There was a man on television last night, who was talking about Milton Friedman. It was one of those CSPAN BookTV shows. The speaker was directly encouraging to me.
One thing he said, that I liked, is that enhancing our understanding of money, is a very noble thing. Money is discussed in the Bible. It is one of our oldest inventions.
What is money? Money is a like a chicken. Why a chicken? Why not?
If a bean suits you better, then, so be it.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Ebay Day
They're having a sale tomorrow! All auction style listings are just fifty cents.
Hmm, if everybody lists tomorrow, there could be a glut. Why not just have every Tuesday be likewise? That way, all the five-day auctions could end on Sunday, and ship on Monday. Just makes sense.
So long, Nintendo DS system, and fare thee well, Resident Evil series!
Hmm, if everybody lists tomorrow, there could be a glut. Why not just have every Tuesday be likewise? That way, all the five-day auctions could end on Sunday, and ship on Monday. Just makes sense.
So long, Nintendo DS system, and fare thee well, Resident Evil series!
Cities In Dust
I haven't dreamed in months. Just before I awoke this morning, a female vision came to me. It was the raven, the flighty scorpio that I cannot touch. I wonder how I created a completely unique person, in my dream. In other words, I knew her identity, but I had never ever glimpsed her stunning countenance.
This just in, Hezbollah are attacking Kiryat Shmona, with mortars. Israel had the decency to warn residents of Qana that they were sleeping with the enemy, and that they needed to evacuate the area. They even had the decency to apologize, after their 'mistake!'
Then, they unilaterally decided to cease air-strikes for 48 hours. That should have showed the world, that Israel is the one fighting with honor. Big surprise, to see paid supporters by the dozens being trucked in for demonstrations. They had the martyr posters all ready, they just needed faces to insert in the blank spaces.
The best analogy for Qana I can come up with, is a story from early childhood. We had a young Rhodesian Ridgeback bitch, starting when I was about six. The dog must have been kept outside, because we also had a pregnant cat, that gave birth in the laundry room.
When the kittens arrived, Tahsti became very agitated. She hadn't been socialized with any other animals, except her own kind. She had a beautiful tan coat, and a very distinct ridge of opposite fur, all along her back.
I wonder if mama kitty had any inkling of Tahsti's raw aggression toward her babies. Tahsti could smell them distinctly, because there was a vent in the laundry room, to the outside.
One day, some kid let the back door open just enough, and it was over in seconds. Just a dog, doing the job she was bred for. Too bad she got punished for it. It was nice to see the one survivor, go on to be the treasured marmalade family pet for years at the Stover's.
Tahsti turned out to be the best non-human companion a young boy, growing up, could ever hope for.
Enjoy to recall her, running at full speed, with her red scarf flying, all over the fields. And to recall her later, in her dowager years, sitting upright in 'her' chair, a blessed member of our family. Haven't had a dog, since....
This just in, Hezbollah are attacking Kiryat Shmona, with mortars. Israel had the decency to warn residents of Qana that they were sleeping with the enemy, and that they needed to evacuate the area. They even had the decency to apologize, after their 'mistake!'
Then, they unilaterally decided to cease air-strikes for 48 hours. That should have showed the world, that Israel is the one fighting with honor. Big surprise, to see paid supporters by the dozens being trucked in for demonstrations. They had the martyr posters all ready, they just needed faces to insert in the blank spaces.
The best analogy for Qana I can come up with, is a story from early childhood. We had a young Rhodesian Ridgeback bitch, starting when I was about six. The dog must have been kept outside, because we also had a pregnant cat, that gave birth in the laundry room.
When the kittens arrived, Tahsti became very agitated. She hadn't been socialized with any other animals, except her own kind. She had a beautiful tan coat, and a very distinct ridge of opposite fur, all along her back.
I wonder if mama kitty had any inkling of Tahsti's raw aggression toward her babies. Tahsti could smell them distinctly, because there was a vent in the laundry room, to the outside.
One day, some kid let the back door open just enough, and it was over in seconds. Just a dog, doing the job she was bred for. Too bad she got punished for it. It was nice to see the one survivor, go on to be the treasured marmalade family pet for years at the Stover's.
Tahsti turned out to be the best non-human companion a young boy, growing up, could ever hope for.
Enjoy to recall her, running at full speed, with her red scarf flying, all over the fields. And to recall her later, in her dowager years, sitting upright in 'her' chair, a blessed member of our family. Haven't had a dog, since....
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Stand Down
Time to lower colors, and recall the bombers. Back to failsafe.
Keep a weather eye, mate....
Keep a weather eye, mate....
Pamela
Right around the time mom first got sick, I spotted Pamela during a smoke break from the pizza shop. It was summer, and I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. My previous, managerial, duties had devolved into a delivery role.
She seemed a bit breathless, having run a ways before arriving on my stoop, adjacent to the Catalina Lounge. I remember some vague small talk, and I could not take my eyes off her neck. Her face was perfect, and so was her hair, and teeth, and she had such beautiful eyes. The image of her slender neck, to this day, gives me strange, wonderful vibrations.
She excused herself and popped into the lounge. A while later, a messenger arrived. One of the fellas from the lounge came over and told me, that she had asked, whether I was "spoken for." Well, I about melted away into the warm night, all the way back to treasured high school crushes and promises, about to be fulfilled.
Was I "spoken for." I didn't even need to know anything else about this lady. The few women with such command of themselves, and our common language, rate highly enough to be considered trophies.
When she broke up with me, it was pretty simple. She allowed me to go away. One phone call that goes unreturned, is enough for me! When she invited me over a few weeks later, she showed me her modeling books.
She had series after series of very professional portfolios, and each one was more alluring than the last. "Rag Doll," a song by Aerosmith, came on the radio. As she gave me the very first modeling book to look at, I asked her, "so, what is your favorite Aerosmith song?" While she answered, I was looking at photo number two, an image of her in a black one-piece, lounging poolside.
"Back in The Saddle." I nodded my assent, and turned the page. As I did, I realized what I was looking at. Pictures of a woman that was completely finished with me. Frozen in time in the full glory of her young womanhood, forever frozen in time and place, never again to thaw, not even with spring's embrace.
She seemed a bit breathless, having run a ways before arriving on my stoop, adjacent to the Catalina Lounge. I remember some vague small talk, and I could not take my eyes off her neck. Her face was perfect, and so was her hair, and teeth, and she had such beautiful eyes. The image of her slender neck, to this day, gives me strange, wonderful vibrations.
She excused herself and popped into the lounge. A while later, a messenger arrived. One of the fellas from the lounge came over and told me, that she had asked, whether I was "spoken for." Well, I about melted away into the warm night, all the way back to treasured high school crushes and promises, about to be fulfilled.
Was I "spoken for." I didn't even need to know anything else about this lady. The few women with such command of themselves, and our common language, rate highly enough to be considered trophies.
When she broke up with me, it was pretty simple. She allowed me to go away. One phone call that goes unreturned, is enough for me! When she invited me over a few weeks later, she showed me her modeling books.
She had series after series of very professional portfolios, and each one was more alluring than the last. "Rag Doll," a song by Aerosmith, came on the radio. As she gave me the very first modeling book to look at, I asked her, "so, what is your favorite Aerosmith song?" While she answered, I was looking at photo number two, an image of her in a black one-piece, lounging poolside.
"Back in The Saddle." I nodded my assent, and turned the page. As I did, I realized what I was looking at. Pictures of a woman that was completely finished with me. Frozen in time in the full glory of her young womanhood, forever frozen in time and place, never again to thaw, not even with spring's embrace.
Restaurant Manager
Marina del Rey, on the way, ventured into five different restaurants.
Denny's, San Clemente.
My four word order at the counter got botched. Cheeseburger, no pickle, water. After twenty minutes, the inquiry.
"It's coming." No matter how nice you try to say that, 'it's coming,' will not do. Not when everyone else who came in after me, got their food first.
Walked out, didn't look back. Total bill: $0. Review incomplete.
