Going back in time to enjoy the things I love. It has been strange hanging out with people I've only just met and their siblings. The day before was silly violent and antagonized by the middle child in her family. Her being the middle child and antagonizing everyone around her. She was the back end of an eight banger. It was difficult to identify and made more hilarious by our friend asking if he could bang her older sister. I'm pretty sure it was not up to me or her sister's fiance. Pretty sure whether or not she wanted to get mucky was and still is completely up to her. You can come along for the ride if you want to.
"I've sucked enough dicks in my life." ~ Tammy
We had this ongoing bet about how long it would take before she ran to history no one else knew, and I chimed in,but it was half hearted. I just wanted to belong in the conversation. Not a pissing contest of abuse as much as a revisiting of the things that inform and continue to inform our existence. It's kind of like driving a car. Think about it this way: put in 40 degrees of left input to your road facing wheels and they will turn fifteen degrees. Learning compensation. Learning how much you actually do burn when you proclaim you've torched it to soil.
It really is that simple though and that laughable and that much more enjoyable than trying to slug away one for one. That much more enjoyable than trying to get one unit of output for each understood unit of input. Existence does not work that way. There are boosters constantly. Whether you like it or not, everything that you do is boosted and amplified upon reception. It's the combat feedback loop. I hit you. How hard did I hit you? Seven? Six? How hard will you hit me back? At least a six. What will I feel a six is? Put a number on it. At least a five, but you don't know so tag me at least at a six, but that six comes in at an eight because I already ate a six and you know that because you've been hurt before and know what a six feels like and know I probably played it soft and a jump cut is in order.
Into the flame, into the fire. I have a lot of love pent up and no way to spend it. Why you no want to cuddle no more?
Fucking cowards.
Sometimes we have to back off because we know they will take it the wrong way and run with it. Does it hurt to be alone? Sure. Does it hurt enough to make changes? No. One thing I've learned about myself is that distance is still necessary. What I view as an appropriate relationship is still not, by and large, viewed the same way and it's not heartbreaking the way it used to be. It used to break me apart in fantastic ways and now it's more of a "okay, we're here right now. Option A, B, and J." Cash out now, because two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps and we're at J anyway.
I'm getting back to the things I love and it's been difficult. It's been a battles by turn. I have been trying not to think about it, but the successful artists I know had a pretty solid backing before they had outside backing making their whiles worth something. I want to cut their faces off and wear them and drink the blood that trickles into my mouth while I talk behind their skin and I want to be able to talk to them about it, but "that's not okay." And still they call themselves artists and photographers in the meantime never having actually known what the mean times really are. I'm no teacher, but I am willing to crash course them.
Stop cock teasing me. Stop front loading me. I cannot handle that kind of nonsense. Take your vacations and enjoy your languages, but do not fucking... ....I'm going to war. There are rules. Aligning with my own. Measures not drastic.
Deterioration. Leaving memories at least as fast as they come. I drive toward new ones as constantly as I can because there really is nowhere else to be and I am okay with that. It's a riot. I feel silly sometimes bending over to pick up the shards of myself and sometimes the entire exercise feels machinated. What I really want to do is tattoo you and have you tattoo me whatever you want. Battling down the brain chiggies. The glitch farm.
I could look back in time, but it won't change the view. The hardest I ever cheated was kissing another woman and being truthful about it. What makes you okay? Violently successful people who don't understand how they were set up to succeed aggravate me. Everything they know are things I should have known when they did, but had to learn later because, like those post coin op machines with the news on their face, I had no coins to insert and no nudge on top of that to pay attention to them and am now taking notice and am now earning quarters to slot in and am now getting up to speed with and am not mad about it. A little sorry, but not mad.
Through the TV eye. A wrecka. I said "hey!" Being bummy with no standards is okay. I'm not going to hurt you if you promise not to hurt me. Dhali Lama and llama beans and trying to be profound in every little thing. It's silly. The outside world bleeds in and the inside world bleeds out and really i just want you to say you're sorry. Even that will be and is meaningless because I won't remember it until I'm steamed and wishing I was not so forgettable.
Power. Something cosmic. It takes a lot out of me to be here and I know it takes a lot out of you to be here with me. Diet on anxiety. I wish I could fill my stomach whenever I wanted to, but I've been grained to the scale of rice to need as little as possible and digest want as a hack hazard that is a crumple zone. I want to be a foodie. I really do. Up chucked bringing to do more with less.
Every time I get something new to me I expect it to break down immediately or somehow fail me because no one gives something valuable to them up for grabs. Except people like me who do not deal in currency. Your word is your word. Your bond is your bond. Everything starts and ends at that initial hand shake. No farther and no less. Things new to me are things old and decrepit to others. Not a revitalization as much as a re-purposing. There is love in that.
Time elapsed, time remaining.
There was this one time I set my cat's whiskers to flame, not understanding that he was made of fur. The whiskers caught and burned down to his coat and we were both surprised at how fast it was able to go. Needless to say, or perhaps, for everyone's sake, we never got that ticky tacky mad again, but if I need to I know some good out of the way spots to bury you if you want to roll those dice. I'm a bad liar and a good forgetter. Push upstairs ;")
I will play asteroids with you for days.
///Daedelus - "My Beau" at night, I think of you and do not call because our wars are different and mounting a head after a battle means something wildly different to me than it does to you, no slight
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.
11/25/13
10/28/13
Scizophrenia
I continue to ask myself: what the hell am I doing wrong? I don't get it. I think I am assimilating well and then everything falls apart in my palms and I find myself catching bits and ... bits and pieces. Remembering the wrong things and forgetting the right things.
I am you to you and you are me to me and there is a massive disconnect between and it hurts my heart. I've been trying to do it through emulation and it has failed and succeeded in many ways. I don't know how to express love or hate appropriately. I feel like, just taking this car ride today, conversations are different and I can't remember part C or A but I can remember part B.
It's tiring. Asking my other selves what happened in hours X toward Y or hours G to H. Does everyone mark hours that way? I don't know. You're just an alcoholic. It goes deeper than that and no, I'm not, but thanks for trying.
It burns my nerves. I don't know when I'm being manipulated. I don't know when it's just bipolarity. Part of why I've taken to writing is that there is an actual record. I get anxious sometimes wondering if the person invited to hang out is the same person that actually shows up or if they know the difference and on top of that it's been a hard pill getting to normal.
I don't know what I'm doing wrong, compounding everything is the idea and manifesto that I am the cat's nipples and I know I'm not. I'm just another john, another burro, another acquaintance and it hurts my heart a lot and I do not know where else to push it.
Everybody wants something from me and all i want to do is slit a throat tonight and wash my hair in the blood, but there's no way I can get away with it tonight or weeks ahead and it's incredibly aggravating and not fair and I don't know what to do about it aside from spinning my wheels.
Brain virus.
I am you to you and you are me to me and there is a massive disconnect between and it hurts my heart. I've been trying to do it through emulation and it has failed and succeeded in many ways. I don't know how to express love or hate appropriately. I feel like, just taking this car ride today, conversations are different and I can't remember part C or A but I can remember part B.
It's tiring. Asking my other selves what happened in hours X toward Y or hours G to H. Does everyone mark hours that way? I don't know. You're just an alcoholic. It goes deeper than that and no, I'm not, but thanks for trying.
It burns my nerves. I don't know when I'm being manipulated. I don't know when it's just bipolarity. Part of why I've taken to writing is that there is an actual record. I get anxious sometimes wondering if the person invited to hang out is the same person that actually shows up or if they know the difference and on top of that it's been a hard pill getting to normal.
I don't know what I'm doing wrong, compounding everything is the idea and manifesto that I am the cat's nipples and I know I'm not. I'm just another john, another burro, another acquaintance and it hurts my heart a lot and I do not know where else to push it.
Everybody wants something from me and all i want to do is slit a throat tonight and wash my hair in the blood, but there's no way I can get away with it tonight or weeks ahead and it's incredibly aggravating and not fair and I don't know what to do about it aside from spinning my wheels.
Brain virus.
