categorical logick

surviving... staying awake... teacher's trying to demonstrate an idea, but the universe is trying to demonstrate entropy - i hope he doesn't see apathy - makes me think of that bad-ass dad of my childhood friend, reduced to a pitiful middle-aged man in a catcher's uniform trying to compete with the rainstorm for some kids' attentions: “look here, this is the crouch shuffle!” - i forgot why we're here - just cause, cause everything hinges on it, cause we lost the plot and this is all we got

playing, waiting, with typography and mesh - why do pens always leak on me? why am i sitting here? fly me to bermuda! lower me, raise me, i'll take the underground route if i have to, i'll plumb through pipe-world knocking blocks the whole way - oh look, restless leg syndrome, i'm doing it myself, unconsciously, the accuser becomes the perpetrator, prolly was all along, isn't that how things happen? i do it too, yes, and seeth at others - "everyone else is traffic" - chris, the bank robber for an hour junkie that died - a character that is, presumably, real, that stuck in my mind from the mary karr book because it stuck in her mind

look at these sunken eyes! not directly though - and pretend i'm on topic with my notes - i'm Slumpy, the Temporary Thought Stenographer - i tried, now i slump - people care about my welfare, abstractly, concretely, there's local charity, non-local well-wishers, the government even kicked in a tax refund, and that's good when you look at the big diagram - and i did my time in high school, so therefore i've earned the right to help myself to a modest amount from the collective pool - true, i didn't grow up to be beneficial, and i'm one of the takers, maybe once in a while an entertaining faker, but it's good to have some of those around, it feels good to support them i'd imagine, can only guess about being in a higher tax bracket

oh, the sadness i project onto everything - everyone is falling apart, like me, they must be - cause how nice it would be if that wasn't true, and nice things aren't realistic, they're symptoms of wishful thinking, so it must be true, it's not just me, it's everything that's in decline - some hold it together longer, and that's nice, a nice bit of niceness the universe throws down to this planet as a bone that someone grabs before the others

"tadpoles have gills at some phase" is not totally pointless to say, to him, i hear, in his voice - as this isn't totally pointless to write - and, bonus, it looks like i'm taking notes! albeit too many, too intently

oh, goddamn gordian knot solutions, that is the underlying addiction - of course, any drug, for an addict, is a gordian knot solution, and thinking there's a quick and easy solution to getting and staying clean is also a gordian knot solution, they're all delusional solutions, but i've at least managed to get free of those two illusions - but then, i'm still a raging addict to the false promise of gordian knot solutions - if i can't slash the knot in one easy beautiful machete move with drugs, if i can't slash the knot with some poetically compressed path to contented sobriety via spiritual awakening like on screen and in literature where it looks so simple and easy, then i can give death a make-over and think of that as a neat easy solution, and there i'm really just letting the deadlight in again and embracing the whole idea of drug-assisted pain-gain alchemy, staunch the bleeding of this miserable life in the best western hotel room, even, with a tight tourniquet to cut things off and delight in the head rush before blackness

gordian knot solutions, maybe i'll use that thing, about them being the underlying addiction, if i ever sponsor anyone - not even gonna make a chemistry pun here

"duh proof's in duh puddin", said the guy they always have in the group to moan about how nobody's here, nobody came, it's just this same lame gang of old moaners at the convention, arghgod i wanted to rage righteously, cause i'm mentally ill, not thinking but feeling like i have reasons to be rageful when i don't - i know, it's illness, and i'm poor at managing the psychic malady everyone has to deal with in their own maladjusted minds - you're maladjusted if you can read this, cause the frequency most words are written on can be picked up with a certain adjustment almost everyone has made, but that means maliciousness in dealing with the rest of the world, particularly the part sartre said was "mute" - there's new tricks they've come up with, still, for adjusting your nervous system, indeed, anyone's system, to the system, it's getting tricky to come up with new tricks, but there are a few left, and there's a place where tricks aren't needed, where we come from, but nobody knows where to draw the line, and tricks are needed in the mish-mash as a whole, and this is the place in which they're needed, which seems to be where we indigest with form and function, and maybe we could breathe without that stuff but how much of function is necessarily malicious? it shifts, like a trickster

