Let's just say, hypothetically there is an electromagnetic pulse attack that blankets the East Coast, or wherever it is you live, some terrible afternoon. Not that the afternoon was going terrible for you, but obviously after an EMP attack things probably went down hill pretty quickly.
Let's say following the EMP attack was to come a nuclear strike on the place, town, coast, whatever, your apartment building, and we know this because before the EMP attack wiped out all unprotected and delicate electronics we saw the missiles going up and were like "oh, damn. That's not great."
Let's say right before that horrible afternoon, you had the morning off from work and figured you would hit up the diner, because most of the time you cannot even stop to smell your coffee on your way to work. While you were sitting there, that beautiful and limitless morning you decided to go with the bacon and eggs and half bagel.
The news on the television behind the counter was interesting. The commercials were funny. Your booth was clean. The coffee was smooth. You even dropped a piece of bacon and it landed in a crease of your jean pant leg instead of on the floor. A real "hell yeah" of a morning. Even the wait staff was chipper and topped up your cup of coffee without you asking.
They ask you if you would like to try a few pancakes with syrups and flavors and chips in them and the day is going so great, and you've got the time off to take a little nap when you get home, and you say an emphatic yes.
Now lying there on your couch, people sprinting through the halls of your apartment building, policemen at street level with horns and whistles shouting the way to the nearest bomb shelters, fists pounding on walls and feet banging echoes down fire escapes and stairwells, and your belly full of more pancakes than you've eaten all year you know there is no way you can possibly get up. There is no way you are making it off of your couch. There is no way you will be able to run anywhere for at least another 4 hours, gripped in a carbohydrate coma the likes of which you've only heard stories about.
Nodding, resigned, that terrible afternoon; you always knew pancakes were going to get you killed one day. Pancakes are evil.
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.
9/10/14
The Best Thing
about the mornings is that you survived another night. The evening is tremendously gorgeous, but I'm not sad to see her go. Do you believe in ghosts? The things in the wild waiting for the sun to set? I do.
9/2/14
A Brief Return to B6
After the diagnosis there was a lot of disbelief before understanding that I am wired differently and there is nothing that can be done about it besides modification. Modifying my physiology and the chains that come with modifying. Keeping schedules and junk and folding money into paying for medications and things and paying for visits to psychiatrists. You can't spell psychiatrist without tryst.
I'm golden. Understanding how I'm different was very difficult. I still don't fully comprehend it. I'm not okay with being different. Expectations change a lot. Do you want an exception or not? Yes, we do, but we do not because we are efforting being a part of common society. Aye yo, check it out, here's the baseline: getting exceptions makes us softer and enables if what we want is to be fully assimilated. When we wreck it's hard to deal with because whatever it was we did made perfect sense to us. To you, it's grounds for divorce.
And yep, my phone is officially broken. The worst part about the diagnosis, the initial one, was my ignorance. Let's keep this tight and short, but not to the point of complications.
I hated my psychiatrist. I still do. I know we are long passed the point of forgetting, but I have not forgotten him. He has forgotten me though after I lost insurance. Everyone has to get paid. I refuse to check out. I was bold before then, I am more bold now. Capital lock.
Have you got my back? I've got yours. I tried to smash my skull apart on the side of the police car when I first got reigned in. When I realized I had to reign myself in the morning after and they explained what I tried to do when they were putting me inside the squad car. And it's alright now. I'm not angry or mad. They're different things. Mad is angry without reasoning. Mad dog. Shoot him down. Angry dog... alright, he has reason still. I am neither mad nor angry.
After the diagnosis I had no idea where I could possibly go. It was a true diagnosis and I have to lie out of the ass to avoid internment again. After the diagnosis and hearing what it would cost to make me better, literally hundreds of dollars per month (and hearing too that the trial period ends, hence the name "trial period" until they get the milligrams right) and knowing what I was bound to make... it's like being stuck with a home you can't actually pay for and you cannot move either. You cannot pull up sticks and pick a new lot. It was terrifying. I had no idea where I could possibly go, so I decided to move off grid. No meds. No pills. Just force. True force.
Sometimes thing come apart a lot. Sometimes control does not talk back to you no matter how many signals you send out, out of reflex. If I could afford it, I would go. Easily and quietly, I would go. Let's go though, and keep it brief.