10/23/13
Bed Time Story 2 (51 text messages to my sister)
It was a routine
take off. The sun was low and behind, about to tuck itself to bed behind the
Monmut mountains edging the salt basin of the Campmine desert
She prepared as usual when her alarm went off at five p.m. playing loud, nudging her out of dreams
It was her favorite song. Slow jazz but not easy listening. The woman on the record asked, in her bowling ball tenor rolling across the jazz lounge smoke through flower hats and bow ties "how are youuuu, todaaaaayayeaye. I came here to playaaaaayeaye"
She didn't light up after her hand swiped the red digited clock off her night stand
Today was the same, but a little different. The city lights would be on beneath her. The stars would wink to life above her, but the X-two two four around her was on her maiden record attempt and her nerves were steel.
At the edge, a mistake of any proportion could be fatal. Nerves were unreliable. Senses, however, could get her back home
The briefing went well. She painted her nails a vioently subtle purple while her black coffee steamed in its styrofoam cup while the lieutenant went on and on about the fighter/bombers specifications in front of the touch screen while she tried to find a comfortable way to sit in a plastic folding chair in a room too hot and not think about where in hell the annual budget went
Janice already went over the six hundred page manual twice and knew it backwards and front. she could've Built the damn thing in the time the briefing took.
She blew on her fingertips and sipped some more coffee.
Outside of the bubble canopy, the sun laid deep red and orange streaks across the salt flats, bunkers, and air traffic tower where dinosaur fish hundreds of feet long used to swim.
She whistled her song into her respirator, nodding her head and thinking about how good it would be to touch down and take off her twenty pound helmet.
Glancing left and right, runway lights came to life, she reminded herself she didn't have to wait for the weapons crews to load up the hard points on the X-224s wings. Her wings.
It was not a weapons test. It was a dual test of woman and machine and settling in to her cockpit, adjusting her harnesses, she moved her gloved hand to the throttle without a cloud in the sky
"alright, Lionmane, its just you and me today. Be good.". She toggled her radio switch with a wink to her in helmet display, the dual turbines thrumming quiet as an aeroplane is capable behind her head.
"This is Rainbow Nugget, ready for all go on your signal Walking Stick."
The control tower came back, the controller chuckling at her call sign despite himself, "Rainbow nugget, you are clear for go. Be safe out there. Don't scratch the paint."
"I'll bring him back in one piece, you get the wine cooling. I'm gonna need a pick me up when this is over." she winked again at her visor display and took a deep breath.
Without the crackle of the radio, the jet engine buzz was too quiet. Her left hand flew across the dials and switches on her console, yellow lights blinking softly to solid green.
The chime rang through the cockpit. Lionmane X two two four sighing back "I am ready"
She toggled the brake switch, turned on her wing tip and running lights and hauled on the throttle with her right.
The tower half a mile away tore through her vision as the engines screamed. Water condensed on the canopy front, capturing the sun at her back in burned gold droplets as she broke the sound barrier once and then twice.
She winked her radio back on and barked against the breast squeezing gee force: "systems stable. Vertical climb!"
The X-224s landing gear mashed the sand like a drunk through the middle of a street hanging onto their beau for dear life before finally letting go.
The twin tails streaked into the evening sky as she held the throttle at maximum. The Tower, miles behind, came back. "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear. Have you on the board. You are on pace for time to climb record."
"Systems stable!" she barked back, Earth doing everything it could to collapse her lungs
Over her shoulder, as the engines screamed and the composite alloy frame of the X 224 shook, the sun began to rise over the sloping peaks of the Monmut mountain ridge.
The basin beneath her shrank to a football field and then a coin. She held the throttle down. The Tower came back: "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear, you are clear. Looking good."
Janice grit her teeth, "I know!"
The sun shone like mid day. her visor tinted itself, twin contrails scorching upward. "Afterburn!" she shouted as her pressure suit began to force circulation through her limbs.
With all of the strength she could muster she lifted her hand from the throttle, flipped the clear plastic cover from the bright yellow and black deadmans switch and pressed the lime green button at its center
At the base, 30 pounds of TNT went off over their heads. The control tower shook like a twig in a thunderstorm as the lionmanes engines tore the sky apart and two new stars blazed to life in the evening sky.
The Tower came back, "we have you on visual!" unable to contain their calm.
Janice held her thumb to the switch and touched the stick with the gentleness of a mother cleaning a kitten.
The canopy turned, too quickly at first, and more slowly. Janice gave a ferocious glance across the console before risking turning her head away.
The canopy spun at her fingertips and as she climbed the sun set again behind the shadow of her wing tip.
The sky began to darken and the lights of Santa Monica, Las angeles, Eugene, San Antonio, Austin, and Denver grew brighter and brighter. "Where's Mexico city," she chuckle rasped to herself.
"Rainbow Nugget, you've got the record, bring him in whenever you're green." She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the ground.
"I hear!" she barked, not yet ready. The sky turned blue and then black and in that midnight blanket the stars came to life in front of her.
All around they shined with a brilliance that pulled at her heart harder and harder as she held her thumb to the afterburn switch
"Rainbow Nugget, be advised you're running out of air up there."
"Walking Stick, I hear y-" the X- 224s thrashing rumble ceased.
The g forces crushing her body reversed direction and threw her forward hard enough to send her hand through her head up display atop her console, shattering it
"Rainbow we have you losing speed, copy?"
The stars began to spin outside of the canopy. City lights, then stars, then cities again. Her eyes raced, cueing the visor display to go to this and that menu, lines of information and diagrams and maps whipping by. They raced like one hundred horses loosed from their pens across her in helmet display
Steady green lights turned to flashing yellow and then sharp and solid red. "Rainbow, do you copy??"
as her eyes raced they picked out pieces of information. "Flame out," she shouted to herself as she rammed the throttle to zero and worked her hands across the dials.
"Come back?" the Tower shouted through her earpiece.
"Flameout! Walking Stick! Flameout!" She winked at her visor to close the radio link as her hands continued to work furiously.
The X - 224 no longer arrowed upward. It spun end over end until momentum could carry it no further and began its descent. With no more air to feed engines, the lionmane became a fuel filled 3000 pound free falling bomb
"air brakes," she told herself, "now!" her hands flew and the lionmanes frame rumbled with the back up hydraulic systems effort beneath her ejector seat
"im not giving up on you!" she shouted at her console, her eyes flying behind her visor as the stars spinning outside her canopy began to wink out and the sun began to rise again.
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pulled up her backup head up display inside her helmet and caught her heart in her mouth. The zeroes on the altimeter were disappearing much too fast.
She prepared as usual when her alarm went off at five p.m. playing loud, nudging her out of dreams
It was her favorite song. Slow jazz but not easy listening. The woman on the record asked, in her bowling ball tenor rolling across the jazz lounge smoke through flower hats and bow ties "how are youuuu, todaaaaayayeaye. I came here to playaaaaayeaye"
She didn't light up after her hand swiped the red digited clock off her night stand
Today was the same, but a little different. The city lights would be on beneath her. The stars would wink to life above her, but the X-two two four around her was on her maiden record attempt and her nerves were steel.
At the edge, a mistake of any proportion could be fatal. Nerves were unreliable. Senses, however, could get her back home
The briefing went well. She painted her nails a vioently subtle purple while her black coffee steamed in its styrofoam cup while the lieutenant went on and on about the fighter/bombers specifications in front of the touch screen while she tried to find a comfortable way to sit in a plastic folding chair in a room too hot and not think about where in hell the annual budget went
Janice already went over the six hundred page manual twice and knew it backwards and front. she could've Built the damn thing in the time the briefing took.
She blew on her fingertips and sipped some more coffee.
Outside of the bubble canopy, the sun laid deep red and orange streaks across the salt flats, bunkers, and air traffic tower where dinosaur fish hundreds of feet long used to swim.
She whistled her song into her respirator, nodding her head and thinking about how good it would be to touch down and take off her twenty pound helmet.