Redondo Beach location, Trader Joe's. After two minutes, I had my tofu, beverage, and was waiting to check out. The woman in line ahead of me decided to stick her little hand all the way in my direction, until it was about two feet in front of my face. She wasn't even touching the impulse item, just letting her hand frame it, or showing me her hand. I said, "What's your fucking problem!? Get your fucking hand out of my face!" and walked out. Review incomplete.
Marina Del Rey location, sidewalk cafe. After parking, attempted to enter premises. Was greeted by a smoker coming out to sit in the sun. I barked at him, "Can't I get away from you people, anywhere?"
Then I started raising my voice, because I was already going back to the car, and wanted to be heard. "You know, that stuff causes cancer, in other people too! You've heard of cancer, haven't you?!!!" Review incomplete.
Marina Del Rey location, Chipotle Mexican Grill. The music was blaring, and there was a couple in line, in front of me. This gooney chick had the most annoying sounding voice in the history of the universe, and I just stood facing them, smiling, plugging my ears everytime she flexed her useless neck. I almost made it to the front counter, then decided, ah, fuck it. She was literally sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. Review incomplete.
Marina Del Rey location. Star of Siam restaurant, Lincoln and Washington. I was very graciously shown to a table, even though it was three in the afternoon. I had a plate called Imperial Tofu, which had lots of celery and carrots and snap peas, as well. There were three wall-hanging fountains. The one I liked best today, had a pebble pattern. The restroom was very well appointed and clean. Every member of the staff carried themselves with pride, and treated everyone else with respect. I was so grateful for my meal, that I was shaking and trembling with my being on the verge of crying, and was barely able to choke out a tortured murmur of gratitude to them....
Denny's, San Clemente.
My four word order at the counter got botched. Cheeseburger, no pickle, water. After twenty minutes, the inquiry.
"It's coming." No matter how nice you try to say that, 'it's coming,' will not do. Not when everyone else who came in after me, got their food first.
Walked out, didn't look back. Total bill: $0. Review incomplete.
Redondo Beach location, Trader Joe's. After two minutes, I had my tofu, beverage, and was waiting to check out. The woman in line ahead of me decided to stick her little hand all the way in my direction, until it was about two feet in front of my face. She wasn't even touching the impulse item, just letting her hand frame it, or showing me her hand. I said, "What's your fucking problem!? Get your fucking hand out of my face!" and walked out. Review incomplete.
Marina Del Rey location, sidewalk cafe. After parking, attempted to enter premises. Was greeted by a smoker coming out to sit in the sun. I barked at him, "Can't I get away from you people, anywhere?"
Then I started raising my voice, because I was already going back to the car, and wanted to be heard. "You know, that stuff causes cancer, in other people too! You've heard of cancer, haven't you?!!!" Review incomplete.
Marina Del Rey location, Chipotle Mexican Grill. The music was blaring, and there was a couple in line, in front of me. This gooney chick had the most annoying sounding voice in the history of the universe, and I just stood facing them, smiling, plugging my ears everytime she flexed her useless neck. I almost made it to the front counter, then decided, ah, fuck it. She was literally sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. Review incomplete.
Marina Del Rey location. Star of Siam restaurant, Lincoln and Washington. I was very graciously shown to a table, even though it was three in the afternoon. I had a plate called Imperial Tofu, which had lots of celery and carrots and snap peas, as well. There were three wall-hanging fountains. The one I liked best today, had a pebble pattern. The restroom was very well appointed and clean. Every member of the staff carried themselves with pride, and treated everyone else with respect. I was so grateful for my meal, that I was shaking and trembling with my being on the verge of crying, and was barely able to choke out a tortured murmur of gratitude to them....
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Pride
Not sure if I'm up to this one, yet. What did Einstein once say? That we can't attempt to solve an issue, by using the same approach that was used to create the situation.
Even Moses at first questioned his own ability! He asked God, "Hey, why me? Really, Mr. God, I'm not all that great, you see!"
As an example, set the way-back machine to the year, 1990. My brand new Pulsar was repossessed, after a year of hubristic undetection, from my place of work.
My pop was kind enough to let me use my brother's car, while he was in Ecuador on a Peace Corps. mission.
I'll never forget his words.
"Pride cometh before the fall." In context, it made sense. Why didn't I buy a Sentra or pickup instead. So did despise that car, because it was too much.
True, there are six other deadly sins. Think I'll ruminate on this one for awhile....
Even Moses at first questioned his own ability! He asked God, "Hey, why me? Really, Mr. God, I'm not all that great, you see!"
As an example, set the way-back machine to the year, 1990. My brand new Pulsar was repossessed, after a year of hubristic undetection, from my place of work.
My pop was kind enough to let me use my brother's car, while he was in Ecuador on a Peace Corps. mission.
I'll never forget his words.
"Pride cometh before the fall." In context, it made sense. Why didn't I buy a Sentra or pickup instead. So did despise that car, because it was too much.
True, there are six other deadly sins. Think I'll ruminate on this one for awhile....
Happy Birthday, Margaret
Summer Solstice, stretch out the day! The longest day of the year, and the clarion call to summer's evaporating heat. Years ago, there was a woman who was pregnant during that time of year.
Within about a month, she produced one of the finest individuals to ever grace a shore. I was priviledged to have known her for a very brief time.
Creation's passion, caress this notion. Well before that woman became pregnant with child, there was a man, who loved her so much, that he willed a blessed expression of himself.
I worship the driving force that created that man, and his good will.
Madge will be about forty-two, tomorrow. I never forget a birthday. Especially, her birthday.
She was my first. She didn't break my maiden, exactly, but, to me, she will always be my first. I never got past third base with Midge.
I will always remember the cascade of feelings, that began on the first day I ever talked to her. It was the Vernal Equinox, and the location was my high school snack bar, first recess. My friend, Dougie, set me up. He knew how lonely I felt, ever since Linda Pizzo dumped me for that cute Shane boy.
There were two windows for the snack bar, and four metal hand rails were set into the concrete. While I waited on line, I used to swing on the hand rails like a monkey. I considered myself a mature, casual senior, but I still liked to play on the monkey bars.
My whole senior year was a goof-off, from a school standpoint. My graduation was in the bag, and my grades would turn out to be good enough for U.C. San Diego.
I remember that life seemed pretty good, anyway, that fine morning. Commencement was weeks away. What do you give the man, who has everything?
Happy, happy, good birthday, my first girlfriend. Many, many blessed more, wherever you may be!
Matt
Within about a month, she produced one of the finest individuals to ever grace a shore. I was priviledged to have known her for a very brief time.
Creation's passion, caress this notion. Well before that woman became pregnant with child, there was a man, who loved her so much, that he willed a blessed expression of himself.
I worship the driving force that created that man, and his good will.
Madge will be about forty-two, tomorrow. I never forget a birthday. Especially, her birthday.
She was my first. She didn't break my maiden, exactly, but, to me, she will always be my first. I never got past third base with Midge.
I will always remember the cascade of feelings, that began on the first day I ever talked to her. It was the Vernal Equinox, and the location was my high school snack bar, first recess. My friend, Dougie, set me up. He knew how lonely I felt, ever since Linda Pizzo dumped me for that cute Shane boy.
There were two windows for the snack bar, and four metal hand rails were set into the concrete. While I waited on line, I used to swing on the hand rails like a monkey. I considered myself a mature, casual senior, but I still liked to play on the monkey bars.
My whole senior year was a goof-off, from a school standpoint. My graduation was in the bag, and my grades would turn out to be good enough for U.C. San Diego.
I remember that life seemed pretty good, anyway, that fine morning. Commencement was weeks away. What do you give the man, who has everything?
Happy, happy, good birthday, my first girlfriend. Many, many blessed more, wherever you may be!
Matt
The Black Mesa Incident
Where is my copy of Half Life 2?
What is Half Life 2? One of the most enjoyable first person video games ever. You are Gordon Freeman, an MIT physicist who never says a word. All he does is save the world, armed with only the tools at hand. Even a crowbar! There is a gadget called a gravity gun, that lets you pick up a washing machine like a toaster, then launch it at terminal velocity towards your opponent.
Freeman could kick Master Chief's ass, and have plenty left over! And, if you have read this far, and don't know who the Master Chief is, then, you are no gamer.
