April 2002
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I'm Death.
One thing that I wish about these stupid polls is that they would have a ranking to see who number two and three were instead of just the very first and best answer. People are more complex than that.
Other than looking for work nothing much is going on here.
I cooked, did dishes, set up an appointment on Tuesday at 3:30 and will be cooking again that night. Also looking around for more recipes and things. I bothered Malyss to see if she could give me a recipe for something that she made for me a while ago but never told me how to make. When I'm sure of my money I'm going to be sending out Makonan's coat, I know I have more than enough boxes to pack it in.
One recent dream was about being at my elementary school which had the third grade wing converted into a movie theater. That night someone was awarding Oscars and I was up for one. In this dream place I had already won an Oscar for an animated feature which I wasn't particular proud of but people kept going on about it. When the new Oscar was awarded to me I was overcome with a feeling that "Jesus, they're not even recognizing my previous win." The new Oscar was for best actor or something like that. Halfway through the dream the award was taken from me because they screwed up counting the votes. I kept sitting in the audience waiting to see if they'd realize they screwed up the vote count a second time around but I ended up sitting there until everyone left and the stage was empty.
Okay I've been waking up early since October and keeping an ungodly schedule for when I was working with MCI. In the span of two weeks I've gotten back into a nighttime lifestyle. What bothers me is that this is most natural for me but it divests me from the rest of the world along with the ability to go shopping for food or going out to dinner. Working in the daytime keeps me somewhat normal but then everything in my life goes to pot.
More than usual taking snide remarks into consideration.
So I'm moody.
I only think in terms of losses rather than gains. Sunday night I was happy because I found two decent jobs in the Sunday Gazette which I applied to and sent out good cover letters and specially tweaked resumes but I haven't heard back from them yet. That's not what's bringing me down at the moment.
Everything about the visit has been pushed aside and pushed into one of the myriad boxes I have here in my apartment never to be unpacked again. I remember what P7A77 said about moving, if you move twice and don't unpack a box then just throw everything in the box away. Anyway, the visit's not bringing me down.
Kylie says I'm moody because it's late at night.
Maybe.
I just don't like thinking that after Deidre dumps me or finds someone else that will be the very end of my brief social life.
I was at an airport with my parents and sister going somewhere, the security was really tight to the point of ridiculousness. I had a loose piece of paper and was told it was not allowed past the checkpoint and that t-shirts were not permissable. There were two plainclothes security guys, one was a little blonde rat of a guy and the other was this fat Mexican who couldn't get fired because he had tenure or was union. We got past and went down to sit at some table and wait for the flight which was less than an hour away by my reckoning since my inner clock said it was 1:30 p.m.. My sister started complaining that the blonde security guy was an asshole because when she said to herself, "I don't like how the ice and rain is coming down so heavy" he said, "Tough shit bitch."
I got up and looked for them but only found the fat Mexican who was like "I doan know where he went but he get back here I geev him plenty." By the Mexican's tone of voice I knew it was empty. I waited there for the blonde guy to get back for quite some time but he never returned and it was departure time. Going back to the terminal, doors were closing behind me like Maxwell Smart in the opening credits of Get Smart cutting off any way of checking back on that punk. My parents and my sister were still sitting at the table apparently unaware of the time or uncaring of the time.
"Well, aren't we gonna get on the plane?" I asked. That's when my mother mentioned the flight doesn't leave until four in the afternoon.
I was so irritated, "You fucking imbeciles. Why the fuck did you drag me here so fucking early? What the fuck were you thinking? You shitheads, one's supposed to get to the airport about an hour before departure and that's it." I turned around to leave and my father gave me the finger which seriously pissed me off. I marched back to the table and said, "Hey Dad, I have a secret for you" and pressed my middle finger against his ear giving it a mean spirited swipe.
So back to my nocturnal lifestyle when my life's "unstructured". A few minutes ago I was wondering if I should write this because I thought I had written it already on my site but then I realized I only went into it in-depth in an email to Devo. I'd reckon that I stay up to all hours of the night and that Tim and Brian stay up to all hours of the night because we've had positive reinforcement. Stay up late, don't get bothered by outside influences like errands or chores, it's very quiet and we get to enjoy the company of friends. Whether it's going out to a diner until 3:00 a.m. in the morning or sitting in a park until sunrise or watching late night TV in a big empty house. That kind of positive reinforcement has been powerful enough to overcome the negative reinforcement of the feeling best described as "Shit, I'm supposed to be up at 8:00 a.m. to go to work."
I still reckon that if I won the lottery or made a bundle somehow (derisive laughter) then I'd make sure that I can live such a lifestyle stress-free and (to an extent) enable my friends to engage in it as well. This would be first on the list before doing shit like getting Malyss' house in her name, paying off Devo's debts and hiring an accountant for her, having Kylie finish school then getting me a little place in the country with a pickup truck and dogs.
Well I did the interview and it sucked ass much to my chagrin and I didn't get the callback I would've gotten if they wanted to partake of my skills. Been looking around on the web for some stupid set of questions to post here and fill up space. The only thing I found was that I'm INTP and got the results of very expressed introvert, slightly expressed intuitive personality, slightly expressed thinking personality and slightly expressed perceiving personality.
I'm going to take pictures tomorrow.
The job situation out in Colorado sucks big time.
Three hundred thousand people and barely a handful of jobs. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here. What really sucks is that a lot of the jobs seem to require having Department of Defense security clearance.
I dreamt of Malyss' father. All started out where I was in a baseball field with him, someplace in the suburbs in a park, and I noticed he had a big pirate ring in his left ear and I asked him how long he had it. He didn't know. Malyss was nearby and she heard me ask, "So do you pitch or catch?" He asked if I wanted to play ball and I said sure. He went out far and the further he got from me the more black and white to sepia he became and younger dressed up in an old time baseball outfit with a glove. We played catch a few times and he could really whip that ball. I only missed the ball once but he was like a machine.
He was feeling tired, walked back and sat on the grass. He pointed out there was an audience watching the spectacle. I went into the audience to get a few bags, Malyss' father was sitting in the audience now, when some kraut dressed up in a WWI uniform came up with a dagger intent on exacting revenge on Malyss' father. I put myself between them and said to the Jerry, "If you kill him, you'll never see the glory of the Führer." Hitler's title seemed to awe him even though he had no way of understanding what I was talking about. "This is 2002, if you do anything now you'll change your future." That seemed to make the kraut back off. Malyss' father and I stumped down the bleachers. The baseball field had suddenly become enclosed in a wooden, bureaucratic building trimmed with brass like a bar and filled with people speaking German. We went out a door which was to the right of the speaking podium at the front of the auditorium where I saw the panels were one way allowing bald guys to spy on everyone inside.
Going out that particular door was a dead end so we went back into the auditorium except it was the ball field at night once again. Malyss' father got really pissed off at something, I think the Germans were around again, and he became really musculuar like Popeye and started throwing punches. This portion ended in a freezeframe.
Later on was a dream about a river that had an artificialness to it. It was known as the Tennessee river with tall, square banks with the river's body being exactly east-west with near perfect S curves here and there in hopes of giving the illusion of being natural. There were kids playing and jumping into the muddy waters. I jumped in and swam around, a yellow lab paddled up to me using the breathless and overexcited voice I give to dogs, "Look at me! I'm a dog!" I told the pooch that he was the first dog I had ever met and he got even happier, "Oh boy, you'll love dogs. We have tails and they wag! Oops, I gotta run!" Best way I can describe the dog's voice is the episode of Dexter's Laboratory where he finds a golden retriever.
After the doggy swam away I noticed something strange about the river which made me scared enough to swim ashore and clamber out. Once I was out of the water and on the riverbank I saw there was a moray eel to my left flopping about and nipping at the air. In the river I could see all sorts of sea life washing upstream from the ocean because of high tide, giant translucent guppies, blowfish of many colors, toothy glowing horrors from the deep were all flowing into the river and far upstream.
I think the rest of the dream had something to do with me meeting Spike Dudley as a little kid and driving around in a cherry muscle car in the snow. The thing about the snow is that it was slipperier than regular snow up north which explains why southerners can't drive in snow. It's not inexperience but the fact they get the shit end of the stick when driving around in the snow. The muscle car got wrecked up pretty badly, moreso when I was trying to avoid an accident, which disappointed me since I wanted to give the car to my father.
Ever since that dream I've had the theme from Popeye the Sailor running through my head.
My to-do list for Thursday:
- Apply at:
- Progressive
- Voicestream
- USAA
- Interquest
- Adelphia
- Pay phone bill
- Get Independent for classifieds
- Do dishes
At least I can get it done. Friday I'll call some of the temp agencies around here again or go in person to see what they have available.
Whee, I have ten thousand hits on my page. This happened sometime after 11:20 p.m.. I knew I'd get ten thousand soon enough, what gets me is that I've had four rows of dreams with no nightmares. Offhand I can't remember if the dreams could've been a nightmare but that's irrelevant since I didn't mark them as nightmares in the first place.
I think I had a nightmare the other night except I don't remember much from it except blood and women. Man, if that's not some sort of temptation to get visitors I don't know what is.
Anyway, as promised, pictures.
in bed reading the annotated lovecraft
Jaybird playing Heroes IV
me on the couch watching tv
probably what i was watching in the previous picture. it's samurai jack
What little I remember about last night's dream is that the most vivid part was about me standing on a corner back home in front of an Investors Savings bank drinking a beer. When a cop car turned the corner down by the high school I was almost finished but threw it out and acted casually so I wouldn't get any hassles from the police.
The rest of the dream had something to do with a house party somewhere in New York City which was in fear of the police coming along to bust everything up. The cops eventually came but not to bust up the party but because this one guy had outstanding gambling debts at the race track. Luckily the police were only parked at the back of the building not at the front of the building so I was able to lead the guy out the front, give him a kick in the pants and shout "Run!" at him. What eventually killed the party was the fact that the old black landlord came downstairs, "Y'all gotta get outta here by tomorrow. The other tenants don't wantcha here no more and me too." I turned around and looked outside, the police cruisers were parked in the rear parking lot like patient sharks.
hil-100-55.reshall.berkeley.edu, whomever that is, was the 10000th hit.
I did a little questionaire. The answers are 0 for never and 4 for always.
- Do you feel anxious around new people?
3 - Is it a struggle for you sometimes to think of things to say to a new acquaintance?
3 - Is it difficult for you to keep a conversation going once it's been started?