Glancing left and right, runway lights came to life, she reminded herself she didn't have to wait for the weapons crews to load up the hard points on the X-224s wings. Her wings.
It was not a weapons test. It was a dual test of woman and machine and settling in to her cockpit, adjusting her harnesses, she moved her gloved hand to the throttle without a cloud in the sky
"alright, Lionmane, its just you and me today. Be good.". She toggled her radio switch with a wink to her in helmet display, the dual turbines thrumming quiet as an aeroplane is capable behind her head.
"This is Rainbow Nugget, ready for all go on your signal Walking Stick."
The control tower came back, the controller chuckling at her call sign despite himself, "Rainbow nugget, you are clear for go. Be safe out there. Don't scratch the paint."
"I'll bring him back in one piece, you get the wine cooling. I'm gonna need a pick me up when this is over." she winked again at her visor display and took a deep breath.
Without the crackle of the radio, the jet engine buzz was too quiet. Her left hand flew across the dials and switches on her console, yellow lights blinking softly to solid green.
The chime rang through the cockpit. Lionmane X two two four sighing back "I am ready"
She toggled the brake switch, turned on her wing tip and running lights and hauled on the throttle with her right.
The tower half a mile away tore through her vision as the engines screamed. Water condensed on the canopy front, capturing the sun at her back in burned gold droplets as she broke the sound barrier once and then twice.
She winked her radio back on and barked against the breast squeezing gee force: "systems stable. Vertical climb!"
The X-224s landing gear mashed the sand like a drunk through the middle of a street hanging onto their beau for dear life before finally letting go.
The twin tails streaked into the evening sky as she held the throttle at maximum. The Tower, miles behind, came back. "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear. Have you on the board. You are on pace for time to climb record."
"Systems stable!" she barked back, Earth doing everything it could to collapse her lungs
Over her shoulder, as the engines screamed and the composite alloy frame of the X 224 shook, the sun began to rise over the sloping peaks of the Monmut mountain ridge.
The basin beneath her shrank to a football field and then a coin. She held the throttle down. The Tower came back: "Rainbow Nugget, you are clear, you are clear. Looking good."
Janice grit her teeth, "I know!"
The sun shone like mid day. her visor tinted itself, twin contrails scorching upward. "Afterburn!" she shouted as her pressure suit began to force circulation through her limbs.
With all of the strength she could muster she lifted her hand from the throttle, flipped the clear plastic cover from the bright yellow and black deadmans switch and pressed the lime green button at its center
At the base, 30 pounds of TNT went off over their heads. The control tower shook like a twig in a thunderstorm as the lionmanes engines tore the sky apart and two new stars blazed to life in the evening sky.
The Tower came back, "we have you on visual!" unable to contain their calm.
Janice held her thumb to the switch and touched the stick with the gentleness of a mother cleaning a kitten.
The canopy turned, too quickly at first, and more slowly. Janice gave a ferocious glance across the console before risking turning her head away.
The canopy spun at her fingertips and as she climbed the sun set again behind the shadow of her wing tip.
The sky began to darken and the lights of Santa Monica, Las angeles, Eugene, San Antonio, Austin, and Denver grew brighter and brighter. "Where's Mexico city," she chuckle rasped to herself.
"Rainbow Nugget, you've got the record, bring him in whenever you're green." She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the ground.
"I hear!" she barked, not yet ready. The sky turned blue and then black and in that midnight blanket the stars came to life in front of her.
All around they shined with a brilliance that pulled at her heart harder and harder as she held her thumb to the afterburn switch
"Rainbow Nugget, be advised you're running out of air up there."
"Walking Stick, I hear y-" the X- 224s thrashing rumble ceased.
The g forces crushing her body reversed direction and threw her forward hard enough to send her hand through her head up display atop her console, shattering it
"Rainbow we have you losing speed, copy?"
The stars began to spin outside of the canopy. City lights, then stars, then cities again. Her eyes raced, cueing the visor display to go to this and that menu, lines of information and diagrams and maps whipping by. They raced like one hundred horses loosed from their pens across her in helmet display
Steady green lights turned to flashing yellow and then sharp and solid red. "Rainbow, do you copy??"
as her eyes raced they picked out pieces of information. "Flame out," she shouted to herself as she rammed the throttle to zero and worked her hands across the dials.
"Come back?" the Tower shouted through her earpiece.
"Flameout! Walking Stick! Flameout!" She winked at her visor to close the radio link as her hands continued to work furiously.
The X - 224 no longer arrowed upward. It spun end over end until momentum could carry it no further and began its descent. With no more air to feed engines, the lionmane became a fuel filled 3000 pound free falling bomb
"air brakes," she told herself, "now!" her hands flew and the lionmanes frame rumbled with the back up hydraulic systems effort beneath her ejector seat
"im not giving up on you!" she shouted at her console, her eyes flying behind her visor as the stars spinning outside her canopy began to wink out and the sun began to rise again.
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pumped the fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
She pulled up her backup head up display inside her helmet and caught her heart in her mouth. The zeroes on the altimeter were disappearing much too fast.
She pumped the
fuel from nothing to the kitchen sink as the X 224s end over end flattened out
into a frisbee toss. "god damn it, remember!"
Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
"Fire! You son of a bitch, fire!" The fuel light blinked from yellow to green. The main hydraulic light showed solid green.
She tore her respirator from her face. "Start!" she rested her left hand on her ejector lever and hammered the throttle.
Above the tower a roar tore through the late afternoon sky.
Miles up two contrails ran like rails to the east as one and then another sonic boom rattled windows across state lines.
Janice pulled back on the throttle once the lights held and began a slow and looping decent to the salt basin, her heart still pounding.
She winked her radio on. "This is Rainbow Nugget for Walking Stick"
"Walking Stick here."
"Bringing him in."
"We have you on the board, the field is clear Rainbow Nugget. You've got the altitude record too"
The twin turbines thrummed in Janice's ears as she sighed, "glad to hear it," and winked her radio off.
The debriefing was going to be harsh, but no one could ever take the record away from her.
As the tires on the X 224s landing gear hit the salt and sand and rolled the beast along the runway past the control tower, Janice began to whistle and think about sleep. She sang softly as she shut down the engines "how are you today?" and the sun set behind the Monmut mountains
Gnite. <3 div="" u="">Her mind tore through the pages of the manual and the briefing and the sequences as she read her speed by altitude and knew she could fire the landing gear without ripping it clean off.
The city lights slipped completely from view as the Monmut ridge rotated in and out of view
"Fire! You son of a bitch, fire!" The fuel light blinked from yellow to green. The main hydraulic light showed solid green.
She tore her respirator from her face. "Start!" she rested her left hand on her ejector lever and hammered the throttle.
Above the tower a roar tore through the late afternoon sky.
Miles up two contrails ran like rails to the east as one and then another sonic boom rattled windows across state lines.
Janice pulled back on the throttle once the lights held and began a slow and looping decent to the salt basin, her heart still pounding.
She winked her radio on. "This is Rainbow Nugget for Walking Stick"
"Walking Stick here."
"Bringing him in."
"We have you on the board, the field is clear Rainbow Nugget. You've got the altitude record too"
The twin turbines thrummed in Janice's ears as she sighed, "glad to hear it," and winked her radio off.
The debriefing was going to be harsh, but no one could ever take the record away from her.
As the tires on the X 224s landing gear hit the salt and sand and rolled the beast along the runway past the control tower, Janice began to whistle and think about sleep. She sang softly as she shut down the engines "how are you today?" and the sun set behind the Monmut mountains
///Cleveland Lounge - "Drowning (Scuba Mix)" all the best to you on your sleep swim
10/21/13
That Instant
you realize you broke your back up set of headphones. Fu--
and did not plan for it at all.
and did not plan for it at all.
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.
10/14/13
Coming Back
Your customer service representative will be with you in a moment. Please stand by. We are aware that you are having some problems with your account and we very much enjoy your business and you are a valued customer. Please hold while the next available representative ...
finishes their shit. I cant slam my phone on the coffee table hard enough without breaking it. I hate dealing with people. I love dealing with people. Nothing happened to me, everything happened to me.
