the machine rolls on
for d-grade oil
the puffins roll up
for the clubbing of seals
the ski-doos roll out
for homogeneous commerce
every culture must die
the best stuff's inside
but i stopped looking
though monument valley did kill a few hours...
dreams keep the rest alive
for a life
sleep when you're alive
8/27/18
8/20/18
Flying East
Finally, I've done all the work, got myself in the air, now given over to professionals, above the smoke plains, the new normal. Can relax and actually meditate, think about this new normal, how I help insulate the ceiling with extra bigass carbon layers. But at least I'm not trying to block solutions to the heat-trap atmosphere problem. It's a pathetic defense that I'm addicted to this life, but I'm not going to great effort to prevent any sort of scaling back, like the corporate sociopaths, even if we all have the human condition, sure, we're all afflicted. Weaponize my human condition against me, blame it on said condition.
I'm swiping this, so the extra time it takes to correct auto-correct is frustrating. Got to try and be succinct, sidestep filigree fjords, can't make time for artistry, just gotta render the thought as best I can. So, looking sideways at the sky, I'm imagining Elon's rocket passion and can't entirely hate the guy, figure he must have some real depths and heights when I want to see this horizon-spanning smokeblot as a spot in context with the province - and how many times higher would I have to be to see? Out of the blue, into the black, 90x maybe. Didn't think it was possible to get giddy over simple scale since quitting kidhood.
Nothing but ash from Nelson to the Rockies and beyond. Still waiting for it to descend upon the zeitgeist. Where are the ten inch headlines? Social media diluted them to a trillion petabyte pixels spread chaotically through the slowly choking human world. The new normal is... just is, keeps rolling. You can gawk, or go about increasingly meaningless business. Or, the business is too full of meaning, hurts too much in the context I can only sense, driving by the rear view mirror.
Atmospheric haze is still a mystery to me, don't understand why I can't see the ground but if I was higher, would see it just fine. There's such complexity, such riches in this landscape that even I, after all the cartographers, topographers, geologists, geographers, satellite relay and people on planes... still even just me, could find something new, a connection (like the west-africa / east-south-america vase-face) except subtler, like the math could convert to intuition and back, left-brain / right-brain windowpane, going clear. Somewhere there's a reason why those natural lines are almost right angle human kinds but not quite, and in between are yet less straight nested crinkles, rock cracks between the millions of lakes. We could all have private islands in this tundra, or at least maybe every extended family could have one, cause the rolling carpet under my eyes is a flow of literally millions of lakes.
This is the future land rush, this tundra latitude I can see thanks to the efficiency of the great-circle flight-path cutting into the arctic over James Bay. When the vast band of temperate nests for populations becomes a wasteland, the endless rolling carpet of fresh water will be swarmed, maybe even somehow made small. How this must happen seems horrifying. Don't imagine it going in a very Canadian way, except in a precursor canadian casual slaughter and post-canadian see-no-evil rape of the land we're well into, post. "Supernatural BC" is still good marketing! The exclamation marks, when I don't mean them, are embarrassing to read later, when I'm forcing that friendly appearance in text, when my friendliness is genuine, don't need to bedazzle in synthetic gem crust.
Look at me, I'm looking out the window instead of being so bored and wanting to get there already. I'm not wondering why I can't dredge up the wonder, cause I got in such a rut that the jarring fact of being so literally high actually jars me! I'll even grant the exclamation, not friendly-like but accurate, even sleepdepped as I am. [Gutrot turbulence is perturbing suggestions into half-sleep, like I just remembered that the hip-hop artist del appeared for the first time ever in my dream career, I can place it to somewhere in the last four days, and then there was a version of anderson street turned tunnel unfurling fractally toward hex corners and a vr game with roman-polynesian monuments and rail conveyor shelves, important shelves that become salvia walls for a second, seems impossible yet I shift up the shelf backwards, a station ruined, always connecting to the schools and minor work stress, now chronically the janitor in dreams. All models are wrong, some are useful, he said, my new digital dad for lack of any better unnecessary substitute. I covet model airplane glue. Is a close bracket due ]?
Whatever else, I won't be the smug wonderer, wondering at everyone else's lack of wonder, cause we're in the sky, pissing in God's face, and I think I can see the earth's curvature. And I hate that cliche, that people have lost their wonder. I wouldn't wonder at it since I embody it most of the time. I've come out the end of that wonder, ditched into the mundane miraculous, so just cause I had a moment of goggling at the crazy situation I'm in, something akin to a God's eye view, doesn't mean I'm gonna pretend I'm so much better than everyone. But I will pretend I'm better for not pretending I'm better.