2 - Do you ever trip over your tongue or stammer when trying to talk to someone you don't know well?
0 - How often do you feel you meet people with whom you have much in common?
2 - Do you ever have trouble talking even to people who share your interests?
3 - Do you sometimes become tongue-tied even when you were sure you had something to say?
3 - Do you ever think of a conversational topic after the opportunity to use it has passed?
4 - Do you ever feel like you're not a "member of the gang" when you're with a group of associates?
3 - Do you feel that people consider you as serious, cold, aloof?
1 - Do you tend to avoid parties because you often end up sitting by yourself?
3 - Do you feel guilty when you try to behave in a more outgoing manner-as if you're somehow being phony, or not expressing "the real you?"
4 - Do you have trouble speaking in front of groups?
4 - Do you find that other people more often remember your name than you remember theirs?
1 - Do you fail to have as expressive, confident-sounding voice as you would like?
2 - Do you fail to smile or laugh as often as you would like?
3 - Do you ever stand stiffly or fail to look relaxed when around other people?
4 - Do you have trouble making as much eye-contact as you feel you should?
4 - Do you have difficulty making friends?
4 - Do you go out on fewer dates than you would like?
3 - Does talking to a member of the opposite sex cause you anxiety?
3 - Does talking to a handsome or pretty member of the opposite sex cause you anxiety?
3 - Do you have trouble asserting yourself when somebody tries to take advantage of you?
0 - Do you have trouble knowing how to respond when somebody makes a wisecrack or smart-alecky remark at your expense?
1 - Does asking a favor of others cause you difficulty?
4 - Do you have difficulty refusing requests of you for favors?
3 - Do you have difficulty giving or receiving compliments?
2 - Do you sometimes have trouble knowing how to end a conversation gracefully?
3 - Do you feel most people just have a compulsion to fill silence with empty chatter?
4 - Do you believe that the more you talk, the more chance you'll have of saying somethint foolish, so it's better to be silent so people will just assume you're intelligent?
1
I thought I misplaced my leather jacket and got all worked up wondering where the fuck it was until I remembered that it's over at the Saturday gaming place and it should be in good hands until I pick it up tomorrow at gaming. Speaking of jackets, Makonan's jacket is sent by the Birds and I'll pay them back for how much it was just being inbetween jobs makes me count every penny. Also what I yelled at the cab, not the driver, was that her coat was in the backseat of my car where it remained until Thursday night.
Anyway after that seriously awkward shitstorm I still feel awkward around the Birds and I really want nothing to do with LambdaMOO.
Daylight Savings (was re: spring forward)
Back in New Jersey. I was sitting at the desk as usual, TV to my right, computer in front of me and some food stashed beside me but out of dog-reach. I was going through a Colorado newspaper looking for work when I found a job that was right up my alley doing web mastering. The rub was that it was at Focus on the Family. I pulled out my laptop and started writing up the best damned cover letter laced with amazing bullshit about witnessing, starting anew in Colorado springs because of its spiritual center and how my life in New Jersey wasn't the best because of the negative influences which surrounded me at home and in public. It was only bad at home but I won't go into that now or anymore. Jeez, I can almost remember what I wrote word for word. At the end of composing the cover letter and getting my best web/dtp resume together I called Focus on the Family to see what else they might need, also to get their fax number. The secretary got me through to one of the human resources people who interviewed me over the phone. I repeated my cover letter verbatim but conversationally and that seemed to work. He transferred me back to his secretary who asked for references and the number to MCI to check up on me.
Oh fuck.
Oh damn.
For a few seconds I was at MCI sitting in the middle of the bay counting down from five. When I reached one all the power went off the computers much to everyone's consternation. I freaked thinking the power on my laptop at home went out and the cover letter was lost forever. The phone call resumed.
I said I don't have that number but I'll give my former sup's name and such. The secretary said her assistant would find the big book of Colorado Springs job numbers and check it herself. Damn, hopefully this will not fuck my chances. I mean, I'll be doing something that interests me making me money even though I'd be surrounded by the god squad. I could swallow my pride for that. She asked for references and I came up blank for a moment and then the phone went dead.
I needed to call Jaybird. I needed to find out if I could use his mother as a reference because she's so religious and maybe that'd work in my favor if they see Mother Bird listed there. I went outside and Jaybird and maribou were waiting for me in a big diesel SUV waiting take me back. Jaybird insisted that I drive. While driving through hybrid New Jersey and Colorado towns maribou was talking giving me the cons of using Mother Bird as a reference that made me rethink the whole idea. I started talking about diesel vehicles to Jaybird telling him that during the summer one had to warm up diesel engines for about ten minutes and about twenty minutes or longer in the winter. This stuff was learned back in early March when the gaming folks on Saturday were being taught the care and feeding of their new diesel pickup. I also mentioned that not all diesel fuel is the same even though there's only one pump at fueling stations saying Texaco usually has the best diesel. At least maribou didn't say something like "Oh, you using spivak's razor?"
Once the roads became more like Colorado the ride became bumpier, usually with drop-offs that made the trunk area slam down hard when the car went over the drop-off. A few times I heard something scrape or something tinkle. Jaybird and maribou were still sure they wanted me to drive but I pulled over and decided I'd walk the rest of the way and explained how I'd feel more comfortable if they drove on without me.
While walking back home I started going up a cloverleaf onramp that was surrounded by a forest of lots of corinthian columns instead of the regular, segmented concrete supports. A black guy in a woolen, purple cap was very close to me and this one woman who was walking beside me. He was so close he could've given us flat tires. I started chanting or singing a song that I heard on the radio, what it was is lost in the subconscious, as a warning to the girl that the guy was about to do something untoward. I kept nudging her along with my right elbow hoping she'd get the hint but she only ended up getting pissed off at me.
About this time I realized I was pushing a lawnmower. The people around me were walking dogs. One guy who had an Irish Setter was catching up on my right and I noticed that the lawnmower had become a six-month-old yellow lab. I was all happy thinking "Ooh, doggies get to meet and play" but this guy's Irish Setter (who was more like a golden retriever in body shape) started doing vicious dominance rites against my pup. I fell down on my elbow against the other dog's neck and put all my weight behind it while growling at him. After a few minutes the other dog had gotten the point and became Mr. Springypants Oh I Want to Lick You Because You're My Pal. I snapped at him saying, "You have to apologize and make friends with my dog. Not me."
My dog was gone.
The causeway I was on had a turnoff on a red-carpeted stairway that I ascended and I sat down against a glass wall. On the other side of the glass wall were people in red t-shirts wrangling bears. The bears seemed friendly enough but once one zookeeper turned his back to a bear the bear stood up and put his paw against the keeper's back. Not a rake so much but the bear did stick his claws into the keeper's back drawing blood and making it a serious wound. The zookeepers came out of the room and started down the stairway to get medical attention. The door was quickly closing and I put my hand in there for the bear to touch. The bear did scratch me but didn't wound me one iota unless one counts thin red welts one usually gets from scratching. This amazed me and I announced I was an iron man.
Jaybird and maribou caught up with me, sitting against the glass wall, asking me what I had been up to the entire time. My parents came up the stairway to my left and I introduced them to the Birds singing the praises of the Birds to my parents. Soon Mother Bird came up from behind my father to shake my hand over my father's back which was awkward especially when I wanted to interrupt my parents making their introductions to the Birds so I could introduce my parents to Mother Bird. After all the intricate introductions were made Mother Bird said it was okay with her if I wrote her down as a reference but she was having a fight with the Focus on the Family people so it wouldn't really help my cause.
I think there was a little more which was a denouement to this dream but that's all faded out.
spivak's razor - a variant of Occam's razor which tends to be inaccurate
flat tire - the act of walking too closely behind someone and stepping on the heel of their shoes
The thing I hate most about writing down my dreams, besides people not reading them, is I can't change the background color of Wordpad to something less glaring to my sleepy eyes. Most times I end up writing half the dream with my eyes closed, sometimes peeking to make sure I didn't make some egregious typing error which ends up attenuating my vision and slowly making me bright eyed and bushy tailed.
I fucking hate daylight savings time with a passion. Days are going to be longer regardless of clocks being set forward an hour or simply being left alone. Daylight savings was started in WWI in order to save on fuel for artificial lighting but once WWI was over it wasn't observed nationally again until WWII. The laws regarding daylight savings have changed, in 1974-1975 there was year-round daylight savings time but that was stopped because of the amount of school bus accidents in the morning. There, I pandered to the lowest common denominator by mentioning Precious Childrunn. Also there's an increase in traffic accidents on the whole according to this article originally published in the April 4, 1996 issue of the New England Journal of Medicine. Here's more stuff about daylight savings.
I hate daylight savings because it screws up my sleep schedule, I'm cranky for about a week until I readjust then the goddamned sun is up to all hours of the night making stargazing eat into time that could be better used sleeping. I don't mind summer with its long days so much but daylight savings comes across as making summer into something evil. So what if it gets dark a whole fucking hour earlier, the day's still long and if one got their smarmy ass up earlier there'd be more time to do things. There's nothing to be afraid of in the dark anyway, it's actually quite lovely.
Lately I've been thinking it's a day later when I try to reckon the date. This happens mostly on the weekends and I reckon its source is wanting to go through the Sunday paper to find jobs and do the job search all over again.
Know what I hate? I've been checking out porn boards where folks post pics they stole from pay sites or ex-girlfriends and the comments are completely fucking lame. They'll be posting the filthiest pictures known to mankind and their comments will be: "OMFG!!!!!1 I wnat 2B htat dawg f**king her a**!!!!! LOL!!11 ;-D-~~~" What's the god damned point in censoring your language when there's a picture of some woman being topped by a Doberman? Sure I can see in a gaming forum there are dorks who think using sh*t is a-ok because there might be kids reading the boards but it doesn't change the fact that everyone, including the Precious Child reading, will know what the fucking word is in the first place. Speaking of porn, in today's set of contris at RedClouds there's a contri called "Trailer Trash Dawn". Unfortunately the Dawn featured in the pictures is too thin and lacks the Triple H nose of LambdaMOO's _Dawn_.
I went out to another place, it was kinda far away so I had to drive which meant drinking was right out because I'm paranoid like that. Cue some smug response of "You get hung up on strange shit." Anyway it wasn't that loud but it was crowded and everyone there looked like they worked in telemarketing over at MCI (i.e. hootchie mamas, not that there's anything wrong with it) but what I felt like doing was closing my eyes and hiding somewhere. It was only a half hour and no skin off my back so I came back here.