Oh, sorry, beg your pardon. I didn't know you were in a coma. The only thing the video game world needs is the ability to put specific metaphysical properties onto your foes. The player in a Spitfire, who just chewed up your propeller, could become the dingleberry at the DMV.
Back to the multiplayer arena
What is Half Life 2? One of the most enjoyable first person video games ever. You are Gordon Freeman, an MIT physicist who never says a word. All he does is save the world, armed with only the tools at hand. Even a crowbar! There is a gadget called a gravity gun, that lets you pick up a washing machine like a toaster, then launch it at terminal velocity towards your opponent.
Freeman could kick Master Chief's ass, and have plenty left over! And, if you have read this far, and don't know who the Master Chief is, then, you are no gamer.
Oh, sorry, beg your pardon. I didn't know you were in a coma. The only thing the video game world needs is the ability to put specific metaphysical properties onto your foes. The player in a Spitfire, who just chewed up your propeller, could become the dingleberry at the DMV.
Back to the multiplayer arena
Sensory Overload
I have spent the last fifeteen minutes scanning my available matches on Yahoo! Personals. After seeing page after page of stunning, beautiful women, I couldn't respond any more. At this rate, twenty per day, it will take me all month to catch up!
My ad is called, "One Volt." I used a picture that was taken at Charlie's Restaurant, because I think it has the real mattie smile. I do need to add another year onto the profile, to make my age correct. Then again, why bother? In another month, I would have to do the same laborious process, all over again.
Kind of like my attitude toward daylight savings. I sometimes just let the clock in my car, run an hour behind or ahead. It is a little game that amuses me. I tell myself, "Why bother using my energies to figure out how to change the clock, just so I can push that stupid button? I enjoy calculating my precise bearings, each time I travel. I can add or subtract a one, any old time!
Speaking of subtraction. Looks like I have injured Miss S. in some permanent way. Why else would she move out without consulting me. Why else would she put in her notice to Riviera Management, without informing me. I wanted to stay here! She could have just left, but, no, everything must be pulverized in her wake.
Why else would she call the police department and make up lies. "He's trashing the house!!!"
Well, officer dickhead, we are in the process of moving. All I did, was re-arrange our bed. She wasn't even in the house at the time. Since I have a penis, and the person without the penis made the frantic telephone call, I had to leave the premises, under a policemans eye.
I have never raised a hand to her, nor intentionally damaged any of her belongings. That she could claim to not feel safe, is ludicrous. She is the one with all of the hostility. She is the one who almost drove us into the Maui channel because I made a comment about her driving.
Well, I got what I deserved. I thought I wanted to marry the girl, but it turns out, she was just playing house. And now, she has taken her house, and moved it. But, she still wants to talk!
Start speaking after the beep.
My ad is called, "One Volt." I used a picture that was taken at Charlie's Restaurant, because I think it has the real mattie smile. I do need to add another year onto the profile, to make my age correct. Then again, why bother? In another month, I would have to do the same laborious process, all over again.
Kind of like my attitude toward daylight savings. I sometimes just let the clock in my car, run an hour behind or ahead. It is a little game that amuses me. I tell myself, "Why bother using my energies to figure out how to change the clock, just so I can push that stupid button? I enjoy calculating my precise bearings, each time I travel. I can add or subtract a one, any old time!
Speaking of subtraction. Looks like I have injured Miss S. in some permanent way. Why else would she move out without consulting me. Why else would she put in her notice to Riviera Management, without informing me. I wanted to stay here! She could have just left, but, no, everything must be pulverized in her wake.
Why else would she call the police department and make up lies. "He's trashing the house!!!"
Well, officer dickhead, we are in the process of moving. All I did, was re-arrange our bed. She wasn't even in the house at the time. Since I have a penis, and the person without the penis made the frantic telephone call, I had to leave the premises, under a policemans eye.
I have never raised a hand to her, nor intentionally damaged any of her belongings. That she could claim to not feel safe, is ludicrous. She is the one with all of the hostility. She is the one who almost drove us into the Maui channel because I made a comment about her driving.
Well, I got what I deserved. I thought I wanted to marry the girl, but it turns out, she was just playing house. And now, she has taken her house, and moved it. But, she still wants to talk!
Start speaking after the beep.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
The Storyteller
The other day, I went through my old Yahoo! emails with a fine tooth comb. The oldest email in my account, is from a high school classmate named Jennifer X. This email from her, has been sitting there, with the subject line, "RE: 1980," for over six years. She was the event co-ordinator, and her message conveyed instructions about access to our twentieth high-school re-union.
I was away on business, and unable to attend. The event was held in August of 2000, and I don't run with the same circle of classmates.
I decided to see if Jennifer's originating email account was still active, and also make a game. So, I dashed off the following email to her,
"From: "Matthew L Blaine" chillblaine2k@yahoo.com
To: "Jennifer X" jenX@xxxx.com
Cc: mlblaine@gmail.com
Sent: Tuesday, July 11, 2006 3:31 PM
Subject: Re: 1980
hi, did I miss anything baby."
And here is her subsequent reply.........
"Hi Matt-
Wow - I think you get the award for longest time to respond to an email!! Yup, you missed a great party!! We didn't do a 25th, but we will gear up to start planning a 30th soon you'll have to make that one!! Please email me your current address and phone number so we can update our records. Thank you! Jennifer."
I think you can all see where this may be going. This is an innocent flirtation that you could probably see 'coming down Broadway.'
I replied a bit later, "tee hee ... yep, I try to wait an even six years, before I start to sweat the small stuff....lol...."
And the trap is set. Notice that I have ignored her question with a gentle sidestep. All I needed was for her to revisit the subject, which she does with her follow-on, "ha, ha, ha, but we still need your address so we can mail you info about our (UGH!!) 30th! Jennifer"
And, cue hushed dramatic voices, evocative of a barbaric place and time. There is no way for me to escape the directness of her honest question, so, my final reply can only be thus....
"ok, hon, here it is:
Matthew L. Blaine
Oh! Hey, before I forget, by the way, I got a reply from Doug Werner today, also! Thank goodness for Yahoo! They ought to rename their slogan, 'From Memphis to Mali.'
I told "Vern" that I needed his help with an old sofa, tomorrow. That will be even funnier, later. Anyway, hon, here is the rest of my address. Now, I must remember to type quickly, yet accurately, for there is a kodiak bear on my trail, and my signal is fading.....
One moment, maybe I'll just put a cc address in the box, just in case all the Yahoo secure mail servers go down. One moment, please......
Ok, got it!
Matthew L. Blaine
3371 Ap
huh....? wh, what was that!??
oh no, not the bear again! time to run, sweetheart.....!"
I was away on business, and unable to attend. The event was held in August of 2000, and I don't run with the same circle of classmates.
I decided to see if Jennifer's originating email account was still active, and also make a game. So, I dashed off the following email to her,
"From: "Matthew L Blaine" chillblaine2k@yahoo.com
To: "Jennifer X" jenX@xxxx.com
Cc: mlblaine@gmail.com
Sent: Tuesday, July 11, 2006 3:31 PM
Subject: Re: 1980
hi, did I miss anything baby."
And here is her subsequent reply.........
"Hi Matt-
Wow - I think you get the award for longest time to respond to an email!! Yup, you missed a great party!! We didn't do a 25th, but we will gear up to start planning a 30th soon you'll have to make that one!! Please email me your current address and phone number so we can update our records. Thank you! Jennifer."
I think you can all see where this may be going. This is an innocent flirtation that you could probably see 'coming down Broadway.'
I replied a bit later, "tee hee ... yep, I try to wait an even six years, before I start to sweat the small stuff....lol...."
And the trap is set. Notice that I have ignored her question with a gentle sidestep. All I needed was for her to revisit the subject, which she does with her follow-on, "ha, ha, ha, but we still need your address so we can mail you info about our (UGH!!) 30th! Jennifer"
And, cue hushed dramatic voices, evocative of a barbaric place and time. There is no way for me to escape the directness of her honest question, so, my final reply can only be thus....
"ok, hon, here it is:
Matthew L. Blaine
Oh! Hey, before I forget, by the way, I got a reply from Doug Werner today, also! Thank goodness for Yahoo! They ought to rename their slogan, 'From Memphis to Mali.'