some people wobble so wildly that you wanna put them on tv and eat popcorn to it, and call that your balance, a budget for cable and a free-standing sofa, that'll work for a while - everyone's mentally ill but not everyone is lazy, that's the crux of it - i've got a decent heart and soul but a weak will - well directed work could, well, not fix things, but could be helpful, could illustrate the best you can do with a life in this mess we're in, where no one gets out alive - a bid, not to fix things, but heroically battle against impossible odds for the sheer grandeur of it, like how rudyard kipling obnoxiously tells you how to be a man, my son - a finger in the dyke, a seat in the downing street clustershag, a princely bearing in the palace because tourist are moooney, and nigel didn't make all those plans so british steel could go bankrupt cause there was no monarchy to inspire large-scale building projects - but i don't wanna, no - i wanna die like uday hussein, if i can't die like christ, but if you wanna lay on me a kind of schizophrenia that will make me feel like i'm your son, and live, and die, accordingly, god, sure, lay it on me, let's see what happens, i know there's a lot of jesii running around at the moment, i've met one or two, but i could mutate a new strain - and i can't commit to death just yet, damnit - oh well, okay, that's fine, then, i should be thanking those things that made all of this necessary, and possibly possible

searching for the ultimate regime... the one that is good but not perfect, that's strict enuf to get results but tailored enuf for me to be comfortable with such a routine and happy enuf to stick to it... searching, searching, high and low, to the kwikimart mountains... it's utopian kinda, but not totally, not impossibly, and not necessarily in the category of "gordian knot solutions" - if i could be arsed to do it then it wouldn't deserve to be tagged and bagged as a gordian knot scheme

good god tho, energy is hard to come by these days - i'm a tired old man who never grew up - it's hard to be a prematurely old child - it's tiring - the awareness is draining

The badger is underground! The badger is underground. That's okay. Let 'er hib'rnate for as long as she can, there'll be no term limits - everything will be ok/anesthetized - awareness will be distilled into a drop

i will be the world's leading authority on gordian knot solutions and how to quit seeking them - one day, when i figure out how to quit seeking them... after sufficient folly, oh, i hope that's soon, this folly is hard for me to stomach, it doesn't feel like folly, it feels acidic - one day i'll be deputized to be a ditch-digger, cause the world needs them too, a ditch digger giving the occasional bit of sage advice to the roadside chain gangs, but still taking more than i'm giving - cause it'd be nice to take what people have to give, rather than giving shit to everything like the universe is my complaint department, which it is, among other things, they'll never take that away from me until they do - ugly duckling to narcissistic swan to survivalist scavenger to carrion

don't wanna

what if we all entered into a suicide pact? what if? well there's surely some flaw in that design that's glaring to most and hidden to me, but i can sort of feel that it exists, like a crack that'll break your mother's back, like it'll make you come back as a dog with an abusive owner

so, you or he or she or they can shoulder the burden, pick up my slack, while i pledge allegiance to nonexistence - does it have to be nonexistence? no, but probably - that's the cleanest, and somehow when everything's so messy, i crave some kind of ultimate cleanliness - cause whatever i do, wherever i go, nothing's gonna fix anything, nothing's gonna reverse time, not even nostalgia

there's really nothing more to write, there's no words to put it into - i'm in decline, premature middle aged burnout, and i know a drink won't help anything - perhaps transcending the wheel of life and death would help, that i could almost imagine, migrating to the center and watching everything spin with a grin, and giggling and gawking at the spectacle

why are there always little strands of hair that settle about anywhere i sit still? i think i can guess - will i ever know why the stomach is so upset? that i doubt

some people have strength for alcoholism - some people have joie de vivre in middle age - what is my excuse? i have none - can't be bothered to even look now - it won't add up

what if, instead of channeling feelings into physical self-harm, i dropped all this school that i can no longer give two tin shits about? and then what? well, i could help a woman i love not be lonely, cook and chauffeur, read stories

earth arena paraphrase

sitting on the dock of the bay, remembering blair's ass-kicking karaoke that made me sink in my chair, sitting, half-heartedly fishing for metaphors in the mud, new ways to say that the potency says so, so deal with that, the potency of pudding stone