Back to basics. I know I need help. It's part of what I am working for. Why I go to work everyday. Start your day group was nice. It was excellent. I do not want to go back there. I am damn near 30 years old and I do not belong there. I know who I am. I have to work harder and as time increases I know I have to work harder yet and I am okay with that. I'm not and will never be a made man. I am willing to work and that's something! Diagnosis is not, I will prove it to you, ever a death sentence.
///Minamina Goodsong - "First Movement"
I'm golden. Understanding how I'm different was very difficult. I still don't fully comprehend it. I'm not okay with being different. Expectations change a lot. Do you want an exception or not? Yes, we do, but we do not because we are efforting being a part of common society. Aye yo, check it out, here's the baseline: getting exceptions makes us softer and enables if what we want is to be fully assimilated. When we wreck it's hard to deal with because whatever it was we did made perfect sense to us. To you, it's grounds for divorce.
And yep, my phone is officially broken. The worst part about the diagnosis, the initial one, was my ignorance. Let's keep this tight and short, but not to the point of complications.
I hated my psychiatrist. I still do. I know we are long passed the point of forgetting, but I have not forgotten him. He has forgotten me though after I lost insurance. Everyone has to get paid. I refuse to check out. I was bold before then, I am more bold now. Capital lock.
Have you got my back? I've got yours. I tried to smash my skull apart on the side of the police car when I first got reigned in. When I realized I had to reign myself in the morning after and they explained what I tried to do when they were putting me inside the squad car. And it's alright now. I'm not angry or mad. They're different things. Mad is angry without reasoning. Mad dog. Shoot him down. Angry dog... alright, he has reason still. I am neither mad nor angry.
After the diagnosis I had no idea where I could possibly go. It was a true diagnosis and I have to lie out of the ass to avoid internment again. After the diagnosis and hearing what it would cost to make me better, literally hundreds of dollars per month (and hearing too that the trial period ends, hence the name "trial period" until they get the milligrams right) and knowing what I was bound to make... it's like being stuck with a home you can't actually pay for and you cannot move either. You cannot pull up sticks and pick a new lot. It was terrifying. I had no idea where I could possibly go, so I decided to move off grid. No meds. No pills. Just force. True force.
Sometimes thing come apart a lot. Sometimes control does not talk back to you no matter how many signals you send out, out of reflex. If I could afford it, I would go. Easily and quietly, I would go. Let's go though, and keep it brief.
Back to basics. I know I need help. It's part of what I am working for. Why I go to work everyday. Start your day group was nice. It was excellent. I do not want to go back there. I am damn near 30 years old and I do not belong there. I know who I am. I have to work harder and as time increases I know I have to work harder yet and I am okay with that. I'm not and will never be a made man. I am willing to work and that's something! Diagnosis is not, I will prove it to you, ever a death sentence.
///Minamina Goodsong - "First Movement"
9/1/14
That Instant
you realize your language has gotten clipped to the point where simplification has erred on the side of bloated complexity.
8/23/14
Colonel Gentleman
Colonel Gentleman's list of things that should be outlawed:
1. Any non-diet soda.
2. Referring to diabetes as "the sugar."
3. Parking tickets. Be nice to each other. Don't park your metal like no one else has anything to do or look at.
4. Periods. Reproduction in general.
5. Weighted favors. You either do the favor or you do not.
6. Currency. All of them.
7. Credit. All of it.
8. Duck faces. All of them.
9. Dog people.
10. Snark. Drown them all. If I wanted a snarky answer I'd have put a bag over my head while asking.
11. Canes.
12. The cookie tray. Less plastic, more cookie.
13. Trust funds.
14. The stock market. All of them.
15. Any word that stands in for "Fuck."
16. Summer weather.
17. Age limits.
18. Passports. If you have one, you are permanently grounded wherever this edict finds you. Good luck.
19. Safety precautions on automobiles.
20. Crosswalks.
1. Any non-diet soda.
2. Referring to diabetes as "the sugar."
3. Parking tickets. Be nice to each other. Don't park your metal like no one else has anything to do or look at.
4. Periods. Reproduction in general.
5. Weighted favors. You either do the favor or you do not.
6. Currency. All of them.
7. Credit. All of it.
8. Duck faces. All of them.
9. Dog people.
10. Snark. Drown them all. If I wanted a snarky answer I'd have put a bag over my head while asking.
11. Canes.
12. The cookie tray. Less plastic, more cookie.
13. Trust funds.
14. The stock market. All of them.
15. Any word that stands in for "Fuck."
16. Summer weather.
17. Age limits.
18. Passports. If you have one, you are permanently grounded wherever this edict finds you. Good luck.
19. Safety precautions on automobiles.
20. Crosswalks.
Knowing Where You Have No Business and That You Are Expected On Occassion
You don't have to front load everything you say. You don't have to translate at the end either. You may be coming across better than you believe.
One of the most hilarious things was the whole "they took our jobs" rhetoric at the last election and the come back that they're doing jobs we do not want to do. The funny part was my challenge. It's a matter of geographics and debt. I took the challenge knowing that. Just to see. Because they were taking our jobs here too, right? What I got back was paperwork. It's a little bit a lot of bit hilarious. If you cannot laugh at that, you have no soul. I still get email updates on it, but I am passed caring. Yes. Passed. English, the most, hands down, complicated language.
My relationship with America? It's complicated. And I am dating myself. And I am dating myself too. We wreck up sometimes. Slang for fight, no? Yes. I do not agree with everything we do. I do not. Sometimes I am on damage patrol. Some times I am on altitude control. Sometimes I am just sometimes and I am, having learned, not apologetic because people do get tired of sorrys and start to ask "why the bleep do you not just do it better?"
I will not give you the run around. I'm just American. I'm a little gangster circa 1925 and a little modern circa "what's the date today" and a little 90's grunge and a little 80's synth, a little bit of a late 90's "get money" and a little 70's rhythm and blues, a little bit of #$%^'n disco and a little bit of late 80's space rock, a little bit of 1960 fuck you and a little bit of 1950 be easy and every one is working for something greater because no one actually wants to be here, and a little bit of drum and bass tongued in with a little bit of pop talked down through the ages and distilled and reanimated. I'm just American and I will make no excuses.
And I will fight you. And then discuss. And then fight you harder because I only wanted a breather and we may as well butcher language in the mean times. They only get meaner.
I wish I could get along with people like me. I cannot. I am not going to stop trying. It is a little bit of playing with where you know you have no business being. And you know it. You do not understand why you are excluded. There are the times you are expected though and you do not show up. To reverse the two would be gold out of lead. Less cameos. More booked seats? I have no idea. What I do know is this: if they ask you if you can make it, you had better go.
///Pulp - "Like A Friend"
One of the most hilarious things was the whole "they took our jobs" rhetoric at the last election and the come back that they're doing jobs we do not want to do. The funny part was my challenge. It's a matter of geographics and debt. I took the challenge knowing that. Just to see. Because they were taking our jobs here too, right? What I got back was paperwork. It's a little bit a lot of bit hilarious. If you cannot laugh at that, you have no soul. I still get email updates on it, but I am passed caring. Yes. Passed. English, the most, hands down, complicated language.
My relationship with America? It's complicated. And I am dating myself. And I am dating myself too. We wreck up sometimes. Slang for fight, no? Yes. I do not agree with everything we do. I do not. Sometimes I am on damage patrol. Some times I am on altitude control. Sometimes I am just sometimes and I am, having learned, not apologetic because people do get tired of sorrys and start to ask "why the bleep do you not just do it better?"
I will not give you the run around. I'm just American. I'm a little gangster circa 1925 and a little modern circa "what's the date today" and a little 90's grunge and a little 80's synth, a little bit of a late 90's "get money" and a little 70's rhythm and blues, a little bit of #$%^'n disco and a little bit of late 80's space rock, a little bit of 1960 fuck you and a little bit of 1950 be easy and every one is working for something greater because no one actually wants to be here, and a little bit of drum and bass tongued in with a little bit of pop talked down through the ages and distilled and reanimated. I'm just American and I will make no excuses.
And I will fight you. And then discuss. And then fight you harder because I only wanted a breather and we may as well butcher language in the mean times. They only get meaner.