I told "Vern" that I needed his help with an old sofa, tomorrow. That will be even funnier, later. Anyway, hon, here is the rest of my address. Now, I must remember to type quickly, yet accurately, for there is a kodiak bear on my trail, and my signal is fading.....
One moment, maybe I'll just put a cc address in the box, just in case all the Yahoo secure mail servers go down. One moment, please......
Ok, got it!
Matthew L. Blaine
3371 Ap
huh....? wh, what was that!??
oh no, not the bear again! time to run, sweetheart.....!"
Friday, July 21, 2006
In The Company of Men
Still in behavior push-back phase. Mr. Robinson helped usher in the cycle, with his appropriate and very flattering description of my current reactionary tendency.
He compared my reasonable approach to petty indignities, to that of the coat of arms of the Family Montresor. The image is that of a huge human foot, crushing a serpent. The serpent's fangs are embedded in the heel of the assailant.
No One Assails Me With Impunity.
As an example, my behavior at the golf course today. I approached the range with respect, because there was already a hitter. I set up near him, because on the far end of the range, was a loud couple. I never said a word to him. The only time we happened to become face-to-face, was once, as he walked to his vehicle. There was no call to speak, so I gently touched the brim of my cap, then quickly settled into my stance and took a whack.
I noticed way way before then, that the fellow, a really big hitter, was a citizen-soldier, with the United States Marine Corps.
When he left, some runt pulls up in his wife's white Sentra, and clicks the alarm during my backswing. I said to him, "I ain't gonna steal your car.." If the universe were only him and I, there is a very good chance I would allow my impulse to crack his skull open to rule the day.
But, I like to hit. I like when my old-school metal clubs make that satisfying sound. That's why I would find a way to play, blind. For the sound, and the way the club head feels in my hand, after a perfect shot.
So, I hit out, and walked over to the putting green. The loud couple happened to be there, chatting away loudly. Each time they opened mouth, they made sure their pie-hole was pointing at me. I don't really care about the flip-flops, and sticking tees into the putting surface to provide some guidance.
But when I walk up to within ten feet of you, and address you politely a few times, I would appreciate a gentle response. What that couple got, was vintage mattie. First, I pointed them out to the counter attendant. Then I calmly walked back to my group of balls, and picked up the two that I came with.
The new one, a cool translucent ball, got putted right into their conversation, while I was already making tracks for the Silverado truck. I got in, and pulled up alongside the putting green. Other golfers, sensing the direction of my gaze, began ambling to the green's edge. Like parting the Red Sea. I stared at the couple for about five seconds, then checked my rear-view.
When I decided that they weren't going to turn, I said calmly, "Hey, girlfriend!"
She straightened up from her stance, and cast a feminine eye toward the sound.
I waited until then, and said, "Naaaah, not you, you're too ugly," then cackled as I let my foot off the brake pedal and glided home. I love my shit-kicker '78. Goddam right it looks like the kind of truck that a downtrodden landscaper would favor.
I wouldn't want MY desert-runner any other way!
He compared my reasonable approach to petty indignities, to that of the coat of arms of the Family Montresor. The image is that of a huge human foot, crushing a serpent. The serpent's fangs are embedded in the heel of the assailant.
No One Assails Me With Impunity.
As an example, my behavior at the golf course today. I approached the range with respect, because there was already a hitter. I set up near him, because on the far end of the range, was a loud couple. I never said a word to him. The only time we happened to become face-to-face, was once, as he walked to his vehicle. There was no call to speak, so I gently touched the brim of my cap, then quickly settled into my stance and took a whack.
I noticed way way before then, that the fellow, a really big hitter, was a citizen-soldier, with the United States Marine Corps.
When he left, some runt pulls up in his wife's white Sentra, and clicks the alarm during my backswing. I said to him, "I ain't gonna steal your car.." If the universe were only him and I, there is a very good chance I would allow my impulse to crack his skull open to rule the day.
But, I like to hit. I like when my old-school metal clubs make that satisfying sound. That's why I would find a way to play, blind. For the sound, and the way the club head feels in my hand, after a perfect shot.
So, I hit out, and walked over to the putting green. The loud couple happened to be there, chatting away loudly. Each time they opened mouth, they made sure their pie-hole was pointing at me. I don't really care about the flip-flops, and sticking tees into the putting surface to provide some guidance.
But when I walk up to within ten feet of you, and address you politely a few times, I would appreciate a gentle response. What that couple got, was vintage mattie. First, I pointed them out to the counter attendant. Then I calmly walked back to my group of balls, and picked up the two that I came with.
The new one, a cool translucent ball, got putted right into their conversation, while I was already making tracks for the Silverado truck. I got in, and pulled up alongside the putting green. Other golfers, sensing the direction of my gaze, began ambling to the green's edge. Like parting the Red Sea. I stared at the couple for about five seconds, then checked my rear-view.
When I decided that they weren't going to turn, I said calmly, "Hey, girlfriend!"
She straightened up from her stance, and cast a feminine eye toward the sound.
I waited until then, and said, "Naaaah, not you, you're too ugly," then cackled as I let my foot off the brake pedal and glided home. I love my shit-kicker '78. Goddam right it looks like the kind of truck that a downtrodden landscaper would favor.
I wouldn't want MY desert-runner any other way!
Persona Non Grata
didn't even make it to the end of the lease....
leaving, this Place beat
up comes Fig, Berry, and Grape
seeking save havens
leaving, this Place beat
up comes Fig, Berry, and Grape
seeking save havens
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Arch Criminal
I have been detained numerous times by the authorities, and arrested once. That was back in 1983, and they don't even keep records that old. I should know, because I recently submitted to a LiveScan fingerprint background check, for my contractor's license.
The day of my arrest, almost a quarter-century ago, began at the Phi Delta Theta Fraternity offices. I was chapter secretary, and a detective at the traffic division was trying to reach me by telephone. So, I rode my bike down to see what he wanted.
About two weeks prior, I was wandering around downtown at about seven, on a cool Saturday morning. My girlfriend and I had been partying all night, and I caught the eye of a patrolman when I jaywalked across Fourth Ave. I didn't have my driver's license, and provided the officer my roommate's name, and signed it. Hey, I might have been a little light-headed, but I meant no harm.
The traffic detective wanted to know the whole story, so rode over and told him, and then he thanked me, and had me booked on a felony. Bail was set at about ten thousand dollars, which seemes like a lot at the time. Moral of the story? Don't let your vessel cross the bow of one Mr. Jeff Belk, right, 'Brother' ...?!
That night in jail, almost a quarter-century ago, has imprinted a valid respect for authority. Which has helped me in the last three weeks. I have been detained by the police three times in the last two weeks.
The first time, I was talking to a rastafarian outside of Native Sun Records on Rosecrans. Little did I know, that I was about to be caught up in a huge, multijurisdictional raid on the medical marijuana dispensary next door over. I was waved over and detained for ninety minutes, and interviewed by a 'special agent.' Guess they don't tell special agents, that one's medical history is one's own personal fucking business. Maybe that's why he rolled his eyes and didn't even write down the name of my primary physician, Dr. Michael Sullivan.
I suppose to become a special agent, one pretty much has to start right out of school. He knew nothing about what I do. His grasp on the subject of independent contracting was a little loose. Maybe he thought I was a general. He never explained exactly why I was being subject to documentation, digital photography, as well as ridicule and humiliation.
A few days later, things between myself and my beloved began to feel strained. I made it past 'validation day,' as I call it, and I was feeling as free as a bird. The only problem, is that I couldn't feel the lady anymore. I have been reborn spiritually, and walk a righteous path. She has always been so gifted at thinking through issues....
The day of my arrest, almost a quarter-century ago, began at the Phi Delta Theta Fraternity offices. I was chapter secretary, and a detective at the traffic division was trying to reach me by telephone. So, I rode my bike down to see what he wanted.
About two weeks prior, I was wandering around downtown at about seven, on a cool Saturday morning. My girlfriend and I had been partying all night, and I caught the eye of a patrolman when I jaywalked across Fourth Ave. I didn't have my driver's license, and provided the officer my roommate's name, and signed it. Hey, I might have been a little light-headed, but I meant no harm.
