever make it into mtv's "hot brat bastards of the week" when i keep shooting myself in the face? guess ill have to settle for a spot on vh1s "awesomely unsuccessful but still okay to mention nostalgically" list with the likes of 4 non blondes and the spin doctors.
I suppose if i am going to continue to pursue my career as a kept man i will have to change the targeted bracket of ditzy older women looking for a neat and tidy lap dog papyone. i think my new target will be the prim and prude on the surface older woman looking for the refined but otherwise rough finished husky pinscher mixed breed that chases the mailman, mauls exboyfriends, and over confident yuppies at her cocktail parties and tears up her slippers when she leaves him at home all alone.
that said, i would also like to point at an example of my stupid behavior involving a small friendly scuffle that ended up leaving me with 7 stitches and a scar on my head. damnit! there go my chances of modeling in the upcoming cmu fag pageant. ah well. this move was stupid and did not land me on the cover of tabloids to put my clothing label in the limelight or direct people to watch my new series on mtv to see if i really act this way all the time. i suppose however that it did further my end goal of being a slightly gristled kept man with a swagger that leaves everyday pool boys peeing their little pants and double life bdsm 50+ y/o women wetting their little panties.
nevertheless i still feel more stupid than paris hilton. and that is one dumb bitch. i need a marketing staff on my side to spin my life into a staple of pop culter and give me cool things to say and then patent/trade mark them into icons that appear in trend riding television shows, commercials, and sex ads. FUCK how will i ever make it into mtv's "hot brat bastards of the week" when i keep shooting myself in the face? guess ill have to settle for a spot on vh1s "awesomely unsuccessful but still okay to mention nostalgically" list with the likes of 4 non blondes and the spin doctors.
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