Tomorrow I'll put in the stuff that I was going to write about tonight along with relating any dreams. This entry's too long and I don't want it to get unwieldy.
All Sunday morning I was awake, either as a culmination of the sleep cycle shift I've been undergoing or the fact that I needed to be awake through the timeshift for some reason. Maybe I'd end up in a different world if I slept through the timeshift. So I stayed up and wrote here, also watched Our Gang on AMC and got maudlin while watching Dogs is Dogs especially when they had the scene where Petey was crying because Weezer's dad wasn't around because Weezer's dad was sick. Watching Weezer get a spanking reminded me when I was a little kid getting punished for something that I couldn't understand and it makes me feel down, not wanting to have it happen even though the short's over seventy years old. At least I felt better watching one part of the spanking scene where Weezer kept putting his foot against his mean stepmother's face and I figured they must've done lotsa takes from laughing at that. I went out for breakfast and the whole world was alive with birds, teeny tiny sparrows bouncing around on the ground then alighting on the tiny tree in front of the apartment house next door. Across the street was a woodpecker needling the tin spire of the victorian house that's a frat house which made me smile. Before I got the Sunday paper I flipped three coins at once, heads meaning yes, to see if I should use the ten spot in my pocket to get breakfast at Wooglin's or if I should save it for food shopping in the late afternoon.
Two heads, one tail. Breakfast.
So I got the paper and breakfast, I read the news and got depressed reading about the never ending shitstorm in the middle east. Just nuke Jerusalem. Obliterate everything and leave it as a smoking radioactive crater. A brand new gehenna twisting the people of the middle east into mutated demons.
On the way back I saw a black squirrel. I never saw a black squirrel before and it was so cool, he scampered up the tree with his golden squirrel friend and while I walked past I made a little chit-chit noise like Bubbles from the Powerpuff Girls and said "Come over to my place. I'm gonna throw bread out for you kids" in a low whisper. Maybe they'll come. Maybe they won't. The other day I bought a dollar bag of Chex Mix in the backyard for the squirrels and birds. What made me self-conscious about seeing the black squirrel is I thought, "Gee, it's like finding a shiny pokemon in Pokemon Gold/Silver!"
I live under the assumption that the rest of the world operates like an infant. If you're playing peekaboo with one, the infant will actually believe that you vanished much like some ghaluhghblub beast of some Douglas Adams planet when you cover your head with a towel and effectively become invisible.
I'm under the delusion that the greater part of the earth's population works in this fashion. When someone is not in sensory range of the observer then that someone no longer exists to the observer. This prevents the observer from being burdened with memories, worries and thoughts about the subject effectively enabling the observer to "get on with their life".
Since I am not omniscient I usually think that my acquaintances, etc. are getting on with their lives because I am honestly and truly not the center of the universe. Since I am vain and desperate I endeavor to keep in contact with people who count in my book. When I hear from people without contacting them they become more real to me because I am real to them. If I contact someone and get a response I tend to judge it as stimulus / response with the reward of the possibility of deepening the furrow in someone's memory that I still exist when I am not within one's sensory range. Being assured that I am loved and thought about even when I am not around. That's a kind of immortality. One only lives as long as one is remembered. Truly remembered, not simply reminded by archived media. Archived media can be a great tool for laying the seed of remembrance in someone's mind but to have one's "memory" completely reliant upon archived media is not truly being remembered and therefore one achieves true death because such media can be utterly destroyed.
That last paragraph is pathetic but I do like the thesis. It's pathetic because it sounds like some cry for attention via email to hear "OH THINKING ABOUT YOU!!!11 P.S. COCKSUCKING". It's there for the ages, out there for the Universe as someone would say since words can't be retracted, and I believe it.
Out of sight, out of mind.
This seems to be the normal way most people function otherwise they would become wrecks. Other people fall into the patient and persistant category. From the few conversations I've had with acquaintances, etc. lately it seems that I have some pathology where I constantly think or obsess about other individuals when I should be moving on with my life. I know I'm a wreck because I wonder why I lost a friend, I wonder why people don't make time for other people (and me [fuck you, it's my diary and therefore it's also about me. spivak's razor]), I wonder if I do matter in the greater scheme of things or I'm just one of the five point five billion irrelevant people who will simply exist and expire without leaving a mark on history, human or otherwise. I would love immortality in this fashion. Plus it would grant immortality to all of those associated with me in one regard or another. I wouldn't want to exist forever because I'm sure if I was offered such a boon it would end up being something ironic like that episode of Dr. Who where some guy wants to become immortal and ends up being a stone face in some block of rock completely aware but unable to exist as a humanoid. That kind of irony bugs the shit out of me which is evidenced by my take on genies and how they grant wishes. Thank you for your wisdom, Rod Serling.
This site is my attempt at immortality. Like my many notebooks, unpacked or otherwise, which I've kept for the past decade. Everything before that has simply been on loose paper and lost to the ages mouldering somewhere in a New Jersey landfill. Cue some humorous remark from some detractor with "THAT IS WEHRE THEY BELONG!!!11 ;-D".
I was going to babble about trust but when I first thought out this particular entry it all seemed to flow smoothly and organically with my train of thought but now it just seems to be a bizarre growth. Basically it goes into how I handle trust and my history with trust that I figured I could trust my mother to love me but that doesn't seem to be the case. How I have trouble trusting my father because he confides certain things in me that I wouldn't expect to have confided in me (re: arguments, personal relations, etc.) and it makes me wonder about the things I confide in him and if he confides them with someone else he holds in the same regard. How I am unable to trust or relax around people until I've been in their company for some time and I have been able to prove to myself that they are trustworthy. Like the Birds who have surprised me in the affection they have conveyed towards me, even despite the visit in March and feeling in the middle of everything, and I'm just surprised and put on guard just a bit thinking there might be something up. Why? I have no idea. No, it isn't spivak's razor.
Anyway, story ideas. They all deal with alternate history. The first one is in response to the party line given by the Nazis in Fatherland that all Jews were deported to Russia / Ukraine / Whatevostok instead of showing them the Miracle of Death in the camps. What if that was the entire reason behind Hitler attacking the Soviet Union, to depose Stalin and establish a Jewish homeland in the Russian steppes. The other is a bit darker where some Nazi occultist has a dream of Jews engaging in mass murder, storming homes, etc. and the dream is shared with some of their top brass. Not having a timeframe or a clear idea of whom the Jewish people are oppressing they decide to go to extreme preventative measures which everyone knows about. Turns out the dreams were simply about the current situation in the middle east and it'd convey an opinion that this would not have happened if the Nazis didn't engage in their pogroms. Finally the other idea has nothing to do with the former subjects but more along the lines of "What if the Ice Age was still in effect, but becoming milder, in the 12th or 13th century and the Mongols expanded their vast empire to Europe, Asia and over the land/ice bridge into North America." It'd probably deal with first contact with Native Americans and the reintroduction of horses or the story would simply be about the Spanish arriving in Florida and coming into contact with the Mongols and Native American / Mongol mixed people astride their ponies bearing steel weapons and armor. For a while I thought it'd be keen to have the Mongols run across the Vikings in Vinland except from what I've been able to find the Vikings didn't arrive on the North American continent until the 10th century.
P.S. I really wish that two movies are played on TV sometime soon. Rushmore and Excalibur. It's just not the same when one rents a movie because then the event of experiencing the movie becomes static, dull. Oh, I can watch it at any time. Zzzz. Catching a movie by sheer luck, providence or planning ahead in advance makes it much more special.
P.P.S. Seems that I end up writing longer diary entries than usual when I have lots of free time. Plus I can't wait to upload this one because I like how it turned out despite the abruptness between my Sunday morning and my writing regarding "out of sight, out of mind". With any luck there'll be a dream.
A few of the jobs that I applied to are going to take at least two weeks to get a response from if they want to interview me or test me. This is annoying because I reckon I should've went to these first instead of relying upon solely faxing out resumes. Actually one thing that confuses me is I did an automated telephone interview last night and they said they would be in contact with me. Er, how can they get in contact with me if they didn't ask for my telephone number. Sure it was an 800 number which means they could get my number from whatever logs they have but that's putting too much faith in someone else rather than taking the initiative.
So I'm waiting to hear back from a few places while I am looking for gainful employment. Today I have two interviews and a possible third and maybe a fourth later on in the week. The third interview I'm waiting on is for a radio station doing graphic shit and the fourth looks fairly promising with the money they're offering. I contacted the latter via email and wasn't expecting to hear back since my experience with emailed resumes has been disappointing. I filled out applications for the library and for an insurance company around here, the former was kind neat because I wrote an essay about why they should hire me and what I have to offer them. The one for the insurance company was really intrusive and the job sounds like just a job, nothing great plus it'll eat into the first hour of Smackdown and all of Enterprise and then some considering the time it'd take to drive home. But there's eight weeks of training, training's usually brainless.
Every time I start a new month I think to myself, "This month I'm not going to write a lot in my entry. A paragraph, no more."
Why?
I'd be neat to have an archived month that's smaller than a previous April archive and to do something bordering on minimalism. Speaking of bordering, check out my disorders:
Paranoid:
High
Schizoid:
Moderate
Schizotypal:
High
Antisocial:
Moderate
Borderline:
Very High
Histrionic:
Moderate
Narcissistic:
Moderate
Avoidant:
High
Dependent:
High
Obsessive-Compulsive:
Low
I found this test at Mordred's diary. When I showed the results to someone tonight they took the test and remarked it's unfair to make such judgements based only on forty nine questions.
Damn, that was strange. Strange because I didn't think that I would have any dreams about MCI ever again. I answered my phone in my bedroom back in New Jersey (which was returned to its original decor) and I was taking customer service calls for MCI. The first one just went really fast and I hung up because I didn't know what was going on but the next call was this old lady calling in to get on one of MCI's new plans where she'd pay nothing a month and get seven cents a minute with a thirty five cent connection fee. So I sat in the semi-darkness of my old bedroom talking to her going through the call flow and reading the required follow throughs to her pretending I was entering everything into her account. At the end of the call I said that I was one of my old co-workers and to reach me directly she had to call my bay's direct line. Why? Spite, I guess. My father came into my room and waved at me to get off the phone and head out with him but I made some face and he understood I couldn't leave yet so he left without me.