The traffic detective wanted to know the whole story, so rode over and told him, and then he thanked me, and had me booked on a felony. Bail was set at about ten thousand dollars, which seemes like a lot at the time. Moral of the story? Don't let your vessel cross the bow of one Mr. Jeff Belk, right, 'Brother' ...?!
That night in jail, almost a quarter-century ago, has imprinted a valid respect for authority. Which has helped me in the last three weeks. I have been detained by the police three times in the last two weeks.
The first time, I was talking to a rastafarian outside of Native Sun Records on Rosecrans. Little did I know, that I was about to be caught up in a huge, multijurisdictional raid on the medical marijuana dispensary next door over. I was waved over and detained for ninety minutes, and interviewed by a 'special agent.' Guess they don't tell special agents, that one's medical history is one's own personal fucking business. Maybe that's why he rolled his eyes and didn't even write down the name of my primary physician, Dr. Michael Sullivan.
I suppose to become a special agent, one pretty much has to start right out of school. He knew nothing about what I do. His grasp on the subject of independent contracting was a little loose. Maybe he thought I was a general. He never explained exactly why I was being subject to documentation, digital photography, as well as ridicule and humiliation.
A few days later, things between myself and my beloved began to feel strained. I made it past 'validation day,' as I call it, and I was feeling as free as a bird. The only problem, is that I couldn't feel the lady anymore. I have been reborn spiritually, and walk a righteous path. She has always been so gifted at thinking through issues....
Driver Eight
There is a photo on the cover of yesterday's fish-wrap. It does not make me feel too good. I know that I need to see it, for the same reason I allowed myself to exult in Saturday's photo.
On Saturday, the same publication featured a photo of Beirut Airport in flames, a parked DC-10 in the foreground.
Yesterday, Haifa's train station, in devastation. A dozen or so rescue workers look on, as a body on a stretcher is transferred to a waiting vehicle. The body is covered with a white sheet emblazoned with stars of David. The outline of the person's body is well defined by the sheet; I can see where the legs are.
The feeling I get, looking at that photo, just makes me want to rent. Eight people will not be going home to their families, ever again. And dozens more, were mutilated. One fellow who died there, was 44, same age as me, a railway maintenance technician. He left behind a wife and baby.
Another victim of rocket fire, a thirteen year old girl, who loved to play the flute, and read. The world will never know what kind of contributions she might have made.
Take a break, Driver 8. We can reach our destination.
On Saturday, the same publication featured a photo of Beirut Airport in flames, a parked DC-10 in the foreground.
Yesterday, Haifa's train station, in devastation. A dozen or so rescue workers look on, as a body on a stretcher is transferred to a waiting vehicle. The body is covered with a white sheet emblazoned with stars of David. The outline of the person's body is well defined by the sheet; I can see where the legs are.
The feeling I get, looking at that photo, just makes me want to rent. Eight people will not be going home to their families, ever again. And dozens more, were mutilated. One fellow who died there, was 44, same age as me, a railway maintenance technician. He left behind a wife and baby.
Another victim of rocket fire, a thirteen year old girl, who loved to play the flute, and read. The world will never know what kind of contributions she might have made.
Take a break, Driver 8. We can reach our destination.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Macrobiotic Chef
My great father, the natty nabob of Newport Beach, makes many wonderful, resonant expressions. One that I believe he would deny today, is an old practice of using fake names at his CPA conventions. There is no way that man is getting his continuing education, or trying to make some monkey busines, without his very high level of humor, and light-heartedness.
His view on consumption? " Everything in moderation. " That standpoint became mine, and today, I am going back to veggie. Raw, natural foods, beans, fish, rice, staple foods. There are some really tasty radishes, growing in the earth just beyond my window sill. They will go well in a salad with the collards, when they are grown.
This desire comes from an ongoing consecration of my spirit. Ordinary processed foods are seeming anti-nutritional. In the sense that, hey, I don't know where that chicken really came from. I do know exactly where that pile of pinto beans did.
For Outside Hire and Consulting.
His view on consumption? " Everything in moderation. " That standpoint became mine, and today, I am going back to veggie. Raw, natural foods, beans, fish, rice, staple foods. There are some really tasty radishes, growing in the earth just beyond my window sill. They will go well in a salad with the collards, when they are grown.
This desire comes from an ongoing consecration of my spirit. Ordinary processed foods are seeming anti-nutritional. In the sense that, hey, I don't know where that chicken really came from. I do know exactly where that pile of pinto beans did.
For Outside Hire and Consulting.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Fiber Optics
Swiss engineer Daniel Colladon is credited as a founding father of modern fiber optics. The contribution that I was taught, involved using running water as a medium for light.
I believe it was even demonstrated as a parlor trick. People were seated, and the house lights were turned down. Colladon devised a water spout that could accept light as an additional input, coming from within the spring.
The stunning result, was that the bright light was completely contained in a graceful, continuous stream of running water.
Colladon had some game, alright. And a generous portion of scientific curiosity. Interestingly, the inspiration within modern fiber optic communications, rests even further back in human history.
From a technical standpoint, a lighthouse is an optical device. Built into solid rock by Yankee craftsmen, the gadget transmits an impulse (the light signal pattern) across a medium (air). Modern telecom pushes the envelope a bit further, with current lasers acheiving signaling levels of hundreds of billions per second.
Thats is over a billion bits, or impulses, per second. There! Now you are partway registered fiber tech. That, and about four bits, will still leave you about four cents shy of a Daily News!
I believe it was even demonstrated as a parlor trick. People were seated, and the house lights were turned down. Colladon devised a water spout that could accept light as an additional input, coming from within the spring.
The stunning result, was that the bright light was completely contained in a graceful, continuous stream of running water.
Colladon had some game, alright. And a generous portion of scientific curiosity. Interestingly, the inspiration within modern fiber optic communications, rests even further back in human history.
From a technical standpoint, a lighthouse is an optical device. Built into solid rock by Yankee craftsmen, the gadget transmits an impulse (the light signal pattern) across a medium (air). Modern telecom pushes the envelope a bit further, with current lasers acheiving signaling levels of hundreds of billions per second.
Thats is over a billion bits, or impulses, per second. There! Now you are partway registered fiber tech. That, and about four bits, will still leave you about four cents shy of a Daily News!
Drop Dead Fred
Gentle Reader, please find a way to obtain a copy of this movie. I will loan you one of mine. If absolutely necessary, and not before, then, you have my personal permission to, er, shall we say, filch, a copy. As long as you pay it forward.
That's it. That's all I need to say so far. Taking apart the clones on the Hansen board has really been simplified, with the new format. And, beauty part, all the clones hate it. Because it is sorted by thread. Good idea for crowded boards. Helps with contention issues.
There, now you are registered telecommunications expert, same as me.
That's it. That's all I need to say so far. Taking apart the clones on the Hansen board has really been simplified, with the new format. And, beauty part, all the clones hate it. Because it is sorted by thread. Good idea for crowded boards. Helps with contention issues.
There, now you are registered telecommunications expert, same as me.
Friday, July 14, 2006
The Dogs of War
Israeli warplanes ply the darkness. The point squadron runs a screen into radar positions around Beirut Airport. Moments later, the airport is in chaos. The urgent wailing of sirens anguishes the summer night, and TV cameras peer into the destruction, backlit by bright, orange flames.
I do understand some of the problems of the Palestinian people. Main problem, they elected Hamas to represent them. Hamas promised to build schools and stuff, which is cool. Except, each piece of brick and mortar rests upon the mutilated bodies and shattered psyches of the 'occupying' Jews. Since when is a person riding on a bus, going to work, a hostile combatant. Hamas is truly sworn to the destruction of their "neighboring state," the State of Israel, and has not renounced that pledge since taking offices.
Hezbollah, supplied by Iran via Syria, has a similar mission statement. They've won hearts and minds by building hospitals and schools. Well, maybe that's exactly where those poor kidnapped soldiers are, right this very day. They should take very special care to check all of those specific locations, and then, when they are absolutely sure that not a single Jew is present, back off and deliver a 500-pound 'thank-you note' on the property!