i wish english was my second language, then everything i said would be creative, i'd rattle it off noisily and there'd be one special orbital person that would elliptically love it like it was ordained by the laws of righteousness and zebra crossings

the ungraded imperium decrees these fields of broken glass fertile - the unimproved authority says, so, like, love it or leave it but, oh, you can't leave it, can you? how could you? it's not an option, but can disrespectfully remain as an idea to return to, idly - in praise of idleness - steal rations of worship, the kind of worship that impinges on others in the work-gang, when you're worshiping in that way you're not working and then they're forced to drag you along and support the weight of your chains, on top of everything else, and the profit margin for survival is already razor thin

grease firm, waste estate, debris realty, dust polity, scraparchy, domain of chaff, fief of filth

i'm done with it, fuck it, take it... you can have it all... i'm dreaming of saintly scavengers, beautiful beneficent tinkers, better times in extra-temporal galaxies

the sun can set now, and also rise, like on premise beach, in the video game version

morsels of sucrose vox immediately appreciate in memory
sound exponentially better in the mind's ear, the ten second delay
so i'll hang on the next fructose phrase
for lack of engaging activity and presence of body aches and general joint soreness and oncoming flu and absence of sleep

kinetic molecular stasis

everybody's on adderall
they're doing the pee-dance
in sync with their study-buddies
knees bobbing to the left of me
feet tapping to the right of me
could you stop vibrating for a minute please
you pepped-up
stable angels
testosterized for the test?
if not, i'll helen-kellerize
shut my eyes
and plug my ears
while i have to be here

gotta admit
i find it hard to sit still too
maybe it's the environment
the food
the toxicity
or more likely, spiritual corrosion
or the two in collusion
an auxiliary evil

keep the husbands in the dark
they're happier that way...
but what if they're not allowed anesthesia?
in that case, feed them ordeal poisons
get them to purge, i guess
one of these times, it'll take

maybe i'll blog, cause i have a blog, and i'm a blogger, and i barely blogged for so long my blog got lonely, and as a blogger, blogging is as natural as breathing, it's what i do, chips of plutonium twinkling in every lung

i liked myself better when i wasn't trying to be perfect - i think other people like me better when i am trying to be perfect but i'll just have to take the hit, and accept their legit criticism of me when i shrug off what to me have become intolerable burdens of propriety - i'm plenty deserving of criticism, i'll accept that, but i'm thinking that i'll have to start doing less things that make me miserable - maybe my character is built up so big that... nah, it's not that i got a big character, it's just that there's a shadow that... whatever - lite music outro

deputized to be a ditch digger

the world needs them too - why did they dress me in a ditch-digger's uniform, with low wattage wet-ware to perform a sub-routine? there's no good answer to that, i know

yay, i'm going to sleep soon, so, fuck everything - time to bug out - dream some dreams at least, forget what day it is, what house i live in - forget it the old-fashioned way which is also newfangled, a way that uses the brain in its natural state, or whatever passes for that these days, a simulacrumalgamockup at least, with sarcastic inflection and a heterogeneous heart

abandon ship, all y'all, there's a fire in the theatre, join me in action, but stay out of my lifeboat, or here, have my lifeboat, i'll just jump into the pacific and be passively jostled by ocean currents for an as yet to be determined period

shake like i got insulin shock, a theory which is not a model and based on glass-eyed observation and biofeedback through a gray buffer of electron imaging magnified to the pico scale - the algebra of sex is something i would sooner leave to the ologists, maybe even theologists, and sophists can persuade if you got enough spring in your step to pursue your blue suede shoes to the healthy and spiritually correct jacuzzi suite stiletto lodge after a linner of fluoride pies

yeah, the expert truck can keep on trucking, truckers don't honk too often, they know how to drive, they're okay by me, i like them better than cab drivers, although most cabbies are okay, i guess, yeah, i'll take my eyes off the quiet ones and watch the meter til i realize it doesn't matter, a watched meter will change just as fast as an unobserved one, so you're only cheating yourself out of a scenic survey of the jaunt across town