In addition to that I was overcome by paranoia since I lost a folded up piece of paper with Very Important Information (tm) written upon it. My dream memory said it was inside of a plastic grocery bag which I checked a bunch of times but once I said, "I folded it up and put it in this bag" suddenly the bag had a few items inside of it. A bit of trash, a sock and the folded up piece of paper that I sought for whatever reason.
When I awoke, I had Bohemian Rhapsody stuck in my head.
Interview early Tuesday went well and I'll be showing off my skills maybe next Wednesday and I have an interview today down in Pueblo.
Raisinhead painted this. She's crafty.
portrait by raisinbrandt
All I dreamt about last night was food. Mostly rolls and sausages. Man, that was good eating. There wasn't a bigger story behind it. The good thing is I didn't wake up feeling hungry because that would've sucked serious ass.
The interview on Wednesday was alright, I faked being able to use Excel and did something in Microsoft Publisher. Christ, what a piece of shit program. Pagemaker is better. There's something coming out called In Design which is supposed to be the next generation of Pagemaker that I may be using if I get a job over at this map place doing ads.
The poll over on the right came to me a while ago but I decided to put it up after maribou loudly went "eeeew" like a girl when she got some porno spam which used the name of one of her little sisters. Her reaction reminded me of something I've thought about off and on over the years that I could never date anyone who has the same name as my sister or my mother. The mother name is just the fact that I associate it with bad things. My sister's name because it'd be really weird in the heat of passion to cry out her name and then think "Aw jeez this is really fucking weird." Also dealing with shit like being on the phone and one of my friends overhearing during a phonicological display of affection and think "Dude, he's getting it on with his sister." Of course being the psychological wreck that I am, I usually avoid romantically pursuing women who have the names of women that I dated in the past. Before Kinja there was a Kinja except that Kinja was more like a two night stand after courting her online for six months and she was a blonde. Also that Kinja wasn't Muslim but she was a real horndog with huge tits. I'm not much for blondes but I do have one exception.
First things first.
Hooray for women who wear overalls with no shirt underneath or women who wear suspenders for a top. Also electrical tape in little x's like the picture below.
Thank you.
First off the dream had me moving classic cars someplace for my father because he had acquired a bunch of them. As the dream night progressed I realized I was bringing the cars back home but also lots of the cars were being pushed over a cliff because as a theft prevention measure. There was this one old car which I had to leave in the middle of the street because if the cops caught me driving it then I'd be up shit's creek and the cops were swarming around the neighborhood and could smell blood just by looking at it. I kept looking at this old car which was the color of blue used a lot back in the days before good taste, aqua or light blue or a very butch green while maintaining a faggy yellowness about it so it leaned towards powder blue. The cop asked what I was doing standing by this car on a stormy night and I replied, "Waiting for you to get out of sight so I can finish my job without any hassles." The officer nodded, said "Fair enough" and drove off into the distance.
Pretty sweet, I thought, and finished moving this car and returned back home. The inside of the house was renovated into a circular glass-enclosed structure to present wrestling matches for everyone to see. My father was there lying around wrapped in a robe waiting for the festivities to begin. One thing that I caught which I felt heartening was Stephanie McMahon and Triple H being all sweet with their language towards each other. The past couple of months they've been at each other's throats because Stephanie faked being pregnant. I know that wrestling is fak^H^H^H choreographed but that's how I felt in the dream. Also there was an answering machine message that said Mick Foley would be showing up even if it was only for a single match. The keen bit was watching the wrestlers get everything together and in my dream it only served to show that these people were humble performers who set up everything themselves without roadies. I did say it was nice to see Mick Foley doing something interesting rather than yet another robot demolition derby show but that came out as vicious. My father was on edge when the game was about to begin because my mother was going to be due home.
Shit.
The wrestling matches had begun. Now these matches weren't ordinary matches in the squared circle but matches in a circle bordered by an old amusement ride like a roller coaster where the cars were decorated like a long dragon serpent which would spiral upwards on the track to whereever. Most of the match had to do with the wrestler's domination of the ride. Along the outside of the amusement ride track were glass doors, behind each glass door was a fan watching, raving and rooting for their favorite wrestler. Between the matches was an interlude about getting "thinking of you" cards together for people. It's not clear why this was necessary but I was without a card so my sister told me that there was a card for me upstairs that I could use. It was white, the paper was cut in a lacy pattern. Inside was an inscription of "We miss you, hope you return to visit sometime soon", dated May 28th and signed by my mother.
ooo-kay.
Regardless (or irregardless) I picked it up, returned to ringside and started writing lefty on the card so no one would know it was me despite being in full view of everyone. I signed it "Renee" with the worst possible kiddy writing.
My mother returned home. Outside had become quite gray and stormier. She was banging against a window muttering something over the din of nature which only scared me, my father and the wrestlers. The patio door was destroyed by a steamshovel's business end and started groping around inside like a cat's paw in a cartoon. Mick Foley was able to escape but the rest of us were scared wondering what we would do and how we could get across the broken glass without cutting our feet. My mother was behind the steamshovel breaking in the door since nobody would let her inside and she didn't want the wrestling going on in "her house" in the first place. Soon I was motivating everyone to get the fuck out. The steamshovel was going to do another run. Before any more damage we scrambled outside, Triple H lumbering around, Stephanie McMahon tiptoeing slowly to avoid cutting her bare feet and I kept looking back to see what was going to happen. My father wouldn't leave the house.
The rain was coming down hard, the clouds were so gray that they were black. What kept them from being entirely black were the lighter, thinner clouds around the raining and thundering dark clouds let sunlight through which made them all the more menacing. I put Stephanie McMahon on my back and started going across the street. Since she was heavy I had to kneel and carry her. Things are always heavier if you carry them while standing on your feet but one's knees are stronger so they're lighter if one's knee-walking was the dream logic at work. Once I was halfway across she turned into an owl like Athena and alighted upon a tree. On the other side I leaned to the owl and butchered mythology saying her lover Hercules would soon arrive and all would be well. Once Triple H was across I started saying we could cut through the woods and make it down to the abandoned church and find shelter in one of the abandoned rectories.
Things get hazy which is annoying because this part is the freshest part of the dream being only moments after I woke up rather than being almost days before waking up. My mother had come outside through the broken glass, wading through the storm. I think I asked something to which she replied "I'm thirty one years old and I smoke pot. Shut up."
So I'm wondering if I should find a new shade of purple slash magenta to use in my diary to denote dreams which take place back in New Jersey because New Jersey has popped up as a setting for various dreams. Then again it seems like annoying micromanagement on my part plus I don't think there are any good purples left on the web safe palette. The portion which ponders getting a seperate New Jersey purple makes the argument of "It's tedious saying 'oh this dream takes place in New Jersey'" despite the many ways I will try to convey that fact.
Sleep's been highly irregular for me but that comes from being "unstructured" and other meaningless terms. Most times I'll sleep in four hour fits with small periods of wakefulness inbetween. After the second or third fit there'll be a long stretch of consciousness before collapsing again back into what should be a full night's sleep.
I'm sure my logic is seriously flawed, as usual, but it seems that the number 213 has been significant to various events in my life. February 13th keeps popping up, most times when I'm out and about I check the time and it's 2:13 inna afternoon and quite a few times I've checked my pockets and discovered that I had $2.13. It makes me wonder what's going to happen on February 13th 2013. Yeah, the year isn't exact but its close enough. I don't think that the entries for 2/13/00, 2/13/01 or this year's date had anything particularly interesting or memorable written in them.
Oh yeah, that's par for the course here!!!! LOL!!! OMFG!!!!!! ;)
There are certain things that can't be done alone in my personal codex. That volume is merely a compilation of various things that have to be done and when they are done they should be done in a certain way. My way of having control over my life in a fashion that pleases me and opens up the possibilities to please the people who matter to me.
- Returning to New Jersey but only after driving out to California and at the end of the day's driving standing in the Pacific while my skin's in the golden sunset and the rocks slowly turn red as the sun sinks deeper into the ocean. Preferably I'll do this with someone. The rational, or evil, part of myself mentions something about icy spheres and punitive afterlives. Then I can drive back to New Jersey with a feeling of accomplishment I am content with.
- Sitting outside in the early evening watching the sun go down behind the mountains on a roof drinking something with someone. Could be almost anyone because this is something that can be shared as a growing together (was re: Stranger in a Strange Land and Martian customs) or a simple expression of contentment.
Beyond those at this particular time I can't think of anything else which expressly involves another human being. I don't see my future having any form of companionship and this particular future appears immutable.
Everything else seems random, hanging on the caprice of people, sheer luck or providence.
Late at night I believe I had a dream which was a continuation of a dream I had sometime before or simply an extention of my real life in dreams. Sometime in the past, dream or otherwise, I was having car trouble around the time Pinky passed away and I needed someone to come pick me up so I could get the car and come back in my car to take care of Pinky.
Well this had taken place with the help of my father some time ago. That day someone arrived dressed up like someone who works at Target saying they were there to give auto assistance for someone with frog problems. This pissed me off. I leaned forward right in the guy's face and growled, "You've got some nerve. This was seven or nine days ago when I needed help. Sure, everything got taken care of well before you ever showed up but how dare you even come around acting like you're not late or naive of the fact." The guy hung his head down but not because he meant it. I told him to get out.
Later on I was at my father's business, keeping the door open and ready for some reason. My grandfather came around with my grandma to tell me I don't have to do that anymore. My grandfather was walking without a limp and my grandmother was looking a touch younger and fatter than she ever was in real life. She had undergone therapy which reversed the dementia that haunted her later in life.
Here's some strange shit, someone from MCI is checking out my page and I do not recall ever giving the URL to anyone at MCI considering the griping I had towards various customers and their idiocy. At least I discovered the source of the person from Colorado Springs who visits my page. They're a frequent visitor too. For a brief while I thought that uu.net might just be an ISP but they're turning out to be something that's mostly used in-house by MCI and Worldcom. I thought otherwise because I discovered one reference to uu.net which is in Pennsylvania.
Speaking of MCI, here's what happened that got me terminated. I was installing a new account for someone and said I was going to give them all their long distance with MCI. I meant that this would mean giving them local toll in addition to instate and out of state long distance. I didn't read the required follow through completely and specifically tell the customer that she was going to get local toll. This made it into an unauthorized install situation, slams, and became a non-customer escalation which led to my termination. My supervisor said he was going to do everything he could to save me from termination but I doubt this and the fact that my supervisor's supervisor took away my MCI ID when this went down. Right there it was written in stone that there was nothing which could be done despite my exemplary performance in sales and quality up to that particular point including a perfect score on quality (unofficial since it was monitored in-center rather than nationally). The only things I could think of counting against me was my supervisor's supervisor's supervisor heard me mutter "fucking idiots" under my breath while going to training one morning and I got written up. The only other thing that could possibly count against me was taking leave without pay to get my car towed and fixed since I hadn't accrued enough sick time and I had to sign some paper saying "Yes, I know I did leave without pay".