I wish I could get along with people like me. I cannot. I am not going to stop trying. It is a little bit of playing with where you know you have no business being. And you know it. You do not understand why you are excluded. There are the times you are expected though and you do not show up. To reverse the two would be gold out of lead. Less cameos. More booked seats? I have no idea. What I do know is this: if they ask you if you can make it, you had better go.
///Pulp - "Like A Friend"
That Instant
you realize it actually is the quiet ones you have to look out for. Not just the quiet ones. The quiet little ones. No one should be that quiet that young, so talk to them and get to know them and pay it backward when you're not entirely freaking the #$%^ out being near them.
8/18/14
What Scares You
What scares you? What scares you? What really fucking scares you? That he's better than you? That he's better than you in every way? That the choice was the right one? That she's still down there enabling him? That the paper is still blank? That the paint has gotten too old to use? That he might be angry at you instead of with you? That you are not properly equipped? That the next gas station may be out of range? That your keys are at home? That you are being entertained? That you're not incorporated? That the bug may be permanent? That there is not enough gauze? That the tuna may run out? What really scares you?
Don't make me wait. I am exceptionally patient except when I'm not. I don't know what really scares me, for what I've compensated for. I do know what really scares me. All of the above. Very long knee jerk reactions. Knee jerk reactions spanning days and weeks and months and now years. I'm okay with it, I suppose. We never do come for money, except when we specifically do.
What scares me is not the not knowing for sure. What scares me is not knowing how to respond at an appropriate volume. Of course they can tune you out at will. Which is nice. The option takes a bit of the guess work out. I typed guest work. It's true, though. You are a guest. We are guests. And they can. I'm not where the being polite or respectful or conscientious ends and being a good proper guest and friend ends. Division by addition feels like it works. The results are wishywashy. Concernedly so.
Why will you not tell me? Do you believe that I will somehow be irrevocably shattered by the information? Do you believe that I will somehow be so shaken that I cry all of the water out of my body and shrivel up and die? It makes me laugh the not good laugh to think that may be true. If you're not a friend, you're not. Friend is the worst "F" word. Loaded for no reason. If you're not an associate, you're not an associate and that's perfectly fine. You can waste time if you like. Placate me too, if it twists your earlobe good when you get the itch. I'm fine with that too.
I think what I'm trying to articulate is that what scares me the most is that I am in hot pursuit of avenues of communication and the way it comes out is a three dimensional graphics sprint into a brick wall, legs chugging, my little arrow on the map, my associates viewing and confused. What really fucking scares me is not communicating in an understandable and lagoon clear way.
Though I may be a dragon, if you speak lizard, I can talk to you. We can do dragon business. Fear doesn't scare me. Occasionally, day light does. Police officers and their flashlights too, but I am civil and citizen.
I want to listen to the Penguin Freud orchestra and hear more songs about Easter Island and travel more. Growing up American. Straight up fucking American. The child of explorers. The child of, perhaps, orphans and seafarers now land locked and fairly domesticated. The child of pressure and heat and weapons and bombs and "on threat of death." A child whose fences end where the nuclear powered ships cannot go. Yeah, I'm good with that. How long does it take to breed the grit and horizon lust out of the genes? How long does it take to saw off the hard nosed muzzle and graft in the gatherer for the hunter? Fuck if I know.
///Seatbelts - "Spokey Dokey" and they called me old fashioned. they called me old fashioned!
///
Don't make me wait. I am exceptionally patient except when I'm not. I don't know what really scares me, for what I've compensated for. I do know what really scares me. All of the above. Very long knee jerk reactions. Knee jerk reactions spanning days and weeks and months and now years. I'm okay with it, I suppose. We never do come for money, except when we specifically do.
What scares me is not the not knowing for sure. What scares me is not knowing how to respond at an appropriate volume. Of course they can tune you out at will. Which is nice. The option takes a bit of the guess work out. I typed guest work. It's true, though. You are a guest. We are guests. And they can. I'm not where the being polite or respectful or conscientious ends and being a good proper guest and friend ends. Division by addition feels like it works. The results are wishywashy. Concernedly so.