Please hold. I don't know what songs you like, but here, have this one. It's an elevator and a stabilizer so enjoy it for a minute while we talk about your request and jump around it for a while and weasel. Okay, that's fine. I'm glad I chabbed up on something to munch. I'll hold. Please, continue. It's not like I had something to grind on today. Not at all. I'm just blowing in the wind, but okay. Please hold, please hold.
We are experiencing some technical difficulties, but here, this is the weather for the next nine days and 22 hours. Here's the news. In case you were wondering, nothing has changed so here's more of it. Smile a little? Here's more junk. Here's what time it is and here are some pundits and here is some humor. Here's some tosh and some cartman. Here's bart and toys turned into cartoons and cartoons turned into toys. Here's PBS and here's NOVA and here's are you being swerved.
Enjoy. Here's ducks and hitler and dams and bridges and pawn shops and tits and dicks and marriages and food and chores and nannies and dads and children and scooby fucking doo and courage and beers and beers and beers and liquor and shampoo and lipstick and gloss and appliances and payment plans and retirement and cars and shrimp and outings and beef and socks and shirts and underwear and
I can't take it anymore. I can't eat anything anymore. I used to starve myself because I was paranoid about my weight and now I can't eat anymore because everything is getting shoved down my throat. I can't do it. I can do it. Everytime they ask me if I want to go out to eat I just fucking can't and I don't know how to explain it. I can't eat anymore! Fuck. I'm sorry, I want to and would love to, but I cannot fucking afford it anymore and on top of that I cannot digest it. Fuck. Sorry. No. No mores. Can't do it.
Do you want to go to the bar? No! Do you want grab lunch? No! I'm buying some food at Burger King, do you want anything? No! No! No1 Stop asking. Please! At the same time, though, I run headlong into a problem. How will you see them when they're not eating or barring or ... it burns!!! It's not fair at all. I'm trooping it and trying to be friends and I'm literally getting eaten.
However, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I understand that. At what cost? At what fucking cost? I'm coming back and I know I love to laugh and I know things can be easy, but I want what I wants and it's not expensive at all and I don't get why everyone is charging so much sometimes when all I want is a scratch off. Jesus. If I can navigate a day, alright. Sweet. Stop stomping on me. I didn't want a fight, but hey, you got one on your hands now. It turns me inside out sometimes trying to break down differences in understanding. Yes, no one asked me to. I get that too.
But if we're going to live on the same planet we better be seeing something close to eye to eye because otherwise you or I got's to go. I've missed so many people for so long I just can't do it anymore. I've accidentally estranged and shoved away some people too. People that I couldn't afford to lose, but I was so wrapped up in being myself I forgot that the planet is a shared one. I forgot about their knuckles and their dreams and tore my skin up and I'm just now getting back.
Pluto is great. It's a fine place to stay. Unlike New York, you can actually Winter over there and not get sick of yourself and population. I don't care about being the first man on Venus or Titan, but I would volunteer to go if only to be alone and reasonably so. Not needing a reason to have to be there. Meltdown much? I know I have a brain made of glass. That's probably why she moved on. Falling asleep in class wasn't an action as much as a symptom. I wasn't born this morning, but I did stay up all night.
Shadow people. Courage the cowardly dog. My favorite color is still yellow. I'll get there. I'm coming back. Out of orbit and nothing but gravity. This is not my planet, but I live on it sometimes. This is not my jail, but I walk in it sometimes.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Time For You to Leave" ... turn the radio on, turn the radio off but you never never... I don't know if thems the lyrics but this song is close to my heart.
finishes their shit. I cant slam my phone on the coffee table hard enough without breaking it. I hate dealing with people. I love dealing with people. Nothing happened to me, everything happened to me.
Please hold. I don't know what songs you like, but here, have this one. It's an elevator and a stabilizer so enjoy it for a minute while we talk about your request and jump around it for a while and weasel. Okay, that's fine. I'm glad I chabbed up on something to munch. I'll hold. Please, continue. It's not like I had something to grind on today. Not at all. I'm just blowing in the wind, but okay. Please hold, please hold.
We are experiencing some technical difficulties, but here, this is the weather for the next nine days and 22 hours. Here's the news. In case you were wondering, nothing has changed so here's more of it. Smile a little? Here's more junk. Here's what time it is and here are some pundits and here is some humor. Here's some tosh and some cartman. Here's bart and toys turned into cartoons and cartoons turned into toys. Here's PBS and here's NOVA and here's are you being swerved.
Enjoy. Here's ducks and hitler and dams and bridges and pawn shops and tits and dicks and marriages and food and chores and nannies and dads and children and scooby fucking doo and courage and beers and beers and beers and liquor and shampoo and lipstick and gloss and appliances and payment plans and retirement and cars and shrimp and outings and beef and socks and shirts and underwear and
I can't take it anymore. I can't eat anything anymore. I used to starve myself because I was paranoid about my weight and now I can't eat anymore because everything is getting shoved down my throat. I can't do it. I can do it. Everytime they ask me if I want to go out to eat I just fucking can't and I don't know how to explain it. I can't eat anymore! Fuck. I'm sorry, I want to and would love to, but I cannot fucking afford it anymore and on top of that I cannot digest it. Fuck. Sorry. No. No mores. Can't do it.
Do you want to go to the bar? No! Do you want grab lunch? No! I'm buying some food at Burger King, do you want anything? No! No! No1 Stop asking. Please! At the same time, though, I run headlong into a problem. How will you see them when they're not eating or barring or ... it burns!!! It's not fair at all. I'm trooping it and trying to be friends and I'm literally getting eaten.
However, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I understand that. At what cost? At what fucking cost? I'm coming back and I know I love to laugh and I know things can be easy, but I want what I wants and it's not expensive at all and I don't get why everyone is charging so much sometimes when all I want is a scratch off. Jesus. If I can navigate a day, alright. Sweet. Stop stomping on me. I didn't want a fight, but hey, you got one on your hands now. It turns me inside out sometimes trying to break down differences in understanding. Yes, no one asked me to. I get that too.
But if we're going to live on the same planet we better be seeing something close to eye to eye because otherwise you or I got's to go. I've missed so many people for so long I just can't do it anymore. I've accidentally estranged and shoved away some people too. People that I couldn't afford to lose, but I was so wrapped up in being myself I forgot that the planet is a shared one. I forgot about their knuckles and their dreams and tore my skin up and I'm just now getting back.
Pluto is great. It's a fine place to stay. Unlike New York, you can actually Winter over there and not get sick of yourself and population. I don't care about being the first man on Venus or Titan, but I would volunteer to go if only to be alone and reasonably so. Not needing a reason to have to be there. Meltdown much? I know I have a brain made of glass. That's probably why she moved on. Falling asleep in class wasn't an action as much as a symptom. I wasn't born this morning, but I did stay up all night.
Shadow people. Courage the cowardly dog. My favorite color is still yellow. I'll get there. I'm coming back. Out of orbit and nothing but gravity. This is not my planet, but I live on it sometimes. This is not my jail, but I walk in it sometimes.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Time For You to Leave" ... turn the radio on, turn the radio off but you never never... I don't know if thems the lyrics but this song is close to my heart.
9/29/13
That Instant
you realize you have to make choices for your weekend. You can sell or you can buy X or Y and sell, but you might need it later, but where you're going you will need fuel to get to so do you steal gas or... you realize you've made it when you don't have to choose.
9/27/13
Stand Up Act 8 (stoneissuers, night work, handouts and nickle go)
(Stand Up Act 7)
Goddamn stoners. God fucking damn stoners. I don't have a problem with them for the most part. I really don't. Pot is legal in more states than anyone could have imagined three years ago. Not even a decade, just three years. Unless I'm completely off and time has been moving faster than I thought. Or slower than I thought. I'm not good with time. It has nothing to do with drugs, just alcohol. And college. In college everything is oriented to due dates and when you need to wash your clothes because you're going home to your parents and they reek of the actual world instead of the bubble they built for themselves wherever. I'm not good with time, but pot is legal and it's great. It should be legal. There is nothing wrong with it at all.