CHEESE BRIDGE AREA

a credible hectrizm

the longest dance craze ever

ended when Mr. Overbee fell on one knee

and proposed mortgage to society

and that's a tragedy, but hey everybody

it's me again, dressed up like achilles

silly mythology for all, accessible as trojans to university pussy fans

for old times' sake, disrupt a chronic wake

with an unseasonably zesty HECTRIZM

its an unreasonable chizm in a rational twirl

more indecent than orgasm, on the whole

its an irrational chazm in your bilateral chizm

and a spasmodic prism besides

the train's still available, to spin spain'll

if you'll ever want'll that plagelistic plain

just don't complain if you get searched for plagiarized bagels

some people get grabby with perceived intellectual property

even when it gets edible, at times like these

so do the hectrizm, it ain't that hard

you just twist twenty-two staggers to the right, or left, whichever is closest

and keep on twisting til your m=f/a

and then you shotput your body to escape the earth's velocity

that'll do it, then do it again!

it's a credible hectizm, i'd believe

out there dude in here format

Ahhh, sigh of relief. Carbonate burp. Fart of sodium citrate vapours. Ol' Man Seltzer with his tums, and his nursing home kindergarten curses. I'm "mentioning your name" on twitter like a little tweeting twit. Now can I get a deal somewhere, at some local or nonlocal merchant now? Cause of the mention?

Pathetic. Because I couldn't say it on facebook, without a convergence of people interrogating me for what I meant. What did I mean? Oh I guess I meant my life and my efforts at recording music.

Dodged two flacks tin bullets today. Not what I meant to say, fuck yoo auto correct. But thank yoo for making the bullets more interesting. What if... I don't want to shake like a leaf? Hypothetical mediocrity. Good readers, read me, heed me, need me, it thins out my blood, it's good for me, it dulls the pain while keeping it conscious. Justin phonetic bieber as written in the ancient scrolls. So let it be splayed in independent and inelegant essay format and in indecent slobbering sultriness and in initialized executive stubbornness.

obviously a bad idea

why did i mention this or that? it's not like i wanted to - funny, how a feeling of obligation yielded nothing good anyway - i might as well have done this or that - expression impression printing vice - i guess it would be better to file this away - it would be a character strength, a kind of integrity to not post, and be all-insular rather than quasi-insular, but i'm sick of building character - sick in general - can i shrug it off and sleep, on this much caffeine? yeah, i bet i could - won't even dig for an essay

vocation-less studying for nothing - are you ready to die yet? i thought i had to reach out, to anything, take every opportunity - now i'm stuck with opportunities taken, breeding other opportunities that demand to be taken, in an overpopulating cycle

maybe i can scrape by, shamefully - shame me over here, shame me over there, or maybe it's clear it won't work, it will have the opposite effect, at least on the hard glazed surface where i hang out, stubbornly, i'll shame myself until someone else does, and then i'll be spitefully proud, or at least pretend to be, and it'll almost work, for a while

all i can feel is pressure any more, can't remember ease

well, i do remember new york-themed dreams that come in so many variations and colors and emotions, a full spectrum of feeling from positive to negative and off the dichotomies - remember the trampoline under the ancient ruins of the rural house that kind of resembled Robin's grandparents' place? and underneath was... something i can't describe - and a television shoot on 3 dimensional primary colored floating boxes like a mario game, and cast and crew catering power struggles, and a bottle of vodka stashed in a cubby hole deep inside the floating box fort, and sneaking off the set

and that triggers a branch off that dream-limb to a brightly-lit tower interior, and a construction job, and woah, that triggers a dream about tampa, and highways, and driving incompetently on crazy freeways at terribly dangerous speeds in heavy traffic where everyone else seems so nonchalant, and farm access roads in grids on plains, and poorly-planned trips across countries, late for flights, catching other flights on dodgy massively oversized airliners from strange foreign countries that i know will crash, it's just a matter of when, and the airliner that had a mall inside of it, that made me wonder how it could fly being that big, what hubristic luxury, and the globe dream, with analogues to environmental catastrophes and geneses that seem to flow like air currents, and a bunch more stuff, i could do this aaaaaaall day and night, and i still have wednesday to catch up, so maybe i will, insanity and dreaming seem so pathetically natural