Why will you not tell me? Do you believe that I will somehow be irrevocably shattered by the information? Do you believe that I will somehow be so shaken that I cry all of the water out of my body and shrivel up and die? It makes me laugh the not good laugh to think that may be true. If you're not a friend, you're not. Friend is the worst "F" word. Loaded for no reason. If you're not an associate, you're not an associate and that's perfectly fine. You can waste time if you like. Placate me too, if it twists your earlobe good when you get the itch. I'm fine with that too.
I think what I'm trying to articulate is that what scares me the most is that I am in hot pursuit of avenues of communication and the way it comes out is a three dimensional graphics sprint into a brick wall, legs chugging, my little arrow on the map, my associates viewing and confused. What really fucking scares me is not communicating in an understandable and lagoon clear way.
Though I may be a dragon, if you speak lizard, I can talk to you. We can do dragon business. Fear doesn't scare me. Occasionally, day light does. Police officers and their flashlights too, but I am civil and citizen.
I want to listen to the Penguin Freud orchestra and hear more songs about Easter Island and travel more. Growing up American. Straight up fucking American. The child of explorers. The child of, perhaps, orphans and seafarers now land locked and fairly domesticated. The child of pressure and heat and weapons and bombs and "on threat of death." A child whose fences end where the nuclear powered ships cannot go. Yeah, I'm good with that. How long does it take to breed the grit and horizon lust out of the genes? How long does it take to saw off the hard nosed muzzle and graft in the gatherer for the hunter? Fuck if I know.
///Seatbelts - "Spokey Dokey" and they called me old fashioned. they called me old fashioned!
///
8/16/14
When You Know You've Made "It"
A little humore.
You know you've made it when what you do is mass produced. When "e" really does mean mass times light speed squared.
Emotion gets a bad rap. We all know this.
Coming in cold.
Why does everyone want hot reentry? For the fireworks?
I almost wish. I do wish for a showdown with weapons of choice with my father. I will say it. I was born on Earth. I have a father and mother. I have no qualm with her. Sometimes I say words I know without knowing their actual meaning because they light up five or six or seven or eight other words I know and I hope they light up the same other words in your mind too and I'd rather the gaggle of words with one than the perfect word for the occasion. I have no qualm with her. My mother puppet. Shield. Known totem. Enabler. Blanket. My muffle. Caste. Former. Sledge. Bleeding heart. Working toward laughter. I'd rather the gaggle of words than specifics because we're splitting hairs and getting off track, if it must be said. No I would never have sex with her. It's difficult enough to find pleasure in foreign pussy, are you really going to ask me to find pleasure in the domestic? I can put on a show, but we know where that goes. And there is an age limit, I've come to understand, but that's a conversation for another time.
Weapons of choice. I was thinking hard about how to win a fight when both parties are granted bats. The answer is whomever gets close first and can knock the other down and then use the bat. Bats are useless up close. They are. Now you know. It's all about tip velocity and multiplying force. I already knew this. The trap is getting them to use theirs first to reach out and touch somebody and being comfortable enough to get in close. It's a three dimensional fight, son!!! Get to kissing distance and take a good vertical hack to the legs. The rest is cake and joy, yes?
Beginning at the start, I do not understand the significance at all. It is a favorite song, but not a titular song. How the fugg do I know if I've made it. I'll stop and listen to a couple, I am on the clock though, so no petty. Hustle bones? Where is this anger coming from? I don't get it. Are you imaging little skull and cross bones on each individual tooth on your mouth? I don't get it.
Anyways, your mother is an enabler. No mercy. Swing away. Swing for the fences. Remember the excuses. Do not get caught up in the raising. That was granted at conception, biatch. They had their chance. Toxic horseplay. I want to crash your home with my car. Putting a document together with heard songs.
Lose your train of thought much? Yeah, anything else? No, just checking. Okay, let's go.
Let's go back to the title. When you know you've made it. Let's play the song that inspired it, the title, and see what becomes of it. Fuggit, lets replay the chain of songs that led up to the song that inspired the title that triggered your off track with the knowledge of where the off track happened and we can play again, no?
I don't know where it fits, but it's appropriate.
One thing I would like to do is this:
I have to back out a little bit because I do not know the official names for the things I am about to speak about and I wish I did have the chemistry down, I don't. It is frustrating. I will get it nailed down and be more pro.