All kinds of legal things turn people into worthless sacks of shit all of the time and they're fine. Weed doesn't even do that to people on a consistent basis. If you smoke a pound of weed a month you will be in much better shape than the person who eats ten pounds of candy a month. To the point though, I don't hate smokers or pot smokers, but stoners are a bit different. Stoners are that one shade further beyond the smoker, for better and for worse.
Some stoners need that extra nudge to push and motivate and inspire them to operate and create and shove work through and enjoy other people and enjoy the chase of life in general. Some stoners like that extra nudge to mooch and coast, but not just coast, but accelerate, and entertain and smooth their own course through the path of least resistance, not as a way of escape or relaxation, but as a way to live.
Everything takes on the slight pale of life and death once they enter the circle. A routine trip to the gas station becomes a twenty minute conversation on the meaning of life and how hard it is to survive in the real world and if God hadn't created the man who created the coldcut sandwich the world as we know it would be horribly altered and disfigured to the point where walking out of your front door would be suicide. Jesus christ, calm down. We're gonna get food. I know you couldn't bring yourself to leave your front door without someone walking with you, but for fucks sake, it's not the end of the world. Not by a long shot.
I'm even okay with adventurous stoners. The kind that get really high and then want to operate. I'm a little bit of an adventure stoner streaker myself from time to time. I know it's obnoxious in some ways. It doesn't mean that I don't do it and want to push other people to, but I am that, and I'm never really all that sad when people shoot me down. When I'm smoking, "I just had the absolute greatest idea ever" is the last thing you want to hear out of my mouth. For one: it's probably a way too elaborate or distant quest to achieve a goal unique to me that I couldn't do without other people there (everything from playing some sort of multiplayer only game to crossing some distance to see or buy something much better crossed in a car). For two: there's probably a good chance someone might actually get hurt (adds to the allure of the adventure. When you have bad credit all you have is yourself, so while you gamble with imaginary numbers and scores, I gamble with my body... because I have no credit). And for three: by the time the idea comes out of my mouth, no one feels like moving. I'm okay with that.
The stoner I can no longer stand is the stoneissuer. The girl or guy who always wants to know what you have and then compares it to other high end "brands" they've had. No one asked you. Literally, no one asked you for your opinion on how this stacks up to Phonecase White Palidin (insert semi-obscure flower phylum here).
Yes, that's why I invited you over: to stick your nose into my bag and not shake your head, but give me the "weird" eye and ask the admonishing question of "how much did you pay for this." I'm begging the question in offering it, aren't I. I needed your expertise. I wasn't just bored the fuck out of my mind and out of videos to jerk off to and thought it might be fun to have someone else to talk to for an evening. No, I wanted your sharp nose and your ten point critique of what is essentially free weed for you. I'm not basically paying for your company like a truck driver picking up some fawn eyed drifter for a few hours of bullshitting til the next stop.
You asked to drop by and what I wanted you to do was pull out your pocket scale and shake your head and tell me I was lied to and it was almost a gram light and repeat over and over again that back home you wouldn't have paid over X amount of dollars for what I had while you ground up your Panda Blue Light Special shipped in from the west coast.
The stoneissuer is particularly distasteful because as soon as theirs runs out you are the first one they call. You are the first one they try to buddy up with and then they come over and try to be modest about how much they are taking and go out of their way to point it out that they are somehow doing you a favor because what they usually get is more pure and they're not used to smoking a gentler high and the taste is way off but they can get accustomed to it. Meanwhile the baseball bat in the corner keeps chirping in your ear "come on, just do it," but I love company more than my own sometimes and know better than to act out and act out of rage. Most of the time.
The stoneissuer will trash talk you sideways. The kind of person who, in a race, would nudge your back end out and force you off the road to get ahead and then say "well, I was holding my same racing line, but you were diverting from your own to hold me back, so it's kind of your fault you spun out into sand on your last lap." They will passive attack in attempts to try to insure and assert their value to the group as the token expert, without realizing that no one really cares as long as they get something out of experience.
Stoneissuers are usually descended from higher, no pun intended, echelons of the hierarchy of smokers. Rich folks all too often, trying to distance themselves, but be included in, the experience. The thing that makes them the most distasteful is that, if they aren't already motivated to stay away from the lower grades for the fact that moving up is sort of a socioeconomic graduation and going backward implies some sort of failure in tastes or earning power or status, as soon as their shit runs out and they go enough days without it, they're right back with you. Suddenly what made them curl their lips and flare their nostrils and roll their eyes like you just said One Direction is the greatest band to grace the face of the Earth, becomes "hey, that's not so bad. I kind of feel it." Suddenly "how much did you pay for that" and "you got ripped off" turns into "that's pretty good" and "is it alright if I steal some more?"
Yeah, it's fine, but nightwork is great. I think I realized one of the reasons why I like working night shifts so much, and it's nothing profound. It comes down to the fact that I don't give all that much of a shit when it comes to my clothes. It's not a complete abandon fueled by the functionality of homeless people. Nothing close to that. I have no one to impress so it makes no sense to impress people.
Sometimes it's a matter of detailing. Everyone likes a well detailed car or house, why not clothing. I am sometimes gripped by the thrill of matching. It's real. I am aware of my body and I ride in my body all the time. Everyone does. When things match, it's easier to not notice it and when you do notice it, you have color cues to make that understanding zip through your brain that much faster and then, that much faster, you can carry on being yourself. For the same reason I don't read too much into people obsessed with matching. It really is a matter of cutting down variables and freeing up much more, or at least that much more, free time and better yet, uninterrupted thought and brain space. That's pretty damn valuable for the small price of picking out clothing beforehand.
Consider when you're deep in thought after work, pulling the day in front of your eyes like that choppy 8mm film on the two spools that burns up if you leave it in front of the lens too long. That stuff your parents parents watched home videos of themselves on in dusty attics or family renunion Wonder Times grainy video project screen things or whatever it was they did kind of things.
That spool is running and you're trying to figure out ways to do that again, but without that 45 seconds of frames in the lunch break room where you put the pack of coffee filters you didn't pay for in your locker and that 72 second stretch of frames where you could've and also would've done your job better because you actually do care, but come off wrong sometimes over the phone. That spool is running and right in the middle of it. When you are beginning to build some understanding, it switches to a high definition video of rally cross for an hour compressed into ten seconds and switches back. Bad news.
That's what makes night work so great. It takes the work out of work. You can up and go with pants with their crotch completely ripped out and no one gives a shit and it already blends in with rest of the night because the lighting is so poor so even if you did look down it wouldn't matter because you can't see anything. It's a near perfect situation. Everything is dark and everything follows that dark pattern so even if someone did think they could see something, they wouldn't be able to really know beyond what's inside their own head and everyone knows as much as half of what's in their is bullshit anyway.
Nobody wants handouts. Sometimes you have to help your dealers, because some of them do it for a living and are subject to market forces same as any kind of investor. The truth is there are two sorts of dealers. There are the shorters and the careers. The shorters are on a temporary schedule. Volatile products and volatile prices. They're on the get wealthy very quickly and retire permanently track or supplementary income (McDonalds) track.
Sometimes you have to help folks out.
"Do you want some gas money? I can just bring you some money for gas. I don't want anything right now."
"You might as well take it though. You can use it for something is all I'm saying."
"I know, but I would rather have the money for later, 'cause there isn't a bank I can go to is what I mean. That's you're issue right now."
"If you just take this right now, I'm fine with that. I just need to put gas in my car because I had to push it off the street when the engine stopped."
Pineapple Express backwards. I always feel a little bad when my parting words are "hey, take care of yourself." Even when nothing is given, the sentiment itself implies the person it's directed to is completely incapable of and must be reminded to do better by their machinery. Nobody wants hand outs. Ever.
Happiness is contagious. I'll give you a nickle both to go down either road A or road B. Whichever makes me happy as I go is the one I'm taking.