the grand old man of blogging

chords occurred to me one playthrough night - turned into a cold shiver that wasn't cold enough to warm me as the psychothermic waves did in the past - there were stupid waves and also waves of righteousness, sometimes cresting into each other, making me joyous and queasy, if i can be permitted to use that j-word

and now what am i going to do? it's like, writing used to be a labyrinth with more spaces than walls, now there's more walls than spaces - at least there's a few hours to fritter away before i have to go to a big school building and be in a class room - time to dream, if i want to, and make waking up all the worse - maybe i should stay awake, but now the thought is making me sleepy - i'd love to dream, even the nightmare last night that left me sweaty seems neat now, but i'm neatly able to delude myself now, it's a built in mind mechanism to prep me for the schizoid plunge, a siren song sort of delusion - me and my relationship partner, we never mixed with these words, this expressive venue - why can't there be a better mix? is that a law of nature? sad that i think i need caffeine to complete this all-nighter - it won't be that - but it won't be in code either - so, let's say, that's a victory, for something - for sus 4 chords

it would be fun to go full-bore hermetic, an idle hypothesis insists: a substitute for absence - a substantial absence

okay, let's make some space
between the silly album and the rest of life
keep the tracks in the historical subfolder
of the recording folder on H:
as a digital time-capsule
to be opened in five years
________________________________
                              -

                              -

                              -

                              -

                              -

new album finished

yeah, i've been working on an album for the last several months... a collaborative album with musical contributions by the clientele of the organization i've worked at for most of the past year and a bit, For the Love of Learning

now that I'm done there and focusing on universiticity, i've made the final push to "complete" the album, even though i could have easily spent another year refining all the tracks - but i gotta declare the thing done and move on... maybe i'll even start blogging again now - in words, even

but i figured, if i'm hardly writing anything on my blog lately, i might as well at least post some of the music i've been driving away at for a while now - two or three of the tracks are my own songs or compositions that feature rob keyes on guitar, or erin piatt on vocals, and stuff like that, so i'll link to them, cause they're the kind of tracks i would put up on here anyway, in the normal course of things...

some of the tracks are very much the property of the songwriters or lyricists themselves, so i probably won't post those on this blog, cause i don't know if it's cool with the authors, and i don't know if FTLOL would want me to just up and make the whole thing available - although, shhhh.... don't tell anybody... but it all IS in fact available, even before they've re-designed the album art! but that's a secret... between me my self-selected super-elite readership

Gower Street Jam (with Rob Keyes)
an instrumental that i put on cause there weren't enough songs, so it's sort of a slop art piece, but i liked how it turned out - gives a good sense of rob's live playing... even though it's not a live jam exactly - i had "tryppy keys" as a placeholder title, because of the keyboard track that i'd pre-recorded (and because it makes a stupid pun) - i got rob to play bass and then guitar to the track, live at the gower street church basement computer "lab" where we used to be before FTLOL moved to waypoints and then cookstown road

Taxing You (with Andrew Harvey)
the most recent song i've finished - lyrics from a poem i wrote, which i think the horsefly lit mag published a couple years ago, which was inspired by something that happened to my friend jennifer's oldest son while working at wal-mart - when FTLOL moved to waypoints, we had a social worker doing a placement with us, and he volunteered to give me some material to help with my collaborative album - that turned out to be a bassline which sounded like 3 chord punk to me, and fit perfectly with the melody i still had in mind that i'd use if i ever turned those words into a song... thus, a song was born - he also did some freaking out on guitar for me, using the little music room they had at waypoints, filled up with amps and axes - so every bit of guitar in that song is solely from that freak-out session, that was the challenge i set myself, and i think it creates a nice gritty cohesion, and also nicely de-popifies the sound, stylistically

and i'll post the lyrics, as is my custom, in case i didn't eq up the high end enough for you to hear the vox clearly:

yes yes, i'm taxing you
i'm taxing you for being an asshole
the government wasn't doing its job
i noticed when you got your third promotion

yes yes, i'm helping myself
the company has deep pockets
i know they can afford compensation
to me it's simply an ignoble obligation