It will. It won't. I'm joshing myself. SKO! SKO! SKO! SKO! FANTHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
not saying goodbye to sky at all. at all. at alll. jusgt fucking smile and i'll talk to you later. okay?
hahahahhahaa fanthaaaaaaaa! fucking panther fuck. lol.
it hurts like a .... im trying not to cuss. I said I wouldnt' cuss. I'm not going to cuss. I just want to get it out so I can on to the next one. I want awe. I want power alot, but I want fucking awe. No two ways about it and I don't know how to ask for it or even if I should be because I know I'm a little shit, no fooling. I know. Am an angry fuck of a fuck. and it's hard to play nice. lol it's hard. let's killl them. i know, right? let's not and seee where it goes. see what the fuck it grows too. stop loppin off your feet, you fuck.
You know you've made it when what you do is mass produced. When "e" really does mean mass times light speed squared.
Emotion gets a bad rap. We all know this.
Coming in cold.
Why does everyone want hot reentry? For the fireworks?
I almost wish. I do wish for a showdown with weapons of choice with my father. I will say it. I was born on Earth. I have a father and mother. I have no qualm with her. Sometimes I say words I know without knowing their actual meaning because they light up five or six or seven or eight other words I know and I hope they light up the same other words in your mind too and I'd rather the gaggle of words with one than the perfect word for the occasion. I have no qualm with her. My mother puppet. Shield. Known totem. Enabler. Blanket. My muffle. Caste. Former. Sledge. Bleeding heart. Working toward laughter. I'd rather the gaggle of words than specifics because we're splitting hairs and getting off track, if it must be said. No I would never have sex with her. It's difficult enough to find pleasure in foreign pussy, are you really going to ask me to find pleasure in the domestic? I can put on a show, but we know where that goes. And there is an age limit, I've come to understand, but that's a conversation for another time.
Weapons of choice. I was thinking hard about how to win a fight when both parties are granted bats. The answer is whomever gets close first and can knock the other down and then use the bat. Bats are useless up close. They are. Now you know. It's all about tip velocity and multiplying force. I already knew this. The trap is getting them to use theirs first to reach out and touch somebody and being comfortable enough to get in close. It's a three dimensional fight, son!!! Get to kissing distance and take a good vertical hack to the legs. The rest is cake and joy, yes?
Beginning at the start, I do not understand the significance at all. It is a favorite song, but not a titular song. How the fugg do I know if I've made it. I'll stop and listen to a couple, I am on the clock though, so no petty. Hustle bones? Where is this anger coming from? I don't get it. Are you imaging little skull and cross bones on each individual tooth on your mouth? I don't get it.
Anyways, your mother is an enabler. No mercy. Swing away. Swing for the fences. Remember the excuses. Do not get caught up in the raising. That was granted at conception, biatch. They had their chance. Toxic horseplay. I want to crash your home with my car. Putting a document together with heard songs.
Lose your train of thought much? Yeah, anything else? No, just checking. Okay, let's go.
Let's go back to the title. When you know you've made it. Let's play the song that inspired it, the title, and see what becomes of it. Fuggit, lets replay the chain of songs that led up to the song that inspired the title that triggered your off track with the knowledge of where the off track happened and we can play again, no?
I don't know where it fits, but it's appropriate.
One thing I would like to do is this:
I have to back out a little bit because I do not know the official names for the things I am about to speak about and I wish I did have the chemistry down, I don't. It is frustrating. I will get it nailed down and be more pro.
It will. It won't. I'm joshing myself. SKO! SKO! SKO! SKO! FANTHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
not saying goodbye to sky at all. at all. at alll. jusgt fucking smile and i'll talk to you later. okay?
hahahahhahaa fanthaaaaaaaa! fucking panther fuck. lol.
it hurts like a .... im trying not to cuss. I said I wouldnt' cuss. I'm not going to cuss. I just want to get it out so I can on to the next one. I want awe. I want power alot, but I want fucking awe. No two ways about it and I don't know how to ask for it or even if I should be because I know I'm a little shit, no fooling. I know. Am an angry fuck of a fuck. and it's hard to play nice. lol it's hard. let's killl them. i know, right? let's not and seee where it goes. see what the fuck it grows too. stop loppin off your feet, you fuck.
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