Goddamn stoners. God fucking damn stoners. I don't have a problem with them for the most part. I really don't. Pot is legal in more states than anyone could have imagined three years ago. Not even a decade, just three years. Unless I'm completely off and time has been moving faster than I thought. Or slower than I thought. I'm not good with time. It has nothing to do with drugs, just alcohol. And college. In college everything is oriented to due dates and when you need to wash your clothes because you're going home to your parents and they reek of the actual world instead of the bubble they built for themselves wherever. I'm not good with time, but pot is legal and it's great. It should be legal. There is nothing wrong with it at all.
All kinds of legal things turn people into worthless sacks of shit all of the time and they're fine. Weed doesn't even do that to people on a consistent basis. If you smoke a pound of weed a month you will be in much better shape than the person who eats ten pounds of candy a month. To the point though, I don't hate smokers or pot smokers, but stoners are a bit different. Stoners are that one shade further beyond the smoker, for better and for worse.
Some stoners need that extra nudge to push and motivate and inspire them to operate and create and shove work through and enjoy other people and enjoy the chase of life in general. Some stoners like that extra nudge to mooch and coast, but not just coast, but accelerate, and entertain and smooth their own course through the path of least resistance, not as a way of escape or relaxation, but as a way to live.
Everything takes on the slight pale of life and death once they enter the circle. A routine trip to the gas station becomes a twenty minute conversation on the meaning of life and how hard it is to survive in the real world and if God hadn't created the man who created the coldcut sandwich the world as we know it would be horribly altered and disfigured to the point where walking out of your front door would be suicide. Jesus christ, calm down. We're gonna get food. I know you couldn't bring yourself to leave your front door without someone walking with you, but for fucks sake, it's not the end of the world. Not by a long shot.
I'm even okay with adventurous stoners. The kind that get really high and then want to operate. I'm a little bit of an adventure stoner streaker myself from time to time. I know it's obnoxious in some ways. It doesn't mean that I don't do it and want to push other people to, but I am that, and I'm never really all that sad when people shoot me down. When I'm smoking, "I just had the absolute greatest idea ever" is the last thing you want to hear out of my mouth. For one: it's probably a way too elaborate or distant quest to achieve a goal unique to me that I couldn't do without other people there (everything from playing some sort of multiplayer only game to crossing some distance to see or buy something much better crossed in a car). For two: there's probably a good chance someone might actually get hurt (adds to the allure of the adventure. When you have bad credit all you have is yourself, so while you gamble with imaginary numbers and scores, I gamble with my body... because I have no credit). And for three: by the time the idea comes out of my mouth, no one feels like moving. I'm okay with that.
The stoner I can no longer stand is the stoneissuer. The girl or guy who always wants to know what you have and then compares it to other high end "brands" they've had. No one asked you. Literally, no one asked you for your opinion on how this stacks up to Phonecase White Palidin (insert semi-obscure flower phylum here).
Yes, that's why I invited you over: to stick your nose into my bag and not shake your head, but give me the "weird" eye and ask the admonishing question of "how much did you pay for this." I'm begging the question in offering it, aren't I. I needed your expertise. I wasn't just bored the fuck out of my mind and out of videos to jerk off to and thought it might be fun to have someone else to talk to for an evening. No, I wanted your sharp nose and your ten point critique of what is essentially free weed for you. I'm not basically paying for your company like a truck driver picking up some fawn eyed drifter for a few hours of bullshitting til the next stop.
You asked to drop by and what I wanted you to do was pull out your pocket scale and shake your head and tell me I was lied to and it was almost a gram light and repeat over and over again that back home you wouldn't have paid over X amount of dollars for what I had while you ground up your Panda Blue Light Special shipped in from the west coast.
The stoneissuer is particularly distasteful because as soon as theirs runs out you are the first one they call. You are the first one they try to buddy up with and then they come over and try to be modest about how much they are taking and go out of their way to point it out that they are somehow doing you a favor because what they usually get is more pure and they're not used to smoking a gentler high and the taste is way off but they can get accustomed to it. Meanwhile the baseball bat in the corner keeps chirping in your ear "come on, just do it," but I love company more than my own sometimes and know better than to act out and act out of rage. Most of the time.
The stoneissuer will trash talk you sideways. The kind of person who, in a race, would nudge your back end out and force you off the road to get ahead and then say "well, I was holding my same racing line, but you were diverting from your own to hold me back, so it's kind of your fault you spun out into sand on your last lap." They will passive attack in attempts to try to insure and assert their value to the group as the token expert, without realizing that no one really cares as long as they get something out of experience.
Stoneissuers are usually descended from higher, no pun intended, echelons of the hierarchy of smokers. Rich folks all too often, trying to distance themselves, but be included in, the experience. The thing that makes them the most distasteful is that, if they aren't already motivated to stay away from the lower grades for the fact that moving up is sort of a socioeconomic graduation and going backward implies some sort of failure in tastes or earning power or status, as soon as their shit runs out and they go enough days without it, they're right back with you. Suddenly what made them curl their lips and flare their nostrils and roll their eyes like you just said One Direction is the greatest band to grace the face of the Earth, becomes "hey, that's not so bad. I kind of feel it." Suddenly "how much did you pay for that" and "you got ripped off" turns into "that's pretty good" and "is it alright if I steal some more?"
Yeah, it's fine, but nightwork is great. I think I realized one of the reasons why I like working night shifts so much, and it's nothing profound. It comes down to the fact that I don't give all that much of a shit when it comes to my clothes. It's not a complete abandon fueled by the functionality of homeless people. Nothing close to that. I have no one to impress so it makes no sense to impress people.
Sometimes it's a matter of detailing. Everyone likes a well detailed car or house, why not clothing. I am sometimes gripped by the thrill of matching. It's real. I am aware of my body and I ride in my body all the time. Everyone does. When things match, it's easier to not notice it and when you do notice it, you have color cues to make that understanding zip through your brain that much faster and then, that much faster, you can carry on being yourself. For the same reason I don't read too much into people obsessed with matching. It really is a matter of cutting down variables and freeing up much more, or at least that much more, free time and better yet, uninterrupted thought and brain space. That's pretty damn valuable for the small price of picking out clothing beforehand.
Consider when you're deep in thought after work, pulling the day in front of your eyes like that choppy 8mm film on the two spools that burns up if you leave it in front of the lens too long. That stuff your parents parents watched home videos of themselves on in dusty attics or family renunion Wonder Times grainy video project screen things or whatever it was they did kind of things.
That spool is running and you're trying to figure out ways to do that again, but without that 45 seconds of frames in the lunch break room where you put the pack of coffee filters you didn't pay for in your locker and that 72 second stretch of frames where you could've and also would've done your job better because you actually do care, but come off wrong sometimes over the phone. That spool is running and right in the middle of it. When you are beginning to build some understanding, it switches to a high definition video of rally cross for an hour compressed into ten seconds and switches back. Bad news.
That's what makes night work so great. It takes the work out of work. You can up and go with pants with their crotch completely ripped out and no one gives a shit and it already blends in with rest of the night because the lighting is so poor so even if you did look down it wouldn't matter because you can't see anything. It's a near perfect situation. Everything is dark and everything follows that dark pattern so even if someone did think they could see something, they wouldn't be able to really know beyond what's inside their own head and everyone knows as much as half of what's in their is bullshit anyway.
Nobody wants handouts. Sometimes you have to help your dealers, because some of them do it for a living and are subject to market forces same as any kind of investor. The truth is there are two sorts of dealers. There are the shorters and the careers. The shorters are on a temporary schedule. Volatile products and volatile prices. They're on the get wealthy very quickly and retire permanently track or supplementary income (McDonalds) track.
Sometimes you have to help folks out.
"Do you want some gas money? I can just bring you some money for gas. I don't want anything right now."
"You might as well take it though. You can use it for something is all I'm saying."
"I know, but I would rather have the money for later, 'cause there isn't a bank I can go to is what I mean. That's you're issue right now."
"If you just take this right now, I'm fine with that. I just need to put gas in my car because I had to push it off the street when the engine stopped."