swipe, swipe, another swipe
it’s another wrong partially righted
i want a new ipad, you want a new car
the taxes won't kill you but the price of gas will

so tired, i’ll take a cab home today
so here’s another ride on you
hope my entrusted ketamine-encrusted charge card
will get me back in time to watch tv
before i fall asleep, i’m so tired, did i tell you
i’m tired? it's true

yes yes, i was taxing you
you caught me with your video camera
you had to film me and good thing you did
justice has been served

you took it on yourself to film me
it wasn't company policy strictly
but you're your own man, a man of action
the superstore garden center vigilante

yeah yeah, put me away
i'm sure i'll learn a valuable lesson
i'll learn to use my fists instead of my brain
it wasn't working anyway

going for a new record

in minimalist blogging

from the toshiba user's manual:

always keep fingers away from the sides of the tray when closing the tray of an optical drive (CD/DVD/Blu-ray Disc Drive) to avoid pinching your fingers

awww... that's so adorable - cause when those disc drives start closing, they're gonna close, and if you have a finger inside the tray for some reason, when it closes, you're gonna get an awful... little pinch - owey! toshiba's like my doting grandparent

wish i could tell you about it over the phone, bb, hopefully soon - you'll be up "late", won't you? miss you, sweetie

ornt

Remember that big wide world of shit? It's here again, cept this time I've got a cellphone. And something to write on it!  Please don't you comment on the merits or lack thereof contained in me being "back" in school. It is what it is, might be muonic. That's my mnemonic.

Haha, never had no peers. Without peers, I. Calming modern pop, mildly "indie", not obnoxiously so... This is gonna be the start of a blogging season, if nothing else. Maybe I can even do it without drugs! I did once, long long ago, without even trying!

Maybe sketching season too... Under duress... Black dudes with dense bone structures, or is it light bone structures? Asian kids with natural work ethics, or are they nurtured? Everyone with cells. We can all burn idle time in this information age, but i need to torch it more ferociously than anyone because I'm the only one on the bleachers with this ridiculous backpack apparatus. I should have a slide rule in there. Yes, turn up the temperature on this idle incineration, increase the kelvins. Soon they'll be nodding their heads to references I don't get, but they won't be stupid pop culture refs, or next-gen acronyms, they'll be deep cultural and intellectual touchstones I should know. Hell, I should be bringing ones with me here to fertilize the soil. Grinding them into the ground. To belabor the metaphor.

Students working shit campus jobs. Why is this taking so long? Gonna have to break away from the pack by breaking out my headphones.

Okay, no space. Yeah, I know, gimme my space. Every province had its own brand of surficial stoopid.

Aah, my system of toxic comfort running on maximal efficiency. Toque pulled down, music cranked.  In the downtrodden element. I can put this straight to blogger with a wireless text send, somewhat precognized in the morning's couch dream.

Well of course I'd be in high school again, having insisted on being stubbornly observant of the letter of the law for a token dash start, and signed up to be reoriented. Jacks of orient are surrounding me, with a respectful buffer.

Can I forget by osmosis? I don't want to hear this conversation happening next to me.

fuck

2nd guess - oh wait, i already said that - head ache - i said it better before - grow up and blow away - toxemia and atrophy - sounds deadly, does it? it's sickly, i'd say

so, i need food, despite what my stomach says

i don't want to take instruction - fuck instruction - i know you know things, academicians - between me and gee oh dee, well, i think there's something to be said for this dirty cleanliness, and going to my meeting, the original twelve step meeting to do with substance abuse - but there's too much on my mind, plate - i want to slough off these ambitions, to be this great person

holy jesus, apocalyptic gusts of wind - maybe we need a disaster - by the way, that's a dumb thing to say

calcium tums taste lovely, tangy fruit flavoured chalk - tums and eno effervescing powder are the best things in life right now - calcium with sodium citrate in tandem break the back of evil, fill the gaps in my body and mind and soul and right this sinking ship, let's pretend - it'll keep me able to function marginally before the gig i will get through, the audition i won't pass - maybe i won't go - i want to run away, or hide, or both - i want to be somewhere else - i don't want to be entwined - i want to unhook from the gears of this people machine