Unleash the dogs, Joshua! The children of Abraham are under siege, and the defenders of liberty are all that stand between the Kingdom, and a bitter race of landless scrubs who are completely despised and disprepected, especially by their fellow Arabs!
If Saudi Arabia, or Jordan, or Egypt, would take the displaced, then, we wouldn't have a problem. Israel tried to be patient. This phase is known, popularly, as the resistance phase. The push-back.
See you in Teheran!
I do understand some of the problems of the Palestinian people. Main problem, they elected Hamas to represent them. Hamas promised to build schools and stuff, which is cool. Except, each piece of brick and mortar rests upon the mutilated bodies and shattered psyches of the 'occupying' Jews. Since when is a person riding on a bus, going to work, a hostile combatant. Hamas is truly sworn to the destruction of their "neighboring state," the State of Israel, and has not renounced that pledge since taking offices.
Hezbollah, supplied by Iran via Syria, has a similar mission statement. They've won hearts and minds by building hospitals and schools. Well, maybe that's exactly where those poor kidnapped soldiers are, right this very day. They should take very special care to check all of those specific locations, and then, when they are absolutely sure that not a single Jew is present, back off and deliver a 500-pound 'thank-you note' on the property!
Unleash the dogs, Joshua! The children of Abraham are under siege, and the defenders of liberty are all that stand between the Kingdom, and a bitter race of landless scrubs who are completely despised and disprepected, especially by their fellow Arabs!
If Saudi Arabia, or Jordan, or Egypt, would take the displaced, then, we wouldn't have a problem. Israel tried to be patient. This phase is known, popularly, as the resistance phase. The push-back.
See you in Teheran!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Cranium Excrement
the sheet is blank...the sky is blue.....i am a clean slate, a rebirth in Christ
I am a whole person. My body is very tired at the moment. My fingers, are thankful for the typing lessons. There is a degree of unconsciousness in the device.
My writing gained impetus 1980. My English Composition teacher, Rick Moheny, had the bespectacled face of a young owl. He had long dark hair, parted in the middle. I was one of a dozen kids in his Advanced Placement preparation class.
There are several things that Moheny told me, that I still carry with me all the time. Certain words of criticism and instruction ring true, if they have that deep, honest resonance.
I believe that he considered Connie Fullerton or someone else to be the most charming poet in class. My writing was all over the place, and he was trying to be gentle about an assignment that I didn't score very highly on.
He told me, that I had," the potential," to become a writer. What I heard, is, "there is a great writer, somewhere inside you."
Thus conferred with the proper potential, I went on to secure the only perfect score on the test. Three years later, while I was attending college, I happened to notice the young Sensei, and his girlfriend, strolling the sand at Huntington Beach.
I dragged my girlfriend, Chan, over to meet him. I was curious to learn how the other kids in class fared on the test. After all, the post-class party WAS held at my house. He said, in his ultra cool cadence, "yeah, you were my five."
Eureka! I have found it! That is the state motto. I no longer see people as acting out their hostilities upon me. I only see people as vast reservoirs of potential. When I see a young couple, all I see is the potential joy and reward in front of them.
That reminds me of another very validating 'lesson,' from a high school teacher. I remember the exact day when the light came on. I studied very hard, yet tested somewhat below average on my first big spanish exam. As I got the graded test back from the teacher, I was very pleasantly surprised with a B-. That B- grade was intensly, deeply validating. So much so, that it would be a truly crushing grade, only a year later!
See the potential in yourself. Appropriately ask those around you, to see the potential in you, as you are doing the same for them. Try it! Flirt with a cute guy / girl. Let the guy behind you in line, go on ahead. And most important, whenever you have a chance, dance a little jig, romance a little heart, and laugh a light night away.
I am a whole person. My body is very tired at the moment. My fingers, are thankful for the typing lessons. There is a degree of unconsciousness in the device.
My writing gained impetus 1980. My English Composition teacher, Rick Moheny, had the bespectacled face of a young owl. He had long dark hair, parted in the middle. I was one of a dozen kids in his Advanced Placement preparation class.
There are several things that Moheny told me, that I still carry with me all the time. Certain words of criticism and instruction ring true, if they have that deep, honest resonance.
I believe that he considered Connie Fullerton or someone else to be the most charming poet in class. My writing was all over the place, and he was trying to be gentle about an assignment that I didn't score very highly on.
He told me, that I had," the potential," to become a writer. What I heard, is, "there is a great writer, somewhere inside you."
Thus conferred with the proper potential, I went on to secure the only perfect score on the test. Three years later, while I was attending college, I happened to notice the young Sensei, and his girlfriend, strolling the sand at Huntington Beach.
I dragged my girlfriend, Chan, over to meet him. I was curious to learn how the other kids in class fared on the test. After all, the post-class party WAS held at my house. He said, in his ultra cool cadence, "yeah, you were my five."
Eureka! I have found it! That is the state motto. I no longer see people as acting out their hostilities upon me. I only see people as vast reservoirs of potential. When I see a young couple, all I see is the potential joy and reward in front of them.
That reminds me of another very validating 'lesson,' from a high school teacher. I remember the exact day when the light came on. I studied very hard, yet tested somewhat below average on my first big spanish exam. As I got the graded test back from the teacher, I was very pleasantly surprised with a B-. That B- grade was intensly, deeply validating. So much so, that it would be a truly crushing grade, only a year later!
See the potential in yourself. Appropriately ask those around you, to see the potential in you, as you are doing the same for them. Try it! Flirt with a cute guy / girl. Let the guy behind you in line, go on ahead. And most important, whenever you have a chance, dance a little jig, romance a little heart, and laugh a light night away.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Masaru Emoto
let the devotion begin, let it be so....
Masaru Emoto is an artist who is showing the world, the resonance of pure, intentful wavelengths. A former technician, Sensei has mastered the most advanced gadgets, for the vastly measurable benefit of mankind.
His experiments involve taking photographs of ice crystals. A crystal is an organic thing, which comes from a source, is tempered with energy, and grows with intent. Since a crystal originates from the same source as you and I, we are essentially equivalent to them.
As an abrupt comparison, Sensei photographed images of water samples, taken from a sadly depleted lake. The images were discolored and visually repulsive.
The same water was then subject to intentful, thoughtful, creative, loving, light-hearted prayers. Within a matter of time, pure white crystals transmogrify from the dis-eased water molecules.
These same pure energy clusters are found in each and every living thing, including you and I.
The only way to see yourself as you truly are, as this pure, enlightened cluster of energy, is to imagine this spherical, willful light, as also being inside each and every one of your neighbors.
What the bllep to I doe?
Masaru Emoto is an artist who is showing the world, the resonance of pure, intentful wavelengths. A former technician, Sensei has mastered the most advanced gadgets, for the vastly measurable benefit of mankind.
His experiments involve taking photographs of ice crystals. A crystal is an organic thing, which comes from a source, is tempered with energy, and grows with intent. Since a crystal originates from the same source as you and I, we are essentially equivalent to them.
As an abrupt comparison, Sensei photographed images of water samples, taken from a sadly depleted lake. The images were discolored and visually repulsive.
The same water was then subject to intentful, thoughtful, creative, loving, light-hearted prayers. Within a matter of time, pure white crystals transmogrify from the dis-eased water molecules.
These same pure energy clusters are found in each and every living thing, including you and I.
The only way to see yourself as you truly are, as this pure, enlightened cluster of energy, is to imagine this spherical, willful light, as also being inside each and every one of your neighbors.
What the bllep to I doe?