One thing that I discovered about MCI is the fact that on January 16th they came out with some decent calling plans where customers only had to pay one rate any time of the day, any day of the week, instate or out of state. I called customer service to get on this plan in early April and discovered that it was grandfathered and no longer available.
They're imbeciles because that was their best calling plan. MCI tries to push something called Select 200 where you pay 10.95/month for 200 instate and out of state minutes to use up during a particular time of day. Daytime is M-F 7:00 a.m. to 6:59 p.m. and Evenings includes all day weekends and M-F 7:00 p.m. to 6:59 a.m.. After the minutes are gone or outside of the calling time you pay 7¢ The thing about this plan is nobody ever uses up all the minutes and when they have the plan positioned to them they're told those minutes are for anytime of the day. What do the stupid customers do? They don't read the information mailed out to them regarding the plan, they make millions of calls outside of their calling times and rack up huge bills. Whenever I did a new install I always avoided this particular plan unless I was reestablishing a new account and they had it in the first place or it honestly seemed like the perfect plan for the customer (a rare occurance). The rest of the time I gave them the 7¢ plan for 3.95 a month.
I wonder who at MCI checks my site. My former supervisor who somehow discovered the site by searching google? One of the people who use the benefits computers to go online instead of for their intended purpose and they just see "http://heptapod.org" in the location dropdown thingy? Of course they won't say who they are.
I also wonder who the Canadian is who comes to my site regularly. I know that prak comes here which amuses me. I should mail him a card. Going through my access logs makes me feel like the lady on Romper Room at the end of the show looking through her magic mirror reciting the names of all the kids she sees in the magic mirror.
WHEN spivak was thirty years old, he left his home and the pond of his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and his solitude, and for ten months did not weary of it. But at last his heart changed,- and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before the sun.
Before going to bed I was reading something online on my laptop. When I was in my deepest sleep it seems that I had begun reading that text all over again which struck me as unusual despite how mundane the act is. It disturbed me so much that I did wake up and felt confused when I discovered the computer was off, closed and nowhere in reach.
I don't think I'll be getting any money back on my taxes because of working for the company in NYC and being a consultant or independent contractor or whatever.
Anyway, staying up late is killing me. I get maudlin when I'm up late even if I'm wide awake and not about to fall asleep anytime soon. I dissect words, everything that I hear from people.
Visit. Ah, that means just a visit and nothing more. Nothing ever beyond that.
But when I put two and two together like this it usually means I'm getting five and I'm telling myself that the answer is five. Maybe I am right.
I start thinking about going back to New Jersey in 2004 but I can only focus on the negative things. It's like admitting failure here in trying to make it on my own. Money's easy but the social shit is hard. Plus if I do make any friends or become close with them moving away wouldn't be fair. Nor would I dare do stuff like, "You can come if you want to" because then they would be in the same situation as me right now like a fish out of water. The only thing I could say, which I'd consider objective, would be "It's near NYC!"
On a lighter note, check this out.
You have masturbated approximately 27777 times since 04/10/1983.
Assuming an average ejaculation of 3 ml, this means you have ejaculated approximately 21.70 gallons of semen.
The only guess I could make on the first date was springtime in 1983 which was eighth grade.
The results of the poll are IN!!! The question was "Would you date / screw someone with the same name as your sibling, parents or family member?" 6 voted yes, 5 voted no, 4 voted are they hot and 1 voted that they love incest! Um, ok.
Since this is a diary there should be one of those stupid "What Thing Am I" quizzes and I went ahead and made one. It's over in the next column (actually check it here). I'd like to thank _sdc_ for his help when I was stumped with the questions and answers.
I made a new comic today and I am pleased and revulsed by the strip.
Most days I'm surprised that I wake up and I'm still here in Colorado Springs. No, I don't think that I'm dreaming this entire situation.
Yes, another Sunday night spent looking for work. Resume after resume, cover letter after cover letter and I'll hear back from about two potential employers. It gets distressing when I go through the entire section and only come out with fifteen or so chances. I don't know if it's because there are fewer opportunities out here or because of the economy or my resume just screams of being a moron. What bothers me is most of the places I end up contacting over and over again are the same places who are still offering the same job for weeks on end. This keeps me from paying serious attention to the weekday classifieds since the positions are just extentions of Sunday looking for the slackers who don't do Sundays and I don't want to resend my resume to various places in less than a week's time. I can't be bothered to keep track of who I contact to avoid overlap.
I'm going to be staying up for as long as possible in hopes of brute forcing my internal clock to accept being sleepy around ten at night and lively around ten in the morning. Chocolate, StarCraft and relentlessly checking my email should help me accomplish this feat. Shit, I was scared shitless when Pegasus Mail played Curly going "nyuk nyuk nyuk BONK oh!" meaning email arrived and I wasn't expecting it not one bit.
For the shop teacher's handful of males who read my journal, whether for amusement or genuine interest (homo [not that there's anything wrong with it {sure i'm flattered and maybe a bit curious but i don't go for those backdoor shenanigans}) I would like to state the patently obvious.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IF YOU WANT TO GET LAID GO ONLINE AND FIND A CHICK WITH A LIVEJOURNAL!!! REMEMBER GETTING STUCK IN POOL OF RADIANCE OR MIGHT AND MAGIC III AND NEEDING TO GET SOMEWHERE SO YOU WENT TO FUCKING BABBAGES FOR A HINT BOOK??? THAT'S WHAT ONLINE DIARIES ARE!!! yes mine too.
This public service announcement is brought to you in hopes that my friend Tim will get poontang soon because I'm damned sure he's close to reacquiring his virginity. I DO THIS OUT OF LOVE, BOYS AND GIRLS.
Shit, have I mentioned I miss New Jersey? Know why? I can go anywhere in the state within two hours and most places are an hour away.
shop teacher's handful: an amount that is less than five referring to most shop teachers lacking fingers due to horrific and hilarious accidents during class.
Now I'm going to babble about shit I hate a lot. I've seen this classification used quite a lot and it seriously irritates me because it conveys such unction. Born Witches.
Fuck you and eat shit. Your god damned genes were not coded by your dad's clever spunk nor by your mother's ova. So some sort of divine attunement is something you have by simple act of birth and yet no one else has it and anyone who claims to have it because they entered into it (it's like this thing in champions, a mutant is born that way. a mutate eventually turns into that via radiation or whatnot) are inferior but noble because they're simply troglodytes doing their cargo cult paganism in your shadow without true understanding that comes from being born that way.
It's this kind of shit that makes me hate religion. This kind of shit makes me hate the concept of divinity.
You are not special.
You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake.
God(dess) doesn't care about you.
Did you know the twenty volume Oxford English Dictionary costs $995.00! Holy hot fuck. I want one though but I don't know if I'll have one anytime soon.
I've started playing Gang Wars and I'm a member of the AIDSbrigade gang which has some very odd toilet-related initiation rituals. I haven't done much with my character, he's slowly becoming a specialist in being a thug and a pimp. The other people in the club have me at a disadvantage because they're playing the game every waking moment it seems but I don't begrudge them because this is keen and it reminds me of a cool sim that Maxis would be too pussy to develop and market for computers. Sims in Jail! Sims in da Hood! Shit, that'd fucking rule. Be a pimp and smack your bitch up then get a bunch of your posse together to lay the smackdown on some punk who thinks he can be disaspettin yo territory. Thanks for the hook-up, yo.
Star Trek really isn't doing anything to help keep me awake nor is the chocolate I've been eating since last night.
Why must my slumber be disturbed by visions of pale chicks with midnight hair cut in a Bettie Page affectation and the proud possessors of icy sky blue eyes. The pillows aren't cold enough nor can I maintain consciousness for much longer which means I must drowsily submit to visions of those women sitting around and not doing much of anything but startlingly enough not looking at me for any reason. Despite the fact I have a big bird peace foot stamped on my hand which says "hey, i'm primo".
Everything I dreamt about has been in slow motion, about people just doing things in the slowest and most deliberate fashion. Kinda like a National Geographic special about the ordinary. People were just threading extention cords, weaving ropes and moving their hands over the surface of their workspaces.
There's one good thing about daylight savings time.
Yes, gentle reader, I understand your astonishment after I berated the concept in an earlier entry. Mind you the good thing about daylight savings is the only thing and experiencing it is a bitch.
One gets to wake up at the crack of dawn when the rest of the world is dead asleep, wrapped up in their dreams and the arms of their loved ones, and the world is completely barren of people. Okay there are the few who are up around that time like the newspaper delivery person or those asshole joggers. This is beyond watching the sunrise or the light playing on the mountains, this is about being awake in a world that's engenders the illusion of the world being devoid of life. A moment of silence before the morning rush. At night it's cool to be awake while the rest of the world is asleep but there's that bit of rationality going through one's head that says "Still, it's night time. Everyone's asleep." This helps break that kind of reasoning because of the daylight.
The feeling of being the only person alive is a good one but I reckon it's something that's short lived otherwise one would go mad from the lack of interpersonal reaction. How many conversations could you have with yourself before you run out of things to say? Masturbation gets old. Real old. Walking naked downtown swigging vodka kinda gets boring and not even putting on a football helmet and shoulder pads for protection while crashing headfirst through plate glass storefronts will liven things up.
Of course there's the wonder of staying up to all hours of the night only to catch the sunrise. A feeling of "I made it" getting through the darker hours while everyone else was in bed hiding in their dreams or nightmares waiting for the scary time to be finished.
Two things. All day I've had the songs from Tommy stuck in my head.
Secondly someone phoned me the other night saying they had a big bag full of kitties or CDs. It was around seven in the evening and when I did *69 I called that number. No calls from that number. Everyone else denies calling or says they don't have the means to call. This is strange since I'm not exactly the most popular person to phone, even less for leaving voicemail.
I slept a lot, to the point that I woke up twice last night because there was just so much sleep going on my consciousness had to come up for air in reality. There was a certain flavor, a certain mood, that was familiar to me in the dream but I just can't put my finger on it. Did it remind me of a television show? A movie?