Maybe the smug goggler, if she really is wondering, is not actually smug but seeing more than me, all intuitive perception on the Meyers-Briggs, in a boosted moment, NP but not proprietary with that intuition, wants everyone to see. So many better people than me were so much humbler. Oh yeah, and sure, some of the patriarchal shit can go. Then I get the feeling, it's all been said before. This is a lukewarm mess, should edit the dead hell out of it. Edit: I did.
I'm swiping this, so the extra time it takes to correct auto-correct is frustrating. Got to try and be succinct, sidestep filigree fjords, can't make time for artistry, just gotta render the thought as best I can. So, looking sideways at the sky, I'm imagining Elon's rocket passion and can't entirely hate the guy, figure he must have some real depths and heights when I want to see this horizon-spanning smokeblot as a spot in context with the province - and how many times higher would I have to be to see? Out of the blue, into the black, 90x maybe. Didn't think it was possible to get giddy over simple scale since quitting kidhood.
Nothing but ash from Nelson to the Rockies and beyond. Still waiting for it to descend upon the zeitgeist. Where are the ten inch headlines? Social media diluted them to a trillion petabyte pixels spread chaotically through the slowly choking human world. The new normal is... just is, keeps rolling. You can gawk, or go about increasingly meaningless business. Or, the business is too full of meaning, hurts too much in the context I can only sense, driving by the rear view mirror.
Atmospheric haze is still a mystery to me, don't understand why I can't see the ground but if I was higher, would see it just fine. There's such complexity, such riches in this landscape that even I, after all the cartographers, topographers, geologists, geographers, satellite relay and people on planes... still even just me, could find something new, a connection (like the west-africa / east-south-america vase-face) except subtler, like the math could convert to intuition and back, left-brain / right-brain windowpane, going clear. Somewhere there's a reason why those natural lines are almost right angle human kinds but not quite, and in between are yet less straight nested crinkles, rock cracks between the millions of lakes. We could all have private islands in this tundra, or at least maybe every extended family could have one, cause the rolling carpet under my eyes is a flow of literally millions of lakes.
This is the future land rush, this tundra latitude I can see thanks to the efficiency of the great-circle flight-path cutting into the arctic over James Bay. When the vast band of temperate nests for populations becomes a wasteland, the endless rolling carpet of fresh water will be swarmed, maybe even somehow made small. How this must happen seems horrifying. Don't imagine it going in a very Canadian way, except in a precursor canadian casual slaughter and post-canadian see-no-evil rape of the land we're well into, post. "Supernatural BC" is still good marketing! The exclamation marks, when I don't mean them, are embarrassing to read later, when I'm forcing that friendly appearance in text, when my friendliness is genuine, don't need to bedazzle in synthetic gem crust.
Look at me, I'm looking out the window instead of being so bored and wanting to get there already. I'm not wondering why I can't dredge up the wonder, cause I got in such a rut that the jarring fact of being so literally high actually jars me! I'll even grant the exclamation, not friendly-like but accurate, even sleepdepped as I am. [Gutrot turbulence is perturbing suggestions into half-sleep, like I just remembered that the hip-hop artist del appeared for the first time ever in my dream career, I can place it to somewhere in the last four days, and then there was a version of anderson street turned tunnel unfurling fractally toward hex corners and a vr game with roman-polynesian monuments and rail conveyor shelves, important shelves that become salvia walls for a second, seems impossible yet I shift up the shelf backwards, a station ruined, always connecting to the schools and minor work stress, now chronically the janitor in dreams. All models are wrong, some are useful, he said, my new digital dad for lack of any better unnecessary substitute. I covet model airplane glue. Is a close bracket due ]?
Whatever else, I won't be the smug wonderer, wondering at everyone else's lack of wonder, cause we're in the sky, pissing in God's face, and I think I can see the earth's curvature. And I hate that cliche, that people have lost their wonder. I wouldn't wonder at it since I embody it most of the time. I've come out the end of that wonder, ditched into the mundane miraculous, so just cause I had a moment of goggling at the crazy situation I'm in, something akin to a God's eye view, doesn't mean I'm gonna pretend I'm so much better than everyone. But I will pretend I'm better for not pretending I'm better.
Maybe the smug goggler, if she really is wondering, is not actually smug but seeing more than me, all intuitive perception on the Meyers-Briggs, in a boosted moment, NP but not proprietary with that intuition, wants everyone to see. So many better people than me were so much humbler. Oh yeah, and sure, some of the patriarchal shit can go. Then I get the feeling, it's all been said before. This is a lukewarm mess, should edit the dead hell out of it. Edit: I did.
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