Operation Haiku
game of catch now dad
our spinning world between us
here's my knuckler pops
15:43 PDT
mother is okay
family is lifting her
you are doing swell
sunnybrook farm girl
alive and well, so it goes
what a hug ringer
second girl lee high
as well as can be, you know
slow on the uptake
the family keys
are hidden in the jewels
that came after me
when they forgive mom
then you can go home, light up
fair little birdie
hey pops can you say
is supper time before or
past uncle milty
tiger shark prowling
making the way straight, daddy
for the one true king
our spinning world between us
here's my knuckler pops
15:43 PDT
mother is okay
family is lifting her
you are doing swell
sunnybrook farm girl
alive and well, so it goes
what a hug ringer
second girl lee high
as well as can be, you know
slow on the uptake
the family keys
are hidden in the jewels
that came after me
when they forgive mom
then you can go home, light up
fair little birdie
hey pops can you say
is supper time before or
past uncle milty
tiger shark prowling
making the way straight, daddy
for the one true king
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Loan me a dime
So here we are, friend. Our separate journeys have brought us together. So, let us share a drink and a toast, to this place, this safe place, this table and two chairs in the middle of a bridge. Drink To, 'We Have Arrived!'
where are you? do you feel alone?
I will offer that there have been times in my life, when loneliness was my only friend. For my own emotional well-being, I developed a tactical policy of not leaving the house, in early February.
That went on for fifeteen years. What a waste. Not just the sum total of lost love. The fact that there was any incorrect loving being made at all, kinda makes me feel bad.
At this point, I do feel many, many confusing things. Many of them are too painful to describe. But slowly, I am finding ways to do so, appropriately. The rebirth of a spirit requires stages of development, like a martial artist, or butterfly.
My current art is that of the marital variety. Wherever the sounds of Nakai and Beamer drift, is of utmost value, because of the very very special person within, who lay with me.
just hours ago.... .
where are you? do you feel alone?
I will offer that there have been times in my life, when loneliness was my only friend. For my own emotional well-being, I developed a tactical policy of not leaving the house, in early February.
That went on for fifeteen years. What a waste. Not just the sum total of lost love. The fact that there was any incorrect loving being made at all, kinda makes me feel bad.
At this point, I do feel many, many confusing things. Many of them are too painful to describe. But slowly, I am finding ways to do so, appropriately. The rebirth of a spirit requires stages of development, like a martial artist, or butterfly.
My current art is that of the marital variety. Wherever the sounds of Nakai and Beamer drift, is of utmost value, because of the very very special person within, who lay with me.
just hours ago.... .
Friday, July 07, 2006
The Hitchhiker's Guide to A Peanut
A review of a review. How tantric. The lord is.
"Just a quick note from an ardent admirer and friend. I write in a blog, which has a slightly smaller readership. I publish whatever is on my mind, and tonight, friend, I am on my mind. Every time I need comfort, and find none, I have a movie. For years long ago, after my sister got sick, I self-soothed with my VCR and movie collection. When it was time for bed, I would pop a movie in, press play, and, usually, fall asleep during Act I.
"For years I see you working, and think you feel sometimes that tasteful people don’t appreciate you. Well, I never read P.K., but I imagine that she would be somewhat proud of you. You are quite good. I admire your frank style, honesty, and ability to see so many tiny, unnoticed areas where the artist has tried to transcend the vulgar. Sometimes I wish you took calls, or needed an inebriated, lustful Ed McMahon-type sidekick! How impossibly arduous is the road of the man destined for wordsmithing.
"Anyway, here is my letter, with all due respect, Sensei. It follows a new, personal policy, that seems to work for me. My urge to write is so ardent, and my potency, almost as lethal as Sensei. My new policy, is just to write a rough draft, and not publish for a day or two. I find it takes the edge off my emails and stuff. Your writing, now, ahem, respect, your efforts represent a bit more than ‘writing.’ To me, they represent something called stuff.
"I came to this realization after smacking around the wanna-be Ben Grahams on the Hansen Natural Corp, Yahoo! Message board. Replies to my best intentions seemed so idiotic, that I developed a parallel policy, of not reading anything unknown, for at least a day.
"Anyway, here is a brief snapshot of my comeback to your terse review of, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe.” It went in the blog as a draft, then came right back out because of some errors with my ‘fact-checker.’"
'Finally, I achieve the end of the movie, the "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe." Hey, I love ya, come on!
Duncan Shepherd, bless him, took in the movie also. The gentle reader is always grateful to tee off with the Hon. Sen.! The youthy timelessness of his review will always seem so, for each read, is filled with the same pure joy and astonishment, as the first!
Ahem, respect, but, the gentle reader is slightly more interested in the answer to the following question. Does the movie have humor? If we can agree on this, then, we can respectfully disagree on the puerile source of the humor.
Most movie goers just don’t want to get cheesed on their money. They don’t understand what happened to all the movie palaces, for they wouldn’t be caught dead at the social-plex (unless it were for the matinee!!!!) Would the gentle reader only have an outlet for their frustration and disagreement, rather than a spouse or lover in a darkened theatre!
For my money, when I feel frightened, and need a reeeally deep laugh, or some stuff, I’m going to pop my burnt copy of the “Guide” into my PC, and fall asleep, yet again, sometime before the sofas start talking to each other. When Zooey comes on, and she announces herself with a Darwinian, “Who are you,” type challenge, then I’m off chasing the sandpipers!
Mattman'"
"Just a quick note from an ardent admirer and friend. I write in a blog, which has a slightly smaller readership. I publish whatever is on my mind, and tonight, friend, I am on my mind. Every time I need comfort, and find none, I have a movie. For years long ago, after my sister got sick, I self-soothed with my VCR and movie collection. When it was time for bed, I would pop a movie in, press play, and, usually, fall asleep during Act I.
"For years I see you working, and think you feel sometimes that tasteful people don’t appreciate you. Well, I never read P.K., but I imagine that she would be somewhat proud of you. You are quite good. I admire your frank style, honesty, and ability to see so many tiny, unnoticed areas where the artist has tried to transcend the vulgar. Sometimes I wish you took calls, or needed an inebriated, lustful Ed McMahon-type sidekick! How impossibly arduous is the road of the man destined for wordsmithing.
"Anyway, here is my letter, with all due respect, Sensei. It follows a new, personal policy, that seems to work for me. My urge to write is so ardent, and my potency, almost as lethal as Sensei. My new policy, is just to write a rough draft, and not publish for a day or two. I find it takes the edge off my emails and stuff. Your writing, now, ahem, respect, your efforts represent a bit more than ‘writing.’ To me, they represent something called stuff.
"I came to this realization after smacking around the wanna-be Ben Grahams on the Hansen Natural Corp, Yahoo! Message board. Replies to my best intentions seemed so idiotic, that I developed a parallel policy, of not reading anything unknown, for at least a day.
"Anyway, here is a brief snapshot of my comeback to your terse review of, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe.” It went in the blog as a draft, then came right back out because of some errors with my ‘fact-checker.’"
'Finally, I achieve the end of the movie, the "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe." Hey, I love ya, come on!
Duncan Shepherd, bless him, took in the movie also. The gentle reader is always grateful to tee off with the Hon. Sen.! The youthy timelessness of his review will always seem so, for each read, is filled with the same pure joy and astonishment, as the first!
Ahem, respect, but, the gentle reader is slightly more interested in the answer to the following question. Does the movie have humor? If we can agree on this, then, we can respectfully disagree on the puerile source of the humor.
Most movie goers just don’t want to get cheesed on their money. They don’t understand what happened to all the movie palaces, for they wouldn’t be caught dead at the social-plex (unless it were for the matinee!!!!) Would the gentle reader only have an outlet for their frustration and disagreement, rather than a spouse or lover in a darkened theatre!
For my money, when I feel frightened, and need a reeeally deep laugh, or some stuff, I’m going to pop my burnt copy of the “Guide” into my PC, and fall asleep, yet again, sometime before the sofas start talking to each other. When Zooey comes on, and she announces herself with a Darwinian, “Who are you,” type challenge, then I’m off chasing the sandpipers!
Mattman'"
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Digital Delusions
That would be a cool name for my company.
It bears absolutely no characterization to the wonderful company, Digital Illusions. D.I. is a company that I should have no business knowing anything about.
The only reason that I am writing about them, right now, is because they wrote some code for 'Battlefield 1942.' Ever time the game reboots my system or crashes to the desktop, there it is, another error message.
"We are sorry," the brain offers it's condolences for my loss. Damn straight! I was about to win the Battle of Britain, all over again. After carefully consulting the higher mind, the brain offers a series of rationalizations.