For the most part I was a member of a gang who worked on a landlocked riverboat under an overpass beside a river. Two things before I continue, first I love that phrase "under an overpass. Secondly the riverboat seems reminiscent of Ty and Stephanie's wedding except their riverboat wasn't landlocked. The riverboat was filled with thugs, some of them didn't speak English but I could still understand what they were saying to each other. Shit, this is one of the vaguer dreams that I've had in quite some time and it's pissing me off. One point in the dream there was a trap set up on a bridge where cars would be pushed over the side into our parking lot before getting chopped up and if they avoided getting pushed over the side then the cars would eventually fall through a hole in the bridge head-first for a swim. After everyone drowned the gang fished the car out and put it in the lot.
I think it was so vague because it dealt with lots of conversations. My one weakness when it comes to dreaming, too much talk and not enough action leads to vague dreams. At least when I did wake up one time I forced myself back to sleep and picked up where I started off missing only a few minutes as if I did vanish from the dream for the brief period of wakefulness. Actually the dream reminded me of two previous dreams, one where I was going way down into some library that had a swimming pool at the very bottom of the basement and the other which took place at the airport with my parents.
This made me laugh: (was re: jerkquiz)
<soylent> it says i am pants :-(
Last night there were some young kids being really fucking loud to the point it woke me up, the only time where I didn't wake up out of necessity. Plus I seem to be crashing and burning around five in the afternoon, getting up again around seven in the evening followed by sleeping until one in the morning and being wide awake much to my chagrin. The thing is when I do crash and burn it's unavoidable, everything gets so damned heavy and no matter what position I'm in it's the most comfortable position ever.
I messed up last night. Fucking hell.
I got sleepy around four in the afternoon and decided to take a nap. I woke up around 10:45 that night. Son of a bitch, I missed Smackdown. I took two shots of cherry NyQuil and fell asleep quickly which is a good thing.
If that isn't enough, the broken wisdom tooth on the upper right side of my mouth is starting to hurt to the point that it woke me up and I drove down to Safeway to get some Orajel for the pain and it seems to be working a bit. I don't have dental insurance nor am I that solvent to have this taken care of anytime soon. At least I have a bottle of ibuprofen and hopefully enough Orajel to not be in severe pain. I so don't want to call home about this and ask for help. The last time this happened, and I didn't have insurance back then, it cost about two hundred bucks to have it pulled. I counted up what I have and there's only three hundred and forty bucks.
What the fuck is so hilarious about Cthulhu? Whenever I talk about Lovecraft's fiction there are always people who wink and grin like imbeciles mumbling "Cthulhu" under their breath like mouth breathing MOOers enamored with Gilmore's drug addled sexcapades. Sure I'm probably the worst kind of fanboy taking Lovecraft's work seriously but I just don't see the joke. Yes, he uses fifty cent words. His stories pretty much have the same ending, "and on the doorstep he found the rugose, pallid cylinder leaking ichor that was his grandfather's cock!" Yeah, wasn't expecting something like that.
Dreamt something about being incarcerated in a mental institution, living in a glass cell and eventually getting out to wander between high cliff faces.
The site's been getting a lot of traffic lately after I posted the link to the JERKQUIZ at the #lost weblog and mentioned it on #jerkcity. From there it got into a few livejournals and lots of hits from there. Mind you they were just to that url and not this page.
I have a livejournal but it only has one entry and will only have one entry. Why? Because Mordred got me one just in case I wanted to respond to any of her entries since she doesn't want anonymous people posting there but I decided against using it to reply or whatnot to people's entries because usually my replies aren't welcome. Not wanting a good name like raisinbottom to go to waste (nor did I want to give it to raisinhead) I decided to put up one entry and one entry only.
Checking my raw access logs is fun. I have no idea why certain people come to my page but it's their time to waste. I'm more interested in the people that I don't know or don't recognize coming to my site. Maintaining a domain with an online diary is a solitary business overall and I'm not complaining. I figured it would at least engender some correspondence or discussion among people in real life or via email but it really hasn't done that.
So what did I do with the wee small hours of the morning? I roasted a roast and it came out pretty good but after two hours it was still too rare for my tastes so I'm cooking it even longer. It's based on a recipe my father gave me in email.
- Round Roast
- Stick of butter
- Can of whole white potatoes
- Or two cans of whole white potatoes if they're small cans the size of a spaghettio can
- Garlic
- Oregano
- Aluminum foil
Melt the butter in a pot that's floating in boiling water. Crush lots of garlic and rub it into the roast, leave the crushed wet pieces on the roast to cook with it. Place the roast in aluminum foil and wrap the foil around the roast. Put potatoes around the roast, sprinkle oregano and pour in the melted butter. Cook at 325 degrees for three hours and it's done. Two hours if you want it rarer. If you're living alone the roast should be worth at least fifteen sandwiches. The roast I made was about two and a half pounds.
I haven't the faintest whether I should regard this as a dream or a nightmare. While I was asleep it was really disturbing and frightening but after getting up and contemplating the dream on the can it really wasn't that horrifying but bits still disturbed me as if I had a true vision.
What is left of Chandra Levy's body was found in my dream. The skull's crown, the lower jaw, the pelvis and contents and red stringy meat and patches of skin were the only main bits discovered and this was huge on the TV news. Gary Condit was arrested and put into a very dark cell to be forgotten. At first there was no news about the condition of the corpse but I knew what the murderer did to her. He wanted to obliterate her to the extent that she never existed in the first place. The person knew her because her face represented the murderer's guilt and the murderer did not want to be reminded of his act or what he felt during the act. Her jaw's remains were partial, the front was gone but each side was there, silvery in a way reminding me of railroad tracks. She was pregnant at the time of the murder and I could see the remains of the battered fetus lying in the pelvis like a cradle. The fetus' skull had a look of shock and horror upon it.
While I was walking along a strip mall I discovered a new issue of Time magazine which had photos of the remains of her skull on the front cover like she was woman of the year. Time magazine is lame when they make up new things rather than just sticking to man / woman / person of the year anyway. I could only think that there was so much blood. Tiny capillaries hung off the skull like a reddish brown widow's veil over a face that no longer existed. Inside the magazine was an article which showed her remains were kept in the Bloomingdale's box she was found in. I keep wanting to say she was found out in the desert but it doesn't sit right with my recollection of the dream. When she was found, she was found near a broken down red Gremlin with the rear driver's side window bashed out like some thug wanted to steal something in the car.
Seeing everything written in an article with accompanying photos was horrifying to me because it was all true. I got angry, very angry, and the only way I could express it was by creating a speedster character in the HERO system. The character was a speedster who became fast when an otherworldly symbiote entered him and changed his physiology and metabolism. His skin became sky-blue like a Hindu god and he constantly quivered from the need to be in motion. His main method of movement was on a bicycle. Extra inches of running bought as an obvious, accessible focus. When I returned to my apartment some people had gathered for the game I created the character for. What was frightening is when I went from room to room I kept hitting walls and doors which frightened the ever-living fuck out of me. Each time I ran into one of those obstacles I felt like screaming out in horror because it got darker and the darker it became the more disoriented I was. When I was told the phone was for me, the dream ended.
Of course we all know Gary Condit did nothing to harm her. It was some Puerto Rican guy. Yeah, that's it. Damn those Puerto Ricans, first they murder Nicole Brown Simpson then Jon Benet Ramsey and now this. Good thing this nefarious, country spanning monster was unable to hurt Butters.
I don't know if I've been dreaming a whole lot lately because I've just been remembering my dreams and they've been noteworthy enough to save in my diary or if I'm trying to make my diary uninteresting to certain parties.
My tooth still hurts but not as much as it did earlier today. There aren't any dental schools around here and the dentist down the street doesn't pull teeth or broken wisdom teeth. His receptionist said that I needed to go to an oral surgeon.
No, I don't. Back in New Jersey I had my upper left wisdom tooth yanked by a dentist in less than a half hour and it was only about two hundred bucks. It would've been nice if I could get it done since the office is just down the street which means I wouldn't have to worry about driving home on novocaine.
Maybe I'm remembering all my dreams because I want to see if I can beat out January 2001. Neat thing about that month's dreaming is it began with a nightmare and ended with a nightmare.
The only thing on my mind lately is wonder if I put Orajel or Anbesol on my dick if it could be used to stay hard and delay ejaculation. The Orajel is minty so I'm figuring it would burn like a motherfucker which would kill any boner.
Regarding the character I mentioned in yesterday's dream, that's a character I was thinking of playing a long time ago but never got around to playing him since I couldn't crunch numbers to fit ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag. That seems to be the aspiration of humanity.
So there's this sluglike symbiote on a spaceship that does a blind engine burn at multiples of c which leaves him lost and disoriented when the engines finally die out. The symbiote's not a navigator so getting back home if the ship gets repaired is out of the question. It's discovered by a courier and enters the courier's body so it can exist on earth. When the symbiote's blood mingles with the human's the human's metabolism increases a hundredfold and his skin takes on a blue cast from the alien mongrel blood flowing underneath. The character's bicycle is altered to bear the stress of his increased speed.
I've started working on a space adventure. Earth discovers an anomaly out by the rim of the solar system, there's much speculation about its origin but the government has an idea that the anomaly could be a spaceship so they send out a shipload of scientists to investigate it further. In the bowels of the science vessel are several marines outfitted with experimental weapons which will be defrosted by the ship's AI should anything happen to the scientists.
Something happens.
The transmissions that reach Earth are just lonely cries for help from the AI that fall on deaf ears until the AI says it has the anomaly in its grasp which prompts the government to send out another ship to bring both ships back to Earth. The Chinese hear the transmissions along with a few encoded transmissions about the anomaly being a spaceship. Albeit an ice encrusted spaceship that makes it resemble a comet's nucleus.
The mission can end badly but I'm open enough to work with the players for a good ending that doesn't involve the loss of billions of lives. The only one I have in mind deals with never returning to Earth. I've been thinking up a planet idea that's heavily derivative of the rogue planet visited on a recent episode of Enterprise being that it's a planet which escaped from its parent star and now floats in interstellar space headed towards heaven knows what. It's volcanically active and most creatures have evolved to be subterranean since the deeper they go the warmer it gets. The surface is covered in the snow of its frozen atmosphere and around the various vents the atmosphere is a mixture of sulphur and the original atmosphere. The creatures have also adapted their breathing apparatus to be gills, sifting the breathable air out of the dust and dirt while maintaining a low metabolism due to the nature of their breathing.