Pineapple Express backwards. I always feel a little bad when my parting words are "hey, take care of yourself." Even when nothing is given, the sentiment itself implies the person it's directed to is completely incapable of and must be reminded to do better by their machinery. Nobody wants hand outs. Ever.
Happiness is contagious. I'll give you a nickle both to go down either road A or road B. Whichever makes me happy as I go is the one I'm taking.
9/12/13
Dissolving (some) Isolation, September 11th, Launch, and Laughter (touching roots)
It's been a long time. It had to be. I had a lot of things I needed to think about and learn an acceptable way to grasp, but I did! That's good. You know what else is good? Coke's slogan. I thought about it all day when I heard the commercial and now I can't remember what the hell it was, but I'm sure it'll come back to me tomorrow when I'm not thinking.
I will think of coke and remember the slogan for Coke that cracked me up because it was so dual apt they couldn't have done it by accident. Look it up. I don't assign homework in general and almost as a rule, but look it up. I was just thinking though, I have never assigned homework unless I had to. I kind of make a bad teacher in that way sometimes. I think that's the way it should be though; if you always come to class and never miss one you should be as well informed as the person who never goes to class, but reads the textbook cover to cover.
Sorry, I got distracted. I didn't know where to start and I've been looking for a way to start again, but nothing has lead back here the way I expected it to and then I was all out for starting points and so far away that I was all in for whatever I could find to begin again and I found what I was not happy to find but I'll throw it off from the edge of the rooftop and watch it fall down and try to make sense of it. Okay? Let's go:
September 11th. The day that changed 'merica. It didn't. America is still what it was. Only a little more paranoid. This day used to have a little more bite. I used to remember the servicemen I know and knew (not because they died, we just stopped being as close as we used to be) and the new ones I've met while fishing the river on a slow Thursday. I used to remember them with incredible reverence. Not so much anymore.
The one's still in are in because they want to be. The ones that are out are out on good terms and very well compensated, on the pay scale I aspire to climb toward that kind of stability, and have awesome resumes. I guess that still burns me a little on this day. Getting near perfect scores on the entrance test and damn near perfect on the physicals and getting bounced on psychological failures. The whole talk my dad gave me about "the family standard of excellence." I didn't want to cry or weep. I just wanted to pop out of existence with a genie wink when going in and making it as an infantryman and working a way up could be viewed as tarnishing "the family standard of excellence." I still makes me laugh out loud today to say it aloud.
Part of what makes me laugh is that, incidentally, he was right. After taking a year or two to think about it a little harder, I can see that I would have been a skittish, trigger happy, blood hungry, question asking, thinking, liability to the cause. I would have gotten myself and other people killed, given a uniform, a weapon, and a theater. That's just coincidence, though, pure coincidence, so it doesn't really count. At all.
Serendipity.
"Are you dead or are you sleeping, God, I sure hope you are dead." Dealing with a little paranoia break, but that's neither here nor there.
September is also the anniversary of the longest intimate relationship I ever was able to be a part of and it was fantastic. I forgot the date the first three years we were together. Finally made the brilliant move to add it to my phone. It stayed there after we broke up. I can vaguely remember some of the gifts, one of the gifts, I gave her. I think the others were holiday related. I can remember trying to figure out how to get flowers delivered to her office and the whole runaround I got. I can also vividly remember the violent times. The times when my brain fractured. The times when truth was too much for me to eat.
I am laughing because it is remembering the times when, more than anything else, I wanted the laws of interpersonal physics to suspend themselves. I do not know, though. Life is long. Who else are you going to travel the spectrum of drugs with when you're too old to work and done everything else and the prospect of shagging is as interesting as scrubbing your bathtub? Blackouts. Retirement is going to be an amazing thing.
So, September 11th used to be like holding a revolver in my mouth and pulling the trigger until the chamber clicked over several times while fingering an empty casing from the gun range. Not anymore. I'm passed it. Nothing's going to change my world, sweetness.
We will modify, sometimes ad hoc, we will destroy and build, we will continue to drive toward some kind of perfect state, but we will mow down no one else along the way. We will remain honest and not overly dramatic, maybe, we will masturbate to idle thoughts of bodily violence, we will maintain course and get to know the new ship, we will cultivate friendship, and build ourselves into better people instead of weapons. We will.
I don't want to spend too much time on this. I've been trying to structure my paragraphs better and slash the blocks into verses. The poet that keeps clawing it's way out of my mouth. I don't want to spend too much time on this and I'm three hours in so let's call it close.
I love you. I do. I shouldn't. If I could bury you each and be the one with the shovel over night, I would cum. It is a strange thing, I know. I love helping people, so much. There is no replacing the feeling of helping someone solve a problem and secure a future outcome 100%. 100% assured that what they wanted was what they were going to get. Nothing replaces that. Wherever you are.
I've been working to dissolve some isolation. It's important. An important thing. Once I finish the project I am working alone I am going to need to be able to interact on a normal basis to get another job to fill the money void. Money drives everything, doesn't it? More than that is learning how to interact with people without a group to diffuse the messy bits to. It's easy to do when there are many other magnetic orientations to diffuse field lines to. Not so much otherwise.
I am approaching a point where isolation will become counterproductive. Flat out. For a time. There are many options for filling the counter point to weigh it into a cantilever support system. Ad hocced. Performing the expense reports in my mind. It's not going to work. I think that is part of growing up. Growing the capacity to do that and know with some certainty what is bound to fail when it comes to tolerable and intolerable acts of personality.
I am getting closer toward dissolving some aspects of isolation. One finger on the trigger that will close fire bulkheads. I don't know what process or loop or instantiation will trigger something terrible, but I am prepared to eject instantaneously. I'm not your project. I am project enough for myself. Here come old flattop.
We are you friends. We are your friends. We are shoving off from the scrap yard brand new in many ways. The new ship is troubleshot and configured. There is nothing more to it than to do it. We are launching. We are reentering circles and seeing what snow will fall and where and what kinds of sculpture we can make of it until the sun comes up and melts it all. We are launching. Granted we were stocked up and manned up a week prior, but we didn't have the heart at the wheel to give chase to open sea. We do know. We are ready. Cobbled together from many different pieces, we are ready to see if it works. Shove off, baby.
Getting back to laughter. Getting back to what makes us laugh. Back to the roots of what made me start in the first place. Gain some understanding. At first it was a reaching out, it became a gps, and now it's a tough out. I don't like to think inwardly. As tough an out as they come. It's still a map. I'm on the far edge of it and it keeps drawing beyond the dark part of the space of influence. I think I am getting back to laughter.
Back to being able to really, really, indulge in the spaces life does afford for taking nothing too seriously and taking everything too seriously. That magical place where living life, at least the way you understand it presently, like it is your last day jives with the fact that, barring absolute worst outcomes in tandem, it probably isn't.
You're going to have to live with, regardless of how you or someone else can spin it, what you did today.
I want to spend that time laughing. We're launching again. We are equipped for combat, need it arise, we are equipped for food, it will arise, and we are equipped to question ourselves and somethings (not everythings) anew. We are equipped to observe and equipped for some closeness. We have an L six two D load out and we are ready to rock.
I am perpetually intermittently disappointed with myself. Lack of ability to grow networks combined with... grows. I wonder if I am some kind of cancer embodied sometimes. A walking carcinogen. You go back to her and I go back to... I feel like I am in a very long race to eliminate myself or as many people as I can take down at once. It's nothing personal. It's sporting. Not immediately but, I don't know.
Some days, walking down the street, I look at myself in the store front windows reflected, and it's a pretty damn cool thing to see that ambulating to wherever and enjoy that remove. There's no vanity there for me. Just trekking and knowing that we're doing it. We're doing it! We are out of doors and doing alright. I don't love the birds looking back sometimes with that "not if you were the last man on Earth" look. What the hell is that about?