The driver made by Digital Illusions, is the alleged culprit. Well, if that is true, then, why did the game operate flawlessly up until the day I updated my NviDiA driver. Patience.
Digital Delusions is the front end for my software company. All the heuristics and neural programming are set, and there are dozens of applications. Fruit, ripe for the taking. Just need a coder, and a wing man. I know right where he is, but does he??
There is a fellow in my not-too-distant past, that offered me a job once. When a king offers a prince something good, no matter how small, there is nothing that the prince shall not sacrifice in return. I will not breathe his name, yet. I will refer to him, simply, as The Pro.
I used to wait on The Pro. Quite literally. At the pt. loma pizza shop, I would take his order. Then I would bring drinks, set the table, and schlep the steaming plates of pizza and pasta to him and Mrs. Pro.
Back then, I looked like a hippie, sort of, with a long ponytail sticking out the back of my baseball cap. I never questioned why The Pro offered me a position, I just accepted. I think maybe I have a little latent thing for him, who knows. Maybe he just liked being treated with respect, and thought I might be alright behind the counter in a posh La Jolla shop.
Maybe I 'accidentally' called him Famous Ray, or made some other trifling embarassement on myself, that he found charming. Blessings, always, king mine!
It bears absolutely no characterization to the wonderful company, Digital Illusions. D.I. is a company that I should have no business knowing anything about.
The only reason that I am writing about them, right now, is because they wrote some code for 'Battlefield 1942.' Ever time the game reboots my system or crashes to the desktop, there it is, another error message.
"We are sorry," the brain offers it's condolences for my loss. Damn straight! I was about to win the Battle of Britain, all over again. After carefully consulting the higher mind, the brain offers a series of rationalizations.
The driver made by Digital Illusions, is the alleged culprit. Well, if that is true, then, why did the game operate flawlessly up until the day I updated my NviDiA driver. Patience.
Digital Delusions is the front end for my software company. All the heuristics and neural programming are set, and there are dozens of applications. Fruit, ripe for the taking. Just need a coder, and a wing man. I know right where he is, but does he??
There is a fellow in my not-too-distant past, that offered me a job once. When a king offers a prince something good, no matter how small, there is nothing that the prince shall not sacrifice in return. I will not breathe his name, yet. I will refer to him, simply, as The Pro.
I used to wait on The Pro. Quite literally. At the pt. loma pizza shop, I would take his order. Then I would bring drinks, set the table, and schlep the steaming plates of pizza and pasta to him and Mrs. Pro.
Back then, I looked like a hippie, sort of, with a long ponytail sticking out the back of my baseball cap. I never questioned why The Pro offered me a position, I just accepted. I think maybe I have a little latent thing for him, who knows. Maybe he just liked being treated with respect, and thought I might be alright behind the counter in a posh La Jolla shop.
Maybe I 'accidentally' called him Famous Ray, or made some other trifling embarassement on myself, that he found charming. Blessings, always, king mine!
Singularity
The feeling coming from my bones. My level of competence in duality is at the point, where, I have seen every broadcast, that I care to. I accept the paradox.
I am with in.
I am with in.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
The Man From B.R.U.M.M.
Just back from El Centro. Had to replace a cascade module at the Kmart, onsite at six.
A courier arrived shortly after I. He was also from San Diego! I joked that we should have carpooled. He had a celica, and would probably be back home before my job was done.
Next time, I want to call the Kmart NOC option 2 and find out which network device needed service. The poor manager had no idea what was goin on, and went out of her way to help.
And I spend eight hours and a night's lost sleep, doing service that a store employee could do in twenty minutes. I was pretty graceful, alright, considering that I knocked over a bottle of Downey, and had to run around looking for a mop.
I was tired on the drive out, in the darkness. The sled was overheating, so I had to run the heater. The interior was a warm, musty, dark space, and the CO fumes alone were bringing on a welcoming narcotic. The benign vacuum of the desert eve, made way for a wonderful sunrise. The only way I ever achieved a basic level of alertness was by slamming on the brakes and scaring the crap out of myself. Now, I am beyond tired. Every time I go through an all-nighter, I swear that it will be my last. At least I could charge more soon, with my license on the way.
Other than that, what a nice day going back to Syracuse. I think I found a surrogate parent, with the beloved's mom. It just makes so much sense, for both of us. It will help me get over the fact that my beloved, is slightly more important than i....
A courier arrived shortly after I. He was also from San Diego! I joked that we should have carpooled. He had a celica, and would probably be back home before my job was done.
Next time, I want to call the Kmart NOC option 2 and find out which network device needed service. The poor manager had no idea what was goin on, and went out of her way to help.
And I spend eight hours and a night's lost sleep, doing service that a store employee could do in twenty minutes. I was pretty graceful, alright, considering that I knocked over a bottle of Downey, and had to run around looking for a mop.
I was tired on the drive out, in the darkness. The sled was overheating, so I had to run the heater. The interior was a warm, musty, dark space, and the CO fumes alone were bringing on a welcoming narcotic. The benign vacuum of the desert eve, made way for a wonderful sunrise. The only way I ever achieved a basic level of alertness was by slamming on the brakes and scaring the crap out of myself. Now, I am beyond tired. Every time I go through an all-nighter, I swear that it will be my last. At least I could charge more soon, with my license on the way.
Other than that, what a nice day going back to Syracuse. I think I found a surrogate parent, with the beloved's mom. It just makes so much sense, for both of us. It will help me get over the fact that my beloved, is slightly more important than i....
Sunday, July 02, 2006
God Bless America
"And I will make of thee a great nation, and I will bless thee, and make thy name great, and thou shalt be a blessing!" ...Genesis 12:2 .....
Namaste! Namaste!
Genius of you to be reading this. And, congratulations on getting this far.
In Life! How many times has someone criticized you, and made you feel bad? More than once. And then, how many times, usually, do you react with the utmost humility and restraint? Almost all of the time, correct? Only to see the other person blow everything up and make you feel guilty.
Like when someone cuts you off in traffic. Now, there may or may not have been an actual offense committed. Nonetheless, more often than is justifiable, one or both parties comes away from the exchange with bruised feelings.
See the issue? It's all about something very primal and unique to each of us, called a, "reaction formation." I "got" a major piece of it recently, and just don't have time for every thread. There are very important members of my immediate family that I now realize, I have been loving incorrectly.
Part of me might miss engaging some FIesTY hAN$en "loNgs;" feel like I've said my peace up to now. Many points I died trying to make are now moot. Just three or four more individuals that interest me, in the sense, up to now, that they are assisting me in solving my own riddles.
I see someone had the temerity to mock my Yahoo! handle. Righteous! I haven't read a single post in the thread, just looked to see who replied. I wonder if Yahoo! has a handle governor or limit to falsehoods. I'm up to three or four right now, and they are all so tiresome. They are just a reflection of the extent that I will go to prove a point. I know, I can act like an abrasive bastard at times.
It is great being a MAN!
Namaste! Namaste!
Genius of you to be reading this. And, congratulations on getting this far.
In Life! How many times has someone criticized you, and made you feel bad? More than once. And then, how many times, usually, do you react with the utmost humility and restraint? Almost all of the time, correct? Only to see the other person blow everything up and make you feel guilty.
Like when someone cuts you off in traffic. Now, there may or may not have been an actual offense committed. Nonetheless, more often than is justifiable, one or both parties comes away from the exchange with bruised feelings.
See the issue? It's all about something very primal and unique to each of us, called a, "reaction formation." I "got" a major piece of it recently, and just don't have time for every thread. There are very important members of my immediate family that I now realize, I have been loving incorrectly.
Part of me might miss engaging some FIesTY hAN$en "loNgs;" feel like I've said my peace up to now. Many points I died trying to make are now moot. Just three or four more individuals that interest me, in the sense, up to now, that they are assisting me in solving my own riddles.
I see someone had the temerity to mock my Yahoo! handle. Righteous! I haven't read a single post in the thread, just looked to see who replied. I wonder if Yahoo! has a handle governor or limit to falsehoods. I'm up to three or four right now, and they are all so tiresome. They are just a reflection of the extent that I will go to prove a point. I know, I can act like an abrasive bastard at times.
It is great being a MAN!
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