I want to go into outer space. I want to see interstellar space, watch the constellations writhe and dance all about me while heading towards some destination. To be in intergalactic space and look back upon the milky way. Each galaxy becoming a single pinprick composed of billions of pinpricks each of which are composed of even tinier pinpricks. Such an enormous amount of matter and in the greater scheme of the universe those pinpricks amount to nothing. It would be lovely to float in the space between galaxies or galactic clusters, there's only one atom per cubic meter out there. Maybe less. I want to experience, first hand, the terror of insignificance. Whenever I try to describe the enormity of the universe to people their eyes glaze over as a prelude to "whatever" or they maintain that they are not insignificant.
Bah, no dreams. Maybe I'll do a half-assed update if I do dream in the meantime.
Have I mentioned that I'm wiped out from watching wrestling? Well, I am.
I feel like I'm moving in slow motion like the Triple H / Hulk Hogan match. Ut oh, grandpa can't play like he used to whydontcha slow on down. Nap time.
Still, job search is important. Seriously important. Sent out many resumes last week and I resent them all on Wednesday. No replies. Okay there was one reply but it was this woman saying the header of my fax got through but the rest of the fax was screwed up and asked if I could resend it. I did and I didn't hear back.
Crikey.
The only bright spot was an interview on Wednesday where I showed my skills off for an hour. I'm trying not to get my hopes up because disappointment sucks big time. The only thing I really have planned for the week is getting a resume together that showcases my administrative skills and downplays the technical stuff and the creative stuff.
One thing that surprised me was Jay related how things go down at his company with the various admins. I was seriously under the impression that most of the people there had their stuff down pat and wouldn't need a manual. Ends up they need manuals and they just follow what's in the book. Yeah, procedures are important but the way it was conveyed just made it seem like space monkeys pushing a switch and never knowing what the switch does beyond lighting up green. In retrospect I wonder why the heck their human resources department didn't consider me since I do have the skills despite lacking certification. After that, I shared what I figure was obvious that MCI wants a high turnover rate with their telephone representatives because they lose money if a rep has been there for six months and is eligible for a raise. Plus it looks good when they always come across as hiring people. While I was at PPV on Sunday I saw one of the telemarketing supervisors come in and I laughed thinking "At least I'm going to go ahead and make money honestly rather than lying to customers and having other reps cover it up saying 'well you misunderstood'" since long distance service is pretty much the same among the big three. Why the dishonesty? Because one's job at MCI, just for example I'm sure it's the same at Sprint and AT&T, is about sales and nothing else. This engenders dishonesty since most people think "Geez, this is the best I can do" and get cutthroat when it comes to keeping their job.
post script
Have I mentioned that I'm not particularly excited about the job search this evening? I felt like doing dick and just sitting around the whole week doing nothing and hoping for the best but I went ahead and did my resume stuff. Did I mention that I hate sending out resumes in email? I've never gotten a positive (or any) response regarding a resume I've sent out via email.
I was lying in the street, on my stomach, sharing my diary with my sister. Somehow my website got printed and that was the only way she could bother to read it. She went through it and was making comments like "That isn't like you" and she started telling me how there was something new happening that I wouldn't like one bit because it was so dirty.
"People are skiing in oil. They go up a really tall building and slide down oiled ramps." As she related everything to me I could envison it in my head. Long steel corridors sloping downward at a forty five degree angle or greater on oil that didn't resemble oil but day old shit in a clogged up toilet. I stood up leaving her with the fluttering papers and entered a building nearby where this sport was housed. Eighty floors up and when I got to the very top I realized I really didn't want to go through with it to spite my sister. Over to the side was a laundry chute, hardly big enough for my hips but I still shoved myself inside and scooted slash slid down in the claustrophobic metal vent. Halfway down I slid out into a tiny rock garden near an artificial waterfall, to my left was another laundry chute much larger than the former and I slid the rest of the way down in that shaft.
I was in the street again but someplace completely different. The sky hung low with heavy white clouds that became a more natural gray near the horizon. All the buildings were clustered tightly together with kanji everywhere. I had the equivalent of eighty bucks in yen stuffed in my pocket next to a folded up train ticket that would get me back where I was in the first place. A few people befriended me because I spoke English and that was nostalgic to them. We rode bikes up and down the main drag in this Japanese city, everything looked so damned expensive and I was constantly reminded that I only had eighty dollars to my name. Up ahead was Mount Fuji which was enormous, far more enormous than I've ever seen Pikes Peak. The body of the mountain was onyx black, covered in snow and there was a bright scarlet stain on the mountain face just beneath the cloud horizon like an eye was plucked out or squished in the socket. "Man, Fujisama is bigger than Pikes Peak" I laughed which only garnered an obvious reply of "Well, Mount Fuji is taller." How stupid of me!
I think that Brian was among my guides slash friends in this dream but something doesn't fit right and he seems to only have a Brian-like character.
There were other portions of my dream that took place on Tejon, something about gangs, long white cars bearing baroque chrome monstrosities upon their trunks (boots, for the non-Americans) and a communal house that felt very comforting. This part of my dream was long before the Japanese part and faded away after the first tiny bit of wakefulness at six a.m..
A shame since that part of the dream seemed more involved overall.
Hulk Hogan's return to the WWF is all about nostalgia. Sadly Hogan can't recapture that kind of magic he had back in the eighties. Hulk is old. Hulk is tired. Hulk is as burning brightly among those who have more life and spirit but he is giving off no heat.
For whatever reason, Hogan captured a some wish granting mythical being and took advantage of the situation.
"I wanna wrestle again."
"I wanna be the good-guy again."
"I wanna be champion again."
Three wishes, the industry standard for any djinn of respectable reputation. There's no way he will get any other wishes and it's sad because Hogan should've wished for good health, long life and basking in the sunshine of celebrity rather than coming back to the WWF to see if his former glory still fits only to find it's five sizes too big and he looks ridiculous to boot.
What's worse is the fact that wrestling fans are starved for some nostalgia given a steady stream of MTV-style matches and extreme personalities. Their cheers and chants of "Ho-gan" only serve to prove to McMahon that Vince made the right choice granting Hulk Hogan's wishes but what's going to happen in a few months when the cheers fade and people start remembering the bad things about him. The things that made them turn away from wrestling. I know that Hogan was one of the reasons I stopped watching wrestling. He always won, his "hulking up" became tired and more predictable than Kane jobbing to anyone. I feel bad for Hulk because once the cheers are gone and people realize the magic isn't there anymore then he'll be wondering if it was worth it. Old and put out to pasture, the fate he wished to avoid but ultimately found himself doing after everything is said and done. The thing about nostalgia is that it's relegated to the realm of memory. Nostalgia doesn't mean something's replayed before your eyes because that's when one sees every little fault and flaw which makes one wonder, "Was it really that good way back when?" That kind of second guessing only leads to disillusionment.
At least last night on Raw Hogan did express his gratitude and remarked upon the fact that his reign may be short (if otherwise then someone's going to eat their hat [again]) but it reeked of Vince McMahon trying to forestall a backlash when people remember why they started disliking the current champion in the first place. I hope that it's not.
I checked my voicemail at 10:00 a.m., 12:30 p.m., 4:00 p.m., 5:00 p.m., 6:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m. and no calls. I did make a call around 1:00 p.m. and got an interview at 2:00 p.m. for the position of office assistant and eventually collections agent at this one place off of Garden of the Gods. They said they'd call me tonight whether or not they wanted me for the position but I haven't heard back yet. Tuesday I have another interview which sounds pretty good but I'm not going to get my hopes up. At best I'll be employed by next Monday.
I don't want to think about the worst.
I don't miss LambdaMOO that much. Outside of that wonderful little bubble there's IRC where most people talk in a room rather than act like brains in a jar. There are lapses but big deal. There's the bad which makes me grateful for what LambdaMOO is like. I went through various livejournals and overall each and every one of them is a god damned waste of life. You think the Wellsieism* of "LEAVE %N ALONE!!! THEY'RE %ADJECTIVE!!!! YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS, DUDE!!!!" is shrill, the mutual rimjobbing is even worse combined with factionalization that makes the Sensual Respites crowd seem dignified and intelligent. Lambda has irony, most of the net seems to be lacking in that particular capacity.
I did dream last night and it was somewhat interesting but it completely vanished leaving only a trace memory of me spinning around and around in a parking garage that was extraordinarily dark. The spinning and dancing had something to do with the weather or tonadoes.
When I do remember most dreams, there's something deep down inside that says "This is a good one but you're gonna forget." So I rouse myself and reach over for the computer or try to tell the story to myself all over again. Getting the computer is a bad thing because that means my sleepy eyes will be tortured by light at an ungodly hour. The neat thing is usually I'll drape one of my shirts over the screen, press my face against a pillow then start typing blindly. If I end up retelling the dream to myself then there's a chance it will be remembered but not always since I have a tendency to let my mind wander from the task at hand. If I had a miniature recorder to collect the dreams that'd be good. The downside would be having to listen to sleepy mumbling and losing most of the story. Impatience would be a factor even if the recording was stellar, I'd have to wait through each and every word being spoken. Writing is much, much more convenient. What would be keen is if all languages become two, one completely written and the other being completely verbal. I wonder if homonyms, puns and other SOMETHING of written language would be lost. Would they be replaced by the same kinda stuff but in a non-verbal sense?
The key to remembering dreams is simple. Avoid sex. If there's someone next to you then go right ahead and tell your dream to them even if they're not really listening but do not start groping and poking. Refrain from masturbation because that seems to clear your subconscious cache and not making you feel any more awake than when you started.
READY!!! SET!!! LEARN!!!
SHIFT-8 Encryption: The act of replacing vowels in socially unacceptable words to prevent minors from understanding their true meaning. Ex: "I want to f*ck her *ss."
Gothcouch: A woman who is involved in the "gothic" lifestyle. Etymology stems from them being covered in leather and able to seat four.
I didn't make up the latter but I made up the former earlier on Wednesday. Whee, I'm so happy!
Went upstairs for TV with the Birds, Jaybird went to bed around nine thirty and as I was getting ready to leave maribou and I started talking about the middle east which lead to other topics about the cosmos and such until leading into talking about stuff that's happened in our lives until Jaybird let us know we woke him up and he couldn't get back to sleep. I slunk downstairs and uploaded this.
Tomorrow I'll upload a picture or two from the set I took earlier Wednesday when I went to the library.