whatever, just a whim - what i mostly want is some magic and miracle, and money, and the moon - i hate just about everything, my mood is awful as of this writing - it's nice to be able to write about it a bit, though, i haven't done that in a while - i'll write, despite how it sounds, in spite of how mediocre this is - it's a hide hole wallow hollow, but not entirely empty - there's not a lot of hope, there's a hole in the serotonin bucket, or something that feels like that - it's depression, but i can see it's a part of the cycle - i have to live and work with the hole, but some sort of gauzy layer will blow it over in the next sandstorm, and cover the hole in the hydraulic thermodynamics of this machine, and then i won't have to live and work with the hole for another little while - and then it will be there again - i don't have to sleep with the hole though, my dreams bail me out

but they contain the beautiful person i'm on the rocks with, and that's okay, if it's in my dreams, it's okay - my mind is not, though - i'm in a hollow, and i want to be at peace in this hollow for a while, an indefinite period, hibernate - that isn't going to happen of course - of course, just to state the obvious, or make what ought to be obvious obvious, and qualify, and quantify, for insurance purposes, and append every possible permutation of caveat to every clause of the contract, cause everything is contractual and consensual, that's the only sense there is in it, chasing your own tail in hindu modernity, talking yourself out of buying the $100 i-rig

it's sad that i managed to turn spirituality into a dirty word - corruption, cancer - i made words dirty - i MADE everything CONTRIVED - haha

when i tumble out of the hollow, i'll meet life on life's terms halfway with fakery, and say: yeah, there's value in the real, that's where all this good stuff that i can't express in words really is, that's where it lives

the spider plants have gone without water for two extra days - but they'll be alright i guess - piles of things accumulate, obligations i heap on myself - setting myself up... what would happen if i stayed in my living room, and lived, and shrugged everything off? i don't know, it sounds lovely though - a wonderful fantasy - i can die now, or be dead to the world, go into a coma - i've strained and struggled and i haven't come up with NOTHING goddamnit, i've written a very good letter of support for For the Love of Learning to HRLE, so i've been useful that way, and i've pretty much finished that song of Rob's that's been sitting around forever, and he wasn't even expecting me to actually get it done, and it's quality work, and a good legacy, something i did for rob, and myself, and the place i work for, a high note to go out on - sure there's a thousand other projects that are undone, but so fucking what? i took on too much

i want to detach from everything, gee oh dee, i so want to do that - harder to do when there are no drugs allowed in my diet - so be it - i'll say it in my own way, how i want to say it

calcium is delicious

the judicial branch

quite frankly, if i hear the phrase "quite frankly" one more time, i'm going to scream - to give you my judicial branch credentials, i feel like many great things were said, and continue to be said, at the meeting - a certain amount of repetition and cycle is necessary - can you be judicial in return and take it on faith that from my perspective, being the fourth person and fifth wheel, not being acknowledged or looked at, that i'd gotten the gist of the feeling of the meeting an hour ago, and i had the gist before then anyway? i don't know what i can add, not being part of the managerial process - i didn't sign up for the managerial process, and wasn't asked to be part of it - so i get a little antsy at the long long meetings that repeat themselves endlessly, quite frankly - of course it's work, i didn't mean to imply it's not, just that it isn't a very good use of my time, when i'm not asked to be included in any decision-making or agenda-shaping

yes, i could be involved i guess - i guess you expect me to jump in and start skeet-shooting ideas for you to blow away in mid-air, but i'm a thin-skinned mofo, and i don't like having my ideas shot down, unless i think there might be at least one that has a chance of getting through - i have to know that i'm not fractally wrong, and that some effort might pay off eventually - and besides that, i'm a thin-skinned mofo, and i don't know if i know anything, except that

just between me and gee oh dee... and my poor blog - poor god - but god is a much richer entity for having gotten to know me, aren't ye, god? aren't you a lucky god? count your blessings

economics is for shoemakers, i won't place limits on my design - excess lace up stitch up fuckup - ah, mayun, i miss aesthetics, i didn't realize how much until now, feeling the pang, i've gotten the gist of that feeling, no meeting necessary

Pharaoh

I'm on a first name basis with Pharaoh.