We're doing this. I am as over myself as I'll ever be. It's passed time to laugh again. Laugh about little things genuinely. It's easy to see the world as whole. It's passed time to really chew on it again. Launch probes. Explore and navigate from afar or as far as possible, but do not be afraid to take readings from the machines you employ. It's time, however briefly, to try again to square up vision with reality and you'll never know how far off you are, or've been, unless that depleted round sails downrange.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Allegra" ... this is the soundtrack to stalking yourself. Searching out, the movie score. This is, bassed up, the chase; the quiet chase between functional and passable (between blending and fitting in).
I will think of coke and remember the slogan for Coke that cracked me up because it was so dual apt they couldn't have done it by accident. Look it up. I don't assign homework in general and almost as a rule, but look it up. I was just thinking though, I have never assigned homework unless I had to. I kind of make a bad teacher in that way sometimes. I think that's the way it should be though; if you always come to class and never miss one you should be as well informed as the person who never goes to class, but reads the textbook cover to cover.
Sorry, I got distracted. I didn't know where to start and I've been looking for a way to start again, but nothing has lead back here the way I expected it to and then I was all out for starting points and so far away that I was all in for whatever I could find to begin again and I found what I was not happy to find but I'll throw it off from the edge of the rooftop and watch it fall down and try to make sense of it. Okay? Let's go:
September 11th. The day that changed 'merica. It didn't. America is still what it was. Only a little more paranoid. This day used to have a little more bite. I used to remember the servicemen I know and knew (not because they died, we just stopped being as close as we used to be) and the new ones I've met while fishing the river on a slow Thursday. I used to remember them with incredible reverence. Not so much anymore.
The one's still in are in because they want to be. The ones that are out are out on good terms and very well compensated, on the pay scale I aspire to climb toward that kind of stability, and have awesome resumes. I guess that still burns me a little on this day. Getting near perfect scores on the entrance test and damn near perfect on the physicals and getting bounced on psychological failures. The whole talk my dad gave me about "the family standard of excellence." I didn't want to cry or weep. I just wanted to pop out of existence with a genie wink when going in and making it as an infantryman and working a way up could be viewed as tarnishing "the family standard of excellence." I still makes me laugh out loud today to say it aloud.
Part of what makes me laugh is that, incidentally, he was right. After taking a year or two to think about it a little harder, I can see that I would have been a skittish, trigger happy, blood hungry, question asking, thinking, liability to the cause. I would have gotten myself and other people killed, given a uniform, a weapon, and a theater. That's just coincidence, though, pure coincidence, so it doesn't really count. At all.
Serendipity.
"Are you dead or are you sleeping, God, I sure hope you are dead." Dealing with a little paranoia break, but that's neither here nor there.
September is also the anniversary of the longest intimate relationship I ever was able to be a part of and it was fantastic. I forgot the date the first three years we were together. Finally made the brilliant move to add it to my phone. It stayed there after we broke up. I can vaguely remember some of the gifts, one of the gifts, I gave her. I think the others were holiday related. I can remember trying to figure out how to get flowers delivered to her office and the whole runaround I got. I can also vividly remember the violent times. The times when my brain fractured. The times when truth was too much for me to eat.
I am laughing because it is remembering the times when, more than anything else, I wanted the laws of interpersonal physics to suspend themselves. I do not know, though. Life is long. Who else are you going to travel the spectrum of drugs with when you're too old to work and done everything else and the prospect of shagging is as interesting as scrubbing your bathtub? Blackouts. Retirement is going to be an amazing thing.
So, September 11th used to be like holding a revolver in my mouth and pulling the trigger until the chamber clicked over several times while fingering an empty casing from the gun range. Not anymore. I'm passed it. Nothing's going to change my world, sweetness.
We will modify, sometimes ad hoc, we will destroy and build, we will continue to drive toward some kind of perfect state, but we will mow down no one else along the way. We will remain honest and not overly dramatic, maybe, we will masturbate to idle thoughts of bodily violence, we will maintain course and get to know the new ship, we will cultivate friendship, and build ourselves into better people instead of weapons. We will.
I don't want to spend too much time on this. I've been trying to structure my paragraphs better and slash the blocks into verses. The poet that keeps clawing it's way out of my mouth. I don't want to spend too much time on this and I'm three hours in so let's call it close.
I love you. I do. I shouldn't. If I could bury you each and be the one with the shovel over night, I would cum. It is a strange thing, I know. I love helping people, so much. There is no replacing the feeling of helping someone solve a problem and secure a future outcome 100%. 100% assured that what they wanted was what they were going to get. Nothing replaces that. Wherever you are.
I've been working to dissolve some isolation. It's important. An important thing. Once I finish the project I am working alone I am going to need to be able to interact on a normal basis to get another job to fill the money void. Money drives everything, doesn't it? More than that is learning how to interact with people without a group to diffuse the messy bits to. It's easy to do when there are many other magnetic orientations to diffuse field lines to. Not so much otherwise.
I am approaching a point where isolation will become counterproductive. Flat out. For a time. There are many options for filling the counter point to weigh it into a cantilever support system. Ad hocced. Performing the expense reports in my mind. It's not going to work. I think that is part of growing up. Growing the capacity to do that and know with some certainty what is bound to fail when it comes to tolerable and intolerable acts of personality.
I am getting closer toward dissolving some aspects of isolation. One finger on the trigger that will close fire bulkheads. I don't know what process or loop or instantiation will trigger something terrible, but I am prepared to eject instantaneously. I'm not your project. I am project enough for myself. Here come old flattop.
We are you friends. We are your friends. We are shoving off from the scrap yard brand new in many ways. The new ship is troubleshot and configured. There is nothing more to it than to do it. We are launching. We are reentering circles and seeing what snow will fall and where and what kinds of sculpture we can make of it until the sun comes up and melts it all. We are launching. Granted we were stocked up and manned up a week prior, but we didn't have the heart at the wheel to give chase to open sea. We do know. We are ready. Cobbled together from many different pieces, we are ready to see if it works. Shove off, baby.
Getting back to laughter. Getting back to what makes us laugh. Back to the roots of what made me start in the first place. Gain some understanding. At first it was a reaching out, it became a gps, and now it's a tough out. I don't like to think inwardly. As tough an out as they come. It's still a map. I'm on the far edge of it and it keeps drawing beyond the dark part of the space of influence. I think I am getting back to laughter.
Back to being able to really, really, indulge in the spaces life does afford for taking nothing too seriously and taking everything too seriously. That magical place where living life, at least the way you understand it presently, like it is your last day jives with the fact that, barring absolute worst outcomes in tandem, it probably isn't.
You're going to have to live with, regardless of how you or someone else can spin it, what you did today.
I want to spend that time laughing. We're launching again. We are equipped for combat, need it arise, we are equipped for food, it will arise, and we are equipped to question ourselves and somethings (not everythings) anew. We are equipped to observe and equipped for some closeness. We have an L six two D load out and we are ready to rock.
I am perpetually intermittently disappointed with myself. Lack of ability to grow networks combined with... grows. I wonder if I am some kind of cancer embodied sometimes. A walking carcinogen. You go back to her and I go back to... I feel like I am in a very long race to eliminate myself or as many people as I can take down at once. It's nothing personal. It's sporting. Not immediately but, I don't know.
Some days, walking down the street, I look at myself in the store front windows reflected, and it's a pretty damn cool thing to see that ambulating to wherever and enjoy that remove. There's no vanity there for me. Just trekking and knowing that we're doing it. We're doing it! We are out of doors and doing alright. I don't love the birds looking back sometimes with that "not if you were the last man on Earth" look. What the hell is that about?
We're doing this. I am as over myself as I'll ever be. It's passed time to laugh again. Laugh about little things genuinely. It's easy to see the world as whole. It's passed time to really chew on it again. Launch probes. Explore and navigate from afar or as far as possible, but do not be afraid to take readings from the machines you employ. It's time, however briefly, to try again to square up vision with reality and you'll never know how far off you are, or've been, unless that depleted round sails downrange.
///DJ? Acucrack - "Allegra" ... this is the soundtrack to stalking yourself. Searching out, the movie score. This is, bassed up, the chase; the quiet chase between functional and passable (between blending and fitting in).
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