My father was gone. Not dead, just gone. For two Tuesdays in a row when my father's business closed whomever finished up apparently didn't close the door all the way. Yes the Tuesdays were in a row in the fashion of Monday, Tuesday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, et al. What's odder is that late at night after those Tuesdays it would be Wednesday for a short while but the Wednesdays weren't long enough to be considered complete days. Also the meat of the dream would take place in those little bits of Wednesday. So I would end up going to my father's business and find the front door open a crack. What's cool is the fact that I was completely aware I was dressed the way I was dressed in bed with my underwear and socks. I went inside and the place was a mirror image of what his establishment is set up. Instead of the back of the shop facing east, it faced west with everything being reversed. Chairs didn't face Millburn Ave. but faced Essex St.
I made my way to the back, drew the curtains around that area and sat waiting for the telephone to ring. No one was going to call me but there was an anticipation of imminent contact. The dream would then reset itself and I'd be walking up to my father's business once again, noticing whomever closed up on Tuesday had left the door open a crack. The second time around the door was open a crack slightly more which struck me as strange because I'd figure this Groundhog Day effect would have everything happening the same again and again with no variation. Once I went inside and engaged in my little routine I realized there wasn't going to be a phone call this time around but someone was going to be coming in person. That someone would end up being whomever left the door open a crack but the dream didn't go any further.
So on Wednesday I was thinking about job possibilities and I remember the interview I had on Monday, my experience at MCI and Jaybird all remarked that I have a good voice. At the time there was a special on The History Channel about hostage negotiators and I thought that would be a pretty damned cool line of work.
"Okay, I got you the plane to Cuba and right now an appeals judge is reviewing the case of your compatriot. Are you still there?"
CLICK BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM
"I'm fired, aren't I?"
Maybe, maybe not but it'd be pretty cool. The only thing that would suck about the job is I figure most cops have to fit some sort of image like clean shaven and the fact that I reckon I wouldn't be able to write about my day's work on here.
No pictures, I'm too fucking lazy and preoccupied with other stuff. Tomorrow I'll write about my solipsism. It means "I am the only mind which exists" which is wholly untrue because there are other people in the world. Just that I believe everything related to me is made up, for example I might've found pictures of Jaybird and maribou and thought "Gee, they'd make a cute couple" and decided to create them.
There was a planet about the size of Rhode Island covered in grass. Embedded in the surface of the planet is another planet that's the size of the Little Prince's moon. The tiny moon was about three quarters buried and the grass which covered its revealed face was a light greenish blue compared to the deep green of the surrouding planet.
High in the sky was a cloud of tangled, woody vines floating among the clouds. All the vines stemmed from one parent vine splitting into smaller and smaller tendrils until there were strange handlike formations on the end. Two parent vines grew from a nexus, a wrinkled woody seed that had flat, white, square teeth which chattered insanely. each parent vine and its branches became tangled in other parent vines creating a vast writhing cloud. My perception shifted back to the planet's surface, I was standing among tall, barren trees that stretched skyward and seemed to tempt the vine cloud to anchor on their boughs. The trees were gray like water damaged wood and were shaped like jagged spikes.
While I was looking up at the tops of the trees and the gathering vines several tendrils shot down from the sky towards me. Of course I ran, ducking behind trees, trying to keep in the tree's shadow thinking I couldn't be found. Each time I got into the open I saw the tendrils rear up and shoot downward. Eventually I made it through the woods into a house that resembled Raisin Acres. It was much bigger, inside were people I didn't recognize mulling around and I couldn't find Raisinhead. I discovered there were two bathrooms, one that was to use and another which was an enormous toilet with a platform lid about four feet across. Inside this toilet were lots of white and red koi among aquatic mushrooms. I really had to go and figured that the toilet was for use so I whizzed briefly in the tank.
The rest of the dream was spent climbing through the house, scrambling along the rafters, scooting into crawlspaces and peeking into other rooms. In my mind's eye I kept seeing the chattering seed nexuses high in the sky, the teeth stained brownish-red.
I'm dreading Saturday because there'll be nothing to do and no prospects of calls saying "When can you start."
Sunday has some promise but that's just from the Sunday paper. This Thursday's Independent sucked ass for jobs. I'm tired, I have a headache and time moves so fucking slowly around here. I really wish that I could enjoy this time or get myself to enjoy it because once I'm working again, whenever that is, then I'll be wanting time to myself.
I started wondering if I was the only person who existed around the end of my first run in college. Before that I just ignored the feelings of loneliness I had inside of me.
There are people who exist but they're rare. Mostly it's by degrees of their manifestation in my consciousness or they have forced themselves into the reality bubble I have around me that maintains my world. Brian exists and he's the only person I've put up to any scrutiny trying to disprove that he exists. The best evidence that he does exist is the fact that he helped me move out here to Colorado Springs. Moving here would've taken a lot longer because the process would've consisted of me driving my car a mile, parking on the shoulder, walking back to the truck, driving the car one mile then getting out to drive my car another mile. Over and over again, I'd be much thinner, stronger and have decent stamina after the process. Of course Brian's fully aware that I'm insane but he probably came to realize that it's pointless to give me a reality check.
So where do these people come from? I have no idea and thinking about that makes me think I'm just being self indulgent but on the other hand I'm wondering why I don't remember the act of creation. Best thing I can think of is that I find pictures online or in magazines, say "Hey, they look nice" and create a personality, a story, a life. Oh look at that bald WASP, I bet he'd really get along with that tough looking bald chick. Throw dart at map. Colorado. Yeah, that's it. That's the ticket. Gee, I wonder who would take these megadoses of personality altering drugs because of mental pathology? Other folks are probably just aspects of myself, little Durdens. Kylie being my rational self who acts good in the way I want to be good. Kylie getting my head on straight, sometimes selflessly. No human being would do that unless they were getting paid or laid.
This nicely wraps up why I come across as rude most times, no I'm not answering someone's diary, to other people. They're figments of my imagination. Not flesh, not blood, not wax. Oh my beloved ice cream bar. I'm just spreading around the anger I direct at myself at aspects of myself which aren't fully realized in my mind. This isn't good. Of course I said it works both ways like when I was working at MCI doing customer service, each caller was just an angry voice in my head yelling at me about something small that's sublimated into pennies on a phone bill rather than the miniscule stuff I dwell upon which other people can't comprehend being worth any notice.
Going on a tangent, suicide's a funny thing. I've seen stuff calling it a selfish act and a "shitty thing to do". My take is simply that people are afraid when someone commits suicide because when that person commits suicide then everyone gets scared. Deep down they have a realization that they may not exist and at the suicide of someone then all those people may stop existing. The whole world might stop existing. Murder, war and the like are completely different because that stuff might actually be planned by whomever created people.
Either way, it's an interesting diversion to get lost in but eventually I get around to thinking everyone is real and I'm just an introvert. This paradigm is just a way to pass the time, theorize about myself or wonder if I'm truly omniscient but I just don't care beyond my social circle. Imagined or not. A Randian God or demiurge.
One thing that I know is that I'll never do drugs to get my brain chemistry "balanced" or "normal" because I might as well put a gun to my head and end it all. My world's much more interesting this way.
Plus I think those drugs, for the most part, are a cop-out. I do know one person who uses medication and I do understand e would not be that functional or even-keeled without their George Jetson breakfast of pills. LambdaMOO only served to prove this because of the people I'd see on *antidepressants and the brief times I was on DownMOO incognito seeing people compare their drugs like fucking baseball cards and being symbols of pride. Jesus Christ, just get to know yourself and be done with it. Write. Go into therapy without drugs. Something that requires little or no effort is not worth doing in any case.
I spent the whole day fucking around playing Wizardry. Lordy I love this game, it really takes me back. Mind you I got tired of it after I beat * W E R D N A *, brought the amulet back up to the castle and all my characters ended up fucking dead. So I downloaded the NES version of Wizardry that has all three games on a single rom, tweaked it so it's in English (it was never released in the USA, just Japan) and damn it's so much better this way despite the crappy interface where you have to mimic using a game pad.
What's good about it?
- The location spell, dumapic, gives a graphical map instead of just coordinates.
- Thieves aren't just for parrying and cracking chests, they can ambush even if they're not in the front three lines.
- Graphics, graphics, graphics. Sure they're lame considered to stuff today but it's kickass compared to 1978's stick figures.
Here's the rom, the English patch, the program that patches the rom and the emulator. Yes, the emulator even runs under linux for you open source fags who jerk off to penguins and CmdrTaco/JonKatz slash fiction.
In other news, I have two interviews on Monday. One's for an administrative assistant position at a furniture store and the other is customer service. Hurble durble. spivak needs money, badly. Jaybird shot the food. Shooting potions has a lesser effect.
A little more spite.
Mordred recently informed me that Livejournal enables people to have PRIVATE diary entries.
Dear Assholes with Livejournal,
What's the fucking point in baring your god damned life on the fucking internet if you're not going to be completely honest and share everything? "Oh, there's some stuff I don't want the rabble to know but I want my friends to know." Hurble durble, either it's one way or the other way. I mean who's going to care that you got blown by your brother if it's not in a private entry? Oh it'll get posted on *anon? Big fucking deal, if you don't care then no one else will care. The more you fucking squeal, the louder you squeal, you're just going to make yourself a bigger fucking target. Plus the people you don't want to know about your dirty laundry already know about it and you know who they are. Don't you fucking see how illogical this is?
Love,
Haakon P. Studebaker
Of course I edit my entries but that's because I only want to post things that are entertaining. There are so many times and so many variations on the theme of "I jacked off. I watched TV. I went online. No job prospects. Sleep." You know I did that, why mention it again and again? Sure, it's all about ritual. People don't want to see anything new but damn it's a wonderful thing when one can repackage it again and again.
Good night.
Another Sunday, another batch of resumes. Not as many resumes as previous weeks but I was pleased there were more positions that were up my alley than the usual stuff I apply for because I can handle it not because I like doing that kind of work.
Tomorrow's going to be busy going around Colorado Springs and making calls.
Sigh. The one good prospect I had ended up going kablooey.
Had two interviews today, one of which was okay and the one after that was a preliminary interview which I hate because those interviews are always so short and I'm sure they're a nice way of blowing people off.
I'm really starting to hate it out here in Colorado Springs.
I'm busting my ass looking for work and I'm not getting many callbacks or any callbacks. There has to be something up about this because I know my resume isn't shit. At least I know my resumes are being ignored by certain establishments because they need "testimony".
Good thing, I could re-up my lease June 15th or just leave.
